1. His Doctor

This is a response to this prompt from the st_xi_kink meme:_#mumble mumble# I sort of want Bones treating Spock for rape. UM. Please?_

**Disclaimer: Do not own nor do I claim to. **

_***This chapter contains graphic descriptions of post rape trauma, and invasive medical examination* **_

Leonard McCoy took a minute in his private office amongst the chaotic mess his shift had become. Four crew members taken hostage for two days, only just returned. For the most part, the majority of injuries were trivial. His nursing staff, under the careful watch of Chapel, were taking care of three. However, patient four was what had him pouring a shot of his secret stash. Downing it, he took a moment and schooled his features into the clinical but compassionate expression of Doctor McCoy; trained medical professional. He was a healer of the sick, hands as steady as any surgeon, a sharp eye and an even sharper tongue that could cut through any lies patients were want to tell.

His last patient for the day was waiting for him...counting on him. He had readied a private examination room instead of the curtained-off cubicles; the patient it contained was none other than First Officer of the Enterprise, Spock. His crew-mate, his brother in arms against the ludicrous workings of the mind their Captain often seemed to lose. A reluctant, tentative friendship had spawned over the months; late meals in companionable silence, shared smirks across the bridge at Jim's bright-spirited antics, hell, tonight they had plans to play a game of chess. _Not fucking likely...enough of this, pull yourself together for Christ's sake._

Walking out of his office, head high, shoulders back with the perpetual brow crinkle firmly in place, he strode up to exam room one. A small room with an examination table, sink, and cupboards is what waited for him on the other side...and Spock. Signalling his presence, Spock's voice permitted his entry. _Thank God for that..._

Spock was predictably standing next to the table, his facade of calm almost as bogus as McCoy's own. The shoulders slumped just a little, the hands were at their respective sides but were slightly facing outwards making him appear lost and childlike. The brow was crinkled and the side of his mouth occasionally twitched. _Damn the protocol to hell. No one is touching him but me. This crew is mine to hassle, nag, and in the end, patch up and save._

Clearing his throat, he began the clinical assessment, "Spock, I'm going to ask you a series of questions before we proceed with the physical exam. Before I do either, I will let you know what to expect from this. First, I'll need a detailed-as-possible account of the events that occurred so I know what to look for. Secondly, prior to the physical, I will require you to remove all articles of clothing and/or otherwise, and place it in this cylinder." Producing a long, plastic, air-tight cylinder to show what he meant, he placed it on the bed and continued.

"Thirdly, I am required to perform a full body swab, including your mouth, genitalia, anus, and under your fingernails. It's Starfleet regulation, so they can use it as solid evidence that an individual from a hostile, non-Federation planet has not only violated sanctions but also in full-awareness, attacked a Starfleet officer. These are both serious offenses."

He paused to gauge Spock's reaction to all of this. Nothing. _God, can't you even let this Vulcan bullshit go after something like this happened to you. I'm your friend and your doctor, everything here is confidential..._

"...Do you have any questions?"

"No, Doctor. I appreciate your detailing of this examination. Shall I disrobe now?"

Inside McCoy died a little at the hollow, empty voice. Swallowing, not caring that his voice sounded rougher with emotion than it should have in this situation, "Yes. When you are finished, there is a paper robe in the closet behind you. I'll be outside, just page when you're ..." _finished_ "...ready."

He immediately took three, large strides away from the closed doors. His breath shaky, he pulled out his PADD and made himself appear occupied with work. He watched his fingers closely, hovering them over the screen. They trembled slightly, to which he cursed each one individually.

The beep from exam room one made him almost throw up. Walking back through the doors, he saw that Spock was still standing next to the table, and as tight as he had tied the sleeveless, calf-length robe around himself, McCoy could see the dark green bruise of a hand-print around his shoulder. Not once betraying himself physically, he began what would undoubtedly be one of the worst, and emotionally compromised, examinations of his career.

"Computer, this is the medical log for patient two-three-nine, attending physician, Leonard McCoy. Patient will remain anonymous for the time-being. This record will also remain sealed until further notice, medcode alpha-six-nine, authorization McCoy-five-two-zero."

His eyes flitted up from his PADD to look at his patient. Only a doctor's eye would have noticed it..._His thigh is shaking_...

"Are you ready to begin?"

A nod.

"Please, walk me through the events that lead to your capture..."

A calm and military voice filled the room. This was the easy part...hell, all of them on board knew what happened regarding the mission fuck-up of the month. The bizarre-factor was mind blowing. So sure they had killed Nero, along with the rest of his crew..._six months he was out there still_. A handful of them, including Nero, had managed to beam out just before the blast. When they had somehow intercepted a transmission about the Enterprise's next away mission, Spock had been beamed away with Nero the second they materialized on the planet's surface. _Two days with that psychopath...we all tried so hard to save you sooner_. He grumbled inside...at least that bastard and his merry men were finally locked away, never likely to see the light of their beloved Romulus again.

"Thank you. Would you like a minute before beginning the physical? I can get you something to drink, or m-"

"No, thank you Doctor. I am properly hydrated and...eager to rest."

McCoy nodded, looking down for a moment..._Eager to wash the filth of his hands off, I'm sure._

"Okay. Please, up on the table." He glanced to the side, giving Spock a moment of dignity, noting that he wasn't moving yet. Seconds ticked by and Spock was still staring at the table, as if willing it to obey his silent command.

Softly, "Do you require assistance?"

"...I may, yes. I believe that my...injuries have complicated the matter of fluid movement for the time being." Those human-eyes turned to him...pleadingly asking his help. Standing, he slowly helped Spock onto the step, a hand gently resting on the stiff lower back while he was leaned against. Again, only the eye of a doctor would notice the wince, but the quiet hiss of pain was like a fucking bomb going off in the room. McCoy, quickly as he could, had Spock's upper body down against the bed as to alleviate any pressure on his bottom half. _Such a proud, strong man...this isn't right. I shouldn't be doing this exam. He shouldn't be here..._

"Okay, let's try rolling onto your side. I'll need you to hold your knees to your chest."

McCoy prayed there were no injuries severe enough to impede the change in position. As invasive as this procedure would be, the stirrups would be avoided if possible.

Laying a hand on the warm shoulder, and the other hovering over hips, he gently nudged Spock to roll a few inches. A choked sob of pain escaped, and McCoy immediately laid him back out. A quick tricorder scan showed a rib fracture; too close to that lung. Please don't hate me...

"You have a rib fragment that's threatening to puncture your left lung. It will be aggravated with even minor twisting of your abdomen. I'm going to need you to slide down toward me. I need your feet in these stirrups

He noted that it seemed to be that request causing the Vulcan resolve to crumble. He had a feeling he would be pausing the medlog more than once throughout this procedure. After Spock's feet were nestled firmly in the cold stirrups, McCoy rolled his stool towards those pale, drawn together knees. _Please don't make me have ask..._

Shrugging into his latex gloves, he stretched above his head to grasp the bright, warm lamp and pull it down to their level. The knees still together, he glanced at the two pale hands threatening to dent both sides of his table.

"Computer, pause medical log." He breathed a long, heavy sigh and looked down, apologetic and almost ashamed. In his roughened drawl, he addressed his patient, his friend, around the lump in his throat: "Spock, I need you to open your legs."

Eyes locked to the ceiling, Spock's legs began trembling again. A visible swallow of a long pale throat...marred by a green bruise. Rage filled McCoy and he scowled furiously at the cold, tiled floor. He sniffed before looking back up to eye the trembling, silent form.

He hovered a hand over the knees, and assured quietly, "Spock. Please, I need to do this. I'll be quick, and I'll be gentle. I'm a good doctor."

Spock's eyes closed as his knees slowly gave in and parted. McCoy nodded to himself, "Computer, continue medical log".

Bringing the light in close, McCoy gently lifted back the gown and quickly swabbed around the abused anus, bloodied inner thighs, and around the cavity where Spock's penis was retracted. He refused to humiliate his commanding officer any further by asking him for a full penile sample. This would be more than enough. Before placing the samples aside, he swabbed the inner cheek and took a file under his nails.

"Okay, I'm going to proceed with a bodily examination to assess any internal damage. I will only be using my hands if medically necessary; I will be using a tricorder for most of this. I'm going to start with your head and base of your skull and then proceed downwards."

Taking his penlight, he tested pupil response and then gently applied pressure to Spock's forehead and temples. The flinch was expected; this was an intimate part of the Vulcan body. However, McCoy trusted good old fashioned, 21st century methods over modern when it came to examinations of certain body parts. _I wonder of that bastard Nero mucked around in his head...._

Continuing with the tricorder, he dictated: "No cranial damage nor does there appear to be any hemorrhaging to the brain. There is bruising along the throat, but no rupturing of glands or tissue. Appears to have sustained a minor fracture to the left shoulder. Major bruising along the abdomen, however, heart is functioning without any restrictions."

For a moment, he was struck with alarm when he felt the hem of uniform being clutched between desperate fingers. The Vulcan's heart rate was climbing. "Are you doing alright?"

The eyes, still glued to the ceiling, were shining with what appeared to be tears. A blink and a swallow, the even voice replied, "Please continue, Doctor".

He ached inside as he pried the fingers away and entwined them with his own. With the computer ignorant to this breach of ethics, his voice never wavered as he began speaking once more, "All vertebrae are intact..."


	2. His Friend

Disclaimer: Do not own nor do I claim to. **Also, this contains a Canadian-attempt at Southern...stuff. Sayings. Yeah, that's the ticket. **

"Computer, end medical log." McCoy turned to Spock, who was slowly sliding off the table and carefully pulling on a set of replacement attire. With the shoulder and rib now healing, his motor skills were returning to normal. The rectal tearing, phaser burns, and knife wounds were reduced to scabbing or less. The only thing that remained was the slow throb of healing. A few more days, and there wouldn't be a mark on him, save for the bruises. McCoy had concentrated on the severe ailments, simply wanting to get Spock washed up and into bed.

"I'm taking you off duty for an indefinite period of time. So, basically whenever you feel you're ready to work _and I_ approve, you're free to carry on. Fair?"

A sigh of exhaustion, "Yes, Doctor. That will be adequate."

"Okay. Now, the sick-bay should be cleared out at this hour. Chapel is the only one left, so we should be able to sneak you out. I'll escort you to your quarters..." McCoy trailed off as he observed the First Officer's eyes flit frantically around the room and his breathing hitched in panic.

"Spock." Upon getting no response, he pulled out his tricorder out and scanned the Vulcan's heart. _Tachycardia. Blood pressure is through the roof. Christ, he's on the verge of arrest._ "Spock, you need to calm down-Fuck." Abandoning the tricorder, he immediately paged Nurse Chapel.

"CHAPEL! I NEED SIX MILLIGRAMS OF BROMAZEPAM _NOW_!". He immediately grabbed Spock before he fell and held him down as he started convulsing. Nurse Chapel burst through the door and quickly administered the hypospray to Spock's neck, sighing as the body ceased trembling and the chest was moving at a more even pace. Furiously grabbing the forgotten tricorder, McCoy scanned for any lingering effects of arrest. Grumbling, he pocketed it and dismissed Chapel when she gestured to help lift Spock. Eyeing the doctor strangely, she disappeared through the doors.

McCoy sat down heavily next to the unconscious body and yanked on his hair, staring at the floor. _What the fuck am I supposed to do now? I can't leave him here in a bed, prone to the crew and questions. I won't just dump him in his room with no one. Oh, and, why am I not treating him like a patient? _His eyes roamed over the figure: he was on his side, legs curled up and an arm attached to a delicate hand, was outstretched. His face was calm and open, free from thought as the sedatives worked their glorious magic. The traitorous part of his mind whispered, _because he's not just another patient..._

He was used to the pain of his work. Informing patients that there was nothing else he could do, noting the time of death, sliding the sheet over faces he'd never really forget. Death was inevitable. But if he could ease their passing, or try his damnedest to save them...Hell, it was worth it. His life was medicine and he owed it to patients, present and future, to do his best.

But _this_. This was something else. The slow throb began in his throat, and he tried to swallow around it., while the first sign of tears gathered at the corners of his eyes..._What do I do? _

Upon the sudden flood of self-questioning, he viciously stomped his turmoil back into nothingness. Objective, clinical, almost cold...is what saved lives. While his insides were alight with fiery passion, scientific curiosity, and always, _always_, in awe of the incredible things the body, alien and human, could do...his mind was focused, unwavering, unfeeling. He'd never shed a tear in his sickbay, he wasn't about to start now.

Grabbing a paper tissue from the drawer next to him, he stood and wet it before holding it close to his face, soothing his nerves. Throwing it absentmindedly into the bin, he turned and watched Spock as he made the decision. Grabbing his medical bag, he started filling it with the necessities as he spoke, "McCoy to Engineering".

