Title: When Mischief is Afoot (2/3)
Author: klmeri
Fandom: Star Trek TOS
Characters: Kirk, Spock, McCoy
Summary: Jim and Spock are up to something. Leonard wants to know what that something is. Mischief ensues.
Previous Part: 1
Or read at AO3

Um. I messed up. This was not supposed to be serious or more than two parts. My apologies.

Leonard has been relegated to his office like a child sent to stand in the corner for misbehavior. Jim is not happy with him. The doctor suspects this has more to do with his interference with Jim’s plans than any insanity he may have caused in the small department of shuttle pilots (who have, the nurses gossiped, replaced space amoebas as their number one threat with old, blue-eyed country doctors). But, Leonard thinks, this unfortunate state of affairs is Kirk’s fault anyway. He ought to be the one apologizing.

He is not sulking over a stack of paperwork and a shot glass of Saurian brandy. He is particularly not sulking when Chapel pokes her head into his office to announce, “Mr. Spock is here.”

“What’s he want?” drawls the brooding McCoy. “Come back to seduce my nurses some more?”

Christine chastises “Doctor!” but a light blush deepens the color in her cheeks. The way she glances behind her means that the First Officer is no more than a few feet away—and definitely within hearing range.

Leonard slouches in his seat and grumps, “Well, let the pointy-eared hobgoblin in.” It takes little effort to look peeved at the interruption to his (innumerably slow, terribly boring) day. He wouldn’t want Spock to get the wrong idea, that Leonard might be marginally excited to have somebody to fight with and, more importantly, who will fight back. Because what kind of staff simply rolls their eyes at the CMO when he’s criticizing them? A disrespectful lot, that’s what!

As the Enterprise’s only resident Vulcan lingers at the threshold of his office, Leonard releases an impatient snort and waves him the rest of the way inside. Spock obliges him by entering but then simply looks at him for a long moment, in his customary pose of hands clasped behind his back. Just when McCoy is on the verge of speaking, Spock breaks from his looming stance and gracefully folds into the singular chair in front of the CMO’s cluttered desk.

Leonard feels his eyebrows shoot up. Spock almost never sits when he visits, preferring to stand in order to (in Leonard’s opinion) better lord his logic over someone he considers inferior-minded. Wondering how much Spock is willing to concede in order to play “equals” today, Leonard holds up his Saurian brandy in a silent offer.

“No, thank you, Doctor.”

Leonard is somewhat relieved. He plunks the bottle back onto the desk and gathers the edges of his invisible mantle of irritability, comforted by the familiarity of the act. “Still too good for some things, I see.”

“I do not find the taste of that particular brandy pleasant. Perhaps you should improve your selection of beverages before inviting a guest to share a drink with you.”

Even as Spock says this, he is suspiciously relaxed. Leonard can detect no signs of tension in the Vulcan. That only serves to increase whatever paranoia Leonard is beginning to feel. Leonard leans forward and projects his annoyance with his voice. “I think we both know you’re not here as a guest, Spock. What do you want?”

Spock steeples his fingers, gaze mild. “I would like to make a request of you.”

Hm. Interesting, as someone in the room might say. “What’s the request?”

“You desire to know of a matter which has proven to be mysterious to you. I ask simply that you cease to pry.”

“Why?”

“If the matter concerned you, we would have asked for your involvement—but it does not. In prying, you only force us to further conceal that which must remain secret.”

The sting of the words, intentional or not, spark Leonard’s temper. He has the sudden urge to push away from the desk but does not. “Your logic is cold as always, Mr. Spock,” he responds softly. “You say it’s not my business but I tend to disagree. Whatever goes on under this roof is my business.”

“You will have to be specific with your references, Doctor. I do not follow.”

His fingers find a stylus and grip it. “Last time you were here… what were you doing?” At Spock’s silence, he insists, “Maybe you think I’ve only got half a mind most of time, but I happen to notice unusual occurrences in my own Sickbay—especially when somebody other than me calls a meeting with my staff!”

A faint green becomes visible along the edges of Spock’s ears. “Doctor…”

“That was the first thing which tipped me off. The second was realizin’ nobody could look me straight in the eye and tell me what you had said to ’em.”

