I Take Mine Black

After they had both wiped their eyes, and remembered how to breathe, Jim was surprised that Bones was willing to risk opening his mouth again.

But he did: He looked over at Jim, and sighed, before saying, "Well, at least the manual was written Before – so that's something."

Jim wiped his eyes one last time, and sat up, his hand still pressed to his side. "What?"

"The manual," Bones said, "The Starfleet Medical Code. It was written before the disaster at Vulcan – So the assumption is there, that there would be Vulcans in Starfleet, and that we'd have to – and have to know how to – deal with them."

"Oh," Jim said, vaguely, preoccupied with the thought that had just occurred to him: What would have happened, if things had gone differently? Would others have followed Spock into the Academy?

Presumably.

Perhaps one day Spock would have commanded a Starship manned entirely by Vulcans… For a serious scientist, that had to be Heaven-in-the-making. Surely they would not prefer to mix in with the Human crews - Would they?

Ah, crap.

Pushing the idea aside, he focused on Bones.

"And...?"

"There are clues. Hints, really. But stuff that might be useful."

"Oh."

McCoy nodded, and shrugged just a bit. "Yeah. It's mostly in the negative: 'Don't do this', 'don't try that.' But there's also stuff that was considered ordinary information. I guess it's better than nothing… I'll go back and read it again – I might have gotten a little distracted." Jim smiled. Bones ignored him. "Anyway, there are a couple of doctors – Earth doctors, I mean – who studied on Vulcan, who made contributions to the manual, and probably know more (that they might willing to share, I mean) than was able to make it to print. They're on loan to the Vulcans at the moment; but I'm hoping that, under the circumstances, if I get questions together, or whatever - and we're within communication range – they'll help me out."

He looked over at Jim, and grimaced, a little. "You know, as long as Spock doesn't find out and kick my ass or anything."

McCoy sighed, took a sip of coffee, and spoke half-to-himself: "God forbid I should meddle in his personal affairs."

Jim nodded. It felt right.

Jim refused when Bones went back for a third cup of coffee. The doctor plunked down in the chair, swiveled, and leaned back, stretching his legs out toward the door. After taking a sip, he glanced over to ask, "So, tomorrow: You taking Spock with you?"

Kirk let his breath out more forcefully than he intended to. "I thought we went over this." He deliberately made his voice Captain-firm: "Yes. Yes, I am taking Spock with me tomorrow."

Then, "Why?" Jim didn't mean to sound as suspicious as he suspected that he did.

McCoy took another sip of his coffee. "No reason." He took another sip, then turned his chair toward the desk. "Why?"

"'Why' what?" Now, Jim was irritated.

"Listen, Jim, I'm just wondering why, is all." He put down the cup, and looked the Captain full in the face. "I just told you: There's a whole lot of no-can-do when it comes to dealing with Spock. My job is to pay attention to whatever I can, to try to figure out what he needs. Is that so hard to understand?"

"No," Kirk said, "I guess not." He looked into the clear hazel eyes. "What are you paying attention to, at this exact moment?"

"Hmm," McCoy grunted, blinking, "Good question."

He had reached for his coffee cup, then stopped short, his hand resting on the edge of the desk. His fingers tapped.

"Let me ask you something, Captain."

In spite of himself, Jim was all attention.

"Your friend, Doctor McCoy," The scowling face negated any humor the question could have had, "You know him pretty well, right?" Jim nodded. "When was the last time he took leave? When was the time before that?"

Jim answered without hesitation, perfectly straight. "A few hours, a couple of nights ago: Starbase Nine. He had a day off two days before that. (He takes them when he can get them.) Last shoreleave – what, 6 weeks ago? Six-and-a-half."

"Right." McCoy was still eying him, and Jim had a hard time figuring out where this was headed. "This friend – you are friends, right?" Bones acknowledged Jim's nod, the corner of his mouth lifting up. "Thanks. So, he likes shoreleave? What does he do when he gets time off?"

Jim shrugged. "Yes." Then he thought about it. "Well, I guess he does: It depends. He likes it mostly. He likes to relax and not worry: He likes knowing his friends are safe." McCoy was nodding. "As far as shoreleave itself goes, though, I think he likes planets that remind him of home – not complicated, citified home - but home uncomplicated and simple." McCoy nodded again, looking slightly mollified. "Oh, and he likes planets completely not like home: Ones where he can let off steam, and not have unpleasant consequences afterward."

McCoy looked startled, but had to admit the justice of the observation.

Fair enough.

"Days off?" Jim thought a moment, then threw up his hands. "Hell, Bones, I don't know what you do. Read? Sleep? Hang out? Play poker?" It had been a long day. "You avoid Christine Chapel - and you write letters home."

Bones was quiet a minute; Jim had nailed it on all counts. "Okay, then," McCoy said, fingers tapping, again, on the edge of Jim's desk. "Last time McCoy joined an away team? And the one before that? How'd that go?"

Jim sighed. He glanced up, but his interrogator was not going to let him off the hook. "Last landing party assignment? Last one we had. It sucked. He's a surgeon: We needed him."

McCoy nodded and took a sip of coffee. Jim thought maybe his hand was shaking a little. "He wasn't on either of the two previous ones, but the one before that, he was. It was fine." He shot the other man a look. "It was cold. He bitched a lot."

Bones gave him a wry smile, the corner of his mouth quirking again, just for an instant, before the amusement was wiped away. "Does he like landing party duty, this doctor friend of yours?"

