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The first thing Spock noticed about their new doctor was the peculiar habit he displayed directly after transporting.
Well, if he thought about it—which he often tried very hard not to—it wasn’t the first thing. The very first thing he noticed about McCoy was his eyes. They were bright blue, an unusual color for both humans and Vulcans, and they always reflected some kind of fire. Spock knew how illogical that sounded, which was partially why he vowed never to voice such a thought out loud, but it was true. McCoy’s eyes seemed to burn, with passion or compassion or anger, and the first time he looked at Spock with those eyes, Spock experienced an extreme emotion that surprised him so much he had to suppress it immediately lest it consume him. Those eyes made him burn, too, and Spock often found himself unable to look away from them.
He wanted to study them, though at the time he didn’t understand how he would even do such a thing, or why he wanted to in the first place.
The second thing he noticed about McCoy was his hands. They were difficult to miss – if McCoy wasn’t working with his hands, he was often gesturing with them, to the point where they were usually in the face of whoever he was speaking to. And since Spock spoke to him quite often, he was always looking at those hands. Strong, deft hands, hands built for surgery.
They made Spock burn too, but that one was easier to figure out.
The third thing he noticed about McCoy was that he was quite stubborn, but to Spock that was a positive trait. It had been a long time since he met someone who not only didn’t cower in the face of his sarcasm, but actually debated back against him. While McCoy’s arguments were often wildly emotional, they were also incredibly grounded in their own type of logic, a logic that never would have occurred to Spock if McCoy had not said it. Their debates were invaluable to Spock, as they forced him to put effort into coming up with a counterargument and, when he couldn’t, to change his perspective. McCoy was constantly challenging norms Spock had subconsciously adopted, and it was both enlightening and freeing.
It was also stimulating. He was stimulating, in so many ways.
So McCoy’s post-transport habit was not in fact the very first thing Spock noticed about him, but it was among the first. It was quite an unusual habit. Once he fully materialized, McCoy lingered on the transporter pad and examined his hands. He looked them over, front and back, and then slowly traced his fingers along the veins of each arm, following them all the way up to his elbows. Then, he would draw his hands down his chest, slowly feeling out each rib and muscle, and pat his thighs.
Only then would he let out a breath and step off the transporter pad.
Spock observed this habit seven times before McCoy caught him watching him and gave him a small, half-hearted smile. “Just checking I’m still in one piece.”
Spock raised an eyebrow. It seemed odd that he had to check. If there was something missing from his body, he would immediately be able to tell from the pain or lack of function. Even if he couldn’t somehow tell, he always had his medical tricorder strapped to his shoulder when he transported. There was no reason to manually check with his hands. “That is illogical, Doctor.”
McCoy’s smile immediately fell down into a frown, something more defensive about his posture suddenly.
“Yeah, well, no one asked you,” McCoy snapped frostily, brushing past him to storm out of the transporter room.
Spock was left standing there, strangely regretting his words.
--
“No matter how many times I do that, I never get used to it,” McCoy muttered. He was standing next to Spock in a Denobulan’s foyer, running through his usual habit. Zegnik, the Chancellor they had beamed down to meet, seemed inordinately curious about the Captain and was currently ignoring the two of them. “You know, the first time I used one of those blasted things, I lost my lunch right after I rematerialized. Nothing was wrong with me physically, but mentally… It just didn’t feel right, scattering my atoms across the galaxy like that.”
Spock opened his mouth, but McCoy rolled his eyes before he could say anything. “Don’t you get started, I know how the transporter works.”
Spock raised his eyebrow. “I was simply going to inquire why you chose a profession in deep space when you knew that you would have to transport many times.”
“Well…I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to study something new out here, could I?” McCoy said, patting his thighs and letting out a breath, finishing his routine.
This intrigued Spock. He knew that McCoy had also been brought on as head of life sciences, which was not necessarily assigned to the CMO due to its focus on research rather than reparative and preventative medicine. This suggested that McCoy was also interested in science and research, though he and Spock had yet to have an opportunity to work together. While Spock did not automatically doubt McCoy’s affinity for research, it was another thing altogether to know that it was important enough for him to face such a debilitating fear in order to pursue it.
“Fascinating,” Spock said. “I too joined Starfleet out of a desire to study ‘something new out here’, as you put it.”
McCoy glanced at him. “Is that so? Well, I look forward to working with you, Mister Spock.”
Spock was going to return the sentiment, but he was interrupted as Zegnik finally seemed to realize that there were other officers there besides Kirk and approached him and McCoy.
Spock responded to them diplomatically, but his attention was on McCoy.
--
Spock stood beside McCoy in the biolab, helping him examine skin tissue samples.
