Title: A Series of Laughs – 10
Author: klmeri
Fandom: Star Trek AOS
Characters: Spock, Kirk, McCoy
Summary: Drabble fill for trek_crackbingo prompts: talking like a thesarus.
Previous Fills: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9

This is a bit cracky and a bit awesome. I thought of it on the drive to work this morning. I’m finishing out A Series of Laughs with this last piece.

“Hey, Bones.” The man perched on the edge of the examination table grins at the doctor entering the room.

Doctor Leonard H. McCoy, physician and friend of James Kirk, grunts in response as he starts scribbling notes on his clipboard.

Kirk, shirtless and bright-eyed, tries to peer over the top of the clipboard to see what his doctor is writing. “How can you have something to write yet, Bones, when you haven’t even asked me to cough?”

“With you, Mr. Kirk, my first instinct is to check for visual wounds—seeing as how you’ve stumbled more than once through my front door bleeding like a stuck pig or with half of your hair burnt off. Scared the shit out of my nurses.”

“I don’t think Chapel’s scared of me at all—she was pretty rough with the blood pressure cuff.”

“Being scared for you and scared of you are two different things, Jim.”

Nurse Practitioner Chapel has repeatedly asked McCoy why he continues to allow Jim to keep coming here. “It can’t be about the money—we have plenty of patients! But we’re a family medicine clinic, not a trauma unit, Len,” she always argues.

“Christine, we help people. Are you telling me that’s not why you went into the medical field?”

The woman still glares at Jim Kirk every time the man appears, winking at the pretty nurses behind the glass enclosing the reception desk. It does not help Kirk’s case that he never keeps his appointments, choosing to only come in on the fly, or if his cell phone’s voicemail is overloaded with McCoy’s sharp, short reminders like “Get your ass in here, kid—Chapel’s going to stab you if she has to re-schedule your appointment one more time!” or “If you’re not taking those vitamins, I’ll put you in the hospital so fast your head’ll spin.”

If Kirk shows up and McCoy isn’t in the office to see him, the man shrugs (dripping blood or not) and walks back out. Or so his staff says.

Leonard is used to the eccentricities of his regular patients, and Jim Kirk is no exception.

The young man fidgets throughout the routine exam. Leonard smacks his patient’s knee after the third failed attempt to hear Kirk’s lungs through a stethoscope.

Jim is saying, “—it’s almost done, Bones. I only have to finish up the circuitry on the voice box so that—”

“Damn it, Jim! I can’t listen for ominous rattles in your chest if you don’t stop yapping!”

Kirk rolls his eyes at his doctor. “There isn’t any ominous rattling. I’m not sick.”

“Says the man who insisted his winter cough was a tickle and not pneumonia.”

With a sheepish grin, Kirk rocks back to put space between him and Leonard, who is seated on a low stool. McCoy idly pats his pockets for his missing pen to jot down a few more notes on Kirk’s chart. Jim plucks the pen from behind Leonard’s ear—where it had been tucked—and presents it with the request, “I want you to come by my place this weekend. Can you make it?”

“That pigsty you call an apartment or your lab?”

“Lab,” answers Jim without hesitation.

Figures, thinks McCoy. The kid practically lives and breathes his work, only remembering to eat on occasion and shower even less. This “project” that Kirk has prattled on about for the last several visits must be nearing completion. And he wants to share that success with McCoy.

Leonard is rather touched.

The doctor works in silence for the next five minutes, asking Jim questions about his diet, exercise regime—things that he knows the answers to by now. “Well, congratulations, you are in good health. Has your boss instituted better safety procedures? You haven’t blown up your laboratory in over three months.”

Jim just grins at him. Leonard vacates his stool and proceeds to wash his hands in the small sink, then wipes them very, very slowly on a paper towel.

Kirk grows impatient and demands an answer to his invitation. “Bones!”

Doctor McCoy faces his patient. “I’ll make you a deal, Jim. If you promise to keep the next two appointments—and by ‘keep’ I mean show up and actually wait for me, scary Chapel or not—I will stop by the lab on Saturday.”

“Deal.” Jim jumps off of the table and grabs his discarded shirt, yanking it back over his head. “You can bring Joanna if you want.”