"No. He hates it. I think he hates everything about it: Transporter, danger, diplomats. Hates it all... Mostly. Sometimes I suspect he thinks it's not so bad, but he'll never let on.

"He's scared of losing what he has."

McCoy wasn't looking at him. He stared deep into his coffee cup, swirled it around a bit, and said, "Sulu?"

"What?"

"Same questions, Jim, but with Sulu this time."

Shit. He probably should know. "Okay." He thought a second - He could do this. "Starbase Nine, same as you. Not the same day off as you, but the two days before that. (Sulu likes to have his days-off back-to-back if he can, so it's more like a weekend back home.) Previous leave? Same as you. Maybe taking off a day earlier or later, coming back a day earlier or later – I am assuming that that's a detail, though, and you'll let it slide."

McCoy shrugged.

"Okay," Jim said, wanting to get this over with, "Landing party, was it?

"Let's see, one before last was shuttlecraft. Sulu was at the helm. It was fine: A little rough, but he could handle it." McCoy didn't look too happy, but he knew Jim was right.

"Before that? Uhm… Oh, yeah. Larnon II."

When Jim was quiet for too long, the gravelly voice prompted, "And?" The doctor's eyes were disconcerting.

"Uh, Sulu likes landing party duty, I think. He likes the adventure. I am not sure about the rest: He's still figuring out that what we're doing is more dangerous than glamorous - or fun; and he's not really afraid of the danger. Sometimes I think that makes him a liability."

He looked up; the hazel eyes hadn't shifted. "What else, Doctor?"

There wasn't a reply; and Jim thought back. "Oh. You wanted to know if he likes shoreleave?"

He felt a little defensive. It probably showed in his voice, but by now he didn't much care. "Yeah, he does. He likes the novelty: He likes to have a good time, a little excitement, maybe show off a bit. He likes coming back to the ship. This ship."

McCoy was nodding, smiling a little. He picked up his cup. "You friends?"

"Yes," Jim said, decisively. "Yes, we are."

"Great." The doctor drained off the rest of his coffee.

After a minute, McCoy went over to the alcove, and came back with yet another full cup. He responded to the question in Kirk's eyes: "I am a doctor. You let me worry about me." He put the coffee down, frowning at it; then shook his head at Jim, re-taking his seat. "It's decaf. Nice try."

He shifted the cup over an inch, but didn't drink any. He sighed, and met Jim's eyes. He didn't look happy. "Now, Spock."

Shit. Jim should have seen this coming.

He really did not want to do this…

"Would you say you know him well?" The doctor prompted.

Okay, Jim, breathe.

"No – but probably as well as anybody." Be honest, now. "Except – " He sighed. He wasn't going to say it out loud. "Well… as well as just about anybody."

The doctor's tone was gentle. "Does Spock take leave?"

"He did at Starbase Nine. Before that? I don't even know. Oh wait! Yes, I do." Jim tried to keep the note of triumph out of his voice. "Dinner, on Starbase 12 – but only because I asked him to, I guess." That was… was that really 3 months ago? He shook his head. "Days-off? Uhm… He takes them. But he usually works, anyway. Usually in the labs, but sometimes on the Bridge." He was not liking Bones' expression; he hastily continued. "Not always. Sometimes he doesn't." Oh, God, this was lame.

"What was next?" The words came out hurriedly.

"Does Spock enjoy shoreleave?" McCoy asked.

"I don't know." McCoy started to say something, but Jim wasn't done. "No, really: I don't. He resists it. Once there, he's interested in what's going on, but he usually hangs back, so he's not on display. I don't know if he doesn't like it for itself, if he doesn't like hanging with us, or what. Maybe he just doesn't know what to do with time off, you know?" That made sense, actually. McCoy was nodding.

Jim took a sip of the lukewarm coffee still in his cup.

"Landing parties?" Landing parties, yeah. "He goes on 'em all, pretty much." There was something he didn't like reflected in the hazel eyes across from him… "Well, he's the First Officer: He goes when the Captain doesn't.

"And he's the Chief Science Officer – So I guess he goes when the Captain does, too."

The hazel eyes were relentless, and Jim just couldn't take it: "It's his job, Bones." It was a cop-out, and they both knew it.

Then, Jim shrugged. "I guess he likes it. He's usually the one picking personnel; he keeps putting himself on the list. But, really, I don't know."

Another silence.

"Are we friends? I guess.

"Yes.

"No.

"I think – " He was floundering.

"I don't know."

Jim sighed. He looked into those hazel eyes, and was honest. "I just don't know."

"Well, then, let me ask you this, Jim – Since you're not sure whether the First Officer that you spend practically all-day-every-day with is a friend or not… Do you trust him?"

He could answer that unequivocally. "Yes. Absolutely."

"With your life?"

"Yes."

"With the life of every man, woman and other on board this ship?"

"Yep."

"With the ship herself?"

"Of course, Bones. You know I do."

Bones was leaning forward now, all the way, with his elbows on the desk. Jim felt like a lab specimen, the doctor was examining him so intently. After a moment, McCoy spoke, "See? I find that really interesting."

"What?"

"Jim, there is no way in Hell you're leaving Sulu in charge of this ship – or me - even if she's completely deserted.

"But here you got a guy - you're not even sure he's a friend – you have no idea what the man does when he leaves your sight – and you'll place your life in his hands in a heartbeat. And you have – repeatedly.

"Why?"