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Contemplative Silence (repost)

Laura Cynthia Chambers

Laura Cynthia Chambers

Vice Admiral
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***This is a repost of a story series I published on Fanfiction.net. It is set in the Kelvinverse and features McCoy and Spock bantering about one of the Vulcan's (heretofore unknown) favorite hobbies.***

Leonard McCoy stopped just short of entering one of the Enterprise's private recreation rooms, a bowl of replicated corn curls in one hand. It was already occupied, and judging by the straight, black hair peeking up over the movable couch, it was the man who he struggled to comprehend on a daily basis.

Unsure if Spock minded his sudden intrusion, he slowly crossed the room and sat down next to him on the couch, setting his bowl down on the low table before them. "So, whatcha watching, Spock?" he asked, settling back. "Not a comedy, that's for-" His chuckle died off as he realized the screen in front of them was blank. Not a sound emanated from the speakers, either. "Spock? Uh…" He waved a hand in front of the Vulcan's face. Spock didn't blink. McCoy snapped his fingers. "Hello? New Vulcan to Spock, come in."

"Please cease the clamor, Doctor. It is wholly unnecessary."

"Just checkin' to see if you're still awake. Why are you watching that blank screen on mute?" McCoy questioned.

"It is not blank, nor mute. I am watching a program called Contemplative Silence. If you care to join me, that is acceptable."

McCoy paused, his hand poised over the bowl of snacks. "Who in tarnation would ever create such a show, let alone watch it?"

"It is of Vulcan origin. I find it quite stimulating." Spock's concentration didn't even waver. "The fact that you cannot comprehend it is not unusual."

McCoy shifted in his seat. "Well, why not just turn off the viewer and watch the blank screen? It's illogical to waste energy when you don't have to."

"Computer, pause program," Spock ordered. "If I were to merely do as you say, Doctor, it would not achieve that effect." He shifted in his seat. "Knowing that the screen was deactivated, my eyes and mind would tend to stray. That is not the case with Contemplative Silence. Or should I say, was not the case before you interrupted me." His tone took on a distinct edge as he finished, returning his attention to the screen one more.

"I still don't get it. This is just crazy. A whole show based on the idea of silence and nothingness." McCoy took a handful of corn curls and popped them in his mouth, crunching loudly, a bit of a grin curving his mouth. "Some program. I'll tell you one thing, though. Couldn't adapt it into a motion picture."

"The sequel comes out next Wednesday," Spock added.

McCoy choked on his corn curls.
 
"I still can't believe it," McCoy muttered, plopping down on the opposite end of the couch. "It's a TV show and two films?" He idly tapped one finger on the armrest.

"Indeed." Spock steepled his fingers together. "Contemplative Silence has won several Surak awards for its cinematography and visual effects, as well as a T'Plinth medal of merit for the soundtrack."

McCoy paused. "Soundtrack? What soundtrack?" He cast one hand toward the screen. "'But Doctor, can't you hear it?" McCoy mocked, clasping both hands to his heart. "'The strains of the violin? The steady beat of the drums? The choir harmonizing?'" He threw his hands up in the air. "Argh! And cinematography? Visual effects? How do you figure?" he finished, breathing heavily.

"Not only has the silence been expertly composed and mixed, the blackness is rich and vibrant high definition," Spock answered. "With my exceptional hearing and visual acuity, I can appreciate the nuances most people would miss."

"There. Is. Nothing. There," McCoy pleaded, standing in front of the Vulcan. "Nothing."

"Exactly. As it should be. Now, if you will please cease blocking my view of the screen, I can continue my viewing." Spock pushed McCoy to one side. "Computer, play the last minute of the program over."

McCoy sat down, rubbing his temples. "What's the difference? Every minute is exactly the same as the last and the next, and the next…"

"Be quiet. I am watching the season finale. This is very tense."

"Season fin…" McCoy trailed off. "Of course. Of course you are. If there's a show, and a movie - two movies, no less - of course there's a season finale." He stood up and walked over to a nearby replicator. "One cola, ice." A glass of soda materialized and he picked it up, taking a sip.

Spock didn't answer, his gaze glued to the screen. "Hmmm." He inched closer to the edge of the couch. There he perched for two minutes, before settling back with a sigh.

McCoy put a hand on Spock's shoulder. "Disappointed? Or have you come to your senses?"

"I will have to remain in suspense a while longer," Spock pressed his lips together. "A cliffhanger ending."

"What?" McCoy dropped his glass, sending cola and ice everywhere.
 
The next time McCoy entered the private rec room, Spock was not seated on the couch. Instead, he was in a chair in the corner which faced away from the screen, engrossed in a paperback novel.

"Finally, you're doing something normal." McCoy flopped onto the couch, head at one end, ankles crossed at the other. "Computer, play the Starfleet Academy soccer semi-finals." A game appeared on the screen, and loud cheers emanated from the speakers. "C'mon, crush 'em!" McCoy shouted, pumping a fist in the air. A moment later, he glanced at Spock. "Oh, sorry. Am I disturbing you?"

Spock looked over the edge of his book. "No. Please continue."

"All right then." McCoy lowered the volume of the game and his voice. Though he tried to pay attention, however, it wasn't a very fast-paced competition, and his gaze kept straying to Spock. The Vulcan was practically glued to the pages, eagerly devouring the contents, with the occasional "ahh" or "hmmm". By the time half-time came around, he was more than halfway through the book.

McCoy muted the game and walked over to Spock's chair, hands on his hips. "That really looks like some book. What's it about?"

Spock's gaze didn't waver. "Were I to tell you, Doctor, I do not believe your response would be…pleasant," he finished, turning the page.

The doctor rolled his eyes. "Now don't tell me it's something to do with that crazy show of yours." He shook his head.

"You are correct. This is the novelization of Contemplative Silence: The Motion Picture." He closed the book and held it out to McCoy. "You may peruse it, if you wish."

McCoy glared at the book as though it was a snake about to bite his hand, but in the end, curiosity won out. He grabbed the novel by the spine and opened it up. All of the pages were solid black. He flipped them in quick succession, searching for a word, a line, anything. "Unbelievable. This is your idea of a novel? Reading pages and pages of nothing?"

"Hardly nothing. By examining the empty pages, one's mind is allowed to search within rather than without."

McCoy tapped the book against the palm of his hand. "Uh huh. So tell me, which did you like better; the book or the movie?" He said this in a teasing tone of voice.

Spock thought for a moment. "The film was rather thought-provoking, but the novel went into more depth, including certain scenes which were excised from the original script. I find it more compelling when one is allowed to imagine rather than be shown everything."

McCoy smacked his lips together. "Right." Looking more closely at the page, he noticed several sections that appeared darker than others. "Ink distribution's not very uniform. Don't you find that distracting?"

Spock frowned. "Where?" McCoy passed the book to him, pointing to a dark section on the left page. "Mm. I see. That is not the original ink, Doctor. I have taken the liberty of highlighting certain passages that are particular favorites of mine." He picked up a black marker from the table. "Like so," he demonstrated, pressing the marker to a line and coloring over it.

Gritting his teeth together, hands balled in fists at his sides, McCoy said nothing as he left the room, soccer game forgotten.
 
I recall hearing Casey Kasem talking about a popular record in jukeboxes back in the late 50s / early 60s called "Three Minutes Of Silence".
 
The projectile missed its target completely.

McCoy let out a puff of air as the doors swished open behind him. Thanks to whoever had just entered the room, he had just missed out on his personal best score for the first person shooter game. Though he was a doctor, dedicated to saving lives, there were just times a man had to let off a little steam.

"Am I disturbing you, Doctor?" Spock stood near the end of the couch, hands behind his back. "I can return later, if you wish." He glanced over at the screen. "An impressive score. You are quite the marksman."

"Nope, that's okay." McCoy slipped off his gamer goggles. "Is that a game?" he asked, gesturing towards the object Spock was clutching.

"It is." Spock pressed the button to eject McCoy's program and replaced it with his. Handing the shooting game back to McCoy, he took the controller and settled onto the couch. "Would you care to play with me, Doctor?"

McCoy uncapped a bottle of water and took a swig. "I might." He set down the bottle and grabbed a second controller from a stand near the monitor and sat down. "What kinda game is it? Swordplay? Starship battles?"

Spock didn't answer him.

Sweat beaded on McCoy's forehead. "Racing? Strategy-based?" The screen was still blank. "Oh, for crying out loud, it's not that silence thing again?"

Spock nodded. "Would you like to play one on one or cooperatively?"

"How can you tell the difference?" McCoy flicked a controller stick forward. "They're both exactly alike."

"One on one it is, then. With the adversarial attitude you are currently manifesting, I doubt you would be interested in anything else." Spock pressed the down button. "Unless you'd like to play the story mode, that is."

McCoy blinked. "Story mode? What's the story?"

Spock lifted both hands in the air, palms up towards the blank screen.

The remote control slipped from McCoy's hand as he covered his face with the other one, shaking his head.
 
Sgt_G said:
I recall hearing Casey Kasem talking about a popular record in jukeboxes back in the late 50s / early 60s called "Three Minutes Of Silence".
Click to expand...

John Cage - 4:33. Written for piano, it can be adapted to guitar. The instrumentalist sits at the instrument and counts the rests until the song ends. The trick is getting the tempo exactly correct (or the song will not be the correct duration.)

Thanks! rbs
 
McCoy ambushed Kirk just as the captain was heading out of the mess hall. "Jim, you gotta help me," the doctor pled, grabbing him by both arms just below the shoulders and pressing him against the wall. "It's that blasted pointy-eared menace."

Kirk let out a long sigh. "Isn't it always?" He twisted out of McCoy's grasp. "What's he done now? Stood on his head in a corner of sickbay and recited Vulcan poetry backwards?"

"I wish he was. This you won't believe. Come on," McCoy continued, grabbing Kirk's arm again and dragging him down the corridor. "Of all the bizarre, idiotic…" he muttered.

"Where are we going?" Kirk asked, allowing himself to be pulled towards the end of the hallway, despite curious looks from a couple of crewmen who had just emerged from the turbolift. "This isn't the way to Spock's quarters, and the lab's that way," he added, pointing over his shoulder.

"If I'm right, he's in one of the private rec rooms. He's been coming to one in particular lately, to watch a ridicu-well, you'll see in a moment." They stopped at the door of the room and McCoy checked the secure status. "It's not locked. Good. I want you to see this for yourself." He tapped the panel and the door opened.

