AUTHOR'S NOTE: This fic contains a reference to another fic of mine, which I happen to have not written yet. So, don't bother to look Rhodos up in Memory Alpha. Just stay tuned. :)

While he was sitting all alone in his little room, pondering his fate, McCoy mused that if he were free to do as he pleased, he would likely elect to do the same: sit in a little room, all by himself, pondering his fate. Only without the whole court-martial business.

Not that the situation was such a shock to the system. If you serve under Jim Kirk, you might just develop a tendency to pass the hours playing out court-martial situations in your head, practicing what you would say in defense of your brilliant, but shall we say unconventional, captain.

Starfleet apparently were a forgiving lot, apparently. Just as soon as Kirk had been busted back down to Captain , the Enterprise crew were handed a new ship, and they were all sent into space again. McCoy couldn't think for too long of the way things had proceeded, or else he would start to laugh.

At least The Powers That Be had enough compassion to put the crew on milk-run missions; they were basically ferrying each other to lectures and labs, to discuss recent events. Scotty and Sulu visited Federation military outposts to demonstrate what they'd learned about Klingon technology. Spock delivered lectures on applied space-time dynamics at universities and academies. And of course, everyone wanted to get their hands on Jim, to hear, in person, his tales of derring-do on far-off worlds.

McCoy was not asked to make many appearances. Most of the galaxy had no comprehension of his experience holding Spock's katra. Only those on Vulcan understood it, and any curiosity they had about McCoy's situation was satisfied during his stay there. He wrote a paper on late-twentieth-century medicine (trying to avoid over-using the terms "barbaric" and "medieval"), and spent the balance of his time on the milk-run missions doing what he was meant to do: care for the crew. "Maybe you people have all the time in the world to babble to cadets about your adventures," he would grumble to anyone with ears to hear, "but some people have jobs to do."

For Leonard McCoy, the habits of daily life picked up where they'd left off; only, it was where they'd left off sixteen years ago. He started to drink regularly again. Just a little, he convinced himself. No more than he felt he needed to dull the lonely nights. Masturbation returned to being a way to cope with stress, and orgasm a mechanical function of tension-relief. He slept a lot more, to pass the hours. He stayed in his cabin. What happened to me, he sometimes thought. I used to love life, even when things went a little sour. McCoy was compelled to stay in, to stay still, because he felt so fragile, as if he were unraveling from the inside. Months after the fal tor pan, his mind was still tender and pink. He longed for Spock to wrap himself around it once again, and soothe him.

One day, Spock came into sickbay for his quarterly physical exam. When he got on the biobed, the instruments began to squeal and bleep madly, and the readings shot up as if in a panic. Spock examined the fluctuating bars with curiosity, until McCoy started flipping switches on the monitor. "Sorry. Forgot to toggle it to Vulcan settings." As he did so, the readings appeared to normalize, falling within human standards. McCoy explained, "I could examine the default readings and compare them with my data on Vulcan physiology, but I figured it'd be better in the long run to program a Vulcan setting. Then I can read the panel just like I would for a human. Makes it more intuitive." He noted the readings, and commented, "As usual, you're as healthy as a mule. Er, that's a good thing, just so you know."

Spock looked at the "normalized" readings. "You seem to know me very well, Doctor," he said mildly.

There was a time when McCoy could look into Spock's eyes and see secrets. Gazing into those eyes, he could feel the shadow of Spock's hand, where it had been on the back of his neck the night before. He could see the dark ache that Spock felt for him, deep, deep down inside. He did not know if it was his own intuition, or if Spock was communicating to him through their bond. But it had been there without fail. Now, when he looked into Spock's eyes, he did not see the secrets anymore.

"Well, it's my job, isn't it?" he said brusquely and turned away. "I'm your physician, no less than I'm anyone else's physician on this ship."

Spock looked at the floor, and said, as if he were reading it off the tiles, "You can't discriminate against me, just because I've got green ice-water for blood." He looked up at McCoy.

