Title: No Escaping the Doctor
Author: klmeri
Fandom: Star Trek TOS
Characters: Kirk, Spock, McCoy
Disclaimer: Do not own so do not sue, please.
Summary: Following the episode “This Side of Paradise”; McCoy designates a time to talk with Jim and Spock.

Today is a day of remorse; a day to remind oneself that no creature in this galaxy is perfect, nor shall the Enterprise stumble upon such a thing as perfection personified. They, as a unit, learn this lesson time and again; it never gets any easier to accept or less despairing a fact.

The harmony and unnaturalness of Omicron Ceti III brings the issue home to Leonard McCoy. The gift is of reward without labor, a dreamland that McCoy became easily lost in as he sat under a shady tree with a mint-julep drink in hand. The illusion is not of his own making, not at his request, but nonetheless an augmentation of a personal longing for peace and tranquility. In those moments, he anguished not about other worlds—other people to help, to save—or the ship and his responsibility looming in orbit some thousands and thousands of miles above the colony. He did not think of home (Earth) or that one child which cares his genes and calls him Daddy. He, quite simply, forgot to care. No matter if Leonard never hears Joanna’s sweet Southern lilt again, if Jim might have need of a friendly shoulder when a mission goes terribly wrong. No secret joy for those knock-down-drag-out (verbal) spars with Spock over the “trivialities” between Vulcans and Humans.

It all goes away, lost in an unnerving empty happiness at feeling the condensation of a cold drink against his fingers. Later, when he is back in his right mind—strangely unsettled—and in the sterile environment of Sickbay checking one-by-one that no crewman suffers ill effects from the toxin in the those “happy flowers” (as his poor deprived brain sums up the entire fiasco), he ignores the little sighs and depressed noises of his patients and attempts to stifle his own similar reaction.

Doctor McCoy puts it out of his mind and goes on with his life’s work. He administers mood-enhancers to a few lowly ensigns, spends the next week counseling the better half of the Enterprise crew on the value of accomplishment, listening to small admissions of loss and grief for a utopia that cannot be. In a matter of weeks, the crew is right again—patched up as well as can be (needs to be, literally, he eventually discovers)—and back to their assignments and routines with little fuss.

Spock does not seek him; this McCoy accepts as unsurprising. He decides to finish up the simpler cases first and tackle that mountain when his energy has been properly conserved. Spock can wait, as good as the Vulcan is at packing emotions and normal psychological reactions into a tight little “nonexistent” ball.

Jim does not come to him, either. Leonard is disturbed, though again unsurprised, because Captain Kirk may be the savior yet again, but the man came close to succumbing to the Omicron Ceti III Incident like the rest of his crew. And from what McCoy can tell, Jim has not entertained notions of talking with his First Officer in lieu of going to Doctor McCoy.

That will have to change, if only because McCoy needs a bit of reassurance himself. When he knows that those two are alright, functional and healing, then it will soothe some of the more jagged edges of his own unhappiness.

The only good kind of confrontation with two blocked-headed men is the tactical surprise kind. So Leonard plans and waits until just the right time. Unfortunately, the Captain and then that blasted hobgoblin seem to catch wind of his scheming. If he stops in for random surveillance of the Captain’s duties, then Kirk gives him that narrow-eyed assessment and before Leonard knows which way is up, he’s being rousted from the Captain’s quarters by a testy yeoman, or Kirk is inexplicably needed on the Bridge. Spock, of course, does not deign to use other individuals as buffers; he merely states that his time is limited and would the Doctor please make his appointment brief. That pisses McCoy off more than it frustrates him, so they never do end up having a heart-to-heart (but come close to a shouting match or two—on the Doctor’ s side).

The drastic measure is taken by way of Engineer Scott, whom McCoy plies with a promise of several bottles of scotch and one pass for a “less-invasive” physical examination in the near future. (Why Scotty gets so up-in-arms about a little prodding and poking is beyond Leonard.) So he waits until the end of the same shift for both the Vulcan and the Captain, has Scotty comm them to Engineering “urgently” and makes himself available in the near vicinity. When Spock and Kirk file into an empty turbolift, bemused, McCoy slides in to join them at the last second. It’s probably his big-toothed grin that alerts the men to something underhanded afoot.

Nevertheless, Leonard bounces once, twice, and greets them both.

“Doctor,” Spock answers, blank-faced and professional per usual. Kirk is a little more cautious (Human) in his “Bones.”

McCoy’s counting the quiet beep-beeps of the lift as they pass each deck. When his count hits thirty, he surreptiously leans against the wall and braces his feet, arms crossed.

The lift passes Deck 31, gives a groan of complaint, then a squeak and goes still. The lighting flickers ominously red but stays on.

