Title: Difficulty Engaged (2/?)
Author: klmeri
Fandom: Star Trek AOS
Pairing: Kirk/Spock/McCoy
Summary: During leave, trouble thwarts a good plan and causes Kirk and Spock to accelerate the timeline of their McCoy-centric agenda. But true to form, McCoy is already playing by a set of rules they don’t understand.
Previous Part: 1

The alien called Chee shoves Leonard nearly headfirst into a teetering junk pile inside a cramped storage room, then wrenches him back again when the heap collapses at their feet.

Being jerked around doesn’t suit Leonard at all, and so he levels a glare at his captor. “I’m a doctor, not a rag doll! Where are we going? Make up your damned mind!”

Ruti breezes past McCoy’s shoulder. “You lack common sense to speak so rudely to someone twice your size.”

“And you wouldn’t know anything about rudeness,” Leonard retorts hotly.

She pauses to turn around and peruse him. “Your anger… Pretense to cover fear? Yes, you feel vulnerable.”

Leonard tries to shake off Chee’s grip but fails. “I am angry! Anybody would be at being manhandled like a sack of potatoes and then threatened for good measure!”

“There is no time for politeness.”

“Horseshit.” McCoy’s eyebrows knit together. “You don’t have to do this, and you know it.”

Ruti steps toward him, then. “But I do, Doctor.”

She signals to Chee, who drags Leonard around another leaning junk tower to the darkest corner of the room. There, a form takes shape out of the dark, lying prone across several crates pushed together as a makeshift cot. The humanoid has his face turned to the wall. Even if Leonard’s eyesight had not already adjusted to the darkness well enough to make out the scrapes and bruises, the torn clothing, and bloody knuckles, he would have instinctively known the man is injured.

When he shakes Chee off a second time, he is released. Kneeling beside the cot, he gently turns the slack face toward him. No protest, no reaction—not from McCoy’s captors or the injured being.

“How long has he been like this?”

“She,” corrects Ruti softly, “has been unresponsive for nearly two solar days.”

“A fight?” he questions, inspecting the surface wounds he can see. “What kind of weapons?”

“I cannot answer that.”

Leonard jerks his head up, fixing a look of disapproval upon her. “Think twice before you choose to be unforthcoming. What I don’t know could be more damning to my treating her injuries than you could believe possible.”

“Then you intend to heal her?”

Leonard’s gaze flicks over to the giant Chee. “I doubt I have a choice, but I’ll try my best.” Yes, he would help even if they suddenly decided to dump him into the plaza again. He has never willingly turned his back on the wounded.

Ruti says, “The medkit, Chee, and hurry.” When the hulking beast disappears, her attention returns to Leonard. “You appear intelligent enough to know what will happen if you try to trick us and escape.” Her gaze is considering despite the harsh words. “But while you treat her, you will come to no harm. And if you can save her life, I promise you this: you will be set free.”

He chooses not to contend with her over future events, more concerned with the problem lying unconscious in front of him. “I need more light in this room to work. And extra sheets. Fold them if you can. Makes it easier to change them later so we don’t disturb her wounds.” He pauses after that brusque set of instructions to frown at Ruti. “Well? I know you’re not deaf.”

“You are a doctor,” she confirms, almost wonderingly.

McCoy snorts. “This insignia isn’t a merit badge.” His snort changes to a huff. “Besides, now you’re an honorary nurse. Him too,” he adds, jerking his chin at the return of Chee, who stomps up to him and shoves a battered-looking medkit under his nose with a grunt.

Ruti moves to Chee’s side and says something to him in an undertone using a language Leonard doesn’t know or can easily replicate. Chee growls, “We have none in this place, but I shall find some,” and trudges away again.

Leonard simply shakes his head. Ruti kneels near him, taking hold of his patient’s hand. The act speaks of an intimacy he deliberately pretends to be obtuse to and settles on inspecting the medkit’s contents. Removing a bottle, he says, “Here,” and places it next to Ruti. “This sterilizes the skin. Use some on your hands first, and then clean her cuts carefully.”

Next, retrieving a small handheld scanner of a model dated back at least a decade but thankfully still functional, he adjusts the device to a broad spectrum. A soft whirring sound fills the space as it begins to pick up readings.

Ruti says, “We haven’t much time.”

“She definitely doesn’t have time,” he agrees, dismayed at the growing list of results in the scanner’s feed. “There’s been internal hemorrhaging. You’re lucky she isn’t dead.”

“I speak of my cousin’s ship.”

