Contemplative Silence (repost)

[Laura Cynthia Chambers]

"Crew quarters." McCoy had just relaxed against the wall of the turbolift when the doors slid open again. Uhura stepped into the lift, earpiece clipped to the collar of her uniform dress. McCoy nodded. "Lieutenant."

Uhura returned the acknowledgement. "Good evening, Doctor. Busy day?" She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

"Surprisingly, no." McCoy reached for the handrail. "I actually had a chance to catch up on my reading. Medical journals, that is," he added. "Don't want word to get around that I'm lollygagging when I'm not." He rubbed his eyes with one hand. "Got any plans for the evening?"

A sad expression flitted across her face briefly. Her mouth turned up in a smile that didn't meet her eyes. "Not much. I'll probably just have dinner with some of the officers from my department, do a little cardio, update my log, then hit the hay." She ran her teeth over her lower lip. "You?"

"Well…I was actually going to change out of these sad rags-" McCoy ran one hand down the length of his duty uniform "-and head down to New Vulcan with Jim and some of the fellas." He chuckled when her face screwed up in confusion. "Yeah, I know what you're thinking. Why in the name of all that is Starfleet would I want to go there, of all places?"

Uhura shrugged. "No, no, I get it. The food, the music, the sunsets. If you squint really hard, you might be able to pretend you're somewhere less…insufferably logical." She said the last part with equal parts disdain and amusement. "Be sure to check out T'Frena's Café. They make the best heselah you'll ever taste."

"I'll remember that." McCoy tapped the side of his forehead with his index finger as the lift shuddered to a stop. "Actually, we're going to visit a new tourist attraction. It just opened a few weeks ago." He allowed her to exit, then followed after her. "You want to come with us?"

"I don't think so."

"You know, just because you and Spock are on the outs is no reason to avoid Vulcans altogether."

Uhura paused in the middle of the carpeted hallway. "I'm not avoiding Vulcans." She began walking at a faster clip than before. "I'd just rather not surround myself with people who-"

McCoy reached for her arm. "Who remind you of Spock?" Uhura said nothing, her fingers playing with the blue amulet dangling from a chain around her neck. "Look, Nyota. You're going to have to face him sometime. It might as well be now."

"I just-" She blew out a deep breath. "I can't handle it right now, okay, Leonard? He's been avoiding me for a week now, and honestly, I'm glad, because I think if we ran into each other any time soon, he'd be your problem in about five minutes flat, if you get my drift." Uhura crossed her arms over her chest.

McCoy nodded. "Do you have any idea how many times I - heck, Jim, for that matter - has wanted to do the same?" He regarded her sympathetically. "What if I told you that he wasn't coming? Would that change your mind?"

She frowned. "Not coming?"

"Nope." McCoy shoved his hands in his pockets. "Matter of fact, I have it on good authority that he's gonna be holed up in his quarters preparing for the diplomatic meetings with the Aphelans tomorrow afternoon." He watched as she glanced down at the carpet, then met his eyes again. "Afterwards, we can all head to T'Friendly's and get a jelly-filled heselah. What do you say?"

Uhura laughed. "It's T'Frena's, and heselah isn't a donut."

McCoy's eyebrows popped upwards. "It's not?"

"No, it's sort of like…spicy onion rings."

"Jelly and onions. Yuck." McCoy made a face. "So…?" He moved his hands up and down alternately.

Uhura licked her lips and sighed. "You talked me into it. I can almost taste them now." She turned around to leave, pausing. "Just let me get freshened up, update my duty log, and I'll join you guys in…" She thought for a moment. "Half an hour?"

"Okay. Just tell the transporter operator you're with Jim's party." McCoy headed in the opposite direction. "He'll set you down right at the gates of the amusement park."

Uhura's earpiece detached from her collar and clanked to the floor. "Did you say 'amusement park'?"

"Well, this is lame." McCoy tucked his hands in his jeans pockets and tapped one foot on the ground. "We've been waiting here for an hour and they're still not open for business. What kind of amusement park is only open at night?"

"A logical one." Kirk stood up on his tiptoes and peered over the heads of the people standing ahead of them in line. "It's cooler in the evenings here. Don't want your all customers passing out from heat stroke and what not."

"Don't want them falling asleep on the Ferris wheel, either." McCoy turned and glanced back at the crowd behind them. Several crewmembers from the Enterprise, including Chekov and Scotty, were standing amongst the multitude of Vulcans waiting there, dressed in their street clothes. The engineer was drawing a diagram in the air with his finger, and Chekov was studying it with interest, as though he could actually figure our what the chief engineer was trying to show him. "Surprised that golden tongue of yours managed to talk Scotty into it, though."

Kirk didn't meet his gaze. "Told him there's a warp-core-go-round. He bit."

"Is there?" McCoy queried, raising an eyebrow.

Kirk sighed and shrugged. "Dunno, but it seems like the kind of thing a Vulcan theme park might have. All sciencey, ya know?" He kicked a stone on the ground, glancing away as it struck a nearby trash receptacle. McCoy focused on the crowd again. Two adolescent male Vulcans were now engaged in conversation with Scott and Chekov, one of them tracing a finger along the outer edge of Scott's "design", which caused the engineer to nod thoughtfully.

"Leonard!" A slender arm lifted above the crowd some distance back, waving at them. "Jim!"

"How'd she see us through the mob?" Kirk frowned. "Over here!" he called, waving back with both arms.

McCoy lifted one arm to signal to her, but it made contact with the individual next to him. "Sorry," he muttered.

"That is quite all right," Spock replied.

McCoy jumped. "Spock!"

"I understand crowd dynamics, Doctor. Also, I approached from behind you, so you could not have possibly seen me." The Vulcan leaned towards a sign affixed to the gates. "It will only be two more minutes before the park opens."

"Spock," McCoy whispered, taking him by both arms, "what are you doing here?"

The Vulcan pried himself loose, one arm at a time, rubbing them to bring back the circulation. "This is my adopted homeworld, Doctor. Why does it surprise you that I should wish to visit it?"

"But you're…busy." McCoy glanced over in Uhura's direction, looking for glimpses of the green blouse she was wearing. "All of those conference notes to study, documents to prepare." He nodded up and down rapidly.

"I was busy," Spock replied. "And then I recalled advice I was given once by a certain medical professional regarding the preservation of my visual acuity and the prevention of a nervous breakdown." He eyed McCoy meaningfully. "I trust that still applies, Doctor." He turned around and glanced through the gates, then headed in the opposite direction until he appeared next to two street wear-clad science division officers who greeted him respectfully.

McCoy pushed through the crowd and tapped Kirk on the shoulder. "Jim! Spock's here!"

"Oh?" Kirk glanced over McCoy's head at the first officer and smiled. "Good. I hoped that-"

"Good?!" McCoy stage-whispered, grabbing Kirk by the shoulders and shaking him. "Jim, the only reason Uhura agreed to come was because she thought Spock wouldn't be here!"

"Oh. Bad, then." Kirk frowned. "Is that still going on? I thought they'd have made up by now."

"Well, they haven't! And it would be totally awkward if they-"

"Hey, Nyota. Glad you made it!" Kirk interrupted loudly.

McCoy whipped around. Uhura was standing just behind them, smiling softly, one hand on her hip. "Hey yourselves."

He coughed. "Park opens in a minute." McCoy glanced at Spock. The Vulcan stood there, head tilted, as though trying to hear something. Inhaling sharply, McCoy stepped in front of Uhura. "It's-uh, here, let me give you some shade. Phew," he puffed out, fanning his face with one hand, "it's roasting out here."

"Actually," Kirk pursed his lips. "it's not that ba-"

"Terrible!" McCoy said, shifting his body sideways when Uhura tried to move out from his shadow. "Got that hot sun beating down on your head. Don't want you to get sunstroke." He extended his arms out to the sides and searched the crowd again, sidestepping right to left and back. Spock was moving towards them again, his stride purposeful, despite being broken up by other park visitors in his way.

Uhura ducked under one of his outstretched arms. "In case you haven't noticed, the sun's setting. Stop being such a-mmm! Leonard!" she shouted as he covered her mouth.

"Somebody pushed me," he lied, just as the gates began to creak open. "Look. Park's open," he continued, pushing her in the general direction of the entry. "Come on, Jim. You oughta be able to find a wheel of death in there somewhere." McCoy jumped as Spock appeared by the gateway, and spun Uhura in the opposite direction, shoving her through the crowd. "You know what? This was a terrible idea. You're totally right. All of these Vulcans, it's too soon. Why don't you go on back up to the Enterprise and-"

"Nyota."

Both McCoy and Uhura froze. "Spock," she began, her tone cool but mixed with a note of lingering affection.

They said nothing for several moments. McCoy coughed, breaking the silence. "Spock," he uttered in a strangled voice. "fancy meeting you here."

"Awkward," Jim muttered under his breath, one hand on the gate post.

"As we just encountered each other not one minute ago, your statement is either a lie or cause for concern." Spock lowered his chin to his chest. "Why are you attempting to direct Nyota's path?"

"Yes," Uhura agreed, yanking away from McCoy's grip, "why?" She moved a step closer to Spock, dusting off her sleeves, and looked up at him with a guarded expression. "Where's Veylik? Didn't she want to come?"

"She is visiting her brother at the archive," Spock replied, hands folded behind his back. "We are not taking leave together, if that is what you are asking." At a low rumbling sound, he looked over his shoulder. McCoy followed his gaze. The heavy gates at the entrance of the park were opening automatically. "The park is open. Would you like to accompany me?"

Uhura looked between Spock and McCoy, meeting the doctor's gaze with a question in her eyes. McCoy gave her an eye roll and crossed his arms over his chest, mouthing, "Just say yes, already."

Biting her lip, Uhura slipped her arm into the crook of Spock's. "Okay. Coming, fellas?" she asked McCoy and Kirk.

McCoy snorted. "Oh, that'll be real cozy."

"Count me in," Kirk said. "I can't read all of these signs, anyway. I might fall through a trapdoor or walk into the wrong washroom or something without Spock and you to translate. Come on, Bones." He followed Spock and Uhura through the gates, his steps jaunty.

After a moment, McCoy headed inside after them. He looked around the park as he caught up to his crewmates. Several rides stood out against the darkening horizon; what appeared to be a roller coaster, a spinning swing ride, a tall ramp glistening with droplets of water, and some other thrill attractions he didn't recognize. "So what are we doing first?" McCoy stopped next to the other three, who were studying a map affixed to a short post. "Is there a mind reader tent or a kissing booth we can visit?" he queried, chuckling at the latter.

"Coaster," Kirk replied, not looking up. "Gotta be the coaster."

McCoy groaned. "I knew you'd say that. Heaven help me, just once I'd like to beam back to the transporter room, not directly to sickbay. Wouldn't you?" He let out a long sigh, hands on his hips. "All right, so where is the line for this Barf-o-matic, anyway?"

Uhura made a face. "Over there," she replied, pointing to a small push-gate that two Vulcans were passing through. She smiled at Spock. "Come on; if we hurry, we can get on the first ride of the evening."

"That's incentive?" McCoy shrugged, then followed a few paces behind the group.

They were met by a Vulcan attendant, who opened the door of the car and assisted them in seating themselves. McCoy shifted in his seat as the safety restraint was lowered over his chest and secured in place. "Please refrain from extending your appendages beyond the lateral limits of the car," the attendant intoned, parting the fingers of his hand. "May you find this experience fulfilling. Live long and prosper." He dipped his head and stepped back behind the safety bar.

Kirk glanced at McCoy out of the corner of his eye as the car jerked forward. "Hear that? You're not going to die."

"Oh, yeah? Then tell me why he felt the need to wish me a long life if it's supposed to be a given." McCoy gripped his restraint tightly with both hands, looking over the edge of the coaster track. The ground below was getting increasingly farther away.

"It is a traditional Vulcan farewell, Doctor." Spock closed his eyes, relaxing against the seat. "Do not presume it means anything more than that. We cannot read the future, but we do theorize and expect."

Uhura leaned her head closer to Spock, grinning at McCoy. "Cheer up, Leonard; it's only as fun as you let it be." She returned her gaze to the crest of the hill, which was approaching slowly. "What kind of foods do they sell at the concession stands?" she asked Spock. "I'm already getting thirsty."

Kirk licked his lips. "Same here."

"Guess I should have brought-"

The two Vulcans seated in front of them cleared their throats simultaneously, interrupting her. "If you don't mind," one of the men said, clearly annoyed.

Kirk and Uhura exchanged confused glances. "What's the point? We're just going to be screaming our heads off in a second anyway," McCoy grumbled under his breath.

Kirk elbowed him in the ribs as the car jerked to a stop at the crest of the hill. "Shh. Here it comes." He leaned slightly forward, his eyes alight with anticipation. Uhura studied Spock, whose face was placid, eyes closed.

