Title: Last Straw

Author: Bersakhi

Series: TOS

Rating: [NC-17]

Codes: Kirk/Spock

Summary: What if McCoy stumbles in upon his two best friends unannounced and unaware of the direction their relationship has taken? An alternate to the McCoy accepts all premise.

Disclaimer: Paramount owns all that is worthy, I am just along for the ride. This is an original work of amateur fiction based upon Star Trek and is not intended to infringe on the property rights of Paramount, Viacom or other owners of copyright in Star Trek.

Last Straw

This tongue knew the path well. It began at the shoulder, hot and alternately insistent and gentle, its damp trail kept aflame by the warm breath accompanying it, then it would continue upward exquisitely against the side of the neck, playing for a moment with the soft flesh behind the base of the ear, then slide slowly upwards along the outside edge to end at the pointed tip, where lips would close over it, sucking luxuriously before releasing it. A gasp would escape then, and his name whispered past trembling lips.

"Jim."

"Shh. I'm not finished."

The sequence would be reversed on the other side, sending electric shivers to dissipate downward building a sense of equilibrium. He liked that; it filled the pressing need to stabilize things within himself, when the actions of the being so close to him had pushed him too far into abandon and chaos. It would rescue him from threatened insanity. It had begun as exploration and became benediction.

The human brushed against the other's chest before sitting up and shifting slightly to negotiate a comfortable straddle position. "You will come, won't you?"

There was a small smile on the Vulcan lips. "With you, Jim, always."

Kirk grinned. "You are becoming positively wicked, Spock. I mean *shore leave*. Can you get away?"

"I have made the appropriate arrangements."

"Mmm." He began to rub his palms over Spock's chest, teasing the nipples which cooperated with just the right amount of hardness. He leaned forward to take one between his teeth, then lips, swirled his tongue around the stiff olive nub. A groan was building within the chest beneath him and the breath caught.

"Unfair."

Spock heaved up and over, knocking Kirk off balance, and there was a very brief struggle, and in the end Spock had him pinned beneath him, arms locked above his head in a playful hold that brought their faces inches apart. Eyes locked, then lips. Hips shifted and rolled to a mutually agreed upon rhythm, savoring the touch of flesh upon flesh in a lazy exaltation and remembrance of what had transpired earlier. Kirk's mouth broke free and slid to that place again where neck and shoulder meet, and there he nipped gently before pressing his tongue in tiny circles. He increased the pressure some more until the Vulcan moaned, distracted, and that was when he made his move. Abruptly he sat up, pushing Spock backward. Spock struggled to get his long legs into a more comfortable position and Kirk chuckled.

"Such grace..."

"That's not what you said after I had defeated you in the gym this afternoon."

"You're quite good at pouncing. Like a cat." "You mean like this--" Kirk's hand flashed forward toward Spock's face, but he was blocked by the Vulcan's reflex. Forearms connected. Kirk tried with his other hand and was again blocked. They began to bat at each other lightly, trying to make it past the barrier of flesh, seeking a weakness. In the end it was Kirk who caught him, or Spock who wanted to be caught, and neither resisted in the least when Kirk's fingers closed behind Spock's head and pulled him close.

"Hey, Jim, if you pack now we can catch the next sh..."

It was quite phenomenal how a unit of time as small as a second could encompass so many thoughts at once. Like the fact that there were only two people on the ship (in the universe!) who would enter his cabin unannounced, and one of them was sitting astride him with his tongue in his ear and quite naked. Like how could he feel so cold all at once with this warm being so close. Like Spock-please-don't-turn-around-and-face-this-moment-with-me. Like the fact that he knew he would never, ever, forget the look on his old friend's face, aghast, abashed, mortified. Like why can't he get his mouth to work, and what could he possibly say anyway. He could only articulate the most logical word whose first sound had already been uttered and hung in the air begging completion.

"Shit..."

McCoy took an awkward step backward and reactivated the door.

The next second that passed Kirk spent wondering how long it would take McCoy to decide on whether to stay or go.

He pushed Spock off of him gently, leaned forward and pulled up the sheet some more in a vain attempt to shield, protect. He was painfully aware that in doing so he had effectively shattered the feelings of both his best friends, and he felt trapped as hell.

Meanwhile the door remained open to the lit corridor, and the next most important thing on Kirk's mind was the reliability of his crew to walk past, disciplined and unseeing.

"Bones. The door?"

He had meant for McCoy to step forward to allow the electronic sensor to close the door behind him, but instead he stepped back into the corridor, shutting him away.

