Title: The Man Who Never Was (6/6)
Author: klmeri
Fandom: Star Trek TOS
Characters: Kirk, Spock, McCoy
Summary: After a seemingly benign encounter with a new race of beings, the Enterprise is less one member of its crew; and unfortunately getting him back may be impossible, as the man can only be reclaimed if those who wish for his return can prove his value to them. Except there is a catch: no one remembers who he is.
Previous Parts: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5
Or read at AO3

Saving Doctor McCoy

Several minutes are required for the rapid-fire bursts of clamoring voices to die down in the Hall so that the Talrek Council’s opening ceremonial speeches can be heard. Even then, a murmuring remains among the vast number of Enterprise officers, one which dips and rises in intervals in accordance with the boring and arrogant quality of the speeches. Leonard, ousted from his favorite darkened corner of the Hall because every nook and cranny is packed with familiar faces, climbs a set of stairs cursing lightly under his breath. He has yet to find an entrance to one of the second-story balconies, though standing on one is not necessary to hear what is occurring. The stones of the palace reverberate with the sounds of the on-going petition, as if the palace itself isn’t able to contain the unusual event. What is normally a soft and unhurried air about the Talrek and their daily lives has fled in the wake of general disorganization.

McCoy brushes along a tapestried wall until he reaches an archway. He peers tentatively through it only to have a Talrekian sweep past him and almost knock him to the floor. “Hey!” Leonard cries in surprise.

The Talrekian—a female—pauses in her rush. Her eyes widen as she recognizes who he is. “It is you!”

He touches a hand to his hair in an absent, uncertain gesture. “Me who?”

“Doctor,” she says with more authority, “this is most unusual. Come—come with me!”

He is summarily dragged from his spot, protests unheeded, and the Talrekian resumes her pace with Leonard in tow. How she bustles so quickly down the narrow corridor, Leonard cannot fathom. He says stiltedly, lacking enough breath to do little more than talk in short bursts, “Where—where are—we goin’? Miss—oh, excuse me.” He apologizes quickly after they turn a corner and Leonard side-smacks into another body.

A young male looks him over, inhaling sharply, before rounding on the female. “You brought him here?”

She narrows her eyes. “Why would I not?”

Leonard isn’t about to get in the middle of an obvious pissing contest. He raises his hands. “I’ll just go back.”

“No, doctor,” his defender snaps out quickly then takes his arm and pulls him between a set of dark curtains. “This is a rite for you. You are welcome to join us.”

Leonard forgets his reply the moment he steps onto the balcony crowded with Talrekians. Some of the people stare at him askance; others ignore his presence while a few of the Talrek at the far end of the balcony begin to whisper low and fierce among themselves. The doctor, however, only has eyes for the view below. The sight of the red, blue, and gold uniforms staining the large open area, a normally austere and cold place, strikes him hard in an unexpected way.

“Doctor?” the female Talrekian queries.

Leonard realizes she is staring intently at his face. He lifts his hand to his cheek; his fingers come back wet at the tips. The doctor’s face reddens. “Ignore me,” he drawls and returns to his observation of the showdown between the Council and the Enterprise crew.

Silly fools, and Leonard is the silliest of them all.

He wants badly to go down there and stand with them. Spock had said, when McCoy initially tried to follow the Vulcan, quite sincerely, “This is our fight for you, Doctor, not your fight for us.”

But it is, Spock, he thinks. I’m sorry I can’t do more.

The leader of the Council stands. “The session begins. Captain Kirk, we ask you: why is the return of your officer of importance?”

McCoy can only see Jim from behind but that stance is utterly familiar. He is not surprised when Jim puts his back to the Council and calls out to his crew, “Anyone?”

Medical simultaneously raises their hands. It’s Dr. M’Benga who breaks from the line of Leonard’s staff. “Permission to address the question, Captain.”

Kirk, saying nothing, smiles and steps aside for M’Benga.

“Only Captain Kirk may—” interjects the leader.

“Shut up!” yells someone from the back of the Hall.

Kirk coughs into his hand before mildly reminding his errant flock, “Manners.”

