Title: They Sent a Vulcan 1/1 Author: K.V. Wylie Rating: PG-14 Code: Spock/McCoy Status:
New Warning: Maybe - it depends how you want to read the ending. I apologize if you think it ends in a bad way and that
I should have put a better warning. Disclaimer: The characters belong to Viacom, Paramount, and the lawyers. This
is non-profit fanfic, and no harm is meant. Summary: Set several years after the events in STVI
>>> <<<
I
need your kiss, but love and duty called you someplace higher, Somewhere up the stairs, into the fire, May your strength
give us strength, May your love give us love.
(From Into the Fire, Bruce Springsteen)
>>> <<<
They
sent a Vulcan to my door. Despite what you might think, outside of my few years in Starfleet, I haven't been around too
many Vulcans. The sight of this one startled me pretty much.
Then I saw the shuttle, sleek by any standards. Curiously
so. Some of my neighbours had come out to look. I may live on a quiet road, but I'm not that far from Atlanta. Shuttles
come and go around here, so it wasn't as if the thunder of one dropping from the sky would be enough to make anybody
nosy. It just so happened that the shuttle at my door was the kind of spaceware you ride in if you're among the two
or three percent of the universe's elite. Enough power to take over a planet, depose a king, have lunch, and do it again
afterwards.
I could understand why the neighbours were out, pretending to check their hedges and gardens.
The
family crest on the tail wing would have been meaningless to me had it been any other than the only Vulcan crest I knew, the
same symbol I'd seen on the side of T'Pau's chair, years ago. This boy at my door was from the House of Surak.
Meanwhile,
he was waiting. Courtesy required that I speak first, which would seem arrogant on his part if you didn't know the protocol.
Actually,
it still seemed pretty arrogant.
"May I help you?" I asked.
"Are you Leonard H. McCoy, physician, retired of
Starship Class NCC 1701, Starfleet?" he asked.
"That would be me. And you are?"
"I am Sivar. I was informed
you would not agree to a transporter, so I have brought an alternate conveyance. Will you come?"
"Come? Come
where?"
"Did you not receive notice from the Vulcan Embassy in London?"
"Uh, maybe." I glanced behind me
at my comm unit. The truth was, I rarely turned the thing on. I didn't get that much mail.
I had a horrible thought.
"This message, it wasn't bad? Has someone . . . died?"
"Not yet," Sivar said.
My throat tightened. It could
only be Spock. "I need to get a medical kit."
I didn't have one ready, and my mind spun as I tried to remember
where things were in the house. Bandages and ointment were in the bathroom cupboard, and I had a scanner upstairs somewhere.
"You
do not need medical supplies, Leonard H. McCoy."
Of course I wouldn't, and I was dismayed by the length of time it
took me to clue in. Vulcan has hundreds of thousands of physicians. What would they need me for?
"Your presence
only is requested."
"Requested by who?" I asked.
"It was Spock's request. When you did not come, the Matriarch sent
me."
I swallowed down an apology, which would have been lost on this Vulcanish Vulcan, turned on my security system,
shut my door, and said, "All right. Let's go."
Sivar led me to the shuttle. The platform lowered precisely in
sync with our stride, and raised behind us in silence.
The interior was unexpectedly luxurious. I was directed to an armchair
that enfolded me like duck wings, then offered a drink from a silver serving set that might have been worth the down
payment on my house.
"This is ostentatious," I said, but I was talking to empty air. Sivar was already at the front
of the shuttle.
I found seatbelts within the cushions just as my ears began to pop. If you've never ridden in a
vehicle like this, you'll be gratified to know there's not enough money in the galaxy to surmount the laws of atmospheric
pressure. The favoured are rubbing their ears with the rest of us.
When my hearing returned, I called forward. "Is
Admiral Kirk already wherever we're going?"
"The Admiral James T. Kirk of Starfleet was not called for."
What
was it that concerned me, but not Jim? And why send such a show-off shuttle? Did they think I wouldn't have agreed to come
in anything else?
It occurred to me that they might have thought just that, if they'd believed I'd ignored the message
from the Embassy. What sorts of messages go through Embassies anyhow? Spock or his aide could have just called me. I
do eventually pick up my mail.
Theorizing on no data, doctor, but old habits are old habits. Asking Sivar was
out of the question right now. Interstellar shuttles need big engines, and the small size of the craft meant we were
practically sitting on top of them. I could only have spoken with Sivar at the top of my lungs. The vibration was also
turning my intestines inside out. I began to wish I hadn't had a third cup of coffee this morning.