Kirk released the breath he was holding and flopped back onto the bed. His palms pressed deep into his eye sockets and his fingers into his skull as if that might help him to come to his senses faster. //What was he thinking? Hell, what was *I* thinking?//

"Shitshitshitshitshit!"

Aware of the stillness beside him he removed his hands, dragged them through his hair, and turned onto his side. Spock was absolutely still, fingers laced in a tight clasp across his chest as if in a meditative pose. Kirk was certain that the thoughts in his friend's mind were anything but peaceful or contemplative. //Act, say something, now!//

"Spock, look at me." His voice was grave with conviction. The course of action suddenly seemed now glaringly obvious. Kirk sat up and leaned into Spock, forcing him to meet his eyes. "Spock, listen to me! I have to talk to him. I want you to stay here. Please."

Spock merely blinked, his gaze unreadable. Kirk pushed himself up with a hand on Spock's chest, swung his legs around and into a sitting position at the edge of the bed. His head fell into the cradle of his hands and felt himself fill with infinite weariness, despair, guilt. He did not expect, but was kind of hoping for, Spock's warm touch of reassurance on his back. It did not come.

"Will you be here when I get back?"

No answer.

"God, Spock, I'm s---"

He could not finish, could not decide exactly what he was most sorry about, and predicted that whatever order the sorries came out would be inadequate in any case. He rose quickly, wondering if this was how jumping out of your skin felt like, and threw on some casual clothes without looking back.

He was still shouldering into his shirt when he found himself striding down the corridor. At the intersection he passed two crewmen who nodded sharply in greeting before moving on. Kirk was convinced that they had noticed his flushed face, his guilt laced eyes, that they sensed the smell of sex on him. //Yes, gentlemen, you're quite correct in deducing that your captain has been screwing his first officer for some time now, and that the only other person who should have known but I was too scared and stubborn and thoughtless to tell just barged out of my cabin--we were caught red handed, so to speak--and I'm more afraid than hell that we've scared him off. All in a day's work, gentlemen, as you were.//

Kirk entered the turbo lift automatically without having considered his next most immediate course of action. Where would he have run off too? He checked his quarters first and almost buckled under the wave of relief that he was not there. He could delay the moment a bit longer. But only by so much. He retraced his steps to the 'lift.

"Deck five."

He slowed his pace on the walk to sickbay, biding his time to replay his introductory statement. //Bones, there's something I've been meaning to tell you, but I just never got around to it.// How about: //Did you know that a Vulcan's sex drive can be stimulated by...// Too brash. Maybe the truth: //Please don't hate me.// Kirk had rejected all by the time he passed through the doors into the doctor's domain. Sickbay was empty, as far as he could tell. Most of the crew had already deboarded for shore leave, he reminded himself. Only a skeleton crew remained. Skeletons. Closets. Jesus!

He considered leaving, escaping, but was brought up short by a conscience driven by a single laser clear imperative: find him NOW and talk to him!

He made his way into the OR, also empty, then heard a sound in the office to the right and moved cautiously toward it. McCoy's back was to him, hunched over, and he appeared to be pouring something into a glass on the table in front of him. //Now! Dammit!//

"Bones."

There was a clatter as glass met glass and the bottle righted itself. McCoy sat and did not turn. He lifted the glass and his head tipped back as he took a slug. Kirk closed the distance between them quickly before he could turn and run. He watched as his hand lifted into his field of vision and closed over McCoy's arm.

It wasn't so much the action of his friend pulling roughly away as the tone of the words he spoke that chilled Kirk to the bone.

"Don't touch me."

//Oh gods. What have I done to him? To Spock? How can I get you to understand, my friend? It's not something sick and perverted, and it certainly wasn't planned, nor meant to be a secret--oh, no?--and all we really want, need from you is your acceptance and enduring friendship. Have I pushed your understanding too far?// Kirk swallowed the remorse building behind his throat and plunged forward with a courage that he drew from years of battle and galactic showdowns. He would have preferred to face either at this moment.

"Bones, please don't hate me. I meant to tell you and I'm sorry I didn't before now. God, I don't know how to say this..." The silence was cut by the sound of the glass connecting with a dull thud on the table. "I don't have any better idea what to say now than I would've if I'd come to you earlier. Please say something."

McCoy refilled his glass and Kirk chose that moment to carry himself to the other side of the table where he found another chair. He straddled it and leaned forward earnestly, trying to make eye contact. As if that would be easier.

He opened his mouth to speak again and clamped it shut as he noticed a nurse at the wall who had appeared holding a data disk in her hand. "Excuse me, Captain. Doctor, I have the final crew specs ready for your authorization." She shifted uncomfortably, sensing she had intruded, but stood her professional ground.