“Her mother has her this weekend.”

“Oh.”

Jim stands awkwardly in silence for a brief moment, caught between sympathy for his divorced friend and not knowing what to say. Leonard sighs to himself. Then Kirk seems to recall he has an epic project waiting to be finished and enthusiasm returns to his face.

With a happy look, the man gives his doctor a thumbs-up as he opens the door. “See you in a few days, Bones.”

“Jim.”

Kirk pauses to glance back at Leonard.

“Your shirt’s inside out.”

Jim glances down in surprise. Then he grins, salutes sloppily, and walks out of Leonard’s medical practice without a care.

McCoy shakes his head and prepares to see his next patient.

Saturday is grey and cloudy, and the traffic on the Golden Gate Bridge is just as dismal. McCoy is in a foul mood by the time he parks in front of a Guest sign at Enterprise Corp. A quick glance around the parking lot on his way to the double doors of the tall building tells Leonard that the CEO Christopher Pike isn’t in. Pike’s flame red Porsche always attracts the eye—and makes poorer men drool.

Of course the CEO isn’t here, thinks the man cynically.

Pike is probably enjoying his weekend on a yacht, sharing tasty drinks with a beautiful woman or two.

Leonard nods to the weekend receptionist, Rand. She tosses him a visitor’s pass and buzzes him through the security door without a second glance, too busy painting her nails a bright shade of pink.

Enterprise never closes, its staff dedicated to long shifts and hard work. Leonard suspects there are cots hidden somewhere for those scientists who can’t be bothered to vacate the premises at all. There is one such crazy that Leonard has met – a man with a heavy Scottish burr and a wrench always shoved in a loop of his belt. (Leonard isn’t sure what kind of science work requires a wrench and not a more delicate tool.)

A long-legged, beautiful woman passes him in the hall. She stops to greet him. “Hello, Leonard. Did Jim talk you into visiting S.P.O.C.K?”

McCoy raises an eyebrow. “I didn’t have much planned today, so I’m here.”

Nyota Uhura, Director of Quality Control at Enterprise Corp., smiles at him knowingly. “Keep in mind, Mr. McCoy, that the more you visit us, the less likely you are to return out there.” By “out there” she means the world beyond the double doors of Enterprise Corp.

Jim has already mentioned something about how “great it would be if you worked here, Bones. We could use a licensed physician on site.” Then Kirk had meandered in his conversation to a tale about a short assistant of Scotty’s named Keenser who thought he was drinking coffee and actually ingested a compound that Sulu in Botany had extricated from an exotic plant which grows in the rainforests near the mountains of Peru. Keenser had been bloated and a light shade of purple for two days.

Idiots, Leonard decides. And geniuses. The entire lot of ’em.

“You heading out?” he asks Uhura.

“Yes. It is the weekend.”

“And yet you came to work this morning.”

She laughs. “Touche, Doctor McCoy.” Her hand brushes his shoulder as she continues down the hallway, her heels rapping sharply on the tile floor.

He finds Jim in the usual spot—in the middle of a whirlwind of papers, parts, and wide-eyed techs who are trying to maintain pace with Jim Kirk, the mad scientist.

“Sir,” one tech calls over the clamor of noise, “Doctor McCoy is here.”

“Bones!” comes the joyful shout. Jim blinks in Leonard’s direction, a welding mask lifted up to reveal Kirk’s intense blue eyes. “He’s almost ready!”

Who is almost ready?

Leonard tromps down a set of steel stairs, dodges colliding with a box of metal parts in the arms of a wobbling tech, and ends up staring at a mess of wires and a shape that looks vaguely human.

Kirk says proudly, “Meet S.P.O.C.K., Bones.”

“Spock?” McCoy stares at the creation. “What is a Spock?”

“The Enterprise’s latest invention. S.P.O.C.K. is artificial intelligence,” Jim says excitedly.

“You mean like a—a robot?”

“He’s better than a robot! A robot is programmed to perform specific actions for specific commands. With A.I., we try to create a way for the machine to solve its own problems.”

“That seems impossible.”

“Chekov!” hollers Kirk over his shoulder.