Leonard thinks Spock is pretending to be deaf to the grumbling and snickering from a group of red-shirts. Scotty, standing among them, grins at one of his lads with an almost parental pride.

“Oh Lord,” mutters McCoy. His female companion wants to know if there is a problem. The doctor looks at her then to the row of seated Council members. “The problem’s theirs,” he says without an ounce of pity.

M’Benga clears his throat. Leonard refocuses his attention on the man, the nervous tickling in the pit of his stomach increasing further. The railing of the balcony grows slippery beneath his damp palms. When Geoff starts talking, he is drawn forward, straining to catch every word; whether he does so with anticipation or apprehension, he simply cannot tell.

“I am Doctor M’Benga,” begins the doctor, “CMO…current CMO of the starship Enterprise.”

“We know who you are not,” interrupts the Talrekian leader. “Captain Kirk has the privilege of Speaker.”

Yet Kirk stays silent, and M’Benga presses on determinedly. “I claim that privilege temporarily, for I am the voice of my entire department when I say I am appalled by what you have done to us. The brain is a delicate organ, both for life and thought, yet you showed little concern for the health of several hundred beings by playing with their minds on a whim. No matter how you rationalize your actions, they aren’t condoned by any law or moral code. What appalls me further is that you feel no guilt for doing so.”

“Our actions are not under investigation.” The leader says again, voice frozen, “Why is the return of your officer of importance?”

M’Benga crosses his arms and asks, gaze steady upon the Council though he clearly is not addressing them, “Well?”

“He’s ours!” comes the fierce united cry of the men and women in a half-circle behind M’Benga.

The leader tucks his hands into his sleeves. “You feel possessive of a man you do not know. Why?”

“We know him,” M’Benga clarifies. “We see him out of the corners of our eyes, and we sense him next to us at a patient’s bedside. You can keep us from remembering, sir, but you cannot stop us from feeling his loss. He needs to be where he belongs—where he is missed—and that’s with us.”

M’Benga glances at Spock and nods. Spock inclines his head in return.

The Vulcan First Officer addresses the Council: “I cannot answer your inquiry on behalf of every Enterprise officer, but such a course would also be unnecessary as we are prepared to let each officer make an individual appeal. I will only offer my personal appeal.”

The leader is on the verge of making an undoubtedly pithy reply when another Talrekian overrides him. “You may continue, First Officer Spock. Why is the return of your officer of importance… to you?”

“The doctor…the human Doctor Leonard McCoy—”

The oduni narrows his eyes at Spock.

“—is both my equal and my opposite in ways which no other person could be. I find he is a necessary component for equilibrium in my command responses—and private reactions. It is he who has helped me understand the difference between who I am and who I should be, that uniqueness is a strength and not a weakness. In addition, through his generosity of spirit and his compassion, I see the greater purpose of an officer’s duty at work. I am continuously reminded of what it is the Federation, and thereby Starfleet, seeks to preserve in this galaxy: it is the intrinsically good nature which Doctor McCoy embodies. I beseech you for his return. He is needed aboard the Enterprise—all of these beings standing before you need him—as a teacher, as a healer, and most assuredly as a friend.”

If the officers who came down to the planet solely at the request of their captain, not fully understand the reason for the request, had misgivings, those doubts could not hold up under the speech of the First Officer. To hear Mr. Spock speak so candidly, so openly and without shame for one man—one human—touches them all.

The sense of unity in the room heightens, becomes palpable. The thought Give him back to us! could almost be plucked from the air.

Captain Kirk joins Spock. “You have heard his testimony. His words are our words. Will you return our officer?”

Before any other Council member can speak, the oduni stands up and cries, “His testimony is invalid! He has broken the rite!”

“All he did was push past the obstacle you created to ensure our failure!” roars Kirk in retaliation.

Spock’s “Captain” is a gentle reminder. Kirk takes a deep, shuddering breath before continuing on. He slowly and purposely lets his gaze trail across the seated Council, ignoring the leader altogether.