A few seconds ticked by before the Scottish brogue filled the tiny room, "Evenin', Doc! Scotty here." McCoy was warmed inside by the man's cheery voice.

"Scotty, I need a favour...a favour that I need ya not to repeat to anyone. Medically confidential, understand?"

"Aye, I reckon, what'll it be?"

"I have Mr. Spock with me, and he's sustained injuries-" Before he could finish, a concerned Scotty interrupted.

"Aye, I heard. How is th'lad doing?"

"He's sedated right now. Patched 'im up good, not to worry. He'll be nagging our asses before you know it, so spread the word."

"Ah! Brilliant! Now, what is it ye need?"

"I need you to beam us both directly to my quar-" The sing-song voice interrupted once more, "No need to explain, Sir! Stay still". McCoy scowled at the smug grin he could hear in the voice. _Those rumours are still goin' around?_

He felt the sudden weightlessness filter throughout his body, and watched as his examination room slowly faded into the welcoming, familiar atmosphere of his quarters. "Computer, lights at fifty percent".

Sighing, he dropped his bag onto his desk and shed his outer uniform. _Day went slower than a god damned June bug in molasses. _

Content to pretend his commanding officer was not laying prone on his floor for a minute, he walked to the replicator. "Hot tea with lemon, honey, and a stick of cinnamon". Reaching to the nook where he kept the whiskey, he grabbed the bottle and poured a shot into the now steaming tea. Mixing it with the aromatic, brown stick, he brought the concoction to his nose and inhaled deeply.

Feeling relieved before even tasting it, he turned around and walked back toward Spock, sipping gently. He paused and smirked. _Talk about bringin' your fuckin' work home with you. _Trading his mug for a hypospray at his desk, he knelt beside the body and pressed the tool to the pale neck.

Light. The transporter room. Dinner with Nyota upon their return. Chess with the Doctor; he liked Leonard. Face smirking, but internally laughing at his Captain's antics on the transporter pad. _"Energize"_. Phazers. Panic. Gone. Nero. Dark. Hurts. Table. Sneering. Cold. Alone. Fear. _Where is Jim?_ Another mind. Melding. _Nonoplease. _Romulus, a pretty woman, Vulcan, his mother, his older Self, so much hate, pain, unhinged rage, savage _lust_. Tearing fabric. Knife. Legs and arms, strapped down. _Save me_. Opened. Exposed. Ripping, blinding pain...

Chekhov paging Leonard. Mr. Scott cursing. Jim shouting, holding him too tight. Light. Gentle. Hands of a doctor, eyes of a friend. Care. Safe. Cold table, warm fingers. _"I need you to open your legs."_ Soft, clinical words. Panic. Darkness.

The onslaught of memory and emotion felt like an eternity, but Spock deduced that only seconds passed. He opened his eyes slowly, awareness settling over him. _I am aboard the Enterprise, on the floor of a crew-mate's quarters._ Testing his previously injured shoulder, and feeling nothing more than a gentle throb, he arranged himself into a sitting position. Pressing his fingers to a sore temple, he raised his head to find a pair of legs standing approximately 3.27 feet away.

He watched Leonard stare at him for a few moments. Silence was finally broken with the deadpanned voice: "I was seconds away from being elbow-deep in your guts." The doctor's familiar grumbling and perpetual frown eased his nerves and he smiled inside. His nose picked up the scent of the doctor's drink and the curious part of his brain slowly awoke...however, his throat was loathe to catch on, when nothing but a croak escaped him.

"Ah, hang on." The good doctor immediately procured a glass of water and bent to his level. Their fingers brushed and Spock's arm tingled fuzzily from the contact. _Openpainexposed_. He quelled his thoughts, not allowing the emotional assault to betray his expression, and drank slowly as to not cause illness.

"Thank you, doctor. I appreciate your consideration for my privacy, but I must inquire as to why I am in your rooms and not my own?" He allowed an eyebrow to twitch slightly, knowing the doctor enjoyed his minute facial expressions.

He watched Leonard right himself and take a sip of his drink, talking down to him from where he stood, "Well, I hadn't exactly figured out what to do with you before your heart damn near exploded all over my sickbay, and I had to make a call since you were sedated. I wasn't gonna leave you there. I knew you wouldn't appreciate the... looks from nurses and questions from the crew. I didn't wanna dump you in your rooms, sedated, only to wake up alone and wonder what happened...Look, I'm rambling now. I brought you here because I'm a doctor, I can monitor you, assist you, and..." Spock noted the flushed and aggravated expression. Patiently waiting for the other to continue, he merely sipped his water and blinked. "And I'm your friend. I care about you", he finished weakly with a sour look.

_Friend_. Spock enjoyed this word, as it reminded him of the newly formed relationships he had made aboard the Enterprise. The bridge crew and Scotty had become familiar faces of his daily work routine, as well as personal. He and Uhura had parted amicably and remained close companions. Young Ensign Chekhov proved to be an enthusiastic student, often sharing theories and new data with him, eagerly awaiting his opinion. Sulu had taught him the noble art of fencing and they shared their thoughts and methods of meditation; Spock was currently engrossed in multiple texts of ancient Japanese techniques at Sulu's recommendation.

Scotty's explosive personality, humour, and story telling fascinated him every moment they were in each other's company. Having lost his own mother before joining Starfleet, he often shared stories of her life with him, while Spock himself tentatively spoke of trivial things regarding Amanda.

He couldn't help but feel warmed by thoughts of his Captain. Happy to serve under such a bright, young mind like his own, he was unable to think of his career anywhere else but at Jim's side...ready to haul him out of his next, great stunt.

His thoughts of friendship passed fleetingly in human seconds, but to his Vulcan mind, each individual had been carefully identified, and every moment spent with them caressed. Suddenly, his mind immediately retrieved a memory he was forcefully holding back while in Leonard's presence. _A knife running along the crevice of groin and thigh, probing cold fingers. Spreading. Penetrating. "Please..."._ He frowned and swallowed heavily.

Leonard was oblivious to the internal turmoil and continued speaking, "Listen, the name of the game is get you washed, fed, and into bed."

He had at some point left and retrieved a set of towels and a robe. The brow was crinkled. _He is expecting my injuries to impede cleansing._

Slowly, Spock lifted himself and attempted to stand straight. A piercing pain shot through his skull, _hot fingers obscenely raking through his thoughts._ He desperately clawed at his temples and bowed his head, letting out a shuddered sigh. Cool hands were immediately at his neck, and the beeping of a tricorder filled his ears.

The clinical voice was back, "I detected no cranial damage or hemorrhaging. No swelling, no rupturing. I don't understand what's causing this pain..." The doctor mumbled off a series of medical causes before Spock calmly explained...

"During my encounter with Nero, he forced..." Had he embraced a more human-way of life, he would have been unable to finish the thought. _Shame. Violation._ "He forced multiple mind-melds. There was substantial transference of memory and emotion, as well as slight manipulation on his part. My mind is simply reacting to an injury." His eyes avoided Leonard's face, unable to deduce if this explanation would be accepted in its entirety. _I do not want him to look at me that way..._

The doctor had turned to retrieve his mug and the bathing items. Taking a sip, he responded: "I know you're leaving a shit-load of...shit...out of that. We're talking about it later, believe you me. Now. We're getting you cleaned."

He slowly padded behind Leonard as he lead the way to his bathing facilities. He focused on the doctor's back in an attempt to ignore the tender pain he felt between his legs. Swallowing, he stopped at the threshold while a shower was prepared. He watched as the doctor tested the temperature of the spray before casually dropping the towels on the vanity and facing him.

Spock was aware that he would require assistance in disrobing. _"You fucking halfbreed whore"_. It was logical to allow Leonard to aid him. He had already been laid bare to the man's eye and hand. He was a trained medical professional, as he often reminded the crew.

He nodded his silent consent and tried to control the confusing human flinch at the first sensation of cool hands at the hem of his shirt. Leonard appeared unsurprised at this, and his face was carefully arranged in a professional manner. Spock's arms immediately flew to cover himself when he was finally shirtless. Mentally scolding his reaction, he shakily lowered them, trying to understand why his body was rebelling.

The pull of loose, cotton pants broke the meticulous dam of control that had been already hanging by a thread. His hand snaked out, inhuman strength allowed him to yank the offending arm away from his person and pin it against the wall. Snarling into the face of his protector, he felt his heart stuttering to jump out of his chest and the rush of blood through his veins, as the other hand grasped at the tanned, cool throat.

As soon as the rage had spiked, it dissipated, leaving him exhausted, ashamed, and afraid. He watched as Leonard clutched his throat, coughing to regain breath. Collapsing to the floor, he breathed out frantically, "Doctor, please...please forgive my reaction. I do not...understand why I am being affected this way. I-" He stopped at the feel of hands on his shoulders. Keeping his head still bowed in shame, he continued: "It would be prudent to escort me to my quarters. I will see to my injuries and rest." He made to move away from those gentle hands, hands he did not deserve to feel after lashing out at their owner, so violently.

"Come on. Lean on me, I'll help you." Brown eyes met hazel. The urge to protest again died on his tongue. _This face..._

He swallowed and made to stand, leaning heavily on the doctor. The rest of his clothing was stripped from his body, and he was nudged into the steaming stall. He dipped his head under the spray and sighed with relief. Swaying slightly, he let his eyes drift down his body, noting the abrasions.

His throat felt tight at the hand print on his shoulder. The healing gash over his heart, the vicious bruises along his hips that curled into his inner thigh...The water swirling into the drain mixed with green...

"Spock..." He paused, almost abandoning his exploration at the warning tone of Leonard's voice.

His hand shakily reached down to feel around between his legs, gently brushing over his anus. Bringing his hand back into sight, a quiet, choked sob escaped his tight throat.

A quiet voice behind him. "Spock. I'm stepping in, okay? Behind you." Not coherent enough to form a response, he continued to gaze at the green staining his fingers. The clothed form, now wet from the spray, was close. With his logical mind temporarily out of commission, he leaned back against the doctor.

"C'mon, I got it. I have a master's degree in patient scrub downs." He could hear the slight smile in the voice. He was gently nudged sit in the alcove of the stall, as his hand was wiped clean by a cloth. "Computer, adjust shower head ten degrees". He was vaguely aware of a towel being laid across his lap.

Never once taking his eyes off of Leonard's face, he sat quietly as his body was cleansed of Nero. The fingers that should have been stroked by a lover, Nero had violently sucked on, inadvertently arousing him. The upper arms that might have been grasped in pleasure, admired for their deceiving strength, were pinned down by unrelenting hands that tore his flesh. He had often wondered of the sensations that would arise from having his neck caressed during mating. Nero had asphyxiated him during the forceful penetration, the pain unbearable.

The water streamed over him, his hair matted against his face. His quiet, broken voice was barely audible over the sound of the water, "Was it not enough?"

Leonard did not cease his ministrations, now gently stroking his left leg with the cloth. "What do you mean?"

"I was made to watch as my planet was destroyed. Disappearing into nothingness, as if it never existed to begin with. I witnessed my mother falling to her death. I now share the same fear and grief as he once did, and still does to this day." He blinked at his friend and pressed again, "Why was it not enough? I do not understand why he meant to-"

"Spock." The doctor had stopped and grasped his shoulders with both hands, hazel eyes eyeing him deeply, hair and clothing matted to his skin. The southern drawl soothed his ears, "Don't go down this road. This has been theorized about for centuries on Earth. The 'why' the 'how'...Power, sexuality, control, feelings of inadequacy, nature vs nurture...You ain't never gonna fully know why." The brown eyebrows knit together in angry sympathy. "It's the most...it's the ultimate violation a human can feel." The hands gripped him tighter as he pondered Leonard's words.

Neither of them spoke again as the doctor carefully washed him. Losing track of how much time had passed, he suddenly felt cold, noting that Leonard was now standing. His arm was outstretched, the cloth held in his hand, "I think you can take it from here. Let me know if you need help dressing, I'll just be outside the door." Nodding, Spock took the now green-tinged cloth and once the doctor had left, he removed the towel from his lap.

Gripping the edge of the alcove, he stared down at himself for a moment. _A knife at his throat, a cold breath in his ear, "I want to see it." _Ignoring his mind still, he allowed his penis to extend from its hidden cavity. Lathering the cloth, he meticulously scrubbed his inner thighs and around his genitalia. The faint scent of semen filled his nose and he felt the sudden urge to vomit. Furious with his body's betrayal, he began scrubbing spitefully, more and more cruel as his thoughts continued to focus on relieving himself of that scent. The pain was unregistered, his mind too gone in memory, and he was absently aware of the blood that now seeped from re-opened slices around his genitalia.