It was their first time working on a research project together, and Spock was already finding McCoy to be an invaluable partner. He was thoughtful and meticulous in his technique, and here too he offered a unique perspective that frequently challenged and stretched what Spock thought he knew about science and the universe around them. Though even he had to admit that their methods were unorthodox – they each examined the samples, and then got into lengthy arguments about what they had found and what their theories were and why the data supported one theory but not another. These went on until one or the other eventually caved and they came to an agreement. (Spock had thought that he would make McCoy see reason every time, but he had already yielded twice.)
So far, though, they seemed to be producing extraordinary results. They were making steady progress on the samples, and though it took much longer than if Spock had analyzed them alone, it was strangely enjoyable. Spock usually preferred working alone, and often did not appreciate having to collaborate with another, though of course he did so when it was necessary.
But with McCoy…he found himself wanting to work with him willingly.
“Spock,” McCoy said, spinning the microscope towards him, “take a look at this.”
Spock glanced into the eyepiece. “…These appear to be single-celled organisms. They most closely resemble Earth amoebas.”
McCoy snapped his fingers. “Exactly! I don’t think these are skin tissues at all.”
Spock stepped back from the microscope. Surprisingly, he agreed with McCoy. “Indeed. Perhaps they are—”
The comm whistled suddenly, interrupting them.
“Mister Spock, Doctor McCoy – we’ve arrived at Zargus V,” Kirk’s voice rumbled from the speaker. “Meet me in the transporter room in five minutes, standard landing party procedure.”
Beside Spock, McCoy stiffened. Spock could even feel it, with how they stood shoulder to shoulder. When Spock glanced at him, he looked stricken, his shoulders tense around his neck and his hands tightened into fists on the workbench.
Spock had never before witnessed the exact moment when McCoy had to face the idea of transport.
“Doctor—” he started, though he didn’t know what to say. What could he say that would help?
McCoy took a deep breath, holding it for precisely four seconds before letting it out again. He slowly uncurled his hands, taking more deep, rhythmic breaths as he did so. Then, with obvious effort, he relaxed his shoulders and opened his eyes to meet Spock’s. “…Well? Are you coming?”
Spock searched his face, and was surprised to find no trace of the anxiety that had seemed so severe mere seconds before. He supposed that McCoy had been dealing with this for so long that he didn’t require anyone’s help, as he had already developed the techniques to deal with it.
So he merely straightened and started putting his lab equipment away. “Yes, Doctor.”
--
A few months later, Spock invited McCoy to join him and five other crew members in studying a pulsar. McCoy was overjoyed.
“Finally,” he joked, “a science mission that involves a shuttle!”
“I had thought you might appreciate it, Doctor,” Spock said, falling into step beside him as they walked to the shuttle bay.
“It’s nice not having instant anxiety upon hearing about an away mission,” McCoy said cheerfully. “Hell, maybe I can actually enjoy myself this time!”
Spock did not believe such offhanded words had any impact on reality. But still, perhaps he shouldn’t have said it, for as soon as they entered the pulsar, they were knocked off-course by unknown turbulence, losing both sensors and communication systems in the process. Spock had no choice but to use what limited control he had to nudge the shuttle towards the nearest planet – they would have to land in order to start repairs.
The landing was harsh, as he could only partially control the descent and the planet’s surface consisted almost entirely of hard rock. The crash knocked everyone in the shuttle to the floor, the power abruptly cutting out for a second before the emergency back-ups brought it back on again, albeit at a much lower level.
As soon as the shuttle stopped rocking, Spock returned to his seat, trying to assess the damage. He heard McCoy’s medical scanner whirring behind him as he checked on the status of their team, and then it was suddenly right by his ear.
“I guess this goes to show that shuttles aren’t really any safer, huh?” McCoy muttered, rubbing the back of his neck as he quickly read over the results of the medical scan on his tricorder.
“I would hardly call this a regular occurrence, Doctor,” Spock said, pressing a few buttons on his console. Nothing was responding, which didn’t bode well for their chances of leaving again anytime soon. “However, science does show that using the transporter is statistically safer than travel by shuttle.”
“I’ll be sure to remember that next time I decide to step onto a shuttle with you,” McCoy said drily. Spock was surprised that he could joke in a situation like this. If this accident had occurred via transporter, he did not think he would be so light-hearted.
Regardless, his jovial mood didn’t last long. The situation was not encouraging, as repairs were possible but they wouldn’t be able to lift off from the planet with everyone on board. At Spock’s grave statement that three people would have to be left behind, the crew responded with outrage, an outrage that only continued to increase as they discovered the aggressive creatures on the planet. Spock tried to keep the remaining crew safe by ordering them not to spend time outside, even to bury their fellow officers, but this was met with outright hostility. Even McCoy himself got angry with him, which had not happened so genuinely since they first met.
Spock couldn’t understand it. He had done everything that logic required of him, followed every step he should’ve in the role of leadership. And yet two officers had died, one seemed on the verge of mutiny, and McCoy scowled and argued furiously with just about everything he said.