"Thank you, nurse. Just leave it beside my terminal. I'll go over it shortly. Dismissed." His eyes lifted to meet Kirk's as he spoke the last word. They remained fixed and unblinking, and terrifyingly vulnerable. Kirk fought to maintain contact. They heard the doors swoosh shut after her and began to breathe again.

"It's not that you're having a physical relationship with a fellow officer," his voice was tight and lacking the warm drawl that bourbon sometimes drew out, "it's not even the fact that it's Spock. It's that I didn't know you..."

"Bones, that's not it at all. I'm not attracted to other--"

"I know that!" He jumped up from his chair, spilling the liquor over his hand. "That's my goddamned point! As your friend, I *know* that about you." He took a breath and impaled Kirk with an icy blue gaze. "When did things change?"

Kirk shrugged, then realized being vague here was not exactly the kind of response McCoy would appreciate. "After Deneb V." He could almost hear McCoy's mind whirring at the memory of the Orions.

Blue eyes seemed to blink without lids making contact. "Three months ago?" He leaned forward across the table with his arms, the glass again punctuating the surface. "Well, Jim, when, in your infinite wisdom and unerring judgment, were you planning on mentioning it to your oldest friend?"

Kirk felt his face burn under the accusation and shame that he had misread McCoy. He wasn't turned off, he was hurt! And on top of it all, Kirk knew, was the monumental betrayal and embarrassment Spock would endure each time he faced McCoy. He had fucked them both. //Brilliant move, James T. Absolutely flawless piece of work. Can things get any worse?//

And then they did.

<CENTER~~*~~

They both heard the doors slide open and release another presence into the fray. Spock stood in the entrance to the office, looking amazingly, incredibly controlled. He made a swift calculating move to McCoy's computer terminal and activated the door lock. //Speaking of brilliant moves...// Kirk's mind screamed but his voice was low.

"Spock, I thought I told you to wait for me--"

"Jim, you are officially off duty. As are we all. You have no authority to give orders at this time."

Whatever Kirk had expected Spock to say, it was not that. He was not, entirely, accurate, but this was not time for an argument in protocol. He struggled to find his voice, and picked up a scrap of authority along the way for good measure.

"Dammit, Spock, don't make this harder than it already is!"

"No," roared McCoy. "By all means, let's not hold *anything* back! All for one and one for all, right? Well, if you wanna talk, let's talk. Right now!"

"Bones, not like this. You're angry, you've been drinking..."

"I haven't even *begun* !"

"Doctor, perhaps Jim is right. When you are in a more stable frame of m--"

"Shut up, Spock!" He whirled around to face the Vulcan for the first time. Of all the scenarios Spock had played in his mind, he was not prepared for this test of wills. His eyes dropped.

"At least you have some courage, to come here. I know what it takes for a Vulcan--hell, for *you* ! I can't blame you for keeping quiet about it." McCoy seemed to have exhausted himself and sat back down heavily, panting.

"You're right, Bones. It's my fault. I'm sorry I didn't tell you..."

Kirk realized McCoy was speaking under his breath and strained to hear.

"...Starbase 16, best lay in the quadrant... booked passages and rooms... idiot... whew." He looked up with eyes of unshielded pain that made Kirk wince. "I guess I musta missed that memo, huh, Jim?"

Kirk tried to shut it out, McCoy's accusation and hurt, Spock's innocence, his own condemnation, all of it. Some sick part of his mind recalled the Guardian, how it could all go away with a short jaunt through its gaping doorway, just for a little while, minuscule in the grand scheme of things, but fortunately that planet had been quarantined against people like him. //What it really comes down to, Jimmy boy, is that you didn't trust your friend with the truth.// There was no nice way to say it, so he didn't. Instead he said something else.

"We'd like you to join us for shore leave."

McCoy's head shot up and his face was twisted in an unamused smile. "You've got to be kidding."

Kirk looked over his head at Spock who nodded assent. Some strength there. But McCoy did not falter. He rose. "Get out of my sickbay."

The words shaped Kirk's dismay into images of losing his friend, someone transferring off the ship, shattered moments of reconciliation, helplessness. He passed McCoy's stiff figure unhesitatingly, and strode to the door. It did not open. There was no escape, even now. He pressed his forehead onto the metallic surface and laid his hands against it, awaiting his fate. He did not hear the soft steps behind him, nor the click of a switch, and when the doors released he toppled forward wearily before collecting himself. He took a few steps, pausing without turning for Spock's hopeful presence at his side, and moved on down the corridor, alone.

