Chapter Text
So perhaps thelittledarkcat's post will give anyone a better understanding of what this is about before you read this. It's right here. And the tag with the rest of her Priest!Spock AU is here.
"I'll be back," McCoy said, tying the red ribbon loosely on Spock's wrist.
Spock watched him with glassy eyes. He raised his arm, examining the bow with furrowed eyebrows. McCoy perched on the edge of Spock's sick bed, closing his hands over Spock's small and thin one.
"I promise."
The energizer room came into focus slowly through the swirl of lights. Jim ran into the room, followed by a small medical team, but stopped suddenly when he caught sight of Spock.
The young priest leaned against McCoy, still sick from the illness that left him bedridden only a month ago. His arm stretched out in front of him where he reached out to his parents as they fell with the crumbling ground of their planet. McCoy stared straight ahead. Sarek and Amanda had stood there seconds before, gripping each other's hands and looking nowhere else but each other's eyes in a last confession of emotion and love. McCoy's eyes trailed from the empty space to Spock's frail hand - shaking violently - and up his wrist where he still wore the ribbon.
"I'm here," he whispered, clutching the small man in his arms.
A small whimper was muffled in McCoy's uniform. He placed his hand on Spock's head, burying his fingers in the long, silky hair. The tremors increased steadily as the medical team began examining him, careful not to touch him.
"He's in shock," McCoy said to them, stopping their scanners. "And still pretty damn sick. I'll get him down to sickbay and treat him on my own."
The team escorted the other Vulcans out of the room and left Spock in McCoy's arms. Jim followed all of them to get checked out himself at McCoy's order. Chekov sat at the console, staring guiltily down at the screen.
"I have to take you down to sickbay." McCoy pressed his forehead to the top of Spock's head. "I'll stay with you, though. Every second - I'll be right next to you, darling."
McCoy began taking small steps off the transporter pad and out into the corridors, gently urging Spock along and praising him when they made it into the hall.
Sickbay was crowded and noisy. Spock looked around with his uncomprehending eyes, watching the doctors and nurses attend to the surviving Vulcans. He was nudged by McCoy and began walking towards the back of sickbay. McCoy led him to a bed that had been prepared specifically for him, drawing the curtain before he got Spock settled.
"We should get you out of these robes and cleaned up."
Spock's face was dirty and his robes had really seen better days. McCoy wiped his cheek with his thumb, smearing the dirt and sand around. He imagined what he himself looked like after running around on the planet, gathering up vulcans but decided not to bother with it until he was willing to have Spock under someone elses observation for a few minutes.
McCoy wiped Spock's face gently with a damp cloth provided by a nurse. Spock allowed him to cup his face and place a kiss to his forehead. He leaned into the touch, reaching out and placing his hands over McCoy's. They lost track of time as they stayed in that position. When McCoy pulled away, Spock protested, whimpering slightly. McCoy shushed him and turned to the medical gown left on the cart that was filled with medication and medical scanners. Slowly and with talented hands trained to be graceful and steady, he pulled Spock's robes off, removed the traditional hair decorations that shimmered under the lights, and his tiny, flat shoes. Spock shivered even harder once his layers had been replaced by a thin, generic gown.
"Lay down," McCoy instructed, folding the last of the clothes.
He tucked the covers up to his waist, leaving his arms exposed. Then, he picked up Spock's hand and with one tug, the bow on his wrist slipped undone. McCoy rubbed the soft material between his fingers, remembering the concern and guilt twisting in his stomach the day he had to leave Vulcan to find medication specifically for Spock's physiology. His only worry then was returning to Spock's side before he got worse.
How had things changed so much in a few months?
The doctor grabbed a hypo, already filled with the much-needed medication, and pressed it into Spock's arm.
"You'll start to feel better soon," he said, pulling the covers up to Spock's chin. I hope, he added to himself.
The priest looked up at him with those wide, glassy eyes, his hand peeking out from the blanket and finding his doctor's. McCoy couldn't tell if it was from the fever or the shock that Spock appeared to be somewhere else far away. He sighed and began administering more medication with his free hand, allowing his thoughts to wander as Spock's eyes closed.
Spock was a young - and small - priest. He only reached McCoy's chin and the doctor secretly thought it was endearing. A species that was normally so tall and he was working beside one that needed help reaching the top shelf in the lab. McCoy would hide a smirk and reach up, effortlessly grabbing the requested glass or container.
His stature fit his personality well as he was shy and didn't speak much at first. After knowing each other for weeks since McCoy had been assigned to help with the medical crisis, he had only learned that Spock was not skilled enough in healing to find a cure for the dozens of children who had become sick from a new virus and that he served the Goddess of Peace with a handful of other priests living in the isolated village outside ShiKhar. He also knew that Spock had a mouth and wits and he was not afraid of putting them together.
