Hey All,

Did you survive the last chapter? Great. Moving along. . .

~Coop

CHAPTER 11

Despite the amount of time McCoy spent walking, or perhaps a better word would be haunting, the corridors of the Enterprise, he never caught a single glimpse of Aggie. It was as though she purposely took alternate routes to Engineering. And why not? He'd humiliated them both. If only he could explain away his behavior, maybe he could salvage their friendship somehow. But as the days passed, Aggie remained unreachable. McCoy refused to use the computer to find out where her quarters were located; he didn't trust himself with that information.

In the end, he banished himself to his private medical lab . . .

McCoy stood at his workbench holding a bottle of blue fluid. He was staring at it blankly, trying to remember why he'd picked it up, when the lab doors opened and two sets of footsteps entered.

"Spit it out, McCoy," Kirk ordered, entering the room to stand on the other side of McCoy's workbench. Spock positioned himself a few feet behind Kirk, looking neutral except for an inquiring raised eyebrow.

"Jim? Spock?" McCoy blinked at them then glanced back at the bottle in his hand. He set it down. "What's going on?"

Kirk narrowed his eyes and leaned forward to rest his palms on the workbench. "Why don't you tell me," he said testily. "Explain to me why my Chief Medical Officer has suddenly become a recluse—avoiding his friends, eating alone, hiding himself away in a lab."

McCoy's facial muscles tried to rework themselves into an amused look. "Just busy, Jim. The Halo vaccine put me behind schedule. I—"

"Can it, Bones," Jim interrupted. "You suck at lying. I already know it has something to do with Aggie—Scotty hasn't been able to get two words out of her all week. And I want to know why."

At the mention of Aggie, McCoy's heart constricted. He tried to come up with an explanation but couldn't find the words.

Kirk let out a frustrated sigh. "Bones, I know you have . . . feelings for Aggie." His voice was gentle but determined. "With both of you behaving so oddly, I kind of get the impression that something's happened. Have you quarreled? Has there been some miscommunication? I'm not asking as your captain, but as your friend. We're here"—he nodded at Spock—"because we're concerned about you."

McCoy waited for Spock to correct the captain but, after a few moments, he realized that Spock had no intention of doing so. The gesture moved McCoy and he had to shake his head, not in denial, but to give himself time to collect himself.

"It's true. I have feelings for Aggie," McCoy said gruffly, then cleared his throat. "Actually, I'm in love with her." A quick glance revealed that his admission had only confirmed Kirk's suspicions. Spock's face remained blessedly impassive.

"I don't know how it happened," he continued, raising his eyebrows in bewilderment. "But I've spent a lot of time alone, Jim. It's been . . . difficult for me." The admission didn't come easy. "And Aggie, well, you know what she's like. She's everything I always hoped to"—McCoy grimaced as his control slipped—"I'm sorry." He shook his head once, unable to go on.

Jim rubbed his chin, looking grim. "It's a damn hard business, being out here for so long," he said thoughtfully. "It's not easy always moving from place-to-place, never being able to form relationships. And it's especially hard for those of us in positions of authority. We have to be separate from the crew. Professional. Distant." Jim sighed and refocused his attention on his friend. "But Aggie, Bones, she's different."

McCoy smiled weakly. "One-of-a-kind, I'd say."

"So why are you apologizing for being in love with her?"

McCoy shrugged, unable to find the words.

"I, too, find it odd that you are apologizing for something in which you are clearly in need, Doctor," Spock said stoically. "Your behavior is, at least, consistently illogical."

One side of McCoy's mouth hitched upward. "Are you saying that it's logical for me to be emotional, Spock? Now I've heard everything."

"In this instance you are correct, Doctor. It is not good for humans"— he stressed the word ever so slightly—"to spend large quantities of time in isolation. To desire companionship, or to seek it out, is not a fault."