There were headphones
and an assortment of videos and computer equipment. I fingered the headphones, but, really, none of it could have distracted
me. You have to wonder at the blind faith or idiocy I must have in a race of people I hardly know that a pointed-eared
stranger could just show up at my door and I'd go off without a second thought. I hadn't even asked for proof. A little
late now.
A little late, too, to ask where we were going. Vulcan, presumably, but where? Mount Seleya? If this concerned
me, but not Jim, it could only be that damned Katra thing again, the drop in the middle of my life that keeps sliding
me back, no matter how far out I try to get.
I retired from Starfleet unsure of Spock, though the residue of
our entangled nerves still lies in my head like the ivy that has burrowed and hidden between the bricks of my house. Spock
had once been fully inside me, protected by me, his ghost voice chanting in the back of my skull through my waking hours
and my nightmares. T'Lar had literally fought him to get us free. Yet, for all that, he became more incomprehensible,
the proximity only making him more distant. I'd held him, but never touched him.
To have a summons come out of nowhere,
after years and years, was enough to make my backbone curl.
A planet eventually loomed up. Vulcan, as I'd assumed.
My ears popped again as we fell through yellow-gray clouds.
Sivar was at my side before the shuttle fully landed.
I felt the weight finally descend onto the landing pads as we were walking down the platform.
Disorientation
came over me when I realized it was night. It had only been morning when we left Earth, barely an hour ago. The day
was over, or this was the night before. Or nothing corresponded. The passage of a day on one planet meant nothing on
another. The problem was me, trying to keep linear time.
We'd landed at the foot of a stone staircase, leading?
I couldn't tell. It was unlit, the ascent going up into darkness.
"Are you ready, Leonard H. McCoy?" Sivar asked.
"Ready
for what?"
"It is not my place to explain." He indicated the steps.
Speaking of Katras was taboo? I wouldn't
have guessed that, or maybe it was that you couldn't speak of specific ones.
"You can't honestly expect me to walk
up there in the pitch black without having any idea where I'm going."
"The steps will light as you approach."
"It's
still ironic for you to ask if I'm ready."
To my surprise, Sivar nodded. "Your statement is valid. I may not speak
of this matter, but I may indicate that the decision will ultimately be yours. At any time, you need not remain if you
wish to leave. And," he hesitated. "All may not be as it seems."
You can't ask for much else when you're dealing
with leaps of fool trust, so I went up the staircase.
It was dreadfully dark. The stairs glowed when I stepped on them
and turned off as I passed, giving off sporadic bobs of illumination like spook lights over the bogs back home. I counted
twenty steps, fifty, a hundred, and my imagination filled in thinning air and me getting above the oxygen line. Either
I'd suffocate, or there wouldn't be a next step and I'd topple over the side of a cliff.
At step two hundred and
sixty, I had to pause, my lungs and knees having gotten together to protest. After I got my breath back, I realized
that I hadn't been listening to blood pounding in my ears, but a drumbeat.
I climbed the last few stairs, came over
a rise, and found a crowd of Vulcans facing in my direction and staring, the way they do.
I didn't recognize
anyone, and Spock wasn't among them.
"Hello," I said. No one replied. This probably wasn't correct, but it looked
as if they were too surprised to answer.
Had I interrupted the wrong party? All I could see were thirty or so
people, standing around in their best evening wear, no drinks in hand, torches for lighting, and a mere bongo for a
band. They were roughly grouped around a bare, central area made of stone slabs. Someone had tried to clear the sand
from the slabs, but Vulcan's endless wind was sweeping it back.
An elderly woman came forward, supported by two
young women. She studied me hard. "I am T'Laak. You are McCoy?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"The Keeper of Spock's Katra?"
"Formerly."
"So
human." It was said in such a dismayed way that my back went up.
"If he's ill or," I paused, "or dying, should we
be wasting our time by standing around, insulting me?"
She managed to squeeze a little more coldness into her tone. "You
were sent for, McCoy, yet you arrive unprepared."
"That happens when nobody bothers to mention why I'm here. I'm
a doctor, not a boy scout!"
The drum stopped and I swear every Vulcan stopped breathing too. I felt a bitter urge
to laugh. Yes, Godot has arrived, and he's a duck or a mosquito or a chipmunk, anything completely opposite to impressive.
This is what you've been waiting for, bongo and all.
"As Spock is the one who sent for me, it makes sense that I should,
I don't know, talk to him, perhaps?"
"Talking to him would be difficult at the moment, McCoy," T'Laak said.