“We won’t give up. We will keep coming back, in greater numbers than you can imagine, for the doctor. He is one of us, and we would not forsake him, nor leave him to your mercy. We will fight to remember him, too, even if we must damage our minds to do so. What my First Officer has accomplished is only the beginning of this battle.”

“Battle?” repeats one of the Council, alarmed.

“See how barbaric the human is?” implores the oduni. “He talks of war!”

“You stole my Chief Medical Officer. That is an act of war.”

Another Talrekian says, “He stayed with us willingly.”

“You stole my right to remember him. It’s the same difference to me—and it will be to any other authority in Starfleet or the Federation.”

The Talrek look at one another, nodding. “We have heard your words and the testimonies.”

“There are more of both to be heard,” Kirk says, unrelenting. To give credence to his statement, several officers push to the front of the crowd to stand near the Vulcan and the captain.

The Council rises as one body. “We will convene to deliberate upon your petition.”

Whether Kirk would have protested that or not is never to be known; the leader of the Council protests for him. “There is no decision to make! Petition is denied.”

The other Talrek turn on the oduni. “You are our Speaker but not our Voice,” he is told.

“I am oduni. I am the power which binds them.” He throws his hands wide to indicate the Hall of officers. “I am the power which binds us!“

Scotty whispers to no one in particular, “I think that one’s cracked.”

Spock answers, “Undoubtedly so, Mr. Scott.”

Jim folds his arms and makes his opinion known. “The oduni is clearly biased to our plea. We claim forfeiture of the petition, for how can we have a fair chance at winning if the oduni is incapable of being swayed?”

The leader glares down at Kirk, silver eyes sharp like the edge of a blade, and as if on cue Jim’s hands fly to clutch at his temples. Scotty catches the man on one side, Spock on the other, as Jim staggers back under intense pain.

That is the spark igniting the fire; the Hall fills with the angry protests of Kirk’s crew, some officers shoving forward to get at the Talrek while others—notably Security—try to contain the near-riot and warn everyone to remain where they are. It would be a quick and certain rise to pandemonium. Even the Talrekians high up in the balconies are struck by the hive of activity.

Someone shouts, his voice drowned in dozens, “Let me through! Damn you, move outta my way!” The person pushes to the forefront of the chaos but nowhere near Captain Kirk. He climbs up onto the platform, almost face-to-face with the oduni, and says “I told you not to hurt him!” Then, to the cheers of the Starfleet ensemble and the mutual horror of the Talrek, his fist connects with the Talrekian’s nose in a satisfying crunch.

The man looks at the other Talrek. “Is this fun for you? It’s obviously fun for him!” He gestures at the shocked oduni crumpled in a pile of robes on the floor. “If you think for a second that the Federation is going to offer friendship and protection to a people who see other races as lesser beings, who would treat them like puppets, think again. None of this was about me. It was about your damn pride and, frankly, I pity the lot of you. This—all of this—it’s over.” He walks off the platform, stride unchecked, and into the crowd of officers who part for him with respectful, if uncertain, sir!‘s and looks of wonder.

The man, who is the missing crewman, steps up to Kirk’s side with a sharp and concerned “Captain?”

Jim, whose pain had dispersed as soon as the doctor clocked the oduni, answers with admiration. “Doctor.”

Engineer Scott adds, “Och, do I wish I could remember yer name, Doctor. That was a fine right hook!”

McCoy’s expression switches from grave to sheepish. “Not the smartest thing I’ve ever done.”

“Indeed,” interjects the Vulcan before anyone else. “I found it a rather typical display of human overreaction—”

McCoy narrows his eyes at Spock.

“—despite that it might have had a desired effect upon the Talrek.”

The group turns as one to watch the Council, who stare down at the oduni and mutter among themselves. Surprisingly, no one has offered to help the leader to his feet. Eventually a pair of Talrek pick their way down from the platform to the level of the petitioners as nominated representatives of the group. Captain Kirk meets them halfway.

“Violence is not permitted on the palace grounds,” states the older of the two Talrekians. “Yet we will concede that it is one of our own who instigated the first act of violence against your person, Captain Kirk. For this, you have our sincerest apology and our regret.”