McCoy tensed up, gripping the restraint again, his eyes screwed shut. After a minute, he opened one eye. The car still sat at the top of the hill, shrouded in darkness. "Why aren't we moving?"

Kirk looked from right to left. "Uh oh. I think we're stuck up here. Look. The lights have gone out." He pointed to the deactivated spotlights which surrounded the ride on all sides.

"Maybe they're having a power outage?" Uhura suggested. "Anybody bring their comm so we can call for assistance?"

"Nope, sorry," Kirk apologized. "This is my night off."

"Me neither," McCoy admitted. "I suppose we could always try yelling 'help'. Spock, what about you?"

The Vulcan did not reply. Instead, he removed a piece of folded paper from his pocket that McCoy recognized as a map of the park, thumb covering the top of the English language section.

McCoy took the document from him and looked at the banner across the top that he indicated. "Contemplation World?"

"Let me see that." Kirk reached for the booklet and studied the legend. "Hmm. According to this," he whispered, "we're on the Attentive Express."

"That's an odd name for a ride," Uhura commented. "Unless you're supposed to be ruminating on the fact that your life is flashing before your eyes."

"What else?" McCoy shrugged, looking back at Kirk. "Does it say how long we're supposed to stay up here?"

Kirk shook his head. "No."

McCoy leaned back in his seat. "Might as well get comfortable then. Between the shush police up front and Spock, we can't even carry on a conversation while we wait. All we can do is take a little snooze, or just…sit…here…and…think." He let the map slip from his hand onto the floor of the car. "Contemplation World. As in, contemplative silence…"

Kirk leaned forward and looked at McCoy. "What?" He turned and looked back at Spock, who sat silently, expressionless and motionless. "Unbelievable."

Uhura covered her face with both hands. "A theme park…with a roller coaster…that doesn't roll?"

McCoy reached around Kirk and patted her shoulder gently. "There, there. I feel your pain."

"Don't you think you're taking it-" Kirk pinched his fingers together, leaving less than a centimeter of space between "- a teense too far?"

The same Vulcan who had shushed them earlier had just turned around again, an annoyed look on his face, when the car jerked forward with a start, causing him to close his mouth and bump against his restraint. "Ah!" His companion said nothing; his head listed to the side, complexion slightly yellowed.

"Whoooooa!" McCoy held his arms close to his sides, swallowing hard, the wind ruffling his hair. "Where's your contemplation nooooow?"

Kirk let out a loud whoop, Uhura threw her hands up in the air, and even Spock inhaled sharply as the car dropped suddenly, rocketing to the bottom of the next curve. "On the next peak, Doctor," he replied as the car began its slow ascent. "And the next."

McCoy turned to Kirk. "You didn't by any chance bring a parachute, did you?" he shouted.

Kirk shook his head.

"Lovely."

 

[Laura Cynthia Chambers]

"And then, there was the Hall of Mirrors." McCoy stretched out in his shuttle seat, eyes scrunched closed. "Course, it wasn't the kind that makes you look all distorted and funny. Oh, no. These ones took you out of the picture entirely." He stretched his hands out in front of his face in a frame shape. "Black glass, no reflection. Just darkness. Imagine." Leaning forward, he clasped both hands on his right knee, which was crossed over his left leg.

"I'm trying to forget." Kirk stuffed his hand into a black paper sack and pulled out a handful of what looked like jerky bits. "You should've seen the concession stands. Everything looked burnt to a crisp. Tastes okay, though." He popped the snack food in his mouth and chewed noiselessly, then turned to Uhura, who was re-braiding her hair in the row behind them. "Where'd you two get off to? I looked all around for you and Spock. Had to ride the whisper-go-round all by myself." He crumpled up the paper sack and stuffed it down into his seat, then mimed holding onto the bar protruding from a carousel pony, moving up and back down slowly.

"You'll live," Uhura assured him, looping a hair tie around the bottom of her braid. "In answer to your question, we took a ride through the tunnel of-"

Kirk turned around and knelt on his seat, then leaned forward until his face was almost touching hers. "The tunnel of love? Really…" He gave her a knowing smile. "How'd I ever miss that one?" he asked, unfolding a copy of the theme park's map and turning it around, looking for the attraction.

Uhura placed one hand on the map and pushed it down. "It's not the tunnel of love, Jim. The tunnel of silence."

McCoy sighed. "A long, dark tunnel," he snorted. "Big surprise there. Of all the theme park attractions Contemplation World could have, it figures that'd be one of them."

Kirk rested his chin on his folded arms. "Soooo….what'd you two lovebirds do in there, anyway?"

Uhura rolled her eyes. "Literally nothing. He immersed himself in the silence and let it consume him completely. It was like we weren't even together." She rubbed her arms. "Still aren't. He's back there, using his app. Told me he had to get his daily quota of "non-amplified silence", as he called it."

"And by non-amplified, I assume you mean without gimmicks?" McCoy stood up from his seat and looked to the back of the row. Spock was wearing sunglasses and a pair of noise-cancelling headphones. He appeared to be totally engrossed in his tablet. A large stuffed shapeless form sat in the seat next to him. "What's with the big black hairy thing?"

"He won that for me at the beanless-bag toss. It's supposed to be a shadow plushie." Uhura closed her eyes, leaning back in her seat. "I haven't figured out how to tell him that the thing freaks me out and no way in Starfleet am I sharing a room with it. Besides," she yawned, covering her mouth with one hand, "I'm way too tired to get into an argument with him right now."

"Want me to tell him for you?" McCoy offered.

"Be my guest," Uhura waved him on, turning in her seat and resting her head on her folded arms.

Slowly, McCoy stood and walked down the aisle until he came to Spock's row. Squeezing past the plushie and Spock's legs, he took the window seat. "Hey, Spock," he muttered, removing the earphones from the Vulcan's head.

Spock nodded.

"Beautiful night." McCoy glanced out his window at the stars outside.

"Mmm."

McCoy crossed one leg over the other. "Listen, Spock? Nyota's bushed, but she wanted me to explain something' to ya." He indicated the plushie with one hand. "It's about the little-" he choked on the word- "prize you won for Nyota." McCoy chuckled. "See, Spock-nothing personal, mind you- but the thing is, she doesn't really care for it." He pursed his lips. "Matter of fact, she's downright-"

A loud snore interrupted him mid-sentence. McCoy looked up. The Vulcan was listing forward in his seat. Pushing Spock gently back against his chair, McCoy moved the tablet off his lap and removed his sunglasses. Spock's eyes were closed. He looked completely at peace.

McCoy shook his head and moved back to his former seat. Kirk was reading a report on a tablet, while Uhura was fast asleep in her seat.

"So?" Kirk looked up at McCoy. "What'd he say?"

"Didn't say nothing. He's dead to the world." Another snore louder than the first floated through the shuttle. "And anything but silent." McCoy lowered himself slowly into his shuttle seat, shaking his head. "Probably bored himself to sleep."

 

[Bynar0110]

I been enjoying these uploads a lot.

 

[Laura Cynthia Chambers]

I been enjoying these uploads a lot.

Thanks!

Leonard McCoy rummaged through the drawer of memory tapes, flicking past them one at a time as he recognized the titles. Everything was where it was supposed to be. "Well, that takes care of the Gs," he muttered under his breath. "I know I filed that discourse on gammacoccus geophilia somewhere." Shoving the drawer closed, he moved on to the Hs. "Halitosis…hematoma…heterochromia-"

Hic!

McCoy spun around, his hand resting on top of the tapes. "Thought I locked that door," he drawled, a slow grin spreading across his face.

"As first officer, I - hic! - possess knowledge of certain override codes." Spock stood in the doorway, a slight frown pinching his brows together. "I require your assistance- hic! - Doctor." He cleared his throat. "My dilemma is - hic! - medical in nature."

McCoy pushed the drawer shut with a soft click and tapped his lip thoughtfully with one finger. "Don't tell me, let me guess." He moved around behind his desk and brought up Spock's medical record on his computer. "How long have you been having these hiccups? A couple of days?"

Spock shook his head. "My -hic! - diaphragmatic spasms began at approximately 1100 hours, and they have not ab-hic!- abated, despite three glasses of water, oxygen deprivation, or a sudden - hic! - application of psychological stimuli, courtesy of - hic! -Chaos. I thought you could perhaps give me a muscle - hic! - relaxant."

McCoy glanced at the corner of his computer screen. "1100 hours? It's only 1117 now." He plopped down in his chair and sighed. "Have you tried a spoonful of sugar? Cod liver oil? Breathing into a paper bag?"

Spock shook his head. "Hic!"

"Well, why don't you take an early lunch and see how you feel after that? Your work can wait. It's not like we're at red alert or something." McCoy leaned back, his hands behind his head.

"It is my - hic! - day off," Spock explained, his frown deepening.

"Even better. No need to worry about dropping test tubes full of corrosive material or pressing the torpedo launch button by accident." McCoy sat forward in his chair, spreading his hands wide. "Believe it or not, some things just go away on their own. It took you a week to finally see me after that Grevinian broke two of your ribs. Why are you so concerned about this, anyway? Hiccups aren't contagious."

"They are interfering with my recreational activities, Doctor." Spock sighed. "It is - hic! - impossible to have contemplative silence when - hic! - one's own diaphragm betrays you."

McCoy dropped the stylus he had been reaching for on his desktop. It rolled away just out of his reach. "That's why you're upset?!" He shook his head. "Your hiccups interrupt the silence…" His voice trailed off.

"I assure you, it is no laughing mat-hic! -ter." Spock clenched his fists at his sides and gritted his teeth. "If you are unwilling to assist me, then I will find someone else. And I will be sure to tell them about your refusal to treat my condition."

"You do that. And I'll be sure to tell them that you expect me to pass out drugs like candy, because you like to sit in a dark room quietly thinking about nothing without interruption."

Spock raised an eyebrow. "Your description does rather cast my request in a bad light. You make it sound as if I was bordering on insanity."

"Aren't you? Goodness knows, I am." McCoy leaned forward and picked up the stylus, twirling it in between his fingers. "They're gone, by the way."

"Hmm." Spock closed his eyes for a few seconds, standing still. "Indeed they are." His shoulders relaxed. "Thank you, Doctor."

"For what? I didn't even give you a placebo."

"It may be that the level of aggravation I experienced as a result of your response to my request for aid was in fact the mechanism by which the spasms were halted." Spock folded his hands behind his back. "Counterintuitive as it might seem, I must commend you for your stubbornness."

McCoy chuckled. "Guess that's one thing we have in common." He made a small note in Spock's record, saved it, and exited the database. "On that note, are you coming to the senior staff Christmas party this time, or am I and Nyota going to have to drag you again?"

"Actually…" Spock glanced away. "I have been chosen to oversee the preparations for this year's holiday event."

"You?" McCoy choked on his saliva. "That's like asking Scotty to guard your drink while you use the restroom. You gotta lower your expectations."

"I am familiar with certain festive traditions practiced by my mother's people, Doctor. I can assure you that I am fully capable of organizing the details of a party. As a diplomat, my father hosted many gatherings at our home on Vulcan, some of which I attended during my formative years. I promise you that the evening will be memorable."

McCoy nodded. "No doubt. Well, I guess you probably want to get back to your silence now. I'll - hic!- leave you to it," he finished, covering his mouth with one hand. "Happy quiet time - hic!"

Spock's brows rose. "I thought you said they were not contagious, Doctor." With a bit of amusement in his eyes, he turned and exited the room.

"They're - hic! - not!" McCoy groaned. "Not usually, anyway," he muttered under his breath, pacing across the room towards a replicator. "Computer, a glass of cold - hic!- water," he growled.

 

[Laura Cynthia Chambers]

This chapter was previously posted on TrekBBS last Christmas, as it takes place around the holiday.

"Deck the halls with boughs of holly…" The single bell dangling from McCoy's elf hat jingled as he passed through the turbolift doors. Smiling faintly, he strode down the hallway towards the senior staff lounge, carrying a crate in his arms. Every crewman he passed seemed to have the Christmas spirit, despite being so far away from their families. Even those Humans who didn't celebrate the holiday and crew from other planets nevertheless joined in on the celebratory activities.

He ducked out of the way as a sciences division Tellarite lieutenant junior grade reached up and hung a sprig of mistletoe just above his head.

"What's the matter, Doctor? Afraid of a little parasitic plant?" She winked at him, puckering her lips.

"No, and cut that out, Thivel." McCoy jerked backwards, then tip-toed around the treacherous plant. "I'm allergic to-"

"Affection?" She crossed her arms over her chest, tapping one foot on the floor.

"No, I was actually going to say, "mistletoe". But whatever, one lie's as good as another." McCoy chuckled. "Careful where you stand after you hang that thing. You might catch somebody you don't want under there."