A sweet-faced man with a heavy Russian accent calls back, “Yes, Mr. Kirk?”

“Show Bones what S.P.O.C.K. can do!”

“Yes, Mr. Kirk!”

There is the sound of rapid typing, and suddenly S.P.O.C.K. opens a mouth Leonard couldn’t see under all the wires running into the metal surface.

“Live long and prosper,” says a computerized voice. It draws out the word long.

Jim rocks with glee beside McCoy. “Uhura suggested an ‘unusual’ greeting. To give S.P.O.C.K. some flair.”

Flair ain’t the word, Leonard thinks as S.P.O.C.K. rolls its man-made eyes, automatically adjusting their position to fix on McCoy.

“You are not Jim,” states the A.I.-robot-android-thing.

“This is Leonard McCoy, S.P.O.C.K. He’s a doctor,” says Kirk as he slings a friendly arm around McCoy.

“Doctor—a trained individual whose credentials reflect an exceptional academic status; more commonly, the doctor is a professional operating in the healthcare industry—”

McCoy listens with partly with interest and partly with half-disbelief as S.P.O.C.K. elucidates on a range of various meanings, in rapid-fire succession, of the word doctor.

“How does it know all that?”

“We hooked him into an encyclopedia database and let him feed.”

“That’s… something else, Jim. If I talk to Spock, will it talk back?”

“Your question is unintelligent, Doctor McCoy. I have previously demonstrated my awareness of your presence. My response protocol is superior.”

S.P.O.C.K. insulted him. A computer had insulted Leonard McCoy! He should be above retorts, he really should; so Leonard swallows sharp words and turns to Jim instead.

“How long before its batteries run down?”

Jim looks at him sideways. “We’re working on a power source that will keep a charge for up to a week. It’s almost done in Development and should probably be in QA by next week. Scotty’s been hammering on it for days.”

He gives Jim what the man wants to hear. “You are brilliant. Do you know that, kid?”

Kirk, strangely enough, flushes. “I have a good team.”

“Yeah, but while I’m sure other companies like Enterprise are working on A.I., there’s still a difference between y’all.”

“What is the difference?”

“You’re going to pull it off.”

Jim smiles back.

“Thanks, Bones.”

“You’re welcome. Now did you remember to eat dinner last night?”

“Uh…”

“Thought so. Let’s grab lunch.”

“What about S.P.O.C.K.?”

Leonard eyes S.P.O.C.K. who eyes him back, silent. “He ain’t going nowhere.”

It’s easy enough to distract Jim with the promise of a hamburger—that is, if the man agrees to temper it with a small salad on the side. As he waits on Kirk to finish issuing directions to the lab staff, Leonard has to work very hard to keep from turning around. S.P.O.C.K., despite being a machine, has presence in the room—and that presence, that active mind of computer chips and wires, is undoubtedly weighing and measuring the new acquaintance called Leonard McCoy.

Two weeks later, because Leonard has had idle, curious moments and often been tempted to contact Jim to ask how the S.P.O.C.K. project fares, he finds himself pulling into the parking lot of Enterprise Corp. on a Sunday.

“You work even on Sundays, darling?” he asks the secretary Rand as she buzzes him into the main part of the building.

The woman shrugs and pops her bubble gum. “They pay me extra for weekends.”

He says nothing else and goes looking for Jim. Surprisingly, Kirk’s main working area is almost clean—tables bare, the floor swept. Leonard peers over the railing, seeking a scrap of metal or wire that might be S.P.O.C.K.

Did something go wrong? Did Pike pull the funding on the project?

A bit anxious, he heads to the breakroom.

There is only one person seated at the long table. Books are scattered about him and Leonard doesn’t recognize the slope of those shoulders or that face lifted to inspect the person interrupting a study session of some sort.

Then the stranger says to Leonard, “Doctor McCoy” and a chill runs down Leonard’s spine.

It’s the same voice, too computerized to be human. “Spock?”

“Affirmative. I am S.P.O.C.K.”

He can’t help himself, he has to step closer to stare, open-mouthed at the A.I. “You look… like a real person!”

Oh God, how surreal is that, when S.P.O.C.K. lifts its eyebrow.

“The material which overlays my outer shell was synthesized to resemble the texture of the human epidermis.”