_Until I am unable to scent it any longer._ His vicious ministrations continued...

McCoy grimaced at the cold, wet fabric that clung to his skin. After peeling off the clothing, he pulled a button down shirt over himself and tied a towel around his waist. He fiddled with the buttons before abandoning them, content to leave it open. Heavily dropping down onto his bed, he picked up a PADD and opened a frequency with Jim:

: Jim, I sent you the medical log. It's classified, so use medcode 'alpha-six-nine'. He's with me in my quarters, I just helped him shower. I think I should take some time outside sickbay and monitor him. Maybe a week? He needs privacy and he needs a firm hand. No doubt he'll be spouting protocol by morning and claim that he's fit for duty. Let me know what you think.

-Bones.

Waiting for Jim's reply, he mentally scanned various meat-free options, scowling at the replicator. _God damned Vulcan hippie shit_. "Computer, give me soup; no animal product, something with a light broth, and lentils or soy for protein. Nothing too heavy with dairy or carbohydrates. And water, two Celsius, with a vitamin C additive."

Carefully balancing the tray, he walked back to the small table near his bed and traded it for the blinking PADD.

: This is turning into a shitshow with Starfleet, the Empire, and it gets even better...The Klingon high council. They've been all over each other, and me, all god damned day. I'll keep Spock out of it all for as long as I can. Bones, you have it on my authority to take as long as you want. If there's anything you need, you let me know ASAP. Anything, it's yours. Same goes to Spock. This ship needs both of you in perfect health, or we will surely perish. And by 'we', I mean 'I'.

I'll keep you posted.

-Jim.

McCoy rolled his eyes, chuckling at the captain's, admittedly true, sentiments. _This ship wouldn't have a snowball's chance in hell without me._

Erasing the messages, he looked up when Spock slowly strode into the room. He quickly took in the flushed, green skin and damp hair. Even with the bruises, McCoy appreciated the handsome face. _All the times I thought of you being here with me..._ He rubbed his face, trying to clear his train of thought, and leaned his cheek on a fist.

Tentatively, the Vulcan lowered himself into the chair across from him. _Perhaps a painkiller is in order before bed._ "If I had it my way, you'd be eating a Kansas City steak. You need to get your protein up." He picked up the PADD and brought up the dish ingredients and origin, knowing Spock was incorrigibly curious. Sliding it toward the other man, he stood and pulled off his shirt.

"I'm going to take a proper shower, I'll be back in a few."

Spock nodded before bringing the spoon of the steaming liquid to his nose, trying to distract himself from the tanned, broad shoulders retreating the room. _A pleasing scent, with a light green appearance. An intriguing array of lentils, perhaps of the Earth variety..._


	3. His Friend part two

**Warning**: Americans, ye be warned: this chapter contains **chesterfields**. Also, more Canadian-attempts at understanding the Southern United States. (I have a fascination with Southern culture)

My learnings, they continue...

Disclaimer: Do not own nor do I claim to.

McCoy stood with his head tilted back, enjoying the almost scalding heat of the shower. He braced his forearms against the cool tile and rotated the tense muscles of his neck. He was very much aware of himself in this moment, trying to forget Spock's presence in his quarters. It wasn't that he disliked the man, quite the opposite. Under normal circumstances, being in close range of his commanding officer always had him fighting a school-boy grin.

But now, Spock was in a state of confusion. His emotions were threatening the Vulcan resolve, his thoughts in anarchy, and his body was acting of a very human accord. He was glad for the man's logic; there would be no need to assure him that he fought Nero valiantly and that the fault was not his own. However, it appeared that his mind had detached itself from the body, concentrating on healing and reorganizing itself. It was as if the human and Vulcan parts of Spock were now clearly shining through like never before.

Turning off the spray, he stepped out of the stall and dried himself off. Catching his reflection, he turned and stood in front of the full-length mirror, analysing himself. He had always taken care of his body, running every morning and stretching before bed, balanced meals and monthly self-exams. He ran a hand over the dark hair covering his chest and then leaned in to examine his face. He scratched at the stubble along the strong jaw and turned his head back and forth, assessing himself. He grimaced slightly. _No fair skinned lady here. Nothing like Uhura..._

Yanking on his regulation cotton pants for sleep, he slung a damp towel over his shoulder and strode toward his dresser. Upon locating the white tank, he pulled it over his head and turned, walking to the small chesterfield near his bed. He felt around for the metal panel underneath and activated the bed extension.

The moment Leonard entered his rooms, Spock knew. The scent of clean male and musky soap filled his nose, the sound of heavy footsteps making his ears twitch. Finishing the last of his late meal, he allowed himself an subtle glance in the doctor's direction. He instantly regretted placating his incurable curiosity, as he was now forced to struggle with his fragile emotional shields due to the reactions Leonard was now eliciting.

He watched intently as the muscles in the strong back twisted and moved as a fitted white garment suddenly shielded the tanned skin, much to his disliking. He appreciated the shoulders and arms that were voluptuous in their curves, but the sight of a long throat and a broad chest, almost produced a physical response in him. The darker, Vulcan part of him smirked, wanting to claim that strength, have him submit. Saliva pooled in his mouth. _I would swallow each cry_...He was enjoying his fantasy, when a vile picture swirled in his head. _I took advantage of his human weakness...I harmed him._

He reached for his glass of water, taking a generous mouthful to quench the burning in his throat. Leonard was no longer in the room, and now that he was alone once more, he recognized the signs exhaustion settling over him. Spotting the cot that now extended from the small piece of furniture, he slowly stood and shakily moved toward it. Once he had carefully arranged himself as to not jar his injuries, he laid his head down on the pillow and clutched Leonard's robe tighter around himself. He suppressed a shiver, and wished for a moment that he was in his own quarters, the temperature settings more akin to Vulcan's surface. Schooling his mental barriers into place, he began locking away his thoughts into the cognitive trunk pictured in his mind. Relaxing every body part, he inhaled and exhaled deeply, happily turning himself over to the deep recess of sleep.

McCoy padded back into his bedroom, a stack of temperature controlled blankets and pillows in his arms. Turning to speak, he stopped abruptly at the sight of Spock's long legs peeking out from the folds of dark blue cotton. Following the line of pale skin, he noted that his patient was curled onto his side, hands still clutching the neckline of his robe. He sighed in irritation. _As if he thought I would let him sleep there..._

He walked toward his bed and pulled back the bedding, stretching a now heated blanket over the fitted sheet that hugged the mattress. He then slipped the pillows into warmed, soft cases and crept silently back to Spock's sleeping form. Kneeling, he hooked his arm under the knees and the other supported an injured shoulder. Spock never stirred as he was laid in between two sets of heated blankets, his head and limbs now resting on a variety of pillows. McCoy pulled the outside comforter up to the pale chin, cocooning him in what he hoped was more comfortable for the half-Vulcan. He pulled back to observe his handy work, and then settled gently on the edge next to Spock.

Almost of its own accord, his hand extended and he lightly grazed a knuckle down the elegant nose. Smiling affectionately, he traced across the bridge and up the soft cheekbone. Eager to explore the pointed tip of an ear, he allowed the backs of his fingertips to barely swipe the temple, so s-_Strapped down, cold, wet, black, Nero sneering into his ear, fearshamearousaldisgust_. McCoy choked out a gasp at the split-second assault. His hand now cradled against his chest as if burned, he hunched over and attempted to regain his breath. _I was there, it's like I was there, fuck, it was me not Spock._ He felt the beginning of a dry heave and closed his eyes, straining to quench the nausea.

Shaken, he turned to look at Spock, his face and body the perfection of relaxed slumber. Startled and confused, but insistent to understand, he extended his hand once more and brought it in close to a temple; close enough to feel the alien heat radiating from the skin. McCoy closed his eyes and brought his fingertips down until he could feel the fine hair growing there. His face and neck became heated and tingling, an itch forming in the deep crevice of his ears. Focusing more on the blackness behind his eyelids, he brushed the skin and was met with something entirely different this time. There was no Nero, no Narada...no pain.

It was warm, inviting, with an aura like sunsets back home. Something old, seductive, and soulful. The aromas of spicy bourbon, muddy water, heavy air before a summer storm, and magnolias, flooded his senses. A whispering voice swirled in his ears, _'Leonard?' _

McCoy shot up from the bed and stumbled back, immediately conjuring up panicked excuses for why he was doing...whatever it was that he was doing. Spock appeared to be still deep in sleep, however the brows were drawn together and there was increased rapid eye movement, as if scanning for a hidden intruder.

Swallowing thickly, he slowly sat down on the cot and whispered, "Computer, dim lights to 90%". Only a soft glow now remained, enough that he could see Spock's face from where he was. He brought a trembling hand to his brow and wiped away a bead of sweat. _What the fuck just happened? _

_ _ _

The next morning found Dr. McCoy, in sickbay, scanning through patient files. Chapel seemed to be functioning adeptly without him, which he was thankful for. She was a talented woman, and he appreciated her position on the ship. Without his nurses, he was certain he would have put a phazer under his chin long ago. He authorized a few procedures and medical logs, before handing sickbay back over to his Head Nurse. Smiling at her, he bid farewell for the day, "Well, we don't need a CMO with you on board. You're doing great, Christine. I appreciate you picking up this work for me."

Her face was relaxed, her eyes warm. Clearly happy to be praised by her superior and friend, she replied: "It goes both ways, Doctor. It'll probably be quiet for a while, so you should take the time to relax. You work too hard." A mischievous glint swept her expression, "Maybe spend time with a special someone fixin' to warm those cold sheets of yours?" Looking very pleased with herself, she chuckled and plucked the PADD out of his hand, sauntering off to check on a patient.

McCoy rolled his eyes and grumbled, "Woman, hold yer tongue, this ain't the swamp." He immediately slipped through the doors, her sound of her mock outrage bringing a grin to his face. He checked the ship's time, and was glad to still have much of the day ahead of him. He strode into the turbolift and decided to grab an early lunch, hoping he would run into Jim in the mess, "Deck nine". Pulling out his communicator, he spoke: "McCoy to Kirk".

"Hey Bones, what's shakin'?" Came the voice, slightly hindered by the food in his mouth.

"Where are you? I'm on my way to grab a meal, I just finished my rounds."

"Yeah, I'm in the mess. I still have half an hour before I'm needed on the bridge, so come hang out, I'm lonely."

"On my way." He pocketed the device and while he waited for the lift to reach its destination, he thought back to the events of the previous night. Still trying to understand what took place in his bed with Spock, his brow crinkled.

After the destruction of Vulcan, Spock had come to him and did the unthinkable; he provided a detailed account of Vulcan physiology and biology, something most medical professionals would give their license for. He spoke of Bendii syndrome, gave a detailed account of the senses, rituals that pertained to health, and beyond. And then dropped the ultimate taboo: _Pon Farr_. He felt that the now small number of Vulcans left, made it necessary to reveal the heavily protected information. Being his acting physician, he had of course accepted this information with rapt attention and the utmost confidentiality. Only Jim had been informed of the necessary details; it was much to Spock's dismay, that Pon Farr was included in that briefing. However, it was understood that special circumstances would have to be made if factors, natural and outside, were going to affect Spock's well-being. They had lost many brilliant, medical scholars along with the planet. _Such a shame..._

Jim had spoke of his mind-meld with the elder Spock, but nothing that McCoy was now privy to seemed to tie in with the strange happenings of last night. Spock had briefly mentioned touch-telepathy, however he assured that it was under strict control and was not projected so easily. _Maybe it's the after-effects of the Narada..._

The doors startled him as they swished open. Sighing, he passed through and made his way toward the mess hall. Immediately scanning the mostly empty room, his eyes spotted the Captain. Nodding to him, he walked to the replicator and ordered, "Hot coffee with two creams and one sugar and a chicken sandwich on brown bread." He grabbed the materialized tray, and headed over to the wide window where Jim sat.

Relieved to see his friend, he sunk down into the opposite chair and immediately tucked into his meal.

"We haven't seen each other in almost a day. That's weird." Jim said around the mouthful of apple. Swallowing, McCoy replied dryly, "Best twenty-four hours I've had since the divorce."

Jim let out a barking laugh, "Ah, more like the most boring, am I right?" His smile slowly faded into a more neutral expression and McCoy knew _the _subject was about to be approached. "Listen, I don't have enough time to go through the political bullshit, start-to-finish. We'll have to get together later and talk." He abandoned the rest of his uneaten apple, clearly upset. "I know this uniform comes with risks. We all do, from the very top, right on down to the bottom. And this will be the only time I'm gonna act selfish and childish about this situation, I promise. But...I almost had him. I was a fraction of a second too late, I could have pulled him back. And he would be fine, hell, he'd be here right now with us."

