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McCoy seemed fine in the aftermath of the fal-tor-pan ritual, but there remained in Spock's thoughts a lingering worry that he could not fully banish. He had spent much of the recent past in isolation on Vulcan, attempting in vain to purge himself of his human half, or dead. He was no longer sure his ability to assess the emotional well-being of his friends was up to par, or even if had ever really been reliable in the first place.
"Right as rain," said McCoy, when Spock asked if had been suffering any ill-effects recently. "Why?" he asked, peering over his desk at Spock through narrowed eyes. "Are there some potential after-affects you're expecting that you haven't seen fit to mention yet? Am I going to wake up one of these mornings and see green blood when I cut myself shaving? Or, Lord, what about pon farr? If I'm going to go into a mating heat in seven years I'd like to know about it now so I can prepare myself."
The teasing tone of his voice, more so than the absurdity of the questions themselves, let Spock know that McCoy's concerns weren't actually serious.
"It is very difficult to say what after-affects you should or should not expect," said Spock. "This sort of exchange between a half-Vulcan and a human is entirely unprecedented."
McCoy smiled at him. "Everything about you is unprecedented, Spock. I like to think I'm used to it by now."
A rush of affection washed over Spock, and he was a little taken aback by the strength of it. He swallowed by force of habit, an old trick for control he had originally learned from his mother, as if the physical act of swallowing could somehow pull down the rising emotion with it. For a while Spock had tried to move past such things; a well-trained Vulcan should not need tricks to control himself. The emotion simply should not have been there in the first place. But now that Spock was back among humanity, he had accepted that attaining that level of control was a fruitless task.
"Still," said Spock, watching the smile slip from McCoy's face at the seriousness of his tone. "It was a serious thing, and I would feel remiss in my obligations to you if I didn't at least ask how you were doing with it." And Spock already knew full well that McCoy was unlikely to bring up any concerns without being prompted, no matter how severe they might be.
"The only thing making me nervous is the fact that you keep asking if I'm alright," said McCoy. "I'm fine. Why, should I not be fine?"
"No," said Spock. "It's not that."
"Then what is it, Spock?"
He was looking at Spock, that characteristic curiosity shining in his eyes, and Spock sighed and looked away. He glanced around McCoy's new office - it was still new to him, lacking the familiarity it had once had before the retro-fit had gone and changed so much of the old Enterprise he'd known so well, but he supposed he'd grow used to it in time.
"I gave you no warning and no explanation before the transfer," he said, forcing himself to look back at McCoy. "The least I can do is be sure that you are well-counseled for anything that follows."
McCoy waved his hand through the air, as if he could somehow bat the statement away with it. "There wasn't any time for an explanation," said McCoy. "I understand that. It's fine. I don't want you walking around guilt-tripping yourself over it now, Spock."
Spock drummed his fingers along his thigh, wondering if perhaps he should leave things alone for the time being. McCoy could be tricky - at times it seemed like the only thing he enjoyed more than emotional outbursts was emotional evasiveness.
"The reinsertion of my Katra was a success so far as I can tell," said Spock. "I am myself again, and you are yourself. But there is still a certain amount of... transference, I suppose, that lingers. Or perhaps it would be more accurate to call it a memory of being combined."
"Alright," said McCoy, leaning back in his chair, his arms crossed, and it sounded as if he was finally taking the conversation as seriously as Spock was. "What do you remember, then?"
"You were angry," said Spock, and McCoy flinched. "And you were right to be angry. It wasn't something I should have done to you without asking, without even an explanation."
"That's not how I remember it," said McCoy. "As I recall I was mostly sad. Confused, too, for sure, but mostly sad."
"You were most certainly angry," said Spock. He could still summon the feeling if he concentrated; a raw, painful emotion belonging to something outside of himself.
There was a moment of hesitation before McCoy spoke, as if he was marshaling his thoughts. Perhaps even trying to separate out his own feelings of that time from Spock's. He laughed, softly, and said, "After all that time having our minds mixed together I would have expected you to understand things a little better. If I was mad, I wasn't mad at your for shoving your mind inside mine. I was mad at you for dying."
An irrational response to death, but one that Spock nonetheless understands.
"I'm sorry," he said.