James Kirk is silent. He is a man who knows when to outwait an enemy.

The other Talrekian bows in haste. She says, “I am oduni, Captain Kirk of the Enterprise. I am a Speaker of my people. I say that we are not taught to be ill-wishers or power-seekers. It is not our way.” The female touches her forehead in a strange gesture before bowing to Kirk again. “I also apologize, as oduni.”

Scotty stage-whispers to McCoy, “Apparently they just realized even the mightiest of races can have a bad bunch or two.”

McCoy snorts. Spock silences both men by simply leveling a stare at them.

“I accept,” Kirk says at last, “but I’m more interested in how you plan to correct such grievances.”

“We understand, Captain Kirk. This oduni will dissolve the mental bond over your minds. Please, we ask for patience. She is not as… experienced as the other oduni.” He turns and says something to the female. She replies in an ancient Talrekian language, the sounds sibilant to human ears. He explains to Kirk, “We need assistance.” Lifting his robed arm, he points at McCoy. “Look at this doctor. See his form in your mind. If all present see him, it will aid her in the return of his name to you.”

McCoy is beginning to go red. Spock catches his arm and propels him forward, to which the doctor barely has time to protest, only saying “Spock!”

“Stand upon the platform, Doctor; otherwise there are several lieutenants which will experience difficulty in the visualization.”

McCoy doesn’t let the Vulcan move away. “Then you’re staying up here with me, Mr. Spock.”

Spock lifts an eyebrow in response but arranges his stance next to the doctor without argument. McCoy crosses his arms and resolutely fixes his eyes on the floor, perhaps studying the patterns carved into the stones. He looks uncomfortable.

The Talrekian next to Jim raises his hands with palms facing outward and commands, “See him!”

Eerie silence falls upon the Hall in the next heartbeat, a feeling of deep concentration, of bated breath. It stretches and stretches, like a band pulling tight between two forces and—

Snap.

It’s almost audible, the release of tension and breaking of the spell. What is audible are the mutters of surprise, the sharp inhalations, and the faint echoes of the name “Doctor McCoy!” given voice.

McCoy nudges Spock urgently. “Can I get down now?”

Spock looks to Kirk, and Leonard follows his gaze. Jim is turned away, facing the oduni. His expression is closed like his eyes. Seconds later, his shoulders straighten and he says, clearly enough to be heard, “Thank you.”

At last Jim turns and looks at Leonard, just looks at him for a long moment. He murmurs “Bones” in a way that lets Leonard know it’ll all be okay, that it’s his friend who sees him. Leonard feels a pang he cannot quite explain.

“Let’s go home,” Jim says, flipping open his communicator and calling for a beam-out of the Enterprise officers in large groups. To the Talrek: “We will leave your world. Once the story of what happened here is known, I cannot guarantee the Federation will contact you again.”

“We understand,” the Council of the Talrek say in unison.

It’s unclear how they feel about this news. Kirk doesn’t seem to want to find out either.

Leonard scampers down from the platform not bothering to wait for Spock. When he is level with a majority of the crowd again, he glances to the Talrek’s Council, acknowledging in his heart the formidable force that they are. His eyes then skip up to a particular second story balcony. One of the Talrekians, the female, nods to the doctor. Something relaxes within McCoy, uncoils. While the final traces of a short-lived animosity toward the Talrek fade, he nonetheless hopes that he never has cause to meet them again.

It takes time for everyone to get back to the ship. Leonard tells Spock stubbornly that he’s been this long on the planet and another hour’s wait won’t make a difference. The Vulcan acquiesces without an argument—which surprises Leonard slightly—but remains stuck to his side like a burr, albeit a solicitous burr that lets him add samples of the Talrek’s medicinal herbs with the remaining ‘Fleet equipment to be sent to the ship. Perhaps Kirk gave Spock the order to make sure Leonard returns to the Enterprise; perhaps Spock is simply uneasy and untrusting around the Talrek who occasionally linger in various corners of the palace walkways and courtyards, watching McCoy curiously until the last moment possible, and he feels compelled to stay near Leonard. Whatever the reason, Leonard finds that he is grateful for the comfort of his Vulcan shadow.