McCoy swallowed, the subject matter not affecting his appetite. Maybe it was the years of digging around in chest cavities and fiddling with intestines, but it took a lot to turn his stomach.

"We've all come to know each other as friends and fellow officers over the past couple months. Maybe it took that bastard Nero to bring us together like this. If that's the case, it's a steep price for what's been done. When we lost Vulcan, we lost a piece of Earth, as did every other world that was touched by its people." He paused to take a generous sip of coffee before continuing: "They helped us pull ourselves out of the pit of despair, Earth had become. In a way, we owe almost everything we are now, to them. Christ, the whole fucking galaxy is still mourning." Ending his rare moment of eloquence, he took a savage bite out of his sandwich, effectively smearing mayonnaise across his upper lip and looked at his friend with wide eyes and a raised brow. It was the expression the crew had affectionately dubbed, "crazy eyes".

Jim snorted and let out a soft chuckle, leaning across to clean his face with a napkin. "Bones, for a caveman, you're the most thoughtful one I've ever known."

McCoy grunted, "Yeah, well, crazier things have happened. Starfleet made you Captain of the flagship, and stuck me here as punishment for my trouble." Finishing off his meal, he continued, "Back to Spock, he slept through the night as far as I know. I left around 0700 and he was still out cold. Did you get the memo I sent this morning about the panic attack?"

Jim rubbed his face, "Yeah, I got it. It's good you were with him, I don't think he'd allow anyone else to cart him off like some damsel. So, you said he's having inadvertent human reactions?"

"Yeah, I don't think he's aware of what's going on. Claims his mind is "simply reacting to an injury". I think it's easy for us to forget he's fifty percent human, and that part seems to have taken over, physically anyway."

They sat in silence for a moment, each pondering the First Officer. Jim cleared his throat and spoke silently, "Remember that chess game you guys played last week?"

McCoy immediately glared at his Captain, "Why do you ask?"

A smirk, "You know why-"

"Jim, I don't even want to think about this right now. Anything I was going to tell him is now moot. He's not looking for declarations of love from a bitter, country, divorcée, especially not now."

Jim nodded, glancing down for a moment. Incapable of leaving it at that, he replied, "I'm just saying...you don't have enough faith in your rugged charms." McCoy tried to glare at the bright smile, "Anyways, I gotta get to the bridge. Maybe we'll get together after shift and talk, okay?" Nodding, he leaned into the hand that grasped his shoulder, taking the small comfort his Captain offered.

"I'll see ya later, kid."


	4. Shields

Spock was nestled in the middle of the double bed, his legs tightly crossed and his back straight. His hands were draped loosely around each knee. The room was silent, only a dim ambiance of light flickering from replicated candles. Outwardly, it was the picture of tranquillity and peace. However, for the past three hours, Spock was in a frustrated, incoherent state.

He was chasing his frantic thoughts, trying desperately to retrieve and knit them back together. His emotions would not cease in flaring at any given moment with rage, confusion, and want. He could not decipher his Vulcan logic from his human irrationality. Images of Nero clashed with his feelings for Leonard, memories of being bathed by calloused, but gentle hands were overlaid with a tattooed forehead pressed against his own...

Opening his eyes, he exhaled shakily and rubbed at his temples. Today was not the day for meditating it seemed. He checked the ship's time and noted that Leonard would likely be returning to his quarters within the next thirty minutes. He stood from the bed and stretched his limbs, noting that there was little pain remaining, before walking to the replicator for a cup of spiced tea.

Spock made his way to the wide window and gazed out into the dark, star streaked space. Allowing his thoughts to wander to the good doctor, he was mildly perturbed at the sudden sensation of his stomach fluttering. Placing a hand over his abdomen, he noted that his heartbeat appeared to increase in speed when thinking of Leonard. A most curious event.

Though his meditation had not been satisfactory, he had discovered that the interruption of his sleep the night prior had been Leonard. While he had surprisingly slept through being relocated to the doctor's bed, he could vividly recall the mental intruder. He deduced that Leonard could not have intentionally caused such thought transference. While the act required skin-to-skin contact, it was probable that such approximation ensued after Leonard had already placed him in his bed. _Perhaps simple, human curiosity..._

It had been a deep warmth that seemed to penetrate and dismantle his chaotic thoughts. He had been stunned at the thick, heavy fog that enveloped him. Everything had been quiet, his thoughts and emotions as clear as they had been before the Narada. Too quickly it had ended and he found himself raging, reaching out to get it back.

He walked back to the immaculately made bed and rested on the edge. When he had awoke that morning, Leonard had already left for sickbay, a PADD with his instructions for the day sitting on the bedside table. Spock smiled inside as he recalled the doctor's words:

_If you're reading this before 10:00, you're lucky I'm not there to hypospray you back to sleep. Take it easy today and get lots of rest. I left a list of high iron and protein meals for you to choose from. I'll be done my shift around 11:00 and then likely grab lunch with Jim. I'll be back and hounding you for 12:00. If you need me, you know where I am._

_I hope you feel a little better today._

_L_

He would only privately admit that he had read Leonard's message more than once, although he had retained the information without hindrance the first time. He did not deny the developing emotions that progressed beyond simple friendship. Over the months, he found himself often thinking of Leonard while he was alone in his quarters and before he fell asleep. It was a very human reaction to a very human concept. He remembered the term as being called a 'crush'. _I have developed a crush on Leonard. _He smirked at the grammatical discrepancy.

While he intended to eventually reveal his new feelings to the doctor, he felt a sense of trepidation after the events of the Narada. His brow furrowed in concern. Would Leonard be weary of him after such an invasive examination? Would he reject a physically intimate relationship due to his encounter with Nero? Would he even entertain the idea a same-sex encounter?

The swoosh of the doors signalled Leonard's return. The fluttering in his abdomen hitched into his throat and he quickly reeled in his control. It would not do well to fawn like some adolescent human female. He stood to greet the other man.

"Sit down, you." McCoy deposited his medical bag on his desk and with a tricorder in hand, rounded on Spock, who was now reseated on the bed. Nothing appeared to be hindering Spock's healing for which he was thankful. Nodding, he set the device on the bed and turned to pull off his uniform shirt.

"So, how was your morning?" Rolling up the sleeves of his black under shirt, he strode back to Spock and sat next to him on the bed. He refused to name the pang in his chest as disappointment, when Spock shifted and put a few inches between them. Leaning forward he rested his elbows on his knees and frowned at the floor.

"I took the opportunity to read up on the post-mission logs and found no error with the reported data. I adequately followed your orders to rest, and meditated for a substantial period of time."

"And how did that go?" McCoy gave Spock the side-eye, watching his body language.

Spock paused, studying him for a short moment. "Not as well as I had hoped. Although, I had a most curious vision last night during sleep."

McCoy stood and walked to the replicator for a glass of water. Downing most of it in one gulp, he frantically tried to quell the nausea that lapped at his throat. "Listen..." he winced at the crack in his voice and turned to face Spock again, "I didn't mean for whatever happened...to happen. I don't even know what it was."

Spock's eyebrow rose slightly, perhaps in amusement, McCoy hoped. "Doctor, you misunderstand; I am not upset with you. I was exhausted and my mental shields were weakened from trauma. I am aware that you did not intend on invading my privacy, nor would you ever do it maliciously." The dark eyes watched him closely and McCoy suddenly felt cornered.

Swallowing, he replied: "I was...caught up...-" He felt his face flush and he scowled at the floor._He's not stable right now, how do I say 'I've wanted you for months?' _Frustrated, he scratched through his hair and looked up. Spock continued to stare at him, his eyes smiling, each second melting McCoy's heart. Remembering what it was like being behind those eyes, consumed in blissful thoughts, a lump formed in his throat.

He cut through the silence with a rough voice, "I'm gonna take a shower."

Walking past Spock, he made his way to the bathroom. Angrily ripping off his clothes, he threw himself into the scalding water and choked out the breath he was holding. Closing his eyes, he desperately wished for confidence and strength. _I don't even know what to do..._

Feeling helpless, he slid down the slick wall and pulled his knees to his chest. Resting his head on his forearms, his thoughts began wandering.

Since he could remember, he had always known where his attractions were focused. While Earth was an open-minded and accepting society now, he had repressed the attraction to his gender, to anyone, and focused solely on his schooling. While his friends were experimenting with relationships, he was preparing for high school, university, medical school and residency. There was never any time to consider a relationship.

When he had met Jocelyn, he truly had fallen in love with her. Marrying her and having Joanna were decisions made out of the deepest love and devotion. He never wished that she was a male, and he never stepped out on her once. She was a perfect wife and mother; he was a perfect husband and father. However, she had come to him one day near the end and told him, in detail, what he had desperately hidden his entire life and that she had been seeing an old boyfriend. He had given her everything she wanted in the divorce, and refused to take Joanna away from her mother. When he had decided to join Starfleet, with Joanna's blessing of course, Jocelyn had promised him that he would never be denied access to their daughter. He was grateful that the messy divorce hadn't diminished their dignity when it came to their child.

But now there was no reason to continue denying himself. He longingly thought of Spock and his body trembled, starved and craving the feel of another male pressed against him. His heart ached and he allowed himself to imagine his reactions to sensations he had never felt.

Spock was standing on the other side of the doors, approximately five feet away. He moved to stand, the instant Leonard disappeared behind them and hadn't moved since. His brow was drawn in concern for his friend. There was a crackling on the edges of his consciousness, and unintelligible words that seemed to tease his senses.

He stepped forward and placed a hand on the door, focusing his thoughts. There was an empty silence before wisps of clarity began forming in his mind. He recognized the cognitive signature as Leonard's, and encouraged the stray emotions and thoughts toward his own. He was momentarily taken aback with a sudden wave of Leonard's internal musings. Circulating the emotions, he recognized shame, anger, and a deep, throbbing need that almost made him sick. Before long, he began hearing the thoughts that were playing companion to the feelings. They swirled into his mind's focus and Spock strained to hear them, _'-our chess game last week...stand the sight of me after the Narada...the exam. -so lonely it's pathetic-'_

The doors suddenly parted, a damp and startled doctor peering at him from under the towel draped over his hair. Spock, thankfully having had the grace to remove his hand in time, merely stood in silence. Leonard cleared his throat, "Is there...a problem?"

Weighing the options of broaching the subject of Leonard's emotional turmoil and the cause of it, he decided it would be best to wait until a more suitable moment. "No doctor, I apologise for startling you. I was simply waiting for you to finish bathing so I could utilize your facilities."

An eyebrow climbed slowly, the eyes squinting with suspicion. Spock chuckled inside at the slightly manic expression, of which he held a certain affection for. The body shifted and walked around him at a wide berth, "Knock yourself out."

Now standing in the slightly humid room, Spock explored his surroundings, pretending to be occupied. Shuffling idly through the doctor's toiletries proved less than insightful, not learning anything useful or significant about the target of his affections. Bringing an unidentified bottle of amber coloured liquid to his nose, he inhaled cautiously. He was pleased to note that it was a recognizable scent, often catching it when Leonard would walk past him or invade his personal space to rant silently in his face.

Smiling slightly, he meticulously positioned the item in its respective place and turned to exit. He was, for the second time, forced to suffer through the sight of a shamelessly half-nude doctor. He noted that Leonard was sitting at the small table with a steaming cup of what appeared to be coffee and a meal.

"Sit."

His brow twitched at the command, but he obeyed without protest. Eyeing the tray as it was pushed towards him, he anticipated another primitive order. When the mouth opened, he raised a hand and nodded minutely. At least this would distract him from the wide chest on display that he so wanted to explore.

"I looked into some of the files on Vulcan neurology that you gave me. Your cognitive symptoms are worrying me, they read too much like Bendii syndrome though you're about a century and a half too young for that."

Spock swallowed a portion of the meal, and regarded the doctor with an even tone, "I assure you, there is nothing to be concerned with. I believe I explained the issue yesterday."

The hazel eyes narrowed slightly, "Yeah, but how am I supposed to fix it?"

Blinking, he attempted to conjure up an adequate explanation, "It is with concentrated, deep meditation that this can be alleviated. I have begun to take the necessary steps."

"You said you were having some trouble with it."

Finishing off the small lunch, Spock studied the doctor carefully before replying, "It is a complicated process. However, in some cases of mental duress, a mind-meld with a family member or spouse has been known to advance the healing process."

Spock watched as the doctor scrubbed his face with a large hand, sighing as he spoke, "I won't contact Sarek." Relieved at Leonard's words, he nodded before the man continued, "But what about a friend? Jim has melded with your old-self, which is kind of the same thing. I accidentally mucked around in your head last night. I could do it, couldn't I?" Spock was startled to hear the slight hope in his friend's voice.

