Chapter Text
STELLA MARIS
It’s the middle of the night when Jim leaves his stateroom and makes his way up the stairs to the upper deck. The stars are out and the night air chills the wind blowing on his face, tousling his hair and turning his cheeks pink. He opens the door of the great cabin and stops in his tracks—Dr. Fox Day is leaning against the railing in the open gallery. Their hair is down and the wind blows it out of their face. It’s obvious to Jim that Fox is lost in thought and is not aware of his presence.
He stops and watches the doctor for a moment. Jim’s not used to seeing Fox in such a state; no high ponytail or shades to accessorize their poker face. They look almost vulnerable rather than their usual stoic, confident conduct that he had grown used to on the Valiant.
He approaches cautiously so as to not surprise the doctor, and playfully says, “‘Nothing sexier than a man with a wedding ring’? You’re a diplomatic nightmare.”
Fox doesn’t turn around as they reply, “Here to scold me, Commander Kirk?”
That’s going to take some getting used to, Jim thinks. It still doesn’t sound right to his ears, and he concludes that it probably never will. He looks out over the railing and at the water as he joins the doctor in the gallery. It does feel very much like floating through space. Observation gallery, Jim remembers. This is what they were named after.
He had been experiencing this kind of déjà vu the entire day, realizing that various terms and phrases have their origins on sailing vessels like this one. It feels strange to realize that the tradition he partakes in is older than the Federation itself. Captain of a ship, like the captains before him. Like his father before him. Son of a son of a sailor.
The first time he had been called Commander Kirk, Jim couldn’t help but think that he was a higher-ranking First Officer than his father had been. The thought didn’t even have a point. No moral to teach him, no lesson to be learned. Just like his birthday had been. Jim’s been thinking about his father a lot recently.
He shakes the line of thought off, physically as he shudders, and replies, “No, Doctor. I’m not. I didn’t expect to see you here, honestly.”
“Ah, yes, well,” Fox murmurs. “I like to do this on every ship I’m on. Feel the wind in my hair, that is. Then wash the salt out of it later.”
Jim tilts his head and observes the normally stoic officer beside him. “Also, don’t think I didn’t notice the ‘Much Ado’ reference, Beatrice.”
“How on Earth did you catch that?” Fox laughs. “When do you have time to read Shakespeare while being the ‘illustrious captain’ of the Enterprise?”
Jim shrugs. “Read it in jail once. Limited reading selection.”
Fox pauses, studying Jim’s face and body language for deception, then sighs. “I should have known. Only one place where people get ripped and read classic literature.”
Jim thinks Fox sounds somewhat disappointed in their tone but he doesn’t want to read too much into it. Maybe he’s projecting. Maybe Fox is being more playful than they sound. Jim just shrugs, an effort to remain casual about the whole thing. “It was a different life.”
“Indeed?” Fox raises an eyebrow. The similarities between Fox and Spock are uncanny. The doctor spent two years studying medicine on New Vulcan, researching Vulcan physiology and brain structure for their PhD thesis in xenobiology. Well, one year for the thesis and another year just for the fun of it. There were certain mannerisms and vocabulary the doctor had acquired because of it, and admittedly it turns Jim off of the doctor to a certain extent. Too much like Spock.
“That was before I decided to become a captain,” Jim grins, “and marry the Enterprise.”
“Ah, yes. And your captain stripes, your wedding ring.”
Fox motions to the ring on their left middle finger, the Phenoxian wedding band the Prime Minister had gifted them as a souvenir. The double meaning of the doctor’s words are not lost on Jim and he blushes. The doctor’s “bad joke,” as they called it. A man with a wedding ring is sexy because he is forbidden, off-limits. The implication that Fox is making… Maybe coming to the gallery was a mistake.
Jim laughs nervously. “Well, you have a good night,” he says as he starts back through the great cabin.
“Likewise.”
Jim leaves the gallery without any protest from Fox, much to his relief. He goes back down the stairs and through the mess hall to get back to his room, but runs into Spock sitting in the reading nook on the way. He’s sure Spock wasn’t there when he left his room, but maybe he just didn’t notice him. Spock is reading something on his PADD, back straight against the cushioned backboard and legs spread out straight across the cushioned bench, with M’mori purring in his lap.
“Hey, Spock. Whatcha reading?” Jim asks, casually.
Spock looks up from his PADD at Jim and replies, “A report from the Valiant on a species of coral found on Phenox.”
“Oh, right. The scientists up there are doing their research thing while we’re here.”
Spock raises an eyebrow. “Indeed, Captain.”
Jim laughs at that. Of course, Spock still calls him “captain” even when he’s a commander.