McCoy threw his hands up. "Don't apologize for that. I'm not looking for an apology. And if you think that was me angry, well, you can't even begin to imagine how furious I would have been if I'd known you could have pulled some Vulcan mind trick like that to save yourself and didn't bother because you were worried about my feelings or some nonsense."
Spock could imagine McCoy's fury perfectly well. But at the same time he could also remember the sorrow and pain from when they were joined, and even worse than that the confusion, that deep-seated sense of wrongness that had surely prevented McCoy from making any kind of peace with it. How could he have ever separated his own grief from the effects of holding onto Spock's katra, when he hadn't even known what that was?
Spock's resurrection had come at a cost, and it was a burden he regretted shifting to McCoy. "Still. I wish that there had been time to handle things differently."
"You could have had all the time in the world to explain everything single risk and potential complication and it wouldn't have changed anything. I still would have said yes. Hell, I would've signed a consent form and everything."
McCoy was only being half truthful, and Spock suspected they both knew it. Much of the pain had come from McCoy not knowing what was happening, and that could have been avoided if only Spock had had enough time to explain himself. McCoy would have said yes either way, Spock didn't doubt that, but at least he would have been better prepared. "You still should have had the option to say no," said Spock.
"Come on, Spock. You've been in my head. Hell, now that I think about it, I've had more than one version of you in there, haven't I? I know you. I know you would've done the same thing for me if the situation had been reversed. So don't think for a second I would ever do any less for you."
"I know," said Spock. He could clearly remember McCoy, so human and so frail, so adamant that he was going to be the one to walk into that irradiated chamber knowing full well that he was even less likely to survive it than Spock. He probably wouldn't even have survived long enough to accomplish the task at hand. Spock remembered the irrational flood of affection he'd felt for McCoy's stubborn stupidity in the face of death, and how sad he'd been at the thought of losing him, and then the satisfaction of knowing that McCoy's sacrifice wasn't actually going to happen, because Spock wasn't going to let it happen.
"You don't owe me any apology," said McCoy. "But if it makes you feel better, you're forgiven anyway."
"Thank you," said Spock. "And just promise me that you'll let me know if you do have any problems." The thought of McCoy suffering in silence was both upsetting and altogether too easy to imagine.
McCoy winked at him. "You'll be the first to know. Oh, I did realize I can do this properly now," said McCoy, raising his hand in what would have been the sloppiest Vulcan salute Spock had ever seen if Spock hadn't seen McCoy attempt it before.
The gesture was reassuring in it's familiarity.
"Please don't attempt that around any other Vulcan," said Spock. "I wouldn't want you to cause a diplomatic incident."
- - - - -
McCoy brought no concerns to Spock over the following months, and he responded to Spock's own inquiries with an increasing sense of exasperation. He'd been cleared as mentally competent by Starfleet almost immediately after the ceremony, but the Vulcans had requested a few more follow-ups - McCoy had almost refused the last visit, until Spock informed him that T'Lar herself had requested to see him. When McCoy'd still hesitated, Spock had told him that Amanda would be disappointed by his absence.
"Oh, that's cold," he'd said, but he'd agreed to come.
"It has been two years since the ceremony and I can detect no damage," said T'Lar. "At this point, I see no need to continue checking on him unless he shows some indication of distress."
"Are you sure?" asked Spock, and T'Lar glanced over at him with something suspiciously close to irritation in her expression. She was a high priestess of Vulcan; she did not say anything she was not sure of. "Apologies," said Spock. "I merely wish to be absolutely certain, given the unusual nature of the transfer."
T'Lar nodded curtly. "Understandable," she said. "The circumstances of your transference were regrettable. But I can see no evidence than he has been left damaged by it."
Spock looked over to McCoy, watching as his mother attempted in vain to show him how to properly separate his fingers for the Vulcan salute. "That's a relief." "And what of you?" asked T'Lar.
"Excuse me?" asked Spock, looking back to her. "What do you mean?"
"Your recovery from the ceremony took far longer than Dr. McCoy's, and it appears that you are the one still harboring concerns about it even after all this time. I have not looked into your mind - is it possible that the reasons for your concerns have less to do with doctor and more to do with your own thoughts?"
Spock's back stiffened. "I do not have any concerns in regards to myself," he said, and T'Lar nodded and took her leave of him.
