Title: Forget Me Not (2/?)
Author: klmeri
Fandom: Star Trek TOS
Pairing: Kirk/Spock/McCoy
Summary: When Jim spends time with his First Officer and CMO, he seems sad. Neither Spock nor McCoy can figure out why.
Previous Part: 1
Or read at AO3

That they will find each other I know for certain. And who deserves happiness more? As I look on, I think of how much I want it for them both, whether that happiness lasts only a moment or a lifetime.

But while I am relieved, I am also unimaginably afraid.

Personal Log, James T. Kirk

Doctor McCoy is strange, even for a human. That strangeness is what lures Spock into association with him.

“We don’t do this often,” McCoy remarks in an unhurried manner, sitting back in his chair to fold his hands across his stomach and gaze at the Vulcan seated at the other side of the table.

Spock lifts his eyebrow, knowing that the human wants him to answer that illogical observation. And illogical it is, since this is their very first interaction which does not in any way pertain to the functioning of the ship or its crew. Leonard’s response to his silence is to smile.

In this moment, Spock is unusually relaxed in the doctor’s company. Given that they have begun to have disagreements as of late (one of which Spock maintains he is quite justified in—why should the CMO need clearance to access the Bridge on a non-emergency basis?), this companionable feeling is welcome.

“Would you care for more tea, Doctor?”

Leonard shakes his head and fidgets with the handle of his empty cup. Perhaps the human is waiting for Spock begin a particular vein of conversation. Except Leonard saves him from having to choose a topic by saying, “Any word from Jim?”

“As you are undoubtedly aware, he reports in every four hours.”

“I didn’t mean if he’s doing all right. ‘Course he is. He’s dawdling on a space station in the company of a bunch of pixies!”

Spock knows what a pixie is; that is, he knows what the terminology is meant to represent. It is, of course, simpler to find out the precise context in which the doctor uses the word by requesting, “Please explain the nature of a ‘pixie’, Doctor.”

That prompts a pleased expression to blossom on the human’s face. “Why, pixies aren’t unlike Vulcans, Mr. Spock—with the pointy ears ‘n all.”

“The K’lthery do not have ears.”

For some reason, this remark causes Leonard to roll his eyes ceiling-ward. He seems overly fond of performing that action. Spock must assume the dramatic movement does not tax the muscles encapsulating his eyes.

“I swear, one of these days you’re gonna respond with a joke of your own, and I’ll have flat-out have a heart attack!”

He must strive not to ‘joke’ with the doctor, then. To replace a CMO requires an abundance of paperwork. After he relates this to McCoy, the man lets out a peal of laughter, slapping a hand against his knee repeatedly.

“Oh,” Leonard says as his laughter dies down, “oh my god, you don’t even know when you’re doing it…”

“Doctor,” Spock intercedes, feeling a heat gather along the edges of his ears, “I do not appreciate you making a jest of me.”

McCoy lifts his hands like he thinks Spock might stand up and leave. “No, no, Spock. You’re right. That was unconscionable of me.” He clears his throat, and the remaining traces of humor are gone when he speaks again. “I’m sorry if I’ve embarrassed you, Commander.”

His sincerity mollifies Spock. “Your apology is accepted.” However, if this situation is to be avoided again… He asks slowly, “Could you explain why my statement was humorous to you?”

Leonard drops his hands to the table and leans forward, his countenance softening as he considers something about Spock. “You know,” he says finally, “I think I could really, really like you.”

There is no logical reply to that comment, except an expression of gratitude. Spock finds himself holding back from saying even that much.

The doctor does not seem to notice. He goes on to elaborate the ‘hysterical’ quality of ‘an abundance of paperwork’ in regards to the addition of a new officer to the crew. Spock is more than slightly confused halfway through the attempt to follow the doctor’s non-linear thinking. He concludes (in the privacy of his own mind) that humans are prone to laughter and therefore more prone to finding unusual humor in the most mundane of conversation. He will contemplate why this is at a later time. It’s evident by the expectant look on McCoy’s face that the man has finished his ‘explanation about the finer points of being funny’, and Spock is required to thank him for such wisdom.