McCoy was always busy running tests and examining the bacteria cultures. Spock researched the disease furiously while trying his best to provide comfort to the children who had been admitted to the small hospital. He took great care of them when they were not being looked after by the nurses. He read to them, placed cold rags on their foreheads to bring down their fevers, and pray to his Goddess for their well being and safety. It was obvious early on how desperate he was to help and find a cure. McCoy saw him spend a good portion of his time during the day with them and staying up late working on treatments. He told him that he was an idiot for overworking himself but Spock only listed the differences between the limitations of humans and vulcans.
It was early one morning and McCoy was in the lab alone, waiting for Spock to finish his morning prayers. When the vulcan walked in late, his jaw clenched and hands balled into fists, McCoy didn't hesitate in asking what was wrong.
"More children are falling ill," he said quietly. "They are not being admitted to the hospital due to limited room."
McCoy crossed his arms over his chest and a firm scowl was set on his face. The dozens of children had taken up most of the room in the hospital. It was a small building to begin with, too. Vulcans typically did not seek medical attention in an office like humans. All healers made house calls and only serious cases were treated in small, local hospitals. It was dumb, McCoy thought. They would be screwed in an epidemic - which is what it felt like they were facing.
"Well, what's going to happen to them?" McCoy asked.
"They will be treated from their homes."
"But what if there's an emergency?"
"Then the hospital must make room. Perhaps less severe cases will be sent home with a nurse. If need be the children will be taken to another city. However, I doubt there will be any emergencies just yet." Spock sat down at his part of the lab. "You must see to the children later tonight. We have assigned healers to visit the homes after shifts end to examine the children."
McCoy wrinkled his nose. He didn't like house calls - especially those in the evening when the suns were setting on Vulcan and there was no moon to provide a little natural light. It was eerie.
"Are you going to come?" he asked.
Spock was silent for a moment. "I cannot. I must attend to my duties here."
McCoy did not question it further. It would probably conflict with his priest duties and no matter how much he enjoyed teasing Spock for basically everything, he did actually take time to learn about his culture and religion and knew not to interrogate him when he thought Spock was going to privately pray or worship his Goddess.
At the end of the day, while Spock was finishing attending to the tiny patients, McCoy and a few healers left for the houses of the ill children.
The first couple patients McCoy saw to were young and their parents were appreciative of his services. He did what he could to make the children comfortable and offered to come back at any time if he was needed. The third and last house he visited, he was greeted quite harshly and the little girl's parents stood behind him throughout the whole examination, judging him.
"We send back a half-breed and receive a human in return," the Vulcan male said to his wife, thinking McCoy could not hear while he examined their daughter.
"Excuse me?" McCoy grumbled, taking his eyes off the sleeping girl and turning to the couple.
"We were merely discussing the staff that have seen to our vulcan daughter."
McCoy glared at the way he said it. Their vulcan daughter - obviously superior to the human at the age of 8.
"And what's wrong with the staff?" McCoy asked. "Who's been here before?"
"Doctor, surely you must agree that it would be most logical to send a full vulcan healer to a full vulcan's aid. I fail to see how it would be beneficial any other way. Today our daughter has been attended to by a half-vulcan and you - a human."
"A priest from the hospital visited this morning. He was inferior," the vulcan woman said. "As a half-breed he is less intelligent and his knowledge of medicine is inadequate to treat this disease."
McCoy stared at her for a moment, trying to fill in the missing pieces. He only knew of one priest that worked at the hospital.
"Spock." he said finally. "You mean Priest Spock?"
Spock's only half-vulcan? he thought.
"Yes," she replied.
"He's the… 'half breed' you sent back?" McCoy asked, reluctant to say the slur as it stuck in throat and left a poor taste in his mouth.
"Of course."
"Why?" he demanded, not risking to raise his voice.
"Have we not explained well enough? We need someone who meets the standards of a full vulcan."
"What? He's a healer with access to some of the most advanced medicine and technology. You're daughter is dying but you still thought it was a good idea to turn down the first help you could get? I'm not sure what's more disgusting the fact that you didn't do what you could for your own child or that you're too goddamn proud to accept help from someone different than you… Dammit! He offered you his help and you refused it because of his background!"
"We refused due to -"
"No, you turned him away because you're bigoted. I can't believe this." McCoy quickly rose to his feet, his chair tipping back on its back legs and nearly crashing to the floor. "Keep a close eye on your daughter. I'll leave you something for her fever - give her two doses a day - and if it raises above 36 degrees get her to the hospital. Make sure she drinks plenty of fluids, too. And if you're going to look for a full vulcan healer - good luck. They know only as much as we do."
