Leonard "Bones" McCoy

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.

Spock did as he was told and perched himself on the edge of the biobed. Usually, he was instructed to take his uniform shirt off. As he was not asked this time, he kept it on, and hoped it would remain on. He did not relish the thought of removing clothing in front of Dr. McCoy, although he could not place exactly why. “My yearly physical was four months, three days ago,” he reminded the doctor. “I need not remind you that there are no other required exams unless there is a concern for my health. I can assure you, Doctor, my health is perfectly in line.”

“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.

Sooo, there is a certain MISconception (probably spread by Certain Vulcans) that McCoy is Mr. Emotion and doesn’t comprehend or utilize logic.

THIS. Is not true. Because McCoy is a whole person not just pathos for his captain’s characterization thank you and have a lovely day.

McCoy is not GOVERNED by logic, but he does apply it when it’s useful. He just doesn’t apply it the same way that Spock does.

Let’s take one example from The Galileo Seven, which IS ACTUALLY ABOUT EMOTION but is an example of how McCoy uses logic even in regards to handling emotion.

BOMA: The man's dead. He deserves a decent burial. You're the captain. A few words. SPOCK: Doctor, perhaps you know the correct words for such an occasion. MCCOY: Mister Spock, that's your place. SPOCK: My place is here. If you please, Doctor. MCCOY: Now look. We may all die here. At least let us die like men, not machines. SPOCK: By dealing with first things first, I hope to increase our chances of staying alive.

I will begin by saying that Spock’s argument is perfectly reasonable.

However, McCoy’s argument is not an argument from emotion, but an argument from logic which takes emotion into account. McCoy can see that the rest of the crew stranded with them will view Spock’s actions as heartless and demoralizing. They will also see Spock not taking a few moments to speak at the burial of their crewmate as usurping part of a commanding officer’s responsibility. 

“Let us die like men, not machines” doesn’t mean “fuck logic, let’s go wild.” It means “hey, no one else here is Vulcan, and this is an essential part of the mission for us and will affirm your command.” 

I want to clarify about a thing regarding my AOS McCoy characterization, because ever since I started actually RPing him a little bit, it’s become clear to me that it’s part of how I view him.

My AOS McCoy will have a bit of a crush on Kirk. This isn’t because I ship it, but because of how I view his actions in canon.

In threads with someone other than Kirk, I will default this crush to unrequited, and it doesn’t mean I won’t ship McCoy with anyone else. In fact, I generally view him as preferring to keep his platonic friendship with Jim rather than risk it by telling him anything. The topic won’t come up unless you want it to and we’ve discussed it, but it might influence how he describes Jim or whatever, so.

In threads with Kirk, again... it’s a crush, but he won’t act on it at all unless we discuss it first AND it happens naturally in the thread. In fact, he might resist it even if Jim is interested. I still don’t autoship, even though McCoy’s caught feelings.

There are so many oneshot characters in TOS that I would ship McCoy with (either in TOS itself or an AOS version), but that’s probably a LITTLE UNREALISTIC. 

“Next time I’ll visit unannounced to make up for my lack of warmth today.” So dramatic. She keeps a straight face, though it takes a breath to avoid chuckling. He has a thankless job, that’s she cannot deny. Her own brush-ins with medics have always been challenged at best; such is the stubborn way of her people.

She gives a brief side-eye at his interest in calling her case unique, but Echo doesn’t protest when she finds a spot at one of the empty biobeds. “Mmm, if it doesn’t affect a certain half-Vulcan too harshly, then I will assume you won’t have much to worry about with me.” The twitch hidden in the right corner of her lip leave as fast as it appears, though her head tilts with interest. “It is not common where I’m from to … have checkups, Doctor, so my ignorance and indifference towards your concern isn’t a reflection on your work.” 

McCoy smiles, but he can’t help it; there’s part of him that knows what she just said will gnaw on his mind for a good long while. He knows a little bit about where she’s from and the state of their healthcare, if it could even be called that. There are times he hears something like that, and he just wants to quit Starfleet and spend the rest of his life on planets like that, going door to door taking care of people who’ve never been taken care of.