He does, though his tone is not particularly gracious.

“So, no questions?” the human asks, narrowing his eyes.

“None, Dr. McCoy,” Spock assures him.

With his trademark sound of a disapproving hmph, McCoy slouches in his chair. “Let it never be said I didn’t try.”

Also let it never be said that Spock did not attempt to understand a human mind. He suspects if he says this, the doctor will either laugh again or bristle at perceived insult.

Leonard’s expression changes then, as he glances away towards the entrance to Spock’s quarters. “You ever get a feeling of déjà-vu, Mr. Spock?” A moment later he clarifies, “Like we’re doing something we’ve done before even though we’re pretty certain we haven’t?”

Despite having heard of déjà-vu (from his mother said in a soft, absent-minded tone at some point during his childhood), Spock does not understand the concept of mistaking a new event for an old one. “Memories are stored in linear sequence, Doctor, thus precipitating the—”

A hand waves away the rest of his attempted explanation. “I know, I know. But the human brain isn’t as—and lord forbid I admit this!—powerful of a processor as that computer you call a brain, Spock. Our recall can be spotty, and sometimes things like memories get tucked away in places we can’t readily access. That’s why we make such an important distinction between short-term and long-term memory. Often it feels like some things get dropped in a no man’s land in between.” Leonard purses his mouth in a thoughtful manner. “Heck, I don’t even remember what was served at that fancy dinner with the K’lthery.”

Interesting. “You obviously remember the event itself.”

A twinkling enters the human’s eyes. “Sure, ‘n other things besides.” The slow stretch of his mouth becomes a grin. “Like that an entire race of beings think we’re space married to our captain.”

It is not the most neutral subject they could converse about—he should have known McCoy would bring it up. “I believe that was a case of misinformation, Doctor.”

“You’d think so, wouldn’t you?” Leonard’s gaze un-focuses for a moment as it wanders past Spock’s shoulder. “The thought sure spooked Jim, though.”

Spock steeples his fingers in one of his preferred poses for intellectual discussion. “The Captain did seem inordinately disturbed by Ambassador Kee’s remark. I believe in another instance he may have—as you explained earlier—treated it as an attempt at humor.”

“Maybe he’s repulsed by the idea of any kind of romantic entanglement with two men, let alone two of his ship’s senior officers.”

“Illogical.”

Leonard is laughing again. He clamps a hand over his mouth to mute the laughter which, to Spock, seems a pointless effort. “Sorry,” the man apologizes seconds afterward, “it’s just you sounded so certain.”

Spock’s eyebrows furrow. “I am taking into account Captain Kirk’s predisposition, Dr. McCoy.”

“Predisposition to what? Flirt with anything on two legs?”

Spock has seen Kirk flirt with a being that had no legs. However, it seems unnecessary to mention that. “I refer to his proclivity towards affection in the presence of—” He stops short of completing the sentence because the moment the words leave his mouth he knows they are wrong. They are wrong, yet not incorrect.

Leonard watches him as a silence builds in the room, his expression turning troubled. “Spock?”

Spock is baffled. The doctor had said he sounded certain. Where had the certainty come from? And this knowledge of which he began to speak—where had it come from?

“Spock.”

Doctor McCoy had moved in the interim to stand by his side. Spock rises from his chair without knowing why, unsettled by the inability to track down the origin of the thought or feeling.

“Hey,” a gentle voice coaxes, “what is it? What’s wrong?” A hand lifts toward Spock, stalls just shy of touching him, either hesitant or uncertain of the welcome of physical contact.

McCoy.

No, Leonard.

In the instant Spock focuses on the human, he reaches for the wrist just within his grasp, driven by a vague impulse. He is imbalanced; here is a thing which will give him back firm ground on which to stand and to think.