"I'll remember that. Don't wanna keep you from your party." Thivel pointed a thumb in the direction McCoy was headed. "Merry Christmas, Doctor. Enjoy."

"Jeta-sim Bhua-di, Thivel." McCoy nodded at her, making his hat jingle again. She waved her goodbyes, then turned at the sound of her name, greeting two security officers who were carrying mugs filled with a purple foamy drink. Shaking his head, McCoy continued towards the door of the lounge. He was just about to pass through the doors when he bumped into a short officer whose hair was combed back over his head. "Sorry, Yeoman."

Yeoman Davey shrugged. "That for the party? I'll take it." The redshirt grabbed the crate from McCoy and set it down just inside the room, turning and barring the doorway when McCoy tried to enter. "You'll have to wait outside, though. Commander says nobody but himself and me are allowed in just yet."

McCoy frowned. "So that makes you Spock's bouncer, then?"

Davey leaned one hand against the doorframe. "Yeah, I guess. Sorry, Doc. I'd sneak you in the back door, only there isn't one." He scrubbed the side of his head with his other hand. "You understand, right?"

"I do and I don't." McCoy threw his hands up in the air. "What's with all the security? You'd think this was a Federation summit meeting, not a holiday bash."

"Beats me. I'm just helping him with the decorations." Davey rolled his eyes. "Such as they are." He headed back inside, the door sliding shut behind him.

"Maybe Spock wants it to be a surprise." McCoy turned at the sound of Kirk's voice. Instead of his casual duty uniform, the captain was wearing khakis and a sweater with red and white striped sleeves and a big evergreen tree on the front, decorated with dangling yarn in the shape of paper chains, and topped with a gold Starfleet delta. The yarn appeared to have glitter interwoven throughout, catching the light.

"Egads. That is the ugliest Christmas sweater I have ever seen in my life." McCoy covered his eyes. "Spock's gonna have a stroke when he sees that monstrosity."

"He will not." Uhura glanced at a compact mirror, then snapped it shut and slipped it into her handbag. "You know, you don't give him enough credit. A stroke? Two eyebrows, yes, but bursting blood vessels is your thing, not his." She squeezed his left arm affectionately. "Relax, Leonard."

Sulu fiddled with a couple of memory tapes in his hand. The one on top was labeled Classic Christmas Playlist. "Nice hat, Doc." He tugged on the collar of his plaid flannel shirt. "What are you supposed to be? An elf?"

McCoy shook his head. "Nah. Don't have the ears for it," he grinned, pinching his right upper earlobe into a point. "I may not be a pastry chef, either, but I brought some ginger snaps and my granny's eggnog."

Scotty clapped him on the shoulder. "Aye, we must've been on the same wavelength, laddie." He lifted an insulated bag from the ground, testing the weight. "Scottish shortbread and a cup of cheer." He leaned closer to the doctor's ear and whispered, "Courtesy of Spock's.. ahem… distant cousins on his daddy's side. But that's just betwixt you, me, an' the-"

"-captain, who's bound by the same Starfleet and Federation trade regulations as you." Kirk pushed his way in between them, glancing back and forth at both men. "That is, assuming he's aware that a crime is being committed." He put his arm around each man's shoulder and glared at Scott. "Which I am not. Let's keep it that way, shall we?"

Scott gulped. "Aye, sir." He turned as Chekov appeared behind him, holocamera in hand. "Merry Christmas, Pavel," he exclaimed, grabbing the navigator's other hand and pumping it up and down.

Chekov frowned in confusion. "Am I too late? I thought the party began at 2000 hours." He flexed the hand Scotty had gripped, then wiped it on his pant leg.

McCoy shook his head. "Nah, kid. Spock's just taking a while to deck the halls. You know how he gets when he's given a task to complete. Everything has to be just so." McCoy pinched his thumb and forefinger together. "He's probably in there weighing the tinsel or something."

Uhura licked her lips. "I hope that's all it is."

"You think he might have gotten lost in the memories of Christmases past?" McCoy asked gently.

She shook her head. "Lost in something. Or should I say, nothing." A wry smile brightened her features. "The new Contemplative Silence tie-in novel came out two days ago, and he stayed up until 0345 this morning reading it. Even then, he only managed to get halfway through it. I thought maybe he might be…well, so enthralled with his book that he's forgotten all about the party."

A chorus of groans issued from the crowd. McCoy crossed his arms. "He'd better not be. I postponed an important conference call with the Dren'sar Medical Council to attend a Christmas party, not so our bookaholic first officer can scratch a silent itch." He looked up as Davey exited the lounge, frowning. "Well? Is he ready for us or not, Yeoman?" McCoy asked, one hand placed on Davey's chest.

Davey sighed. "Yeah. He is. But I'm not sure you're ready for him," he finished, eying the jingle bell on McCoy's hat.

"What's that supposed to mean?" McCoy asked, reaching up adjust the brim of his hat, jingling the bell again.

Davey shrugged. "You'll see in a minute." He pushed past the gathered crowd of officers, shaking his head, and disappeared around the corner of the corridor. Something fluttered to the floor in his wake.

McCoy reached down to pick it up. A single strand of black shiny foil dangled from his hand. "Looks like a piece of tinsel hitched a ride." He frowned as a peculiar tingly feeling moved over his scalp.

Uhura took the strand from his hand. "Maybe it's Spock's bookmark," she offered, glancing over McCoy's shoulder. "Spock? Can we go in yet?"

McCoy turned around. Spock stood by the doorway, his hands folded behind his back, his face the picture of calm. "Yes. I have finished with the preparations. The party commences now." He stepped aside, allowing them access to the doorway.

"It's about time," McCoy grumbled. "I was gettin' decidedly less jolly by the minute out here waiting for you to make the tree symmetrical." He stepped into the lounge, followed by the rest of the crew. "Where'd you put my cookies and eggnog?"

"The refreshments are on the tables at the back of the room," Spock replied. McCoy noticed that the lounge tables had been pushed together against the far wall and covered with a black tablecloth. His cookies and eggnog were arranged on the left side, next to a bowl of blackberry punch and a jar of dark-striped candy canes…

Dark…

McCoy squeezed his eyes shut, then opened them one at a time. The walls of the lounge, which were normally colored a cheerful sky blue, were as dark as charcoal. Black wreaths festooned with black ribbons covered the walls. A black tree stood in the corner of the room, heaped with reams of the same black tinsel Davey had dropped, more black candy canes, little black balls, and tiny plushies. A black star sat on top.

McCoy swallowed. "Merry…Christmas?" he croaked.

Uhura dropped the tinsel she had been holding. "Ho, ho, ho," she quipped, pacing toward her boyfriend, hands on hips. "Spock, what did you do to this room?"

Kirk held one finger up in the air. "Uhhhh…silence-ized it?" He glanced down at his front. "Really glad I wore this sweater now," he added, fingering the "paper chains".

The other crew entered the room, their faces a mixture of confusion and dawning comprehension. Chekov fumbled with his camera, nearly dropping it on the floor. Scotty unzipped his bag and pulled out his "cup of cheer", taking a healthy swig straight from the bottle. Sulu slipped the memory tapes into his shirt pocket and moved towards the tree, looking for any sign of light or color.

"I assure you, the black paint is only temporary. It comes off with the application of a standard detergent and what I believe you would call "elbow grease"." Spock stood in the middle of the room, spreading his hands apart in a gesture of welcome. "I hope you will all enjoy the festivities."

"Fest…" McCoy trailed off, sinking into a chair next to the wall. Putting his head in his hands, he drew in a shaky breath, letting it out in a rush. "I think I'm going to faint," he mumbled.

Spock walked over to the tables and chose one of McCoy's gingerbread cookie from the platter. Kneeling down next to the doctor's chair, the Vulcan offered the cookie to him. "When was the last time you ate something, Doctor? As you know, low blood sug-"

McCoy slapped the cookie out of Spock's hand. It hit the wall, crumbling into several pieces. "My blood sugar is just fine, Spock! It's my brain that's all out of whack! No, I take that back; yours!" His face reddened with anger. "This…this is the sorriest excuse I ever saw for a Christmas party! You-are-unbelievable! Contemplative Silence…" He threw his hands up in the air. "Of all things…" He laughed dryly, poking his finger into Spock's chest. "So tell me, Mr. Grinch. What else have you got besides black trees and candy? Black light twinkle lights? Dark garland?"

"Hello." McCoy swiveled his head. Sulu shifted his feet uncomfortably, gesturing upwards with his head. Dark lights wrapped around ebony swag glowed softly above him.

McCoy grabbed Spock's black sweater, yanking it towards him. "What else, huh?! Black wrapped gifts?! Clapperless bells?!"

Spock remained the picture of calm, gently unwinding McCoy's fingers one by one. "Please, Doctor."

Scotty coughed. In his hands, he held a black box tied with a black bow. He shook it next to his ear, trying to figure out what it was. No sound came from the package. He cast a look towards his cheer. Uhura rummaged through several other boxes, shaking her head in disbelief.

Chekov tapped a dark bell with his finger. Nothing. He looked inside the ornament. "It's all true," he whispered aloud, incredulous. "Anything you can come up with, he has." He turned on his camera and began taking photos. "Nobody vould ever believe me if I didn't document thees."

McCoy fisted his hands at his sides. "Is nothing sacred to you," he hissed, "you little-"

"All right, Bones. Break it up." Kirk pushed his way between McCoy and Spock. He took a sip of punch from his cup, putting an arm around the doctor's shoulders and steering him towards the refreshments. "Go pick up your cookie and cool off a little. Christmas is a time for love, joy, and peace, not strangling your colleagues." A candy cane dangled from his sweater, hooked on one of the "paper chains".

McCoy sighed. "I know, I know." He slipped his hands into his pockets. "I was actually looking forward to this party, you know. I should've known he'd turn Christmas into Silence Day." Spying a small computer console on a stand near the wall, he snapped his fingers. "That's what's missing. A little music."

"That's the spirit." Kirk grinned. "What with your eggnog and Scotty's…cheer, we'll be seeing plenty of lights and colors. Speaking of which…" He accepted a cup from the engineer, toasting him with it. "To a very merry Christmas."

McCoy shook his head, smiling as he pressed a button on the console. "Sulu, bring your playlist tapes over here and let's get this party started." A small tape ejected from the tape slot. He picked it up. "What's this?"

Sulu peered over McCoy's shoulder at the tape's label. "Sounds of Silence, Vol. 1."

"Yes." Spock took the tape from McCoy and re-inserted it in the slot. "I had it on shuffle." McCoy stared at him, jaw hanging open. "As you can see, I have been quite thorough in my preparations for this party, ambience included. I had not forgotten about the music." He pressed the play button, closed his eyes, and listened for a few seconds. "Ah. That's better."

"Music," McCoy scoffed. "What's playing now, "Silent Night"?" He hummed the first couple of bars of the carol.

Spock raised an eyebrow.

McCoy was just about to say something when Uhura tugged on his sleeve. "Leonard, you have to see this." She angled her head towards the opposite wall of the room. "Come on."

"What is it? Don't tell me he's figured out a way to make silent peanut brittle, too," McCoy quipped, following her footsteps.

"Let's just say…it's an answer to one of your earlier questions." She stopped in front of the table and waved a hand at the ornament that had been placed there.

It was a small Nativity scene that looked to be hand-carved and painted. McCoy leaned closer, studying the intricate details of the people's faces, the folds of their clothing, the wool of the sheep, the angel's wings. "Well, now…"

"Of all of the symbols that are customary at this time of year, I found myself oddly…loath to adapt this one to Contemplative Silence." Spock stood between Uhura and McCoy, his gaze pensive. "It is, after all, the reason a holiday known as Christmas exists to this day, the appropriation of certain customs from other religions and cultures aside."

McCoy studied him for a moment. "Could've left it out altogether," he began slowly. "Since it doesn't fit with the 'theme', after all."

Spock nodded slowly. "I could have." He looked over at the others, who had crowded around, drawn by the conversation. "But I did not want to."

McCoy's gaze returned to the babe in the manger. "The one light shinin' in the darkness…" He studied the faces of his friends and co-workers. Joy born of togetherness, of having braved the unknown and survived, shone in their eyes. Even Spock seemed at peace, one arm around Uhura's waist as she rested her head on his shoulder.

Sniffling, McCoy wiped away a tear that trailed down his cheek. He reached out a hand towards the Vulcan. "Merry Christmas, Spock."

Spock took his hand and shook it. "And a silent night, Leonard."

McCoy laughed. "Not too silent, I hope."

 

[Robert Bruce Scott]

"Sounds of Silence, Vol. 1."

"What's playing now, "Silent Night"?"

 

[Laura Cynthia Chambers]

"T'Sel has elevated this craft to an art form. Notice her calm, shallow respirations, the poetry of her inscrutable expression. Makanna, on the other hand, appears to be wavering in her attempt at matching the veteran silence for silence."

