"I object to intellect without discipline."

-- -- -- “I object to you.”

Oh, Mister Spock, you do have one saving grace after all. You're ill-mannered.

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My muse(s): Spock

Do I know your muse(s):  yes | no | a little | tell me about your muse

Setting: our verse | my verse | your verse | modern | alternate universe | other

Pre-established relationships? yes | no | depends on the relationship

Possible relationships: friends | classmate | co-worker | roommate | family, real or adopted | dating or blind date | married | friends with benefits | unrequited love | lending a hand | teacher - student | rivals | allies | partner-in-crime | enemies | protecter - guarded | business partners | spy - infiltrated | manipulator - manipulated | star-crossed | first meeting | other

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Feel free to: message me ooc | message me ic | tell me your ideas | write a starter | answer one of my opens | send a meme | reblog this with your preferences - let’s find common interests!

ooc: sorry this took so long to get up! we should plot!

McCoy could tell he was nearing the end of Spock’s patience. Mocking an over-generalized version of McCoy’s opinion was a tactic Spock used to incense McCoy, which usually meant the conversation would quickly end in anger for him, and some kind of smug dismissal from Spock. He felt that anger, the habitual reaction. There was a choice to make, in that moment. Play out the scene, or don’t.

Then again, McCoy was coming to understand that what he wanted out of Spock wasn’t what he’d asked him for, an admission that perhaps he was a little too happy to throw himself in to danger. That wasn’t ever the problem. Spock was right, he was well-suited to respond to danger in ways his human shipmates simply weren’t - he was stronger, faster, and more capable in almost every way. He could be depended upon to not submit to intense emotional responses in moments of great importance and great risk, emotions like panic, anger, and despair. He was the perfect candidate.

What McCoy realized he really wanted was something Spock would never give. Could never give. It was against his very nature.

“Very well, Mister Spock. Thank you for your service. You are free to return to your station.”

McCoy stepped away from the biobed, and once again motioned grandly with his arm to indicate that Spock was free to leave. It was a bit showy, the melodrama fueled by his lingering annoyance.

Would it really be so bad, though? For Spock to give him any indication that he sympathized with McCoy’s plight? Didn’t Spock know that if he died, their constant back-and-forth struggle to perhaps one day admit to each other that there had grown a sort of camaraderie between them would be cut short? Did he know that if Spock were to die, McCoy could be left to wonder for the rest of his life if he’d meant anything at all to the half-Vulcan Commander? 

Was this all they had?

“Tell Jim you’re glad to see him.”

It seemed as though the doctor had decided the argument had come to an end. It was unlike him to give up so easily without the interjection of a third party, but Spock was being dismissed with a grand gesture. The first officer planted his feet on the ground and pushed himself up off the biobed.

The doctor’s comments required no response. After all, he had provided no service aside from reporting as ordered. Instead, he tucked his hands behind his back, perked an eyebrow at Dr. McCoy and headed for the door. 

“Tell Jim you’re glad to see him.”

McCoy could retort, oh, could he retort, but perhaps in an uncharacteristic show of restraint when it came to laying in to Spock, he decided to hold his tongue. Like Spock, he also had a duty to uphold, and what that duty required of him was to perform the necessary examinations to ensure Spock’s miraculous escape from danger had left him with no ill effects. Sure, Spock seemed fine, with his prim Vulcan posture and his back talk and his damned eyebrows. But hiding behind any physical manifestations of Spock’s apparent well-being was the truth, which only his medical equipment could diagnose with any degree of certainty. If there was one thing he knew for certain about the First Officer, it was that he was an expert at concealing vulnerability. 

McCoy unfolded his arms from his chest and approached Spock at the biobed. Without a word, he motioned with a sweep of his arm for Spock to recline, so the examinations could begin. 

The results were predictably strange, as they always were with Spock. But with the knowledge he had acquired of the half-Vulcan’s physiology over the years, combined with a few simple physical examinations, the type that Jim often teased him for being ‘old fashioned’ for using, McCoy was able to determine that Spock was indeed sound of body. 

With a wave of his hand, he motioned for Spock to rise. But before Spock had turned to place his feet back to the floor, McCoy spoke, his voice low. “He’s not just your Captain, Spock. He’s your friend, too. Think about that.” 