“But you have… hair.”

“Also replicated, Doctor McCoy.”

“Why are your ears pointed?”

“Dr. Uhura designed my features.”

They look at one another, McCoy in the doorway and S.P.O.C.K. still sitting, straight-backed and unblinking. Leonard guesses that the machine doesn’t blink, having no need to retain moisture about the eyes.

“I, uh, I was looking for Jim,” he says rather dumbly.

“Jim Kirk is partaking of the ritual of sleep.”

“He’s at this apartment then.”

“Negative.” S.P.O.C.K. stands so suddenly that Leonard takes one step back. “Jim resides on sublevel one, in a room built to accommodate the human need for respite. I will escort-usher-lead you, if you wish.”

The three verbs are said so close together that they are difficult to sort out. McCoy notes how S.P.O.C.K., though expressionless (Do computers smile? Can they?), shifts his stance.

Since Leonard doesn’t know where Jim is napping, and security might toss him out if they find a visitor randomly opening and closing doors, he accepts S.P.O.C.K.’s offer. They walk, Leonard too caught up in watching the A.I. march like a well-behaved soldier, to pay attention to the elevator they enter and exit, or the doors they pass through.

Now McCoy wishes that he had listened to Jim’s long-winded explanation over burgers and fries on the intricacies of how this thing was built. Are the joints all wires and hinges? Will they need to be oiled? And what about the fake skin… is it like plastic…?

He is reaching out to touch S.P.O.C.K. before he finishes his next thought.

S.P.O.C.K. immediately halts in the corridor and turns its head to observe McCoy. “Desist.”

Leonard instantly retracts his hand. “Sorry. Curiosity got the better of me.”

Then it does something strange. It tilts its head and remarks, “Only authorized personnel of Enterprise shall come in contact with—” It pauses, as if uncertain of how to categorize itself.

Well, Leonard has even less idea. He is still boggling over the idea of a computer acting like a man.

“Jim established this rule,” it goes on to state.

He nods. “Okay. I won’t, er, come in contact with your person.”

“Accepted-received—indeed.” S.P.O.C.K. faces forward again, then repeats, “Indeed” like the word has found approval in its growing language database.

They stop in front of a door; that is, S.P.O.C.K. stops, goes so still that Leonard wonders if it has powered off. McCoy raises his hand and knocks on the door, thinking that he does not want to explain to Jim that he broke an expensive toy just by walking with it down the hallway. No one answers.

S.P.O.C.K. speaks, clear-toned. “Explain your action.”

Leonard looks from his fist against the door to his computer-companion. “It’s called knocking.”

“Knocking.”

Then he realizes that S.P.O.C.K. does not understand how—or why—knocking is appropriate. “Consider knocking,” explains the doctor, “to be protocol before entering a room with a closed door. I wish to let Jim know that I am present outside of this door so that he is not surprised when I walk inside. Watch.” He demonstrates a slow and steady series of three knocks.

S.P.O.C.K. lifts its arm (Leonard belatedly realizing that its hands had been clasped behind its back in military style) and knocks on the door.

BOOM-BOOM-BOOM.

McCoy winces at the large dent now scarring the door. Said-door flies open. A bleary-eyed and rumpled James Kirk stares back at them. He looks first at S.P.O.C.K., saying nothing, and then to McCoy. “Bones?”

“Mornin’, sunshine.”

Kirk sags against the doorframe. “I was asleep.”

“So my escort said.”

That perks up the young man. “Do you like him?”

Leonard runs a critical eye over the A.I. unit. “Spock’s a bit… flat-mannered, if that’s what you’re asking.”

Jim waves them inside. The room brightens on command (one of Enterprise’s more popular patents released to the public). Kirk sits on the end of a narrow bed, its sheet thrown haphazardly off the side.

“We’ve made a lot of progress with him.”

“I can see that,” Leonard responds dryly.

“S.P.O.C.K.,” Jim says, “I thought you were reading.”

“The doctor required assistance to find your location, Jim.”

Jim smiles. “Thanks, then.”

S.P.O.C.K. interrupts whatever else Jim might say by asking, “I do not understand-comprehend-grasp your reference of ‘bones.’ I require an explanation.”