McCoy gathered his supplies, shoving his scanners into his bag and only refrained from slamming a full hypo with additional doses on the nightstand to not wake the little girl up. He didn't trust himself to stay any longer in that damned house. His mother always did say he had a short temper and while he felt his anger was justified in this case, he heeded her warnings from years ago and left before there was any damage.
By the time he made it back to the hospital, the children were sleeping and Spock was continuing experiments in the lab. He had calmed down considerably in the night air but the fading frustration was replaced with a strong sick feeling as soon as he saw the little priest.
"Here's some samples," McCoy mumbled, pulling the labelled vials and petri dishes out from his bag and onto the table. "Did the others come back yet?"
"Yes," Spock answered, not bringing his face up from the microscope. "They returned 10.6 minutes ago."
McCoy nodded, leaning against the table. He folded his arms over his chest and cleared his throat quietly.
"Is there something wrong?" Spock asked.
"What? No." McCoy raked a hand through his hair, unsure how - or even if - he should approach the subject. "But uh… When I was visiting one of the kids, her parents had some interesting opinions."
"About anything in particular?"
McCoy shifted his weight to his left foot. "About the staff that were sent on house calls."
Spock sighed. He looked up to McCoy and raised an eyebrow.
"Doctor, I did not believe you were in a debate of current sub-quantum theories. I had assumed they were not pleased with our services. If you would cease being vague and get to the point, I will be gratified."
"They thought you weren't good enough to be a healer because you're half-vulcan," McCoy blurted, his words rushing forward and not having time to register in his mind.
Spock's eyes darted to the floor. "Who was the family?"
"The girls parents' were Stonn and T'Pan or something. I'm not sure how to pronounce their names."
"I see," Spock said, biting his bottom lip for a second before focusing on the table behind McCoy. "Doctor, will you please hand me my bag?"
McCoy turned around, finding a small bag similar to a hobo bag on Earth, adorned in Vulcan decorations. It matched Spock's purple ornamental robes, he observed before handing it to Spock.
"It is getting late, is it not?" Spock said, rummaging through his bag and pulling out a ribbon. "I thought you would be returning home by now."
"I want to talk to you about this," McCoy snapped.
"There is nothing to discuss," he said, a bit harsher than normal. He began removing the strands of ornaments from his hair, placing them in a pocket inside his bag.
"Really? Because you seem to be getting pretty upset about it."
Spock rested his hands in his lap, sighing in defeat. "Speak," he ordered.
"What do they have against you? What ever happened to IDIC?"
"It still exists, doctor. With a human mother and vulcan father, I have never faced systematic oppression. They had a preference for a more skilled healer."
"They wanted anyone other than you. What happened this morning? When did they decide to send you back?"
Spock was silent. Without the ornaments laced around his hair and the front locks being clasped at the end, his hair cascaded freely down his back and over his shoulders. When he looked to McCoy, it swayed ever so slightly to rest in a new, natural position. McCoy watched it frame his face, lightly brushing against his cheeks and neck.
"I was not even permitted to enter the house," he began quietly. "I expressed my confusion. They needed a healer for their child experiencing the symptoms of this disease and I am a healer who has done extensive research."
McCoy took a seat next to Spock. "Their logic is flawed."
"Yes. It has been for many years."
"What do you mean by that?"
"I have known Stonn since childhood."
"So he bullied you?"
"I believe that is the unnecessary title you humans have given it."
"What do you call it?"
"Harassment and abuse."
McCoy nodded. "Tell me about it."
Spock raised an eyebrow.
"I'm a doctor, I'm trained in empathy. Besides, we've been working alongside each other long enough now that I think we should get to know each other."
"I do not find that wise," Spock mumbled.
Spock looked down at the table where the ribbon laid. He ran his fingers through his hair and gathered it in a fist at the crown of his head. His hair no longer met his lower back but it would still be too long for the hot Vulcan sun during the day, McCoy thought, then wondered why he had never seen Spock with his hair up before. It was a desert planet and no matter how well adapted they were, thick black hair had to be a nuisance.
"Need help?" McCoy grabbed the ribbon before Spock could reach it. "I used to do my little girl's hair back home."
McCoy held the ribbon at each end and wrapped it around the base of the ponytail a few times before tying it off. Spock inspected it with his fingers, feeling the bumps and loose hair escaping the knot.
"It will do," he said. "I only need it away from my eyes and the samples."
"Well, I never said I did her hair well. At least you weren't squirming around and squealing if I tugged your hair a bit too hard. She complained about my high ponytails but I was good at braids. Simple braids I could do. The thing about being a part-time single father to a girl is that you learn how to do those things but never as well as a full time single father."
McCoy smiled at the memories of getting her ready for school when she was younger.
"I assume you and her mother have separated?" Spock said, uncertain how to handle the sentiment of the topic.