"Doctor...Leonard, I am honoured by your offer. However, it is...more complicated than simply 'mucking around' in one's head. It is a highly intimate-"

A hard, resolute voice interrupted him, "I know."

Silence settled over them and Spock would have squirmed under the dark glare of his friend, had he been fully human.

Anger unexpectedly flared within him. He raked his eyes over the audacious display of flesh and snarled. _He offers himself so blatantly, it is almost obscene_. Drawing on the doctor's inexperience in any aspect of same-sex courtship, he flagrantly disregarded the knowledge he had of the deep pain it caused the other man and replied coldly, "You lack the knowledge of what it is you offer so freely, nor do you possess the necessary..._experience_."

Shocked by his own cruelty, he immediately stood and gripped the edge of the small table, trying desperately to anchor himself. His face burned with shame, as he tentatively raised his eyes to the doctor's face, unsure of what he would find.

His brow knitted together, suddenly breathless as he spoke, "Leonard..."

The other man hadn't moved, still leaning into his chair and staring at Spock. The lips were drawn a little tighter together but there was no physical reaction from his crippling insult. Leonard cleared his throat, "I'm aware that you're fighting reactions beyond your control; maybe you should have a rest."

The doctor stood and walked around the table, making his way passed Spock. The scent of the amber substance he discovered in the bathroom filled in nose. Frantic, he reached out and grabbed the man's wrist, inhumane strength allowing him to pull Leonard within arm's reach and gripped the thick upper-arms.

"No, do not idly brush aside such...such disrespect. Your friendship and medical care is invaluable to me. Please, forgive me."

Spock was disappointed at the small, self-deprecating smile that formed on the doctor's face. "Spock, if you're fixin' to hurt me, you're gonna have to be a little more imaginative."

Spock gripped the flesh tighter when the doctor made to move away, "I did not-"

"Yes, you did." The eyes studied him, relaxed and calm. Spock was confused at this reaction. "Spock, I've already heard the worst-"

"It will not alleviate any of the regret or shame I feel to hear that I am not the first one to speak such inappropriate words to you." Swallowing thickly, his voice dropped significantly, "Nor will it excuse the fact that I violated your private thoughts, only to use the most sensitive against you in protest of your deeply thoughtful offer to assist me."

Noting the pink flush staining Leonard's face as he finished speaking, he let go of the stiff flesh. While the doctor composed himself, Spock turned and with a quick visual scan of the room, he spotted the drawer that contained an oddly patterned garment that Leonard had donned yesterday. Returning, he handed the shirt over to his friend, "I do not wish for you to become chilled. And...the sight of you in this state of undress is counterproductive to my cognitive refocusing."

The self-confidence seemed to slightly dissipate as the skin was now hidden from view, the fingers impatiently fumbling with an array of buttons. Grasping the hands with his own, he lead the doctor to his bed.

Spock pulled back the thick bedding, watching the doctor watch him. He sat on the edge and smoothed over the sheets with a hand, "Come."

Sliding underneath the cool sheets, he turned so he was facing Spock. He appreciated the handsome face, glad that the bruises were fading. When Spock made to move closer, he swallowed the lump of nerves that were bundled in his throat. The body twisted to lay next to him when suddenly, Spock winced, bringing a hand to cover his ribcage.

McCoy pulled himself up to lean on an elbow while he critiqued the other man, "Are you alright?" When Spock carefully arranged himself onto his back, he turned his face, dark eyes boring into hazel.

"Leonard, I believe we should converse as to clear up any misconceptions or misunderstanding."

McCoy swallowed and shifted onto his back, now staring at the ceiling. Still able to make out Spock's form in his peripheral vision, he noted that the other man was still staring at him.

"When we played chess last week...I wanted to tell you how I felt. Jim convinced me it was a good idea. I should have listened to him, but hell, when is Jim ever onto anything good." McCoy let the slight smile fade into a neutral expression as he waited for Spock to speak.

"And how do you feel?" The voice was, as usual, even and controlled, putting his own rough, cracked tone to shame.

He rolled his eyes, making a face at the ceiling. "Are you serious?"

"Vulcans are never anything but serious, doctor." McCoy turned his head just in time to see the laughter in the dark eyes fading. _Beautiful_. Brow crinkling, he looked back to the ceiling.

"You know how I feel. You were there in my head with your Vulcan voodoo."

"On the contrary, doctor-"

"Christ almighty...." Scowling, he sighed and continued, "I feel... good when I'm with you." Damning his adolescent choice of words and the heat that flooded his face, he bid farewell to his dignity and went on, "And whenever we hang out, and then you leave...I feel frantic because I want you to stay. I'm afraid something will go wrong on this hell-ship, and I won't see you tomorrow. I'm always afraid you'll end up...on the slab in my sickbay. I worry about everyone that way, but...with you..." He trailed off, trying to think of something both simple and profound...Failing, he settled with: "I just want you around...for a long time. After the Narada, I-" Gagging on his words, he shuddered out a groan, whispering, "I'm sorry I had to do it so soon, and you weren't able to wash up, but you can't or there's loss of DNA and-" His panicked ramblings were halted by the hot skin of Spock's fingertips along his forehead, now sinking into the deep, soothing sensation of them trailing down his face.

_I know you're out of sorts right now, and I should wait for a better moment than this, but you're all I've wanted for months. It was all I could do not to beam you to my quarters the moment you appeared on the transporter pad and take care of you here. I didn't want to touch you, not like that. _

A quiet voice lulled in his mind: I would have protested such an illogical decision. _You have been an exemplary friend and physician to me, for which I am grateful. And my own...intimate thoughts_-Spock broke off as their shared moment was slashed apart by the vulgar image of Nero's tattooed face and the crippling sensation of being asphyxiated. Spock frantically tried to reel himself in enough to remove his hand from Leonard's forehead, not wanting to subject him to such pain.

A large hand suddenly grasped his own, holding it close against the forehead. He shuddered as Leonard pushed against his mental shields, demanding to be let through. Barely hanging on, they relented and he was immediately enveloped in Leonard's conscious. Strange, exotic aromas, spicy flavours, heavy, foreign air, and as much as he tried, he could not identify the strange manifestations. A whisper swirled in his mind, _I've got you_.

Thankful, but desperate to cut their connection, Spock made to pull his hand, and his thoughts, from the doctor. Anger surged through the link, and he felt a strong arm curl around his waist before being held tightly against the cool, broad skin of Leonard's side. His mind exploded with the images and sensations Leonard was projecting. Dark, earthy colours pulsed around him, the scents he recalled from last night, filling his nostrils. He whispered through their link, _Thank you_.

Spock was absorbed in the delicious sensations, and ran his fingers underneath the half-open garment, then through the soft, dark hair splayed across the doctor's chest. Pleased to hear the contented moan, he could feel the hunger, the depth of need was staggering now that he was so close. Feeling Leonard recoil at the sharing of the emotions he had exploited, he expertly retracted himself from the dark paradise.

Spock put a more appropriate distance between them and regarded the man he hoped to take as his mate, "It was illogical to assume, that I did not reciprocate similar affections for you."

Leonard paused before regarding his answer, "But...Lieutenant Uhura..." The voice trailed off, uncertain and hesitant.

"Gender is irrelevant."

Again, Leonard paused, no doubt in an attempt to analyse his words when there was clearly no analysis required.

The confused response came shortly after, "...What?"

"The ending of my relationship with Nyota was due to an incompatibility that could not be rectified. Therefore, there was no need to continue on with a sexual relationship as it would be severely lacking in substance. Vulcans do not simply subject themselves to rudimentary pleasures of a specified gender. There are many other factors that delegate the taking of a mate."

The next statement made him flush, mortified. "I thought you only took mates during Pon Farr."

"While this is a true assessment, Vulcans do experience the desire for physical intimacy outside the parameters of Pon Farr. Additionally, I have always been encouraged to explore my humanity, of which includes human mating rituals."

McCoy swallowed, now nervous and unsure. "How do you know I'm a suitable mate?"

"The short amount of time that I have shared your conscious, has confirmed my previous hopes."

Unable to stop himself from fading in and out of his daydream of melding with Spock, he struggled to form words. The haze was intoxicating and he wanted nothing more than to spend eternity in Spock's mind. It was perfection.

"Leonard?" He was warmed by the concern in Spock's normally even, emotionless tone.

"I'm fine. Just a little dazed." Sitting up, he gazed down at the Vulcan splayed on his bed. Folding a leg to his chest, he lazily rested his arm on his knee. "Spock...I don't know how to do this. I've never...well again, you know." Damning himself for so many years of self repression, he scowled at the heat flaring across his face. "This is horrifyingly awkward."

"You do not need to feel uncomfortable in my presence." A hand crept passed his thigh to the loosely rested hand on his knee. Two pale fingers curled around his own and pulled them closer to the other man. McCoy watched closely as the fingers idly stroked the length of both his index and middle finger. Curious, he now watched Spock's face as he reciprocated the action, amused at the green that suddenly stained the pale cheeks. His voice was rough and quiet, "What is this?"

The fingers faltered a little in their caressing as Spock answered, "This is how Vulcans show their affections toward one another. It is the equivalent of a Human kiss."

Unsurprised that the Vulcans would come up with such a minute gesture for intimacy, he _was_ rather surprised at how much he enjoyed it. There was something innocent, yet deeply sensual about it, something that filled him with hope and promise. The idea that Spock would initiate such an act with _him_, helped scatter his doubt in himself.

"Computer, dim lights to eighty percent. Increase temperature by five degrees."

Sliding back down under the sheets, he shifted to face Spock and pulled the fabric over him as well. He let his eyes close, relaxing as their fingers found each other once more.


	5. Letters and Smut

*The pick-up line featured in this chapter, is not mine. It is from the Facebook group 'Vulcan Pick-up Lines'. No matter how much I wish it were mine, it is not*

A few hours after their shared moment in bed, Spock meticulously smoothed his hair and tugged at the civilian issue shirt. Pleased enough with his appearance, he strode through the doors, reentering the main area of Leonard's quarters. The other man was still asleep, currently engaged in what appeared to be a dream. A pleasant one, if he was not mistaken. The man had shed his shirt again and was mumbling contentedly to himself.

Quietly, he slipped through the doors and into the corridor. It had been over twenty four hours since he had left the doctor's quarters and he was eager to revisit his own. Having left a message for Leonard on his bedside table, Spock made his way down the hall to his rooms. Entering his authorization code, he stepped into the welcoming heat and familiar atmosphere of his living area.

"Computer, lights."

Removing his boots, he walked to his desk and found a blinking PADD next to a photo of his mother. He raised an eyebrow at the intruder, knowing full well he did not leave the device there the last time he was in his quarters. Picking it up, he entered his passcode and scanned through the messages. _Jim, Nyota, Pavel, Mr. Scott, Hikaru..._

He turned and walked to the replicator for a cup of spiced tea before settling down into his lounge chair. Gently sipping the steaming liquid, he began reading the messages from his crew mates...

: Hey you, it's me, your favourite captain. It's 1:00AM, and I'm doing courageous, valiant, captainly stuff, like filling out reports and authorizing roster duties. I decided to take a break and replicate pizza, your favourite actually: onions, mushrooms, extra green peppers and, of course, half Bolian pepperoni for me. I wish you were here to help me eat it and play chess :( I hope you get better soon, I think the crew is planning a mutiny. Nyota may be heading it. Will keep you posted.

Jim.

P.S: But seriously, if you need anything, you know where I am.

Spock twisted his mouth slightly to avoid smiling. He promised himself that he would be well enough to indulge in his Monday night routine with Jim. It truly was something he looked forward to throughout the week.

Saving the message, he circulated to next, which was from Nyota. Unsure of what she had been briefed on regarding the mission, it was with some trepidation that he began reading her note.

: Hello Spock! I have already demoted the Captain to cadet and sent a strongly worked letter to his cohort, the Doctor. I swear, the Captain couldn't work a communicator without causing an intergalactic war or getting us lost in the Gamma Quadrant. That being said, we miss you on the bridge, and I hope McCoy has you on your feet soon. If you need me, just let me know.

Did you tell him you have a crush on him yet?

Love,

Nyota x

Taking a sip of his now cool tea, he pondered Nyota's message, wondering if she really had sent a "strongly worded letter" to Leonard. He was most intrigued as to just how strongly worded it was.

Bringing up Pavel's message, he smiled at the young man's enthusiasm.

: Hello, Commander Spock! I hope you get better and come back to your duties soon. I have included a file on a paper I am writing, perhaps you can read it if you are feeling restless in sickbay!

I am enjoying the book you recommended on warp core theory, thank you very much for thinking of me.

Well, that is all for now! Goodnight, Commander.

Ensign Chekhov.