Spock was seated back straight against the couch, a book open on his lap. "Doctor," he acknowledged, never looking up from his book.

McCoy frowned. "How'd you-"

"You have visited me here every day since you first encountered me engaging in this activity. In Human terms, Doctor, it is not rocket science." Spock set down the book beside him on the couch and stood. "Captain. Is there a problem?"

"Depends on who you ask. Bones seems to think you've gone bats." Kirk sat down next to Spock's book, while McCoy took the chair in the corner. He glanced back and forth between Spock and McCoy a couple of times. "I dunno, Bones. He looks pretty sane to me."

McCoy snorted. "Oh, yeah? Check out that book he's been 'reading'." He stood up and grabbed the book before either Kirk or Spock could, flipping through its pages. "Pages and pages of absolute blank nothing. Does that say 'sanity' to you?" He weighed the book in one hand. "It's a bit bigger than last time. What's this, the large print edition?" he asked, laughing dryly.

"No, Doctor. It is the graphic novel," Spock replied, all seriousness.

McCoy dropped the book flat on the floor. The low thud echoed around the room. "SEE?" he shouted, pointing at Spock and looking at Kirk. "Contemplative Silence - a show about blank, black, soundless nothing - and it's got a graphic novel. A graphic novel, no less." He grabbed Spock by the shoulders and shoved him towards Kirk. "Look, I'm all for understanding other cultures, and being considerate and all, but this has got to stop. It was bad enough when it was just a show. That I could live with. Vulcan meditation and all. But to have pop culture tie-ins that make no sense whatsoever…" He shook his head, one hand pressed to his forehead. "Just say something to him. Please. For me."

Kirk nodded. "All right." He turned to Spock and opened his mouth to speak, but then paused and turned back to McCoy. "Did you say Contemplative Silence?"

"Yes." McCoy clutched his stomach. "Why?" he rasped.

"Yes, Captain. The program I was telling you about at lunch yesterday." Spock walked towards the screen and turned it on. "I suppose now is as good a time as any to fulfill your end of the deal. That is, if you are not otherwise occupied," he added, seating himself.

"Nah, I'm on break." Kirk walked over to the couch and sat beside Spock. "Let's do this."

McCoy frowned. "Jim? What are you doing?"

Kirk smiled awkwardly. "Yesterday, I finally got Spock to play that zombie warrior game in the holodeck with me."

"He has been asking me to join him for a month." Spock frowned, as though he had just bitten into rotten food. "I found it most distasteful. As I am sure you would have, Doctor."

"Speaking of distasteful…what's that got to do with Shut Up And Think-"

"-Contemplative Silence-" Spock corrected him.

"-yeah, yeah. Go on, Jim," McCoy continued. "So you played zombie hunters with Spock. And?" he asked, waving his hand, encouraging Kirk to go on.

"And…in return, I agreed to watch his thing with him." Kirk gave half a laugh and turned so he was facing the screen. "All right. Here we go. Gonna get my silence on," he added, leaning forward and rubbing both palms together.

McCoy threw both hands up in the air. "Why me? Why? Why?"

"Shhh!" Kirk held one finger to his lips, an impish grin on his face. "Silence, remember?"
 
"Knock, knock." McCoy rapped against the doorframe, tambourine in his other hand. "Can I get in a little practice in between silences?" He fought to keep the smile from his face. If Spock could annoy him, McCoy could give as good as he got.

He gave the noisemaker a good rattle as he entered the room, surprised when laughter reached his ears. "Huh?" Instead of Spock, three Humans and an Andorian looked his way. A small colorful board game lay on the table with four pawns in play. The Andorian was paused in the middle of rolling the dice. "Oh, sorry. My apologies folks. I, uh," McCoy scratched his head, "was expecting somebody else."

"You want to play, Doctor?" Petty Officer Marek offered. The blond man shifted to one side to make room for McCoy. "We just started."

McCoy shook his head. "Nah, that's okay." He turned to leave the room, then stopped. "Say, you wouldn't by any chance know where the first officer is, would ya?" The players shook their heads. "Thanks anyway." Exiting the room, he headed down the hallway to the common recreation area.

After asking around, he finally ran into Chandler from linguistics, who directed him to the holodeck. McCoy checked the signup roster and discovered that Spock had suite 3 booked for two hours, beginning half an hour ago. He walked down the hall until he came to the door and pressed the comm button. "Spock?"

A soft sigh came over the comm. "Enter, please." McCoy passed through the door and into pitch blackness. "Spock? Where are you? I can't see a blasted thing!"

"Follow the sound of my voice." There was a definite edge to Spock's words. "Over here, Doctor."

McCoy moved hesitantly in the direction of Spock's commands, trying to avoid tripping over anything. "Wouldn't it be easier to just turn on the lights?" he huffed, taking a position next to a dark form that was undoubtedly Spock. As he shifted from one foot to another, the tambourine rattled.

"Easier for you. If you are unaware, I am attempting to experience a simulation. The effects of your intrusion can only be mitigated if you follow the rules." He paused to inhale deeply. "What is that noise?"

McCoy held up the tambourine. "Oh, this? I went to the rec room, thinking you'd be there. Wanted to crash your quiet little party, but I walked in on a board game instead."

Spock frowned. "That would have been unkind."

"Which was kinda the point." McCoy bent over and set the instrument down gently. "What are you doing in here? Testing your night vision?"

"I already told you. Participating in an interactive simulation. That is what a holodeck is for, correct?"

McCoy placed his hands on his hips and looked around, peering into the darkness. "Doesn't look very interactive to me. In fact, I'd say it's downright dull. Where are all the zombies?"

"As I already told you, I found that game distasteful. I would not participate in it by myself." Spock closed his eyes.

"Then what is this? I-" All of the blood drained from McCoy's face. "No. Oh, no." Tears formed at the corners of his eyes. "Not that infernal show of yours." He sunk down to the ground. "It's got a holoprogram, too?"

Spock nodded. "I obtained it at our latest port of call. It is quite challenging. Several levels of difficulty and playable characters to choose from." He inhaled deeply. "I am currently playing the role of Senak, seeker of silence and darkness. There is also Vatek, the mute master, and T'Ialani, high priestess of calm."

McCoy shrugged. "Wow, what a cast. Bet they'd be fun at parties."

Spock thought for a moment. "Were you to play, I would recommend Sokar the skeptic to you. He is initially critical, but gradually becomes woven into the fabric of quiet thought."

"As in, "oh no! they got to him!"" McCoy held both hands up, face a mask of fear.

Spock eyed him critically. "Your comparison to cult-like brainwashing is inaccurate and misleading." He stood up. "Computer, change mode to dance." A dim black light appeared above Spock's head.

McCoy grabbed two handfuls of his own hair. "Dance, he says. Dance." He swept one arm sideways, then cupped his ear. "I don't hear any music. But of course I don't. This is Contemplative Silence, after all." He frowned in Spock's direction. The Vulcan stood ramrod straight in one place. "Aren't you going to move?"

"No. It disrupts my concentration." Spock's eyes remained closed.

McCoy squeezed his eyes shut. "What kind of dance is that? Standing still, not moving, no music-"

"Interpretive dance. I am attempting to evoke the image of a soundless night." Spock pursed his lips. "Could you not have guessed?"

McCoy rolled his eyes and grabbed his tambourine from the floor, jangling it loudly next to the Vulcan's ear. "Care to guess what that is?" he growled sarcastically.

Spock's brow furrowed. "Your tambourine."

"Nope." McCoy smiled. "The inside of your brain." He shook it again. "Couldn't ya tell?"
 
"Lastly, we would like everyone to remain in place for a brief moment of silence, starting now." The clear voice of Nyota Uhura ceased to sound over the intercom as McCoy passed through the doors of the science lab. With a soft sigh, he lowered his head, noting that several lab technicians around the room also set their devices down or ended their conversations mid-sentence. An enlisted engineering crewman crawled out from under a console and stood up, placing one hand over his heart, then dropped it to his side.

McCoy frowned at the crewman, whose eyes were now closed and therefore didn't notice. Mouthing a prayer, the doctor stood in place until Uhura signaled the end of the moment with a quiet, "Thank you." As everyone settled back into their work routine, he approached a lab tech. "That's new," McCoy began. "Did we get news of some disaster over subspace?"

The tech scratched her head, confusion in her eyes. "I haven't heard anything. And I guess you would know if it had been somebody on our ship."

McCoy nodded. "I s'pose it could be some anniversary or other. But you'd think somebody would tell us just what or who we're supposed to be mourning."

"Mourning?" The engineering crewman walked over to them, wiping his hands on his pants. "That's not why. It's some idea he had." He pointed over his shoulder at a figure bent over a console. "Something about taking the time to think about stuff."

"Who had?" McCoy asked, peering in the direction the crewman was indicating. The individual he was referring to was clad in a blue sciences top. As he reached for a memory tape, McCoy caught a glimpse of rank stripes. "Commander…silence…no."

Passing the crewman, he came around until he was standing on the left side of the commander in question. Spock inserted the tape into his console and began to scan reams of text and graphical representations. "I was expecting you momentarily."

McCoy mouthed the phrase behind Spock's back in an exaggerated fashion. "Were you, now?" he drawled, crossing both arms over his chest. "Tell me something; how'd you do it?" He jabbed a finger in Spock's face. "And don't say "do what". You know what."

The Vulcan removed the tape and exchanged it with another. "If you are referring to my arranging a ship-wide contemplative silence session without your input or knowledge, the answer is this; I made a request of the captain, and he agreed." He frowned. "I may have to alter the wording, though. The possibility of confusing the session with an opportunity to pay respect to the dead had not occurred to me." He turned back to the screen, studying it. "I imagine it was unsettling for those who did not understand its significance."

"Ironic, huh?" McCoy stretched both arms in the air. "Here you are, trying to calm everybody down and now you've got 'em all upset." As if to punctuate his statement, a lab tech bumped a stack of PADDs with his elbow, sending them clattering to the floor. "Lovely. More work for my department."

"If your intent is to stand next to me complaining, I can assure you that your presence here will only exacerbate the situation." Spock raised an eyebrow. "Perhaps I should have introduced the crew to another method."

"Like?" The Vulcan shoved a glowing PADD into McCoy's hands. "Homework? Oh, that's real soothing."

"Select the square on the bottom right."

McCoy glanced down at the screen. Several icons were visible, representing various computing programs. He tapped the small black square Spock had indicated and it grew to fill the screen. "Uh-oh. I think something's the matter with your file, Spock." He tapped the screen twice more, then shook the device, turning it back and forth in his hands and staring at it.