*****

It just wasn't the same without the soft blur of starlight. Not plunging through space towards new discoveries, new civilizations, charting space phenomena, his comrades by his side, who would do anything he ordered, even die for him. This non-movement was unnerving, having gotten used to watching the streak of stars in the screen placed strategically in front of him at all times, just the way he liked it. He longed for that view now, the sense of moving onward to something new and exciting, something other than what he had to face now. He decided sadly that he underused the observation deck, that the view of the Starbase below and to the port side was one of the less interesting ones he could have chosen this moment to appreciate.

Shifts were changing now, his internal clock told him, and his would have begun now if he hadn't allowed himself the rare luxury of taking shore leave along with his crew. He had always despised waste, as he was wasting his leave time now, or someone else's if he was just going to stay on board anyway. Damn. He couldn't remember ever feeling so impotent.

In the blackness before him was suddenly reflected the image of a rectangle of light, and the tall sharp silhouette of a figure within it. The rectangle closed to black again, and he tensed despite knowing who it was that was coming towards him. The figure stopped behind him, frozen as if undecided, and Kirk shivered. His voice bounced back at him off the transparent surface.

"Get any sleep?"

"You?"

Kirk shook his head, touched the clear plane before him. He expected it to be cold. Another illusion he had gotten used to.

"Oh, Spock..."

He turned into the Vulcan's closing arms and lost himself in the mysterious warm scent, the quiet hum his presence always offered him, the unconditional acceptance that had always been there, even before things had changed. Now things had changed again. He looked up into Spock's eyes to test his theory, but Spock would not return his gaze. Q.E.D. Proven.

"Spock, I don't want this to affect things between us. I need this--" His voice faltered and he clenched his eyes shut against the gritty heat behind them. "God, how I need this."

Spock had always found it oddly curious how humans felt the need to say in words that which they were quite incapable of expressing to their satisfaction. He did not need to hear Kirk's words, had sensed his pain decks away, felt it intensify as he closed the space between them, and felt it flood over him now in this proximity. He recalled those passed between himself and McCoy after Kirk had left, how they had come out of his mouth sounding like a kind of defense as if Kirk were on trial. Which, he supposed, was not too far from the truth. He had not presupposed any motives on Kirk's part, but instead narrowed the focus of his argument to the present. In predictable human reaction, McCoy was not willing to listen, having blinded himself to his own conclusion, that, Spock discovered in disbelief, was of his unworthiness. Nothing he could say after that revelation would crack McCoy, and the Vulcan left minutes later, defeated. His next conclusion was supplied by the one thing that he had come to learn solved almost all problems that dealt with frail human emotion: time. And he was fundamentally aware that, as a half human, he would need it just as equally.

He pulled away from Kirk gently, holding his shoulders at arm's length. "Jim, this will pass. He cannot be reached now."

"I can't help thinking it's too late. I didn't mean to hurt..." He turned away from the other and the hands fell. "Will you come by my quarters later?"

He did not hear Spock's reply, he was too intent on getting out of there.

*****

Kirk found himself heading for the one place where he would always feel centered. He took a deep breath in relief as the doors deposited him on the bridge. It appeared empty, but he knew that could not be so, as there was always someone on duty. Hers was the voice that broke his concentration.

"Captain on the bridge!"

The Starbase cadet attending to repairs under the comm station rushed to stand with the officer who had announced Kirk so abruptly. They stood at attention, effectively masking their surprise.

Kirk's nod released them, and the woman stepped forward. "Captain Kirk, I was not aware that you had returned from the Starbase! If you would prefer, I will order--"

"No, Lieutenant, that won't be necessary. I have...decided to remain on board until further notice. You may beam down for leave." Why couldn't he remember her name? He hoped his voice sounded normal enough.

"Sir? Thank you, sir!" She glanced at the cadet beside her, grinned what Kirk had come to recognize as one of those //you see what a great captain we have on this ship?// grins. Somehow it only made him feel worse. She stepped quickly up to the 'lift and disappeared. Kirk ran his hands over his face, washing away what he could, and when he opened his eyes found the cadet still at attention.

"Um, proceed, cadet."