He forgets to acknowledge the initial inkling of panic that normally skitters up and down his spine in warning when he feels the familiar tingling of the transporter effect. Rather, Leonard McCoy sucks in his first breath of the ship’s recycled air in weeks and steps down from the transporter with a smile and relief in his eyes.

Kirk is already onboard, having beamed up with Scotty and several engineers, every one of them feeling the call of the Lady Enterprise and anxious to have the feel of the ship around them again. Scotty had nodded to Leonard before following Jim to the designated beaming point in the Hall, murmuring not only jokingly “Ye didn’t think ye could get away from us so easily, did ye, Doctor?” (which had instantly put Leonard at ease) but immediately after, more seriously, “There’s a bottle and two glasses waitin’ in my office when you’re ready.”

Spock turns to Leonard, and the doctor waits for the Vulcan to say whatever is on his mind but then the door to transporter room opens, admitting one small, lovely woman. Mr. Spock acknowledges her with a somber “Lt. Uhura” and instead folds his arms behind his back, moving away.

Uhura and Leonard watch him go, bemused. Without thinking, Leonard lays an arm across Uhura’s shoulders, and she looks up at him, her dark eyes considering. “I was on the Bridge monitoring the channels, waiting for the Captain’s orders to come through and thinking that everything would be so much easier if we had never come to this planet—when out-of-the-blue you were on my mind. It was like someone had let light into a dark room. I knew then we had succeeded.” She leans into him, asking, “Could you imagine if we hadn’t?”

He rubs a hand against the skin of her arm where he can feel goosebumps. He doesn’t tell her that he could imagine it, quite easily, and how frightened that makes him. The silence they share is one of understanding, comfort, and thanks to the Powers That Be for this second chance. She walks with Leonard to his quarters, telling him quietly that he needs to visit the Bridge soon, for all their sakes. When she tries to apologize for forgetting him, Leonard shushes her quickly, saying, “I’ll make you a deal: I’ll only feel as much guilt for this catastrophe as you do.”

Her mouth quirks. “I suppose I should begin forgiving myself right away then.”

“That’s a grand idea, darlin’.”

She kisses his cheek, and they part ways on the deck of the officers’ quarters. He spends the next few minutes being stopped in the corridor by people; eventually he escapes into his room for a moment of peace.

Peace and solitude can only be tolerated for so long, especially when one is a Chief Medical Officer. After a call from Sickbay, McCoy heads out to meet his fate, so to speak. He pauses uncertainly just inside the medical bay entrance then berates himself sheepishly; yet Leonard feels even more like a fool when a pair of nurses passes him by with barely a glance in his direction and no halt to their conversation. It becomes quickly apparent he is being ignored.

Get a hold of yourself, McCoy.

Taking the quickest route to his office, he doesn’t quite hurry inside and shut the door. Alone, but somewhat unhappy that he is alone, Leonard jerks out the chair behind his desk and plops into it with a gusty sigh. The next five minutes are spent idly drumming his fingers while he looks through report after report centered neatly on his desk to draw his attention. Christine’s work, he knows. She would anticipate his immediate request to overlook the medbay activities in his absence.

Familiar work isn’t able to redirect a mind which is turning in unhappy circles. Leonard’s hand absently seeks the bottom drawer of his desk. Except when he pulls the drawer open and reaches for the object carefully stored in the back, he finds nothing. A slow, careful search of his desk gives no result. It’s gone, but who would have wanted it? he muses. And who would have been in here besides M’Benga…?

On his feet again, Leonard strides for the door with a purpose. Nothing else could spur him out of a hiding spot like the loss of something precious. That picture of his daughter, the only picture he has in his possession, is more than precious; it’s priceless. He’ll face down Klingons to get it back—least of all a staff that seems more interested in their daily gossip than the return of CMO McCoy.