“Good night, Spock,” he calls as he walks into his stateroom.
“Good night, Captain.”
The rest of the voyage on Phenox goes without incident. Spock half expects something to occur given the emphasis the Prime Minister puts on his crew being prepared to operate without power. But the Stella Maris never loses power and the manual input of the crew is never necessary. He concludes that the Prime Minister simply mentions this to every passenger the ship has, due to some belief that it provides reassurance and alleviates anxieties about the ship’s operation. In his limited experience, Spock believes it has the opposite effect.
Spock is eager to be back in the Valiant’s laboratories, studying the specimens and samples collected by the Valiant’s diligent research team. No doubt, Dr. McCoy is just as eager to leave the Stella Maris, but for entirely different reasons. While on the sailing vessel, Dr. McCoy uses an anti-nauseant hypospray every few hours until he has to borrow some from Dr. Day who foresaw someone being seasick and packed it themselves. Dr. McCoy’s reaction to sailing is an interesting one, Spock thinks, considering how the doctor typically feels about starships.
Unfortunately, Spock doesn’t have much time to be in the doctor’s company while aboard the Stella Maris since Jim seems eager to spend as much of his time with Dr. McCoy as is seemingly possible. Spock suspects this to be an attempt to avoid Dr. Day, but this theory is never confirmed. Dr. Day, Spock discovers, is a rather irritating but interesting companion while aboard the ship. They provide Spock with explanations of various things on the vessel, as well as talking about the physiology of the Phenoxians, both topics that Spock finds interesting. But Dr. Day also takes to talking about other, more personal matters.
“You are the most expressive Vulcan I’ve ever met,” Dr. Day says. “No offense.”
Truly, ‘no offense’ is up there for one of the most illogical phrases Terrans use. It’s always spoken after the offense-giving remark, and makes no attempt lessen the severity or impact of said remark. And this particular remark is one that Spock can feel himself having to consciously maintain his emotional control about.
“None taken, as I am Vulcan and I do not get offended,” he replies, regardless.
“You know, other Vulcans would probably have let the doctor fall face-first on the deck.”
Dr. Day and Commander Spock are standing on the upper deck of the ship, where Dr. McCoy would not be caught dead, and Jim is likely accompanying him. Here, the sound of the ocean, the thrum of the ship’s engines, and the flapping of the sails obscure the conversation that the two are having. They are certain to not be overheard by interested parties. No doubt this is why Dr. Day has decided to broach the topic at this time.
Spock raises an eyebrow. “Your point, Doctor?”
“My point, Commander,” Dr. Day says, “is that you have a most illogical attachment to Dr. McCoy.”
“My attachment is perfectly logical,” Spock turns away from the doctor and looks out onto the ocean. He’s definitely not avoiding the doctor’s gaze. “He is an invaluable member of the Enterprise crew as Chief Medical Officer.”
“Does that necessitate your constant assistance? Helping him retain his balance? Alleviating his nausea?” Dr. Day raises an eyebrow. “My point is, you tend to touch him more than is required.”
“I am half-human, Doctor. Physical contact is not nearly so debilitating to me as it is to other Vulcans.”
Dr. Day hums. “Fair enough. I think you should tell him, though.”
“There is nothing to tell.”
NEURAL
Once the crew returns to the Valiant, the ship leaves Phenox shortly after. Stocked up on samples, the scientists onboard study the rocks, the fish, the Phenoxians, and everything in between. McCoy is busier on the Valiant than he ever was on the Stella Maris and welcomes the distraction. It gives him something to do, something to focus on that isn’t the way Spock looks with the wind in his hair. He doesn’t know when this interest in Spock began, but he knows that it needs to end.
Nothing good can come of it. He’s done this song and dance before; one failed marriage was enough for him, and if it taught him anything, it’s that he isn’t worthy of being loved. Maybe even incapable of being loved. He had tried his damnedest and even that wasn’t enough. If he wasn’t good enough for Jocelyn, then he definitely wasn’t good enough for Spock. Him and Spock have had a good, professional, even amiable, working relationship since Altamid and he isn’t willing to give that up, especially when the odds are stacked against him.
So, McCoy pours himself into his work. Unfortunately, the samples and studies from Phenox don’t offer much in the way of medical progress, but Captain Richard assures McCoy and the CMO (Dr. Farris) the ability to gather medicinal samples from a planet called Neural. Jim, who had been to Neural for his first planet survey as a lieutenant during his Academy career, offers himself, Spock, and McCoy for the first landing party to Neural. He’s already familiar with the environment and the people, so it just makes sense.
Jim, Spock, and McCoy make their way to the transporter room of the Valiant and stand on the pad. McCoy takes stock of his companions, how familiar it all feels, and thanks his lucky stars that Dr. Day is not present.