Spock positioned himself flat on his back, as instructed. However opposed to the doctor’s personal opinions he might be, he had to admire the man’s talent for medicine. After all, his experiences were unparalleled. Spock was privately grateful McCoy was assigned to the Enterprise. He was not sure he would trust another CMO to do such a thorough job. A large part of his success was due to the over-inflated sense of passion the human had, but Spock found he was able to forgive that as long as he continued serving the crew so well.

The examination was standard, although Spock could have already told him he would find nothing of concern. Vulcans were able to withstand much more physical strain than humans - another ideal reason he was fit to go on away missions. He had given up trying to explain this years ago, however. At the very least, Spock could always count on Dr. McCoy to ignore the most logical reasoning in an argument in favour of unrelated sentimentality. At least he was consistent. 

McCoy hadn’t meant to reward Spock with a tirade for showing up to his sickbay when ordered, but somehow, like every other time Spock put himself in the position to sacrifice his life for the sake of the Enterprise, McCoy couldn’t help himself. 

It was a familiar argument. They’d had similar discussions several times over the course of their service together. McCoy understood that their mission often required sacrifice, ranging from the smallest inconvenience to the absolute limit of what a living person could give. He understood, but that wasn’t enough. It never was. Every life, to McCoy, was precious, and every loss of it was never worth whatever it had gained in its trade. Such an opinion was a doctor’s prerogative. 

McCoy watched Spock’s expression closely as he spoke, as he usually did, to try and suss out any little detail that could indicate Spock might have taken something, anything he’d said to heart. It was often a fruitless endeavor, but he couldn’t resist trying. This time, the result was again inconclusive. 

McCoy sighed as Spock (predictably) shifted the conversation back to professional matters. Given the familiarity McCoy had with the nature of this disagreement between them, he wasn’t too inspired to prolong it much further. 

“You could seem less eager about it, Spock. I understand the need. But if you keep making this deal, one of these days, it’ll go bad, and you’ll be out your life. Think about that. Think about how so many people depend on you, here. Think about Jim.” And me.

Well. McCoy was never one to pass an opportunity for a chance at the last word. 

It would take more than a simple change in conversation to deter Dr. McCoy from further berating him. In a way, Spock thought he should be flattered. Although it was clear Dr. McCoy had no problems lecturing nearly every crewman aboard the ship, Spock was certain that he heard the most of it. Perhaps it was the doctor’s way of showing he cared. 

With unexpected sentiment, Spock replied, “You believe I am not thinking of the captain when I risk my life?” Realizing how this might be misconstrued as some sort of declaration, he added, “My duties are to the captain and the ship first. If I were to fail in my mission, Capain Kirk would be the one ‘making the deal’. They ‘depend on me’ for this very reason, Doctor.” 

@intellect-without-discipline

“Well, Spock. Not that I think it concerns you greatly, but I’m glad you made it back here in one piece. I really wish you’d let that rational mind of yours exercise some restraint over this… excessive sense of duty you seem to have, which I’m noticing puts you in these sort of positions more often than I’d like to see. 

“What’s it going to take, Spock? For you to understand that not every time you see an opportunity to throw yourself with abandon at whatever danger lies out there, you needn’t always be the sacrificial lamb? Can’t you see how that’s… illogical?”

He had not been expecting a lecture. Actually, the more he thought about it, he should have been expecting a lecture. It was exactly the sort of behavior the doctor was known to have whenever there was any risk involved - a highly illogical reaction seeing as the very nature of Starfleet posed a significant amount of risk on a daily basis. 

“‘Sacrificial lamb’, Doctor?” he questioned, feigning ignorance. He took a moment to tuck his hands carefully behind his back and consider Dr. McCoy’s words.”I hardly think that doing my duty would constitute labeling myself a ‘sacrificial lamb’.” His duty was to his captain and to his ship. If that involved the occasional risk to his personal health, so be it. It was the nature of the career. 

“Well, I assure *you* that I’m the doctor around here, so I’m the one who’ll make that assessment, thank you,” he said curtly. 

He knew the always very serious first officer wouldn’t make any of this easy, but that didn’t really bother McCoy. Some part of him liked the challenge, even if it was a challenge he wasn’t sure he had any way of winning. There were little victories here and there, sure. Times when McCoy’s argument proved to be the right one, or when Spock was forced to compliment him in some way. There were just as many times when it went the other way.