He exits the office at the same time Nurse Chapel and Dr. M’Benga are coming around a corner. They stop short upon seeing him and share an indecipherable look between themselves.

Tucking away his reservations, Leonard calls, “Dr. M’Benga! By any chance—”

“Hello, Doctor,” Christine greets him smoothly. “We were looking for you. Come with us, please.” She doesn’t wait for his answer but rather twines her arm through his and gives it an encouraging tug.

M’Benga adds, “There, of course, needs be a debriefing among the staff.” He nods judiciously at Chapel and pivots, heading in the direction of the mid-sized lounge, sometimes informal conference room on the opposite end of Sickbay.

Being hustled by his head nurse like a stubborn puppy on a leash is embarrassing beyond compare. He tells Christine several times that he is capable of walking without aid. She ignores him.

“Geoff,” McCoy argues, “we don’t need this meetin’ right now. Wait until we outta orbit at least! People are still jumpier than a cat guarding its tail around a rockin’ chair.”

M’Benga pauses, letting two young medical techs cross the hallway first. He cuts his eyes at Leonard. “Where did you get that impression, Doctor McCoy? I would say everyone is behaving exceptionally well.”

Leonard purses his lips, not pleased to have his bluff called. “You’re right, and why, exactly, do I deserve the silent treatment? I’m in the doghouse or something?” His brows come down as his temper flares. “And what’s happened to the photograph of Joanna, Geoff?”

M’Benga is caught by surprise. He says “Oh, I think Mr. Spock has it” apologetically.

Why in the world would Spock want Leonard’s picture? Certainly not as a sentimental keepsake! The doctor decides that after this staff meeting—which obviously no one is going to let him get away from—he needs to pay a direct visit to that pointy-eared hobgoblin.

“Fine,” he almost snaps, but catches himself. Then, more civilized, “Fine. Let’s get this over with. I’ve got a Vulcan to find.”

Christine lets him go without a fuss and he marches to the front of their little group, leading the way to the lounge. Behind him, he thinks he can hear the nurse trying to cover up an amused snicker.

Insubordinate—the lot of them! Grumbling under his breath, the doctor barely waits for the door to slide open and slips into the room. He is prepared to meet several curious stares, he is even prepared to face down disinterest or, God forbid, anger.

What greets Leonard is a loud smattering of cries: “Welcome back!”

The majority of Medical is crammed into the lounge, all of them beaming ear-to-ear; some clapping and others already reaching out for Leonard. He opens his mouth and nothing comes out. Christine whispers in his ear from behind, “It’s good to have you back, Leonard.” Her discreet shove to the middle of his back propels him into the nearest nurse with wide-open arms ready to hug him.

And she does, sniffling into his shoulder, and then passes him along to the next person.

The fourth person in, Leonard gets over his shock and his return hugs are more enthusiastic, along with his thanks and his repeated request of “Now, darlin’, no tears. Everything’s a’right.”

He pats people’s backs and they pat his, or kiss his cheek, or shake his hand with zeal, or tell him he’s not allowed to leave Sickbay anymore. When he has finally circled back to Christine and M’Benga, the mood is joyful and has calmed down to good-natured ribbing and calls for cake.

“Cake?” Leonard mouths silently at Chapel.

“What’s a party without a cake, Doctor McCoy?”

He can’t argue with that. Reeling her in, he hugs her hard and whispers against her coiled blonde hair, “Thank you.”

She just nods. If they both look close to crying, neither mentions it to the other. M’Benga breaks into the emotional reunion by dropping a heavy hand to Leonard’s shoulder.

“As much as I liked the title of CMO,” he says, “I think I can wait a little longer for it.”

McCoy lifts an eyebrow. “How long?” he asks, amused.

Geoff grins. “Until my next ship transfer, I imagine. You can keep Kirk all to yourself.”

Leonard rolls his eyes but his mouth is stretching in a wide smile. “I’m not sure if that comforts or scares me.”

He hasn’t laughed in a long while but, oh, how easy it is to share laughter with the people about him.

