Author: Ster Julie
Code: Mc, S (S/Mc)
Written for Spiced Peaches, Volume II
"Leonard McCoy, you are one big chicken!"
The doctor looked into Spock's dresser mirror as he said this.
"You're too afraid to say who or boo to Spock, to tell him how you really feel about him," the tirade continued as
the doctor continued to inspect the room.
McCoy looked longingly at the sleeping alcove, knowing already from an earlier unauthorized visit to this warm cabin
the feel of the double-firm mattress Spock preferred. What the doctor didn't
know was how that same mattress would feel beneath him as Spock pressed down on him from above.
McCoy pressed his face into the pillow and inhaled the spicy scent of Spock imbedded there. The doctor had been careful to abstain from any aftershave, cologne, or soap that morning. He didn't want to leave Spock a clue of his latest round of breaking-and-entering. It would have given him away as clearly as a calling card. Just
in case he did leave a scent, McCoy always placed the smallest grain of incense on the brazier to cover it when he entered.
McCoy moved to Spock's chair. He sat in it and rubbed against it as he
thought of Spock's body pressed into this chair as he worked, as he read, as he played chess with the blasted computer, as
he . . .
McCoy spied the Vulcan harp propped on the ledge. He imagined Spock's
long, graceful fingers coaxing the gentlest sounds out of the strings. McCoy
hovered his own fingers millimeters above the harp, feeling the vibrations of the air circulation system play over the strings.
"Would you pluck my strings as gently, Spock?" McCoy asked the empty room. "Would
you make me sing sweet sounds?" McCoy trailed the backs of his fingers
along the grain of the wood. "Would you prop me in your lap and caress me as
warmly as you caress this wood?"
Just then, McCoy was startled by voices in the corridor. As he jerked
his hand away, his very non-regulation pinky ring got caught in one of the strings.
An angry twang! echoed in the cabin.
McCoy prided himself that he could swear fluently in ten languages. He
practiced them all now.
The voices passed by the first officer's quarters, the anonymous speakers oblivious of the panicked activity going
on within. McCoy breathed a huge sigh of relief when he realized that Spock was
not part of that group, as he feared.
"Calm down, Leonard!" the doctor chided himself. "Spock is still planetside
with the rest of the landing party."
McCoy turned back to the harp. What was he going to do about the busted
string? He looked more closely at the instrument, but he didn't know how the
string came out of the blasted thing. How was he going to change it?
McCoy spun quickly as the doors opened. A gray-faced Spock rushed past
him to the facilities. The distinct sound of vomiting was heard.
McCoy moved into the little bathroom and crouched at the Vulcan's side.
"Spock? What's wrong?"
"How did you know I was sick?" Spock asked. "Did the transporter chief
tell you while I was in transit?" He turned for another heave.
McCoy chose to ignore the question.
"Did something not agree with you down there?" he asked.
"You mean down on the planet or down in my stomach?" Spock weakly joked before giving a series of dry heaves. "How did you know I didn't go to Sickbay?"
"There are some things a guy doesn't want to do anywhere else than in his own space," McCoy said enigmatically.
Spock didn't respond. He sat back on his heels and rested his head against
McCoy took out his mini scanner and passed it over Spock. He "hmmed" at
the readout then rose to his feet.
"Was it poison?" Spock asked miserably. "Will Jim be alright?"
"Jim will be fine," McCoy assured. "Whatever it was--and it seems to be
in the food--is only toxic to Vulcans. Let me replicate something to settle your
stomach." McCoy moved from the room to the replicator and ordered up some medication
and a glass of cool liquid with extra electrolytes. As he passed the desk an
idea came to the doctor.
Sticking out his elbow, McCoy knocked Spock's harp over onto the counter as he crossed back to the bathroom.
"Oh!" he said with mock dismay. "Oh, how clumsy of me! Spock, I'm sorry."
"What happened?" Spock called weakly from the bathroom.
"Oh, I knocked over your harp," McCoy said apologetically as he gave Spock the anti-nausea medication and the drink. "I think I broke one of the strings. Oh,
I'm so sorry."
Spock waved his hand dismissively at the doctor. "It was an accident,"
he said. "Do not trouble yourself."
/Whew!/ McCoy thought.
The doctor helped Spock out of his clothes, careful to keep his thoughts professional and his eyes on the task at hand
-- as opposed to the object of his desire displayed so beautifully before him -- and helped the sick Vulcan into bed.
"I need to go pick up some other equipment and supplies," McCoy stated. "I'll
be back soon."
Spock nodded, then turned onto his side. As McCoy left, Spock noticed
a peculiar smell to his pillow that he hadn't noticed earlier that morning. There
was a slightly stronger scent of incense in the air as well, as if someone had recently put a minute amount on the coals.