The young man broke from his position as if mechanically activated and moved back obediently beneath the console. //God, did we all behave so unquestioningly moronic in those days?// Kirk wandered casually to his chair, but what he really wanted to do was dismiss the cadet and turn down the lights and sit and mope. He busied himself with a report cover he found in his chair, opened it to emptiness. Of course, all reports had been recorded and filed away, all ship business finalized by the time they had reached Starbase 16. There was nothing to do. //Damn!// Kirk realized he would look even more ridiculous if he were to get up and wander the bridge aimlessly. He had just considered doing some reading at the science station when he heard the doors open and Spock was there, moving almost stealthily towards his own chair. //Beat me to it. Damn Vulcan!// Spock glanced at him briefly as if hearing, and sat with almost reverent relief at his console, fingering the dials before him. At a loss, Kirk punched a button at his arm.

"Computer, locate Chief Medical Officer."

"Chief Medical Officer McCoy not on board. Records indicate transport to Starbase 16 one hour, forty minutes ago."

He did not have to see Spock's look of understanding. He got up in a nervous rush. "Mr. Spock, I'll be in my quarters."

"Acknowledged."

*****

He could not sleep, for fear of facing his subconscious; he could not read, the book lay closed where he had tossed it on his desk. Normally he would not treat such treasures so callously, having always preferred the fragile paper word to the cold computer screen where literature was concerned. The book was a present from McCoy years ago, and he had forgotten about it after its first read. He did not need the pages to remind him of the words that had been inscribed within the cover: "To Jim, for all the voyages we have yet to share, LHM." Absently he rubbed his arm where the ball had connected ruthlessly during the two hours he had practiced some shots in the tennis court. He had actually preferred a machine and three blank walls for company so he could lash out at each of them without consequence. Now he was tired and sore, and not feeling much better. He checked the chronometer again. This time he had not looked at it for eleven full minutes. Where the hell was Spock? He nurtured the sinking feeling in his gut some more and went to the bathroom, feeling the need to cleanse himself.

The water did feel good, as did the rub down when he dried off. He was pulling on his trousers when the door opened. "Spock, where on earth have you been? I left you on the bridge hours ago!"

"Jim, I could not leave until my relief arrived."

"Of course. I forgot. I'm sorry." He was getting tired of saying that word.

Spock fidgeted, which was quite a feat, Kirk knew, for Spock. "What is it?"

"As I too have declined shore leave, I would like to take this opportunity to continue my research in preparation for our next mission."

"Spock, that's two weeks away!" But the intent was all too obvious, and he would not insult him further. "Sure. But will you meet me here for lunch?"

He held his breath against impending pain.

"Yes."

Kirk stepped forward to stand behind the chair at his desk, needing it for support. His fingers clamped down into the firm black surface as he observed Spock from across the abyss. The Vulcan looked small and vulnerable and uncertain. But a step had been taken, if not entirely in the direction either would have preferred to go. Kirk watched him leave and released his breath with a sense of dread. The next six hours would not go by any faster.

*****

It was almost worse over lunch. The tension was a definite appetite suppressant. Kirk would have to remember that. He pushed his plate away and rested his gaze bravely on Spock opposite him and equally uncomfortable. "I hope this doesn't mean the end of your bad jokes," Kirk attempted with a lopsided grin.

Spock didn't even raise his eyebrow at that. He regarded Kirk with intense seriousness. "Jim. I cannot explain how I am feeling at this time. Recent events have been...difficult enough. I will need time to assimilate."

Kirk studied Spock's face quietly, the eyes that had so recently been aflame with emotion, the ears that had tasted slightly spicy, so good. His eyes fell to Spock's long delicate fingers which he could still feel in his hair, on his chest and beyond. He closed his eyes to them. "Of course. Whatever you need." Time. Space. Final frontiers.

He heard Spock get up from his chair and stand unmoving behind it. Uncountable seconds passed and he heard only the sound of blood rushing in his ears. Then there was a slight pressure on his shoulders and he felt himself melting. Spock squeezed once and left.

*****

Kirk knew that McCoy had returned two days later by the increased tension on the ship. He could sense it as clearly as if facing it head on. He was there on the bridge when the request for beam up came through, and his voice sounded foreign in his ears when he granted it. He had to force himself to stay in his command chair when all he really wanted to do was run to the transporter room. But he would make the same promise to McCoy as he had to Spock, and could only hope that somewhere along the way the three would meet in an enclosed room with all breakables removed. The sooner the better.

Kirk was actually envious of McCoy, who had an entire sickbay at his disposal, and a plethora of activities to occupy his time. And Spock had monopolized the science station, leaving him oodles of time to contemplate his navel. He considered heading for the station, find Scotty and the others, maybe one of the "surprises" McCoy had made plans to secure for their leave together. He had no appetite for that either, and it would be trite and even spiteful to consider it. Back to square one...