"You are incorrect, Doctor. The application is functioning correctly."

"Function…" McCoy's lips twisted. His jaw clenched. "It is, huh? And just what exactly is "it"? Or need I ask?" He set down the PADD and fisted his hands, leaning on the desk.

"Contemplative Silence. Specifically, the app." Spock didn't flinch. "It is rather convenient for having silence "on the go"." I find it particularly helpful during long duty shifts when it is impossible to leave my posting." He regarded McCoy with a concerned look. "Something from which I believe you would benefit as well, given the stressful nature of your position."

McCoy let out a long sigh. "And you think I ought to take a moment out of my busy schedule to stare into the fathomless depths of infinite blackness? Wouldn't it be easier to just close your eyes and plug your ears?"

"Hardly. As you yourself know, such an action would replace the clamor of sickbay with the sounds of one's own circulatory and muscular systems."

McCoy rolled his eyes. "Okay, you got me. But suppose while I'm spacing out on visions of nothing, some crisis happens and I can't respond to it 'cause I've got my head jammed in a black hole?" When Spock said nothing, McCoy leaned in until he was almost nose to nose with the Vulcan. "And what if that crisis is you?"

Spock tilted his head to one side. "Then I shall try not to hold it against you," he replied. "Were that to be the case, I would have only myself to blame."

McCoy straightened up. "Well, don't hold your breath," he chuckled, "'cause I'm not about to let that happen."
 
McCoy stifled a yawn as he passed two crewmen conversing next to an empty window frame. A new panel of glass was propped up against the wall awaiting installation. He reached down to assure himself that his medkit was indeed slung across his shoulder when his right foot kicked something. He glanced ahead; a small tool kit sat in the middle of the hallway.

Frowning slightly, he paused, bent over and retrieved the object, tapping the nearest crewman on the shoulder. "'Scuse me. Would ya mind terribly not leaving obstacles where people can trip over them?"

The crewman turned and took the tool kit from McCoy. "Sorry, Doctor. I meant to get that."

McCoy nodded. "We've got enough to do in sickbay as it is," he muttered, his feet carrying him past several quarters before stopping at the entrance to the first officer's rooms. Lifting a hand, he rang the door chime.

Half a moment passed before the door finally opened. Spock stood in the doorway, his Starfleet issue sleepwear covered by a large fluffy rose-colored robe with flowery detailing up one side. A pair of equally fluffy slippers covered his feet. His cheeks and the tip of his nose were flushed pale green. He eyed McCoy up and down. "I was expecting a nurse to visit," he stated, face darkening slightly.

"Good evening to you, too," McCoy replied dryly, pushing past the Vulcan towards a small card table. Removing his medkit from his shoulder, he set it on the table and opened it up. He could feel Spock hovering over him as he removed his tricorder and probe. Turning, he activated the device and began to scan Spock with its handheld probe. "Breathe deeply," he instructed, waving the probe up and down Spock's chest near his lungs. "You should wear pink more often," he added.

Spock drew in a breath, then tugged on the collar of the robe. "The robe and slippers are Nyota's. She was very…insistent that I make use of them."

McCoy chuckled. "I kinda figured that. Cough," he added, and Spock did. "No shortness of breath? Pain?" At the shake of Spock's head, he ceased scanning. "Well, you've got a couple days to go yet, but you're improving. Don't even think about going back to work until I give the okay."

"I had not planned to." Spock pulled out a chair and sat down. "Did you bring the medication?"

"Yeah." McCoy rooted around in his medkit and pulled out a small glass bottle. Spock raised his eyebrows but said nothing as a plastic spoon followed. Passing them down the table, he waited as the Vulcan uncapped the bottle and poured out a dark blue liquid onto the spoon, which he then stuck in his mouth, making a slight pucker. "It helps if you pinch your nose first," McCoy suggested.

Spock removed the spoon. "I shall remember that next time." Capping the bottle, he set the spoon down next to it and reached for a glass of ice water that was sitting nearby, taking a small sip.

"A nice bowl of steaming chicken soup wouldn't hurt, either." McCoy replaced his medical tricorder and probe and closed the kit. "Bet you're going stir crazy in here with no work to do."

"Not exactly." Spock pushed a thin paper book across the table. "I have been engaging in a recreational activity known as coloring. It is very relaxing."

"Coloring?" McCoy looked up. Several wax crayons were strewn across the table. A small cup filled with markers sat on Spock's right hand. "I suppose that was Nyota's idea, too?" He picked up the book and flipped through it idly, not paying attention to what was on the pages.

"She suggested it, but she did not provide the book." Spock studied him, then shifted his gaze to the book.

McCoy opened the book halfway. A black page stared back at him. Glancing at the crayons, he realized they were all black, too. The same went for the markers. He flipped the pages, slowly at first, speeding up as he went along; all were the same dark shade. Letting the back cover fall closed, he eyed Spock critically, as though he might have missed something with his tricorder. "I'd like to attribute it to delirium. I really would."

McCoy sighed, folding his hands in front of him on the table. "Please. Tell me. I want to know," he continued. "What on Earth do you find…fun…about coloring-no blackening-on black paper with black crayons and ink?" He put one hand down, palm flat. "Or any of this contemplative silence malarkey -" a brow lifted "-for that matter?"

"I happen to derive several benefits from this 'malarkey'." Spock picked up a crayon and pulled the book towards himself. "Regarding coloring; I find it to be far less taxing than coloring with colors. I am neither required to determine the ideal contrasting shade or conform to the usual color of any image in question, nor must I remain inside the lines." He opened the book to a page and began to color. The tip of the crayon made no sound against the page. "For someone who has been schooled to be precise and accurate in my work, I find it relaxing to simply perform a task with no prescribed outcome."

McCoy drummed his fingers on the table, stopping when Spock glared across the table at him. "To each his own." He noticed a small shelving unit had been bolted to the wall across the room. "What's all this?" he asked, gesturing towards a series of knick knacks.

"Merchandise," Spock replied, not looking up from his page. "I have amassed a considerable amount of items relating to Contemplative Silence. What you see before you comprises only a fraction of my collection."

"Collection?" McCoy repeated quietly. The top shelf contained several books and a small box of memory tapes, sorted by size. Below it, a stack of dark blocks were arranged in a pyramid. Two frames on small stands appeared empty, but upon closer inspection contained a black felt square of fabric each. A small round lidded box with a wind-up key sat on the end. McCoy wound the key a couple of turns and flipped open the lid. No sound came from the inside. McCoy coughed to clear his throat and was surprised when no sound came from his mouth, either. Snapping the lid shut, he put the "silence box" back and moved to the final shelf. Six soft furry round things sat there a few inches apart. "Don't tell me. Contemplative Silence tribbles," he joked, picking up one and squeezing it softly.

"Please do not squish the plushies, Doctor." Spock pushed his chair back and stood up, hurrying over to the shelf. He grabbed the item from McCoy's hand and studied it closely.

"The what?" McCoy put his hands on his hips, mouth open in disbelief.

"There are six commemorative plushies. The one you were in the act of destroying is the rarest, and in mint condition. I would ask you to please not handle it roughly." Spock gave a final glance at the plushie before setting it back in its place on the shelf, glaring at McCoy.

"I'll give you "roughly"." McCoy raised a fist in the air and strode forward until he was standing nose to nose with the pink-robed Vulcan. "If that's not the most idiotic, ludicrous, insane-"

Spock was just about to reply when the door behind them swished open. They turned to find Lt. Uhura standing behind them and clutching a package to her chest, her expression sheepish. "Hi, boys. Am I interrupting a smackdown?" She glanced between the two before stopping at McCoy.

The doctor's shoulders slumped. "Ah, no." He took two steps backwards and rubbed the back of his neck. "Spock was just showing me his, uh, collection." Red flushed his cheeks. "Of silence-obilia." He gestured towards the shelving unit. "I'll be going now," he added, inching around Spock and retrieving his medkit from the table.

"Silence? That reminds me." Uhura held out her package towards the Vulcan. "I was going to give this to you later, but I thought you might want to use it now. While you're recovering." She smiled.

Spock took the gift from her, obviously pleased. "What is it?" he asked, scrutinizing the underside of the package.

"Open it and see."

Spock walked over to the table and sat down, placing the gift on the table before him. He looked over his shoulder. "Thank you, Nyota."

"Did you finally get him some more Spock-like sleepwear?" McCoy leaned against the wall, arms crossed. "Or is it a pink nightcap to match?"

Uhura covered her mouth with one hand, masking a smile. "No and no," she replied, watching as Spock untied the bow. "I'll give you a clue, though." She held one finger to her lips but said nothing.

Carefully removing the paper fold by fold, Spock opened up the package to reveal a small box about the size of his coloring book. Lifting it up, he tipped his head to one side. "A Contemplative Silence paint-by-numbers set." He looked up at Uhura. "I was not aware they made one. Thank you."

She smiled and put a hand on his shoulder. "You like it?"

"Indeed I do." Spock set the box down on the table. "Doctor, would you like to-" They both looked towards the door as it swished closed. The sound of running footsteps echoed down the hallway.

"What's with him?" Uhura wondered aloud, gesturing towards the door.

Spock followed her gaze. "I believe his presence was needed elsewhere, or as he would say, "anywhere but here.""
 
The dim lighting of Enterprise's corridors was the only indication of relative time of day apart from the lack of personnel on the recreation deck. McCoy had just finished a long shift in sickbay, but rather than exhaustion, he felt a keen sense of mental restlessness. His usual cure - a brisk session with the stress test equipment kept on hand for crew physicals - didn't appeal to him at the moment. Instead, he was looking for something that would challenge his mind for an hour or so, just long enough to tire him out.

He entered the main recreation area. Aside from two women playing three-dimensional chess and a male officer asleep with a PADD tucked under his arm, it was empty. A bowl of multicolored candies sat on a table; a few of them were sitting on the table in small piles sorted according to flavor. Drunk laughter floated down the hallway as a group of off-duty officers headed back to their quarters.

McCoy checked a wall monitor that was displaying various shipwide information, including the time. "0317. I guess I shouldn't have expected much at this hour." He tapped the screen and noticed that a fairly large data burst had come through the previous day. Aside from intelligence and sector reports, several scientific lectures were available to stream, including those given at a three-day medical conference he had wanted to attend but couldn't, due to their distance from the starbase on which it had been held.