McCoy grimaced. "I'm a doctor, not a mathematician, Spock, but I'm pretty sure it takes two to make this equation work out."

Kirk pinned McCoy with his hazel eyes. "Are you sure, Bones, are you absolutely sure that Aggie doesn't feel the same way?" He held out his hands as though presenting evidence. "I've watched you two together. She seemed so . . . happy. Happier than she is with anyone else. And the way she's acting now?" He shook his head sadly. "It's hard to believe she doesn't have feelings for you. Did she actually say that?"

"Not in so many words," McCoy confessed, then told them how Aggie had shown up at his quarters. He left out some parts, like how he'd held her and the. . . the bit after she'd left. But he described her confusion and worries, her disorientation of knowledge without experience.

"Can you imagine not being able to remember how the sun feels on your skin? A gentle breeze?" McCoy continued, bewildered. "And what did I do? I made it about me and my needs." McCoy's hands balled into fists, angry at his own selfishness. "I just want her to really live, to experience all the little things that, in the end, really are the best things. But everything's just a damned mess now."

Kirk sighed in commiseration. "Yeah, love can be like that. Messy. It's like having sex with a very enthusiastic Tetropod. Messy and sticky. And a little confusing, because I wasn't sure exactly where—"

"Jim," McCoy help up a hand to interrupt his friend. "I don't want to hear about your sex-life right now. Actually, I don't want to hear about it ever unless you suddenly come down with an unexplainable rash or burning sensation. I just need to accept the fact that Aggie doesn't return my feelings."

Spock's face had relaxed into a contemplative expression. "Leonard, I cannot address human emotions" he said, clearly choosing his words carefully. "But I believe your conclusion might have been based on incomplete or faulty data."

McCoy frowned. "Huh?"

"I agree with Spock," Jim butted in. "You've got to clear the air with Aggie, once and for all. Lay your cards on the table. Have a meeting of the minds. Get on the same page."

McCoy gave a derisive snort. "Gee, Jim, got any more cliched advice? I don't think I quite got it." He sighed. "Look, I've tried. I don't want—"

"Lunch?"

"What?" McCoy's eyes widened in confusion. Fatigue was messing with his hearing.

Jim held out his hands again. "Lunch, Bones. Spock and I stopped by to see if you wanted to join us for lunch. You haven't been to the bridge lately. As an unofficial member of bridge personnel, I thought you'd like to be brought up to date over a chicken sandwich and potato salad."

McCoy pulled a face. "Smart ass," he growled but recognized that he was being offered something more than food. Suddenly the ache in his chest wasn't quite so debilitating. Even his shame was somewhat more bearable now that his friends were aware of it.

He glanced at Spock then back to Jim. "Make it a turkey with tomato and you can count me in."

It was, perhaps, the first complete meal that McCoy had had in days. He remembered eating a nutrition bar yesterday—or had it been the day before?—but even then he hadn't sat down, preferring to focus on whatever task at hand that would keep him occupied.

"I'm not surprised the Romulan Empire is denying all knowledge of a Bird of Prey entering the neutral zone," McCoy said around a bite of his turkey sandwich. "It would mean a return of the trade embargo and who wants that?"

"Especially in regards to the Romulan Ale," Kirk agreed emphatically. "But they might not be lying about the ship, Bones. It's an older model; it might have been sold as military surplus to a merchantman."

"Except it still has its cloaking device," McCoy pointed out. The week that they'd been patrolling the neutral zone, the Enterprise had spotted the older style Bird of Prey on three different occasions using long-range scanners. But before the Enterprise could get within hailing distance, the ship had disappeared without initiating contact. It was strange, Kirk had said. It was almost like it was waiting for something.

"That is one possibility," Spock said, then he touched his fingertips together lightly—a sure sign he was about to get hypothetical. "Another possibility is that they are searching for something but do not wish to draw attention to a specific location."

"But there's not much around here, is there?" McCoy asked. "I mean, that's why it's the neutral zone—no colonies to worry about, no special resources that might spark a war."