Spock made sure to save this message, intending to proof read the man's paper. While his English was, for the most part, improving at a rapid pace, he often would misuse certain conjugations and the like.

: Mr. Vulcan, I've come up with a brilliant plan for you to woo a certain Doctor into your bed. I mean, let's be honest, it is only logical that you take advantage of such an opportunity, being so close to him for such a long while! Go up to him and say:

"Is that a holographic likeness of myself being projected from your Federation Standard Issue Uniform Slacks? No? Nevertheless, I can certainly visualize myself in them."

HA! That's golden, that is. Worked on it all night, I'll have you know.

-Scotty.

Spock tilted his head slightly at the brazen take on an ancient, Earth 'pick-up line'. He was also concerned that it took the Chief Engineer _all night, _to come up with it.

Reaching the last message, he wondered if Mr. Sulu would have thought to include any new thoughts on meditation. He could utilize any suggestions.

: Sir, I trust the doctor is taking care of you. I can only imagine what it was like having to deal with that lunatic again. I sent some focusing and re-centering techniques along with this message. They aren't anything significant, just small things you can try to help yourself along. They really helped me transition to life on a starship, which I didn't take to for quite some time.

Take care and I look forward to our next spar.

-H. Sulu

Spock saved and encrypted each message to his personal database. Warmed by the thoughts of his shipmates and friends, he was, not for the first time, grateful to himself that he made the decision to join Starfleet. These people were his family, and he intended to reciprocate the honour and care they consistently showed him.

Standing, Spock made his way to the make-shift meditation area he arranged months prior. While it was not as elaborate as the ones that had been found on Vulcan, it nevertheless provided him with a strong sense of home and culture. Kneeling in front of the set-up, he lit the meditation lamp and surrounding candles. Assuming the position, he closed his eyes and once more attempted to rearrange his mind.

McCoy arched his body into a stretch and exhaled back down onto the bed. Having woken moments prior, he had discovered Spock's note to him regarding his whereabouts. The ship's time indicated he had napped for about two hours and he felt quite relieved and relaxed.

Bringing his arms up, he let them fall behind and on either side of his head. Closing his eyes, his mind wandered back to Spock and was immediately stabbed in the gut with a sneak attack of those hell-bugs known as _butterflies_. His mortifying, high school-esque confession made his face burn. However, thinking of Spocks hands on him, as fleeting as it had been, had him sighing in the early stirring of arousal.

Licking his lips, he brought a hand to his chest, mimicking the action of Spock's hand. It had been years since he had anyone else touch him like that, and his body had absorbed the much desired sensation. Now helpless to his mind's fantasizing, he imagined different scenarios of Spock's hands on him.

Trailing his hand down his abdomen, he shed the uniform slacks and undergarments he still wore. Spreading his legs slightly, he sighed contentedly as the cool air soothed the perpetually heated area of his groin. His breath came out in a shuddered, low groan as he gripped the neck of his cock, squeezing firmly. Bringing his other hand down, he raked his nails over the skin of his inner thigh toward the heavy, dampness of his testicles.

Aware of the mechanics of gay sex, he was unsure how to proceed in his fantasy with Spock. Last night he had wanted to devour Spock's lips, sucking and biting until they were swollen and green. He moaned at the thought of that perfect ass pressed against his groin, grinding and writhing, his hands viciously gripping the curve of hip. Spock was male, a _Vulcan _male, he could take it rougher and harder and he would want it that way.

Suddenly, his mind changed course, and he was underneath the long, lithely muscled form, alien strength pinning both his arms above his head with one hand. The dark glare that would shine in those eyes, the flared nostrils that would be able to scent his arousal, the strong thigh that would force its way between his legs should he attempt to struggle.

Encouraged by his fantasy, he stroked his cock harder, cruelly scratching his nails against the soft skin of his abdomen, reveling in the heated sting.

Bringing the hand to his mouth, he slipped his middle and ring fingers into his mouth, the excessive saliva providing an easy lubricant. Spreading his legs further, he arched his back sightly and maneuvered his hand around his outer thigh to tease the tight opening of his ass. Shuddering, he pressed inside himself with practised care, easily finding his prostate.

Too long since he explored this part of his body, it only took a few strokes before he arched his back, digging his fingers as deep as he could into himself. His orgasm was long and shuddering, and he rode it as long as he could until his cock was too sensitive to touch.

Rolling up and out of the bed, he made his way to the bathroom to clean himself. Catching himself in the mirror, he felt a stab of shame, realizing that he had just jerked off, thinking about his rape-victim _patient._ While his feelings greatly surpassed the level of primitive sexual desire, he nevertheless felt somewhat depraved that his desperation had overpowered his concern for Spock. Soaking a cloth, he wiped away the congealing semen and, avoiding the mirror on his way out, stalked back to his bedroom.


	6. Vulcan Voodoo

The most he had seen of Spock over the last three days, was fleeting and chilly. Their conversation had stayed clinical, Spock only speaking to him to answer a question regarding his healing. Clipped tones, a scowl, and Spock winked out of his sight and disappeared through the doors of his quarters.

McCoy understood Spock's desire for solitude and meditation. However, he didn't appreciate the strange regression in their relationship. While Spock was composed as he ever was, there was a slight air of frustration and impatience about him. It made McCoy uneasy, feeling like Spock could hear what he was thinking or see into the heated frenzy of his dreams. Those were another matter entirely.

Noting the ship's time, he bid farewell to Nurse Chapel, and made his way to the mess hall for dinner with Jim. The lack of Spock's presence had been filled with Jim's venting about the political turmoil in the quadrant. Tensions were running high between the powers, that was for damned sure.

Spotting the captain in the mostly empty room, he lazily seated himself across from the other man.

"I'm tired," He drawled.

Jim mumbled around a mouth full of his dinner, "Every day, you skulk through those doors, and drag yourself over here, fall into that chair with the grace of a...what would you call it...something about a lame horse and ...grits?...whatever. A Klingon in a China shop." A cheeky grin followed up the butchering of one of his more favoured, old world sayings.

He leaned forward and grabbed the other half of Jim's sandwich, taking a hefty mouthful. Letting Jim prattle on about the latest bridge gossip, he chewed contentedly, happy to drown the other man out. As he was about to swallow, the mess hall doors swished open and Spock strode through, closely followed by Uhura.

The lump of mushy food caught in his throat, and he fought the urge to gag. Scowling, he forced it down and tried his hardest to focus on Jim's ridiculous face.

"...And that's when we decided half a case of Blood Wine wasn't worth the trouble. So I guess since you haven't been listening to a word I've said, I'll go ahead, test a theory, and say 'Spock'."

"What? What about Spock?" Instantly his heart leapt into his throat and he stared intently at Jim.

A smirk crinkled around blue eyes, "You're pathetic, do you know that?"

Fighting the desire to yank the other man back around, he watched the captain twist in his chair to eye the other two crew members across the room.

"Well, I do say, that boy is as purdy as a speckled pup under a red wagon!" Jim flamboyantly swished his napkin about himself and batted his eyelashes.

"If you don't stop, I'll tell everyone that you sleep with a night light."

Brushing off the threat, Jim beamed at his friend, "You know, I'm only teasing. And you should think about working on your scowl, it's been a little less blood curdling lately. People are starting to_ talk_."

McCoy grumbled, "It's his fault, he's done something to me. Some voodoo shit, I dunno." Muttering off, he stared down at the table.

"Stop it, you look like a mad man. Did you ever stop to think that maybe, just MAYBE, yeah, one of you is a little hypersensitive to the other, now that you've melded?"

"Whatever, it doesn't matter." Glaring, he folded his arms across the table and buried his face into them.

Jim sputtered out a chuckle, "What are you, fifteen? Have you been drawing Bones+Goblin=Heart, on your journals?"

An inaudible muffling was McCoy's reply.

"Aw, c'mon Bones..." Jim ruffled the messy brown hair. "Just let him do his Vulcan thing for now. He needs to sort shit out and then things will get back on track."

"I don't want to wait..."

"I know. But, at least you know that he feels the same way. Vulcans don't lie, remember? This is worth waiting for."

Pulling himself back up, he eyed the room and its occupants. "I'll tell ya what, it better be, or I'll...I don't know what I'll do, but it'll be something terrible."

"Sure do boy, a-hyuk!"

Cringing, McCoy pushed the plate of food closer to Jim, encouraging him to eat and thus, provide sweet silence.

As Jim continued to eat, McCoy let the calm wave of his best friend's presence relax him. Happy with no thoughts or worries for a moment, he was simply blank. Of their own accord it seemed, his eyes began to roam, searching for the figure that would blow his quasi-meditation to shit.

His eyes covertly looked passed Jim's now unfocused form, finding the back of Spock's head. No sooner did his eyes shift the mere millimetres, the head moved to the side and a pair of brown eyes were suddenly looking as far behind as they could. Shaken, McCoy swallowed the nervous lump in his throat and engaged Jim in slightly panicked small talk.

*I feel I should note that I am not going to do any Uhura-bashing, or create any twisted love triangles.*

*I think a serious!Jim is needed in a scene with Spock. Can't ignore their epic friendship.*


	7. Contracted

I hold no copyright or claims over these characters etc. I love feedback. I have a beta reader now, and she helped me with this chapter. She goes by sleepygoof8784. She is cool.

Note: I made up my own idea of Joanna McCoy.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

For not the first time over the past few days, Spock wished he'd never engaged in a friendship with McCoy. Had he not, he would not have developed romantic feelings toward the other man, and he would not be suffering through the constant stream of foreign consciousness invading his mind. Leonard's thoughts curled around his own like tentacles, unrelenting and restricting. He was constantly aware of the doctor; what he was doing, thinking, where he was looking, how he was feeling, everything.

There were even moments when he was convinced certain memories or thoughts were, and had always been, his own. Pictures of a young female seared into his mind's eye, and with hardly any effort, he could recall everything about her: large brown eyes, slightly slanted at the corners, indicating that there may have been a mix of two cultures. Thick wavy hair that fell past her shoulders, and numerous hand-made trinkets strewn around her wrists and neck. He would have put her age at around ten Earth-years. While he was deeply intrigued by the child, he preferred to avoid thoughts of her, knowing that a great sadness would throb in his chest if he did. He knew that Leonard had fathered a child prior entering Starfleet, so it was simple to assume that this particular individual would be her.

If it wasn't somber thoughts of young children he had never met, it was self-loathing, if it wasn't self-loathing, it was frantic, heated, and dark sexual fantasies. There were more moments than he would like to admit, where he found himself waking up with damp sheets like a pubescent human male.

However, he knew that reconsidering his friendship with Leonard, was a direct contradiction to his actions and affections. Still, he preferred that the circumstances of late be different regarding his declaration of wishing to mate with Leonard. Nothing was as it seemed since his encounter with Nero, and he was on the brink of doubting his belief that Leonard was, to put it simply, '_the One'._

It made it near impossible to concentrate on-

"Spock?" He managed to quell his body's reaction from jumping to a subtle, less than fluid head jerk.

Reaching for his nearly cold tea, he refused to note the tremor in his fingers. Taking a mouthful and swallowing the pleasant bitterness, he replied, "Yes, Nyota, I apologise. Please continue."

She shot him mischievous smirk and took a delicate sip of her coffee, "You got it bad, don't you? And don't say you're 'unfamiliar with that term, please elaborate'".

"Then I must assure you that, I do not 'have it bad', whatever the cryptic _it, _may be. "

She stuck her chin out slightly, the expression on her face reminding him of the day she _persuaded_ him to assign her to the Enterprise. "Yes, you do."

Brushing off her, for-the-moment, inaccurate assessment, he spoke, "Where were we in our conversation before I was distracted?"

"Right. Well, the environmental and security systems are going to be overrode and updated in two days. There was a big mess when we were grounded, and the updated systems patch wasn't included in our repairs itinerary."

"I presume Mr. Scott is not pleased with this recent setback."

"You presumed right. Apparently the environmental controls will be out of whack for a couple hours. Quarters will be on lock down, replicators and even the communication system might be glitchy throughout the day."

He could not deny that the idea of being locked in his quarters with no outside distractions, was a pleasant one. Perhaps he could finally focus himself.

_

Sitting at his cluttered desk, Jim had resigned himself to twirling around in his chair. He really did take his work seriously, not usually giving into outside distractions. However, each time he stopped his twirling, focusing hard on how to begin his report to the Admiral, he would immediately begin thinking about Spock. Deciding to give it another go after a particularly long time of doing nothing, he reached out a hand and stopped his chair mid-spin. Slightly dizzy, he watched the blinking message template swirl into focus. Even if he hadn't been plagued with thoughts of his injured First Officer, he still wouldn't have had any idea how to reply to the Admiral's not-so-passive, very-much-aggresive message.