"I always get a little nervous when she going poking around in my head," said McCoy as they boarded the shuttle that would return them to the Enterprise. "I mean, a Vulcan high priestess, she can't be seeing anything she likes in there, right? Although I'm always a little surprised there's not a team of Vulcan researchers standing by waiting to poke and prod and perform brain scans for the rest of my life. For a once in a generation deal they really haven't put much effort into documenting thing. To figure how it worked and all."
"A light touch in persons who have been subjected to this kind of psychiatric event is generally considered best," said Spock. "I'm not surprised they decided to proceed sparingly once it became clear you were rational. Well, rational by your own standards, at least."
"Like a Vulcan would know enough about it to judge," retorted McCoy. "Still, a 'light touch' doesn't seem very in line with valuing scientific discovery. I think I ran more tests on myself than they did on me."
"In matters of a more..." started Spock, but he wasn't sure exactly what the best term to use would be. Vulcans did not like to deign to calling it "mysticism", even if that were quite possibly the best Terran word to describe it. "... traditional and personal nature, individual and collective privacy is considered as important as scientific inquiry and understanding."
"Nobody wants to pull the veil back too far on all the psychic stuff, huh?" said McCoy.
"Correct." In part, Spock suspected, because doing so would reveal more emotionally driven race than Vulcan society would like to admit. After all, his parents had managed a successful marriage. And a human had carried Spock's katra and gone through the fal-tor-pan ritual, and in the aftermath neither of them had gone insane. So perhaps there were fewer differences between Vulcans and humans than people currently believed.
"I sometimes feel like I ought to be volunteering for more testing, just in the name of scientific inquiry, but I can't say I mind the opportunity to keep my thoughts to myself."
"Have you had any experiences you think worth disclosing since the ritual?" asked Spock.
McCoy shook his head, but then after a second of visible hesitation he spoke. "Nothing really," he said. "Sometimes... Sometimes, I'll have dreams that maybe feel more like your dreams than my own. Or a passing though that feels more like you than me, I guess," he said. "I don't mind it, though. It's not like before, when I thought I was going mad. It's just a passing thing. Maybe just my imagination, really."
Spock nodded. He had his own dreams, sometimes, of growing up in a green and humid city on the sea instead of in a desert. "You never mentioned this before.""I said I'd tell you if something was bothering me. This doesn't bother me. It's actually sort of comforting, in a way," said McCoy. As he talked he was fidgeting with his hands, using his right hand to push the fingers of his left into the proper form of the Vulcan salute Amanda had shown him earlier. "Makes me feel less alone. Like even if you decide to bail on us for a mountain the middle of nowhere again, I'll still have a little piece of you with me."
"I don't plan to leave Starfleet again anytime soon," said Spock. Divesting himself of his relationships - and given his tendency to lean into his Vulcan side, perhaps it was ironic that he had ended up with so many human relationships, and such deep ones at that - had been devastating the first time. He didn't think he could do it again, and he had no real inclination to try.
He knew that eventually time would do it for him. That was one of the problems with humans - in the grander scheme of things, they didn't live for very long. Then again, there was no precedent in Vulcan hybrids for him to look back to; perhaps they were all making an assumption in how long he would live, and his lifespan would in the end be closer to his mother's than his father's.
And, while time had not aged Spock quite so visibly as it had McCoy, there was still a sharp clarity to McCoy's eyes, and more importantly to his mind. That, and for all his unceasing complaints about his joints and his back, he still had a irrepressible bounce to his demeanor. Spock wasn't all that convinced that McCoy wouldn't still outlive him in the end.
"Good," said McCoy. "Because don't think for a second I'm letting you pull that a second time."
- - - - -
Spock listened to the static coming over the open comm, hoping for some pattern or legible speech to rise through the interference. He heard nothing, though, so he looked to Uhura, knowing that if anyone could make sense of the transmission it would be her. But he could tell from her expression that she was having no better luck than him. Eventually she capitulated, shaking her head and looking over at Kirk.
"I'm sorry, sir, but I can't make out any kind of coherent signal. The interference is too strong. The only thing that's coming through is static and noise."
The bridge was silent for a minute. Kirk's face was tight with stress and concentration, and it pained Spock that he had not good advice to offer.
"The team might be okay," said Kirk. "They might be holed down someplace unaffected. How long should it take for things to clear enough for sensors to start working again?"
"At least twelve hours," said Spock.