"True," Spock agreed. "The few planets and asteroids in the region are barren rocks. Except, of course, for Eltron's third moon which is a Class M-Lunar. At one-quarter the size of Earth, however, it is too small for colonization or as an effective military base."

"Class M-Lunar. A habitable moon," Kirk concluded. "Native species?"

"Limited," Spock answered. "Two pollinating insect species. Neither dangerous. Eltron's moon is primarily vegetation—rolling grasslands interspersed with moss and flowering flora, intermittent marshlands near the equator. No bodies of water or animal life."

"In other words," Kirk said, stuffing the last of his sandwich in his mouth and talking around it. "It's a bust for anything useful, especially for the Romulans, unless it has a core of solid dilith—" He broke off suddenly, staring straight ahead without blinking, the lump of food in his cheek forgotten.

"What is it, Jim?" McCoy asked, unworried. "You got that constipated look. Tell Papa what's on your mind." He was about to take a bite of potato salad but stopped. "You didn't forget Rand's birthday, did you? Isn't it—"

Kirk blinked, suddenly animated again, and made a dismissive gesture. "Are you kidding me? I would never forget Rand's birthday; it's February ten—"

"Fourteenth," Spock interjected.

"Like I was saying," Kirk repeated, shooting Spock an irritated look. "February fourteenth." He chewed the rest of his food with determination and finally swallowed.

"So what is it then? Do you think there could be something valuable on that moon?" McCoy pressed, feeling a tingle of unease. Kirk had that look in his eye, like he was about to do something either incredibly stupid or incredibly crazy; which, paradoxically, made Jim Kirk the most brilliant starship captain in the Fleet. Not only was he the sole cadet to have passed the Kobayashi Maru test back at the academy, but he had never lost a single simulated war game or actual space battle to date.

"Jim—" McCoy started again, but Kirk had already stood, picking up his tray.

"Gotta run, Bones. Ship's business," Kirk said over his shoulder as he headed for the disposal bins.

McCoy watched him go then grunted. "You do realize he's up to something," he said to Spock.

The Vulcan put his fork down, finished with his meal. "The probability is high."

"Well, aren't you concerned? Especially if it involves a Romulan Bird of Prey?"

"I believe the more appropriate phrase would be if I am 'prepared,'" he said lightly.

"And are you?" McCoy asked, honestly curious. The Vulcan's expression shifted slightly, a slight pinching of the lips, and McCoy grinned. "Don't worry about it, Spock. Even my doctorate in human psychology doesn't help when it comes James Tiberius Kirk."

The doors to the mess slid open, letting in two new figures. McCoy's eyes locked on them, and his sharp intake of breath made Spock's head whip around.

It was Scotty. And following a pace behind, a smaller figure wearing a navy blue dress that hung to her knees. McCoy's eyes latched onto Aggie, noting every change since he'd last seen her. She was paler than usual, no hint of the rose undertones that usually graced her skin, and she looked as though she'd lost the little weight she'd gained since her awakening.

Most notably though, was the lack of a smile that usually graced her lips. Her eyes remained downcast as she followed the Engineer to the food synthesizers. Scotty was clearly frustrated over something, talking louder than usual.

"As Ah was sayin, th' transistors will burn out," he said, jabbing the keypad on two of the units. He retrieved two bowls of soup and jerked his head at a nearby table. Aggie had yet to say a word. "We've got to increase power without losing the coordinating data. Now if we—"

McCoy tore his eyes away. "Spock," he whispered brokenly. "I can't . . . "

One look at the doctor's face and Spock took action, effectively dragging McCoy out of his chair and shifting so that he was blocking McCoy's view of the far table. "Walk," Spock ordered as they abandoned their trays and exited the room.

They took a left out of the mess, then a sharp right which left them standing in a narrow corridor where the planetary topography department was located. Spock held onto McCoy's arm until the doctor shifted his weight against the wall.