By the way he straightens minutely, Spock has regained his bearings. “It is my prerogative as First Officer—”

“Oh, bullhocky! How would you like it if I came over to Science and started ordering about your lab techs?” demands Leonard.

“I gave no orders.”

“Then what did you say?”

“I cannot discuss it at this time.”

So full of agitation is Leonard that his chair shakes with it. “Y-You—Spock, get outta my office.”

Spock does not move right away.

“Was I unclear, Commander?” Now he stands, still vibrating like a tautly wound string. “For once, you got something right. There isn’t a damn thing I want to discuss with you right now. So go away.”

Spock stands up too but his slow movement indicates uncertainty—or reluctance. “It was not my intention to anger you.”

He doesn’t answer that, marching to the door, because if Spock won’t leave, he will. He won’t be cornered.

“Dr. McCoy,” Spock calls.

Leonard stops inside the doorway, having managed to vent enough of his emotion through sharp motion (maybe this is why Jim’s paces? he muses) that his voice only sounds grim and not as deadly and terrifying. He tells the Vulcan, “If you’d asked me to trust you and be patient, I could accept that request, Spock—instead you said mind your own business. When I start minding my own business, I stop being a doctor. I thought you understood that but obviously you don’t. In case you were wonderin’, that’s why I’m angry.”

Then he leaves, resigned to the fact he isn’t going to learn what’s going on and also full of regret that this ‘matter’ as Spock called it has drawn the line between him and the rest of the crew. Whatever Jim and Spock—and others, apparently—are up to, it had better be worth this misery they’re causing. But he has a sneaking suspicion it isn’t.

Christine knows something is wrong the moment Leonard McCoy stalks past her to the double doors which act as both entrance and exit to the medical bay and doesn’t acknowledge her or mention where he is going. A minute later, her steady heartbeat increases to a hammering when Mr. Spock appears from the direction of the CMO’s office, his countenance withdrawn.

“Mr. Spock?”

“It would seem the logical approach has failed,” he comments mysteriously and heads for the double doors, unknowingly following in McCoy’s footsteps.

Worried, she intervenes before he can reach the exit. Mr. Spock won’t appreciate her worry, Christine knows, so she asks, “Sir, have you had word concerning the…” and trails off, experience having taught her that Medical is full of keen ears, only second to Uhura’s band of communication officers. Of course, it won’t matter who hears them since Dr. McCoy is the only one who should not be privy to the topic of discussion and he is gone.

“The announcement is not to be made for another two point five solar days.”

“Oh,” she murmurs, disappointed. If they knew one way or another, things would be much easier. Secrecy would be moot then, wouldn’t it? Christine asks her next question to confirm that no one knows more than anyone else, because even she occasionally feels like she is missing half of the details. “But I heard the Captain is already planning for,” the nurse falters, deciding on the proper phrase before she continues with “a positive outcome.”

Mr. Spock answers, “Captain Kirk believes in his crew. It has not occurred to him the outcome may not be in our favor.”

She squares her shoulders and adopts her I-know-I’m-right-about-this face. “I have to side with the Captain. We will win.”

The First Officer considers her thoughtfully. “There are other contestants with an intellect, an expertise, and an undoubtedly illustrious background that supersedes Dr. McCoy’s.”

“But Leonard’s ours so he deserves our complete faith,” she explains. “Who would you trust more to take care of you if you’re sick—McCoy or a research medalist?”

“Dr. McCoy has proven his skills in the field many times,” the Vulcan replies solemnly, which Christine translates as The only human witch-doctor I would tolerate touching me is the one I know and, no, I never intend to admit this, even under pain of death.

“Then he is the ‘best’ in his field, by our standards—and I’ve been told the standards of the Enterprise seem imposing and impossible to other fleet ships.” Her smile softens as she says that. This is truly the best place to be, and not just because of how she has learned and grown since coming onboard.

Spock pauses by the door on his way out. “Thank you, Nurse Chapel,” he says, “I believe you have clarified a question for me.” The double doors slide shut seconds later upon his retreating figure.