That was slightly optimistic; the composition of the planet Enroch's crust played havoc with standard Federation sensors even under the best of circumstances. When the Enterprise had responded to the bombing of the colony's capital, they'd scanned the area for additional explosives and munitions, and they'd completed missed the second rounds of bombs. At the current moment, there was no way of confirming that there wasn't a third and fourth wave yet to come.
But the winds were in their favor, blowing the irradiated debris that was making their comms situation so dire further away from the city's center with every passing minute, and they may well be able to effect an evacuation shortly. Especially if the ships they'd called for assistance made it in time.
"They might be fine for that long," said Kirk, referring to the medical personnel they'd sent down to the planet's surface to help the victims of the first round of bombs. It sounded more as if he was trying to convince himself than Spock, and that was likely at least partially because McCoy was down there somewhere with the others.
"I doubt we're that fortunate. Twelve hours may be too long." said Spock. He felt a flutter of guilt as Kirk's expression grew even more despondent, but there was nothing to be gained from false assurances. "But I can beam down the surface and-"
"No," interrupted Kirk. "We have no idea where any of our people are, or what condition they're in." Kirk stared at the bridge's main viewing screen, awash with nothing but frustrating static. "Once you're down there we'll probably just lose contact with you too. Even if you find anyone, we wouldn't be able to beam you back up."
Spock could feel fear pulsing in the back of his mind; fear, and grief and pain, and as irrational as it might have been he wasn't convinced they were his own feelings. An illogical assumption, when his friend was missing and may very well be dead; fear would have been a natural response. Grief could always could even the most ordered of minds.
Still, Spock didn't think the fear was all his own. There was a threat there, a connection that had never really entirely gone away despite the ritual that was supposed to leave them separated.
It's a thread Spock is fairly certain he can follow, if given the chance.
"Perhaps," said Spock. His irrational assurance that he could locate McCoy - alive for now, he was certain of that, if possibly not well - did not extend to assuming that he would be unaffected by the technological problems they were current subject to. "However, if I were to beam down as close as possible to the scene, I would be able to navigate my way back out of the distortion and call for assistance once I located any survivors. At the very least I should be able to render aid until the distortion clears and we can move in with a second crew."
"The last thing I want is to lose you down there, too," said Kirk. "This is hard enough with McCoy."
"I know," said Spock quietly. He hesitated for a moment, because it was something he hadn't ever discussed with anyone besides McCoy, and even then he tended to be oblique. "I don't know about the rest of the crew, but I'm certain I can locate McCoy."
Kirk looked at him. "How?" he asked, confused but slightly hopeful.
"I think there's still a part of my Katra in him," said Spock, softly. He didn't want anyone else but Kirk to be able to hear him. "I think there always will be, no matter how much time passes. And I think I can follow it to him."
"You think," repeated Kirk. "You aren't sure?"
"Not completely," said Spock, because he couldn't bear lying to Kirk under the circumstances. "But I have to try."
"That sounds like a huge risk, Spock."
"What's the alternative?" asked Spock. "Can you really do nothing?"
There was a ragged sigh, and Spock knew he'd won the argument, although he was neither proud nor pleased about it.
"Go," said Jim. "And Godspeed."
- - - - -
The acrid smell of smoke and debris in the air was the first thing to hit him when he materialized on Enroch's surface. There was a metallic scent to the air, too, and he hoped that it at least some of it was from the splintered metal frames of the buildings around him and not just blood. The first round of bombings had been devastating, and Spock feared that not many of the survivors of that first round had survived the second.
He'd brought a mask with him, and he pulled it up to cover his mouth and nose. He tried to block out everything else as he inhaled filtered air. McCoy was alive; he could feel that much. And if McCoy was still alive there may very well be more survivors than Spock had initially feared.
Spock let his own mind drift, let it slip away into a lack of conscious thought or awareness not unlike what death must feel like. And when Spock was done removing himself from his mind all that was left behind was McCoy.
He followed it, that little thread of something not himself, like it was the chain of an anchor leading him the dark ocean depths back up to the surface. He moved slowly, occasionally tripping over debris in the streets, because in the depths of his focus there wasn't much attention left to pay on his physical surroundings.
Spock was so lost in thought he almost missed McCoy when he came upon him. He had to circle back when he felt the distance between them growing instead of contracting, and when he finally laid eyes on McCoy, collapsed on the ground in the shadow of a carved out building, that was when he let the state of concentration drop entirely. There was real work to be done now.