McCoy teasingly says, “Oh, is Dr. Day not joining us for this one?”
“Why?” Jim teases back. “Sweet on the Chief Science Officer?”
McCoy rolls his eyes and Jim laughs. He tries to ignore the irony in Jim’s question and instead focuses on the relief of Dr. Day’s absence. It’s just like old times—the three of them and some strange, alien planet. Neural is a Class-M planet (very similar to Earth, Spock informs them) and primitive in its stage of development, using bows and arrows to hunt for food. Jim describes it as a paradise, like man had never left the Garden of Eden.
Three of them split up to cover more ground, with Jim and Spock studying something some distance away, while McCoy enjoys gathering the samples of roots and herbs that Neural has to offer. The medicinal potential of them is indeed great: anesthesia, sleep aids, fever and cough relief, anti-coagulants, etc. Everything the sickbay could ever use and at their complete disposal. A Garden of Eden is right, thinks McCoy.
BANG!
McCoy straightens at the sound. Loud, and echoing in his ears. Was that…? McCoy flips open his communicator. “Jim? What’s going on?”
He hears rapid footsteps from behind him and turns to find Jim and Spock running towards him, kicking up dust as they put distance between themselves and whatever made the noise.
“Move, move, move!” Jim shouts and McCoy leaves his crate of samples, turning and booting it out of there ahead of Jim and Spock and going god knows where. He picks a direction and runs. BANG! This time, McCoy is sure he knows what is making that sound and doesn’t need to look back to confirm it. Firearms, pre-phaser technology. Lead projectiles, but can be just as deadly.
McCoy’s lungs hurt from panting, his face red from exertion, and his heart pounding a million miles a minute. Spock outpaces him and Jim follows just behind, when another bang is heard and Spock tumbles to the ground, rolling in the dirt.
“Spock!” Jim shouts and stops to fall on the ground next to him. Green is seeping through the blue shirt in a circular pattern on Spock’s chest. Spock pushes Jim away as the man tries to assist him, keeping pressure on the wound, and helping him to his feet.
“Go on without me,” Spock begins. McCoy stops and glances back at their attackers, just to see how much distance is actually between them and finds they’re only twenty meters away. They’re gonna pick us off, McCoy thinks before looking down at Spock to assess the damage.
“When hell freezes,” McCoy replies before taking off his blue tunic and using it to staunch the bleeding. The exit wound is bigger than the entry wound, McCoy remembers—knowledge he hasn’t had to use since medical school exams—and prioritizes the bleeding on Spock’s chest.
“Jim, they’re still after us,” McCoy says.
Jim looks back at their attackers who are now approaching cautiously, guns drawn, and Jim touches a hand to his phaser. Spock catches Jim’s wrist and says, “Jim, you can’t. Phasers are strictly forbidden under the Prime Directive.”
“Spock, they shot you. With a firearm. These people are supposed to be using bows and arrows. The Prime Directive’s already been broken.”
“You are speculating.”
“Shut up, both of you,” McCoy says, firmly, still pressing his blue shirt to Spock’s chest when the three of them hear a roaring growl come from the shrubbery. The three men pause, as do their attackers, in order to listen for whatever made the sound. And in order to not startle it.
“What was that?” McCoy whispers.
A large, white creature the size and shape of a gorilla with a rhinoceros-like horn on its head barrels out of the shrubbery and comes to an abrupt stop, scaring the living daylights out of the villagers with guns. The armed villagers turn and flee at the sight of the creature, leaving Jim, Spock, and McCoy to stare it down, growling as it does.
The creature circles them from a short distance—too short for McCoy’s liking—and Jim whispers, “It’s a mugato. Incredibly strong, and incredibly venomous.”
The mugato has hunger in its eyes and just before it leaps at them, McCoy hears a phaser go off and the mugato disappears in a spectacle of light. McCoy turns and looks at Jim, now lowering his phaser and putting it back on his hip.
“You used a phaser?” McCoy asks.
Spock pants, “In this case, I think an exception can be made.”
The Vulcan’s heavy breathing alerts McCoy to the danger Spock must be in, and he immediately re-directs his attention on the wound. He presses hard on the bullet hole in Spock’s chest and it stains McCoy’s hands a sickening shade of green.
“No one saw it, Bones,” Jim says, looking around before flipping open his communicator and signaling the Valiant. “Kirk to Valiant. Come in, Valiant.”
There is no response. Jim looks at McCoy who is pressing his hand against Spock’s chest with enough force to turn his knuckles white and asks without speaking, just as he did over a month before on the Franklin.