On McCoy’s way to Spock’s quarters, he feels the power of the Enterprise going into warp and, distracted, runs into an equally preoccupied Kirk. They say nothing to one another, not until they step into an empty turbolift together.

Jim asks him, “Where are you headed, Bones?” like it’s any other dull day of duty aboard the starship.

“Spock’s,” Leonard answers, keeping his eyes on the lift console. “He’s got something of mine.”

“Oh.”

Well, so much for small talk.

Leonard makes a decision and commands the turbolift to halt. He turns to Kirk. “There’s little chance we’re going to forget this ever happened, Captain. I told you that I knew I had a dressin’ down coming and I’d rather we deal with it now than later. So… go on, then.”

Jim’s expression is strange. “You want me to yell at you, Doctor?”

“If yelling is how you plan to go about, I guess so.” Leonard adds seriously, “I’m smart enough to know when I’ve been an idiot. You’re completely in the right here, Jim. You can even take me off duty and I won’t say one word of complaint against it.”

“We essentially spent a week trying to get you returned to duty. It would be petty of me to punish you in that way.” Then, “Bones…”

Leonard looks at his longtime friend, really looks, and sees what it is that the man can’t put into words. “Damn it, Jim. There’s nothin’ for you to feel bad about! Saints preserve me, I ought to thank you.” With that, he tugs Jim into a quick hug and says, drawl thick, “Thanks for everything—returning for me and, well, fighting with those bastards like the hard-headed idiot that you are.”

Jim pulls back. “Excuse me? Idiot? I don’t think it’s my brain the Talrek scrambled, Bones.”

Leonard huffs out a laugh. “You’re welcome.”

“I didn’t thank you yet.”

“But you will,” he says knowingly.

Jim laughs, too, and tells the turbolift to resume its descent. He exits the lift when Leonard does, and Leonard remarks, “This isn’t the way to the mess hall, Captain.”

Kirk squeezes his shoulder. “We’ll invite Spock to dinner with us.”

Leonard shakes his head, not surprised that Jim is already fitting him neatly back into their routine. He is somewhat taken aback though when Jim halts him from activating the comm buzzer to Spock’s quarters.

“Bones,” begins the man, “what you said down there… You are important to me, as family. I’m sorry I’ve never told you, that you thought…”

Leonard interrupts him, touched. “Well, now you have. This is—I guess this is a wake-up call for all of us. The things we don’t say—maybe we won’t forget them so easily next time.”

“No,” agrees Jim, eyes darkening with sincerity, “I won’t forget again.”

Leonard presses the buzzer. “Let us in, Spock, or Jim and I’ll start logic-defying melodrama on your doorstep.”

The door opens rather quickly. “I am not precisely familiar with the term ‘melodrama’ but I assume it refers to abundant emotionalism. Such behavior I would readily expect of you, Doctor.”

McCoy snorts, moving past the Vulcan and into the center of the room. “Beware, hobgoblin, I’m going to hug you when you least expect it. Maybe in front of your science officers. Maybe on the Bridge while Jim’s onscreen talking to Admiral Komack.” Leonard cackles lowly. “Maybe the next time your mama visits.”

The tips of Spock’s ears are dark green. “It is against regulation to threaten a superior officer.”

“By superior, I assume you’re referrin’ to your delusion of superiority. Everybody knows—”

Behind them, Jim makes a noise somewhere between a laugh and a sob. “All right,” he says loudly, “that’s enough. I don’t know why I thought you two might be ill-at-ease with each other.”

“Whyever would that cross your mind, Jim?” McCoy says, bouncing once on the balls of his feet. “Spock likes me. He said so himself in front of one-third of the crew!”

“I was attempting to persuade the Council—”

“You like me,” Leonard states firmly. “No takesies backsies.”

The Vulcan’s eyebrows angle sharply downwards. “I believe your speech impediment is worsening, Doctor. Might I recommend…”

At that point Jim starts laughing in earnest, Leonard not far behind.

-Fini

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• IS NOT PANICKING… – from August 18, 2011
• Fic Deadline: 5pm, Thursday – from August 17, 2011
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