Recollections and Thought

If only I could go back to that day…how long ago was it? 72 hours? Oh dammit…it feels like it was years…no, not years...minutes….seconds. That's how long ago it feels.

It's all still so clear. He walks up to me, I tell him off. He disobeys me and puts me under. And then…

That was the moment when I knew he wasn't coming back. I couldn't see. I couldn't hear. Damn I couldn't use any one of my senses. But I thought. I could still think so clearly. There he was. Spock was standing in the distance, blue uniform, like the ones we would used to wear. I could feel the silk of my medical tunic on my chest and I saw him.

His face was solemn, sad. He approached me quickly and I just stared at him. He looked the same as he is in his older age. Same ol' uniform from the good ol' enterprise. But expressions of pain danced and waltzed across his face. In just a moment he was directly in front of me.

"Don't go…my god Spock, it's not worth it, don't!" I yelled. My voice felt so distant though. It rang out of the corners of the room, dampened.

He stared me squarely in the eye. For a moment, staring in to those dark, chocolate eyes I saw experiences. I saw emotion. I saw friendship. "Doctor-"

"If you're going to go Spock-" It started off hard, like I was going to yell at him. Like I was angry. No, this wasn't what I wanted. I didn't want to yell at him. God, no I didn't want to yell at him. I softened my voice. "Leonard." I said. Almost whispering. I grabbed his hands and held them tightly between mine. "Please Spock, Leonard." Begging, I tightened my grip.

Spock's eyes flooded with so much passion at that moment. "Leonard." It was as if he was tasting my name for the first time. I had never heard it escape his lips except in formal introductions.

In times of doubt, he would be there for the captain. Jim would always have him. Jim would always have me. But I was second. A trio that seemed to never really have room for a third. The third that was me. Spock would console him. He would tell him, just simply say his first name, and that would seem to cure all his troubles. Like, that was the magic word and everything would be okay. But he wouldn't do that for me. So many things would never be okay.

That was the way it had been. The Captain, The Officer and The Doctor. One of these things is not like the other. I would cure them physically, and sometimes, even mentally if it came to worse, but that worse was only if the other wasn't there. If Kirk was ill and Spock needed help, he would turn to me. If Spock was sick and Jim needed help, he would come to, guess who, me. But I couldn't come to them.

Normally I would feel a tight connection with Jim. And that was the way it was. Getting drunk together during star fleet, spending hangovers comatose on his futon couch. When it came to him alone, things were easier. But then the three. I feel like I know Spock so well, and I do. Not the way Jim does, though.

I feel like…like an alien sometimes. If I needed a shoulder, they were my very best friends. But their bond was stronger than mine. It was so obvious. And when I needed everything to be okay, Spock wouldn't say my name. Jim wouldn't use that soft, easy tone he would. I would complain about my troubles, but I didn't get the same kindness. Just that hardy laugh, maybe a slap on the back. But god knows that wasn't what I wanted.

But even if I couldn't turn to them sometimes, they could always turn to me. Anytime. But now at this instance in time, I needed someone. I needed Spock so badly to be my friend the way he was with Jim. "Leonard." And this was what I got. It was exactly what I had wished for, after passing millions of shooting stars.

"Spock…" I let my voice trail. "Don't go into the radiation chamber. Don't go. I don't want you to die…" with that my hands crumbled from his to my sides. I stared into his eyes.

"Leonard," he said, a familiar sureness in his voice. "I have been, and always will be your friend." Spock paused for a moment. "In order to save you, the captain, and the rest of this ship I must go."

"No!" I responded, distressed. Then I instantly regretted it. My cold heartedness had broken it. Spock had finally admitted that I was part of them. The trio. And I had destroyed it. But he didn't seem angry. He understood.

Actually, he understood me so well. He knew I had said this to save him. I had said this because I cared so deeply, deeper than I had ever thought.

"I must. My duty lies here." He put his hand on my shoulder and held up his right hand in the Vulcan insignia. "Live long and Prosper, Leonard McCoy. My fellow officer," he half smiled, if that was what you could call it, "and friend."

Friend, he said. Friend. That was the last word I heard from him. And ever would.