He thought, idly, that they would not be in this situation if they had been able to use the transporter.
But he pushed the thought aside and focused on leading to the best of his ability.
When they got back to the Enterprise, McCoy glanced at Spock. He didn’t seem angry anymore, just tired. Spock figured he would mumble a quiet good night and then retreat to his quarters to rest.
However, McCoy rarely followed a regular pattern, so he instead said, “Wanna come over for a drink?”
Spock considered the question thoroughly. It was not something they had ever done together before, perhaps because McCoy knew that Spock couldn’t get intoxicated from alcohol. What he did not yet know was that sometimes Spock enjoyed a brandy or two anyway, and he certainly desired one today.
So, to McCoy’s obvious surprise, Spock agreed.
The walk to McCoy’s quarters was quiet, the lights dimmed to simulate Earth’s nighttime. When they arrived, McCoy offered him a seat on the sofa as he bustled around his cabinets. The bottle he produced from it certainly wasn’t legal on board a Federation starship, but Kirk was lenient towards it as long as no one showed up to work intoxicated, so Spock had learned not to reprimand people for it.
He accepted the glass McCoy poured for him and then took a sip. The flavor was rich and sweet, and the burn of it sat satisfyingly on his tongue and the back of his throat. It was good brandy – McCoy must have been holding onto it for some time.
“Is this the ‘51 vintage?” Spock asked as McCoy sat beside him on the couch.
McCoy’s eyes widened. He was obviously impressed. “It is! I wouldn’t have expected you to know that.”
“This particular vintage has a distinct flavor.” Spock tilted his glass thoughtfully. “I suspect due to the heavy flooding that occurred while they were growing this particular batch.”
McCoy suddenly leaned closer to him – the heat of him was intense. “Are you telling me you’re actually interested in brandy?”
“Consuming alcohol is a common tradition in many Earth cultures,” Spock said. He resisted leaning forward too, but just barely. “As the practice is virtually non-existent on Vulcan, I have always found it a fascinating subject. Brandy is one of the few alcoholic beverages that I find palatable.”
McCoy grinned. “Well I’ll be! You’re a man of taste, Mister Spock.”
He said it as if it was a personal victory.
The corner of Spock’s mouth lifted into a small smile. “Evidently, you are as well, Doctor.”
McCoy hummed, pleased, and then tilted his glass towards Spock in a mini toast. Spock mirrored him, and they settled into their brandies.
As they drank, however, McCoy’s mood became more somber. Spock didn’t know if this was common for him when he drank, or if the events of the day were weighing on him. Spock’s own thoughts had returned to the mission – he found himself repeating what had happened over and over in his mind, trying to figure out where he had gone wrong. He had behaved perfectly logically.
It was the first time in his experience that that hadn’t been enough.
McCoy let out a deep sigh. Part of Spock expected him to continue their argument from the shuttle, but he merely said, “I hate writing death certificates. It’s better than Jim’s job I guess, writing home to the family, but it’s still godawful. I’d give anything not to have to write another one of those blasted things for as long as I live.”
Spock didn’t think McCoy was blaming him, but guilt still pricked at him anyway. He carefully suppressed it. “I too regret their deaths. There must have been something else I could’ve done.”
McCoy rolled his head over to look at him. “You did the best you could, Spock. That’s all we can do out here.”
“And yet it was not enough.”
McCoy sighed again. “No. Sometimes it’s not.”
“How do you handle that fact, Doctor?”
McCoy was quiet for a moment, staring down at his brandy. “I guess I just tell myself that as long as I’m trying everything I can, I’m giving someone a better chance of living, and that’s always worth doing, even if it doesn’t succeed. And then I try my damn hardest to believe it.”
McCoy took a swig of his drink. Spock glanced at his throat as he swallowed, and then looked away again. He longed to close the distance between them, put his hand on his arm, offer comfort. He didn’t understand why McCoy had such a pull on him, but he often found it difficult to resist him.
“That’s surprisingly logical of you, Doctor.”
McCoy grinned. “I have my moments, Mister Spock.”
They continued to drink together until half of the bottle was gone. Spock was unaffected, of course, but McCoy was starting to look looser, slouched against the couch as he was. Spock got up, cleaned his glass, and then placed it on the counter where McCoy had grabbed it from. “I will take my leave of you, Doctor. Thank you for the brandy.”
“Anytime, Spock.” McCoy waved his glass at him. He’d slurred his name just slightly.
Spock nodded at him and then headed for the door. Before he could get fully there, however, McCoy spoke again.
“Hey, do me a favor will you?” Spock stopped and turned to find McCoy grinning at him. “Come by for a drink more often, and not just when someone’s died, alright?”
It had been enjoyable. And it would be even better without the deaths of their crew members hanging over them.
