Archive of Our Own ^beta

'If I had not found you, I might have survived and never known what it was to have really lived. And it is all because you are in my life now.'

Leonard McCoy looked at the words. They seemed so trite. Was that not what everyone who fell in love wished to write to his beloved when trying to be unique and original in the expressing of his sentiment?

And had he not felt this way before? Had he not offered his heart so earnestly to someone to have it eventually returned bruised and battered and barely beating? Why should he take the chance again? And with someone who was, by all the evidence, a very poor risk to be a sweetheart.

Because Leonard McCoy was a hopeless romantic. Because Leonard McCoy could not help but lead with his heart and hope for the best. Because Leonard McCoy would stay hopeful until his last breath. And then his spirit would hope that his last breath would perfume the pillow of his beloved, even if that beloved did not love him in return.

What trash! McCoy thought and slammed his hand down on the paper with the writing on it. In this electron age, who wrote anything by hand anymore? None but the romantic. None but the hopeless romantic Dr. Leonard McCoy.

“Have you finished that experiment yet, Dr. McCoy?”

McCoy shoved the paper aside. “Oh. Spock. I didn’t know that you were still here.”

“Yes, I am.” He gave McCoy an odd look. “I was inquiring about the experiment. Have you finished it yet?”

“I set it aside for awhile. I think that it needs time to develop. Some things can’t be rushed, you know.”

“I can think of examples in Nature, Doctor. Stalactites and stalagmites need time for their mineral-laden waters to drip down in order to create beautiful formations that may be viewed when light is thrown on them in caves. And coral reefs, such as the one off Australia, take unknown generations over unknown time segments to build into a huge reef that impedes anything that wishes to cross through its path.”

“Well, that really wasn’t what I was considering, but what the hell! Examples from Nature are good enough, especially for someone like you who does not understand the subtler facets of a relationship between two people.”

“But why two people, Doctor? Why limit your comparisons? Could not your theorem be applied to larger numbers than two?”

“It could. But in my hypothesis, I am limiting my numbers to only two.”

“Will that tend to limit also your results?”

“I believe that it will not. I believe that my two will expand and develop.”

“Much as a cell behaves?”

“You might say that.”

“I am saying that then, Doctor.”

“Yes, Mr. Literal, I believe that you are.”

“Are you mixing personalities again, Doctor?”

“If by that do you mean am I getting away from the scientific method, you bet your sweet Vulcan ass I am!”

“Doctor, you most definitely are mixing personalities and getting away from the scientific method. Therefore, I must object.”

McCoy rubbed a hand over his weary face. He was not so much physically tired, but emotionally tired. And that was caused by arguing with the human computer standing not three feet from him.

“Yeah, I figured you would.” He dropped his hand into his lap. His eyes looked weak and strained from lack of sleep. “Tell you what, Spock. I'm going to let you have the lab, my office, this whole damn department, if you want. I’m going somewhere and try to remember what it’s like to feel human again.”

Spock looked worried. “Are you going out drinking, Doctor?”

“And what if I am? What possible effect could that have on you?”

“None, but who would lose sleep and feel ill afterwards?”

“Well, maybe that’s the way I want to have fun. Did you ever think of it that way?” he asked as he stood up.

“But that does not make sense, Doctor. It is not logical to put yourself through that kind of experience.”

“There’s a lot of things in this world that don’t make sense to put yourself through, but you do it just the same so you can say that you really lived.”

“But that is not the way in which I measure if I am really living.”

“I know,” McCoy said softly. “And that’s why I feel so damn sorry for you. And that’s a hell of a lot sorrier than I feel for myself, and that’s a helluva lot.” He moved toward the door. “Good night, Spock. I won’t lock up. I know that you’ll probably work through the night.”

It was amazing how much alcohol he could pour down his throat and not become drunk when he was in this kind of hellish mood. And all because of that green-blooded bastard who didn’t realize how much he was beloved.

A shadow fell across his hand with the glass in it, and McCoy looked up.

“Oh, hell! How did you find me?”

“That is unimportant. It is time for you to leave now.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because you have something more to live for than drinking.”

“What do you know about it?”

“Leonard, I found the letter.”

“What letter?” But even as he asked, McCoy knew what letter. Had he been that careless?

“To whom are you referring in the letter?”

“None of your unfeeling business.”

“I beg to differ. If you were referring to me, then it is my business.”

“Would you want it to refer to you?” he asked with a smirk. That question should finish the probing from the pesky Vulcan.

“Yes. I would.”

McCoy looked up. “What?!”

“I would.” Spock took the whiskey glass from McCoy’s hand and sat down. “I want to be more to you than the whiskey and the loneliness. If you will only let me.”

What the hell! He had nothing to lose.

"Tell me more, Vulcan."