She is not quite certain what he means, but Christine thinks it must be a good thing. Now, how to track down McCoy? He really ought to have told her where he was going!

Some hours later in the privacy of his personal quarters, the Vulcan First Officer states, “Captain, I believe we should tell him.”

Jim looks at Spock askance as he sets down a chess set on the small table between them. “I thought we agreed to make it a surprise.”

“Surely the surprise will be who is awarded the honor.”

Jim’s mouth curves at one corner. “This is not guilt talking, is it, Mr. Spock?”

“Guilt, Captain?”

“I caught sight of McCoy in the mess earlier. I’ve seen Klingons with happier expressions, and rumor has it they’re born sneering.”

Spock occupies himself removing each chess piece from the set and placing it in its correct starting position.

After a minute or so of silence, Kirk orders, friendly but firm, “Okay… out with it, mister.”

Spock understands easily enough that Jim wishes him to explain the thoughts troubling him, and he briefly toys with the idea of feigning ignorance. In the past, however, ignorance has been a difficult pretense to maintain around Kirk without other readily available distractions. Jim won’t let the game be a distraction for the mere fact he will refuse to play until Spock talks. So Spock is left to say, albeit as impassively as he can, “I suggested to the doctor that he should not involve himself in a matter when his participation is not requested.”

Silence looms. Then, “You’re joking.”

It’s the flat way that Jim speaks which causes Spock to grow eerily still. “I am not.”

The human closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Oh, Spock.” But he says nothing more.

“Jim?” Spock inquires after a full twenty seconds have passed.

Kirk releases a breath and reaches for a chess piece. “When it comes to personal campaigns, we are both poor tacticians, Mr. Spock.” Kirk’s shoulders slump slightly. “Tomorrow we tell Bones.” The human looks like nothing other than a child who has had his secret gift to someone unjustly spoiled. In a way, Spock supposes, that simile is true of their situation.

…But at least the odds are in their favor once Leonard McCoy knows about The Operation. He will forgive them for their folly… won’t he?

“Mr. Scott!” Leonard calls, sidling into Engineering when two young fellows exit, chattering nonsense among themselves. He looks around but sees no Chief Engineer. Leonard prods the nearest sleepy-eyed lieutenant. “Where’s your lord and master?”

The man looks up at him, blinking dazedly, like he had been lost in a dreamland of mathematics and engine schematics and only the things that Scotty’s troupe could adore. Then the young man collects himself, having identified who wants his attention. “D-Dr. McCoy!”

The stuttering is unnecessary, in Leonard’s opinion, but amusing. The doctor rocks back on his heels. “Hello there. I’m looking for your department head. Seen him lurking about?”

The man’s eyes cut sideways to a nearby room even as he answers “No?”

“Was that a question?” Leonard asks, mainly curious to see if the boy will continue to lie to him.

“Nooo.”

“Allll right,” he counters in the same tone.

“Sir?”

The doctor points to the room the engineer had made the mistake of looking at. “So he’s in there?”

“Of course not!” the man claims hastily, only to pause midway out of his seat and hunch in on himself when Leonard gives him a very menacing glare. Wisely the engineer sits back down.

Leonard makes a token tap upon the inside wall as he enters the alcove; a muffled response comes back. The air smells like burnt wire and scotch.

“Scotty?” McCoy inquires of the lower torso he spots poking out of an open panel in a nearby wall.

More mumbling. Then, “Aye, aye, hold’n. Didnae I tell ye to let me alone for ten minutes, lad?” Scotty pokes his head out of the hole, and his long-suffering expression brightens upon seeing McCoy. “Doctor! What a surprise!” He sticks out a grease-stained hand for a handshake but quickly retracts it with a sheepish “Sorry.”

“How’re things, Scotty?” asks Leonard. After a quick search, he locates a stool he can drag toward the spot where Scotty is still wedged half-in and half-out of the paneled wall, some tool Leonard hasn’t seen before in his hand.