McCoy's heart leaped. "Where did you hear that?"

"Did you not say it to me once?"

McCoy had to laugh a little. He turned back to face Spock. "I probably said that to you ten times. But I mean…did you just now remember it?"

Spock looked at the wall behind him. "I believe that seeing the readings on the instrument panel triggered that memory. I do not remember this room," he indicated the unfamiliar sickbay, "but I remember a panel which gave off readings similar to that one."

The most disconcerting thing about Spock these days was that, when he wasn't speaking, his mouth never moved. There was no trace of those subtle twitches of his mouth, that would indicate to McCoy a smile or a frown. Most people tried to look into Spock's eyes to figure out what he was "really" feeling. McCoy had learned years ago to watch his mouth, instead. But that technique had outlived its usefulness, for Spock's refreshed Vulcan control allowed for no subtleties.

There was a long moment of silence, where McCoy stared at Spock, at his mouth, out of habit, and waited for him to remember some other things. But when Spock finally broke the silence, he only asked, "Do you require anything more of me?" He looked deeply troubled. In fact, lately he always seemed deeply troubled, whenever his gaze fell upon Doctor McCoy.

McCoy wanted to make up some other examination that needed to be done, something that would give him an excuse to touch Spock. But he couldn't bring himself to do it, if only for fear that he would alarm Spock by transmitting his emotions. Instead, he just shook his head. "No, Spock, you can go. There's nothing else I need from you."

***

McCoy stood outside the door to Spock's quarters, ready to push the button to request admittance. But it felt wrong. Maybe not just yet, he thought. He closed his eyes and concentrated. Yes, he could feel it. On the other side of the door, Spock was meditating. McCoy sensed the calm, the contemplation.

He was ready to turn and go, delaying this confrontation once more, but then he felt a twinge, as though something in his mind were rousing itself, and from inside the room he heard Spock say "Enter."

Had he pushed the button? No, no, his finger had hovered very near, but if it had made contact, even by accident, he would have felt it, surely. Hmm.

The warmth of Spock's quarters triggered McCoy's memory of Spock's hands on his sweaty skin. But here on the new Enterprise, everything was just a little different than it used to be; just enough to be disconcerting. And Spock's quarters were like that: the incense smelled a little spicier. The lights were a little lower. And of course, the biggest difference of all was just now sitting up in the bed. He swung his legs over the side, and gestured to McCoy to sit in the chair at the desk.

In an act of affectionate defiance, McCoy made a show of ignoring the chair, like it was an estranged friend spotted at a party, and sat next to Spock on the bed. Spock did not remark on this, and did not scoot away to give either of them more space. With his white robes and thoughtful expression, he looked like a priest, willfully withdrawn from the world, forsaking the sensate. The idea of it made McCoy desire him even more desperately.

"It is strange that you chose this time to visit me," Spock said. "My meditations this evening were focused on reclaiming memories of my past."

"And have you been successful?" McCoy asked.

"Success is a subjective term in this situation. But I have remembered some things that involve you, that I would like to speak with you about."

This is it, McCoy thought. Now everything is going to be revealed, whether I'm ready or not. It struck him that, although he had for months waited for this day, or to be more specific had daydreamed about it and made vague plans for it, he had really only been thinking about the end result, where he and Spock consummated their relationship a second time and picked up where they left off, traipsing through the galaxy hand in hand. He had never come up with a way of actually making it happen. Every time he thought of it, he was overwhelmed. It was such a daunting task, to start all over again. McCoy had worked hard to aquire Spock, and worked harder to keep him, though he may not have needed to. Now that all that hard work was lost, he felt cheated, and that bitterness held him back.

Even now, when recovering his Spock seemed imminent, it dawned on him that he also hadn't been planning to deal with the actual revelation, which would most likely be awkward, and probably also very…technical.