In the end, Spock thankfully accepted his invitation to spar in the gym, and that is how he found himself once again pinned underneath him by a stealthy Vulcan maneuver. He puffed, catching his breath, and Spock helped him up. Kirk was relieved to see a hint of amusement on his face.

"Well, glad to see I can still make you laugh," he quipped.

Unspeaking, the Vulcan moved backwards and struck a relaxed pose, waiting. Kirk gathered himself and challenged. "Ready when you are."

"Jim, the Vulcan 'kae kali' is not meant for humans. You will only injure yourself."

"Don't coddle me, Spock. I'm ready."

"Very well." The Vulcan moved then, eyes locked on Kirk's as if reading him. His arms seemed to be doing a slow dance in front of him, moving with a grace that betrayed their intent, and then he began to move around his partner slowly. Positively feline, Kirk thought, mirroring the action intently. Their eyes were locked. Suddenly Spock seemed to be everywhere at once, whirling, then darting, then behind him and locked onto him, pinning Kirk's arms behind him as he pressed downward against Kirk's resisting force. The mat was coming into focus again, and Kirk realized he had a grip that would send his opponent right onto his back on it, if only he could gather a little more strength... he lifted his head, straining, and froze, catching the gaze of someone he had not expected to see, but infinitely grateful that he had. McCoy was standing, arms crossed, expression unreadable, at the base of the bleachers. The next object that filled his vision was the surface of the mat, and he groaned in frustration and pain. He pounded the mat and Spock released him. Kirk whirled around, but McCoy was gone.

"Did you see him, Spock?" he panted, annoyed.

Spock shook his head, instantly aware of who he was referring to. His arm shot out to restrain Kirk's next action, which he had correctly deduced was to follow him on impulse. But he was the last to have spoken to the doctor and knew what he required. "Leave him, Jim. It is not time."

"Now who in god's name made you an expert on human angst...!" The words spilled out too late, and he reached out to Spock to try to ease them. But Spock's face did not, always, betray him. He stared evenly at Kirk before turning to leave. Kirk stood alone on the gym floor, feeling about as small as he could possibly ever get.

*****

His cabin was warmer than he liked it, and he moved to turn it down to a more reasonable ambiance. He had turned it up the day Spock was with him and forgotten to reset it. Kirk tried not to think of anything as he showered, and considered another attempt at the book after he finished dressing. That was when he first noticed the light flashing at his terminal, indicating a message on hold. He flicked it on, bracing himself for more bad news. But it was only a recorded message from Commodore Stockard, requesting his company for a drink the next evening on the Starbase. Kirk sighed. He could use a stiff drink, even in that man's company, and besides, he owed him one. He sent an automatic acceptance message and moved to switch off the screen when he noticed a computer disk leaning against the console. Curious he inserted it, and took in a breath as if he'd just cut himself. There on the screen, in black and white, hidden between Starfleet-speak, was an official request for transfer of one Leonard H. McCoy, CMO of the USS Enterprise. It was dated, but not signed. Odd. Spock's words echoed within him; he would leave McCoy alone today, but he had to talk to someone.

He found himself at Spock's door and chimed for entry instead of automatically going in. He needed the extra seconds to think. The Vulcan opened the door moments later, and Kirk brushed past him, catching a glimpse of the strangely lit alien artifacts that he had always found intriguing. He had not seen them in this light and they looked positively satanic. The thought disturbed him and he had to look at Spock again for reassurance. He was wearing a Vulcan robe that Kirk had also not seen before, and realized with dread that he may have interrupted an important ritual of some kind. Then Kirk was mindful of his reticence and knew he hadn't interrupted, even if he had.

"McCoy's requested a transfer."

Spock blinked, and there was a sharp intake of breath. "I did not expect...."

"He's being irrational. He can't do this! He has no good reason, I'll fight him on it, he knows I will..." Kirk realized he was rambling. He felt the need to sit but could find no chair. He moved to Spock's bed and plunked down on it, leaning forward onto his elbows. He could only stare blankly at the floor between hands hanging loosely.

"Such pain...." It was a strained whisper, and made his heart leap. Spock did not need this. He considered leaving. "I cannot bear to see this pain." Then Kirk felt the mattress ease as Spock drifted beside him. Kirk leaned into him and remained there unmoving, exhausted. He felt himself lifted gently and laid out onto the bed. He closed his eyes as Spock pulled the blanket over him. He was asleep before he could notice Spock break from his motionless pose, a sentinel awakened, and climb softly under the cover with him.

