Chapter 32: The Decoy
When Spock woke he was alone, still in darkness, but without the sting of Pon Farr overpowering his mind and body. It was with a refreshing return of his reason, that Spock confronted the events of the past night. He knew it could have been no dream that had visited him, nor could it have been mere fantasy. Both would not have been enough to appease the stigma of his race. The scent of the room also was proof against the theory, as also was the stain on the wall where Vulcan and Human had become one.
The First Officer rose to his feet. With the mystery of the night having been solved, one burning question remained: Who had the lover been and who had sent them?
McCoy stood several feet away, behind the glass partician, Spock could now see. His arms were folded and he was watching the Vulcan. What the human's eyes could reveal was hidden in dark and shadows. Spock could not tell what the man was feeling only that he was more intent on voyeurism than immediate conversation.
"Good sleep?" McCoy finally asked, as he turned on the light, revealing himself for the first time, no expression on his face save for apathy. "A little human advice, Spock. The night before may always be a blast but the morning after is a bitch more times than not, especially when you wake up alone."
The glass wall gave way as Spock staggered to his feet.
"Better now?" McCoy asked.
The Vulcan nodded. "How?"
There was a look of amusement that flashed across the Doctor's face, one that vanished quickly. "One of the oldest ways of all."
McCoy walked away, nothing more said, leaving Spock standing still for only a fraction of a second.
"I suppose you want a more in depth answer, huh?" McCoy said as Spock entered the room. "I went to Kirk with your problem if you can remember."
Spock's face became even paler, something McCoy had only seen rarely happen. Apparently he did remember it and liked the notion even less than he had when he had been in desperate need for a solution to his problem.
Seeing the shock, affected by the sight of it, McCoy's words ceased. Instead, the Doctor walked towards one of the tables where something obviously lay under one of the sickbay sheets. Grasping onto the corner of the sheet, McCoy pulled it away revealing the upper torso of a naked male corpse. "Well he had an answer. One I couldn't find. With the promise of a promotion he let this poor sap come in and tend to you."
Spock looked at the man's body and inched closer to it, his steps slow and close to something out of a dream. Obviously the Vulcan was both horrified by the solution Kirk had found and entranced by it at the same time.
When he finally reached McCoy and the body of the deceased he stared silently at the face for several minutes. McCoy watched as the Vulcan searched the face, looking for some form of recognition or familiarity. When this failed the First Officer resorted to another means of identifying the man, one which McCoy was meant to have no knowledge of. Spock had known this man more with touch than with vision. Still, with all his reason and knowledge that death was a mere state and nothing to fear or cause revulsion he was hesitant to touch the man. Spock looked at the man's waist and found what he was looking for: The wounds that had been created by his fingertips pressing deeply into the flesh were there. He matched the marks to his fingers and found them the same.
"I must condemn your course of action," Spock riled. "I requested discretion..."
"I had to do what I had to do," McCoy snapped. "Besides, Kirk took care of that as well."
"And you supported this method of being discreet?"
"No," McCoy tried to keep his voice steady and honest. "I knew what he was doing but I never knew that this was what he had planned. I'm a Doctor. Not a murderer. I thought you knew me better than that."
"Who was he? What was his name?"
"Beware Spock... You still mustn't be feeling that well. What logic would it serve if you knew his name? In this one instant I will give you a Doctor's opinion to be more like Kirk. He doesn't care who he screws just as long as it gets him what he wants. He's dead now. Served his purpose. Let it go."
Spock's eyes lingered to his fingertips and the wounds on the body he believed he had made. The eyes stayed to long on the crescent shaped mars and as they did, McCoy felt his pulse quicken, his throat clench and his heart begin to beat too loudly.
Being a Doctor, McCoy knew that those little marks could destroy the lie he had chosen to build in order to preserve the relationship he had so perilous built with Spock. He could not let the Vulcan know the truth of who had infact visited him in his urgent hour of need.
Being a Science Officer, Spock should know what the condition of those wounds meant. It was with feverish relief that McCoy watched the other man pull the sheet over the body once more, heeding the advice given moments before. "I suppose you are right, Doctor," Spock said, his words, even now, sounding far more confident and reasonable than they previously had.
"I will thank you for your help in this matter," Spock said his voice prim and completely business like.
"You're welcome," McCoy nodded returning the sentiment equally as distant.
"Even if you handled it less then perfectly."
McCoy only smirked. It was both frustrating and reassuring to have things back to the way that they had always been; Satisfied and saddened that he was now resigned to keep a personal secret that may very well tear him apart.