Changing the Parameters
By Angel

Written for the 8th Wave, April 2004, must include a Starfleet ritual.
NC-17, Spock/McCoy


When Commander Spock announced his retirement from Starfleet active
duty, a great deal of speculation developed aboard the Enterprise.

While general consensus was that someone would do something, no one
was sure who or what. The smart money was on Uhura's wicked sense
of humor. Another faction favored the Captain, who couldn't let his
best friend leave without one last jibe. A sizeable minority
suspected the doctor.

No one had any money riding on all three.

The party was a casual, calm affair, prompted by a rare fit of
restraint from Uhura. She held it in the Arboretum. Vegetarian
delicacies lined the buffet, including several Vulcan specialities,
and Spock's well-liked avocados. The harp music was soft and
restful and kept the conversation low and peaceful. Vulcan lyre
music was not often appreciated by humans, who could not hear all
the tonals, and so considered it dissonant.

Kirk's formal ceremony on the shuttle deck was a bore, as those
functions always were. Spock's record was read: all his awards, all
his commendations, and even his shames. Kirk even managed to
pronounce the family name without mangling it too badly, for a human.

McCoy did nothing. His world was already rocked to its
foundations. Though he knew Kirk and the rest of the command crew
felt the same, this felt intensely personal. The seismic shift of
losing Spock-- the dry wit, the beautiful, expressive body that gave
away the emotions he could not otherwise express–shook McCoy more
than he would have thought possible.

He searched himself over the endless night shifts and came to one
inevitable conclusion. The only logical explanation, as Spock would
say, for the utter unthinkability of losing the science officer.

But there was no good way to approach Spock. The Vulcan would not,
could not possibly accept the idea. It was illogical. More endless
night shifts were spent pacing sickbay, halfheartedly dictating
logs, while his mind turned over scenario after scenario.

There was the direct approach: catching Spock by surprise, kissing
him within an inch of his green-blooded life. The main drawback
there would be ending up in his own sickbay after the Vulcan beat
him within an inch of his own.

There was the subtle approach: slipping something into Spock's
environment that made it necessary for him to come to sickbay, and
letting him know then.

There was the public approach: announcing it over the ship's
intercom, and embarrassing Spock so badly he would have to do
something.

The only unacceptable option was doing nothing. But that was what
McCoy did, every night, as the ship drew closer to Earth and their
parting.

Finally, he decided he was getting nowhere, and took it up with Jim
over some very old, very illegal Romulan Ale. They drank for a
while in the comfortable silence of old friends.

"Jim–"

"Yes?"

"Nothing."

The silence over the second glass was tense.

"Jim, I-"

"What, Bones?"

"Never mind."

A third glass loosened the doctor's tongue at last. "Jim, how are
you with Spock leaving?"

"I feel like my right arm has been cut off." The statement was
quiet, a truth Kirk would share with no one but his oldest friend.

"You love him?" McCoy tried to keep his own voice calm.

"Of course. He's a good man, a good friend, the best science
officer in Starfleet. It won't feel like the Enterprise without
him."

"Jim, I think I love him."

"Of course you do. For all your fighting, we're a team."

"No, Jim, I love him." There it was out. "I can't bear to lose
him."

Suddenly much more sober than the doctor had thought, Kirk leaned
forward, "Have you told him this?"

"Of course not. It's utterly illogical of me. How can I tell him?"

"You could pin him against the wall and lick his ear."

"Jim!" McCoy was shocked at the suggestion. Among Vulcans, ear
touching was considered as intimate as genital touching was among
Humans. "Honestly, is there any chance for us?"

They talked for a while, and drank more. Kirk proposed an idea just
wild enough to work.

The next morning, when they sobered up, they found the plan still
made sense. So Kirk set to making preparations while McCoy spread
the word.

Once Earth orbit was established, the senior staff met in the
shuttle bay. Spock, dressed in traditional Vulcan clothing, raised
one eyebrow at his send-off committee and contained his curiosity
when they joined him aboard the shuttle.

"There's one last ceremony, Spock," McCoy said, a mischievous gleam
in his eye, "only for outgoing officers who are held in highest
esteem." The rest of the staff carefully repressed grins.

Sulu landed the shuttle at Starfleet Academy and they made their way
to the simulators.

"Captain, may I remind you I have successfully passed all the
simulations?'

"Spock, today, the object is not passing, but the experience," Kirk
reminded him. He gestured Spock into the simulator.

McCoy slotted the datachip Kirk had given him. Holotech was still
in its infancy, but Kirk had always had connections. He'd owe his
friend big if this worked.

Spock watched his shipmates file into the simulator and take their
usual places. He raised one eyebrow as Kirk seated himself at the
first officer's panel.

"It's tradition," Uhura began, "to do one last simulation before
leaving the service entirely."

"And you have been selected to test the newest version of the
Kobayashi Maru," Kirk said.