He glances up. “What you said wasn’t a complete lie, then?”

She cannot miss the sarcasm in his words but she seems to ignore it. Her stare, fixed on the patient’s face, is troubled. “When he arrives, she will die—by his hand.”

That sounds like a family problem McCoy doesn’t want to get mixed up in. “What you mean is, y’all have to be gone by then.”

“Regardless of her injuries.” Ruti looks away briefly. When she turns to Leonard, she repeats, “If you save her, you will be set free.”

Somehow, Leonard doesn’t find that reassurance at all comforting. But he says nonetheless, “Then help me.”

Surprisingly, Ruti does.

Jim is rattled, and Spock cannot regret being the cause of that.

When Kirk first approached him with a concise (clearly rehearsed) explanation of why they should create a partnership to better determine how to win Leonard McCoy’s affections, Spock was well aware the motivation behind such a unique proposal was not simple in nature. An acquaintance might assume lust had overridden forethought and discretion, given that Kirk has never been shy concerning the pleasures of the flesh. But a friend who knows the man would also know Jim is too smart to sate a trifling desire at the cost of a friendship, not McCoy’s, not Spock’s.

No, to warrant these actions—the caution, the deep consideration, and the detailed planning—the man’s true purpose is evident, even to one still learning to interpret human behavior such as Spock: Jim Kirk is in love.

Therefore, how could Spock not read between the lines of their agreed-upon arrangement? He knows of love, its peculiarities, and purely illogical facets. Often those bound by love think nothing of taking profound risks, as Jim wishes to do—as Spock himself is doing. This ‘mission’ (as Kirk so fondly refers to their mutual objective) is not about asking a friend to assist in swaying McCoy’s heart. Jim is asking Spock to allow him to love McCoy, to simultaneously share in Spock’s love for McCoy and, finally, to love Spock the same way.

No aspect of which would be a great hardship. The plan is reasonable, equitably balanced, and deeply satisfying.

But of course humans appear to have difficulty acknowledging what they truly desire, presenting instead some thinned-down, socially acceptable version of their needs to any party whose judgment carries weight. Yet Spock cannot imagine why Jim feels he is unable to accept the truth, but an odd instinct has prevented Spock from pressing for a reason too deeply, at least for the moment. In actuality, there is someone who can cut past Kirk’s pretenses without reserve or regret. That man stands at the core of Jim and Spock’s union.

And is also missing. Unfortunately.

“There,” Jim declares, pointing ahead. “He has to be over there!”

Spock’s dark eyes locate the sign that despite the distance is easy enough to read, being brightly lit in garish red and flashing with regularity to project the claim, Free Booze.

He arches one eyebrow. “Captain, you do realize Dr. McCoy is not an alcoholic. He rarely imbibes outside of social encounters.”

“You didn’t meet him before he got over his divorce.”

Spock acknowledges the prick of a moment’s annoyance. “Jim.”

Jim huffs, an amused sound. “At ease, Spock. I’m not attempting to malign Bones’ good character.” He glances away, then back again, before proceeding to pick a circuitous path toward the lounge beneath the sign. “Bones makes a hobby of trying off-brand liquors. We should try looking at places that are highly regarded for their wide selections.”

That suggestion makes more sense. Spock detaches the small personal data padd from his uniform that he had been using to record his observations of McCoy earlier that day. A quick search yields interesting results.

“That establishment appears to be in low regard. One patron has commented that the free offerings ‘taste of horse-piss’.” His other eyebrow climbs upward to join its twin. “Apparently the topless dancers negate this travesty.”

Jim immediately switches their direction. “So, striking that from the list. Your turn. Where else can we look?”

Spock taps the screen for a few seconds. “There are places which fit your suggestion, but most do not open for another three hours, seventeen minutes, and forty-one point one seconds. One of them has been closed down by the local authorities after a raid of their illegal gambling ring, and the only remaining choice is known to be run by a high-ranking member of the Rigellan mob. Fascinating.”

Kirk comes to a standstill, raking fingers through his hair. Then he and Spock have to react quickly to sidestep a large alien shoving unmindfully through the throng of tourists and shoppers, whereupon Kirk’s gaze sharpens with annoyance and trails after the offender until he has vanished from their sight.

Oddly, however, when Jim’s attention returns to Spock, the look in his eyes inexplicably bleak. “If Bones isn’t secluded in a bar somewhere, then… I don’t know. Spock, my mind goes nowhere else.” Kirk sighs through his nose. “Sad, isn’t it? That his best friend can’t figure him out.”