I thought about all the times when my life had been in danger. When his life had too. And especially when Jim's was on the line. All that time bickering and arguing, wasted time.

I always had to nit pick at every goddamn thing he did. I'd scream at him, and he'd just calmly retort…which lead to more screaming. My stupid human passion got in the way of our relationship. I guess it was also his fault, but I feel so guilty blaming him. His smartass Vulcan logic…

Well, maybe it wasn't completely wasted.

It was really just our way of stating our friendship. Underneath that was showing that we did in fact care about each other, even if it looked like a snake and a mongoose.

But I can recall all those times when we worked together, and actually, we were a pretty damn good team. Of course after we got past our differences. I can recall so many times as a doctor when Jim was lying half dead, because he wanted to beam down, not some redshirt who was perfectly fit to do the job out of his own selflessness. We needed eachother at those times, Spock and I.

And we did have each other at those times.

He was always so stubborn. And so willing to give away his life for ours. Where we met an empath named Gem, he was going to sacrifice becoming terminally insane so that the captain and I could live. God knows I wouldn't let him, so I had to knock him out with a hypo. But that was just one of the many times he sacrificed himself. When those creepy space amoebas invaded, he volunteered to go possibly blind. I can't even think of all the times like this.

And really, after all the immovable logic, he was so human. Spock understood both me and Jim better than practically anyone else in the galaxy. He may be a Vulcan and not show emotion, but he can sure read it. He would know when one of us was hiding something or felt down. It was actually rather touching when he just made the effort to help. If you knew Spock, you'd know he doesn't choose his friends pell mell. He's always very careful about who he becomes acquaintance with.

He was gone.

For the life of me I couldn't believe he was gone. It was always us three, going around to landing parties or just being together on the enterprise for those five years. Even when Jim accepted that promotion and Spock became a captain, it felt empty, but not that bottomless pit of agony that I now feel.

God, he was gone. Not coming back to dock the enterprise for an inspection. Not going to argue about something involving emotions. Not coming back to tell about voyages and encounters. Not even coming back to say happy (illogical, he would say) birthday to Jim or I ever again. And the weight of his absence was like the universe on my shoulders.

But I just don't know how it's effecting Jim. I haven't talked to him except for a few words at the funeral service. Why haven't I said anything? I'm such an idiot. If anything we could share this experience. But he and I, we've just sat in our quarters, barely eating.

I guess the reason why I don't visit him is because I'm afraid…for so many reasons. Afraid I can't be the person he wants me to be. Afraid I can't console him. Afraid I can't empathize with him because his friendship with Spock seemed so much more than mine. I'm afraid of everything. Afraid of Spock not being there. One of us who was always calm no matter what. Always could stabilize me. Show me reason. And now I felt like I was just falling and didn't have anything to hold on to, me alone in my quarters. That was why I needed to see Jim so badly.

The funeral…what happened was mostly a blur. I remember Jim started crying. I had never seen him cry. For once, the one thing he valued most in his self was gone. His complete control. So very, very lost. Like Spock. Just…gone.

I zoned out during the funeral. It was like…I didn't care that much. And as soon as the service was over, the full force of the event hit me like a train. I went into my quarters then, and moaned enough to wake God and Jesus and all the dead. But not enough to wake Spock. I hadn't remembered sobbing so much. An insipid amount…my face so stained. I locked the door and wouldn't let anyone come in for a day. I barely remember anything after that because I guess I was drunk and had slept for another day after.

I sat solemnly, staring up into space for the rest of that time, occasionally letting someone bring in food for me but scarcely eating it. I felt bags under my eyes, a sticky alcohol on my face and some in my hair. I must've looked like a mess. And I was.

But I knew I craved companionship right now more than ever. I needed to go talk to Jim and put my fears aside. And stop drinking. It was high time I faced my fears instead of burying them in liquor. That was what I did after every time I couldn't save someone on the enterprise. Have a drink. Death rasped on sickbay's door so much it gave me a headache. Those headaches turned into hangovers. And Jim would be by my side, and so would Spock. But the third musketeer wasn't here anymore, and now it would have to be two.

But in order to become two, not three, you have to understand the math.

I'm going to go see Jim.