"I concur, Keval. She appears to be suffering from some form of distress. Her brow is furrowed ever so slightly. Let us examine a visual replay of the moment…"

McCoy leaned on one hand as his elbow rested on the couch arm, blinking slowly at the scene on the television screen. Several shots of Makanna's forehead creasing was replayed side by side next to T'Sel's complete indifference. He yawned, covering his mouth with the other hand. "Well, come on. It's been…" Leaning forward, he studied the silence time counter on the screen. "4 hours, 26 minutes, and…25, 26 seconds and counting. A bit of discomfort is to be expected when you play freeze tag for that long. Kinda wish one of the refs would come over and shout, "olly olly oxen free," put her out of her misery." He picked up a glass bottle of ginger ale from the table and took a drink, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

Spock squeezed the couch cushion slightly. "Both T'Sel and Makanna have been training intensively for the event and others like it, Doctor. To experience problems this early on during a competition is usually a marker of inexperience, infirmity, or lack of discipline. Given that Makanna has only been competing in the elite league for six months, I tend to lean toward the first choice. She ascended to this level in rapid succession; perhaps, as some have opined, too soon."

"Soooo…" McCoy chuckled, emptying his ginger ale bottle. "The female Vulcan competitive silence athlete answer to Jim?" He pushed himself up from the couch and headed for the replicator.

"Essentially." Spock relaxed back into his seat as the competition broke for advertisements. "I do not share this opinion where Captain Kirk is concerned, however. I suppose when one is surrounded by those who can, "pick up the slack", as it were, there is a margin for allowable personal error, to some extent."

"But you can't exactly do that for silence, can you?" McCoy tapped a couple of buttons, dematerializing his empty bottle and replacing it with a full one. "I mean, it's not like you can sit on your couch and counsel your favorite competitor on how to be more silent." He popped the top. "Want one?"

"No, thank you. Regarding your other question, no, not unless one shares a pre-existing mental bond with the competitor in question. Even then, such a move would be against the rules of solo silence."

"Solo silence?" McCoy sat down at his end of the sofa, bottle in hand. "You say that like there are other kinds." He took a drink. "Ahhhh."

"Because there are." Spock lifted one hand and began counting on his fingers. "For instance, there are partner and group competitions, wherein teams of two or more compete simultaneously. There are also relay events, in which individuals on the same team take turns being silent for a predetermined amount of time. Some competitions award points or demerits based upon one's performance, while others, such as the one we are watching, are single-failure disqualifications. One's first inability to maintain silence ends the match."

McCoy gripped his pop bottle so hard that the condensation nearly caused it to slip out of his hands. "You Vulcans have way too much time on your hands, you know that?"

Spock held one finger to his lips and pointed to the screen. "Shh. The broadcast has returned."

McCoy looked back over at the screen. The two competitors didn't appear to have moved once since the break.

"We have returned to the Arena of Slokk for this, one of many elimination matches taking place today," one of the announcers intoned. "As always, anything can occur in these early rounds. We have already witnessed several shocking outcomes in the past week, such as Deran's thrilling upset of last year's champion, Bevek, and Pauron's disqualification upon being found to have utilized performance enhancing substances during the qualifying rounds."

"Somebody actually cheated?" McCoy put his hand over his heart. "I thought you guys were too saintly for that sort of thing."

Spock narrowed his eyes. "As you are well aware, Leonard, in any such contest of skill, there are always those who resort to…dishonest measures in their quest for victory." He sighed. "The fact that these competitors are Vulcan in no way precludes the possibility of such actions, although it does not happen as frequently as it once did in your Olympic games."

"Well, yeah, but…" McCoy set down the bottle and played with the cap, snapping it. "'Performance enhancing substances'? What'd he do, take a sleeping pill?"

"…displays the calm that has made her a legend in her home colony on Caspel II. She has not moved since the opening gong sounded…" A close-up of T'Sel's face showed it to be frozen like a mask, not a hint of emotion displayed thereon.

"Somebody oughta poke her, see if she snores," McCoy joked.

"All competitors have worn an EEG monitor ever since Rakinik lost the crown in 2198 after falling asleep. His lapse in consciousness was not discovered until his opponent forfeited the match, nine hours later."

"Bored, was he?"

"No. At the time of the competition, he was well into his 19th decade. It was only to be expected."

McCoy dropped backwards in his seat, tossing the bottle cap sideways. It landed on the floor with a ringing sound, then rolled on its edge towards the door. "Soooo…care to make a friendly little…wager on the outcome of this event?"

Spock did not look up. "Gamble, Doctor?"

"If you wanna call it that." McCoy interlaced his fingers and flexed his hands. "Okay, I'm a sucker for long shots, so here's the deal. If Makanna wins, you gotta take a week off from this silence malarkey. No TV show, no video games, no novels, nothing. Zilch. You quit it, cold turkey."

"I fail to see the relevance of refrigerated poultry-"

"Never mind." McCoy silenced him with a raised index finger. "If, on the other hand, T'Sel takes this one, I will participate fully and willingly in any silence activity you name. Deal?" He extended his hand towards the Vulcan.

Spock studied McCoy's hand. "I know you, Doctor. You would not make such an offer if you believed the final result would be in my favor. Why do you believe Makanna will prevail?"

"Well, for starters, she's young, so she probably has a lot more stamina; she's also likely a student of the latest training techniques and strategic maneuvers…" McCoy shook his head. "I can't even believe we're even having this conversation. So, are you in or out?"

Spock thought for a moment. "I am willing to triumph," he finally said, shaking McCoy's hand, "although I do feel as though I am taking advantage of your unfamiliarity with the sport."

McCoy laughed. "You don't seem very sure of yourself. 'I am willing to triumph'," he repeated sarcastically. "You just want me to shut up, don't you?"

"To quote an old Earth expression, I plead the fifth." Spock returned his attention to the screen.

"Of course you do." McCoy drew his legs up and sat tailor-style on the corner of the couch. "Your turn. What's T'Sel got that her opponent lacks?"

"There is something to be said for the time-honored methods, however many advances may be made in the field of silentics. T'Sel trained with the masters of R'Fiera for many years. Makanna, on the other hand, is primarily self-taught. As I am sure you are aware, one cannot gain knowledge exclusively from books."

"True." McCoy took another drink of ginger ale. "Some of the most effective remedies I've seen on the planets we've visited are stored right up here," he noted, tapping his forehead with one finger, "passed down through the ages, from parent to child." He fisted his hands and pumped them up and down. "Come on, Makanna! Think silence!"

" As you have previously stated, Doctor, there is no benefit to encouraging someone who can neither hear you, nor be aware of your existence or support. Moreover, it is both ironic and illogical to cheer on a silence athlete."

"Sorry." McCoy zipped his lips. "Go Makanna!" he mouthed, cupping his hands around his mouth.

Spock shook his head.

McCoy rolled his eyes, then glanced at the screen, grinning. "Better get ready for a week of color and sound, Spock. I think I just saw T'Sel's lower lip twitch."

Spock frowned, not looking at McCoy. "I noticed nothing."

"Of course you didn't." McCoy's eyes crinkled. "Keep watching. Maybe she'll do it again." He pointed at the woman's face on the screen. "See? Right there!"

"It was not a twitch, Leonard. Somebody disturbed the camera. That is all." Spock's frown deepened.

"Sure. You keep telling yourself that." McCoy folded his arms behind his head and relaxed, closing his eyes. "I'll just be over here enjoying my trium-"

A low growl sounded, followed by the gong. "What's this?" the announcer interjected. "Yes, it appears that we have our victor."

Spock's eyebrows rose. "Ah." He pointed to the screen, where Makanna, hand over her abdominal area, stepped back into the shadows, her face tinged green. T'Sel stood motionless, regarding her opponent's retreating form with a faint hint of approval.

McCoy sat up quickly. "What happened? No!"

"Indeed. T'Sel! Makanna's digestion has betrayed her at last," the announcer continued breathlessly. "And T'Sel will advance to the next round. We will return after a brief intermission."

Spock turned off the screen. "It would seem that my certainty was well founded. I have indeed triumphed, Doctor."

"Oh, come on. That doesn't count and you know it!" McCoy spread his hands apart. "Her stomach growled. She probably hadn't eaten in several hours. You can't just shut off your digestive system by flipping a switch, Vulcan or no."

"She knew the rules when she entered the competition," Spock countered, fingers tented together. "Additionally, there are fasting techniques one can employ, assuming one is familiar with ancient wisdom, like T'Sel."

"Don't rub it in. Fine. You were right and I was wrong. Bet you never thought you'd hear me say that out loud."

"Indeed I did not. Nevertheless, that does not release you from your obligation to comply with our agreed-upon terms."

"Aww…Spock…" McCoy shut his eyes and kneaded his forehead, groaning.

"As I recall, you were the one who suggested a wager, not I. One in which you promised that if you lost, you would "participate fully and willingly" in any silence activity I chose." Spock eyed him with a serious expression.

"I know, I know." McCoy waved his hand at Spock. "I only have myself and a hungry lady Vulcan to blame. Me and my big mouth. Maybe a bit of silence would do me good." He covered his face with both hands. "All right, what do I have to do? Compete in an amateur silence tournament? Binge-watch all eighteen seasons of the show? Write a silent epic poem?"

Spock shook his head. "Not in your present frame of mind. I was thinking of something less taxing. As you know, opening night for the musical is at hand. While it is too late to secure a part, I was hoping that you would attend the performance."

McCoy let out a long, deep sigh. "Can't I just write the poem instead?"

 

[Bynar0110]

This is so good.

 

[Laura Cynthia Chambers]

McCoy took his ticket out of his pocket and handed it to the young crewwoman seated at a table just outside the ship's auditorium. A sign standing next to her read Contemplative Silence: The Musical in Federation Standard and Vulcan. "Here you go, Nicole. Got any good seats still available?"

The brunette systems technician stamped McCoy's ticket and handed it back to him, along with a program whose cover matched the sign. Her gaze flicked towards her computer screen. "Let's see..." She tapped her chin with one finger. "We still have some in row B, if you think-"

"He's with us." Kirk clapped his hand onto McCoy's shoulder as the doctor turned at the sound of his voice. He pointed his other thumb at Uhura, who nodded. Both were dressed semi-casually; Kirk in a light blue dress shirt and tan khakis, Uhura in a navy party dress with ruffled sleeves. "Row I, Bones," Kirk added as they headed in through the door.

"Jim. I didn't think you were coming." McCoy fell into step beside them. "Especially after we got those reports from HQ about Klingon activity in this sector. I kinda figured you'd want to be on the bridge, overseeing things."

"Yeah, well, the last reported sighting was three systems over, five days ago. The Favor wasn't even sure whether it was legit or just sensor ghosting." Kirk held up his communicator, then slipped it into his pocket. "Besides, bridge crew'll alert me if anybody drops by to pay a social call."

"Right." McCoy nodded, then turned to Uhura, his brows quirking. "Aren't you supposed to be in the play? I know Jim's got a lot on his plate, but you're the director's girlfriend."

Uhura shook her head. "I've been swamped with department reviews lately." She smiled. "I did help a little with the costumes, though." She shrugged. "But I thought you hated Contemplative Silence." A knowing smile. "It's not too late to nip down to sickbay and catch something quick to get out of it, you know."

"I don't hate it, exactly. I just don't understand his obsession with it," McCoy explained. "As for suddenly coming down with something? For once in the history of the Enterprise, everybody's suddenly disgustingly healthy." He made a face. "Plus, there's that blasted bet I lost."

"Told you not to gamble with a Vulcan." Kirk laughed. "But no, you had to learn the hard way."

"Yeah, well, I think I'd still prefer writing poetry." McCoy stuffed his hands in his pockets. "So why row I? Didn't Spock save front row seats for his besties?"

Kirk shrugged. "Eh, he's got some kind of paranoia about playing favorites. You should really talk to him about that. Don't worry, though; you ought to have a pretty good view of the backdrop you worked on from there."

McCoy snorted. "What's to see? All I did was apply the first two coats of paint. Spock obliterated my fine work with a third layer overtop that." He glanced down the rows of seats, looking for I.

Uhura poked McCoy in the arm. "Which he wouldn't have had to do if you hadn't painted all those curlicues, hearts, and squiggles on the canvas." She moved past him down the aisle, stepping sideways to avoid bumping into other crewmembers who had already taken their seats.

"And the happy faces," Kirk chimed in. "Don't forget the happy faces."

McCoy shrugged. "Hey, all he said was to paint it completely black. He didn't say anything about "nice, even, uniform strokes" the first time," he mocked, raising an eyebrow.

"And then, after he told you to fix your mistake, you painted the entire thing over except for a single spot." Kirk shook his head. "Did you really think he, of all people, wouldn't notice?" He followed Uhura down their row, stopping in the middle and sitting down.