As the sensitive pads of Spock’s fingers make contact with skin, sensations flash across his mind, a frission of them, like tiny sparks or starbursts: surprise, flaring white hot; curiosity, startling in its perfect reflection of his own curiosity; and the undercurrent beneath both—a subtle, sweet pleasure.

Spock is touching Leonard, and Leonard likes it. Moreover, the pleasure has an echo to it; it is not a new feeling for Leonard.

Giving in to a strong temptation, Spock lets himself be caught in the eddy of emotions, following the eddy along Leonard’s arm past the elbow and to the shoulder, then beyond. The eddy carries him to the human’s mind, and after the mere press past a thin barrier, he is inside. Leonard is no longer Leonard, and Spock is no longer Spock.

Experiencing Leonard’s mind is like looking into kaleidoscope. When the human’s awareness shifts, as it does now at Spock’s presence, thoughts and emotions fall into a new pattern. The process is not as chaotic as it seems; rather it is intricate in a way Spock has never encountered before.

On the outside, where physical sensation seems far away, Spock’s body draws a deep breath.

This mind is more than merely fascinating, more than an odd resonance he automatically responds to. This mind is…

Familiar.

The more he sinks into it, the more reluctant he is to leave. Only his concern and the strength of his scruples prompt Spock to withdraw far enough that he can regain himself. The awareness of his body returns with a jolt, painful and breath-stealing as a splash of cold water. But separating what is part of him and what is part of Leonard is more difficult than it should be; he can feel the weight of his fingertips resting along McCoy’s face as if it is his own skin they are pressed against.

This is a proper kash-nohv, a melding of minds. When Spock initiated the full connection with Leonard, he cannot recall. Had he begun the kash-nohv with the ritual incantation, or simply dived in?

That thought shocks him. He speaks, suddenly afraid but requiring an answer to a terrible question. “Am I hurting you?”

Leonard’s eyes are at half-mast. At the sound of Spock’s voice, the human subconsciously leans into Spock’s hand.

“No.” McCoy’s voice is deeper than usual, but not rough or imbued with fear.

This is not the way it should be. What he is doing is dangerous, bordering on a crime without the human’s consent, though in response to the slightest push forward, Leonard’s mind opens to Spock’s like a flower would at a hint of sun.

The connection is wrong. It has to be broken.

“Don’t!” Leonard grabs Spock’s wrist to stop his hand from lifting away, that intention—or the feeling of it—somehow translating between them.

“Doctor, this is…” Not safe. Not allowed.

“It’s amazing,” Leonard answers for him, his tone dazed, yet holding a hint of defiance. “Your mind, Spock, it’s like… cool glass.”

“You can feel my mind?”

“Mm,” the other man says, and there is wonder in that sound. “Can a mind be a glasshouse? Very stark, all clean lines. Nothing is hidden but everything has its proper place.”

Spock has never heard of a description such as this before. Nor has he encountered someone who would picture a Self thus through a traditional kash-nohv.

Leonard’s tone lightens but his words are no less sincere. “You’re very beautiful.”

Spock thinks he understands what Leonard is trying to tell him. There is beauty to be found in the workings of the human’s mind as well. But with regret, he has to dismiss the flattering remark in lieu of addressing what holds more priority. “I must break our connection now, Doctor.”

“But why?”

Spock can only answer with the truth. “I must think on what has transpired between us, and I wish my mind to be my own when I do so.”

There is a wave of understanding from McCoy, colored by embarrassment, as the man absorbs what Spock is saying—and what he is not. “Oh,” Leonard murmurs faintly. Then, with more strength, “All right. I’m sorry.”

Spock draws to the bare edges of Leonard’s consciousness, the veiling around the mind, and suppressing a quick sense of loss, closes the open connection between them, at the same time lifting his fingertips from the psy-points along the human’s cheekbone and nose.

Silence hangs between them for a long moment.