“Very well, Doctor,” he said, and felt warm as McCoy’s smile softened.
--
Exactly 6.6 months into the Enterprise’s mission, an anomaly occurred during transport.
An ion storm had suddenly rolled in while the landing party was still on the surface, so quickly that they had no choice but to risk beaming up through the edge of it. Ion storms were notoriously difficult to transport through – 85.6% of all reported transporter accidents were caused by ion storms, though Spock had kindly kept this piece of information from McCoy.
The transporter had had a difficult time retaining a lock on their signals, so much so that they were suspended in the beam for nearly a minute, their atoms caught in a state of flux. Though Spock knew the science behind it, it was always an odd sensation for him, to be aware and yet unable to move or feel any parts of his body while his atoms struggled to stay cohesive.
If even Spock found it odd, it must be absolutely intolerable for McCoy.
When they finally materialized, McCoy collapsed into a squat, his hands hooked behind his neck as he took erratic, ragged breaths. He was trembling all over, his eyes squeezed tightly shut. He didn’t examine his hands, or his chest, or his arms, or his legs. He didn’t relax, and his breathing didn’t return to normal. Everyone in the transporter room was staring at him, all frozen in place from shock at seeing him in such a state, but he didn’t seem to notice. He just remained crouched there on the floor, muttering something so lowly to himself that even Spock couldn’t make it out.
For the first time, Spock fully realized how strong he truly was, to use the transporter as often as he did with how much of a negative effect it had on him.
Kirk took a hesitant step towards him. “Bones—?”
McCoy didn’t seem to hear him.
Spock found himself joining Kirk on the transporter pad, McCoy between them. He didn’t remember making the decision to approach, but there he was. He placed a hand gently between McCoy’s shoulder blades. “Doctor, I have an injury that requires your attention.”
Kirk shot a bewildered look at him. Spock was not injured, and they both knew it. But it was enough to grab McCoy’s attention – he slowly unfurled his body, lifting his head so that his blue eyes met Spock’s. He blinked at him several times, as if confused. “…What?”
“I said I have an injury that requires your attention,” Spock repeated.
“Yes, you should look him over, Bones,” Kirk added, catching onto what Spock was trying to do.
McCoy’s eyebrows furrowed as he unsteadily got to his feet. He grabbed Spock’s chin, tilting his head this way and that as he examined him. “How come you didn’t mention this before—?!”
“Doctor,” Spock scolded softly, very aware of the other crew members who still stood hesitantly in the transporter room.
Kirk suddenly remembered them too and said sternly, “You all are dismissed.”
The crew scattered as McCoy frowned at Spock. He dropped his gaze to Spock’s body, noted the very obvious lack of bleeding or other signs of injury there, and then grabbed his tricorder from around his shoulder. He scanned him thoroughly, his frown deepening as he read the output on the screen.
“You’re not injured, Mister Spock,” he said slowly.
“No, I am not,” Spock agreed.
McCoy looked absolutely bewildered by this. “What in the hell are you trying to pull—?”
“That transport experience deeply unsettled you,” Spock murmured. “I thought perhaps you could use a distraction.”
McCoy continued to stand there, just blinking at him. Kirk smiled and patted McCoy’s shoulder. “It seems to have worked, hm?”
McCoy glanced back and forth between the two of them before suddenly seeming to remember where he was. He skittered off the transporter pad, finally relaxing a bit as he moved further into the room. He hugged his arms, looking strangely vulnerable as he stood there in the harsh light of the transporter room.
Kirk opened his mouth to say something, but was interrupted by the sudden whistling of the comm. His expression soured as he went to answer it, listening intently to what was being said on the other end before turning back to McCoy and Spock. “Sorry, gentlemen, duty calls. But Bones—”
“I’ll be alright, Jim,” McCoy murmured. “Thanks.”
Kirk assessed him for a moment and then gave him a small nod. He left, the loud squeak of the doors opening making McCoy flinch.
Spock placed a hand on his arm. “Would you like to have some tea in my quarters, Doctor?”
McCoy swallowed heavily, not quite looking at him. “That…sounds wonderful, actually. Thanks, Spock.”
Spock dipped his head and then led the way to his quarters, McCoy quickly following. He seemed eager to leave the transporter room behind them. When they arrived, Spock offered for McCoy to sit on the couch while he began brewing tea. He always brewed by hand, the traditional way, rather than relying on replicated versions. Perhaps it was illogical to think so, but it always tasted better.
When the tea was ready, Spock sat beside McCoy and handed him a cup. McCoy took it clumsily, his eyes focused elsewhere. He held the cup in his hands, but didn’t drink it, or even look in its general direction.
He seemed afraid to catch a glimpse of his hands, as if there might be a piece of him missing if he dared to look.