Just as McCoy had decided which of two speakers in particular he wished to hear first, he realized that his feet had already carried him to a room that was becoming more familiar by the week. He was about to step through the door when a bright flash of orange light met his eyes, accompanied by haunting flute music. A sharp intake of breath followed.

McCoy shielded his eyes just as the music ceased and the room darkened once again. Sitting down on one end of the couch, he was startled when the person next to him swiveled his head to face McCoy. "Doctor."

"Spock." McCoy put both hands up in front of his face. "Well, now that everybody knows who everybody is, care to explain why the mere sight of me freaks you out?" He lowered his hands slowly.

Spock's breathing rate decreased and his shoulders relaxed. "You surprised me. That is all." He stretched out his legs towards the floor and reached for a small remote, pausing the program he had been playing.

"Hey, at least you're not wearing that fluffy robe," McCoy joked.

Spock bristled. "I would very much prefer you to disregard that." The Vulcan was clad in civilian day clothes consisting of a loose-fitting gray striped shirt and a pair of blue pants. He reached towards a box and took a handful of food from it, then lifted the box towards the doctor. "Sustenance?"

"Sure." McCoy reached into the box and pulled out a handful of twisted black crisps. He popped them into his mouth and bit down, feeling a satisfying crunch. Oddly, he did not hear anything. Poking one finger into his ear and wiggling it, he looked back down at the box. It was a plain dark package. "Mmmm. What is this stuff?" He chewed and swallowed the mouthful of snack food, eyeing the box again.

Turning it back and forth in the dim light, he saw several raised letters. "Contemplative Silence Crunchies." He twisted in his seat and regarded Spock, who was watching him expressionlessly. "Crunchies. Half the reason people like crunchy food is because you can feel it when you eat. The other half is the sound. You know, the crunch sound."

Spock arched a brow. "Really, Doctor. One cannot contemplate and crunch at the same time."

McCoy considered that for a moment. "One cannot, huh? Then what's the point? Why not contemplative silence pudding? That's naturally quiet to eat."

"Excellent idea. Perhaps you should suggest it to the manufacturer." Spock picked up the remote. "May I continue watching my movie now?"

"Actually, I was gonna-you know what? Go ahead." McCoy waved a hand at the monitor and Spock began the film again. Blankness filled the screen. The doctor leaned forward and tapped his lower lip thoughtfully. "Now let's see if I can guess what this is…don't tell me, the making-of documentary." He reached for another handful of "crunchies".

"Hardly. That would require interviews and visuals. The creation of the film was not accomplished in utter blackness." Spock rested one hand on the couch arm. "Contemplative Silence has had several spin-offs, however. This is a horror movie entitled Chaos."

McCoy rolled his eyes. "A horror movie? In what way?" Just as he popped the snacks in his mouth, a bright flash of blue and yellow swirling shapes filled the screen, accompanied by the scream of an electric guitar. A loud yell echoed through the room as Spock jumped up from his seat and landed in McCoy's lap, prompting a howl from the doctor as the Vulcan elbowed him in the face. Spock clutched McCoy's collar with a double-handed vice grip as McCoy began to choke on the snacks.

Prying Spock loose and shoving him to the floor, McCoy jumped up and doubled over, coughing, trying to clear his windpipe and massage his cheekbone at the same time. Spock lay on his back, hyperventilating, eyes wide open for a few seconds before he registered McCoy's distress and rolled sideways, standing to his full height. On shaky legs he crossed the floor and clapped the doctor on the back several times until he could breathe again. He then activated the replicator and requested a glass of water, which he passed to McCoy, who gratefully accepted it, still kneading his face with one hand.

After a moment, they both settled onto the couch again, rattled and disheveled. Before another frightening scene could appear, Spock stopped the movie and settled back in his seat. "That was…interesting."

"Interesting?" McCoy chuckled, taking another swig of his water. "That's puttin' it mildly. Leave it to Vulcans to find noise and color spine-tingling." He pointed towards the screen. "If I were you, I'd pass on that one."

"Indeed. I shall choose something more conducive to relaxation." A menu appeared on the screen. Spock leaned forward and scrolled down the listings before making a selection. The screen blanked for a second, before changing to a torch lit arena setting. "Ah. This will do." His body went slack against the back of the couch.

McCoy glanced at Spock, surprised at his choice of program. "The fights?" Spock did not reply, his gaze fixed on the screen. Two individuals stood in the middle of the ring, motionless. They were wearing dark hooded robes that went down to their ankles. Neither one appeared to be studying his opponent, nor did they carry any weapons. The audience was mostly made up of Vulcans, but a few other alien species and a couple of Humans all regarded the two individuals with interest.

After a few minutes of this, McCoy yawned softly, his heart rate now comfortably settled, wincing as the dull ache in his face where Spock had hit him throbbed. "What are they waiting for, anyway? An engraved invitation?"

"They are not waiting. The competition has already begun, Doctor." Spock blinked and turned up the volume.

"Impressive discipline from both Venik and Sova as we move into the seventh consecutive hour of this event," the Vulcan announcer whispered. "Masters of their craft. This is the first time these two opponents have been matched against each other, and it has already been an impressive display."

McCoy leaned toward Spock. "Some contest. All they're doin' is standin' arou-" He backed away as the Vulcan shushed him. "Okay, okay." A single shake of the head.

"We have witnessed two opportunities for defeat already and-wait. This might be significant." One of the Vulcan competitors raised a hand to his mouth and coughed softly. A loud gong sounded from the shadows as the crowd stirred. The cougher frowned and stepped backwards into the darkness, while the silent Vulcan remained motionless and expressionless, now lit by a spotlight. "Indeed. Venik has prevailed in a legendary fashion. Simply remarkable." The announcer was almost breathless. "He can either conclude the competition now or attempt to break the all-time record. Let us now pause to re-examine the moment of victory." Several replays played, focusing on Sova's subtle cough and Venik's lack of reaction at the moment it occurred.

Spock turned down the sound, disappointment marring his features. "That was unexpected. Sova has had an exceptional season. I was certain the victory would be his."

"Ah well, you win some, you lose some." McCoy rested his head on the back of the couch, eyes closed. "Whatever that was supposed to be."

"That, Doctor, was competitive contemplative silence."

McCoy's head jerked up. "Say what?" He looked towards the screen. Venik remained in place as though nothing had happened, breathing evenly. A time display behind him continued to count the hours, minutes and seconds. "It's a sport, too?" His mouth dropped open in disbelief.

"It is." Spock reached for the box of crunchies and removed a handful. "It may surprise you to learn that a considerable amount of physical and mental training goes into the development of elite silence athletes." He ate the snacks one by one, none of them making a sound.

"Oh, I have no doubt there's a mental component." McCoy rubbed his eyes, groaning. "Sometimes I think I'm the one living in a horror movie…"
 
McCoy inched between two security officers on either side of the shuttle ramp, one hand grasping a small rucksack. "Excuse me, coming through," he rasped, a little out of breath from the dash to Shuttlebay.

"Got here just in time, Doctor. Not a minute to spare." One of the officers, a blonde woman with close cropped curls, nodded at his bag. "I thought this was a day trip. Planning a longer stay?"

"On New Vulcan?" McCoy laughed. "Not if I can help it. A little too warm for these old bones down there. I'm only goin' 'cause I made a promise-" He stopped mid-sentence as the sound of a bell chimed from inside his bag. Both officers eyed him curiously. "Eh, it's nothing. Just one of my devices I forgot to turn off," he explained. He ducked his head to avoid the amusement he felt inside from showing on his face and continued up the ramp and into the craft.

Inside, several crewmembers from the Enterprise were seated, engaging their friends in muted conversation. A short ensign stood on his chair, trying to close a panel that had popped open above his head with little success. "There's a trick to that, Buyol. Allow me." McCoy set down his bag, gently elbowed him out of the way and slid the panel a quarter of an inch to the left before pushing it shut with a click. "Got it." He backed up into the aisle, reaching for his bag again.

"Thanks." Buyol hopped down from the chair and settled into it properly. "I'll have to remember that next time." He didn't seem embarrassed, only relieved.

McCoy nodded and continued toward the front of the shuttle, just shy of the cockpit. Spying a familiar head of tousled brown hair and the ebony one next to it, he allowed himself a goofy grin until he stood next to his captain and first officer.

Kirk looked up from the PADD on his lap. "Bones. I was just about to comm you. Thought maybe you'd changed your mind about coming." He glanced around the shuttle. "Don't you have doctor friends to sit with or something?"

"Doctor friends?" McCoy sat down in between Kirk and Spock. "What is this, a shuttle or the school lunchroom?"

"Oh, that reminds me." Kirk reached into a bag by his feet and pulled out an apple. "Little bit of both." He took a big bite out of the fruit, then offered it to McCoy. "Want some-"

"-germs?" McCoy finished. "Nah, I'll take my chances on the native delicacies." He leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes, letting the ambient sounds of the craft and its occupants soothe him. A transporter would have been quicker, but they had been taken offline today for regular maintenance. New Vulcan was about two hours away from their current location at standard non-emergency shuttle speed; just long enough for what McCoy had in mind.

An announcement sounded over the shuttle's intercom system, informing passengers that they were now departing. McCoy felt the rumble of the shuttle's liftoff under his feet, and watched out the window as they exited the bay. Spock was leaning forward, his gaze transfixed on what appeared to be a black Rubik's cube as he tried to "solve" it. "I guess it would be foolish to ask you what that is when I already have a pretty good idea."

Spock blinked. "Indeed." He dropped the block in his lap and reached for a PADD. Tapping the screen, he began to read to himself from the blankness. "Would you like to borrow my silence cube, Doctor?"

"Thanks, but no thanks. I already brought a toy of my own." McCoy reached into his bag and pulled out a small black box with a red button on top.

"It is not a toy, Doctor." Spock turned his attention back to the PADD, lost in whatever he could see on the screen.

McCoy pressed the button. A loud WHOOSH! echoed out of its speaker.

Spock's lips pursed, but he said nothing.

McCoy pressed the button again. DING-A-LING-A LING!

Spock frowned.

MOOOO!

His left ear twitched.

GRRRRRRR!

His left eyebrow arched.

McCoy covered his mouth with one hand to keep from laughing. "Something the matter?"

"No," Spock lied, annoyance evident in his voice. He stared straight ahead, trying to ignore the cacophony, his reading material forgotten. Little white lines surrounded his mouth.

