Authors notes: Ahh, Cough Erm, Heheh, uh, ehwhoops.
Okay, so I'm writing this story right? And its, like 2 a.m. And what happens? I somehow slashed it. As in, McCoy and Spock finally realize that they are, in fact, made for each other.
Oh get over it; I'm warning you aren't I? Sorry if I ruined the story for you, honestly didn't expect this to happen. If you're disturbed by that sort of thing, get away from my story you evil person. If not, go ahead, its not like I'd write something…. Well you know. I'm fifteen, that's icky gross!
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Two weeks later and Scotty was no closer to a cure. In fact, he was farther away.
McCoy had gone to the daily briefings, he had written letters home, and he had apologized, cried, thanked, and on one occasion punched, everyone.
Now he got to wait for death.
He shuffled back to his sick bay, only to once again hear a small gasp and a shuffle of feet. He sighed. So he may look like Spock, but enough was enough.
"Nurse Chapel?"
"Erm, yes Doctor?" The timid reply came.
The Doctor cleared his thought, "It has come to my attention that you are avoiding me. In response I have this to say…" He cleared his thought once more, "Ahem, grow up."
"I-"
He didn't hear the end; he was already out the door. He didn't know where he was headed and was astonished when he arrived at Spock's door. After a thought, he wrung the chime.
There was a pause, a shuffle, and then, "Enter."
He keyed the lock and rushed in. "Ready Spock?"
"Huh?" Was the undignified response.
"It's the last week of our lives, let's do something…" He paused for dramatic effect, "Fun."
"Fun?" Spock rotated in his chair to stare openly at the Doctor.
"Well, you know, tie up the loose ends that maybe should have been left loose." He grinned wildly. "Excitement, ya know?"
Spock looked at him with a saddened expression. "Fun?" He repeated. "Doctor, the only thing I have every wanted to do, and couldn't, is now impossible for me to do."
There was an answer he hadn't expected. He'd actually expected something like 'fun is illogical' so the only thing his brain could come up with was, "Whys that?"
Spock gestured down at his new body. "Hello," He said in an amazing southern drawl that McCoy hadn't heard from him yet, "My name is Doctor Leonard H. McCoy."
"So?" He laughed, "If it makes you feel better, you can do whatever you want with my old body."
"No, I really can't." He stood up and let out a sigh, "Especially not what I really want to do."
Doctor McCoy was never quite at such a loss for words. And even though he felt he might regret it, he asked anyway.
"What do you really want to do?"
Spock stepped forward and placed a finger on McCoy's chest, "Well, I don't want to as much any more. Especially because I now find that emotions can be exceedingly annoying, but that's only if you let them show. Which I don't, of course. Except that one time, when…"
"Spock, you're babbling. Say it."
Spock paused, "I believe, Doctor, if I am reading my own emotions correctly, that this is what I wanted to do…"
And he kissed him.