Perhaps this is a hint as to why Jim seems reluctant to express the totality of his feelings. He isn’t certain he is a fit for McCoy—or Spock?

Spock is confident in saying, “I do not believe this scenario is evidence to support that conjecture. Nor do I support that statement in general, which is hardly logical given the fact Dr. McCoy himself has said you know him best.”

“You always know the right thing to say, Spock,” Jim replies, a hint of a smile in his voice.

Spock does not think so, but he recognizes the remark for what it is, a tacit request for advice. And so he gives exactly that, as their next step seems plainly obvious. “By no means is our goal impossible, Jim, as naturally…” The Vulcan breaks off to look around, spies what he is searching for, and without preamble heads toward it. “The best solution is the simplest one.”

Soon, he arrives abreast of a short, rotund Terran in conversation with a civilian gesticulating effusively at a storefront and politely calls, “Excuse me, Officer.”

When Jim finally catches up to Spock, his reaction surprises Spock: an unexpected leap between Spock and his quarry in the same moment the patrolman turns to Spock. The human has a small edible lifted halfway to his mouth, no doubt taken from the small plastic sack sticking out of the top of his pants pocket.

“We have lost our companion,” Spock says, only to have his explanation loudly overridden by Jim interjecting, “Sorry to bother you, Officer! As you were!” while snapping up a handful of Spock’s tunic to yank Spock aside.

The officer looks at them in confusion.

As Jim is pivoting Spock away, Spock successfully disengages the grip on his clothing with a defense maneuver Kirk had once used during a sparring session and completes the full turn to once again face the patrol officer. “Sir,” he repeats, “we have lost our companion and wish to request a search party of—”

“Mister Spock.”

Spock closes his mouth at his captain’s snapping tone and twists at the waist to find Jim with an expression torn between anger and disbelief and the color deepening in his face.

Then, with a plunk, the edible falls from their audience’s suddenly trembling fingers to the sidewalk.
The officer is gaping, but it isn’t Spock he is staring at.

“Captain Kirk?” the man gasps.

Another sharper voice remarks, “What did you say? Kirk?” The civilian leans into sight from around the gawking officer, the hallmarks of irritation replaced by excitement. “By Whixspittle’s Purse, it is him!”

The patrolman lurches forward and grabs both of Jim’s hands. “It’s an honor, sir! A real honor!”

Others nearby have taken note of the scene; some curious bystanders begin to drift closer for a better look.

With a tight smile, Jim surreptitiously works to free his hands. “Yes, hello there.”

Spock asserts, “We need your assistance,” somewhat bemused by the unexpected turn in the conversation.

The officer looks to him, then, as if finally aware he exists, before slowly turning back to Kirk and snapping to attention. “Captain, I am at your service!” he bellows, and Spock experiences momentary regret as the sound nearly deafens him.

“What can I do to assist you?” the officer then begs.

Spock decidedly does not approve of the human’s smitten tone and points out, “You could release his hands.”

The fellow glances down, gasps then flushes and finally lets his silent captive go with an embarrassed declaration of “My deepest apologies!”

Kirk lowers his arms to his sides. “It’s all right, no harm done.” The fleeting glance he gives Spock is filled with resignation, though his tone remains deceptively measured. “Forgive us for our intrusion.”

The civilian slides all the way out from behind the officer, grinning broadly. “A visit from the poster boy of Starfleet. Why this almost makes a terrible day good again!” He produces a data padd out of nowhere. “Can I have your autograph, Captain?”

The patrolman flushes a second time and bats the civilian aside. “Don’t pester the Captain, Murtee! Go back to your shop.”

“Autographs are a lucrative business,” retorts Murtee the shop owner. “And I’ve already been ousted from a decent profit today by that little flitflat thief who stole two of my bestsellers. You stop pestering him, and find her!”

The officer rounds on the shop owner then. “Every day you say someone steals from you when what’s really going on is you sold those ‘missing’ wares out your back door. Then you come to me so you can claim a loss and a tax break!”

Murtee’s eyes bug out, his four antennae wobbling with outrage. “A-Are you calling me a cheat, Huido? I’m NOT LYING! I told you, some cutsie little flitflat—!”

Jim catches Spock’s arm and draws him quietly backward. This time Spock goes with him, as it is readily apparent dealing with these… fans… will be more of a distraction than a boon in finding the errant McCoy.