"Hoped, yes. Expected, no." McCoy sighed, dropping into his chair, smiling to himself. "But I showed him, all right. Heh, heh, heh."

Uhura glanced up at his evil laugh, her expression inquisitive, but said nothing.

Kirk frowned, but his eyes twinkled. "What'd you do?"

McCoy folded his arms behind his head and sat back, grinning. "While he was inspecting Jarvis's costume, I took a single drop of white paint and mixed it into the black paint can."

Kirk mockingly covered his mouth with one hand. "You didn't."

"Yep."

"And he hasn't asked you about it?"

"Nope. I don't even think he noticed."

"Then what's the point?" Uhura asked. "If you're trying to annoy Spock, don't you want him to know what you did?"

"The way I see it," McCoy reasoned, "if he had noticed, it would really bug him, and therefore I win. But if he doesn't, then I got something past him, ergo, I win anyway. Frankly, I can't decide which one I like better."

Uhura shook her head. "Mean."

"You're a lot badder than people give you credit for, Bones." Kirk smiled, elbowing him in the ribs. "Tsk, tsk. Gaslighting a Vulcan."

"Shh. Don't tell Starfleet Medical about this, 'kay?" McCoy muttered furtively, one finger over his lips. "I could lose my license to practise."

Uhura began writing on the palm of one hand with her index finger. "'Dear Ethics Committee...'" she began, the barest hint of a smile curving her lips upward.

McCoy flicked her writing hand aside. "Ha, ha." He stood up and glanced around the room. Large enough for a crowd three quarters the size of Enterprise's crew complement, the walls of the auditorium could be moved upward to allow for extra seating on either side, should the need arise. Most of the seats were filled by members of the crew, while others loitered in the aisles, talking in small groups. Some were dressed in their duty uniforms, others in casual attire. Two engineering officers wearing orange jumpsuits huddled in the back corner, discussing something with animated gestures. One had a helmet on the floor by his boots.

He turned towards the stage. Two pairs of feet were barely visible underneath the bottom of the curtain. One moved slowly from one side to the other; a moment later, the second pair scurried after the first, rustling the curtain.

Moments later, the lights dimmed, leaving everyone in darkness. Audience members settled into their seats, the volume of their conversations diminishing. McCoy lowered himself into his chair as the curtains parted and Spock stepped forward, hands folded behind his back. He wore a black robe with a hood. "Thank you for attending Contemplative Silence: The Musical."

"Get a load of that costume," McCoy muttered under his breath to his seatmates. "All that's missing is the sickle."

"Everyone involved has worked very hard over these past few weeks..." Spock's eyes scanned the audience until he met McCoy's gaze, mouth tightening ever so slightly. "... despite some minor setbacks. The play shall commence in two minutes. We hope you will enjoy the performance. Thank you." He nodded his head once and disappeared through the curtain.

"He knows," Kirk whispered.

"How do you-ow!" McCoy jolted forward in his seat as somebody bumped into it, dropping his program on the floor. He groaned and rubbed the small of his back, reaching for the program, and then turned in his seat, frowning at those responsible. "Hey! Watch it!"

Three individuals glared at him with angry expressions. One of them growled something unintelligible, then laughed raucously, pointing at McCoy. He elbowed the others, who joined in.

"Yeah, same to you." McCoy frowned as the three of them sat down with a loud thud, talking amongst themselves. He gripped the arms of his chair. "Just wait until the lights come back on..."

"Leonard. Hush. It's starting." Uhura pointed to the stage just as the curtains parted. A soft, barely perceptible light glowed from above, just enough to allow it to be seen by the audience. Two black trees stood tall on either side against the black backdrop, while several large black stones were grouped together in between them. One of them began to stretch upwards, and it became apparent that it was in fact a black-robed man who had been crouching there. The performer bounded to the front of the stage, his feet making no sound as he mouthed words.

He was joined by an identically clad woman who leapt up and began to dance around him, playing on a flute that made no sound. She moved the instrument from her lips and extended one hand backwards, the other reaching for his outstretched one. They danced together for several moments as other performers tiptoed around behind them, then everyone froze in place. The audience applauded, some of them standing to their feet. Spock pulled the curtain back on one side and glared at everyone until they gradually hushed. Relieved, he disappeared behind the curtain again. For several seconds, everyone seemed to hold their breath. Kirk cleared his throat ever so slightly, but even that could be heard over the otherwise deafening silence.

"Boooooo!" McCoy hissed quietly. A hand slapped him on the left cheek with a loud crack! "Ow!" he howled. Still holding his stinging cheek, McCoy glanced over at Uhura.

She raised a finger to her lips. "Shh," she whispered.

The three men sitting behind them began guffawing. Uhura pinned them with an annoyed look. "That goes for you, too. Sit still and shut up." They leaned back in their seats, grumbling quietly to each other.

McCoy returned his attention to the play. Spock and the man, whom he now recognized as one of his medical aides, stood on opposite sides of the stage, apparently engaged in a silent heated argument. The scene quickly escalated into a physical fight that was augmented by several performers, including Chekov, who were observing the spectacle with a mixture of amusement and disapproval. Musicians stood to the side, playing silent string instruments, their intensity increasing as the tension grew.

McCoy glanced at his seatmates. Uhura followed the movements of the dancers with her eyes, while Kirk seemed more preoccupied with trying to read the lips of Spock and his co-combatant, whispering silently along with them. Three aisles ahead of them, Scotty slung his arm over the shoulders of his female companion, who leaned into him.

The scene ended. The audience stood and clapped, quieter this time. After a moment, McCoy joined them. "I'll give him this," he whispered to Kirk, "he's one heck of a mime."

The intermission came and went without turning on the lights. Most audience members remained in their seats for the duration.

As the performance progressed, the three rowdy audience members seated behind McCoy seemed to calm down. Their critical laughter gave way to noises of approval and even admiration.

In between scenes midway through the second half, McCoy nudged Uhura. "I think our hecklers are actually enjoying the show. And I was this-" he pinched his fingers together "-close to asking security to escort them out."

"I was this close to asking you to test their blood alcohol level," Uhura admitted.

Forty minutes later, the final scene ended with a big closing number in which all of the performers engaged in silent contemplation as one. Everyone rose to their feet as the curtains closed, clapping silently, as though they didn't wish to disturb the moment. The curtain opened again, revealing all of the performers, who bowed in unison, then walked off the stage in a line. The lights turned on and the audience began to leave their seats, the volume of their speech steadily increasing.

McCoy stretched his arms over his head. "That was really something."

Uhura peered over the heads of the other crew. "I'm going to go congratulate Spock. Want to come along?"

Kirk smiled, exiting the aisle sideways behind her. "Sure. Gotta get my name on the sign-up list for his next production. I can be as quiet as the next guy shut up Bones."

McCoy's lips quirked. "I'll be there in a moment. I have someone to apologize to first." He spun around and came face to face with the business end of a Starfleet issue phaser rifle.

"All right, you," Hendorff growled, a frown on his face. "Put the weapons down. Hands on your head. No tricks." He glanced to his right, his expression softening, but his grip on his handheld phaser never wavering. "Stallings, does Dr. McCoy look like a Klingon to you?"

The redheaded man moved his rifle away from the doctor. "Sorry, Doc." He pointed it at one of the hecklers instead. "Do as he said." Several security officers stood behind them, weapons raised.

"Klingons?" Uhura stopped at the end of the aisle. "What Klingons?"

McCoy spun around. Standing behind him were three Klingon officers, lips set in a grim line, their handheld weapons raised. One of them had a bat'leth slung over his shoulder.

"You heard my officers. Drop the weapons. Now." Kirk planted his feet apart and stood his ground, glaring at the one who appeared to be the leader. He nodded and made eye contact with each of his subordinates, and they lowered their weapons onto their seats. The captain nodded to Hendorff, who directed his men to arrest the Klingons.

"It would appear, then, that the Favor's initial readings were indeed accurate." Spock glanced around the briefing room, sipping at his tea. "How did they get aboard ship?"

"Exploited a weakness in our shields, which Mr. Scott assures me he has since corrected," Kirk replied, taking a bite out of a buttered bagel. "Beamed aboard after determining where most of the crew were concentrated. My guess is they wanted to make sure we were otherwise occupied before heading up to the bridge to seize control of the ship."

"But..." Spock began.

"But, they decided to stay for the show instead," McCoy finished, stirring cream and sugar into his coffee.

"They're cooling their heels in the brig right now. We'll drop them and that ship of theirs off at Starbase 23 before continuing on to the succession ceremony on Timorius VII." Kirk laughed. "Our guests made me promise not to tell their commanding officer about their lapse of duties. Said it would damage their honor."

"Thwarted by Contemplative Silence." McCoy sighed. "Apparently they found it as enthralling as you do. Which I'll never understand."

Spock tented his fingers together. "Actually, I believe it was the combat scenes which intrigued them the most. The Klingon culture is quite martial, as you'll recall."

McCoy lifted his cup to his mouth and drank some, lowering it again. "Silent combat," he scoffed, counting on his fingers, "silent music, silent dialogue, silent everything. If I'd closed my eyes, I would have missed the whole show." He leaned forward. "Why didn't you tell the audience to clap silently while you were at it? Wouldn't their noise have disturbed the mood, unsettled the performers?"

Spock nodded. "Yes, that troubled me." He pushed his tea cup aside. "But not nearly as much as having to re-paint your backdrop did."

McCoy's mouth dropped open. "I-you-" he stammered. "You what?"

Spock raised an eyebrow. "Although the difference in shades was subtle, it was noticeable." He regarded Leonard with a stern look. "In the future, I would greatly prefer the outright confrontation which is your forte to such passive-aggressive tactics. Really, Doctor, it is most beneath you."

McCoy gritted his teeth together. "Confound it, Spock!" he barked. "You're unbelievable, you know that?!"

Spock nodded in approval. "Yes. Like so."

"Told you he knew," Kirk whispered, a self-satisfied smirk on his face.

 

[Bynar0110]

Keep up the good work I can't stop laughing

 

[Laura Cynthia Chambers]

"Hello. I reserved a table for two under the name of McCoy." Leonard smiled at the maitre'd, who nodded and studied his reservation screen. Looking over the Andorian's head, he scanned the various tables in the restaurant. Most were occupied by couples, but a few tables had been pushed together to allow larger parties to occupy them. All of the patrons he could see were dressed in formal wear, but the mood was lighter than their attire. Laughter came from the direction of the front windows, while a balcony at the back attracted many who wanted a view of Geisanat's trio of moons in an almost equilateral triangular alignment, a phenomenon which occurred every three and a half Earth months.

"Ah yes, Mr. McCoy, table seventeen. Allow me to escort you." The man sidestepped from behind his console, menus tucked under his arm. "Right this way," he added, pointing an antenna to his left, then turning and moving in that direction.

McCoy followed the man up a ramp that led to a raised deck surrounded by a railing, then to an empty table on the right, where he was seated and handed his menu. The maitre'd placed the other menu on the opposite side of the table, then brought a pitcher of water and basket of bread to the table, setting it down in the middle. "Would you like to order now, or wait for your companion?"

"I'll wait." McCoy nodded, adjusting his cufflinks with precision. "Thanks."

The Andorian's antennae flattened out from side to side in lieu of a bow, and he turned, moving back towards his console. McCoy reached for the crystal pitcher and poured himself a glassful. He had just lifted the glass to his lips when his communicator rang. "No rest for the weary," he sighed, removing the comm from his pocket and flipping it open. "911, what's your emergency?" he drawled, exasperation and amusement in his voice.

"Hey, Len." The woman on the other end of the call stifled a yawn. "No emergency. Just a case of exhaustion and a splitting headache."

"You're probably just hungry, Bree." McCoy leaned back in his chair, glancing over at the door.

Tired laughter. "So you're diagnosing people long-distance now. Doesn't that go against the oath you took?"

"I don't think so." He checked the time. 2013 hours. "How many minutes away are you?"

A pause. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but this is the part where you tell me to stay home and get some rest, maybe take something for the pain."

"If you were my patient, then yes." McCoy cleared his throat.

"Mm. Let's just say I already told me to do that. It's been a crazy day at my school, filled with staff meetings, curriculum review, parent-teacher conferences - teleconferences, mind you. Benita Alvarez's father called me from a relay station during his mid-night shift break, can you imagine?" A long yawn. "I don't think I've slept more than four hours at a time for a week."

"I know what that's like. Heck, it's practically in the job description."

"Yeah, I'll bet. Look, I'm really sorry about this, especially after cancelling our last two dates, but-"

McCoy laid the comm on his table and took a sip of his water. "Look, it's alright, Bree. Remember what you said you were going to do? Well, go ahead and do it, and take the next day off, too. Doctor's orders. I'll even write you a note."

A chuckle. "Long-distance prescriptions, too."

