Fellowship & Fairydust

The doctor had seen Spock in many guises. He had seen him unconscious, injured, delirious with fever, blind, even insane. But he had no frame of reference for seeing Spock as he was now. He had encountered brain-damaged patients before and perhaps that was the closest approximation to the way Spock was now. But Spock was not technically brain-damaged. He was not damaged at all, medically. He was like the custodian of a huge library whose keys had been jumbled and mixed until he could open none of the rooms. Everything that made Spock himself was there in his head, but by Jim’s account the Vulcan was struggling to access it. He was, in Kirk’s words, like a man searching for himself in a dark room.

McCoy was struck briefly with the thought that perhaps right now he knew Spock better than Spock knew himself. He had carried Spock’s consciousness in his head. He had felt Spock’s impulses and desires and thought processes, taking over his own. He had been privileged with a deeper insight into Spock’s soul than any person had ever been allowed.

How ironic, he thought with a twisted smile. Spock, my old friend. Spock, my sparring partner. I’ve spent my life fighting you, and now I know what you thought when you looked back at me, better than you do yourself.

He steeled himself, finding himself pulling his top straight with his hands, almost laughing aloud when he realised that very motion was just another echo that Spock had left in his head. If Spock was dark to his light, or rationality to his emotion, or whichever flipside to whichever coin the doctor chose to be, then he could at least have the courage to face him. Perhaps on facing him he could begin to unweave the intimate grasp that the Vulcan’s mind seemed to have on his.

McCoy stepped into the room with apprehension flooding through his veins. Spock was sitting on the edge of his bed, staring at the opposite wall. He did not even turn his head until he heard the noise of the door closing. Then he regarded McCoy without query or emotion. McCoy had seen prisoners like that, so numbed by their captivity that they had no protest against it. They were always the hardest to bring back.

Spock continued to stare at him. Finally, the doctor’s impatience broke through.

“Spock, don’t you recognise me?’ McCoy asked in a rough voice, coming closer. ‘You put your entire psyche in my head, you bastard. Don’t tell me you don’t recognise me.”

Spock’s eyebrow lifted, just a little, in a heart-breaking echo of his former self.

“I recognise you,’ he said steadily. ‘Better than some. Your mind is – fractured with illogic.”

The doctor laughed suddenly and Spock reacted as if he had heard an explosion somewhere far away.

“Spock, you son-of-a-bitch,” McCoy said, coming over to sit by him on the bed. He brought himself close to Spock’s face, staring into those strange confused eyes that contained just a glimmer of the Vulcan’s former self. “Dammit, you are in there, aren’t you? I was afraid they’d left something behind with all that mumbo-jumbo.”

“You are referring to – Fal-Tor-Pan?” Spock asked him, looking sideways. “The reunification of mind and spirit.”

“I’m referring to Fal-Tor-Pan,’” the doctor nodded. “Spock, I carried your soul for – God, for far too long. I didn’t even know you were in there at first. I thought I was going mad! Hell, everyone else thought I was going mad!”

Spock continued to regard him.

“I don’t remember the thought processes that led me to trust you with my Katra.” he admitted finally. “They must have been – fascinating.”

McCoy snorted and saw Spock flinch again at the emotional display.

“Believe me,” he said. “I have no doubt that you would have given it to Jim, if you’d had the chance. But I don’t think you had a choice. You knew what you were going to do, Spock. You knew you were going – to die. I was there, trying to stop you. I was – convenient.” he finished with a very slight hint of bitterness in his voice.

Spock stared at him, seeming to read memories in the lines of McCoy’s face, his thoughts gradually catching fire and growing with each second.

“Dr McCoy,” he said with certainty – and that in itself was a breakthrough, since there was no guarantee that he would remember the doctor’s name. “You were – my colleague. And my friend. We served together. You saved my life on many occasions.”

“Not that time.” McCoy said bitterly. “There you were, and there was nothing I could do…”

“But I am alive. Spock pointed out, with puzzlement in his voice.

“No thanks to me.”

Spock’s forehead creased in thought.

“Without you, I – everything that creates what I am – would be lost forever. There would have been no Katra to return. You are a friend, McCoy. I remember that much. You are a very good friend.”

There it was still – the puzzlement in his voice. There was none of the assurance of the Spock that McCoy knew. Everything was a question. He was constantly searching for outside assurance. Again, he reminded McCoy of a prisoner who had been confined and controlled for so long that he could do nothing without permission – even think for himself. The idea of leaving him here to be coaxed out of himself by no one but Vulcans horrified him. Someone would need to coax the human bits back. McCoy renewed his determination to make sure he was able to visit Spock throughout the slow process of regaining himself. He was still, at least, Spock’s physician. Even brief death had not changed that. McCoy had never had the heart to erase the Vulcan from his records.

“Yes, you green-blooded bastard,” McCoy grinned, realising that Spock was awaiting confirmation of his supposition. “I’ve been your friend for a long time.”

Spock stared at him.

“You are my friend – yet you continue to use profanity in regard to me. The word ‘bastard’ – denotes a child of unmarried parents. I believed that my parents were – “

Your parents are very married, Spock,” McCoy assured him.

“Can there be degrees of marriage?” Spock asked in puzzlement.

The doctor rubbed a hand over his face in exasperation. He and Spock had played this game for many years, but now he suspected that it was no game.

It’s a figure of speech, Spock,” he said, with an air of great patience. “And I use profanity with you because – well – I’m not quite sure why.” he admitted. “It’s – something you expect from me.”

Spock shook his head. “I expect very little of you.”

McCoy arched an eyebrow. “Nothing much has changed then, Spock.”

“A – joke?”

“Perhaps.” the doctor smiled.

Spock stared at him.

“I understand very little about you, Doctor. I – have a feeling that is something that has not changed, either.”

Oh, I don’t know.” McCoy shrugged. “I suspect that we each understand the other better than we’d care to admit. And when we don’t – well, Jim’s there to interpret.”

“Jim…” Spock said slowly, as if just the word in itself was a security blanket.

Yes, Spock,” McCoy said with a grin. “Jim. That’s the way it’s always been. You, and Jim, and me, keeping each other alive.”

“Traditions,” Spock said slowly, “are sometimes best kept alive. For the good of the many.”

“And the one.” McCoy smiled.

Spock looked at him suddenly as if he had been struck by an inspiration.

“Dumas,” he said, apparently irrelevantly. “The Three Musketeers. All for one and one for all.”

This time McCoy laughed heartily. Apparently, Spock had discovered the key to a very specific chamber in his mind, which held an ancient tome of literature that he had once read. That fact was beautiful to McCoy. In his head he could see a representation of the brain, of synapses firing, forging new paths, recreating Spock with every tiny burst of electricity. It was proof that being here and talking to him would help to rebuild him, and it fired his determination to fight tooth and nail with anyone who tried to stop him from being involved in the Vulcan’s recovery.

“That’s it, Spock.” he nodded, startling the Vulcan yet again as he clapped an arm about his shoulders. “You, me, and Jim. The Three Musketeers. And nothing’s going to change it.”

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