McCoy hit the button with his index finger at regular intervals. PHWEET! B-B-B-B-B-B! BZZZZZZZZZZ! CREEEEEEAK! With every sound, the Vulcan's discomfort became more apparent. ZOOOOM! RUFF-RUFF! By now, the noise had attracted the attention of several other passengers, who seemed not to know where the sounds were coming from. They looked back and forth at each other, under chairs, and at the displays on the walls. GEEEEERP! WOOT-WOOT! ZCCHHHHH! THUNK! SHICKA-SHICKA-SHICKA! HOOOONNNNNK!

"What is that thing?" Kirk reached for the box with both hands.

McCoy held it just out of the captain's reach. "A noise box."BLARP! "I downloaded sounds from the ship's acoustics database into it." PIKKA-PIKKA-WOOOOOO! "Every time I press the button, it makes a random noise." RATTLE-RATTLE! "Like so." The red alert siren began blaring from the speaker, making McCoy fumble with the box. He flailed his hands around, trying to get a grip on it, but it slipped out of his grasp and skittered under the seats.

All around the shuttle, crewmen snapped to attention. Some remained in their seats, looking out the window for the cause of the alert, while others headed to check the shuttle's systems.

"What's going on?" Kirk yelled, hands over his ears as he walked towards the cockpit.

"Not sure, Captain," Sulu shouted back. "Everything here checks out. Nothing on visual, nothing on sensors."

Kirk frowned. He glanced toward the back of the shuttle, then turned back to McCoy, realization slowly dawning. "Is that one of your sound effects?" he shouted, still covering his ears.

"Maybe," McCoy shrugged, a sheepish look on his face.

"Why would you include the red alert alarm?!"

"I don't know! I didn't! Not on purpose!"

"Turn it off!"

"I lost it!"

"Find it and shut it off!"

McCoy dropped to the ground and began searching under chairs. He swept one arm under the seats, brushing against the ankles of some of the passengers in the process. After an agonizing two minutes, he finally located the noise box three rows back. Pulling it out, he winced as the sound came closer to his face."The button's jammed!" He tried to wiggle it loose, but to no avail.

"Well, un-jam it then!" Kirk hollered.

"I'm trying!" McCoy barked back.

"Try harder!"

"You know," McCoy added, smacking the button with the palm of his hand repeatedly, "I don't remember the Enterprise red alert being this annoying."

Kirk gritted his teeth. "Speaking of annoying-"

"Gentlemen!" Spock appeared next to McCoy, his brows lowered. "Allow me." He held out one hand. "Doctor, the device."

"Gladly." McCoy handed the box to Spock and covered his ears. "What do you plan to-"

The Vulcan set McCoy's device on the seat and picked up a hammer. Raising the tool above his head, he slammed it down on the box with a loud SMASH! Bits of metal flew in all directions, hitting nearby personnel, as the siren sound cut off abruptly. An awkward silence followed.

McCoy winced, opening one eye. "I made that myself…"

"It's all right, people. False alarm," Kirk assured everyone, clapping a sciences crewman on the back, then nodding at a command division officer with a weak smile. Crewmen who had frozen in one position when Spock destroyed the device settled back into their seats slowly, still on edge from the previous clamor. A few resumed conversations with their seatmates, the volume of their speech decreasing as their hearing recovered. A mixture of surprise and relief was etched onto their faces.

Kirk groaned and rubbed the back of his neck, plopping down next to McCoy and glowering at him.

Spock remained standing in the aisle, one hand still clutching the hammer. A peculiar expression crossed his features. "I found that…oddly…satisfying."

McCoy frowned. "I'll take that," he said, reaching for the hammer and prying Spock's fingers off the handle. "Don't want you getting any ideas." He put one hand on top of his head, shoving the hammer under his seat with the other. "Sorry, Jim."

Kirk shook his head. "Just don't ever do that again, okay? These people are trained to respond to real emergencies, and - it's like a little kid pulling the fire alarm." His lips twitched when he said this, as though it had brought back a memory he'd like to forget. Sighing, the captain crossed his arms over his chest. "Why did you make that heart attack in a box, anyway?" he asked, bending over and rummaging in his bag. He pulled out a small packet.

Spock moved in front of them and sat down in his own chair. "I believe the sole purpose of that "noise box" was to cause me annoyance. Perhaps your idea of revenge for my attempts to introduce you to Contemplative Silence?" When McCoy said nothing, Spock continued. "Believe it or not, Doctor, my interest in Contemplative Silence is not merely a function of how much aggravation it causes you."

"Pretty sure that's Vulcan for, 'don't flatter yourself''," Kirk added, popping a raisin into his mouth.

"Hey, if I want a translator, I'll ask Uhura." McCoy folded his arms behind his head. "Right now, I just want to forget about the whole thing." He turned his head and glanced out the window at the stars passing by. "You know, you never did say where we were going when we got there."

"I have passes to a live taping of a program." Spock closed his eyes. "But before I tell you which program, I believe it would be prudent to ask you to give me the hammer."

McCoy covered his face with both hands, groaning. "Be my guest."
 
The low hum of voices greeted McCoy's ears as he entered the assembly hall. He glanced at a piece of actual paper affixed to the wall near the door. "Tryouts today. (Play to be announced)" was written in blocky blue script.

Leaning his back against the wall, he watched the crew members, who were clustered in small groups all across the room. Nervous laughter echoed on his left from a young woman who clutched a PADD in her hands, while the two male officers standing next to her were nodding and assuring her. One put a hand on her shoulder, and she closed her eyes, relaxing.

To his right, a young officer finished singing a lively tune, much to the delight of his friends, who applauded profusely. He bowed with a flourish, dipping low to the ground, only to be bopped on the head by one of his "admirers", who was brandishing a rolled-up paper that appeared to be another poster. The singer responded to their boisterous laughter with a mock scowl. He smirked as McCoy, but the doctor looked away.

Some crewmen sat on the floor, studying PADDs and making notes, while others looked as though they were going to fall asleep. McCoy felt a tap on his shoulder and turned around. "Hey, Chekov."

"Doctor. I thought it vas you." The navigator took a sip from his bottle of ice water and smiled. "Are you going to read for one of the roles?"

McCoy held up his hands palms out. "Oh, no, I'm not here lookin' to nab a part. Just watchin', is all."

"Too bad. You'd be a shoo-in." His features drooped. "Myself, I'm not so sure. Last time, I wound up being an understudy to an understudy." His cheeks flushed with embarrassment.

McCoy put a hand on Chekov's shoulder and squeezed. "Don't be so negative, kid. I'm sure there's a role out there with your name all over it."

"Think so?" Chekov crossed his arms.

"I know so." McCoy pointed over his shoulder at the sign. "Hey, you heard anything about what play they're doin'?"

"No, sorry." Chekov shook his head. "Personally, I'm hoping it's Chess," he replied, smiling again.

McCoy chuckled. "Well, I guess it's too early in the year for The Nutcracker." He cast his gaze towards the stage at the front of the room as the curtain swished open. Nyota Uhura stepped through, looking out over the crowds. She worried her lip with her front teeth. Some of the officers noticed her, and nudged their friends, who stopped talking and looked up at the stage, expressions anxious.

Seeing their agitation, she shook her head. "Sorry, everybody. Auditions won't be for a few minutes." Disappointment echoed through the crowd, but they quickly recovered and returned to their earlier conversations. Chekov nodded at the doctor, then headed over to a group of crewmembers that were huddled together watching something on a PADD screen.

Uhura stepped down off the stage and crossed the room, stopping to speak with some of the would-be performers.

"Uhura." McCoy waved a hand in the air.

She slowly walked towards him, studying his face. "Uh oh." Uhura frowned. "Did I miss an appointment or something?"

McCoy sighed and crossed his arms over his chest. "Relax. You're good. 'Sides, even if'n you did, I've got better things to do than chase you down myself. And I could always ring ya," he added, tugging on his earlobe. "I'm here for another reason." He tilted his chin at the stage.

"Tryouts?" She smiled. "Watching or auditioning?"

"Watching. I'm a doctor, not-"

"-not an actor," she finished, holding one hand up in front of his face. "I know, I know." She thought for a moment. "What about behind the scenes? You could paint the scenery, or work with the stage crew, or-"

"Well, I can't guarantee anything. You know I've got a busy schedule. And I can't postpone a surgical procedure just to paint yellow daisies on a canvas." McCoy chuckled, looking down at his watch. "But I had a few moments left over on my lunch break, so I thought I'd come on down here and watch a bunch of grown men and women make fools of themselves."

Uhura poked him in the arm. "Be nice." She waved her hand at the gathered crew. "Look how excited everybody is. These productions are a real morale booster. And some of them are actually really good." She pointed at a stocky officer in the corner of the room. "Remember Hendorff, what a great Maujer he made when we did Hinnes' Frevid in Pallion last winter?"

"Yep. But as I recall, that role was written for an old man, and it only had three lines."

"So? He was onstage for most of the show, and I thought he played the role with feeling."

"I'll give you that." McCoy winked. "Still wish I'd brought a gong, though." She raised her hand to poke him again, but he blocked her attack, and she lowered her hand. He snuck another glance at his watch. "Say, shouldn't ya be getting started yet? It's almost a quarter of the way through this shift's lunch hour."

"Huh? Oh, no. I'm not judging the auditions." She looked down at her hands. "I was just bringing Spock some lunch. And waiting my turn," she added, grinning. "He told me not to expect a good part just because he and I…" She waved one hand dismissively. "I don't know, he's kind of paranoid about avoiding the appearance of favoritism. Since we work in different departments, it's not that big an issue anymore, but-"

"Hold on a minute," McCoy interrupted. "Spock told'ja not to expect…is he-" He stopped talking abruptly as the curtains opened again, and Spock stepped out onto the stage, garnering the attention of the waiting auditioners. "Spock is judging the auditions?!" He watched as Spock summoned the young singer to the stage. With an impish wink at his buddies, he headed behind the curtain with the Vulcan.

Uhura gave a lopsided smile. "Yeah. Surprised me, too. Since Burnside transferred to Deep Space Station H-19 six months ago, nobody else seemed interested in taking the reins. Until now, that is."

"Didn't think he had blood in his veins, let alone the theater in his blood." McCoy rubbed his eyes. "Where are they going anyway?"

"Backstage. The auditions are private." She shrugged. "Don't ask me why. Maybe he thought it would help the performers be less self-conscious."

"They're gonna have to get used to it sometime," McCoy scoffed. "Listen, if there's nothing to see, I'm going back to sickbay." He turned around and headed for the exit. "If'n I wanted to see a bunch of people stand around and yap, I'd-"

"Hey, Doc!" He turned his head to see the singing officer peering through the curtain. "Spock wants to talk to ya!"