When they had finally retrieved Spock, he had informed Star Fleet command immediately. However, when Bones had sent him the medical report, he had implemented a ship-wide order, halting any outgoing transmissions to Star Fleet. He had wanted time to prepare a proper report, and though he hadn't come up with anything he was pleased with, he knew he couldn't put it off any longer. That, and his crew were getting antsy with their own frantic messages from Star Fleet piling up, and under orders not to reply.

He rolled his chair out from behind his desk, only managing to knock one or two data PADDS to the ground. Catching the throw blanket across his lap in the wheel of his chair, he clumsily dragged himself to the large window away from his desk. Content, he stared out into the long dark that was streaked with silver lights. _Spock. _He leaned back in the chair and rested his feet along the alcove of the thickly glassed window.

Spock brought out the best in him, and the entire crew, there was no question about it. He encouraged him to utilize logic, patience and objectivity, always refusing to even entertain what Jim was positing unless he could deliver it in measurable, concise methods. He believed that Spock's criticism and encouragement would make him a very fine captain. It also pleased him that Spock allowed for off-duty interaction with crew-members of lower rank, like Ensign Chekhov, who idolized the stoic First Officer.

After the destruction of Vulcan, he often found himself in two highly unpleasant situations: sleepless or violently awake after a nightmare. He wasn't sure when it started, but he would quietly creep down the corridor to Spock's quarters. At first he was hesitant to disturb the man at such late hours, however, Spock never denied him entry. He wouldn't have to speak or explain why he was there, with rumpled hair and clad in nothing but a sleeping robe. Sometime after that, it was Spock who would, although rarely, be the one standing helpless in his door way. Sometimes they would talk, play chess, or muse about the day, and sometimes they wouldn't do anything at all. Just being near one another in silence was more than enough comfort.

He was also grateful for Spock's discretion. Once he had received his captaincy, there were more than a few times that he would find himself lost on the ship or struggling with an obscure line of a certain protocol . Spock was always there with a subtle turn of his head, indicating which corridor to follow and was never unavailable to explain to him whatever it was that had him confounded.

He knew that Ambassador Spock, or 'Spock _Prime'_, had been right. His First Officer would define him as a captain, and more importantly, as a man, in the years to come. After he was long gone, Spock would still be alive, and while the thought oddly saddened him, he was grateful to have so much time to build on both their professional and personal relationship. He wanted Spock to be able to tell stories about him when he was no longer around, stoically reiterating their great adventures on the Enterprise, and so on. Most of all, he wanted Spock to think back and be proud of him.

He was pulled from his thoughts by the computer chirping, letting him know that he had a visitor. The novelty had yet to wear off, being on a starship, so he still got a pang of excitement in his chest when he had someone visit him. He quickly rose and walked toward the door console to enter his authorization. He wasn't sure if he was surprised or not when Spock appeared between the split doors.

Spock stood in off-duty regulation attire, the black ensemble showcasing his pale, alien features. Immediately, he turned back into his quarters and allowed Spock entry. Looking around his rooms, he suddenly felt sheepish about the clutter.

"Sorry about the mess, it's been a long couple days. You want something to drink?" Walking to the replicator he requested two cups of spiced tea before Spock could answer.

Spock took in the room while Jim procured them their beverages. The desk was stacked with PADDS and data sticks, empty cups, and a few science journals. The nearby sleeping area held a bed that seemed to have had a close encounter with a supernova. Shaking his head, he picked up a few stray socks and undergarments and tossed them in the re-cycler for morning pick up.

Hearing Jim return, he sat down in one of the lounge chairs and carefully took his tea, while the other man wheeled his chair over toward him. Plopping down unceremoniously, Jim engaged him then, "How was your day?"

Holding the steaming cup to his face, he let the hot aroma sooth him before answering, "It was...difficult."

"Aw, come on now, that's all I get?" While his words were light-hearted, Spock knew Jim was concerned for him. He was unsure how to go about explaining his current predicament, especially since it greatly involved Jim's close, personal companion.

"I am unwell." Glancing at Jim, he noted the man had sobered quickly and his brow was drawn rather severely. Knowing it was a futile attempt to avoid further discussion, he sipped his tea and made to set it on the small, cluttered table. Concentrating more than usual on such a trivial task, he could not stop the tremor in his hand that nearly caused the small cup to overturn. Jim immediately reached out and took the cup from him to set it evenly on the desktop. The voice that followed was filled with worry, "Spock, what's going on?"

Rubbing his hands over each other he folded them in his lap and replied, "The events following my encounter with Nero have greatly complicated the matter of returning to a mental and emotional state of regularity. My recovery is compromised by a recent change in my relationship with Doctor McCoy." Perhaps it was because he was facing his captain, that he realized he and Leonard were on the verge of breaking Starfleet protocol. He was perturbed that he could not retrieve the knowledge regarding romantic fraternization in between ranks. Feeling a slight tightness in his lower abdomen, Spock was suddenly uneasy about continuing the conversation. There was an irrational fear at the thought of losing Leonard. _Losing? _He was disappointed with his choice of word application, and furthermore, he was alamed at the amount of _feeling _going on. He was thankfully interrupted by Jim rolling his chair closer and clearing his throat.

"Go on?"

There was an enigmatic trait about Jim that warmed him to his core. Perhaps it was the knowledge that his future self had shared with him regarding their friendship, or _bond, _in the other timeline. He knew that Jim unconditionally would care for him, for the rest of his life. Unconditional love was an illogical concept, but he was content with it regardless, choosing to apply his older self's concept of _doing what feels right_ .

Remembering that he was not ashamed to show himself to Jim, he breathed deeper through his nostrils and tried to expose the issue as coherently as he could, "My thoughts are...infested...with Leonard's. His dreams, his whereabouts, his feelings, there are occasions in which I _see _what he is seeing...I am unable to close the gap between our minds. It is most disturbing."

He knew Jim was puzzled before he spoke, but allowed him to speak anyway, "I don't understand, what you're saying sounds like you bonded with him. Did you guys meld?"

"Not intentionally, nor did I establish a link between us. I have postulated that due to my weakened hold over my thoughts and emotions, Leonard was able to penetrate my mind through touch. My mind, in its chaotic state, recognized his cognition and reached out to it for anchorage, believing it to be a suitable source."

He watched Jim ponder his words, "If it was a matter of weakened mental shields and touch, I was the first one to touch you when we rescued you. Why Bones?"

Watching his first officer mull it over before replying, Jim finished his tea with a gulping mouthful to distract himself from Spock's slightly blushed features, "It may be correlated with my previously existing attraction to him. While you and I share a bond, deeper than most would share, it is...simply different with Leonard. My katra calls to his and compels me to mate with him."

"Uh..."

Spock stood before Jim could finish speaking, not wanting to face further humiliation from his admission. "Captain, I do not wish to continue this conversation. I will take my leave..." Turning to make his way toward the doors, so close to fleeing this highly uncomfortable situation, he was stopped by a sputtering Jim and a hard grip around his forearm.

"Spock, wait-"

He didn't want the hand touching him, so the natural and obviously logical thing to do was to frantically spin back around and shove his Captain back into his own desk. The clattering of data PADDS and his own panting were the only sounds to be heard.

"Spock, what the hell-"

"I said, I'm leaving..." His voice seemed to stall Jim after he had righted himself. The brows were drawn together and his face seemed to project confusion.

"Why are you so upset?" Something nagged at him, other than Spock shoving him into his desk and throwing a temper tantrum.

Almost instantly, Spock seemed enraged at his question, " I _said_, I'm _leaving._ I don't want to be here right now, I'm tired."

The multiple contractions used by Spock in such a short sentence, almost did his head in. Watching closer, he noted that there was no trace of the seemingly glued on expression he wore everyday. The facial features were loose and slightly screwed up; it was an expression a human would wear if they were caught between confusion and irritation. Like if one were having a bad day and had met the final straw that broke the camel's back.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" The voice was impatient and it was then that Jim felt afraid. Even the syntax was wrong. Immediately he began thinking of ways to call Bones without encouraging Spock's anger or having him flee before the doctor arrived. Perhaps if he got to a communicator he could manually page Bones to his quarters. His plotting was interrupted by Spock once more, this time by the dramatic stance he now took. Spock's upper body was leaning slightly toward him with his arms outstretched, and the voice that accompanied the gesture was almost patronizing,

"_What?_"

_Damn it all... _

"Computer, enable security lock command, four-delta-seven."


	8. Old World Medicine

This chapter is unbeta'd, but I am good with it. It's been kicking around my files for quite some time. Also, it's not so much vital to the plot, but simply a little side-bar, non-canon idea about McCoy as part-time Academy instructor. I always like to imagine what people will say about 20th/early-21st century medicine and technology etc. As this story will be long, I think this will tie in nicely to 'my' Doctor McCoy and his relationship with Spock.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"The lobotomization of mentally ill patients, has been considered one of the largest medical controversies in Earth's history. While psychology had been in practice for decades prior, it had entered a radical stage by this time. In earlier times, where patients were simply hidden away in _facilities, _and I use this term loosely, that were often indeterminable from prisons, the 20th century saw pharmaceutical intervention and psychosurgical procedures."

McCoy procured images of lobotomized patients on the large PADD-like screen that showed a live-feed of the class, to give examples. He watched for the expected flinching and puzzled expressions of the students packing the lecture hall. While the practice was barbaric, he couldn't help but shake his head slightly, wondering if they were disturbed by the method of treatment or simply the sight of a live, exposed brain.

He enjoyed this little side-project of his, being part-time instructor to the Academy. Before he had been deployed, he had tutored first and second year medical students who had combined their doctorates with Starfleet's military curriculum. He had then been approached and offered a part-time position, teaching two days a week; Twentieth Century Medicine and Cell Microbiology III, both honours classes, one being his major in university and focus in medical school. Suffice it to say, he had been disappointed with the lack of stomach these kids had.

He was in the process of convincing the department heads that the students required a more hands-on detailing of the humanoid innards. He felt a scowl developing. _Don't grumble at them._

Once the slide-show of photographs had ended, he switched back to the live-feed of just him and his teaching display in one of the medical labs.

Taking a breath, he prepared for the next segment of the lecture and was promptly interrupted by a chirping and then Jim Kirk's voice.

"Kirk to McCoy."

He had been teaching for two semesters now, and his classes filled up quickly around registration time. Twentieth Century Medicine was a new course and combined with the excitement that surrounded new additions, he knew he could keep their attention well-enough. However, the sound of the Captain's voice filling their lecture hall seemed to perk them up a bit. The Grumble spilled into his response, but only a little.

"Yes, Captain?" He sounded a little patronizing there, he could admit it.

"Where are you?"

He broke his eye-to-screen contact and looked around at the invisible voice, responding with an incredulous tone,"I'm teaching a class."

He could hear the smile in Jim's voice, "I'm teaching a class..._Captain_."

He watched his students mutiny against him and chuckle, "Yes, well, what is it you need? That rash acting up again, _Captain?_"

Deciding that was enough humour for the students for one day, he motioned a 'one second' gesture and paused himself.

"God damn-it Jim, you know I teach today. What do you need?"

"Spock's gone mad."

"What do you mean, 'Spock's gone mad'?"

"I don't know, I'm not a doctor. Something just isn't right, so I locked us in my quarters so you can come and fix it."

"Okay well, I'm gonna be finished here in about twenty minutes. If anything drastic happens-"

"Something drastic already _has _happened!"

"-call Nurse Chapel. Otherwise, I will be there in twenty-minutes. Every minute you keep me, is another minute I tack on at the end of class. It's welcoming week, do you honestly want to keep these kids from their well earned partying?"

"Get here as soon as you can. Kirk out."

Resuming his lecture with a sour smile, he apologised, "Sorry for that everyone. However, that's what you can look forward to when you are CMOs and Head Nurses. I suggest you take up a drinking habit early..." Pleased with the unanimous chuckle, he continued on the topic of psychosurgery.

_ _ _ _ _ _

Jim sat back down in his chair, hoping Bones would be there soon. He couldn't stop staring at Spock, feeling deeply uncomfortable in the other man's presence. Was this what Bones was talking about when he said the line of hybridism in Spock was becoming _blurred_?

He watched every movement the other man made, becoming more and more distraught as the moments ticked by. The legs couldn't decide whether they wanted to remain crossed or outstretched, a finger was rubbing a line up and down a temple, and he had never seen Spock blink so many times in such short intervals, while the eyes avoided him all together.

"Are you okay?"

He received a disgusted look for that one, "I really don't know how you were given command of this ship, or for that matter, _any _ship." The eyes were watching him now, waiting for a response, when a question hadn't been posed; a very human thing to do, he noted. He did his best to quell the natural reaction of feeling hurt by such a statement and merely resigned himself to hoping that Bones would be strolling into his quarters at any minute.