"I'm sorry, Spock. I know this must be"— McCoy searched for a word that wouldn't offend his friend: Annoying? Irritating? Frustrating? No, they all implied emotion—"distracting for you."

Spock stared at him for a long moment and the minutiae details of his face shifted slightly. Was there a softening look around his dark eyes? A slight relaxing to his lips?

"Doctor McCoy," he said, then hesitated. He continued, pitching his voice low for McCoy's ears alone. "Leonard, please do not apologize. As you are aware, I too, have felt the burning in which you are now suffering. Although mine was due to my Vulcan biology, Iam aware of your situation and I empathize with thee."

McCoy was grateful for the wall behind him, because the science officer's words reverberated through him like a sonic blast. He knew, of course, what Spock was speaking of—Pon Farr, the deeply personal affair of Vulcan procreation where their intellect and dignity were temporarily overwhelmed with the powerful urge to mate.

The fact that Spock would even allude to it revealed more about their friendship than any emotional display ever would.

"I guess you would understand, Spock," he said quietly, nodding his appreciation and thanks. "I feel sort of empty, you know"—he tapped his chest—"like I've been living my life completely oblivious to the fact I was missing some part of myself, and now that it's been pointed out, I can't function without it. And it's like Aggie is that missing piece." He shook his head in frustration. "I know that must sound ridiculous, especially coming from a man of my age and position."

"'And yet, to say the truth, reason and love keep little company together nowadays.'"

A sad smile crept over McCoy's face. "Shakespeare, Spock? I never would have guessed you were one for the Bard." McCoy inhaled deeply then, till his lungs expanded fully. The act somehow gave strength to his legs, and he let the breath escape once he was able to push away from the wall. "Anyway, Spock, I want to thank you again. It means a lot, you being there for me. More so now since you just saved me from making a complete fool of myself back there."

Spock opened his mouth, clearly ready to dismiss the doctor's thanks as unnecessary but hesitated. "You are most welcome, Leonard," he said instead, then nodded in the direction of the main corridor. "Are you returning to Sick Bay?"

McCoy shook his head. "I've got enough overtime in; I think I'll rest in my quarters."

Spock clasped his hands behind his back. "A wise choice." They walked together in silence and parted when Spock entered the Science Labs.

McCoy didn't take a direct route to his quarters and wasn't surprised when he found himself standing on the observation deck instead. It was empty and dark. Just what the doctor ordered, he told himself, dropping into one of the benches in the back.

The stars drifted lazily across the viewport—the Enterprise was in a patrol pattern. The dim lighting and the shadows in the room were like balms to McCoy's frenzied thoughts, and the tension in his body slowly bled out.

He wondered how Spock did it—the emotional control. Was it really all mental discipline? Or did the Vulcans have some genetic edge? Spock had once said that Vulcans experienced emotions far more intensely than humans, almost to the point of self-annihilation. It had been pure, emotionless logic and discipline that had saved them in the end.

McCoy smiled with tired humor. He doubted he would even reach novice status in emotional control. Besides, McCoy had seen too much compassion from Spock of late to say that he was entirely emotionless, either. Not that he would ever mention it to the commander; they were friends, after all.

On the other side of the viewport, the Enterprise was gliding by a large gas giant. The planet was a light blue with multiple sets of silver rings encircling it. McCoy sat in silence, watching as gray eruptions bloomed across the planet's surface. Occasionally, purple lighting would pierce these clouds and, although McCoy knew what was occurring in the planet's atmosphere was extremely violent, from this distance it felt as though he were watching a silent and alien space opera.

No matter *when* you are reading this— no matter how far into *my* future— would you please be kind enough to leave a review? It would mean so much. . .

~Coop

Ps. Thank you to "guest" for the lovely comments. It's been a long week (sick pet and a bully at work) and they lifted my spirits.