Spock sat up and thought for a moment. He had heard the harp fall over,
but had not heard the distinctive sound of a high-tension string breaking. Something
was amiss and his famous human ancestor's blood was stirred. A mystery! Spock sat up and listed the facts at hand.
Fact 1: There was evidence that someone had been in his room today that
matched three other recent occurrences--the scent on his pillow and the scent of incense having been recently burned, even
though Spock only burned it at night.
Fact 2: McCoy had already been in his cabin when Spock rushed in to use
the facilities. When he asked if the transporter operator had notified McCoy
of Spock's illness, the doctor evaded the issue by his cryptic answer, "There are some things a guy doesn't want to do anywhere
else than in his own space."
Fact 3: Spock had not heard the harp string break. Normally, he would have heard a loud sound, even above the sounds he was making over the commode. And if McCoy had been close enough to the harp to knock it down, the string should
have snapped back and injured him.
Fact 4: McCoy was not hurt.
When McCoy returned to Spock's quarters, he found the Vulcan
sitting up in bed, with dark, suspicious eyes trained on him.
McCoy's steps faltered as he neared the bed. The doctor nearly dropped
the equipment and supplies he meant to set on the nearby counter.
"Doctor," Spock began, "I am considering setting a lock on my cabin door." He
watched McCoy's reaction to his statement closely.
"I thought it was considered rude for a Vulcan to lock his doors," McCoy said mildly, hiding his face as he busied
himself fiddling with controls.
"What's rude is when someone enters another person's cabin without permission or authorization," Spock answered.
"How do you know someone has been here?" McCoy asked quietly.
Spock gently reached out and took McCoy's hand in his. He pulled the doctor's
hand to his nose and sniffed.
"I smell raw incense," Spock said softly. He gently pulled on McCoy's
hand until the doctor sat on the bed beside him. "Why?" Spock asked simply.
McCoy didn't know what to say. Every since Spock had saved his life by
translating the Fabrini records and finding the cure for his xeno-polycythemia, McCoy felt drawn to the Vulcan. It was much more than mere gratitude. The psychologist in
him thought that the incident with the Fabrini cure probably had just opened the doctor's eyes to what had already been in
his heart for years.
Leonard McCoy was completely, hopelessly in love with that infuriating, green-blooded sonova bitch.
McCoy saw Spock's eyes widen just then as both eyebrows reached for the ceiling.
The doctor quickly pulled his hand away, realizing too late that Spock knew what the doctor had been thinking.
"Talk about breaking and entering," McCoy muttered.
The doctor had a quick fantasy as he rose and fiddled with the equipment. He
could knock Spock out and have the Vulcan wake up in sickbay, after of course taking a quick sonic shower and lathering on
the scented deodorant and aftershave, being especially careful to get some on his incense-scented fingers . . .
Or he could own up to his feelings for Spock and let the chips fall where they may.
"Leonard?" Spock asked almost shyly. "How many more sickbay personnel
are in love with me?"
McCoy's heart picked up at the sound of his given name on Spock's lips.
"Only two that I know of," McCoy answered, "but when Chris gets wind of this, it's gonna be scalpels at twenty paces!"
Spock didn't quite understand the doctor's statement, so he kept quiet.
"Well?" McCoy exploded in frustration. "Aren't you going to say anything? 'I love you too, Leonard,' or 'Get the hell out of my cabin before I call security,
Leonard' or something?"
"I should have known," Spock said so quietly that McCoy had to lean in to hear.
"Beg pardon?" he asked.
"I said, I should have known," Spock said gently. He put a hand to the
back of McCoy's head as if to kiss him, but the doctor pulled back.
"You just threw up!" McCoy exclaimed.
Spock turned the doctor's head back toward him and placed his fingers on McCoy's cheek.
"May I?" he asked softly.
McCoy audibly gulped. There could be no lies, no half-truths in the meld. After summoning his courage, McCoy nodded.
"C'mon in," he invited nervously.
Spock gently eased himself into McCoy's mind. He examined the doctor's
feelings without judgment, for which McCoy was grateful.
McCoy observed that Spock was summoning his own courage in order to lower his shields.
Slowly they came down, as if brick by brick Spock was showing McCoy that he had emotions as well, and these feelings
were for the doctor.
Spock eased himself back out. The two men just looked at each other for
"So where do we go from here?" McCoy asked fearfully, wondering if all his longings were for naught.
Spock took his sweet time responding to the doctor's question, which made McCoy even more nervous.
"I want a good, old-fashioned Southern courting," Spock said at last.
McCoy's mouth dropped open at the Vulcan's words.
Spock savored the look of a dumbfounded McCoy.