Without thinking, Spock took his hand. It was just a light touch, not intimate even by Vulcan standards, but it startled both of them badly – McCoy jumped and Spock’s heart rate skyrocketed. For a moment, they just sat there not looking at each other, their hands clasped.
Spock’s throat worked. It would be illogical, and much more awkward, to retreat now. Instead, he traced his fingers lightly along the back of McCoy’s hand, following his veins just as McCoy normally would, and murmured, “While I obviously cannot see individual atoms with my eyes, I believe you are in one piece, Doctor.”
McCoy’s pulse was thumping hard against Spock’s palm. His emotions were too, a jumbled mess that Spock wouldn’t be able to pick out clearly even if he wasn’t shielding. He met McCoy’s eyes, only to find those blue eyes staring back at him with an intensity that made something burn within him.
Eventually, McCoy wet his lips and broke eye contact. “…That’s comforting to know, Mister Spock. Thank you.”
“You’re quite welcome, Doctor.” Spock hesitated, but there was no longer a logical reason to hold McCoy’s hand, if there ever had been one in the first place. He let go, but didn’t move away on the couch.
McCoy didn’t either, and so they remained close as they drank their tea.
--
The next time there was a turbulent transport, Spock didn’t have to fake an injury – McCoy came to his quarters right away, unprompted.
Spock brewed tea for him, and they sat on the couch together once again. Spock observed McCoy closely for signs of distress. He was shaky, and he wasn’t looking at his hands again, but he seemed to be trying to pretend that everything was fine as he talked loudly and boisterously about a subject that Spock wasn’t entirely clear on.
Spock thought about taking his hand again, but it seemed harder now that he was consciously considering it. He had long since realized what his fascination with McCoy’s hands—and McCoy himself—meant, but so far it hadn’t seemed logical to bring it up. He and McCoy were quite close at this point, but he had yet to notice any signs that McCoy might also harbor romantic feelings towards him.
And it certainly wasn’t the time to mention it now, when McCoy was already distressed.
He had somehow circled back to talking about the transporter while Spock had been contemplating holding his hand. “I don’t know why they don’t do more maintenance and studies on those things. Countless people risk their lives going through that thing every day, and yet one ion storm comes along and suddenly no one can get the transporter to work! I mean, why hasn’t more research been done on that specific phenomenon when we’ve encountered something like it so many damn times—?!”
He was working himself up again, almost to a panic.
“Doctor,” Spock interjected softly.
McCoy cut off, something extremely fragile in his expression, and then looked away.
“…You must think I’m ridiculous,” he muttered, sagging back against the couch and throwing an arm over his eyes.
Spock raised his eyebrow. He thought many things about McCoy, but he had never once found him ridiculous. “On the contrary, I take you very seriously.”
McCoy snorted, and Spock was gratified to see a tiny smile pull at his lips. “I meant about my discomfort towards transporters. I know how they work, I know the chances of anything happening to me are slim, and yet each time I have to check I’m still in one piece afterward.”
Spock was quiet for a moment, considering his words carefully. “…I in fact admire you.”
That startled McCoy, and he sat up slightly. “…Come again?”
“You have a deep revulsion for the transporter, and yet you use it nearly daily. You volunteer for away missions that you do not need to be a part of – you have developed a routine that makes transport more tolerable for you. Most in your place, I believe, would simply avoid it all together. You do not.” Spock shifted closer until McCoy met his eyes. “You face your fear and you, for the most part, conquer it. The fact that you may fail to conquer it sometimes should not be seen as a weakness, merely an inevitability.”
McCoy licked his lips, searching Spock’s face. “…You really mean that?”
“I do. I simply wish I could do more to assist you.” Spock purposefully looked away from him as he set his teacup down on the coffee table. “You have plenty of your own methods that are effective, but on days like today, I wish I could offer you better support.”
McCoy didn’t answer for a moment, and then he said, “But you do help me, Spock. After rough transports like that, I used to pace around my quarters in endless anxiety until I finally fell asleep from exhaustion. But now, I can just come to your quarters, drink some tea, and argue about something meaningless. I usually stop thinking about my anxiety within an hour, maybe two. You help me relax, Spock, in a way that I can’t quite achieve on my own.”
Spock looked up and met his eyes. Something passed between them, something that made Spock’s breath catch in his throat. He still didn’t grab his hand, but he did rest his fingers lightly against McCoy’s forearm. “I am pleased to hear it. I find you relaxing as well, Doctor – I do not have to try so hard not to offend when we argue.”
McCoy barked out a laugh and, to Spock’s pleasure, leaned into his touch. “You don’t mind being an asshole to me, is that it?”
“I know that you will simply be an asshole right back, as you say,” Spock said, a smile threatening to pull on the corners of his lips.
McCoy did smile, the bright one that Spock treasured. “Well, aren’t we just two peas in a pod, then?”