“We need to get back to the ship, Jim,” is all McCoy can say while Spock breathes shakily and loses blood to the dirt.
McCoy wraps an arm around Spock’s back and presses his free hand to the entry wound, pushing the two bleeding lacerations from both sides, and Spock gasps. It’s an incredibly intimate position, just inches away from each other, but McCoy pushes the thought out of his mind. It’s not appropriate.
Jim tries the Valiant again but there’s still no response. He sends out a distress beacon from his comm and kneels beside Spock and McCoy. “We need to find Tyree.”
“Tyree?” McCoy asks.
“My friend here, back when I did the planet survey. He’ll find a kahn-ut-tu who can help Spock.”
“In Standard, Jim.”
“A witch doctor.”
Spock, whose eyes had been darting between the two men as they spoke, straightens up and protests, “I am in not in need of another witch doctor. The wound is not lethal. McCoy’s rattles and potions will suffice.”
It’s a statement that would’ve usually made McCoy rolls his eyes and spit something back at the green-blooded menace but instead McCoy freezes. “Oh, shit,” he mutters.
“What?” Jim asks.
“I left my medkit with the samples.”
Then he remembers. The samples. There’s a plant among them that could serve as an anti-hemorrhagic; a moss that they could stuff in the wound, like medics during World War I. It’s even better than his medkit, which doesn’t have the pro-coagulant that he would need.
McCoy’s eyes go wide and he says, urgently, “Jim, we need my samples.”
“Just tell me what to find.”
“It’s a moss. Dark purple. I found it in a cave with a stream. Quickly.”
Jim turns and runs, nearly tripping over himself as he does. McCoy is alone with Spock, practically holding him in his lap in order to put pressure on both sides of the wound. McCoy’s hands feel sticky with the cool, green liquid and Spock’s eyelids begin to droop.
“Hey, stay with me, you pointy-eared hobgoblin.”
There’s no venom in his words. His heart hurts too much for it, but it’s all he can do to fight back the tears that are threatening to come forth like a waterfall. Spock’s eyes flutter open and he licks his lips, dry and pale instead of the lush pink McCoy has come to admire. He grabs McCoy by his black undershirt and he hopes to god that Spock doesn’t accidentally grab the necklace underneath. Once his grip on McCoy is secure, Spock pulls him closer, close enough to whisper in his ear.
Spock swallows and says in a gravelly voice, “Leonard,” then continues in Vulcan. In the breathless way that Spock is speaking, the Vulcan words sound harsh and guttural, but Spock’s tone is warm, and McCoy feels like he’s trying to tell him something important.
“Spock, I have no idea what that means,” McCoy replies, softly.
“Ask… Nyota,” Spock murmurs before closing his eyes. He goes limp in McCoy’s arms, hand releasing its grip on the black undershirt and falling slack at his side.
The first thought McCoy has is that there is no way in hell he is going to remember any of what Spock just said in order to ask Nyota anything. The second thought is, Oh, fuck. Spock is losing too much blood. McCoy curses Jim under his breath and looks around frantically before leaning in and ensuring that Spock is still breathing. His hands are occupied with making sure Spock doesn’t lose more blood than necessary while they wait for the moss he needs to dress the wound, and he can’t check Spock’s pulse any other way. But he feels the Vulcan’s breath on his ear and McCoy exhales a shaky breath in relief.
His hands tremble and McCoy knows that he needs something to distract him while he waits, needs it like water. So, he starts to hum. He hums a song that Jim and Uhura sang together once at a karaoke party on shore leave. He remembers the melody but he can’t remember the words. Something, something stupid like I love you. It’s enough, though, and he isn’t aware he’s closed his eyes until he hears Jim approaching.
“This is what you need?” Jim asks, offering a bundle of purple moss grasped in both his hands. His face is bright pink and he’s out of breath, clearly having run to the nearby cave and back without stopping.
“Yes! Help me out here.”
Together, they remove Spock’s shirts and press the moss into the wound, holding it in place with their yellow and blue overshirts tied to wrap around the pale skin. When they’ve finished, McCoy returns Spock to the position in his arms to keep pressure on the wounds. It looks a lot like Pietà and McCoy tries to shake off the thought. There will be no comparisons to dead messiahs, sculpted or otherwise.
Jim narrows his eyes at McCoy and asks, “Were you humming Frank Sinatra?”
“I couldn’t remember how it goes.”
“Quite the song choice.”
McCoy shrugs. “Hey, you know Vulcan, right?”
“Not much of it, honestly. Why?”
“Spock said something. No idea what it was, though.”
“What did it sound like?”
Ask Nyota, McCoy thinks. He shakes his head.
“I really couldn’t tell you.”