"Well, I usually like to be a little closer to my patients, but a couple of moons over isn't that far, relatively speaking."

"Soooo...rain check again?"

"Sure, I guess. We'll be back in this system in a week, if all goes according to plan, but I can't promise it will. The Enterprise and all."

"I've heard the stories. See you maybe, Len. Good night." She ended the call.

McCoy flipped his comm closed and stuffed it in his pocket. Sighing, he drained his glass of water and opened the menu, studying his options. Several different dishes from various parts of the galaxy were listed in fancy calligraphy. He made a face at one of the images, a plate of what looked like a stuffed animal intestine overflowing with burgundy leaves.

"Leonard, I thought that was you." He looked over the top of the menu. Uhura smiled at him, her onyx and incrulite earrings bobbing back and forth. She wore a deep purple gown accented by silver trim. "Spock?" The Vulcan was standing next to a four-chaired table across the deck, clad in a black tuxedo with a white bow tie. He paused in pulling out a chair for his absent girlfriend and looked in their direction, his expression confused, as though he had not realized she had slipped away so quickly.

Leaving the chair, he crossed the room until he was standing at Uhura's side. "You were over there," he deadpanned.

"Yes, and now I'm over here." Uhura tugged on Spock's tie slightly, causing the Vulcan to reach up and re-adjust it. "Leave that table for someone else. We'll eat with Leonard."

Spock indicated the empty chair. "Leonard already has a dining companion." His posture remained ramrod straight.

"Had. She couldn't make it." McCoy pushed back his chair, beginning to stand. "As a matter of fact, I probably oughta call it a night mys-"

Uhura placed her hand on his shoulder and shoved him back down. "Nothing doing, Doctor. Spock, get one of those chairs and bring it over here." She gave McCoy a stern look. "You're going to eat with us, like it or not. Got it?"

"Yes, ma'am." McCoy leaned forward, pointing over his shoulder at Spock, who was carrying a chair in their direction, his lips pressed in a firm line. "I think Spock wants to be alone with you."

"Whatever gave you that idea?" She crossed her arms over her chest. "We're always dating alone, and every time I try to get Spock to go on a double date, he always makes up some reason why he can't go." She sighed in mock disappointment. "I guess you'll have to do."

"Well, I'll try to be fun enough for two people," McCoy pouted.

"That's the spirit."

Spock set the chair down next to McCoy, then pulled it back. "Nyota, allow me to seat you."

Uhura pulled out what would have been Bree's chair instead and sat down in it, smiling at her date.

Spock frowned and lowered himself into the third chair, pulling it close to the table. "Leonard," he muttered, not looking at McCoy, "it appears you have company for dinner this evening, after all."

"Looks that way." He passed Spock his menu and saluted crisply. "Third wheel McCoy, reporting for crowd duty, sir."

Spock shook his head, mouth tightening. "If you are endeavoring to be amusing in the hopes that it will improve my mood, I can disabuse you of that notion immediately."

Uhura swatted him on the arm. "Spock! Behave." She leaned over the table and smiled apologetically at McCoy. "I can explain. He was hoping not to run into anybody we knew tonight."

"Ah. I get it. It was supposed to be a hot date, am I right?" McCoy puckered his lips.

Uhura looked away, her cheeks flushing slightly as she fought the urge to smile or laugh.

Spock blinked. "That is none of your concern. But if you must satisfy your curiosity, I was hoping we would not be disturbed by ship's business for one night. A desire I know you share, as I have heard you express your frustration frequently, loudly, and quite...ahem...colorfully." Spock set down his menu and placed both hands palms down on the table.

McCoy shrugged. "You should've known better than to pick Ashourio, then, Spock. I've heard it's one of the most popular restaurants in this system. Hikaru told me that Rear Admiral Inek makes a point of eating here every time her flagship passes through the sector."

"I picked the restaurant." Uhura adjusted one of her earrings and deflected Spock's look of annoyance with an innocent expression. "But not because of its popularity with the admiralty, or anyone else, for that matter."

"And she was quite insistent we eat here tonight, despite the fact that we will be docked here for two more days, and back in seven from the cargo run." Spock's eyes scanned the menu. "Our lack of a reservation and your presence here naturally leads me to wonder if this was arranged by the two of you." He looked back and forth between them, trying to gauge whether he was correct or not. Neither one blinked, and he broke eye contact with a quiet huff.

"You can put that notion right out of your head," McCoy assured him, shaking his head. "If it's a trap, it's caught both of us. My date called it off at the last minute. If you hadn't shown up, I'd have gone back to the ship, spent the night in my quarters with a root beer and a cheeseburger."

"You poor, lonely soul," Uhura tsked. Don't worry; I'm not trapping anyone," she insisted. "In fact, I have a surprise for you, Spock, which I think you'll like." She placed her hand on his, smiling up at him. "But I'm not sure how you'll feel about it, Leonard," she added, apprehension in her tone as she turned her gaze on McCoy.

McCoy frowned slightly. "Feel about what?"

Spock raised both eyebrows, his interest piqued. "Do tell, Nyota." He glanced at McCoy, the left side of his lip curling upwards.

"Sorry." Uhura held a finger to her lips, her expression revealing nothing. "You'll have to wait and see. Now, what does everybody want? I think I'll have..."

***

"And for you, sir, the scalloped rintissa grass pods." The waiter set down a plate of blue vegetables covered in a creamy amber sauce at Spock's place setting.

"Thank you," Spock replied, grabbing his table napkin and shaking it out on his lap.

"Mmm," McCoy breathed, closing his eyes, "this smells wonderful." He sighed with contentment, then reached for his fork.

"Doesn't it?" Uhura agreed, leaning forward to inhale the aroma of her roast salmon and wild rice dish.

"Uh-uh-uh," the waiter tsked, causing the three of them to meet his gaze. "The experience shall commence in two minutes, sirs, ma'am."

"Yes, of course." Uhura placed her hand over Spock's just as he opened his mouth to take the first bite of his meal, causing him to lower it again to his plate. The waiter nodded to her and pivoted towards the table where Spock had planned to sit, turning his attention to the family now seated there. A small child missing one of her two front teeth grabbed a piece of bread from the basket and gnawed on it.

McCoy dropped the forkful of pasta with a clatter and frowned at Uhura. "What experience?" He picked up the fork again and began playing with his food, idly pushing it back and forth across the surface of his dish. "Is this the part I'm not going to like?"

Spock regarded her with confusion, but she just smiled at the two of them. "You'll see. Or rather, you won't."

"What's that supposed to mean?" McCoy set his fork down just as the room descended into darkness. "Hey, what happened to the lights?"

"Sensory deprivation," Uhura replied. "Every second Wednesday, Ashourio patrons eat for two hours in the dark. It's supposed to enhance your other senses and enable you to enjoy your meal in a whole new way." She lifted her champagne glass to her lips and took a sip. "Think of it as a science experiment."

"Why doesn't anybody ever tell me these things until it's too late to say no?" McCoy chuckled drily. "Oh, well, I'm game if you are. I'll try not to stick my fork in my eye-"

"-Ew-"

"-or drop any noodles down my shirtfront-"

"-any sudden moves, and you'll be fi-"

"Please." Spock's voice interrupted. "I am trying to contemplate, and your clamor is not helping." He closed his eyes. "I would like to apologize for my earlier rudeness, Nyota. If I had known you had arranged for a contemplative silence session, I would have been more amenable to sharing our evening with the doctor."

"Contem-" McCoy coughed. "Contemplative silence? Here?"

Uhura put her hand on Spock's arm. "Spock, that wasn't my intention. I mean, yes, I thought of silence when I heard about this experience, but that's not what it's for." She extended an arm in the direction of the other patrons, snippets of whose conversations were audible in the background. "Everybody else is talking while they eat. I-"

Spock straightened in his chair, ignoring her, silent as death.

"Leave him be, Nyota." McCoy stabbed his noodles with his fork and stuffed them in his mouth. "If he wants to play statue while his rintissa gets stone cold, that's his problem. I'm starving." He swallowed and washed his food down with a mouthful of champagne, then patted his lips with his napkin.

"Fine." Uhura rolled her eyes, shrugged, and picked up her fork and knife. Holding the salmon fillet in place with the fork, she began to cut through it. Stabbing a bite-sized portion, she brought it to her lips and ate it as quietly as possible, rolling it around in her mouth thoughtfully. "Spicy," she mouthed. She then lowered the utensil to her plate ever so slowly and captured a forkful of rice with it. As she did so, a single tine tapped her plate.

Spock's eyes popped open, his brows raised. "The sound of your fork-"

"Spock!" Uhura sighed in exasperation, dropping her fork with a dull clatter on the tablecloth. She lowered her chin to her hand, eyes closed, shaking her head. "All I want to do is eat dinner, like a normal person. What's the matter with that?" She threw her hands up in the air. "We're in a restaurant, after all. Isn't that the whole idea of..." Her voice trailed off.

McCoy patted her shoulder, smiling. "There, there." He shot a glance at Spock, who appeared to be ignoring them with increased concentration, then took Uhura's hand in his and shook it. "Welcome to the club."

 

[Laura Cynthia Chambers]

Tablet tucked under his arm, McCoy side-stepped through the sliding doors of the conference room, carrying a large plastic tub. He shifted the weight of the container as he moved towards the long table. "Donuts are here, everybody. Don't worry, Jim, half of them are the ones you like with sprink-" He paused next to an empty swivel chair, one of several surrounding the similarly empty table.

Setting down the donuts, he spied a single occupied chair at the far end of the table. Spock sat there, intensely studying a three-dimensional chess board. A tablet and stylus sat next to his right elbow, while the chair across from him was slightly pulled out from the table.

McCoy opened the tub and selected a jelly donut, letting the lid drop closed. He moved down the length of the table until he was standing behind the Vulcan. Taking a bite of his donut, he leaned forward and studied the chess board. "You're losing," he remarked with his mouth full.

"Indeed," Spock agreed. "My opponent is most challenging." He leaned forward, resting his chin on his hands. "Would you care to observe?"

"Sure," McCoy agreed, pulling out the chair at the head of the table and sitting down. "Where's Jim?" he asked, pointing over his shoulder at the other door. "Did I just miss him on my way in?"

"I have not seen or spoken with him since 0934 this morning. As the staff meeting is not for-" He checked the time on his tablet "-an hour and three minutes, that is hardly unusual." He cleared his throat. "Your presence, on the other hand, is curious. It has been my experience that you prefer to delay your departure from sickbay as long as possible, unless you are...required on the bridge." An eyebrow raised in question.

"About that." McCoy took another bite of his donut. "Our personnel officer scheduled a career advancement seminar today for the medical department. Sickbay's a ghost town right now. I figured I'd head on down here and see what's what." He frowned. "Who are you playing against, if not Jim?"

Spock regarded McCoy with a look of confusion. "I do not recall denying that Jim was my opponent, Doctor."

"Well, no, not directly, but you did say you hadn't seen him in over four hours." A smile curved McCoy's lips. "Don't tell me he's had you stumped ever since."

"The thought amuses you, Leonard, but I am afraid I must disappoint-ah." Spock picked up the queen and moved it to the next level. "As I was saying, I am playing against Jim, in a sense." He swiveled his chair to face McCoy. "Over the years that I have known him, I have become rather familiar with his style of play. So much so, in fact, that it is entirely possible for me to play his moves in addition to my own." He stood and crossed to the other side of the room, perching on the edge of "Jim"'s chair and frowning. "Like so," he added, reaching for a white knight and setting it down next to one of the black pawns. "A quick strike that will shortly prove to be a fatal mistake."

"Naturally, given the personal bias of his proxy." McCoy stuffed the rest of the donut into his mouth. He licked the powdered sugar from his fingers, then wiped them on his pants. "It's an improvement, but not by much."

"An improvement over what?"

"Nothing." McCoy stood up, his hands braced against the table. "You know, I can't remember the last time I saw you play chess, or your lute, or pretty much anything that didn't involve Contemplative Silence. I mean, I'm sure there's plenty of both in the game of chess, but still." He smiled. "It's nice to see you doing normal people things again." He shook his head. "Relatively speaking. Does Jim know about this?"

"I..." Spock glanced away for a split second. "The subject has never come up in any of our conversations." His face flushed slightly. Pushing back "Jim"'s chair, he moved around the table again.

"Don't worry. I'll keep my silence." McCoy moved his fingers across his lips in a zipping motion, then leaned back in his seat, arms folded behind his head. "When you're finished creaming our captain in absentia, I'd be happy to play a game with you." He tugged on his collar and closed his eyes. "Don't mean to brag, but I learned a few gambits in med school that-"

"Checkmate." Spock moved the final piece into position. "Actually, Doctor, I was hoping to speak to you before the meeting." He indicated the tablet beside him. "I would like your opinion on something."