Lift Malfunction, a monotone computerized voice announces. Maintenance crew alerted. Lift malfunction. Maintenance crew alerted.

“Well, would ya look at that? Maybe the Fleet’s jipped us with cheap parts. A bad thing to do on the flagship, ain’t it, Spock?”

Spock blinks at him. “The Enterprise meets all mechanical and structural regulations, Doctor.”

Jim frowns between them and smacks a hand on the door. He seems to be puzzling out whether or not they are between decks. “Spock, see if you can get this door open.”

“That would be unwise, Captain.”

McCoy lifts his eyebrow, waiting. Jim does not adhere to patience often. “Problem?”

“Given the lapse of seconds from the last announced deck and the rate at which the lift descends—on average—”

“Spock means to say we’re probably gonna have to squeeze through a space the size of a gopher hole to get outta here. I don’t know about you two, but I just ate.” He gives his stomach a satisfied pat, stretches his arms (pops the shoulder joints) and settles cross-legged onto the floor.

Jim is suspicious, of course. “Why are you so calm, Bones?”

He attempts to look innocent for all of three seconds before giving up. “Scotty’ll start the lift again in another twenty minutes or so.”

He likes to think that he can, on occasion, make the Captain of the Enterprise speechless. Spock—never at a loss for words—informs Doctor McCoy of his highly illogical and regulation-breaking behavior. Leonard waves his statements off with “Consider it using my prerogative as this ship’s CMO and head counselor to give ya’ll some chair-time with me. Seeing as how you two won’t volunteer for an appointment…”

“Bones, I’m in my right mind. What makes you think I need to talk?”

He sighs, and drawls, “Jim, I’ve known you much too long to bother answering that question. Now don’t waste time arguing and have a seat, Captain.”

Jim looks at Spock, who McCoy knows better than to coax into sitting, and seems to twitch to some decision. He decides in McCoy’s favor, obviously, and Leonard is happy for this one small win as Kirk sits down with one knee bent to stare at McCoy eye-to-eye.

“So who wants to go first?”

Spock fixes his gaze somewhere on the lift door and let’s his silence speak for itself. Jim is not a happy camper either, by the look of things.

“A’right. I’ll go first.” He crosses his arms and leans his head against the wall. “I’ve had to dose half of the crew with anti-depressants since Omicron Ceti III, myself included.” He briefly pulls up the sleeve of his blue tunic to show them the patch on his left bicep.

“You didn’t mention this is in the debriefing, Bones.”

“Mmmm,” he makes a noncommittal noise. “Symptoms didn’t start showing up until about a week after we left Ceti III. I ran a few tests on some ensigns that were concerned, and wouldn’t you know it? Same biochemical readings. It seems that an after-effect of the pollen, or rather, getting rid of it is that some of the receptor sites in the brain’s nerve cells are disabled.”

“Fascinating.”

“Sure, Spock, except that it means I had to come up with a way to get ’em working again. I mixed up a cocktail that can be transmitted through this patch.” McCoy taps his upper arm for emphasis. “It has to be changed about three times before the patient starts showing signs of normal neural activity.”

“And the main symptom is depression?” Kirk asks.

“Well, it makes sense, Jim. The pollen affected our inhibitions, like a drug; it amplified happiness to euphoria. I suspect that the neurotransmitters between the cells were working at dangerously high levels; when you and Spock sent out that signal to instigate agitation and anger, the pollen… for a lack of better word, combusted. Any residual damage would take a while to show up.”

Jim nods. “Good work, McCoy, but what does that have to do with Spock and myself?”

“For one, you’ve been avoiding me like the Rigellan plague. Two, you’re both stubborn enough to pretend you don’t need help when you do!” Leonard shoots back.

“I’m not depressed, Bones!”

“Says who? Let a real doctor make that call, Jim.” McCoy switches his fussing. “And you, Mr. Spock, I don’t care how Vulcan you think your brain is, you were affected by that pollen just like the rest of us. I’ve set up an appointment for you with M’Benga, and you’re damned well going to go!”

Spock, surprisingly, gives little argument. “If it satisfies you, Doctor.”

“So you sabotaged the lift just for this?” Jim wearing his Captain-is-not-happy upside-down smile.

McCoy sniffs indignantly. “Hell, no. I could have sent you a missive about this. Truth is, I wanted to round you up for personal inspection.”

Jim wants to know, “Do we pass?”

“Haven’t gotten to it, yet, Jim-boy. Hold your horses.” McCoy looks pointedly first at Kirk, then Spock. “How are things between you two?”

Spock intercedes smoothly, “I do not find your inquiry relevant, Doctor.” Meaning, I don’t care to discuss this with you.