The
crowd parted to reveal the side of the mountain. I'd only come partway up, but instead of more stairs, a large, metal door
had been set into the rock.
"What is this?" I asked.
"Iron and titanium," T'Laak said. "Be assured, there is
no escape from within. You are safe, McCoy, while the door remains closed."
Uneasily, I asked, "Safe from what?"
In
reply, I heard a tremendous, almost deafening crash. The door shivered, but I hoped it was just a flicker of torchlight on
my eyes.
I understood, and was sick with it. "You've locked him away." It came out as a whisper, but T'Laak heard
and nodded.
I glanced around, looking particularly at the women, before turning back to T'Laak. "I thought Spock
had married. I read a notice. There should be no reason to . . . confine him."
"Spock has tried to marry twice,
McCoy, but was unable to consummate the bond. You remain in his mind."
"What can I do?"
"With your permission,
I will attempt to entirely sever you and him. Or you may leave now."
"Sever or leave? That's it?" I asked. "What
if severing doesn't work? T'Lar tried for weeks and couldn't do it."
"T'Lar was attentive of the risk to you, McCoy."
I
eyed the crowd again. "If severing works, is there someone here who will, uh, go to him?"
"There is," she said.
"Then
I accept the risk. Let's do this."
"The risk, McCoy, is to your life."
"Yeah, yeah, I got that part years ago
when this first came up. What do you want me to do?"
T'Laak wasn't finished. "If you survive, you may survive well,
but there is a risk that you would be affected with Plak Tow. Should this happen, you will be provided with a surrogate
female, or, if you prefer, a castrated male."
"Believe me, if something like Plak Tow happened at my age, I'd probably
find it enjoyable."
T'Laak blinked. "Do you understand the madness?"
"Likely not," I said, "but there aren't
any options here. I have to help. He is . . . was one of my closest friends."
She indicated the stone centre stage.
"Lie down, McCoy."
"On rock?"
Her face gave me her answer. Of course, on rock. It's always on rocks with
these damn Vulcans and their damn granite all over the place. As I walked over, I already missed the smell of green-wet
air, storms that brought rain instead of sand, and wind that didn't hurt my face. A spike of worry that I wouldn't see
my home again went through me.
And another smash at the iron door made me jump.
"Spock will not be allowed outside,
McCoy," T'Laak said.
"What do you mean? Doesn't he have to be here for this? Don't you have to touch him?"
"I
will find him through you."
The crowd gave way as I walked onto the stone slab. They shuffled as far as was possible
against the side of the mountain, as though I had some sort of infectious plague.
I turned to T'Laak again. "Why
couldn't T'Lar free us? I asked her, but she never told me."
"Neither of you wished to be freed." Her attendants
brought her towards me and lowered her to the ground.
"That's not true," I said.
"Do you have a kin member,
McCoy? Someone to contact should you die?"
"Admiral Kirk."
A dreadful noise came from the door. I heard it
as clearly as if Spock were standing by my ear.
"I want to see him."
"It would not be wise, McCoy."
"You
can't just leave him in there, alone. He's in pain. All the times I've seen him hurt and sick, he never made a sound."
T'Laak
looked up at me. "He will be released when you and he are freed, and the woman is here to receive him."
"She's not
here? You said she was!"
"Here in the circle," T'Laak explained, pointing at the ground.
Mulishly, I couldn't
leave it at that. "Prove it. I need to be sure."
T'Laak glanced towards the crowd. From within it came a diminutive
woman, head bowed, hands clasped in front of her stomach.
"T'ning, of the House of Ovrak," T'Laak said. "Are you satisfied,
McCoy?"
T'Pring may have been a bitch on wheels, but T'Ning couldn't hold a candle to her. Politely, I said to her,
"I congratulate Spock on his choice."
"Spock did not make a third choice," T'Laak said. "T'Ning is acceptable
to the family."
I felt sorry for the girl. "I still offer congratulations to the bride."
"Will you lie down
now, McCoy?"
I could hear a frayed edge to T'Laak's words. "All right," I said.
Somehow, the rock was harder
than it looked. My knees had not shut up about the stairs, and now my back was complaining.
What a ridiculous way
to die, I thought, thinking of how they would find my body afterwards. Lying on a stupid rock in my gardening clothes.
_McCoy?_
T'Laak's voice sounded in my head. Good lord, she was already there, in my brain! I hadn't even felt her touch my face.
_I
will attempt to prevent you from dying in your gardening clothes._
_It doesn't matter what they find me in._
_Hush,
McCoy. We do not have much time._
She came more fully into my mind, but with a quaint gentleness, as if she thought
I could shatter from a breeze.