McCoy narrowed his eyes thoughtfully as Spock pushed the tablet towards him. "My medical opinion, or my personal one?" No reply. McCoy picked up the tablet and tapped the screen twice. A document appeared. "'Personal Improvements Checklist'," he read aloud. "'The following is a list of missed and attainable opportunities for personal and professional growth.' Sounds suspiciously like something outta that snoozefest I came up here to avoid."

Spock folded his hands. "As you know, it is customary to take the measure of oneself at regular intervals. While official evaluations are conducted on a regular basis, they can be somewhat lacking in scope. I therefore took it upon myself to create a more in-depth analysis." He leaned forward. "I would greatly appreciate your feedback on this project, including any suggestions you might have for areas I've overlooked."

McCoy chuckled. "Are you sure you want to ask me?" he queried, placing a hand over his heart. "I'm not exactly an unbiased observer, y'know."

Spock nodded. "I am aware of that. I would not have asked you if I thought you wholly incapable of setting your personal proclivities aside."

"Okay, then. Let's see what New Year's resolutions you've got here." McCoy scanned the list quickly. "'Be more silent.'" He rolled his eyes. "Naturally. 'Focus more when contemplating, longer periods of-'...okay, these aren't all silence-related, are they?" McCoy blew out a puff of air. "Because if they are, I'd add 'find a new hobby' and 'see a psychiatrist' to the top."

"They are not. Read the entire list and see for yourself ."

McCoy studied the column next to the list. Some were checked off, while others had stars next to them. "'Develop a more positive outlook. Consider the opinions of others. Be more tolerant of foreign cultural practices. '" He nodded. "Very nice." He scrolled down to the bottom of the list. "'Day 1: Subject participated in a cooperative activity. Displayed significant hostility towards thematic elements and activity leader. After correction was administered, subject lessened hostile behavior and completed the activity with some frustration. Am hopeful that the next session will show improvement. Day 2: Subject provoked by honest appraisal of qualifications for accompanying away team. Commentary on appraiser's intelligence delivered, with lack strongly implied. Third party intervention successfully resulted in acquiescence without further incident. Must study further the methods employed for diffusing ire.'" McCoy's brows lowered. "What is this? Some kind of field study journal? It's awful cold and sterile for a self-evaluation. Oh, wait, that's right." He spread his hands out palms upward toward the Vulcan.

Spock's lips pressed together at the implication. "Self-evaluation? I am not the subject in question, Doctor." He placed on hand on the tablet. "As you can see, the stardate for Day 2 corresponds with our visit to Iota Cyrinus IV."

"Oh, yeah. Don't remind me." McCoy pushed his chair back and strode towards the donut bin. He popped open the lid and selected a chocolate one, then picked up the bin, carried it to the other end of the table, and sat down. "Nothing but sand, as far as the eye can see, except for a solitary Starfleet outpost staffed with three unlucky stiffs who just happened to require their regular medical evaluations. If it hadn't been for that blasted fever, we could've just beamed 'em up here or sent one of my residents." He placed the bin on the table to his right and took a bite of the donut. "I thought Scanlon was just tired from sitting up with his computers all night. He looked healthy enough on the transmission." A sigh. "It was probably a good thing I did go. A physician with less experience might not have recognized the significance of the slight enzymatic imbalance. They probably owe you their lives for insisting that I-" McCoy stopped mid-sentence, his face twisting into a look of disbelief, then anger. "This list is for ME?!" He tightened his fist around the donut, squishing it between his fingers, his breathing rapid. "I'M 'Subject'?! You're studying me like a lab rat?" Crumbs of donut sprayed out of his mouth.

Spock nodded. "Initially, this experiment was intended to be a series of observations in which I recorded instances of aberrant behavior and your subsequent attempts to self-correct. However, I found myself intervening so often that it became pointless to attempt to merely observe and report; instead, I offered suggestions where I could, and noted your responses, positive and negative. Overall, you appear to be trending upwards, apart from a slight downturn one week ago." He closed his eyes. "As I recall, 'Subject appears to have latent disregard for authority. Linguistic skills in evidence during emotional outburst, particularly regional vernacular and crude metaphorical terms, suggesting self-medication. To subject's credit, self-control maintained until removed from the object of ire's presence.'"

"Well, excuse me, but said 'object of ire', aka Governor Maynard, is a pompous windbag. The nerve of him refusing help from Starfleet because of a decades-old charter that's barely legal, while his people shiver in the cold and go hungry!"

Spock's eyebrow raised. "However satisfying you deem it to be, there are far better ways to vent one's frustrations than to become intoxicated and create a hologram duplicate of an individual for the express purpose of engaging in fisticuffs."

McCoy slapped the tabletop, leaving chocolate smears behind. "And there are also better ways to help a friend than writing him a laundry list of faults for the express purpose of antagonizing him!" He indicated the tablet. "You know, I never thought the day would come when I'd actually encourage you to engage in Contemplative Silence, but I'd really rather you stared at nothing instead of sitting around analyzing my behavior." He threw up his hands, then covered his face with them. "Good grief, Spock."

Spock reached for the tablet and pressed the record button. "'Day 43: Subject confronted with the preliminary results of the experiment. Initial frustration followed by a reversal of opinion re: contemplative silence. Subject finds silence favorable in comparison with continued covert study and manipulation of subject. All indications point toward experiment's success. End recording." He slid the tablet sideways and folded his hands on the table.

"Would you mind explaining that in plain English for the benefit of the 'subject'?" McCoy looked down at the chocolate stain, frowning.

Spock nodded. "If you will recall, I stated what the experiment was intended to consist of, not which hypothesis I set out to prove." He stood and began to remove the chess pieces from the board. "My aim was not overall behavioral modification, but rather to bring about a more favorable opinion of Contemplative Silence." He turned to McCoy, the white bishop in his left hand, and reached for a honey cruller with his right. "As you can see, I have accomplished that very thing." Spock took a bite of the donut and looked McCoy right in the eye. "Checkmate."

McCoy lowered his head onto the tabletop and grabbed handfuls of his hair in both hands, moaning. "I hate being a pawn."

 

[Bynar0110]

Poor McCoy

 

[Laura Cynthia Chambers]

Yeah, he's a punching bag, all right. But he makes up for it with comebacks and loyalty.

 

[Laura Cynthia Chambers]

Leonard materialized in the middle of a crowded intersection, one hand resting on his hip. He jumped out of the way as a bicycle sped past on one side, then stepped to the side to avoid three teenage girls who were chattering excitedly in an alien language. Crossing the street in five quick strides, he leaned against a lamp post to catch his breath, then pulled out his comm and flipped it open. "McCoy to transporter room. I got a hint for you, Bayliss; this planet happens to have several geosynchronous cartographic satellites. Try makin' use of them before beaming a man down in the middle of traffic, hmm? Unless you want to bring him back in a jar."

The English transporter operator chuckled. "Really, Doctor, I set you down in the middle of a scramble. No eighteen wheelers, hovercars, or anything of the kind. Just foot traffic. You're perfectly safe."

"Ever heard of a stampede?" The yeasty scent of baked goods drifted out of an open doorway as McCoy continued past it, headed in a westerly direction. "Just tell me where you dropped off Commander Spock." He used one hand to shade his eyes, scrutinizing two Vulcans that were walking towards him, deep in conversation. The mustached one looked over his shoulder and shouted. A smaller figure parted the two and strode out in front of them, a curious expression on her face. McCoy followed her gaze and saw that a large tree lay fallen on the sidewalk across the street, its roots torn up from the ground.

"He asked to be deposited at Pelek Park, in the Vulcan quarter of the city, doctor. That's..." Two taps on a computer screen. "...roughly two kilometers south of your present location. I can send you there, or if you wish, there are several public transport booths, a local transit system, taxis..."

"I'll walk. Just text me the coordinates."

"Cheerio, Doctor. And a pleasant leave to you."

"Thanks, Art." McCoy ended the call. A few seconds later, a marker appeared on his tricorder's geolocator program, and he followed the map indicator down two winding streets, over a small footbridge, and then down a walking trail until he found himself in a small natural area criss-crossed by several gravel walkways. Reddish brown sand covered the open areas, dotted with various rock arrangements and small flowers that lay close to the ground. The park was mostly deserted, save for a city worker who bent over a small patch of green cacti, and two joggers, all Vulcans.

He found Spock kneeling behind a yellow bush at the edge of a small pond, studying the small purple fish that darted around just beneath the surface. "Well, I made it." McCoy came around to the other side of the pond until he was standing next to the Vulcan. "All in one piece."

"I expected nothing less." Spock straightened up, brushing dust from the knees of his pant legs. "Acquoya may attract visitors from all across the quadrant, but it has a reputation for being one of the safest settlements of its kind in the 23rd century." He clasped his hands behind his back.

McCoy gave a half-smile. "Well, actually, I was referring to the transporter, not the city, but..." He took a deep breath. "Ahh. Even the air is cleaner here." His shoulders relaxed. "I guess I owe my blood pressure one. If it hadn't registered on the high side of high this time, I'd still be in sickbay, bumping somebody else up the shore leave waiting list."

Spock lifted an eyebrow. "I am curious as to how you expect it to return such a favor."

McCoy shook his head. "You got me. So," he continued, "Vulcan quarter, eh?" He gestured around at the buildings surrounding the park, which were designed in various Vulcan architectural styles, from Vuus contemporary to pre-Tonek revival. "Kinda like going back in time?"

"There are similarities," Spock agreed as they meandered down the trail leading out of the park's south gate. "Be that as it may, my reasons for visiting this section of the city go beyond mere nostalgia." He led McCoy to a transit stop just to the left of the exit. He leaned against the signpost. "I am in fact seeking the same thing you are; an opportunity for relaxation." The bus pulled up to the stop, and they boarded, passing their communicators in front of the reader. McCoy chose an aisle seat close to the middle of the vehicle, and Spock lowered himself into the window seat nearby.

As the bus moved away from the curb and began to head down the street, McCoy pocketed his communicator. "Relaxation? What? The park wasn't doing it for you?"

"While I found its landscaped setting to be restful, I had not planned to tarry long. I chose the park as a landing site chiefly because of its proximity to the transit line." Spock glanced away from the window. "Why did you seek me out? I was not expecting a companion."

"I'm a glutton for punishment." At Spock's frown, McCoy laughed. "Truth? I'm just killing time until Jim finishes some conference calls. He knows a couple of girls who live here now. We're going out to dinner together this evening, then catching a show." He rubbed the back of his neck. "At least, that's the plan, anyway. In the meantime, why don't you show me around the marketplace?" He placed one hand on his stomach. "I've got a hankering for muhs-veer noodles all of a sudden."

"Perhaps later. My destination is close to the marketplace." They leaned slightly to one side as the bus turned a corner. "Though I have never visited this planet before, my membership grants me access to all the association's branches. I am also allowed to admit guests."

"Association?" McCoy glanced out the window at a passing hovercar. "You mean like a club?" At Spock's nod, he clapped the Vulcan on the back. "I remember my good old days with Astra Terra. If I wasn't getting into trouble, I was getting Jim out of it."

Spock's mouth twitched. "You seem almost fond of your days with the Academy's fraternity, given your usual dislike for trouble."

"Ah, you had to be there." McCoy leaned back in his seat and slung one arm over Spock's shoulder. "But you know what I'm talking about, right? Funny hats, crazy songs, and all the processed meat you can eat. Or carrot sticks, in your case," he amended. "'From the known, to the unknown, from the surface to the sky...'" he sang, his words trailing off as the bus came to a stop. Two passengers exited through the back door, shuffling past McCoy and giving him odd glances. Seven more boarded, all Vulcans save one Human male wearing a casual duty Starfleet uniform.

When they had seated themselves, the bus began moving forward again. Leonard shrugged. "Anthem." He looked away, lost in thought. "Those were the days. I wonder if they have a chapter here..."

"Doubtful. The only Academy facility I know of on Acquoya is an admissions office." Spock turned to face him. "In any event, you will find the Letar Society's activities have little in common with the sort of rowdy behavior you and Jim previously engaged in." He pulled out his tricorder and studied the screen. "The next stop is ours." Spock tapped a button on the wall of the bus, stood, and began to inch down the aisle.

McCoy got up and followed him to the back exit, arriving just as the bus slid to a halt. They stepped through the open doors onto a narrow sidewalk. McCoy glanced around at the houses nearby, flanked with ornamental sand arrangements. "Uh, Spock, you sure we're in the right place? These buildings all look residential to me."

"The Letar Society occupies what was once a private dwelling, Doctor. I believe a previous member bequeathed it to the association upon his demise." Spock stepped over what appeared to be a children's toy, some kind of vehicle with wheels. He lifted his hand and pointed at a large three storey townhouse with well-manicured vines that had been trained to grow on its stone walls. A flight of rounded steps led to a small porch; a short ramp to the right appeared to be a recent addition. Simple black letters against a gray backdrop proclaimed the building to indeed be the Acquoya chapter of the Letar Society.