Spock lowers his hand as he studies the play of emotion cross Leonard’s face, not having anticipated how easy it now seems to interpret what the doctor is feeling. The embarrassment is there; disappointment also.

And longing.

“Spock…” Leonard begins, only to pause. A redness infuses his skin. “…What was that?”

“I apologize for the intrusion, Dr. McCoy. I did not ask before I initiated the mind-meld. I should have, but I did not.” He fully understands what he has done—and it is not something he can hide from himself, let alone from the innocent standing before him. “I violated your trust as well as your mind.”

A smile tips up the corners of the other man’s mouth. “First, it’s Leonard. I want you to call me Leonard, Spock. Second, let’s not use that word ‘violate’. I think I’d know if I’d been violated and…” The flush under his skin increases. “…what just happened was not unwelcome.”

“You fail to understand the gravity of the situation, Doctor. Perhaps you may see no harm in the action, but that is not acceptable to me. Would you agree that the touching of our minds was intimate?”

Leonard nods.

“Then, by not first gaining your consent, I have committed an act considered unforgivable. To my people it is kaelat k’lasa, a crime punishable by death.”

Leonard’s eyes widen, and one of his hands takes a hold of Spock’s upper arm. “Don’t say that!”

“I can speak only the truth.”

“Spock!”

He feels for this human. That is also a truth, one which does not surprise Spock however much it should.

Leonard, in his passionate rebuttal, gives Spock’s arm a slight shake. “You’re not listening, you stubborn hobgoblin!”

Has Leonard said something? How unusual that he would not catch it. “Yes, Doctor?”

“Leonard, damn it—Leonard!”

“Very well. Leonard.”

“I said how’d you know there was a lack of consent?”

Spock blinks. “Excuse me?”

“Do you think anybody could just monkey around in my head and some part of me wouldn’t react to that?”

Leonard draws Spock closer; at any moment, they will be pressed chest-to-chest. Leonard does not seem to care about his diminished personal space, so caught up in his rationalization is he.

“I… I recognized you, Spock, or my mind did. It’s like when somebody you know is coming over and you unlock the door in anticipation of their arrival. Once you…” Leonard’s speech falters for a moment. “…you touched my wrist, I just knew what you’d do next. I would have fought you if I’d been afraid.”

“You could not have anticipated it.”

“Why not?” Leonard demands. “Because you’re surprised by it yourself? I’m telling you what I know!”

“Leonard, do not misunderstand my disbelief. I know you are relating the truth to me as you understand it. Yet, logically, that truth does not coincide with fact. The first joining of our minds occurred only moments ago.”

The human swallows hard. “Could we be wrong?”

Spock watches him, trying to reconcile what the man is implying with what he knows.

“Could it… not be our first time, Spock?” Leonard’s gaze implores him to allow for the possibility.

“I do not see how.”

“But I know you.”

“As I know you,” he answers on instinct. “Doctor…” After careful consideration of his next words, Spock requests, “Leonard, you must let go of me.”

Startled, Leonard looks at his fingers wrapped around Spock’s arm, as if he’d forgotten they were still touching. “Oh.” Leonard releases him.

“You must also grant me time to consider my action. Can you do this, Leonard?”

“Will you be all right?”

That would be an odd question coming from any other person but Leonard McCoy. “I assure you that I will.”

The man nods and steps back.

Spock feels a pang of disappointment at the loss of their physical nearness. The feeling could be the result of emotional transference, but Spock recognizes the flavor of his own emotions, despite what little use he normally has of them. For a brief second, he imagines himself asking Leonard to stay while he meditates.

…That thought has no origin, either.

Spock locks his hands behind his back. Something is wrong with him. How the wrongness relates to Leonard McCoy is unknown. But he does acknowledge there can be no hope of an answer until he makes a proper evaluation of the state of his mind.

With Leonard watching him, his thoughts seem to give a collective shiver. A part of him, the tightly controlled facet of his Self that somehow slipped its leash during the kash-nohv, wants to reach out and force his way back into Leonard’s mind. It wants to create an anchor point there where it can always return.