"What about?"

"I don't know." The officer shrugged, gripping the curtain with one hand. "He just said to call you, Doc." With a swish of fabric, he was gone again.

"Tell him I'm coming." McCoy turned to the communications officer. "If you'll excuse me, Uhura." He moved through the crowd and strode up onto the stage, ducking behind the curtains.

The backstage area was darkened, and he nearly tripped over a coil of rope. "Spock? Turn the lights on. I can't see a fool thing." He felt around with his hands until he touched a computer panel and pressed the switch. Illumination filled the area surrounding him, causing him to squint. "What is this, the bat cave?"

"Back here, Doctor."

McCoy followed the sound to the corner of the room. Spock sat at a table which was split evenly down the middle between clutter and order. "Well, well, if it isn't the Phantom of the Opera." The messy side of the table was piled high with an assortment of props and costumes, while the neat side, Spock's side, held a lunch tray. McCoy smiled at the half-eaten bowl of macaroni and cheese, obviously Uhura's idea. A glass of frothy orange liquid sat next to it, along with a smaller bowl of vanilla pudding topped with cherry syrup. "Now, what was it you wanted to-"

Spock reached for a stylus with one hand and began making notes on a tablet. "I will be with you shortly."

"But I-"

Spock held up one hand. "Please, Doctor. I need quiet to concentrate."

"All right." McCoy clasped his hands behind his back, eyes closed. He stood like that for several moments, occasionally glancing up at the Vulcan. Spock continued making notes on his tablet, studying McCoy as he did so. "What are you working on?" No answer.

Finally, Spock set down his stylus and tented his fingers. "Excellent."

"Huh?" McCoy walked over to Spock's side and tried to read what he had written, but it was all in Vulcan. "I'm a little confused. What just happened?" He leaned on the table.

"Congratulations, Doctor." Spock extended one hand towards McCoy. "Your audition was successful."

"What audition? I was told you wanted to speak to me."

Spock frowned. "Mr. Riley informed me that you wanted to audition for the production, but that your work schedule would not permit you to do so later this afternoon. Apparently, he was misinformed." He raised an eyebrow and looked over his shoulder to a door that Riley had presumably exited through before returning his attention to McCoy. "I take it then, that you do not wish to participate after all?"

McCoy held his hands apart as though he was wringing someone's neck. "When I get my hands on that scamp-" He sighed. "I know Jim's never gonna let me hear the end of this, but…as long as I'm here…why not?" He stretched his arms upward in the air. "I don't have anything prepared, but-wait. You said I already got the part. Haven't done nothin' yet."

"On the contrary, Doctor. Your performance was exemplary." Spock stood up from his chair and walked around McCoy, studying him. "I could see you as Rinak the warrior, bold and triumphant. Or perhaps Yuthi-mir-akal, the wandering scholar."

"Oh, is this a Vulcan play?" McCoy touched the tips of his ears. "Can you just see me with pointed ears? I could even do my own make-up," he chuckled. "Must be an awful lot of parts in the show if you can just stand there and ace the audition."

Spock reached into a box of memory tapes and handed McCoy two of them. "Why don't you read through the script and learn the songs now? That will make your task easier when we begin rehearsals."

"Songs?" McCoy accepted the tapes. "I hafta sing, too? You might change your mind about giving me a good part when you've heard my voice." He pointed to his chest with one thumb. "I may not sound like a rusty gate, but I'm not exactly an Irish tenor, either."

"Trust me, you will not have to concern yourself with that." Spock nodded at the tapes. "You may want to be seated before you read the title, however."

McCoy pulled out a chair from the table. "I don't know why you'd-" He looked at the label on the tape as he sat down. "Contemplative Silence: The Musical." He dropped into the chair limply, one hand fanning the tapes. McCoy glared at Spock. "The musical."

"Yes."

McCoy tossed the tapes onto the desk and leaned forward. "Funny thing about a musical is…ya need music. You know, sound. That thing you're so all-fired anxious to eliminate." He flopped backwards in his chair. "So tell me, what? Do they all stand around on stage in the darkness, unmoving, for two hours? Who in their right mind would waste two hours of their lives staring at a bunch of nobodies doing nothing in the noiseless nothingness?"

Spock shook his head. "Hardly. There are several dance numbers as well." Before McCoy could open his mouth to protest, Spock continued, his brow furrowing. "Perhaps it would be best if you set aside your thespian ambitions until the next production."

McCoy rubbed his forehead with one hand. "That'll be easy, seein' as how I didn't have none to begin with." His eyes twinkled. "How 'bout I work in scenery, instead?" A wry smile curved his lip. "Wouldn't be that hard. Way I figure it, all I hafta do is throw a big bucket of black paint on a piece of canvas." At the downturn of Spock's brows, he added, "Be sure an' save a ticket for me, too. I could use a good, long nap."

Spock studied McCoy. "For someone who has an appreciation of historical events, I expected you would be more interested in this particular musical."

McCoy frowned. "Why?"

Spock tented his finger together again. "It is based on a true story."

McCoy's chair toppled underneath him, sending him crashing to the floor.
 
Leonard McCoy adjusted the position of the slim black notebook on his right thigh and jotted down a few more thoughts, his pen moving haltingly along the blue line. A sudden cramp in his leg caused his pen hand to jump, skittering across the page until it jabbed him. "Ow." He dropped the pen on the ground and rubbed his thigh. "Jim. Remind me why this was a good idea, again?"

Jim Kirk, crouching by a pile of dry twigs, paused in the middle of rubbing two sticks together. "Camping wasn't my idea, Bones." He dropped the sticks and stood, swiping dirt off of his pants. "You're the country boy, after all." Kirk thumbed an imaginary pair of suspenders, snapping them, and winked.

"Cut that out. I wasn't talking about the trip," McCoy continued, slipping the notebook and pen into his rucksack. "Why'd you have to insist on the whole 'no devices' thing, anyway? I mean, I get that you don't wanna be bothered while we're on vacation and all, but come on. One little tablet computer isn't going to hurt any."

Kirk shook his head. "Sorry. 'No devices' means no devices, Bones. Out here-" he breathed in and out, a smile settling on his features- "nothing but us, fresh air, and the clear blue sky." He opened up a plastic package and poured out a handful of trail mix, swalowing it in one gulp.

"And disease-carrying bugs, bone-chilling weather, grizzly bears, escaped criminals, moonshiners-"

"Chill out. What century are you living in, anyway?" Kirk chuckled. "I don't want to be so easy to locate. This is our shore leave, and I'd like us to enjoy it without being monitored by Starfleet every second."

"You think we're not being watched?" McCoy threw his hands up in the air. "There are several tracking satellites in Earth's orbit that can trace our positions to within a few millimeters if an eager sensor technician is so inclined." He folded his arms over his chest. "Not to mention, oh yeah, the Enterprise. You know, that big starship we're assigned to?"

"Scotty's got better things to do than beam us back aboard in the middle of engine test maneuvers." Kirk shuffled through the dirt and put a hand on McCoy's shoulder. "I thought you liked the raw, unspoiled wilderness."

"I do," McCoy huffed. "I just have the feeling I'm going to come out of this excursion more raw than unspoiled, that's all." He kicked a stone with the toe of his hiking boot. "'Spose I should be glad you let us bring camping gear instead of making us build a lean-to out of sticks and leaves."

Kirk swatted a mosquito that landed on his cheek. "Did you miss the part where I said I wanted to enjoy the trip? But if I let you bring a PADD along, you'd probably spend all your time reading medical journals, or catching up on work." He walked over towards the tent and unzipped the entryway, crawling inside.

"Like you wouldn't try to catch up on personnel transfers, or technical manuals, or comic books?" McCoy plopped down next to the campfire. "Face it, Jim, we're workaholics. You, me, and Spock." He picked up the sticks and began to rub them against each other rapidly. "If it wasn't for the occasional game of chess and that infernal contemplative silence of his, I don't think he'd ever leave the lab for longer than the night shift unless you dragged him on an away team." He leaned forward and blew gently on the stick pile, watching a thin curl of smoke drift upward. "How'd you ever talk him into this?"

The tent rustled. "Told him it was a psychological experiment." Kirk backed out of the tent, a lighter in one hand, and sat up on his haunches. "Stick three people out in the middle of nowhere, armed with only their wits and the bare essentials," He stood up and walked over to the fire, sitting down on a hollow log. "-then see how long they can keep from killing each other." He grinned and held out the lighter. "This oughta-" A frown. "You did that in seconds. I've been fooling with it for five minutes."

McCoy tossed a couple of sticks on top of the fire, a pleased expression on his face. "This ain't my first rodeo. Me and my daddy used to go camping when I was knee high to Keenser." He stretched out both hands toward the flames. "You didn't think we just locked ourselves in an examining room and played with the anatomical imagers every weekend, did you?"

Kirk stood up and turned back to the tent. "Anything else I should know about you?" he asked, tossing the lighter into his pack. He walked to the edge of the camp and peered into the forest.

"Remind me to tell you about the summer I spent cataloguing bone fragments on Sermian Beta X," McCoy offered. "And the time I got into a fight with a Denobulan mixed martial arts champion over a beautiful-" He paused. "Jim, what is it?"

Kirk frowned into the distance. "Spock's been gone for an hour now. I sent him up the ridge to find some more firewood. What's keeping him?"

McCoy scratched the back of his neck. "Who knows? Maybe he discovered a new species of fern. Told ya we should've brought a tricorder."

Kirk shivered as the wind ruffled his hair. "It's getting colder." He glanced up. "Looks like a storm's coming." Dark clouds swept in with the wind, casting a shadow over the forest.

"Want to bail out?"

"Not a chance."

McCoy shrugged. "Can't blame me for-"

"Jim. Leonard." Spock appeared from behind a large redwood tree, clutching an armful of firewood. A smudge of dirt streaked down his right cheek. "Inclement weather approaches. I recommend we extinguish the fire and seek shelter."

"That's Spock for you. No pleasantries, no apologies, just the weather report and marching orders." McCoy took the firewood from the Vulcan and shoved it inside the tent. "Where have you been all this time, anyway? Plucking daisies and playing 'she loves me, she loves me not'?"

A faint tinge of green colored Spock's cheeks. "I can assure you I was not attempting to divine Nyota's affections by defoliating the local flora." He frowned. "Such an exercise has no basis in science whatsoever."

"Sorry I asked." McCoy flipped open the tent flap and crawled inside.