Jim answers for them both. “Things are fine, Bones.”

McCoy eyes them with a purse of his lips. “You sure about that? You haven’t played your usual game of chess in over two weeks.”

The Captain does not fidget, though it’s obvious that his military training is the only thing that prevents Kirk from doing so. “We’ve been busy. Transporting the colonists.”

“And you, Spock? What’s your excuse?”

“I do not require an excuse, Doctor.”

“Oh?” McCoy jumps right in. “Did you ever talk to Miss Kalomi again, while she was onboard?”

Vulcans have their own brand of training, and it’s much more fortified than anything Starfleet can offer. Spock does not flinch, only goes more still—if that’s possible.

Leonard gentles his voice. “Happiness is not such a terrible thing, Mr. Spock. And it doesn’t have to be the extreme that you experienced on Omicron Ceti III.”

“My emotional response was compromised, Doctor, as you have stated. I am Vulcan; the control of my emotions is an imperative in my culture.”

“I’m not asking you to compromise yourself, Spock,” Leonard clarifies. “I’m just saying you don’t have to beat yourself up over something beyond your control. I’m also saying that if you enjoyed your time with Leila, it’s not a reason to punish yourself—or her.”

“Bones is right,” Jim adds.

“Don’t worry, Jim,” McCoy says dryly, “you’ll get your turn.”

The Captain’s amusement is a bit self-deprecating. “I wasn’t under its influence as long as you or Spock.”

“No… but you got to watch your crew abandon you. How fun that must have been!”

“No one abandoned me, McCoy,” Jim’s voice is dark. “Not willingly.”

“Oh, it was pretty darn willing. We all jumped ship like a bunch of mindless children. Did it make you angry?”

Kirk glowers, so McCoy guesses that he is angry—at his prying CMO. He raises both hands in a tiny gesture of defeat. “We’re friends, Jim. Anything said between the three of us, stays between us.” Spock nods once.

Jim loses his anger as quickly as it comes. “You know that I don’t blame any crewmember for their actions, Bones. You know I don’t. But I was very much… afraid—”

The word is hard for Jim to say; McCoy is all sympathy for this man. “—that you wouldn’t be able to fix us in time, or at all.”

The Captain says, “It was luck.”

“It was your iron will,” McCoy corrects. “In some ways, James Tiberius Kirk, you are stronger than the rest of us.” Leonard grins. “‘Guess that’s why you’re the Captain.” He adds, “And it was right smart of you to pick Spock to piss off.”

Jim rubs at his shoulder in memory. “Not so sure of that, Bones,” he says ruefully. “Next time you can fight the enraged Vulcan.”

They smile at each other and look at Spock. The Vulcan has no comment to share. McCoy doubts that Commander Spock has any reservation over pummeling Jim. (After all, haven’t they all wanted to take a swing at the Captain once or twice… when he’s being particularly hard-headed?) No, in fact, McCoy would bet his eye-teeth that that hobgoblin is thinking along the lines of I told you so and he did it to himself.

The lift interrupts the rising (probably unnecessary) grumble about green-blooded elves in McCoy when it gives a little jerk.

“Ah,” McCoy complains. “I shoulda told Scotty thirty minutes instead.”

“What would we accomplish in another ten point thirty three minutes, Doctor?”

“Don’t know or rightly care, Mr. Spock. It’d mean I didn’t have to start on that paperwork drowning my desk.”

Kirk climbs to his feet and offers Leonard a hand up. The lift begins to ascend. (At least Mr. Scott is smart to reroute the turbolift away from Engineering; Leonard doubts he wants an irate Vulcan and Captain on his doorstep.) Jim and Leonard steady each other, and McCoy thinks sourly on how Spock’s never unbalanced, like a damn cat.

“We don’t really need to head down to Engineering, do we?” Jim wants to know. McCoy imagines that Jim, at a later date, will scare Scotty into about three days of unquestionable obedience before the engineer goes back to his old ways.

His eyes might be twinkling. “Nope.”

“Then how about a drink, Bones?” Jim turns to his First Officer. “You are invited too, of course, Mr. Spock.”

“I do not partake of Saurian brandy, Captain.”

The Captain gets that half-smirk that is either a bad thing or a very, very bad thing. (McCoy knows.) “I plan to beat you at chess in under five minutes.”

Leonard laughs into his hand as the Vulcan’s eyebrow displays his doubt at his man’s incredulous claim.

“Jim, that is highly illogical; the probability—”

McCoy cannot help himself; he laughs so hard that he cries. Jim pats him on the back and tows him out of the turbolift when the door slides open. Spock is not far behind.

-Fini

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