The response is immediate and warm. There’s nothing the engineer loves more than to talk about what he is doing for Her Ladyship, the Enterprise. It does Leonard’s heart good to hear someone so enthusiastic about their work. He knows the Chief Engineer does suffer from stress easily, in the way his blood pressure is in constant fluctuation such that Medical tracks his readings daily or how regular, healthy meals have never been part of the man’s diet (as is typical, Leonard finds, with genius minds too preoccupied by what they can build or solve next). If Scotty is happy, he is less likely to be feeling poor enough to warrant Leonard’s professional attention.

In the moments when the starship is in the heat of battle—or some strange alien skirmish—Leonard always spares a thought for Scotty, who is working his hardest, utilizing his quick thinking and his many skills to keep the ship together in one piece—and thereby keep alive the four hundred plus crewmen who depend on the strength of the Enterprise’s shields or someone’s know-how to stop the warp core from melting down and destroying them utterly. McCoy has seen the aftereffects of that kind of responsibility days later. Often there is little to be done by that point except prescribe rest or, when the stress has manifested into insomnia, to share a drink with Scott and provide a listening ear.

At this moment, Leonard wishes only to have a companionable drink with his longtime friend; in this way, he can at least be reassured one of his relationships isn’t under the duress of some insanity or other, as seems to be happening often of late.

Perhaps Scotty sees the longing in his eyes for someone who won’t ask questions and won’t judge. The engineer levers himself from the floor and puts away his tool in a kit. Then he takes something else out of his kit and holds it up for Leonard to see. “Will this do, Dr. McCoy?”

“Bless you,” Leonard replies, relieved.

“Ah won’t tell if you won’t.” Scotty gives him a knowing wink as he uncaps the flask and unearths two tiny shot glasses from the kit as well.

Amazing, the doctor thinks, what’s considered vital in an engineer’s tool belt. Sadly, Leonard knows he would never hear the end of it if his head nurse discovered bourbon in his medkit. He accepts the small glass of rich brown liquid and announces somewhat smugly to his drinking partner, “I’d like to see ’em try to stop us, Mr. Scott.”

“Aye,” the amiable Scotsman agrees and downs his shot in one swallow.

They refill their glasses, salute one another and settling into sipping at the fine scotch. The Chief Engineer returns to his spot on the floor with a grunt and a familiar complaint about his aging joints. Leonard says he can easily relate to that, one of his thin hands falling to his knee to absently rub at the side of his kneecap.

Minutes pass.

“They make me furious sometimes,” Leonard says out of the blue, once the silence has grown comfortable. He taps a finger against the side of his empty glass, finding a rhythm that is vaguely reminiscent of an old tune.

Scotty looks contemplative. “The Capt’n and Mr. Spock—they’ve not said a thing? Well.” He turns over his glass in his hand as if it holds a truth only he can see. “Everybody knows.”

“I don’t,” Leonard says pointedly, his mouth turning down. “And it doesn’t seem right.”

“I could tell ye,” offers his friend, rather calm.

He almost asks but in the end slumps forward in self-imposed defeat. “Better not.”

Scott nods gravely. “Aye, it really isn’t my secret to tell anyhow.” Oddly he sounds like he didn’t expect Leonard to make any other choice than the one he did.

Leonard sighs. “Just answer me this: why me?”

“‘Cause everyone respects you the most, Doctor—even those whose respect is born of a healthy dose of fear.”

That makes no sense to Leonard but he smiles anyway. “Thank God you’re the one to keep the ship afloat, Scotty. I’d trust your wisdom over Spock’s boneheaded logic any day!”

Pleased, Scott thanks him. They set their glasses aside, and Leonard spends a half-hour learning the difference between circuit relays and conductors. By the time he leaves he still has no idea what Scotty is accomplishing with his tangle of wires but Leonard’s heart feels less heavy and his mind clearer.

Then, of course, he runs into Jim in the cafeteria and his troubles are right back where they started—and he is once again wondering why his friend is set on driving him crazy. So, inevitably, Leonard concocts a crazy plan of his own.

Next Part

Related Posts:

• When Mischief is Afoot (5/5) – from December 3, 2012
• When Mischief is Afoot (4/5) – from November 28, 2012
• When Mischief is Afoot (3/4) – from November 19, 2012
• When Mischief is Afoot (1/2) – from November 6, 2012