For now, he’ll just have to settle for this one. 

Spock did not understand why his presence was requested in sickbay. Upon their return from Vulcan, he had informed Dr. McCoy that the plak-tow had ceased after the captain’s ‘death’. Such an emotionally driven outburst of violence would of course bring the fever to an end, however, he was still being summoned for testing which would show nothing unusual. It seemed a tremendous waste of time.

The events on Vulcan had been regrettable. Spock had dedicated more time reviewing the events of the Koon-ut-kal-if-fee than he had anticipated, although it didn’t benefit him, per se. He understood that T’Pring had been acting out of self-interest. In a way, her actions were perfectly logical. She determined the outcome that would benefit both her and Stonn and carried it out in a way that would be successful any way it was carried out. Her actions, however, were definitely radical. The traditions of Vulcan were not as strong with their generation as it was for their parents. There were some who found a more liberal definition of ‘logic’ to follow. He found he couldn’t blame T’Pring for desiring to marry another. However, her blatant disrespect for the lives of the people involved was appalling. He did not remember T’Pring well from childhood, but his view of her was tainted now. She chose to be untruthful and put her happiness above the safety of others. It was unacceptable. 

It was regrettable that he had involved his friends. Their invitation had come from a need for emotional security, something that he now regretted showing. An explanation could be found for inviting Jim. To have one’s captain present during such significant circumstances could be considered a usual thing. To invite the doctor, however, denoted a particular fondness for him. It had been a moment of weakness that he was still unable to identify. He had meditated - ruminated on his reasoning for doing such a thing - to no avail. Any viable conclusion he had come to could not be. His feelings on the matter remained undetermined and, frankly, out of hand. 

The meeting had been set for late in Alpha shift. As Spock left the turbo-lift and made his way down the hall, he passed Nurse Chapel who gave him a sympathetic smile which he did not return. “Nurse,” he greeted in a flat tone without a glance in her direction. Strange that she would be leaving sickbay so early when she should be on duty. 

As the doors to sickbay slid open, Spock immediately noted that Ms. Chapel was not the only officer relieved of duty ahead of the appointed time. In fact, sickbay was empty, or so it appeared at first glance. After he stepped further in, Spock heard a rustling in the next room over. Dr. McCoy must have been in his office. It was rare to enter to such silence. There was no beeping of a biobed monitor, no absent chatter of two crewmen. There was nothing excepting his own footfalls. 

Dr. McCoy was examining something. Work, he expected. Spock noticed his concentration was on something settled on the screen in front of him when he entered. “Reporting as ordered, Doctor,” Spock said. There was no hiding his displeasure for having been summoned to a mostly empty sickbay during what would be his usual shift.

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.

                     IT IS NOT THE FIRST TIME, Spock realizes he is unacquainted with the Doctor as possibly he should be. in the last several months working together aboard the Enterprise, he recalls approximately fifty-seven percent of their interactions have taken place in sickbay. the reasons are multitudinous—ranging from standard protocol & to that of regrettable injury in Spock’s return from an away mission. all others have been subject to circumstance, briefings of some other nondescript necessity. they are not friends. reiteratively, he acknowledges McCoy’s relationship with Captain Kirk, thinking to the framework of their obvious friendship—its practiced ease, or whether it is something more than that. however, it is unlike him to speculate, to draw conclusions without tangible facts. nonetheless, it strikes him without prejudice that if their positions were reversed—that if it were him in that bed, flittering just beyond shadows, waiting to wake up or waiting to do—he is certain of Kirk’s ability to do a better job of whatever it is Spock is currently attempting to do. silently, Spock merely continues to observe. he follows the path of Doctor’s eyes as McCoy connects the kindling of his furtive actions like pieces of an impossible puzzle, watching it rise into a dawn behind the Doctor’s gaze. it is this man’s profession to understand symptoms based on tells—& he knows it—Spock understands what he has done, what he has asked—& it is a traitorous, hollowing feeling to be exposed for the hypocrite that he is the moment McCoy starts speaking. Spock is no doctor. but when he hears McCoy’s crushed laugh—a shallow sound that pistons his entire body, rising tension into the crest of his shoulder blades—he is able to note the physiological changes in the Doctor’s voice. it could be because Spock has never been able to delineate the nuances in what he’s asked or its expected answers—in what it means to be fine or alright or doing okay. his two primary sources to consult with on the subject are either dead or somewhere close. he does not know how to console someone, he concedes. he does not know how to tell them it will be fine, or that it will be alright, or it will be okay. standard language is too tricky, too variable. it would be easier to have this conversation in Vulkhansu. but Spock does not have that luxury. instead, he’s here, in this room, with a man he only barely knows beyond fifty-seven percent & a cup of coffee, he brought to somehow prove they are neither alone in this. 