“Why does it keep doing that?”

“Glitch,” answers Jim. “S.P.O.C.K. has yet to determine a database of words which will characterize his personality. He is testing synonyms in threes and then calculates a best-fit curve for each word against what he wants to express. Bones is my nickname for Doctor McCoy, S.P.O.C.K.”

Leonard gingerly sits down beside Kirk. S.P.O.C.K. remains standing.

“That’s… unbelievable, Jim. So what we use our instinct to determine, Spock uses math. And you think he can be taught to react emotionally?”

“It’s not a matter of if, Bones, but when. In my blueprints—”

“That’s exactly what I mean!” Leonard looks at S.P.O.C.K. “You built him, Jim. Unless you’ve got the power of God…”

“No one,” Jim bites out roughly, unexpectedly, “is playing God at Enterprise. You’re missing the point. We push boundaries here—go where no man has gone before. This is about taking the technology we have today to the next level.”

McCoy shakes his head but doesn’t argue. “I’m not against this, Jim. I just can’t comprehend it.”

His friend relaxes, then begins to search for his shoes. “I didn’t mean to snap. I-I usually don’t—I can’t—Pike’s riding me about the project.”

“I’m sorry,” Leonard says with sincerity. Watching Jim toe one scuffed tennis shoe while frowning down at it, the man decides to save an argument for another day. “So tell me what Spock can do up to this point.”

“Plenty of stuff. S.P.O.C.K. has sensors in the eyes and ears for visual and auditory detection… though we haven’t figured out how to include taste yet… S.P.O.C.K., what are you doing at this moment?”

“I am responding to your inquiry,” S.P.O.C.K. says.

Jim casts an amused eye over the A.I. unit while stuffing a foot into a shoe. “I swear he’s learning the ability to joke.”

“A joke-cracking computer. Fantastic, Jim. Can he sing and dance too?”

“Illogical,” is S.P.O.C.K.’s immediate opinion. “I do not pursue the principle of playfulness-frivolity-fun.

Jim pauses to grin as he pulls on his second shoe. “He likes that word. A lot.”

“It is illogical to like a word.”

Leonard grins too. “You just said it again, Spock.”

The A.I. unit stares at McCoy for a solid ten seconds before initiating a precise pivot towards the door. In other words, he presents his back to the doctor.

Leonard shakes his head in wonder. “I’m gonna have to start coming over more, Jim,” he says as he gestures at S.P.O.C.K. “If only to help your Spock work on his budding ‘humanity.'”

Jim replies, blinking at the socks in his hand and the shoes already on his feet, “Then I won’t have to stop by your office.”

He snorts. “And I’ll tell Chapel her job now includes personal house-calls to your apartment.”

Kirk’s eyes widen. “Never mind.”

S.P.O.C.K., apparently analyzing their conversation while facing in the other direction, interjects smoothly, “If Doctor McCoy increases the frequency of his visits for the purpose of examination-perusal-assessment of my skills, he must be granted clearance.”

“I’m clearing him, S.P.O.C.K.,” is Kirk’s answer as he walks to the door.

“Understood.”

Leonard winks at the A.I. unit as he catches up to Jim striding out the door. After a moment, S.P.O.C.K. engages in motion and follows Leonard. McCoy waits so that the pair can walk side-by-side with Kirk in the lead.

S.P.O.C.K. begins to talk. “Doctor McCoy, you exhibit human habits which I have not notated among the personnel of Enterprise. I perceive that you shall augment my studies in the areas of social ineptitude, unwarranted behavior, and—”

Leonard sputters. “You… you computerized, pointy-eared…”

S.P.O.C.K. only replies, “Fascinating.”

Ahead of them, Jim is humming happily as he pushes the button for the elevator.

Leonard thinks he has just landed himself in a world of trouble.

Jim is saying, “Maybe we can arrange a field trip for S.P.O.C.K. to your clinic, Bones. We can improve on his level of interaction—”

He imagines S.P.O.C.K. questioning children and attempting to “fix” Leonard’s patients for the sake of knowledge. Oh yes, McCoy is certain that he is in trouble.

And, somehow, that brightens his day.

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