“You’re a cheat and a bad friend!” Officer Huido flings his arms wide, yelling now. “I don’t have time for this! I have a decorated starship captain who needs my—”

“You noodle-brained ungrateful sack of Human!’ snarls his friend at full volume. “YOU DON’T DESERVE MY PRECIOUS NOUGATS!”

With an alarmingly high-pitched shriek, the shopkeeper snatches at the sack of edibles from his friend’s pocket. In retaliation, Huido delivers a nasty kick to Murtee’s shin, then clings for dear life to his end of the sack. Thus abused, the sack tears open during the resulting tug-of-war, and nougat pieces go flying everywhere.

“Hurry!” Jim whispers with urgency now, and Spock sees why. Beyond the gathering onlookers, more port officers are tumbling out of a hovercraft in their haste to reach the fighting pair, who have gone from shoving each other to flinging things alongside their colorful curses—nougats, foliage, unrecycled trash.

Kirk and Spock divest themselves of the situation quickly, diving past parties of people until they are able to whip around a corner into a narrow passageway between two buildings. There Jim stops, planting a hand against a wall, breathing in gulps of air. Spock shifts to block the view of him, should anyone be curious enough to stop and stare.

“Jim?” he questions.

Kirk straightens up, his breathing calmed but a tinge of lingering hoarseness in his voice from breathing hard. “Okay, let’s not do that again.”

“How did you know…?” Spock pauses, uncertain of how to phrase his question without giving offense, but it appears he doesn’t need to.

Jim finishes, “How did I know making a simple request would cause ridiculous fanfare?” The man sighs. “I’ve already turned down several invitations for a meet-and-greet with the Chief of Port and his eager staff. Word would have spread by now.”

Spock stills. “You did not mention this.”

Kirk’s fist falls away from the wall, his tone softening. “We’re Starfleet, Spock. Our reputations will always proceed us, even off-duty. Well, so much for a simple pitstop-turned-vacation.”

Spock doubts his own reputation is of much consequence, considering that the patrol officer failed to notice him, but it is logical that Jim, whose name has already become famous (and in some places notorious) across the galactic quadrants, would have a different experience.

“I regret that I did not consider the possibility,” he says.

Jim steps forward, giving the Vulcan’s shoulder a brief squeeze. “I prefer you don’t think that way. I want to be an ordinary guy to you.”

Impossible, determines Spock. There is nothing ordinary in who Jim is to Spock, from his captain to his friend to potentially more. But he keeps that thought private for now.

“C’mon,” Kirk says, stepping around Spock to the mouth of the alley, “let’s find Bones before something truly bad happens.”

“Such as?”

“Someone plastering my face across the news dockets,” Jim murmurs, who then does a full body shake like a canine shedding water, as though that remark is an unwelcome omen.

“If we cannot use public resources to identify Dr. McCoy’s whereabouts,” Spock muses as they try to blend inconspicuously back into the foot traffic, “perhaps we can use our own.” He pulls out his padd. “I will modify this device’s locator app to function similarly to that of a tricorder.”

“You’d have to know the code makeup of Bones’ bio-signature.”

“I do.”

Jim looks at him askance. “Are you serious?”

“I do not joke, Jim.”

After a moment, his captain blinks. “Mine too?”

“Affirmative.”

Kirk chokes, then, but says nothing else.

Spock breaks from the crowd to settle on a bench. Jim doesn’t sit down too, instead flanking the bench with arms crossed, no doubt appointing himself watch-guard while Spock is occupied.

The program code and adjoining mathematics come with familiar ease, giving Spock time to consider other aspects of this current predicament and his work at the same time. Jim is correct, of course, usually is when his intuition comes to play: he and Spock are at their best when partnered, and Spock has no doubts that their mission will end successfully, however many layers and nuances that mission takes. Some might think it arrogant of Spock to assume that failure is impossible, but in this matter, he makes use of intuition of his own.

The doctor is fascinated with him, though McCoy must think Spock too obtuse to pick up the hints. The captain is clearly offering his heart to him, though Jim also thinks Spock too obtuse to recognize this. Easy enough to forgive both for that obtuseness, but also easy enough to use it to his advantage.

But first, the key component has to be retrieved—and where Leonard McCoy has gotten to, this modified little program will reveal to them soon.

Related Posts:

• Difficulty Engaged (11/11) – from June 29, 2020
• Difficulty Engaged (10/11) – from June 28, 2020
• Difficulty Engaged (9/10) – from June 21, 2020
• Difficulty Engaged (8/10) – from June 12, 2020
• Difficulty Engaged (7/10) – from November 29, 2019