"How does it feel, being taunted? I mean, let's not forget how you taunted me, your superior officer, in front of the entire bridge crew, _and _my father."

The chirping thankfully interrupted the lump that would have likely risen in his throat, and he rose to greet the doctor. Giving Spock a wide berth, he reached the console and permitted entry.

McCoy had enough going on regarding Spock, his other patients, his classes, and so on, so being interrupted by Jim had increased that usual irritation to a slow burn. His nerves were teetering on the verge of a breakdown, and he was continually dreading the debriefing with Starfleet regarding the Monthly Mission Shit-Show that landed Spock in sickbay. He would have to practise that one in the mirror a couple times, and definitely after a few shots of the Tennessee good stuff. He was at least thankful that he didn't have to worry about the Klingon High Council demanding the release of Nero and Company, into their custody. Arriving at his destination, he signalled for entrance. As the doors opened, his medical bag nearly slipped from his grip as he was pulled into his Captain's quarters. "What the-"

"Bones, meet Spock." He could tell Jim's lightheartedness about whatever it was going on, was feigned. He walked around the seated First Officer and glared at Jim before shifting his gaze to Spock. Watching the mannerisms of the other man, he didn't require a medical PADD to know something was off.

Frowning, he shot Jim a glance before speaking to Spock, "What's going on?"

Spock answered with an exasperated sigh, "It's nothing."

He couldn't help himself, and chuckled at the other man. "I will sedate you one way or another if you don't cooperate." Knowing that he was stirring the pot, he decided to further antagonize the other man, "Let's see, you're using contractions, you're being belligerent, you look like a child who had their lolly stolen, please, spare me the juvenile dramatics."

He was rewarded with a sour laugh and a pitying look. Spock stood and turned back toward the doors, still wanting nothing more it seemed than to leave. "You really are pathetic, do you know that McCoy?"

McCoy watched him begin tinkering with the console, attempting to override the authorization. As Jim made to reprimand him, McCoy motioned for him to stop but was interrupted himself, by Spock's continued taunting.

"Really, a failed sham of a marriage, a list of insecurities that could fill countless databases, and a basically _fatherless _child? Quite the accomplishment there, _Doctor."_

If he was being honest with himself, he would have admitted at being crushed by Spock's remarks about his daughter. However, his 'failed sham of a marriage' had taught him well when it came to acidic insults and pretending to be unaffected, so it was with a humourless chuckle he replied, "Yes, but in terms of accomplishment, I give that commendation to you. I mean, not many can boast that they wasted precious time engaging in a power struggle with a _cadet _while they could have been saving not only their entire planet, but the majority of their race from genocide."

McCoy calmly loaded a hypospray while Spock was striding toward him, no doubt intent on maiming him to death. Jim immediately grabbed the snarling man's shoulder, and while momentarily that rage was directed at the Captain, McCoy pierced the skin of Spock's neck with a sedative.

A shot of the Tennessee good stuff, indeed.


	9. New World Healing

"I'm not sure this is working out..."

"No shit it's not working out. I should have confined him to sickbay days ago. Actually, how do you let him get away with half the shit he does, under _normal _circumstances? All he does is bullshit his way out of following orders..." The rant subsided quickly, fading into a quiet grumble, for which Jim was thankful.

He made to assist McCoy in lifting Spock to lay down on his own bed. Another awkward transport request had to be sent down to Scotty. At this rate, there'd be rumors of a threesome by 19:00 that evening. Bending down, he no sooner had a hand under a shoulder when McCoy swept the unconscious First Officer into his arms as if he were a fair maiden. He smirked at McCoy's seemingly _effortless _and unlimited strength, watching the brow crinkle a little deeper when the extra weight had been situated in his arms. Who was he to doubt Bones' manliness?

He had just arrived at the perfect Old South reference, possibly his best to date, when he was interrupted: "You know, I really do hate grits?"

Jim merely smiled at the slumped shoulders that obscured Spock for the moment. He pretended not to notice the large hand that palmed the back of Spock's neck once he was laid out on his bed. He wandered toward Spock's living area while the sound of McCoy's medical scanner worked its magic.

Spock's quarters had changed significantly over the months since Jim had taken the role of captain aboard the Enterprise. The main living space was quite military and very tidy, however if you looked hard enough you would see specks of personality, fragments of a life being rebuilt. The meditation area was almost shrine-like with large, plush cushions and thick folded fabrics, all in various hues of red and brown. It was warm and inviting, and there was a lingering smell of wax and spicy incense clinging to every soft surface. He manoeuvred himself into the space and plopped himself down on the squishy floor. Sighing, he let his eyes roam over the neat arrangement of trinkets, artifacts, and memories.

He reached out and snagged a refurbished, old-world science fiction journal from a small book case to his left. Holding the item in his lap, he ran his fingers along and around the cover and spine, smiling at the creativity of the era. He sought out the date of publication and felt a little overwhelmed to read the date '1950'.

Paper reminded him of a lot of things. He remembered being a child and his mother giving him an old colouring book and coloured wax crayons to amuse himself with. She was early enough in the century to remember the time before PADDS and tricorders became standard issue. Paper also reminded him of Bones, as the man was somewhat of a traditionalist in their time. Bones often joked about finding the anomaly that would transport him back a few centuries on Earth, even saying he would 'settle for the 21st'.

Hearing the occupant of his thoughts padding toward him, he moved over to make room.

It was with a heavy sigh that McCoy sank down next to him, immediately laying himself out flat on the warm, plush of the floor. He situated himself with the top of his head brushing Jim's right knee and scrubbed his eyes.

"I have so much work to do, I can't even think." Jim heard a slight wavering in the raspy voice, a wavering that signalled a Bones Breakdown.

Keeping a hand on the worn journal, he turned himself so he was facing along McCoy's form. Reaching forward he tangled both hands in the messy, brown hair. The hair was thick and soft around his fingers as he rubbed his friend's scalp, seeking to alleviate some tension.

A few moments of silence ticked by as McCoy let his eyelids flutter closed at the gentle but firm sensation of Jim's fingertips. Realizing this was the closest thing he had to physical intimacy in such a long time, he was loathe to interrupt Jim's ministrations. He would count the fleeting, strange encounter with Spock as intimacy, however he still struggled to even comprehend what exactly had occurred between them. He felt a tightness in his throat, a tightness he had been failing to swallow down and away since they left Jim's quarters. Bringing a hand up, he pressed his fingers into his eyelids once more, trying to quell the tears that stung and threatened to fall.

Never missing a beat, Jim kept kneading away the tension in his head, subtly thumbing away any stray tears that may have escaped.

He wasn't sure how much time had passed; it could have been ten minutes, it could have been an hour. All he knew was the brief loss of consciousness was deep enough for him to forget where he was for a quick minute. He didn't recall doing anything other than laying with Jim, having his hair played with. That had felt nice. However, he was currently being crushed against the wall with Spock's back curved and pressed against his chest.

He gripped the back of Spock's upper arms and tried in vain to push him forward and off of him. Coughing out a breath, he attempted to speak, "-at, _wh-at..." _

Abandoning the struggle, as it only seemed to push Spock against him harder, he craned his head to see Jim crouched against the opposite wall with his hands held out on either side of him.

"Spock, it's not what you think, seriously." The expression he wore was worried, the brow drawn and his lips parted in panting. Were they fighting? He pressed himself back against the wall as hard as he could and tried again to force Spock off of him with his hands pressing into the pointy shoulder blades. Straining, he could feel the other man effortlessly keeping himself in place, moving with his hands every time he tried to pull a fast one and sneak right or left. The eventual compression against his front was immediate and violent, knocking his skull back against a tapestry-laden part of the wall.

He could hear Jim trying to negotiate for his lungs with Spock, but the close confines and Spock's spiked body heat was getting to him. Struggling for small gulps of air, he felt his eyes close slightly. He was inches from the bright skin of Spock's neck, peeking out between the black hair and the regulation shirt. He left his face rest against the nape of nude skin, closing his eyes. Feeling the lightening quick beat of Spock's heart and the slow, lazy rate of his own was oddly calming; even if he was being crushed to death.

"Spock, look at him. You're hurting him."

There was a deep growling that vibrated through the side of his face that was pressed against the other man. "No, I'm not. Why would you touch him like that?"

"Spock, it's not like that, you know we're only friends. It was just comfort, that's all-"

"You can't touch him like that, he gets hurt."

McCoy chalked up Spock's childish speech patterns to the lingering trauma, and he was both slightly embarrassed and overly warmed by the Vulcan's sentiments toward him. Or maybe it was just the lack of air and influx of heat.

Bringing up his hands, he gripped either side of Spock's chest in a tender manner and, although oxygen deprived, tried his best to whisper, "Spock, I can't breathe."

His voice seemed to snap Spock out of his feral haze, and he immediately tried to stand and stumbled forward onto his hands and knees. Unable, or unwilling, to lift his head, he covered his face and curled himself into a foetal position among the rustled blankets.

Still catching his breath, he rubbed at his chest while he watched Jim try to comfort the distraught man on the floor. He wasn't sure if Spock registered the hand that tentatively carded through his hair, dishevelling it further. Jim was a good head massager.

McCoy was sweltering, and the uniform he wore was slick with sweat. All he could think of was peeling-

"Please, cease that line of thought, Doctor." The clinical tone was spoken through a long hand that covered his face. Though slightly muffled, he was overjoyed to hear the clipped words. And slightly irritated.

"Yeah? Well, I'm sweatin' like a whore in church cause of you. Christ."

"Oh, that's a good one!" Jim's smile was nervous and wide, the kind of smile he used when trying to make light and make right. His hand didn't stop its stroking and Spock didn't stop his hiding. He watched his superior officer, watched every movement. The shoulders shivered slightly, suggesting he was cold. Perhaps it was just shock, there was no way he could be anything but content with the thick waves of heat that radiated off of him. He let his head fall back and he studied and studied, faintly recalling Jim saying he was going to retrieve tea and water.

Alone now, he felt the throb of guilt in his chest over the words he had hurled at Spock before sedating him. Slurring, he beckoned Spock over to him, "C'mere..."

He watched a finger twitch, the only indicator that Spock had wanted to comply but decided otherwise. Stretching out one of his legs, he nuzzled a black-clad foot with his own. "Hey."

There was a slight exhale before he finally pushed himself up to come and sit facing McCoy. Crinkling his brow, he watched Spock as he did nothing but cradle his head between pale hands. The heat was back, like a fog enveloping him; every breath was unrefreshing and thick. He counted every bead of sweat that rolled down the back of his neck and the crevice of his chest, reminding him once again of hot Jackson summers.

He leaned forward and grasped the hot, dry wrists and pulled the other man back with him. He was surprised Spock didn't protest, but his train of thought ended when the face was pressed into his neck and the hands gripped his shoulders. He breathed deep and exhaled a quiet moan of content. Uncaring, he slid his hands underneath the hem of Spock's shirt and rested his palms on either side of the man's spine. Turning his face, he mumbled against the black hair.

"I'm sorry for what I said. I just wanted..." He struggled with an explanation as he felt the distinct sensation of a pair of lips parting against his skin. Every breath Spock took swept the small area of skin with cool air, leaving him fighting a slight shiver.

"Something has gone wrong inside me."

Slightly dazed, it took a moment for McCoy to recall the proper words to speak. He pulled a hand away from the skin of Spock's back and brought it up higher to rest behind the fluttering heart beat. "There's nothin' wrong with you; you're just off your game. It's to be expected."

"Sexual assault is not-"

"You're not entirely Vulcan. What your Vulcan conscious would dismiss, your Human one will cling to. It's Human nature, it's what we do." Flexing his fingertips back and forth over Spock's back, he craned his head as best he could to stare down at the partly hidden face buried into his neck. Lowering his voice, he spoke gently, "You got hurt. Real bad." Fighting yet another damned lump, he let his head fall back against the wall and glared across the room. His vision was hazy with heat and he arched his body slightly, trying to appease the discomfort of clinging fabric against his back. He was content that Spock did not stir. In fact, the fingers seemed to dig deeper into his shoulder, like a cat afraid of being overturned.

"As I embraced the Vulcan way of life, I must ask you to assist me in a method of...treatment." McCoy could hear the hesitance in the voice and he could almost pick out the overtones of guilt that radiated from the word _treatment_. He somehow had an idea of where this was going, and he wasn't sure if it was the heat or his heart, but he found himself mentally fumbling to answer quickly enough, should the request suddenly be revoked.

"Whatever it is, I'll do it.

"Your feedback, gratuitous love, criticism, suggestions, and even flames ( I allow anon reviews, flame away bb's :D), fuel me. Moar, plz 3


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