Disclaimer: I don't not own Star Trek or any of it's characters. Do you THINK I would be here if I did?! So I do not in any way shape or form own any of the plot or the characters. They belong to whoever owns 'em. I just took the general idea for a test jaunt. So, don't sue me...not that it would be beneficial, as I am a poor university student, yadda yadda yadda.
Authors Note: I want to thank all my reviewers so far. Firstly, you all rock! Your comments, advise, and indeed praise has helped me immensely in the writing of this next chapter. Please continue to tell me your thoughts, and feed this starving writer!
Also: I would like to thank Kamyan! My brand spanking new Beta! This is her first chapter of editing; any further mistakes are mine and mine alone. Give her a hand folks because I certainly pulled her through the paces!
What A Hand Towel Can't Hide – Stoking the Fire Pot
Once safely inside his rooms he leaned against the uncomfortably cool expanse of the locked doors of his quarters. For the first time in all his time serving aboard the Enterprise he actually welcomed the cooler temperature of the bulkhead on his back as the frigid chill seeped into his skin, serving to cool his burning blood, sharpening his attention back to the present. After a brief moment he repressed a shiver as he lurched himself upright, setting down his tricorder at his desk, and pausing at the console at his desk to set his rooms on privacy mode.
Decided in his course he set off across the room to his meditation area, preparing both himself and the space for activity. And as he did so he noted unconsciously that his movements were far more hurried then was his habit, as if a second more would be just a second too long. Once settled in the action he hardly even paused, he didn't take a moment to disrobe and cleanse himself, nor did he attire himself in the proper meditation robes. A clear sign of his unsettled frame of mind.
Instead he crossed directly to his fire pot, stoking the mouldering embers into a healthy roaring blaze, and kneeling on his mats he added a generous measure of incense, breathing in the strong scents of home as the fragrant smoke twisted and twirled in the air about him, gradually fading and mixing in with the recycled air, the smoke thinned and disappeared, but the calming smell remained, serving to further focus his thoughts.
Immediately he felt a measure of order and tranquility descend over his troubled mind, his concentration aided by the familiarity of the action, acting like a soothing balm spread over an open sore. Breathing deeply he positioned himself before the flame, steepling his fingers as he assumed the first position, readying himself for the first level of reflection. And as the hours trickled slowly past, as the frenzied activity of a Star ship in distress continued all around him, he sifted carefully through his own memories, reliving those moments throughout their years serving together as a passive, non-corporeal observer within the confines of his own mind.
It was there in his own mind, where he realized just how deeply he had deluded himself. He had buried those moments, those passing half-realized, fledging thoughts so deeply and so well that he had barely been aware of it. But now, now he re-examined every single moment, every look, every touch, and he realized something he had thought himself entirely incapable of...He realized affection...He realized something his mother had only ever whispered to him in his tender years, and held for him unspoken in her eyes as he grew. He had discovered the Vulcan equivalent of what humans called love.
To a Vulcan it was nothing that could be so easily defined; indeed such things were rarely verbalized. It was something much more basic, more instinctual, something deeply rooted in the Vulcan psyche. And while his father had never spoken of it, never fully explains his reasons, for the first time in all his years, he suddenly fully understood why his father had married his mother. Why he had chosen a young human woman for his mate over all the females on Vulcan. And in some ultimately bizarre way, he realized the logic behind it...behind the feeling.
He came to realize that the connection between them had been forged from their very first meeting, sparking to life much like the way Leonard's eyes had lit up when he had deliberately matched the man's arguments and fuelled the fire for their very first feud before they had barely stepped out of the shuttle hangar. That blue-eyed, smooth-tongued physician, whose light rolling accent had given him a most uniquely new twist on the humans native tongue had intrigued him from the beginning, and had continued to do so ever since. As Jim so often put it, 'There was never a dull moment when they were together.'
He panned through all those fleetingly intimate moments as well, and he realized quite suddenly how often they touched. Those innocently casual touches...A brush on the shoulder in the hall, maybe a clap on the back in the mess hall, or a supporting arm around the waist when injured, a touch that was far to intimate to be merely a friendly gesture. And he had welcomed them...even initiated them. Their frequent touches now became the realization of hidden affection, affection that had seeped out in the guise of friendship, but had lingered a mere moment too long.