Spock approached him slowly, worried for a moment that he'd deluded himself when he'd decided that McCoy must still be alive. Maybe the thread he'd followed hadn't been McCoy at all, but just the rapidly fading shadow of himself he'd left behind when he passed.
McCoy had been working when the second round of explosions had gone off, and his equipment was scattered on the ground in front of him. As he got closer to him Spock picked up McCoy's tricorder, which was more finely tuned for health readings than Spock's own, and ran it over him.
He was in poor shape but unlikely to die in the next few hours, which was all Spock needed to know at the moment. He reached down to McCoy's unconscious form and gently shook his shoulder. When there was no reaction Spock moved his hand to McCoy's neck, pressing his fingers down to feel McCoy's pulse out of some impulsive need to confirm for himself what the tricorder had already told him.
After a few seconds of feeling McCoy's heart beating a comfortingly normal pattern, he moved his free hand up to McCoy's face and splayed his fingers across it, very gently pushing against McCoy's mind.
McCoy's eyes finally fluttered open. "Spock?" he said, the name hard to make out his rasping voice. Spock pulled out his communicator and tried to raise the Enterprise, but was unsurprised when he got nothing but static.
"Spock?" managed McCoy again. "What's happening?"
"Hush, doctor. Trying to speak isn't helping you condition," said Spock. He pulled out a canteen of water he'd brought down from the Enterprise, gently helping McCoy sit up enough to take a drink. "You were caught up in a second round of blasts."
He had a number of superficial cuts, bruises, and most importantly a few lightly fractured ribs. That, and the radiation monitor on Spock's tricorder was beeping frantically in alarm, but it wasn't anything that couldn't be fixed with a iodine antidote once they got back to the ship. Nothing immediately life-threatening, although unfortunately it was going to be difficult to move him without causing substantial discomfort. "There's too much interference here for the transporters, but it's fairly localized," said Spock. "I can carry you outside of the affected area, and then the Enterprise can beam you to sickbay."
McCoy coughed, and then shook his head. "There was a girl," he said. "I was working on a girl, her leg, before-"
The tricorder wasn't picking up any life-signs besides the two of them, although that didn't mean there were no survivors in the area. It's range was severely hampered by all the irradiated ash still hanging in the air. Unfortunately, that same ash was also limiting Spock's vision, and he didn't think he was any likelier to find anyone than the tricorder.
"Once I get you clear I'll come back and look for other survivors," said Spock. "Right now I'd like to get you back to the Enterprise as quickly as possible." He reached down to shift McCoy closer, but stopped when the doctor groaned. Spock gently laid him back on the ground, and then looked around for the contents of his medical kit. It took him a minute, but he finally found a analgesic hypospray of than wasn't empty or too damaged to use.
"Rikon's around here somewhere," mumbled McCoy as Spock pressed the hypo into his neck. "Nair, too. And... I forgot that new nurse's name, but I think I saw her around, right before I got knocked out." He coughed, and Spock ran a hand over his arm, trying to calm him. He wanted to give the hypo a minute to work before he tried lifting him again.
"You need to find them, Spock," said McCoy. Spock wished he would stop struggling to speak, but he also preferred him awake rather than unconscious. He pulled McCoy into his arms, and when that appeared to cause him no pain, lifted him as he stood up.
"We won't stop looking until we've found everyone," said Spock. "The irradiated ash is playing havoc with the sensors, but the Solace was called into assist with rescue efforts and she should be here any hour now. More resources will help."
"They should be close," said McCoy, his face slumped against Spock's chest. He was light, and Spock spent far too much time forced to consider just how fragile his human companions were compared to himself. "You can find them and then come back for me after."
"Right now you're the priority," said Spock, making his way through the rubble back the way he'd come, moving faster now that he knew where he was headed.
"I'm fine," he muttered, and Spock wasn't sure if he was lying or simply too spaced out to appreciate the extent of his injuries. "I'm too old for this kind of thing anyway. Rikon's practically a child. You need to find her."
"Rikon is a thirty-five year officer who understood the nature of her work when she volunteered," said Spock. "And right now I don't know where she is or how to find her. I will come back and look for her, but not until you're safely back on the ship."