*****

Spock would not move from his cramped position as he held Kirk's tortured soul. The human had slept for over ten hours, and Spock had joined him on and off, checking his slight movements, shifting or pulling him close as the occasion warranted. He had refrained from touching his mind, having concluded this was a betrayal the fragile form could not bear in his condition. Spock had considered seeking out McCoy on his behalf, or for himself, but it would have made no difference. It would have still been a breach of confidence, and a Vulcan would no more do that than tell a lie. Even a half Vulcan. Though he had been known to exaggerate. Spock's uncharacteristic sigh brought a noise from the human, who pressed into his side more firmly, seeking warmth and comfort. Spock's fingers lifted his hair in a feathery touch, smoothed it down again, an assurance that he was there and would always be.

Kirk was waking up. He swallowed and tested his voice.

"How long have I been sleeping?"

"Ten point three five hours."

"Well. It was a good one. Hungry?"

"Very."

"Good." He rolled onto his back. "What time is it anyway?"

Spock did not even look. "Oh two hundred forty minutes."

"I have an appointment this evening. I would rather stay here."

"Hours away, Jim. You may stay as long as you wish."

Kirk looked up at him, dissolving with gratitude. Another step. He sat up with a small smile. "Seems I'm the only one dressed for breakfast." He climbed over Spock.

"Jim, why not use the cabin synthesizer?"

Kirk made a face. "I prefer my coffee in a real mug. Besides, I don't like the feeling that I'm hiding out."

"Understood."

"Meet you there." Then Kirk was gone in a flash of restlessness.

*****

It was disconcerting to Kirk how ghost like the ship could be at times; if most of the crew hadn't left for leave, it would still harbor some activity at this hour. He shrugged off the sensation and entered the mess hall, headed to the console without looking around. He felt the presence before he could turn.

"Did you find my request, Captain?"

"Bones, I..." He felt himself gathering a shield of non-emotion around him, and was quite proud of the result. He fixed his steely gaze on McCoy. "I didn't expect anyone to be here at three a.m. But since you ask, yes, I did find it. You are aware it is still unsigned?"

McCoy matched his warmth. "I plan on sending it today, give them some time to find a replacement."

"Then why show it to me unfinished, McCoy?"

His friend balked, faltered, and his eyes released Kirk wearily. "Leave me alone," he said under his breath.

"No! Explain to me, McCoy, why this is worth throwing away years of friendship!"

"Think about it, Jim! Look at us! We'd be a hazard to everyone on board this ship. How are we going to be able to function as a crew with the three of us at each other's throats? How can we, when the trust is..."

"It's still there, Bones!"

McCoy's hard look returned. "Maybe for some people. Not me."

'Too late!' taunted Kirk's mind. 'He's felt left out for the last time!' He felt himself slump in resignation, but would not release his eyes from his friend. "I can fight this decision."

"Allow me the dignity to make my own this time, Jim," McCoy said softly, painfully. He took a step back, straightened, then, "I'll have the request completed immediately. I'll just need your authorization, Captain."

He left, quickly, before Kirk's face could change his mind. McCoy could barely see the door and the corridor, the dull gray floor, or the corner where he smacked headlong into one Vulcan science officer heading directly in his path.

"Jesus...."

"Not likely, Doctor."

Feeling his energy dissipate, McCoy allowed himself the luxury of a chuckle at that particular one, though it came out more as a choking sound. "This ship is more crowded than I thought." They remained unmoving, facing each other steadfastly. The silence brought to McCoy's mind of something to do with eggs or eggshells, he could not place it, but Spock's attitude certainly reminded him of it. He came to the conclusion that he had battered enough souls for the day and would allow this person some respite.

He opened with a question. "Did Jim tell you?"

Spock nodded.

"That's it? No argument about illogic? You've changed, Spock."

"As have you," countered his friend. "Do you realize what this is doing to him?"

"Don't guilt trip me, Spock. I'm too good at it."

"As is he, Leonard. He does not wish you to go."

"Then why the hell doesn't he just...!" //Is that all it would take?// he thought with sudden clarity.

"Perhaps he has not been allowed the opportunity to do so."

Damn Vulcan. Around him, no thoughts were private. McCoy had had enough. He waited for his mental processes to return to the ordered places that he had recently created for them and took a breath. "It's too late anyway, the request goes out today. Don't look at me like that, Spock, I know what I'm doing. Now get out of my way."