_Do what you need to do for Spock. Don't worry about me._
_Hush._
I quieted
and felt her reaching through the curves of my neurons, sparking synapses, travelling through cells, caressing down
into my tensed spine.
She stopped. _I have gone to the bottom, yet he is lower._
Suddenly, her presence was
oppressive, covering everything so thickly that I couldn't breathe.
_T'Laak!_
I must have cried out as well
as cried within. Hands pressed at my shoulders, trying to keep me prone. T'Laak shouted something in Vulcan and the
hands went away.
Her voice came again. _Dying in the madness is a shameful way to die._
_I'm sorry I had
the Katra. It should have been Jim._
_Why do you believe that, McCoy?_
_They were closer than anyone, Jim and
Spock, only Spock couldn't touch him when he was dying. The polymer was between them._
_Nor could he touch you
then._
_He did it before he went into the engines because Jim was busy on the bridge, but if the polymer hadn't
been there . . ._
_ No, McCoy. Spock always had the opportunity to entrust his Katra with James Kirk. If not
on the bridge, then at any time in the years they knew each other. He could have made the initial meld that would have
completed after his death. In fact, he did *not*. He left James Kirk on the bridge, he passed by others on the way to
the engines, but stopped for you. I read this in your mind. How is it that you do not understand it?_
She paused,
listening to something I couldn't hear.
_Spock is breaking through the door._
_You said it was unbreakable._
Then
it hit me. She had given orders earlier, before I showed up, and the door was to be unlocked after she melded with me. A
double agent in the back of the crowd, unknown to the others and the rest of the family.
Sivar's last words returned.
All may not be as it seems.
_You said you didn't want Spock to die!_
_You will not let him die. I am sure of
this._
_But, T'Ning is . . ._
She left my mind. I struggled to rise. "T'Laak!"
She was leaving, her attendants
rushing her from the scene. Everyone was fleeing as the iron door began a slow, ponderous movement. I had never seen
so many Vulcans take to their heels before.
"T'Ning!" I called, but she was gone too. I was now alone and nothing
separated me from him.
I was beyond my limits. I could not run and he was exploding in my head. Even if I could
have gotten away, been beamed up or something like that, he would always be able to find me, this meld brighter than
any fiery beacon in the darkest sea.
He finally came out, almost like an animal at first, so crouched down that
he might have been on all fours. Was this Spock? Such a formal man, so much pride and conscientiousness. Tugging the
back of his shirt before standing to face Kirk on the other side of the polymer. And now *this*. I could only see him
by torchlight, but I could feel him screaming in my head, in more pain than the night he died burning in radiation that
set fire to every drop of nucleic acid in his body. While his skin dropped off him like liquid and his shrieking filled
my head.
This was so much worse. I felt that, if he touched me, I would be ripped apart and set ablaze too.
His
fingertips were bloody pulp from clawing at the rough walls inside the mountain. When he rose, they left green smears
up the door.
I took an involuntary step forward, the healer reflex, but stopped in fear.
He wanted to kill
me. The desire sliced through me.
I didn't know it went this way. I thought it would be sexual, a frenzy of physical
coupling, but it isn't. It's anger. It's terror. It's hammering, caged fury, trying to get free. This is the madness.
What
was I supposed to do?
My cheeks were wet, and the Vulcan wind burned them. The feel of a tangible, exterior pain
settled me somehow.
"Spock," I whispered.
He came forward slowly, swaying in dehydration and rage. His eyes
were like nothing I had ever seen before.
I opened my arms and he sank against me, his breath hot against my neck,
his skin slick. He smelled like lava and months of sweat.
I held him close, our chests squeezed together, his heart throbbing
at my side. Then, I understood. If he is fire, he needs water. It's instinct. It's knowledge I have, way down deep in
that drop in the middle of my life. It's what I've been waiting for.
He needs to yell. I can take it. He needs to
pound curses into the Vulcan sand. He needs to shake in hunger and strain through nightmares, and fuck and touch a lover
and cry.
I think I can take it.
I open to him. I will not let him die.
>>> <<<
Lately,
James Kirk had been thinking about Spock. He didn't know why. For the past few days, anyway, he'd had an urge to call
Vulcan, so it seemed unsurprisingly fatalistic when his aide stopped him as he went into his office.
"Message for
you, Admiral, from the Vulcan Embassy. I've routed it to your desk comm."
"Thank you," Kirk said. He closed the
door and sat down before opening the communiqué.
A moment later, his aide heard a stunned, "My God!"
(end)
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