"First," Spock said, "I recall your explanation to me of the surname McCoy. Derived from the name of the Celtic fire deity, Aodha, the name McCoy is a Gaelic corruption of O hAodha, and is a relative of the other surnames Hayes, McKay, and Magee." Spock's pronunciation of Gaelic was spectacular. "The surname O hAodha also bore a line of Welsh corruptions, including Hughes and Hewson. You told me about a distant ancestor of yours, Pol MacAodha, but I cannot recall what made him historically notable."

McCoy's adrenaline was still pumping with the anticipation of hearing about certain other memories Spock might have regained, and when a human is besieged by adrenaline the only decision which can be made is whether to fight or flee. In this situation, he faced a more complex decision, to either hurry Spock along or else sit patiently while the Vulcan described a dry genealogical recollection, and McCoy was rendered completely helpless.

Spock continued, oblivious to McCoy's paralysis. "My second memory is of you compelling me to hold an infant."

McCoy finally moved, to smile at the reminder of this moment, and at his own memory, suddenly brought to light, of the birth of a child, and of the rather tenacious woman who bore it.

"That was Leonard James Akaar," McCoy said proudly. "You and Jim were off fighting the Klingons, like usual, while I was holed up in a cave helping a woman deliver that child."

"What was to be gained by my holding it?"

McCoy tilted his head thoughtfully. "I guess I was hoping it would…I don't know…humanize you. Holding a baby tends to break down a person's emotional walls."

Spock contemplated this briefly. "Then I understand why I did not want to hold it."

McCoy was disappointed to hear that, but he urged Spock to continue.

"I also have a memory of the two of us being imprisoned together. Is that accurate?"

Now McCoy was really grinning. "You're going to have to be more specific than that, Spock. We got ourselves into that kind of fix a few times."

Spock nodded, but seemed to have nothing to add. "I have one more memory," he said, "which is of a more nebulous nature. It is not visual or tactile. In fact, I cannot associate it with any of my physical senses. It is a…" Spock hesitated, because he was not sure if what he would say would be understood by the doctor. But McCoy seemed to anticipate what he was considering.

"I know about the Seventh sense," he ventured.

Spock nodded. "But I do not mean to classify this memory as such. I can only say that it is the closest sense with which I can associate it. It was a feeling of being cared for, utterly and completely. By one entity. And this entity wanted me to be happy, even if I could never allow myself to express such an emotion. And I wanted them to be happy. Their happiness was rewarding to me, somehow. To see a humanoid smiling had little effect on me, because that phenomenon was too common to mention. Frivolous. But to see this one that I cared for smiling, it made me feel as though I had accomplished something. No less an accomplishment than when, at Starfleet Academy, I solved D'Abruzzo's Fourth Equation."

Something McCoy had said to Spock years ago came back to him now, and he decided to try it out again, to see if the response had changed. "You're telling me you remember feeling…warm and fuzzy?"

Spock paused to think, perhaps not about the question but about things in general. "Yes, I remember now: For years, I loved you."

McCoy was stopped cold. He hadn't been expecting that word. "Loved?" he croaked. "Past tense?"

"In this case, the present perfect continuous tense would be appropriate. For years, I have loved you. Am I correct?"

At this moment, McCoy knew that the right thing to do would be to get up and leave. He should tell Spock to think it over some more, try to remember some other things, and then decide if he wished to resume their relationship. And then, get up and leave.

He knew that was the right thing to do, but he didn't care. Instead, he clutched at Spock's robe, crushing the rich fabric in his hands. It wasn't like a flood of emotions, for McCoy. It was more like…the tide rolling in. He leaned forward to whisper in Spock's ear. "It was even more than that. Oh, Spock. You were inside me. I want you to be inside me again." He took Spock's hand in both of his own and guided it toward his face. "Will you meld with me? I can show you."

Spock consented to this. The moment McCoy felt the first tingling caress of Spock's fingers, he was whispering, unable to speak aloud, "Yes, yes." Then there they were again, soaked in light and softness.