McCoy quieted down after that, and Spock wasn't sure whether to be grateful or unnerved by it. He moved as quickly as he could while being sure of his footing - the last thing he wanted to do was drop McCoy - but it still took an him an hour before he could raise the Enterprise on his comms. The signal was inconsistent and laced with static, but he could make out Uhura on the other end, if not what she was was trying to say. It was enough to know that he was moving the right direction, though.
It was another half-hour before he'd gone far enough that Scotty confirmed they had a good lock on him and the doctor. McCoy had slipped back into unconsciousness by that point, but Spock could feel the slow, steady pulse of his heart, and could imagine what he would have said if he were awake. Thank god. I never thought I'd be happy at the though of having my atoms scattered across all of space.
"Two to beam up," said Spock.
- - - - -
Spock failed to keep his promise - by the time he was beamed back to the Enterprise the Solace had arrived in orbit, and a fresh team was ready to hit the surface just as soon as security had cleared the risk of any additional explosions. He didn't think an exhausted Vulcan would be of much use to a fresh and well-trained group of search and rescue specialists. He did let them know where he had found McCoy, in the hopes that some of his fellow medical staff would be located nearby. "How did you manage to find him?" asked the officer in charge. He probably hoped Spock would offer him a way to find others on the surface as well, and Spock was sorry to disappoint him.
"Sheer luck," he said, before making his way back the medical bay. Kirk was leaving, satisfied with Chapel's assurances that McCoy would make a full recovery in due time and eager to get back to command now that he no longer had to worry about his friends on top of everything else. He clasped a hand to Spock's shoulder as he passed, a silent form of gratitude they'd used many times over the years, and then headed for the bridge.
"He really is going to be fine," said Chapel. She looked tired - she hadn't had any rest since the emergency had started, either, since she was the only doctor that hadn't been down on the surface and they'd already transported plenty of victims up to the Enterprise for her to treat by herself.
"I'm concerned about the psychological impact," said Spock. "Especially if we don't manage to recover the rest of the medical team." Ordinarily he would have kept such a thing to himself, but Chapel had known McCoy just as long as he had - a little longer, actually, now that he thought about it - and he felt the honesty would serve McCoy's best interest.
"Yes," she said, sadly, "he'll probably take it hard." She was likely not unaffected herself, although Spock would not presume to presss her on that. "But we've handled this type of thing before, and I'm sure we'll have to handle it again. He'll manage it. He always does."
Spock nodded, and she left him alone with McCoy. Cleaned up, he looked better, and Spock was familiar enough with the Enterprise's medical equipment to know that his readings were stable. His own mind was quiet; calm enough for the time being to let him drift off into sleep as well.
- - - - -
Spock woke to the light pressure of McCoy's hand on his.
"Sorry," said McCoy. His voice was still rough but it sounded better, and he'd managed to pull himself into a sitting position without help. "I was trying to figure out if you were asleep or just contemplating life with your eyes closed. I didn't mean to wake you."
"It fine," said Spock. He looked over at the monitors, and finding nothing alarming on them, looked back at McCoy. "How are you feeling?"
"God awful, but I've felt worse," McCoy said. He shouldn't be suffering much from his injuries, not after all the analgesics he'd had pumped into him, but Spock had a feeling he was at least partially referring to his mental state.
"You're fortunate to be feeling anything at all," said Spock.
"Thanks almost entirely to you, I'm sure," he said, a small smile flickering across his face. "How'd you manage to find me?"
"I followed you, here," said Spock, tapping his temple, and McCoy nodded. It had been years since the ritual, but the connection between them hadn't faded so much as it had been subsumed into a part of their daily lives.
"It's strange," said McCoy. "It felt like you were there, but at the same time I though I was just imagining it." He rubbed a hand over his face. After everything he'd gone through over the past few days Spock was certain his head must be killing him. "That happens sometimes, you know. It feels like you're there even when you're not."
"I have the same feeling from time to time," said Spock. After so many years with McCoy at his side it was an oddly reassuring sensation, but he didn't feel the need to explain that to McCoy. He was sure McCoy felt the same way.
"I'm surprised, though, I really thought all that Vulcan mind warp stuff was done with."
Spock titled his head, raising a brow in curiosity. McCoy's statement didn't mesh with what he'd just said. "Really? You just said you still feel something of the connection."