Spock was inclined to agree. He was also gratified to see that McCoy really did seem to forget about the transporter as they began discussing the away mission instead.
--
It became a routine. If transport was unusually suspended or more turbulent than normal, McCoy would head directly for Spock’s quarters afterward and they would share a cup of tea together. Spock was pleased that he was able to provide a space for McCoy to work off any lingering anxiety or discomfort, but he had to admit that he was pleased for an excuse to spend time with him, too. It was getting harder and harder to resist seeking him out for a friendly argument or touching him, his deepening romantic emotions slipping through even his most effective suppression techniques.
They’d been dancing around it for a long time now. McCoy sometimes looked at him with a fire that made Spock’s heart rate pick up, but something pulled him back from acting on it every single time. He supposed he was hesitant to risk ruining the easy friendship they had, even though he was just as confident that their friendship was strong enough to survive it.
So he said nothing, even as he wondered what he would do if his emotions got any stronger.
That afternoon found them on the surface of Qet, an unusual planet that possessed a quadrupole magnetic field. Spock and McCoy had been sent to the surface with a team of scientists to study the effects such a magnetic field would have on the planet’s geological history and lifeforms. Right as they’d beamed down, however, Qet’s sun began emitting coronal mass ejections. The transport there had been slightly delayed as a result, though their patterns had remained stable and they had arrived at the correct coordinates. Still, Spock could tell that McCoy was nervous, though he was trying to hide it by cracking jokes with the other members of the science team.
Magnetic storms usually took many hours to build in intensity, especially since it took a while for the sun’s plasma to even reach the planet, so they all decided that they would have enough time to complete their surveys. Evidently, however, the quadrupole magnetic field was causing the storm to build up much more rapidly than on Earth or Vulcan: by the time they finished collecting their samples, the storm had already intensified immensely. Spock berated himself for not considering the possibility earlier – now they had much less time, and much less stable conditions, to beam back in.
By the time Spock realized that they needed to head back immediately, the transporter locks were already so finicky that Scott had no choice but to beam them up one at a time. McCoy insisted that the rest of the team go first, but Spock noticed his hands shaking as he swiftly nudged people forward.
He stepped closer, pressing his shoulder against McCoy’s. McCoy glanced up at him, surprised, but then relaxed slightly into the touch.
After a few minutes, everyone had beamed up safely except for the two of them. The storm was even worse than it had been mere minutes before – it was now starting to interfere with communication, to the point where Spock could barely hear what Scott was saying when he called in. They decided to stall communication unless absolutely necessary and operate under the assumption that transport of Spock and McCoy would occur from the same exact coordinates as soon as possible.
“Transport first, Doctor,” Spock said, pushing him to the proper coordinates.
McCoy whipped around to face him, his eyes wide. “What? No! You should go first, Mister—”
“The transport will likely be less turbulent if you go now,” Spock said firmly. His voice softened as he added, “Please, Leonard. I will be right behind you.”
McCoy searched his face, patting his sides nervously, and then stepped back into the correct location. He met Spock’s eyes as the transporter beam dematerialized him.
Spock waited several seconds. He did not breathe. He did not think.
Then, finally, the beam engulfed him.
Spock let out the breath he’d been holding, relief filtering through his limbs before they dematerialized – McCoy must have made it safely to the other side.
His transport, however, felt odd, though that was to be expected due to the magnetic storm. And yet it was still an unsettling experience to be both conscious and not, aware of his physical body and not. Right now, he could understand why McCoy found it so disturbing. It also seemed to be taking longer than normal, and Spock could only be grateful that McCoy had gone through the transporter earlier – perhaps he had been spared the extra turbulence.
When he rematerialized, he found Kirk, McCoy, and Scott staring at him with stricken expressions. He frowned, glancing at each one in turn as he stepped down from the transporter pad. “Is something the matter, gentlemen?”
“Is something the matter—?!” McCoy barked. His face was ashen.
“We nearly lost your pattern, sir,” Scott interjected quietly. “It was a close call.”
It didn’t sink in at first. Vulcans had many rituals surrounding death and the onset of death. Extensive preparations were made when one’s time in the universe was coming to an end, such as arranging property, transferring the katra, and connecting with friends and family. It was an intimate affair, and one that Spock had always found quite reassuring. If his time was approaching, at least he could settle his affairs, have some control over the situation.
Sudden death broke that comforting pattern of tradition, of course. It didn’t seem logical that he’d been near death and couldn’t even tell, couldn’t do anything to prepare. He would’ve just been hopelessly caught in a transporter beam, never again to rematerialize.
Kirk peered at him closely. “…Are you alright, Mister Spock?”
Spock blinked and focused on him. He stowed away any lingering emotions surrounding his near-death experience – they could be analyzed later. “Evidently, yes. Shall we return to the—?”