Spock still retains the power to deny it, but Leonard must go. He hears himself dismiss the man with a rather terse “Good night, Doctor.”

Leonard trails to the door of Spock’s quarters, the line of his shoulders speaking of reluctance and a clear hope Spock will stop him. Spock does not. When the door slides closed upon the doctor’s retreating figure, the Vulcan unclenches the grip of his hands upon each other and turns toward the part of the room he reserves for the rite of meditation.

In the end, he only discovers two things: he is attracted to the fiery, colorful brightness of Leonard’s mind in a way that could be both wholly satisfying and very dangerous; and yet more surprising than that…

He is already bonded to the human.

Leonard, the bond whispers silkily to Spock, is part of what it means to be whole. Find him and do not let him go!

But there is a truth missing. He must have let the human go once before, or there would not be an utter lack of memory of being bonded. There would not be this odd slippery sheen to any of his memories dating farther back than a few weeks, which makes them fly out of his grasp when he reaches for them.

Would the same thing happen if he ventures into McCoy’s mind again? Would the memories seem odd and grey and misshapen?

And should he explain to Leonard how they are bound?

The questions compile at an alarming rate and wear at an already tired mind long into the evening. When Spock comes back to himself, some several minutes past the beginning of his shift (thereby alarming most of the staff scheduled to work alongside him), he is no better prepared to face McCoy than he was when he asked the man to leave his room.

Then there is a reason to temporarily turn aside his preoccupation with McCoy. Jim returns to the Enterprise midway through beta shift, features drawn and a pallor to his skin that indicates illness.

Spock offers to walk him down to Sickbay.

“Request denied,” Kirk rebuffs him in a flat voice, brushing past to the door of the Ready Room.

This does not make sense to Spock, particularly when the offer had been nothing less than a barely disguised method to inform the Captain the First Officer deemed a visit to Sickbay for him quite necessary. He turns the conn over to Engineer Scott, who looks as shocked as the rest of the personnel on the Bridge, and enters the Ready Room.

The way Jim has braced his arm against the wall suggests he is barely supporting his own weight. Kirk does not turn around at Spock’s approach, only says, “Must we do this again, Mr. Spock?”

“I do not know to what you refer, Captain. If you are unwell, you should go to the medical bay.” There is an alternative Jim might not protest so fiercely. “Or, if discretion is required, I could make a private call to Dr. McCoy.”

The human’s laugh is abrupt and bitter.

“Captain?”

Jim’s arm slips from the wall as he turns sideways, not quite addressing Spock face-to-face but acknowledging him nonetheless. The muscles of his jaw spasm as if he means to speak but is prevented from doing so.

Spock moves closer, preparing to catch the man should he suffer a collapse. Certainly he looks as though he is going to.

But Jim surprises him. “Spock,” the man says at last, “I need you to promise me something.”

Spock waits for the rest.

“…If you have a chance to learn a truth or be content with what you have, choose the contentment.”

“Should the truth be deemed unnecessary, then?” Spock feels he must ask.

“Truth is never unnecessary—but it can hurt.” Kirk’s body shudders with a sigh. “It can kill too. So for both our sakes, just let yourself be happy.”

As if that final plea takes the rest of the strength from him, Jim’s knees give way. Spock is quick to catch him under the arms and prevent the meeting with the floor from being entirely painful.

“Captain!”

Jim gives Spock a wan smile. “Better call the doctor now, Commander. I guess I’m dying after all.”

The frank admission frightens Spock more than he can say.

Next Part

Related Posts:

• Forget Me Not (10/10) – from April 1, 2013
• Forget Me Not (9/10) – from April 1, 2013
• Forget Me Not (8/10) – from March 18, 2013
• Forget Me Not (7/?) – from March 12, 2013
• Forget Me Not (6/?) – from March 6, 2013