McCoy shrugged, running a hand through his hair. "Well, that's normal, isn't it? After all, we've known each other for decades, we were bound to rub off on each other eventually. People get into your head after a while, even without all the mind-meld nonsense."
"I suppose that's one way of looking at it," said Spock. "I'm sure the Vulcan Academy would be quite willing to conclude that you've been a negative influence on me."
McCoy smiled. "Nothing could possibly make me more proud than knowing that I've put cracks in that solid Vulcan exterior of yours."
"That you have. Despite my best attempts to hide it, I'm afraid it was fairly obvious to the rest of the crew that I was pleased you survived."
"Well, at least until the next emergency," said McCoy. "I really don't know what I'd do without you."
"I'm sure you'd manage somehow," said Spock. "You needn't worry, though. I'm not planning on leaving you to your own devices any time soon."
- - - - -
"I'm retiring," said McCoy, as he sat down next to Spock and snapped of his gloves with more aggression than the task really required.
Spock took a moment to consider the statement. On the one hand, the last few missions had been draining, both physically and emotionally, and it be that surprising to learn that McCoy had finally reached his fill of it. That, and McCoy was old enough now that retirement would not be an unexpected choice. On the other, Spock was fairly certain McCoy had been threatening to retire since the day he enlisted.
The project to design a vaccine for a flu-like outbreak on Cansura was going slowly, but it was nonetheless proceeding at a steady pace, largely in part to McCoy's tireless efforts. The lack of sleep was clearly starting to get to him, though, resulting in an even more irritable than usually demeanor.
It was like a statement born of frustration, then, not a declaration of real intent. As McCoy got older separating the two things had gotten trickier.
"Starfleet requires an active-duty officer of your age and rank to give at least six months notice before retirement," said Spock. "I believe you're going to have to finish up the Cansura mission regardless."
McCoy threw his head back with an exaggerated sigh. "I come to you in this, my time of suffering, my hour of need, hoping for comfort and solace, only to be assaulted with cold hard facts! I should have known better."
"Probably," said Spock. "Dr. Chapel has mostly been dealing with the labratory side of things, correct? I'm sure she'd be willing to take over on the patient care for a few hours while you got some rest."
"I like Christine too much to do that to her," said McCoy.
"I'm sure she'll survive a few hours," said Spock. While Chapel's temper could at times fray just as explosively as McCoy's, it usually took her longer to reach that point. It would be a least a few days before she was in his office threatening to retire.
"Maybe I really should think about retirement," said McCoy, sighing. He rolled his neck, and there was a crack loud enough that Spock could hear it across the desk.
"I don't think we're ready to retire," said Spock.
McCoy raised an eyebrow at him. "What's this about talk about 'we'? I was speaking for myself."
"I somehow doubt I'll be on this ship much longer than you," said Spock.
"Aren't you still a spring chicken by Vulcan standards? I wouldn't think you'd be ready to go home and drink juleps all day just yet."
"I've been thinking I might move on to a different role," said Spock. "Diplomacy, maybe. I've had some interest from the Vulcan office."
"I was going to say you'd make a terrible diplomat, but that I remembered I had to judge by Vulcan standards," said McCoy.
"Well I suppose if you stay on the Enterprise we won't have to find out, will we?"
"Emotional blackmail," muttered McCoy. "That's not terribly Vulcan of you, Spock."
"I did learn from the best."
"Very clever. But I suppose you're right, throwing my had in isn't going to do anything to solve this mess. I've got to dig myself out the hard way. So back to the salt-mines it is, I suppose," he said, rising to his feet.
"Go get some rest," said Spock, rising to follow him. "Chapel will handle the patients, and I'll cover her labs."
For a second, Spock thought McCoy was going to object, but after a moment's hesitation he sighed, letting his shoulders slump. He really was exhausted. "A few hours can't hurt. Thank you, Spock."
"Of course," said Spock. "After all, it isn't your fault that humans need so much more sleep than Vulcans do."
McCoy rolled his eyes at him. "Have to get the last word in, don't you?" he said. "But I don't know what I'd do without you."
After carrying part of his katra, McCoy never really would have to do without him, nor would Spock ever really be fully separate from him. But even that connection wasn't the same thing as having the flesh and blood person around. And Spock hoped he wouldn't have to figure out how to handle that absence for a while.
"Nor I you, Doctor."