And as the memories continued he realized that it wasn't simply comradeship and logic that had spurred them, they had both repeatedly displayed their feelings throughout the years, showing it nearly daily in their interactions. Their arguments? Purely passionate flirtation, a hidden joy that had slowly evolved throughout the years as they both came to find someone who from the very beginning had refused to shrink from a challenge or a formable reputation and had proved a near match to the other at every turn. The subtle flirtation they had so often engaged in now seemed so blatantly obvious it nearly shocked him.
He realized that in spite of it all, no matter how heated and scathing their arguments might end, they always consistently gravitated towards each other. Both professionally and casually seeking each other out, maybe just to play a game of chess, to have a quick lunch, or even begin a scientific project together...
More then once it had been McCoy that had been downright possessive and demanding when it came down to him. Jealously guarding him at many a turn. He saw now that the man's well meant teasing and jokes had been a way to try and forge a connection between him and the rest of the crew. To show him, in his own strangely illogical, but effective way that whatever his race, human or Vulcan, he belonged there.
He realized now that the Doctor had always taken care of his physicals and medical appointments himself, knowing how private and uncomfortable he was when under medical care. He was also the first doctor that had ever raised the temperature of the Sickbay unprompted, suffering under temperatures that he no doubt felt as overbearingly hot to accommodate his patient's preference. And again it was often Leonard who came knocking at his door whenever he 'sensed trouble on the wind'...and even when he didn't, until it became such a constant aspect of his life that he illogically came to miss it when it sometimes ceased. It was also usually McCoy that badgered him into attending crew gatherings, and taking part in shore leave, always there with the suggestion….wheedling and fighting commendably for every inch he gained.
It was Leonard too that had at many times stood up to near impossible odds solely to protect him. Vehement and ferocious in the heat of the moment as he would hover above him, shielding him and defending him from attack as he more often then not lay injured below him, safe beneath the humans spread legs. One time came foremost to his mind as he delved deeper into his memories. It had been a standard year since the away mission, but the memory was as clear as if it had been freshly made.
The Doctor and himself had been paired together to collect a number of biological samples of the local flora and fauna on the previously unexplored planet MX149, the sole 'M' class planet in the binary star system at the far reaches of the Neutral zone's borders. And while an extensive scan of the planet had indicated a lack of humanoid inhabitants, a few short hours into their collection they were unexplainably ambushed by a primitive band of natives, likely a hunting party that had been shadowing them for sometime.
Even he had been caught unawares, not even hearing their approach from behind them until they had actually made their presence known. It happened suddenly, with the small lake-side clearing literally exploded into churning atmosphere of chaos, as the natives appeared as if from no where, sprinting at them from out of a tall swath of grassy reeds as if they had sprung out from the very earth itself, the water echoing their eerie cries across the mountainous valley basin. He had had just enough warning to grab the Doctor by the elbow, yanking him up and to his feet from where he had been kneeling on the sandy ground, collecting yet another soil sample. And with that they were up and running in a dead sprint, halfway across the clearing and to a rocky collection of boulders before the tan-clothed natives had even passed the bordering edge of the marsh.
But they had soon discovered that their apparent good fortune was actually a calculated move by their attackers, using the now unhindered view of them both to implement their remarkably effective weapon; a sedative-tipped blow dart. The dart meant for McCoy had missed by what the doctor referred to as 'good old fashioned Gregorian luck', missing him by only millimetres as he had moved at the last second, weaving to avoid a mouldering tree trunk in his path. He however had only had time to half turn at the strange sound of the dart leaving the rim of the device before he struck him squarely in the back, the shock of the drug to his system taking him down hard.
He lay face down on the ground, somehow unable to move his limbs as he tried to draw the planets cloyingly thick air into his shocked lungs, his body and brain immediately attempting to counter the powerful sedative. Spitting out a mouthful of dirt his dimming hearing only just caught the Doctors loud curse, barely feeling the dust and rocks that blew around him as the doctor managed an impressive about face and slid back to him, his boots skidding around the sandy gravel.