"That's too subtle for Spock," Kirk agreed, following after him. "He'd probably just ask her, point-blank. Not that he needs to. Everybody on the ship knows she thinks he hung the moon."

Just as Spock opened his mouth to protest the last statement, something flat and hard slipped out from under his shirt and onto the tent floor. He reached for it, but McCoy grabbed the object first, flipping it around. "A PADD?" He snorted. "Nice hiding place."

"I knew I should have searched you guys before we left the ship." Kirk sighed and shook his head, rubbing his brow. "Spock, we agreed. No devices."

Spock snatched the tablet from McCoy. "I am not going to insult your intelligence by questioning how this device came to be among my personal effects." He looked down at the floor. "I brought it along so I could…see to certain matters." Clutching the PADD to his chest, he sat down on the end of his sleeping bag.

McCoy leaned against the tent's wall, chuckling. "I hate to break it to you, Spock, but they don't put paper magazines in the privy to give folks something to read."

Kirk elbowed McCoy in the shoulder, then extended a hand towards his friend, gazing firmly. "The PADD, Spock."

Spock looked back and forth between the two men, then slowly extended the device towards Kirk, who took it and shoved it inside his bag. "Good," Kirk said, expression lightening. He unzipped his sleeping bag and climbed in. "Let's all get a good night's sleep. Storm oughta blow over by morning. A quick breakfast, and then I'll show you guys that waterfall I've been telling you about?"

"The one you plan on pushing us over?"

"Good night, Bones." Kirk closed his eyes and turned on his side as Spock slid into his own sleeping bag. Within moments, both men were breathing evenly, even as the rain began to pelt their tent. McCoy removed an energy drink from his bag and opened it, taking a swig, replacing the bottle. As he crawled towards his own sleeping bag, he spied Spock's PADD poking out from Kirk's rucksack. Backing up, he reached for the device and unzipped his sleeping bag, shoving the PADD down as far as it would go, then slid in after it.

McCoy woke up with a start as thunder crashed overhead. "Not now," he muttered under his breath, squirming. "Of all the times to have to…" Letting out a long sigh, he got up on his knees and crawled towards the front of the tent, unzipping the flap.

Lightning arced across the sky in the distance. Cool wind and raindrops bathed his face. Straightening up, McCoy shuffled awkwardly in the direction of the latrine they'd dug earlier. Startled by a thunderclap, his boot slipped in the mud and he tried to regain his balance, but his arms were pinned against his sides. "What the-" He looked down. Both feet poked out from the bottom of his sleeping bag, which he still wore. Grabbing the inner sides of the bag, he struggled with it, managing to slip the Starfleet-issue bag over his head and tossing it to the ground in a heap. "Now how in tarnation did that happen?" he wondered aloud, breathing heavily from the exertion. Rain streamed down his face and pooled in the folds of his plaid shirt.

Another lightning flash illuminated the clearing ahead of him. A figure wearing a rain slicker was seated on one of the logs surrounding what had been their fire pit, its head bent over something it held in its hands. Rain flooded down from the sky, yet the figure seemed not in the least perturbed by the inclement weather. Glancing back at his sleeping bag, McCoy shut his eyes. "Heaven help me, if that's who I think it is…"

Stomping over to the log, McCoy stopped in front of the figure. "I thought you were asleep, Spock." No answer. He leaned down and shook Spock's shoulder. "Spock?"

"I was not sleeping. I was resting my eyes," the Vulcan corrected, removing a pair of headphones. "If you wished to conceal the location of my PADD, you should have waited an hour or so." Thunder rumbled.

"You're crazy, you know that?" McCoy shouted over the sound. "It's the middle of the night and you're sitting outside in the dark while all hell's breaking loose, compiling a report on the effects of X-rays on Altairian nematodes, organizing the seating chart for the sciences department banquet, compiling your own theory as to how the universe will end, or who knows what else." He brushed back his limp, wet hair. "Now come inside before you catch your death of cold." McCoy shook his head. "I told Jim you were a workaholic, but this takes the cake."

Spock thought for a moment, then adjusted his hood. "I will return to the tent momentarily. It was stifling, and I required fresh air." He put on his earphones and turned back to the PADD, gaze intent. "Among other things," he muttered under his breath.

McCoy walked around the log until he was standing behind Spock. "Well, unless it's an urgent directive from the head of Starfleet himself, I don't see why you can't just-" His voice trailed off as he spied the screen of the PADD. "I should have known." A blank screen glowed faintly in the shadows. A couple of droplets of water dribbled down the sides of the device.

McCoy reached for Spock's headphones, pulling one side away from his head. Spock jerked sideways. "Do you mind, Doctor?" He sighed. "I find the clamor of the storm unsettling."

"You find everything but silence unsettling." Pivoting around, McCoy stomped towards the tent. "Jim! Get out here and see what-whoa!" He jumped as the thunder boomed and a gust of wind blew him forward. Blindly, he stepped on his discarded sleeping bag, now slick with muddy rainwater, and slipped, arms flailing. McCoy crashed into the side of the tent headfirst, unraveling the rope from the tent peg as he tripped over it. He landed on top of Kirk, who let out a muffled yell as the tent collapsed on top of him.

After a couple of seconds, McCoy rolled over onto one side into a puddle of mud. "Jim!"

The tent bulged in several places as Kirk pushed against the sides with his hands and feet repeatedly, finally locating and poking his head out of the opening flap. "Ow!" He squinted his eyes shut as a gust of wind lashed his face with rain. "What the heck, Bones?!" Kirk wriggled out of the tent and staggered to his feet, grabbing at the tent rope. "Help me get it set up and tied down again." He passed the rope to McCoy and knelt down in the mud, flexing a support post in an attempt to bend it into place. "Spock!" Kirk yelled over his shoulder. "Grab the other rope!" He stuck his hand through the opening, fishing around for something.

"He can't hear you, Jim! That's what I was trying to tell you!" McCoy jammed his peg deep into the mud and wrapped the rope around it, double-knotting it. "That PADD he brought along? He's over by the fire pit, watching Contemplative Silence!"

"What?!" Kirk tore off a strip of repair tape with his teeth and wrapped it around a weak spot on the support post. "That's why he snuck the PADD down here?"

"Yup." McCoy let out a puff of breath.

"In this weather?" Lightning illuminated Kirk's look of utter disbelief. "That's crazy!"

"I know, right? Neither sleet, nor snow, nor hail, nor lightning bolts…" McCoy rolled up his damaged sleeping bag and stuffed it through the opening. "After you drifted off, I hid the device in my bag, but he sliced it open and took the PADD back. He's probably been outside for hours now!"

"Oh, man…" Kirk flopped backwards into the mud and covered his face with both hands, groaning. "I'm starting to see what you mean about him…"
 
"Mind if we join you, Doctor?"

McCoy looked up from his turkey sandwich and eyed the blonde who stood by his mess hall table, balancing a lunch tray on one hip. A small salad, lightly dressed, was accompanied by a side of French fries and a frothy green drink with little dark specks in it. "We?" He glanced to her left, then her right. "Need a chaperone for your lunch date with the invisible man?" he quipped.

"What?" Carol turned and swept her gaze across the lunch room. As she stepped backward, she bumped into Uhura gently. "Nyota. Where did you go? You were right behind me."

"I just thought-" Uhura sighed. "Oh, never mind." Without waiting for McCoy's answer, she slid into the seat next to him and set down her tray, then picked up the spoon and dipped it into her soup. At a nod from McCoy, Carol shrugged and sat down across from them, taking a sip of her drink.

Leaning towards Carol, McCoy cupped one hand to his face and whispered, "What's with her?"

Marcus set down her glass. "Spock's been a little busy lately. She told me she knows that he has a lot of duties as first officer, not to mention his scientific pursuits. Still…" she trailed off, running her finger around the rim of the glass, "She was kind of hoping he'd show up for their usual lunch date anyway."

McCoy looked over at his seatmate. Uhura was still stirring the soup, but had yet to consume any of it. "Maybe if ya blow on it, it'll cool faster," he suggested, taking another bite of his sandwich.

"Hmm?" She glanced up at him. "Oh, no. It isn't that…I mean-" She took a mouthful of soup and wiped her mouth with a napkin. "It's silly, really. It's not like I'm his only friend. He's got Jim, and you, and I don't resent the time you spend together." Brushing a lock of hair behind her ear, she leaned on one elbow. "I should be glad, really, that he's making new friends, especially Vulcan ones. He's told me how difficult it was for him to try to fit in with his peers as a child." Her smile lifted slightly until it finally met her eyes. "And from what Spock tells me about him, he's quite brilliant, really. A xenobotanist who enlisted with Starfleet two years ago, and is currently working towards officer status. They're both big fans of Contemplative Silence, too."

"Great. Just what we need around here. More of that little diversion." McCoy frowned mid-chew. "Xenobotanist, you say?" He reached for the tablet next to his tray and tapped the screen, bringing up the personnel database. Typing the field into the search bar, he frowned as the Vulcan's image appeared on the screen.

"Yeah. He transferred here during our stopover at Starbase 22." Uhura spooned up some more soup. "You probably met him during his transfer physical. What'd you think of him, dare I ask?" she queried dryly.

"You've never met him?" Carol asked her, trailing a fry in her salad dressing. "I haven't spend a lot of time in the arboretum or plant biology labs lately, but surely you would have run into him and Spock once or twice." She popped the fry in her mouth.

"Nope." Uhura shook her head. "I've been meaning to invite him to dinner in our quarters one of these nights, though. Sort of a "welcome-to-the-Enterprise-get-to-know-you" meal. Would you like to come?"

"Sure." Carol leaned forward eagerly, chin resting on one hand. "Hey, want me to bring the dessert? Mum didn't do a lot of cooking, but she had a recipe for pecan-"

"Hold it." McCoy placed a hand on her arm. "Doncha think the company'll be a little, uh, lopsided?"

Carol and Uhura both turned to McCoy. "What do you mean by that?" Uhura asked, brows furrowed slightly.

"Of all of the transfers we received at Starbase 22, there was only one sciences division Vulcan. Crewman first class Veylik." He raised an eyebrow at Carol, whose expression clouded.

"That's right." Uhura finished her soup and pushed it to one side. "However you add it up, it all evens out. Two Vulcans - basically - two Humans. Two women-" She noticed their shared glance. "What is it?"