McCoy shifted anxiously, hoping everything would go right. It did.
The rescue of the doomed ship failed as it always did, much to
McCoy's surprise. He'd thought Kirk was arranging for Spock to beat
the simulation. He watched as his hologenerated crewmates died one
by one, until his own panel exploded. He dropped to the deck and
played dead.

Alone on the bridge, Spock stood and straightened his shirt. The
smoke from the panels burned its way through him, making his head
spin. He checked the casualties. Uhura was face-down in her melted
commboard. Sulu and Chekov had been thrown across the bridge when
their console exploded. Kirk had been electrocuted rather
spectacularly in his wiring. McCoy lay on the floor, trying not to
cough from the smoke. He checked Uhura for a pulse, only to have
her vanish under his touch.

"End...end sim..simulation," McCoy coughed.

Spock watched the others vanish, leaving him with the
doctor. "Fascinating."

"Yessir. That new mod is something. And Jim was supposed to add
something this time." McCoy rose, but held on to the rail. Spock's
eyes rolled and he was seized with an illogical urge to shake the
doctor. He clenched his fists instead.

McCoy pointed a medical tricorder at him. It chirped
alarmingly. "Spock? How do you feel?" He shook the device and
tried again. That reading couldn't be right.

A barely sentient growl escaped the Vulcan as he lunged. He pinned
the doctor to the deckplates and glared.

"Dra'kodi," he snarled in McCoy's ear. "In the smoke." His tongue
burned its way up the side of McCoy's neck.

"Jim said it would be like getting a drink into a human, it would
relax you enough to let you hear me." McCoy said.

"My hearing is 32.759% better than your, doctor. Your heartbeat
tells me you are frightened." The idea seemed to please Spock.

"Damn straight, I'm frightened. I meant to relax you, and the
tricorder says I induced pon farr. In case you haven't noticed,
there are no handy Vulcan brides."

"I shall make do." The utter calm in Spock's voice scared McCoy
more.

"I'm sorry, Spock."

"My physiology reacts badly to dra'kodi. I learned that from the
Romulan commander. I will do my best not to harm you, but we must
hurry before the plak tow."

"Spock, I want you to know, I love you. That's what I was trying to
loosen you up to hear."

"If you loved me, you would have respected me enough to be honest
without chemical aids. We are doing that which is logical, not
necessarily that which I would desire." Big hands urged McCoy onto
his knees, and Spock opened his own pants. "I shall not force you
to undergo penetration, for we have no means to prepare. There are
other methods."

"Now, I'd planned this for after dinner," McCoy said. He stared
and then lightly kissed the head that was at his mouth level.
Knowing he didn't have a lot of time, and Spock's well-being
depended in him, McCoy did his best. It had been a long time.

Spock was hot in his mouth, hard and velvety at once, tasting of
incense and sweetness. Greedy for more, McCoy worked his mouth over
as much as he could and stroked with his tongue. The pon farr
ensured there was no great delay. Like most vegetarians, Spock was
pleasant and bland, with a faint coppery taste.

He pulled McCoy to his feet and stared into the doctor's blue eyes.
His long fingers were gentle as he laid them on McCoy's face,
forming the meld.

It was done. The madness departed from him, leaving great shame and
anger in its wake.

"We are bound," Spock said flatly. "I would not have made it so."

"Spock, I-"

"You have wronged me. You have shamed me, and my family. I will
not abandon you, Leonard, but I cannot deal with you until I have
control of myself. Return to the ship. Serve your last six
months. When you return, we shall see."

"I was good enough when I was the only option, but now you can't
stand the sight of me? Is that it?"

"If you hope to goad me into an emotional display, you are wasting
your efforts. The madness is gone."

McCoy sighed heavily and turned to go. "Spock, I'm sorry. I didn't
mean for it to be this way."

"I know that. I shall see you upon your return."

During the next six months, McCoy dictated tapes back to his mate.
Spock's replies were short and factual. He had an apartment for
them in Georgia. McCoy took the location as an encouraging sign.
He was studying, and working on four papers for various journals.

When he made it back Earthside, McCoy took the shuttle to the stop
nearest the apartment complex. Butterflies filled his stomach as he
walked to the door. He didn't know what he'd find: terse Vulcan,
waiting lover, or something else entirely.

The door opened for his hand, and he went in. "Spock?" The table
was laid for two, and dinner was in place.

Spock came out from the kitchen, and set a single serving bottle of
wine beside one plate. He was dressed in formal black Vulcan robes.

Wordlessly, he walked to McCoy and extended two fingers, in the
Vulcan equivalent of a kiss. McCoy looked at the meal, and the
apartment and his mate. The dark eyes were not angry. He extended
his own fingers and touched them to Spock's.

Spock nearly smiled as he stroked the back of his mate's
fingers. "I am in control. I accept what you said. I have thought
long, and concluded I return your sentiments."

"Why Spock, I think you just said you loved me."

"Indeed, Leonard. Shall we eat? Then I will show you the rest of
the apartment. The bed is quite comfortable." A lone quirked
eyebrow made McCoy laugh.

"Let's eat then."