"Spock! Spock!" He cried, his tricorder already whirling about him as his felt the slightest of pinches as the colourfully tipped dart was plucked quickly from his flesh, the thin needle-like tip still dripping with a few bright green pearls of his blood. "Go! Doctor! Go!" He had ordered, his voice husky as speaking became difficult. But the doctor made no move to flee, and instead he flipped him over on his back, his body half supported in an upright position across the Doctors chest, a firm hand wrapped about his waist as check the his vitals.
"Like Hell I will!" He replied, cursing as he looked up, alert to the natives position despite his charge, his lightly tanned arms wrenching off his tricorder and grasping his phaser tightly, setting the force to stun as his bright eyes blazed a dark, ice blue- midnight from above him, his mouth set with a line of determination he had never before seen the Doctor wear. It was in that moment, that he had reaffirmed a long held suspicion that the Doctor was not someone to be trifled with.
Leaping up, he halted the natives in their tracks with a ear-drum shattering yell, drawing himself up to his full height in order to make himself look all the more imposing. To his credit the natives slowed, observing the possibility of harm from this new and unexpected threat. But they were not so easily deterred, and instead fanned out their full number till they had arranged themselves in a lop-sided semi-circle as they slowly advanced, the one who was undoubtedly the leader headed the group, a rather vicious looking sickle-shaped bone blade held firmly in his formable grip.
Each man was nearly twice his height and bulk, and he very much doubted that even the Captain himself wouldn't have been able to take even one in-hand-to-hand combat. But the Doctor refused to back down, entirely ignoring his orders as he took up a protective stance above him, a leg spread on either side of him, his phaser raised and ready.
The leader answered his challenge, letting loose a roar that would have rivalled a fully grown male Selat, a fully grown wild Selat at that. And he paused as his companions let out a chorus of answering heckles, clearly spurring their leader on. There was a rather pregnant pause as the natives advanced again, but Leonard very quickly made his decision and with a flourish he raised his phaser to the sky and let off a quick, harmless beam into the air, obviously hoping to frighten them off.
And the move partially worked, sending most of the rest of the group packing, howling in fright back into the marshes from where they came. But the leader and a single other man had remained, paused a mere few short meters from their position, their fright clear, but their countenance not as easily beaten. With a threatening noise the leader advanced a quick step, slicing the air belligerently with his blade, his companion doing the same at his side with a straight-edged weapon.
With a muttered curse the doctor visibly steeled himself for something, his action remaining a mystery to him till the moment he moved, the Doctor moving too fast to heed his muffled exclamation. And with his shoulders hunched, his entire body braced on a knifes edge, he launched out from his position above him with remarkable speed, yelling himself hoarse as he fired nearly point-blank at the leader, the man coming so close to him that even a meter away he could smell the natives perspiration, he could even smell of the rank scent of the dark animal pelt he wore.
The man crumpled to the ground with a cut off groan, the impact of his body jarring the very earth he lay on, sending a thick cloud of dust and dirt swirling through the air with the force of his landing, his companion skittering away with a cry as he launched himself back the way he came, his naked heels slamming into the hard-packed dirt as he nearly flew across the clearing.
"Why doctor, I had no idea you were such a formable opponent." He had wheezed after a few seconds of absolute silence, forcing the words through his mouth with considerable effort as his tongue refused to work. The phrase nearly ruined by his inability to raise his customary eyebrow. However, the doctor didn't seem to hear him, cursing soundly under his breath as he stalked back from the unconscious humanoid, breathing hard and shaking his head as he rooted through the fur-lined pouch he had unclipped from the leaders huge waist.
"Doctor, may I remind you that-." But he hadn't even had a chance to finish before the doctor had swooped down and cut him off. "And Mister Spock, do I have to remind you that as your Medical superior, and friendly star-ship physician, I have the final say in all medical matters!" He replied icily, his tone softened by a nearly full-blown grin on his face. "Now, I decided upon what I viewed as the correct course of treatment for you, and therefore your authority over me is null and void!" He declared with a grin as he bounced on the balls of his feet, undoubtedly pleased with himself as he viewed the argument as won.