What McCoy wanted was to bring to the fore of his consciousness the most moving memories he could conjure, to "sell" Spock on their past. But instead, nervous, he produced a jumble of thoughts. He showed Spock their awkward conversations about love, which, looking back on, McCoy found endearing. He showed Spock the days they were imprisoned together on Rhodos, his determination to be with Spock under any circumstances.

He showed Spock some of their lovemaking; not anything particularly thrilling or unusual. Rather, he brought to mind one of something more routine and peaceful, hiding out in their quarters and quietly enjoying each others' bodies, sharing each others' minds.

He showed Spock his memory of the night they went skinny-dipping in Georgia, in between missions, ten years ago:

Spock was averse to the idea of carrying on outdoors. "Our relationship is very, very private," he said. "I would not risk sharing even the sight of it with another living being."

"What's the matter?" McCoy said, already unbuttoning his shirt. "Are you afraid the squirrels will see?"

Spock tried to reach out, to stay McCoy's hands, but the impish human evaded him and continued undressing. "There are satellites orbiting the Earth," Spock said, "that can see the color of your eyes."

McCoy flashed a mischievous grin and momentarily recovered his native accent. "Not through these Georgia pines, my pointy-eared paramour." And off he bounded, toward the water, shedding the last of his clothes as he went. Considering himself defeated, Spock set up his tricorder to alert him if anyone approached, and followed McCoy.

Truth was, the night was a little disappointing. It wasn't the thrill it had been when McCoy was a teenager, racing his friends into the water, the giddy fear of being caught. The suspicion that one of his buddies might steal his clothes and run off. The temptation to steal their clothes and run off.

Now that he was a grown man, it no longer felt good just to be naked and reckless. When he and Spock jumped in the river, they felt the same way they always did, about each other. The only difference was, they were naked and wet in the outdoors, and their kisses were accompanied by the sound of bullfrogs.

Also, the trees along the river's edge were much taller than they had been the last time McCoy had been there, and that made him feel old.

Spock disengaged the meld, but these thoughts remained in both their minds.

"I believe I've just remembered something else," Spock said. "You taught me how to kiss."

McCoy laughed, crinkling the corners of his eyes. "You're close," he said. "I don't think I taught you how to kiss. More like, I taught you why."

And then, to test just how thoroughly the Vulcans had reprogrammed him, McCoy closed the distance between them and kissed Spock.

When he felt what Spock gave him in return, he trembled all over. Spock had not forgotten this. In fact, it seemed to come even more naturally to him.

"In three hundred and four standard days," Spock said, when the test was over, "no one has mentioned this part of my former life to me."

"Why would they?" McCoy said with a shrug. "There's no reason the Vulcans would have, anyway. And some people on the Enterprise, well, they thought it was a bad idea. And most of the others just thought it was…amusing." Now that McCoy had his mind on it, it made him a little angry and defensive. No one, it seemed, had taken his relationship with Spock very seriously, except the two of them.

Just when he should have felt warm and content, McCoy got a powerful chill. He was at a loss for what to do next. Spock was just looking at him, giving him no signals to read.

"Spock, I know this is a lot for you to take. I'm not going to say anything more, or do anything more. You think about things, and you come to me when you're…when you make a decision."

McCoy counted in his head, One, two...three! and yanked himself up and out of the room. It was the only way he could do anything at all. Why the flight instinct had asserted itself, he did not know. All he knew was, he had to get out before he went too far, did something foolish. When the door closed behind him, his instinct was to stop, and focus on breathing. But no, he couldn't stand there, with the door so close. He had to keep moving. He walked down the corridor to his own quarters. There, he breathed in and out, in and out. Why had he counted one, two three? That was the trick he employed when he realized he was having a nightmare, to wake himself up.