he looks at the cup, ❝ i was given to understand there are certain rituals—. ❞ 

“Rituals.” McCoy says. “That’s how Vulcans do things, right?”

In another context, it’d just be a question of curiosity. McCoy specializes in xenobiology and he knows little bits and pieces of culture as it relates to treatment of patients, but... Maybe he’s read a little more about Vulcans than other species since what happened to their planet. 

He knows it’s probably impractical. He’s not going to have too many Vulcans in his care, and the one he does have is only half Vulcan, so a lot of the information that’s available barely applies to him. McCoy doesn’t really do things based on how practical they are, though. He was there when Vulcan was destroyed. He can’t help but want to know more about what was lost. He hoped someone would do that for Earth if something ever happened to it.

It doesn’t seem right to say much to Spock about it. Even now, outside of that one sentence. 

He picks up the coffee.

“Thanks,” he says, finally. Then he takes a deep breath and tries again. “For this and for coming by. Sometimes I just yell to hear myself. It’s not personal. At least when you’re here, I’m not yelling at myself. People start thinking there’s something wrong if you do that.”

          The irrational statement ( though, Una could not consider it truly unbelievable ) seemed to go part ways toward reassuring their newest doctor. She’d take it as a victory. She hoped, however, that their first encounter with an unusual phenomenon wouldn’t strip away whatever confidence it gave him. An officer distrustful of the safety of starships offered a unique set of complications. Una wondered if she would need to inform Boyce of the matter, or if Doctor McCoy would do so himself, whether intentionally or inadvertently.

          ❛ Who says she doesn’t run on both? ❜    Una replied.    ❛ But I think we can forgo a trip to Engineering — for now, at least. ❜    She could offer no promises, no reassurances, that a medical emergency or other matter would never summon the doctor to Engineering. He would, at the very least, need to know its location on the ship. But that could wait for another day, when perhaps a few uneventful days of travel had passed.

          ❛ Would you care to see sick bay and meet our CMO? ❜    It’s an offer, but one he’s welcome to decline. Time to settle in is sometimes much needed and much deserved.

McCoy chuckled. She might be as Starfleet as they come, but he was starting to think maybe she was all right. All the humor at the outpost had been the gallows type. 

For the first time, it was starting to feel like the war was really over.

“I’d like that a lot. Figure I’ll be spending more of my time there than anywhere else, anyway.” Junior medical officer or not, McCoy was serious about his work. He had his doubts about working on a ship, sure. But he’d already seen some information on the complement of the Enterprise. 

Spock’s gonna learn about emotions toDAY.

THE FACE YOUR MUSE MAKES WHEN HAPPY:

THE FACE YOUR MUSE MAKES WHEN SAD:

THE FACE YOUR MUSE MAKES WHEN THEY SEE SOMETHING THEY WANT:

THE FACE YOUR MUSE MAKES WHEN THEIR BERSERK BUTTON IS PUSHED:

THE FACE YOUR MUSE MAKES WHEN THEY SEE SOMEONE THEY DISLIKE:

TAGGED BY: @fasciinating​