"Three women, Uhura." McCoy held up three fingers, then slid his tablet over towards her. "Veylik is a she, not a he." The screen showed the image of an elegant Vulcan woman with long dark hair knotted in a bun and wearing sciences blue. "I was attending a meeting on the base the day she came aboard. I had to stay late participating in a conference call with Starfleet Medical. One of the relay stations was experiencing a time delay, so everything took twice as long to-" He studied the woman's face, which had gone ashen. "Uhura? You all right?"

Uhura's hands began to shake. "He…I just assumed, I guess, that…" Her lips pressed tightly together, and she looked up from the screen. Fire smoldered in her eyes. "Why didn't he tell me?"

"I might be able to hazard a guess," McCoy chuckled, choking off his laugh as she glared at him.

Uhura turned her gaze on Carol. "Why didn't you tell me? You just let me go on and on about how great it is that Spock made a Vulcan friend, and they have so much in common, and-" She threw her hands up in the air.

Carol shook her head. "I didn't know, honest I didn't."

"But you recognized her name!"

"Yes, because we spoke briefly yesterday in the ship's library." Carol insisted. "It was after my shift, and neither of us were wearing our division colors. She asked me whether I'd seen Ensign Hamilton because she had a question for him about switching her assigned quarters for another. I told her I hadn't, and we parted. I didn't know she was new to the ship. I've been here for a while and I still haven't met everybody." She sighed. "Really, I don't think you need to worry. She's probably just asking Spock for advice, that's all."

"Yeah, she's right," McCoy reached for his glass of milk. "Like how to fend off our captain-" Carol's mouth twisted "-or tips on perfecting her silence technique." He covered his mouth as a hiccup escaped, then glanced back and forth at the two women. Uhura was clenching her napkin in both hands, knuckles white, mouth set in a grim line, while Carol bored holes in the doctor's face with her eyes. "Did I say something wrong?"

Carol laughed humorlessly. "Not at all. Whatever gave you that idea?" Shoving aside her tray, she got up from her seat and walked away from the table, back stiff.

McCoy watched her until she disappeared into the crowd, then turned his gaze back on Uhura, who had abandoned the mangled napkin and now tapped her manicured fingernails on the tabletop. "They've been spending a lot of time together?"

"Uh-huh. We haven't seen each other for more than a few minutes at a time in the last couple of weeks," she sniffed. A tear dribbled down one cheek. "He doesn't come to bed until 0300, some nights." She reached up to wipe it away. "When I asked him about it, he said that something came up. And I believed him."

"As well you should. Spock doesn't lie. Granted, he didn't tell you the whole truth this time, but-" He paused as Uhura swiveled in her seat, placing one hand on the table for balance.

"So he wants silence, does he? I'll give him silence," she muttered, standing up. "Two can play that game." She crossed her arms over her chest. "Let's see how he likes it for a change."

"What did you have in mind?" McCoy asked, stuffing the last of his sandwich in his mouth and collecting both his empty tray and those the women had left behind.

Uhura gave him a wicked smile. "You'll see."

For the next week, McCoy made a point of finding excuses to head up to the bridge, ranging from hand-delivering a report on the status of crew immunizations to acting as though Kirk had summoned him. He even volunteered to join an away team when he learned that Spock, Uhura, and Veylik would all be heading to the surface of Grenum III to oversee the transfer of several botanical samples to the ship's arboretum. Aside from the minimum of communication required for the successful completion of her tasks, Uhura remained as quiet as possible. She was pleasant as always to the bridge crew and those she spoke with over the comms, generally civil to the Vulcan woman, and downright monosyllabic to Spock, communicating most of her answers with subtle gestures and minimal eye contact.

As McCoy descended into the command well on the morning of the seventh day with two cups of coffee, a hand stretched out and grabbed him by the elbow, making him slosh a few drops onto the floor. "Can't you wait one second, Jim?" He handed the cup to the captain and raised his own coffee to his lips.

"Thank you, Yeoman McCoy." Kirk laughed as the doctor rolled his eyes. "Seriously, though, this is, what, the twelfth time you've come to the bridge this week? In the words of Admiral Pike, "get a life"."

"He did not say that to you."

"In so many words, no, but that was the gist of it. Best advice I ever got." Kirk leaned forward in the command chair, toasting the late admiral.

McCoy did the same, took a sip, and frowned. "What about all the advice I give you?"

"You mean like 'don't touch that', 'don't do that', 'she's not your type, Jim'. That kind of advice, Bones?"

"Yeah. And by the way, you forgot, 'hold still' and 'don't be such a baby'." McCoy sipped his drink again. "Actually, I came up to see the floor show." When Kirk looked at him askance, McCoy raised his cup towards Uhura, who was intently focusing on her current conversation with one of the ship's departments. "You really haven't noticed Lt. Uhura's rather…frosty demeanor when the hobgoblin's around?"

As if on cue, the turbolift opened, and Spock strode out onto the bridge, making the rounds of the various stations before settling into his own. As he did, Uhura glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, only to look away when he acknowledged her presence, stiffening in her chair. Spock remained standing for a moment, then settled in at his science station.

"Ouch," Kirk muttered. "Delta Vega wasn't that cold. What's gotten into her?"

"Girl trouble." McCoy leaned against the arm of Kirk's chair. "You know that Vulcan xenobotanist we picked up at 22 three weeks ago? Spock's been spending a lot of time with her lately…contemplating silence. He just neglected to tell her his new silence buddy was a female, that's all."

"Really?" Kirk set his cup down on the console to his left. "And she's decided to punish him for it."

"Yup. Now he'll know what it's like to be ignored." McCoy scratched the side of his head. "I've been watching them all week and as far as I know, he hasn't caught on yet."

"Maybe it's about time someone gave him a clue, don't you think? If I know Spock as well as I think I do, he's probably been too busy preparing reports and studying the latest briefings to even realize. He likely just thinks she's preoccupied with work." Kirk shook his head. "He may be a genius, but sometimes you got to hit him over the head with a two by four to get through to him." He thought for a moment. "Speaking of busy, have you seen Carol around lately? I've been trying to get a hold of her, but every time I ring her up, she doesn't answer."

McCoy swallowed, then shrugged casually. "I think she's working on a science paper for the Federation Journal of Applied Physics. Something about magnetic attraction."

"Oh." The captain walked over to the science station and tapped Spock on the shoulder. "Mr. Spock? A word?"

Spock turned. "Captain." He followed Kirk towards the chair. "Doctor."

"Spock." McCoy folded his hands together and drew his teeth over his lower lip.

"What is it?" Spock stood at attention. "I was analyzing the findings astrophysics has amassed on this system. Some of the radiation readings-"

"This isn't about work, Spock. It's about her." Kirk angled his head toward Uhura's back. "You know, your girlfriend?"

"You wish to discuss Nyota?" Spock's brow furrowed and he turned to McCoy, puzzled. "Is there something the matter with her, Doctor?"

"Mm. Yes and no." McCoy put a hand on Spock's shoulder. "Nothing life-threatening, mind you…"

"Spock. Have you noticed her…odd behavior lately?" Kirk began tentatively.

"Hmm. Not particularly. We have hardly spoken in the last week beyond work-related matters." Spock thought for a moment. "She did seem a little distracted yesterday, however, when I told her that I would be late for dinner. Crewman Veylik wished to show me the silence robe she had T'Paia autograph at the competitive silence tournament on Shammin VI." He glanced towards the viewscreen. "Did you know that she competes in the amateurs? She finished 17th overall in the women's division, out of 134 competitors. It was only her seventh time competing. A most impressive finish." His voice held a note of admiration. "Her uncle Akal is a fifth order master, and her grandmother T'San once held the elder record for endurance, so she comes by her talent quite naturally. She-"

"Spock." McCoy held up one hand. "What Jim means to say is that, well, Uhura's a little upset that you've been spending all this time with an attractive Vulcan lady instead of her. She's feeling kind of left out."

"So if she hasn't been speaking to you a lot-" Kirk added.

"-or givin' you the brush-off altogether," McCoy continued, " it's just because she thinks you two might be making beautiful silence together, if ya get my drift." He puckered his lips together.

Spock raised an eyebrow. "Ah. Indeed, I do. Thank you, doctor." He stepped back, turned around, and walked over to Uhura's station, leaning over her until she removed her earpiece and looked up at him, mouth pressed closed. "Nyota," he began. "I believe there has been a misunderstanding."

"Has there?" she asked cooly, gaze shifting back to her screen, pretending to read the intra-ship transmissions that scrolled across the screen.

"Yes." He clasped his hands behind his back. "I fear there may have been some mistaken assumptions made about the nature of certain actions…of yours."

She spun her chair around slowly to face him, arching one of her eyebrows. "My actions?"

"Yes," Spock agreed. "Over the past week, there has been a distance between us. Originally, I attributed it to the demands of your duties on the Enterprise. Leonard and Jim have since assured me that I was in error." Something close to a smile made his lip twitch. "Nyota, I have always admired your willingness to learn about the culture of my people, however difficult it might be to understand their reasons for believing in or engaging in certain behaviors and practices. I should have recognized and nurtured your desire to practice competitive silence instead of continually frustrating your training exercises."

He placed one hand on her shoulder. "From now on, you have my full support; I shall not attempt to engage you in conversation unless you initiate it first." He turned to leave her side, then stopped. "I would recommend, however, that you limit your training time so as not to impede your duties. Perhaps Veylik would be able to give you additional aid."

Holding one finger to his lips, he backed away from her slowly and turned until he was facing Kirk and McCoy again. "Thank you for bringing this matter to my attention, gentlemen. I had no idea."

Kirk's jaw dropped, and he just stared at Spock for a moment, eyes wide and speechless.

McCoy met the captain's gaze with an incredulous one of his own, then raised both hands to his face and shook his head slowly from side to side. He kneaded his forehead. "You're welc-"

CRASH! All three looked up. A tablet computer clattered to the floor as Uhura jumped up out of her chair and stormed into the hallway, shoving past a confused Sulu, who was just entering the bridge. Shrugging, he headed towards the helm and took his seat.

"She lacks self-control." Spock reached down for the tablet and picked it up, looking in the direction Uhura had exited, a concerned look on his face. "That does not bode well for her future in the sport." He set the tablet on her console and returned to his science station.

Kirk flopped backwards in his chair. "Spock, Spock, Spock…" He rubbed the bridge of his nose, then sat up. "Speaking of predicting the future, I've got a hunch he's gonna be in deep, deep, doo-doo for a long time to come."

McCoy let out a long sigh. "You know what I always say, Jim. There's no fool like a Vulcan fool."
 
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