Title: Permission in Advance
Characters: McCoy, Spock
Rating: K+
Word Count: 1295
Warning/Summary: A conversation in the aftermath of Mirror, Mirror (warnings for all that that episode entailed). Spoilers for that episode and very slight spoilers for ST: II and III.

He was still re-orientating himself in his sickbay (the mirrored one had been more a chamber of horrors than a medical facility, and he was glad to be home) when the door opened behind him. Only one person on the ship could move that silently, and he looked up prepared for the impassive inquisitive gaze of the ship's resident logician.

He shoved the instruments he was organizing to one side. "What's up, Mr. Spock?"

One cocked eyebrow. "Up, Doctor?"

"I'm asking the reason for your visit, Spock," he sighed, running a hand over his hair and trying to not let his uneasiness show to the perceptive Vulcan. He still couldn't repress a twinge of apprehension when the man walked closer, and stepped backward to keep the same distance between them.

"I am here to inquire after your mental state, Doctor."

Startled, his eyes narrowed in more-obvious-than-usual annoyance. "Now look here, you –"

"Doctor, no doubt as to your sanity was intended," Spock answered patiently, face wooden. "Although I do reserve my own judgment on the subject, with good reason."

He contemplated telling the Vulcan a couple of things he could do with his own judgment, but decided the ensuing verbal war wasn't worth the price of the medical equipment that would end up flying around the sickbay. Besides, the First Officer was looking at him unusually soberly, and it gave him the willies.

"What do you want, then, Spock?" he demanded irritably. "Despite your opinion of my capabilities, I'm a busy man. Spit it out."

"Doctor, the Captain has apprised me of what my mirror-universe counterpart…committed against you," the Vulcan said quietly, but with a frown creasing his usually unperturbed face. "It is…an appalling breach of privacy."

"Well, it was no picnic, if that's what you mean," he muttered, shuddering off the memory. "But it wasn't very deep, from what I know of those infernal melds your people practice –"

Something knifed through the first officer's expression, and he was surprised to see the pain in those dark eyes. "Doctor, perhaps through your ignorance it seems a minor transgression, or perhaps you are simply more forgiving than is healthy for a non-telepathic species. But…" he paused, hesitating in his speech for the first time since McCoy had known him.

First time for everything. "But what?" he asked curiously.

The Vulcan inhaled slowly, and then exhaled even more slowly. "Doctor…what my counterpart committed is the telepathic equivalent to an unspeakable…violation. To invade another's mind without permission is…an atrocity. No other word is sufficient to describe the crime."

He digested this information slowly, and found himself more relieved than anything else to know the revulsion he felt over the ordeal was not over-reaction, in that case. The mirror-universe Spock hadn't harmed him in the meld, only took the information from the forefront of his memory – but just the same, it had been frightening, no doubt about it. At least he wasn't freaking out over nothing, and that was good to know.

Then he realized something, and quirked a smile that completely took the Vulcan off-guard, visibly startled at the illogical reaction.

"You came all the way down here to check to see I wasn't going to have a breakdown over it?" he drawled mischievously. "Mr. Spock, I had no idea you cared."

"I was passing the door," the first officer replied indifferently. "And as first officer of this ship, I have the duty to the Captain to see that his officers remain mentally stable at all times."

"Passing the door. On your way to where?" he pressed relentlessly.

Instead of rising, the familiar eyebrows drew together in a forbidding line. "Doctor, deflecting my attention is not an answer to my original question."

"And evasion isn't a response to mine," he retorted stubbornly.

One corner of the Vulcan's mouth twitched suspiciously. "I suspect the contact with a superior mind has been beneficial to your sense of verbal self-preservation, Doctor."

"Superior mind?!" he spluttered. "Why, of all the –"

"Doctor, it was simply a statement of fact."

"Yes, no doubt," he replied dryly, waving a scanner in a shooing motion toward the impassive figure. "Go annoy Jim for a while, there's a good Vulcan?"

One eyebrow delineated tolerant amusement. "You have not answered my original inquiry, Doctor."

"I'll be fine, Spock," he reassured, strangely touched by the persistence of the man. "All he wanted was the truth, nothing more personal. It wasn't pleasant, I admit it – but I'll be fine."

The first officer nodded solemnly, taking his word for an accurate diagnosis (he grinned inside at the thought that it was probably the first time his medical advice had been accepted without a ten-minute argument culminated in an administration of a sedative). "Very well, Doctor. But should you find – and you may – that you require assistance in…I believe the human term is coping…with what occurred, do not hesitate to ask."

Finally he surrendered to the smile he'd been trying to hide behind his hand, and shooed the man away once more. "Okay, okay. Now stop cluttering up my sickbay."

An injurious sniff. "I can hardly be considered useless domestic debris, Doctor McCoy."

Snorting, he was still thinking of a response when the doors opened to allow the Vulcan to exit. But he glanced up to see the man had paused, and was looking back at him.

"What?" he asked, unnerved by the searching gaze.

"You do understand, Doctor, that I should never commit such an act against your unwilling mind, do you not?" The question was calm, but charged with an urgent undercurrent that he recognized as a subdued equivalent to worry, or whatever logical demand to be reassured that Vulcans felt instead of it.

"I think in this case it was considered necessary by the mirror-Spock," he replied slowly.

Brows knitted angrily. "That is no excuse for such an act, Doctor. Even emergencies, with the unwilling mind of a friend –"

"Maybe it's not an excuse," he interrupted, personally relieved that the other thought so as well. "But if there's ever a need, an emergency, and you can't or don't have time to ask…I trust your judgment." Strangely enough, he knew that somehow he did; it would still scare him just as much as the mirror-Spock had done, but he did trust their Spock to stop short of wherever the line was that made the process become invasive. Jim trusted the Vulcan, always had – and he could too if it he had to.

That didn't mean he had to like it, but he'd do it.

Dark eyes met his, and a quiet nod of reassuring acceptance before the doors closed behind the retreating figure. Oddly comforted by the non-expressive exchange, he continued with his work.

Why then, this seeping shiver of premonition that filled the back of his mind?