He did not, so McCoy pushed past him, and as he stalked blindly along the corridor he thought he could hear Spock's strained voice say something. "We need you, Bones." But it could have been his mind playing tricks. It was not something Spock would say, even if he felt it. And it did not fit into the private maelstrom McCoy had created for himself. The one he began to construct the moment he beamed down to Starbase 16, where he spent hours walking the ornate halls of the trading center, where he found himself at the entrance to one of his favorite watering holes, within which he knew he would find Beckka and her friends offering to relieve him of some of his space stresses. He had ended up in the arboretum, enveloped in life giving greens and azures. It was the place where couples walked arm in arm, or individuals sat to contemplate life, the universe, themselves. McCoy had not been in the mood for that either, and continued on to the residential decks and checked himself into the room he had booked for himself and Kirk, and that was when he realized his first mistake. He had completely taken it for granted that Spock would not need R&R; the Vulcan almost invariably indulged in some intellectual pursuit, declining what he called a "frivolous and energy depleting activity." He spent most of the night thinking about that, and came to the conclusion that he had not been paying attention to Spock like he used to, that he had accepted the fact that Spock would only change so much and that he had reached his limits. McCoy searched his memory for signs, tried to pinpoint the moment when he might have noticed a change and was ashamed to find he could not. His two friends had always been close, and though McCoy was aware of how deeply their friendship ran, he had never expected to hear either of them declare his undying love for the other, let alone act on it. So if things *had* changed that much, Spock's words would make sense. "We need you, Bones." But it just added to his misery.

He entered the turbo lift automatically, requested his deck, and allowed his mind a break. But as soon as he found himself in his cabin, he set about a menial task, something that wouldn't interfere with the storm of emotion and thought so he could pummel himself with what had gone through his mind on the Starbase. How he had come to the sad and inevitable conclusion that Jim Kirk had held back something important from him, something so life altering that he would risk his heart for it. He had reeled almost physically at the last straw: the irony and, he had to admit, envy, that Kirk had found emotional and physical happiness and not him. And McCoy had to admit that his own heart wasn't big enough to accept that, at least not now. Reacting on fallible human instinct, he did the one thing that he had to do: consider leaving the Enterprise. His heart had leaped when he called to the ship for beamup, and heard Kirk's voice answer back; he had expected him to have left days ago with Spock, and that thought led to the inevitable conclusion that the Vulcan had to have stayed aboard as well. McCoy could not change his mind now, and he had felt trapped again. So he had come aboard and committed himself to his own domain, buried himself in medical research and last minute business, even begun packing away some of his personal possessions. The one time he had faltered, he found himself observing Kirk and Spock in the gymnasium, engaged in a Vulcan physical discipline whose name he had never known. He had felt like a spy checking on Kirk's whereabouts so he could deposit his computer disk undetected. After that, he resigned himself to the fates, and so was at least a little prepared when he had encountered Kirk in the mess hall.

And Spock shortly after. McCoy paused, staring at the three metallic shapes in his grasp, molded together as one, the IDIC Spock had given him as a gift after his parents had left, acceding to McCoy's genuine interest in Spock's heritage and beliefs. He fingered the cold surface, felt it warm rapidly in his palm. Spock's words came back to him in his sickbay office, after Kirk had left. "He does not want to lose you, McCoy. Nor do I." And then his own callous response, as if he had completely forgotten everything he knew about his two best friends. He would not seriously allow their recollection now, but their impact weakened him and he sat.

The computer screen glowed a cold light over his craggy face. He stared at it pensive, unseeing. What an idiot he had been. The thought flooded him with such emotion that he reacted physically when the door chimed, as he had expected it would. When he had found the strength for his voice, he said, "Come."

Kirk strode inside with a hesitant grin and first plunked himself down opposite him, then a bottle of what he recognized as some contraband from Kirk's private store. He reached across the desk, brushing McCoy's arm.

"May I?"

The doctor sat back, arms crossed in defiance masking curiosity.

"Bridge," Kirk snapped, all business.

"Andrews, here, sir."

"Lieutenant, please send my regrets to Commodore Stockard, and convey to him that I am unable to comply with his invitation as I must attend to a matter which requires my urgent attention. I believe you'll find him on the Starbase."

"Yes, s--"

McCoy switched off the terminal and swept his arm in a flourish across the table top, effectively knocking everything he had immersed himself in onto the floor. He reached back for a pair of glasses and eyed Kirk warily. "What's the occasion?"

Kirk talked as he filled the glasses. "Spock's taken my shift, and I figured it was about time to do some catching up. I've..." His forced resolve spent, he felt that familiar burn again behind his eyes. "Share a drink with me, Bones?""

McCoy tried a harumph, but it was edged with too much emotion to come out sounding neutral. He took a shaky breath. "On one condition."

He watched carefully as Kirk leaned forward in earnest. The reply was filled with emotion. "Anything."

"Burn that damned disk."

END