“I’d like to look you over, if you don’t mind,” McCoy cut in. He reached out and curled his fingers around Spock’s sleeve – Spock could feel his hand shaking.
He looked into McCoy’s eyes, saw the desperation there, and knew he couldn’t refuse. Illogically, he found himself wanting McCoy’s comfort, anyway. “That would be acceptable, Doctor.”
“Let’s reconvene tomorrow then, hm?” Kirk said, eying the two of them.
McCoy glanced at him. “Thank you, Jim.”
Kirk smiled, clapped a hand on McCoy’s shoulder, then Spock’s, and then turned and left with Scott in step behind him.
McCoy started to lead Spock out of the transporter room as well, still gripping his sleeve. Spock allowed him to drag him along, recognizing that McCoy needed to feel like he was in control in a situation like this. But McCoy didn’t take him to Sickbay – instead, he took him to Spock’s quarters, where they often sought refuge together after an unusual transport.
Spock shifted his hand so he could curl his fingers around McCoy’s wrist.
As soon as they were inside Spock’s quarters, McCoy turned, cupped his face, and kissed him. Spock stiffened in surprise, but quickly melted into the kiss. He reached up to cradle the base of McCoy’s skull, stepping closer to kiss him more deeply. The kiss wasn’t soft, or playful – it was desperate, longing and love and fear flowing off of McCoy’s skin from where his hands touched Spock. But Spock felt exactly the same way, had longed for him for so long, so it was everything.
They eventually parted for breath, though McCoy stayed close, pressing his forehead against Spock’s and running his hands down his chest. “You idiot – you complete idiot.”
Spock couldn’t help but raise his eyebrow, even as he dropped his hands so that he could run his fingers along the back of McCoy’s wrists. “Your words seem to be incongruent with your actions, Doctor.”
McCoy huffed out a laugh, but he looked close to tears when he met Spock’s eyes. “Why didn’t you transport earlier? You could’ve died today – you could’ve died so many damn times during this whole five-year mission, and I—!”
He cut off, a helpless sound strangling in his throat. He grasped the front of Spock’s shirt desperately. “You mean too much to me. I can’t stand the thought of losing you at all, let alone to that stupid, goddamn machine—!”
Spock kissed the corner of his mouth and then took McCoy’s hands in his, loosening his grip on his shirt. “I am here, Leonard. In one piece. You may perform your post-transport check on me to make certain, if you wish.”
McCoy’s eyes widened, surprised. He let out a shaky breath, and then lifted their conjoined hands. He inspected Spock’s hands, front and back, and then traced one of his fingers along Spock’s veins, moving slowly outward.
Spock gasped when McCoy’s finger ran along the underside of his wrist – McCoy’s eyes shot up to meet his.
“You mean everything to me, Leonard,” Spock murmured. “You always have.”
“Spock…” McCoy’s eyes were wet, but he was smiling as he leaned in to kiss Spock again.
Spock met him eagerly, and they continued to kiss as McCoy resumed his examination. He ran his hands down Spock’s chest, even slower than he normally would on his own body, exploring each dip and divot he could find. Spock reached out to touch him too, tracing the psi points on his face, the edges of his ears. McCoy gasped into his mouth as he reached up to draw his hands along Spock’s arms.
Then, he hesitated. The last step, as Spock knew by heart, was examining his thighs.
Spock pressed a kiss to the shell of his ear. “You may continue.”
McCoy swallowed audibly and then pressed his palms against Spock’s thighs. Spock’s eyes slid shut, savoring the feeling of McCoy’s hands on him, probing him, touching him. He wanted more, so much more.
“…I think you’re all here, Mister Spock,” McCoy whispered. His voice was deeper than normal, and Spock couldn’t suppress a shiver. “Of course, a more thorough examination may be necessary.”
A small smile tugged at the corners of Spock’s mouth. He reached up to cup McCoy’s face as he kissed him once, twice, three times. “Will you stay the night if I consent to this examination?”
McCoy grinned suddenly, his eyes bright and wild. A different kind of desperation started flowing across his skin, making Spock’s heart rate pick up as McCoy kissed him even more fiercely. Propelled slightly backwards by his intensity, Spock’s back hit his desk, and he sat up on it as McCoy slid between his legs, the two of them never once disconnecting their hands or their mouths.
“I will, if you want me to,” McCoy murmured between kisses.
Spock met his eyes. “I want you to.”
So he did.
--
Spock glanced away from his assigned computer on Kusan VI as his communicator lit up with a subspace call. He answered it immediately, his eyes softening as the call connected and he was greeted with McCoy’s face. “K’diwa. I take it you are on your way home?”
“Yup, just transferred onto the shuttle back to Vulcan.” McCoy looked tired, but content. Age had taken most of his stamina from him, but one could rarely tell with how he still argued with a fiery passion and his eyes shined with mirth.