"Yep." He turned to Spock and eyed him critically. "Let me make you a deal, I tell you one personal thing, you tell me one. We'll take it slow and if you start to get uncomfortable, just tell me. Sound good?"
Spock was hesitant to answer "Yes." He focused on the table next to McCoy, lowering his head ever so slightly.
"When I was in school, the other students attempted to elicit an emotional response from me by means of constant insults and occasional physical altercations. They were successful precisely 39% of the time."
"Why did they do that?" McCoy asked.
"You have not yet shared a personal admittance."
McCoy leaned back in his chair. "I told you a few things, you still have to catch up."
"You had not yet established the rules. The story about your daughter should not be valid."
"Fine." McCoy thought for a moment.
"I have aviophobia," he said finally. "The fear of dying in something that flies. I hate space and can't stand going in starships and shuttles. The only reason why I joined Starfleet was because I lost the last custody battle and barely got to see my daughter, Joanna, anymore."
"Their goal was to humiliate me…"
They continued on long into the night, learning each other's failures and motives, finally settling into the beginning of a friendship.
"How is he?" Jim asked, peaking in the curtain.
McCoy sat by Spock's side, one hand being clutched on to and the other updating medical files on a PADD resting on his lap. He looked up at his friend and sighed.
"Not much better. I gave him a sedative and medication."
"Is it helping?"
"Slightly. He's sleeping at least…" McCoy shook his head. "He needs me with him, Jim. When Vulcan was destroyed and all those people died, his mental bonds broke so abruptly it threw him in telepathic shock. I'm an anchor for him right now."
"So what does this mean?" Jim asked, stepping through the curtains. "What's going to happen if he's in telepathic shock?"
"He's not going to be able to do a lot without help for a while. Not until the bonds heal. Vulcans rely on their telepathy for too much. It controls too much of their minds and they just can't function without it.
"The others aren't much better, either, but they had more bonds than Spock. With their families, they had less dependency on them. It was all distributed across several people so when the bonds broke, they were affected a little bit in each area. Spock had relied heavily on his paternal bonds. It was like half his telepathy being cut off all at once with each parent.
"And since vulcans are touch telepaths, Spock can feel my presence in his mind when he holds my hand. I don't know if it's helping but judging from how calm he is, it's doing something."
Jim nodded. He looked down at the priest. His hair was messy from sleep and he was sweating slightly from the fever. He gripped McCoy's hand tightly, like it was his lifeline (though, by the way McCoy explained it, it sort of was), and his entire body trembled under a pile of blankets. Jim felt his heart sink for his friend. He had heard so much about the priest - how in love he was with the mysterious little Vulcan - and the first time he got to meet Spock was after his entire planet was destroyed and he was unresponsive.
"Jim?" McCoy said softly, drawing Jim's attention to the uneasy doctor. "What's happening out there?"
"I have a plan," he began slowly, carefully saying each word. "I'm beaming onto the Narada and finding Pike."
"Jim-"
"Uhura is coming with me. She'll ignite the red matter while I'm with Pike. Nero's ship will be destroyed in a black hole with him and his crew."
"What'll happen to you three, though?"
"We'll be beamed back aboard in time. Don't worry." Jim smiled but lowered his head. He shifted his weight around before looking back up.
"You don't sound so sure," McCoy said.
Jim put his hand on McCoy's arm, squeezing it tightly. "Come on, I have the best luck. I didn't cheat my way through the Kobayashi Maru just to die on my first mission with two other officers. We'll be fine."
"You better be." McCoy reached up and placed his hand over Jim's. "Don't be an idiot."
"Don't ask for the impossible." The corner of Jim's mouth pulled up. "Have a medical team ready. We don't know what shape Pike will be in."
McCoy nodded, patting Jim's hand.
"See you later, Bones."
"See you later, kid. Tell Uhura to keep a close eye on you. God knows you need a babysitter everywhere you go."
"You got it."
They smiled at each other, their eyes expressing the sorrow and fear they refused to share with words. Jim swallowed thickly and turned around, slipping through the curtains and out of sickbay.
McCoy closed his eyes in a poor attempt to hold back his tears. He was being an idiot. Jim's plans never failed. If anyone could succeed in a dumb, far-fetched plan - it was him.
Looking at Spock, who grimaced in his sleep at McCoy's negative thoughts, he forced himself to push away the scenarios where Jim would be swallowed in the black hole and his body wouldn't even make it back for a funeral. It wasn't easy, as he was a natural pessimist but he would force nothing but positive thoughts for Spock's sake.
Jim would come back, Uhura would be smiling with victory, and Pike could easily be patched up. They would make it back safe and sound and Nero would be dead - the least of what the bastard deserved.