But what was the challenge in this moment? What was the argument? Was it that Spock wasn’t as okay as he was acting? McCoy wasn’t sure, really. Maybe he thought something really was still wrong with Spock… Maybe he was just worried himself and needed a little reassurance that Spock was all right.

Spock was far enough onto the biobed that the readings came to life. He shook his head and sighed, almost reflexively, at the absurdity of Spock’s biological norms. He used a medical tricorder for more specific readings. 

That wasn’t really what he was interested in checking, but it gave him away to focus on something else while he asked Spock the real questions that neither of them felt all that comforting talking about eye-to-eye.

“Any more behavioral abnormalities since you’ve been back?” He paused. “Well, not counting the one I was present for.” He’d been amused at Spock’s little emotional outburst when he saw Jim, but it still worried him. Emotional outbursts weren’t good for Spock, even if McCoy claimed not to like his cold, hard logic.

Spock responded with abundant silence and raised eyebrows. Of course, the Dr. McCoy would not hear of his own assessment. He was the doctor, after all. How could they forget, with him reminding them so often? 

Spock observed him as he examined the scanner. No matter how many times the doctor observed him, he found the readings inconceivable. Spock had a suspicion, however, that an impromptu physical was not the reason he had been summoned. 

“No,” he said curtly. “No ‘behavioral abnormalities’.” He resented the comment and thought Dr. McCoy could have used a better term. His reaction to seeing Jim was, after all, an egregious mistake. His words seemed chosen specifically to bring attention to Spock’s emotional failures. Perhaps that was the doctor’s intention. 

There was something McCoy enjoyed about Spock following his orders. It wasn’t too often McCoy got to give them to the first officer; not only because of rank, but because Spock so rarely had any health concerns. When he did, it was usually severe enough that there weren’t any orders involved. Besides which, McCoy wasn’t really the type to order people around, at least not *officially*. He didn’t have a lot of interest in the chain of command… but he was pretty sure Spock did.

That he looked annoyed about it certainly didn’t *dampen* McCoy’s enjoyment.

He put the tapes away and got to his feet. “Mister Spock, if I didn’t know better, I’d diagnose you with a bad case of chip-on-the-shoulder-itis.” He grinned, even though he didn’t really expect Spock to appreciate his bedside manner, if their entire history was any indication. 

Maybe McCoy was trying a little too hard to talk to Spock like everything was normal anyway. McCoy couldn’t entirely understand what Spock had just been through, but he knew the man well enough that he didn’t think it could’ve been easy. He’d had emotional outbursts in front of his crew. He’d been rejected at the altar, as it were. He’d thought he killed Jim.

Not many people would know it, but McCoy knew a thing or two about being a private person. That fear of having all your skeletons dragged out of the closet was a real one, and there was nothing easy about having some secret exposed to the people you got your new start with.

“Just go on and hop up on one of those biobeds,” he said, gesturing. “I want to get a full diagnostic, and then I want to ask you some questions, if that’s all right with you. And if it’s not, I don’t want to hear about it anyhow.”

Spock raised an eyebrow at the Doctor’s peculiar comment. “’Chip-on-the-shoulder’, Doctor?” He was not unfamiliar with the term but found the use of it in this context to be rather inappropriate. He was dealing with Dr. McCoy, however, with which everything had a certain air of inappropriateness. 

He looked around sickbay once more to make certain they were alone. They were, but why? Asking would give the illusion that he cared, so he resolved to keep his questions to himself until absolutely necessary. His suspicion was that the entire thing was some plot by the doctor. What sort, he wasn’t yet sure of. It was a trend he had noticed - whenever a particularly devastating mission had occurred, the doctor took it upon himself to ensure the mental and physical wellbeing of the officers aboard. This was a large part of his job description but were he really an expert on xenobiology like he claimed, he would know that Spock was able to mediate his own health. There was no need for this production. 

The events on Vulcan had not been ‘devastating’ as such. In fact - aside from the delay and the onset of plak tow - it had all proceeded in a very logical, although unconventional, fashion. Spock had not been looking forward to the ceremony, nor to the concept of bonding with T’Pring and spending the rest of his life with her. In a way, he was...relieved.