Spock raised a playful eyebrow. “You were allowed to take a shuttle back, then?”
“Yes, thank God.” McCoy crossed his arms huffily. “Transport is completely unnatural – it’s unsettling.”
Spock shook his head, fondly exasperated. “It seems age has not provided you with wisdom in this particular case, Leonard.”
McCoy scoffed. “Thanks. I should replicate a t-shirt with that on it, wear it everywhere. Maybe then they’ll stop giving me the stuffy admiral treatment.”
“And how was your stuffy admiral treatment?” Spock asked. McCoy had insisted on inspecting the medical layout of the new galaxy-class starships, and had just finished examining both the Hood and the Enterprise-D. Not that either ship required his examination – both Doctors Crusher and Mwangi were students of his. Spock suspected that McCoy mainly wanted to tour the new vessels and visit his former students.
Though it was really only an educated guess, as so far all he had heard from his bondmate about it was the ordeal he’d had to go through just to take a shuttle to the Hood, rather than go through the transporter.
His anxiety had turned into a much deeper-rooted fear in his old age, and he no longer put himself through the transporter if he could help it. This usually wasn’t a problem, as McCoy was retired and Spock was content taking a shuttle when he accompanied him on his ambassadorial duties. He had also taken a shuttle to the Enterprise-D with no problem, but apparently one of their officers had then protested McCoy traveling via shuttle to the Hood at his age.
“I know he was just being kind, thinking about me,” McCoy had grumbled good-naturedly. “But you’d think he’d trust that I know what’s best for me when I’ve lived with myself for a hundred and thirty-seven years!”
Now, however, McCoy was grinning, his sour mood over the issue of transport only temporary. “Both ships are beauties, Spock, though I’m partial to the Enterprise-D, of course. Sure different from the Enterprise we used to cruise around in. Much bigger, too! Beverly will have her hands full with that many beds in Sickbay.”
McCoy tapped his knee thoughtfully. “They never did get around to improving their transporters, though.”
Spock let himself smile gently. “I will submit your complaint to the design team.”
“Thanks, darlin’ – knew I could count on you.” McCoy smiled back. “I didn’t see any of their Bridge crew arguing either, so we’ll have to be guests of theirs someday, scare the wits out of some junior ensigns.”
“Perhaps they would be willing to escort us if we ever need to travel along their route,” Spock suggested. “I would be fascinated to see the new Enterprise. And I would enjoy scaring some junior ensigns, as you put it. It has been many years since we last terrorized the youth.”
McCoy grinned. “Great! I’m looking forward to it.”
They lapsed into comfortable silence. They often spent time together on opposite sides of a viewscreen, with how much Spock and McCoy traveled separately, and Spock had come to greatly enjoy it. He always had and always would find comfort in McCoy’s company, even when they were working or busy with something else, and the same comfort extended across subspace. This was fortunate, as he would not see his bondmate often enough otherwise.
“Did I tell you that that Lieutenant who wanted me to take the transporter was an android?” McCoy said after a few minutes. “Knew my age almost better than I do – in fact, I could’ve sworn he was a Vulcan—”
Spock raised his eyebrow. “I trust that you withheld yourself from teasing him too much, Leonard.”
“I held my tongue! For the most part.” Before Spock could comment on that, McCoy continued, “He seemed like a fine officer, as did all the others. The Enterprise-D is aptly named – she has a good crew.”
Spock stared at him pointedly. “I thought you went on board purely to assess the medical layout?”
McCoy’s eyes widened, feigning innocence. “Did I say that? I don’t think I said that.”
Spock shook his head, amused. McCoy was too far away for him to sense much over their bond, but his warmth and humor still hummed faintly in the back of his mind.
“How’s your work going? Did the Hakels and Suigals agree to settle yet?”
“They just did now.” Spock was putting the finishing touches on the treaty as they spoke. “I should be home around the same time as you.”
“Finally, our schedules match up!” McCoy’s joy was strong enough to spark over the bond, even at their great distance. “I didn’t take the transporter, but I still feel like you need to check that I’m all in one piece.”
That drew Spock’s full attention to the viewscreen. McCoy was grinning at him and rubbing his fingers together in a rather lewd fashion. Spock’s mouth parted slightly. “Leonard, I am in public—”
“Then I’ll just leave you with that for now, hun.” McCoy let go of his hands and winked. “Love you, Spock. See you soon.”
“And I cherish you, k’diwa.”
The call ended. Spock hurried to finish the treaty, not wanting to delay his departure any further. His and McCoy’s schedules were often chaotic and mismatched – it had been a long time since they’d both been home together for an extended period of time. Now that it was finally happening, Spock didn’t want to waste a single moment of it.
He sent off the treaty for both species to sign, logged off the computer, and thought of his bondmate rather inappropriately as he beamed onto the ship waiting to take him home.