"I do not see how risking your life to save my own, and quite likely perishing in the attempt instead of signalling for help could be classified as a 'treatment' Doctor." He replied, stiffly as the Doctor once again leaned him up on his chest as he ran the medical scanner over him, the device whirling noisily in the relative quiet of the clearing. The doctor however only grinned down at him mockingly, before turning Spock so his eyes could follow his movements. "Why then Spock, I do declare, that if I had let you off to your own devices, I wouldn't have gotten this would I?!" He replied with a pleased smile, a squat bottle of clear crystalline-like powder sitting in the palm of his hand. "Your treatment Mister Spock...Your treatment."
And while he had faded in and out of consciousness during that time, the sedative in the dart obviously struggling to completely overcome his more resilient physiology, he remembered those moments with perfect clarity. And he entertained the idea that even the doctor had likely not even been consciously aware of his actions. His long buried, primitive humanity unconsciously fuelling his struggle for the protection of a mate. In some ways he mused, the primitive man, and the primitive Vulcan were a remarkably similar creature.
But he also found that throughout the years he had been no less as unconsciously protective. He was no longer blind to all the times he had put himself in front of the Doctor, protecting him instinctively even on a standard away mission, his attention nearly every time aware, at least at some level of where the man was. He had always been alert and watchful; often pulling him out of a danger he himself had barely a moment to fully analyze, as instinct spurred his limbs to action.
He relived the moments on that Earth-like planet where they had met the child Miri and cured the remaining populace of the terrible disease that lay dormant in the 'children' till puberty. In the end he relived the moment when the Doctor had injected himself with the serum, not willing to risk testing it on the others unless it didn't work, sacrificing himself in the hope that they had developed the cure. And he remembered again how the only word that had escaped from those tortured lips had been his own name. He had called for him. For him. And he once again watched from observing from through his own eyes the way he had held those slender fingered hands to the doctor's chest, feeling their quiet strength as they were fully enveloped in his own in an entirely new way.
And he saw again these past three years with newly opened eyes. And as the memories refused to cease, replaying through the history of his thoughts, they filled his mind with a new kind of certainty and an entirely new sense of understanding. A new understanding of both himself, and of the Doctor.
It was hours later when he finally emerged from his mind, attaining full consciousness with only a light shake as he unfolded himself from his stiff posture, paring down the incense and restoking the fire until the red drapes that decorated his quarters danced with the shadows of the fires flickering flames.
It was all utterly and completely clear to him now. He desired Leonard, he needed him, wanted him. It was both an instinctual yearning and a physiological realization. Despite his half-Vulcanian blood and McCoy's humanness, he knew. Now both consciously and unconsciously that Leonard was his bondmate, his hearts-mate. The sensation was so very different from when he had been bonded with T'Pring, he was not yet even bonded with Leonard but already he felt more of a connection with the Georgian-born doctor then he and T'Pring had ever shared. And he knew implicitly that this feeling was one Leonard shared in kind for him.
Logic dictated he go seek out the man immediately, to share with him his mind, and have the connection between them forged, to become bonded and complete. But yet he hesitated, it was illogical, yet he did it nonetheless. Leonard was human and therefore such a ...sensitive affair required a different degree of handling. And he had to admit he was unsure of just how to approach the tousled haired doctor with such a thing. Humans always contained a degree of unknown in them, the emotions they experienced often following no logically discernable course and because of that he felt a sense of irrational uncertainty.
Would McCoy accept this? Would he fully desire and understand this connection? This nearly unexplainable bond they shared? And how much more they could share? Fully straightening, he kept his hands busy as he fastidiously rolled up his mediation mats, automatically placing fresh fuel bricks in the roaring pot as he problematized the issue. 'Indeed, Just how did one go about truly 'romancing' a human?'
Finally he resigned himself to the fact that he needed to mediate further on the next logical step in resolving this matter. However he knew there were a few matters that required his attention first. And with a few sure movements he shed his uniform, feeling the customary flush steal across his chest, with the lightest of green flushes gracing his flesh as his body responded to the near equal warmth of his quarters, the temperatures of his native home.
He required a shower and rest, then, after which, when fully alert, the way to proceed might become clearer to him. And with that thought, he set off across his rooms for the bathroom, his mind already focused on the task at hand, but despite himself, his heart wandered, shadowing a door only two rooms away…