Being here in his quarters for even a minute was maddening. A starship was no place to be claustrophobic, but he couldn't help it. He changed into civilian clothes and left. He wanted a lot of space and no other people. To think. He decided on the observation deck.

As he'd hoped, he found the observation deck completely unoccupied. I guess today really is my lucky day, he thought sardonically, and picked a seat in the far corner, out of view of the doors. He stepped lightly, in case there was someone hidden away up here…or worse, two people. But no, he was alone for sure.

What are you really doing? he asked himself. Are you trying to protect Spock? Or are you afraid for yourself? When Spock had melded with him tonight, he realized how badly having Spock's katra inside him had spooked him, how dangerously close to psychosis he had come. He remembered the fear he'd once had, years ago. The fear of being consumed by their bond. He had not succumbed before, but maybe he'd just lucked out. This time, he might regret it. He wanted the love and the ecstasy so badly, but not so much that he'd conquered all his fears.

He'd barely got his thoughts on one track, though, when he heard the doors open again. He cursed under his breath. But he heard no noise; no giggles, no chatter. Perhaps there was another lonely soul on the ship tonight. How could he begrudge them a seat on the deck? So long as they were quiet, of course.

Then he felt it. It made his heart move. He knew the feeling so well, but it snuck up on him, crawling up his brain stem, like a sneeze, or an orgasm. And then there was Spock, standing behind him.

"Doctor. You told me to find you when I had made a decision."

McCoy twisted around in the ergonomic seat to gaze up at Spock. Seeing what he saw in Spock's eyes, the fear melted away. "You know what I like about you?" he said. "You don't waste any time." How could he say no to Spock now, as he stood there, willing? How could he say no to the passion, the rapturous devotion? He knew what the right thing to do was now: it was to get Spock out of that virginal white robe, as soon he could possibly manage it.

"Are we alone, for sure?" McCoy asked.

Spock nodded, and walked up to the nearest observation portal. McCoy rose and followed him, his body coming alive at the thought of what was about to happen.

Maybe it had something to do with Spock's physical proximity, maybe it didn't. But standing at the portal, McCoy felt something he hadn't felt in years: the romance of space. The thrill of seeing it laid out before you, vast and thick with stars. "You know, I never come up here," he said. "It's beautiful out there."

"What is out there is the same as what is in here," Spock said. "Stellar explosions which occurred millions of years ago dispersed iron, boron, carbon, and nitrogen, which make up the living matter of our galaxy. You and I were made from stars."

McCoy leaned against Spock, rubbing his cheek on the soft fabric that covered Spock's shoulder. "We were made from the same star," he said, as one would to a child who didn't know any better. He was saying it to himself.

He turned away from the view. When Spock did not follow suit, McCoy took his arm and gently turned him around. "Why don't we use this?" He pointed to the long couch right behind them, which faced the window.

One endearing thing about the new Spock, when he was puzzled, he was not afraid to show it. "For what purpose?" he asked

"To fool around on, of course!" McCoy put his arms around Spock's neck, letting his fingers play around at the spot under Spock's ear. "Don't you want to make love to me?"

When McCoy touched him, Spock felt the desire as deeply as if it were his own. "In a manner comparable to what you showed me earlier?"

McCoy smiled. "Yeah, like what I showed you."

"On that couch?" Spock said. Perhaps he had expected that they would return to their quarters.

"Look at it," McCoy said. "Look at the view from it. This couch was put here for people to make love on!"

"Are you suggesting that other couples have utilized this couch for that purpose?"

"Eh…don't think about that." McCoy directed Spock to sit down on the couch. "Think about me, and what I'm about to do to you." He straddled Spock's thighs, and leaned in for another kiss, but paused. Before he started in properly, he turned to have a last look out the observation portal. He smiled to think that he was living the dream of millions of lovers from antiquity: to make love among the stars. And when he looked at his mate, he saw something more beautiful than all the stars in the galaxy. When he looked into Spock's eyes, he saw the secrets.