Work Text:
“Then tell me-just what the hell do they do to little kids on Vulcan?”
Spock almost winced.
No. Spock winced, no ‘almost’ about it. McCoy softened. “Were you hit as a child, Spock?”
Spock didn’t reply, but he was very still and silent. McCoy knew him well enough to take it for a ‘yes’. “Did other kids ever hit you?” More silence. The silence screamed. “Did your parents ever hit you?” Spock closed his eyes. McCoy swallowed. “Other adults?”
Spock opened his eyes again. “No.”
McCoy made himself keep his gaze steady. This was no time to be getting all personal, he knew that wouldn’t help Spock one bit. The more professional he was about this, the less likely Spock would turn on his tail and march right out and refuse to ever acknowledge this again. “Your father?” he asked, his voice level. He’d risked Spock’s life to save Sarek’s, on Spock’s insistence. He’d do it again. He was a doctor. But he was also asking because he was a doctor.
“No,” said Spock.
His mother. Of course. His Human mother. No wonder Spock had distrusted the lot of them, and their emotion, when they’d set out! Reluctantly, he asked, “Have you ever hit Saavik?”
Spock blanched. “Never,” he said, quiet and strained, his voice rough.
“Okay,” said McCoy. “I didn’t think you did, but I had to ask.”
Spock didn’t respond to that. He’d laced his hands together the way that McCoy only ever saw when he was trying desperately to control himself. “Never.”
Spock would rather do anything than hurt that kid, McCoy realised.