As McCoy followed Spock up the stairs, his hand slid up the railing. He paused for a moment, cupping his hand to his ear. "When you said this place was tame, you weren't kidding. I don't hear anything; no singing, laughing, screaming, or vomiting."

"Nor are you likely to, as I said previously." Spock arched an eyebrow. "Though you almost sound as if you were hoping for cacophony and mayhem."

"Didn't say that." He reached the top and leaned against the porch rail, stuffing his hands into his pockets. "But, hey, if whatever you guys do in there calms my frayed nerves a little, I guess I can live with it." He moved out of Spock's way as the Vulcan stepped in front of the doorway and stood there, still for several seconds. "Aren't you going to knock?"

"We shall be admitted momentarily," Spock replied, his lips pressed closed. After about a minute, the door opened. A tall stoic Vulcan stood there, clad in black robes. He raised an eyebrow at McCoy, who returned the expression, then looked to Spock. The commander nodded, which seemed to satisfy the doorman; he stiffly swept to the side, allowing them access.

"Where-" McCoy began, stopping when Spock turned and held a finger to his lips. Spying a coatrack, he removed his light jacket and hung it up on one of the hooks. "Where are we going?" he whispered as they continued down a dark corridor.

Spock ignored the question, leading McCoy through a door to their left flanked by drawn drapes, into a large common room filled with black chairs and couches. Blackout curtains covered a massive window that would ordinarily have let in the sunlight at this time of day. Several Vulcans stood, sat and reposed in various areas of the room. A black tasseled carpet hosted several individuals who were staring at nothing in particular; another sat cross-legged on a stool in the corner reading something off of a tablet. Spock beckoned to McCoy as he took a seat on the closest chair, closing his eyes.

McCoy stomped into the room and pulled Spock up off his seat, dragging him out of the room, and to the right until they were both standing behind the door curtain. "You brought me to a funeral parlour?" he hissed. "I don't even know any of these people. What do I say? I feel like an intruder. Who died?"

Spock shook his head and raised a finger in the air. "First of all, it is not-" he mouthed, but interrupted himself, clasping his hands behind his back as two women walked past into the room. He tugged McCoy by one arm in the opposite direction until they were standing behind a potted palm. "It is not a funeral parlour, Doctor," he whispered. "Please, do not say anything more while you are here. There are rules to follow."

McCoy jerked back away from him. "Which you unfortunately neglected to warn me about before we-"

Spock grabbed both of McCoy's arms tightly. "Please."

McCoy wilted, letting out a soft sigh. "Fine. But would you mind telling me exactly what one does at the Letar Society?" He held out his hands palms up.

Spock pressed his lips closed, then turned and tilted his chin upward towards the dark curtains before covering both ears with his hands. He arched an eyebrow.

The blood drained out of McCoy's face. He closed his eyes and breathed in and out once. "Contemplative Silence." One hand covered his face. "It's got a lodge. But of course." McCoy threw his hands up in the air. "Why not? It's got everything else, heaven knows," he exclaimed, pacing back and forth.

Spock grabbed one of his arms, but McCoy yanked it away again. As he spun around, he bumped into something. McCoy looked up and saw the Vulcan doorman who had admitted them to the building, glowering at him. He turned. Several society members stood at the entrance to the room, regarding him with a mixture of annoyance, curiosity, and anger. "Ummm..." McCoy glanced down at his shoes, blushing, then lifted his head towards the Vulcans, an innocent expression on his face. "Sorry?"

The Vulcans did not reply. Instead, they slowly retreated from the doorway and returned to their silent contemplation.

"Right." McCoy slowly backed up towards the front door. "Ock-spay, I ink-thay it's ime-tay to am-scray," he muttered.

A shadow loomed over him. McCoy turned. Once more, the doorman stood before him, casting a long shadow. In his hands, he held out a small opaque glass jar. McCoy reached out for it, and the doorman held it away from him, then extended it toward him again.

McCoy turned to Spock, a look of confusion on his face. "What does he want?" he mouthed.

Spock leaned toward him. "You disrupted the sacred silence of this establishment," he whispered quietly. "Those who commit such a violation are obligated to contribute to the penalty jar. No exceptions."

"Penalty jar?" McCoy mouthed, looking back and forth between Spock and the doorman, who regarded him with thinly veiled impatience. Rolling his eyes, McCoy reached into his pocket for a wad of Federation universal exchange notes and stuffed the bills into the jar, then grabbed his jacket and shrugged it on. "Well, so much for that," he sighed, hurrying towards the front door.

"Indeed." Spock glanced over his shoulder, then sped up, matching McCoy's stride. "I don't expect either of us will be welcome here any time soon," he added as they stepped onto the porch, a note of disappointment in his voice.

McCoy slowed, then stopped at the foot of the stairs. "Gee, I'm awful sorry, Spock. To get tossed out on your ear like this because of me." He kicked at a pebble on the sidewalk. "And I embarrassed you in front of all your fellow silence groupies. Might as well have paraded up and down the halls with a brass band." He sighed. "I feel like a heel."

Spock put a hand on the doctor's shoulder as another bus crested the hill, then hurried down the street to the bus stop, McCoy following after him. "You have no cause to berate yourself, Leonard. First of all, I neglected to inform you properly about the nature of the Letar Society, so that you could adequately prepare for the experience. Second, although I was fully aware of your reasons for taking this impromptu shore leave, I nevertheless exposed you to stimuli, or rather lack of same, which has already provoked a strong emotional response in you previously. Lastly..." He paused as the vehicle rolled to a stop and opened its door, then ascended the first step, one hand resting on the doorframe.

"Lastly..." McCoy waved a hand at the Vulcan.

"You are hardly to blame for your frustrations." Spock's mouth curved slightly. "Your reactions were entirely normal. For a Human," he added as he stepped up toward the fare reader.

McCoy frowned, then shrugged. "I'm not sure how to take that..." he trailed off, tapping his comm on the reader.

"My intention was neither to insult or compliment," Spock assured him as they took their seats in the back of the vehicle. He stared out the back window at the society's building until their bus rounded the corner.

McCoy glanced down at his stomach and patted it. "Oh, well. Time for lunch." He met Spock's gaze, but the Vulcan moved his head to look past him. "What are you looking at? Is Lurch watching to make sure we don't come back?" he quipped, standing in his seat and leaning over Spock's shoulder to look out the open side window on his left.

"No," Spock replied, arms crossed over his chest. "As a matter of fact, I was just imagining you...clomping around the Letar Society's parlour in full dress regalia...blasting a trumpet." He narrowed his eyes and pressed his mouth shut, a soft laugh escaping from his throat nonetheless. "I believe such a spectacle would be worth whatever penalty 'Lurch' might see fit to levy."

"Wouldn't that be a sight?" McCoy snickered, wiping a tear from the corner of his eye. "But you have to bring your lute." He played with the zipper of his jacket, smiling. "Knowing your compatriots, they'd probably have us arrested for disturbing the peace, and Jim will kill us both. After he stops laughing, that is." McCoy leaned back and closed his eyes. "Good thing Jim's a dab hand at creative log-writing, or we'd be in hot water with Command and the Vulcan consulate."

Spock nodded. "Yes. As I believe you might say, 'thank heaven for small mercies.'"

 

[Robert Bruce Scott]

Nice world-building in this segment. Thanks!! rbs

 

[Laura Cynthia Chambers]

This was inspired by the Diogenes Club from Sherlock Holmes (also full of people who want to sit and be left alone in silence, but not for the same reason)

One more thing Spock has in common with the Holmes family.

 

[Laura Cynthia Chambers]

It was nearly 1500 when McCoy sought Spock out. After inquiring of three different officers where the second in command might be found, he was finally directed to one of the communications lab's soundproof rooms. "But he doesn't wish to be disturbed, Doctor." The dark-skinned chemist held a beaker at eye level while he poured the contents of a test tube into it, eyes crinkling as the mixture turned bright purple. "He's performing a very sensitive experiment." He eyed the beaker for a moment more, then set it down on the table, crossing his arms over his chest and glancing back and forth between McCoy and his work.

"All right, Creighton, I can take a hint." McCoy shook his head. "I'll leave you to your...personal cloaking spray? That is what you're working on, right?"

Creighton gave him a thin smile. "You'll thank me someday. Imagine a world where all you have to do to avoid the Prime Directive is just not bump into anyone."

"And avoid all forms of verbal communication," McCoy added, counting on his fingers, "sneezing, pulling out your tricorder...unless you made that invisible, too..."

The chemist sighed. "One thing at a time, Doctor. You haven't cured all disease yet." He climbed up onto a step stool and reached for a jar of blue powder on the highest shelf, setting it down on the counter. "Now, where did I put that solute..." he muttered, opening the cabinet door.

"Best of luck," McCoy called over his shoulder as he left the room. Creighton, his head in the cabinet, didn't appear to hear him.

Five minutes later, he stopped in front of the soundproof room, shifted the tray of food he was carrying to his left, and pressed a button on the panel next to the door. The white glow of the blinking light which usually signaled the presence of a visitor to somebody inside was absent. He pressed the button again. No response.

Confused, he laid his tray on the ground next to the door and tapped out a message on the screen of the door panel. "'Spock, I brought lunch. Open the door.'" He waited for a moment. "'Spock. Earth to Spock'," he continued. Concerned, he changed the screen to video feed. The room was unlit. Another tap revealed a single body heat signature consistent with a Vulcan. Sighing, McCoy returned to the main menu and selected manual override, then punched in his code.

Lifting his tray from the hallway floor, he entered the room as the door slid shut behind him. Loud music and nature sounds filled the room. Squinting as his eyes adjusted to the pitch-black, he felt around with his hands, locating a table. He set down the tray, then continued past a bank of computers against one wall towards the opposite end of the room, where Spock sat in silence.

McCoy had just extended his hand towards the Vulcan's shoulder when Spock inched away from him. "Computer, turn off the soundtrack and increase lighting gradually to normal over a period of two minutes." He stood up then, removing a pair of earplugs first, then a black blindfold.

"Did your Vulcan senses tell you I was here?" McCoy took the items from Spock and laid them next to a console nearby.

Spock reached around the doctor and pressed a button, bringing the computer screen back to life. "That and the aroma of the salad you were kind enough to bring me," he replied, fingers dancing over the keys. "I had a very light breakfast this morning."

"Oh, that?" McCoy glanced over his shoulder at the tray, chuckling. "No, that's not for you. I thought I'd eat my lunch in front of you and observe your physiological responses to food deprivation."

Spock's hand pressed against his abdomen. "That is most unkind." He straightened up from the computer and raised an eyebrow at McCoy, looking around him towards the food. "Are you quite finished jesting, Doctor?"

McCoy raised both hands in surrender. "Go ahead." As they pulled out chairs on opposite sides of the table, he reached for a strip of carrot and dipped it into the salad dressing. "So," he muttered, carrot twirling at the corner of his mouth, "what's the big experiment? And why does it involve a blindfold?"

"I took myself hostage," Spock deadpanned, "and I was holding myself for ransom, but then you came along and spoiled everything." He gave such a convincing imitation of a pout that McCoy had to choke back a laugh. "Consider us even in the sarcasm department, Leonard. Now," he continued, stabbing a leaf of lettuce with his fork, "in all seriousness, I was conducting a series of controlled experiments to determine the effectiveness of various forms of sensory deprivation methods." He bit into the lettuce with a loud crunch, wincing as he did so. "Each has its own advantages and disadvantages. The blindfold and earplug method, for instance, while crude, can be improvised with a variety of different materials. However, assuming one is prepared, there are several more effective options for engaging in uninterrupted contemplative silence."

"Silence. Again." McCoy poked a straw through the top of one of the two juiceboxes on the tray, then sucked on it loudly.

"Yes, Doctor." Spock speared a chunk of tomato. "Silence." He popped it in his mouth, already reaching for another forkful. "If you like, I could demonstrate the other methods I have been experimenting with," he offered, licking a drop of dressing off his mouth.

"Sure." McCoy shrugged, setting the juicebox down on the table. "I need my daily dose of crazy like some folks need vitamins."

Spock inserted his straw into his juicebox and lifted it to his lips, sipping quietly. "If you will follow me." Rising, he led McCoy towards an escape pod that had been painted black on the inside. "I modified this pod to create a silence capsule." He pressed a button on the outside, causing the door to open with a hiss. "While it more than adequately eliminated sensory stimulation, I found it to be rather...confining."

"I can imagine," McCoy agreed, peering into the capsule. "Kind of like a coffin." He shuddered.

"Next," Spock continued, "I draw your attention to the silence suit." A black hooded jumpsuit was draped over an adjustable chair. "Lined with soundproof, light-canceling foam, it is vastly superior in terms of comfort and efficiency. That said, in the event that I am called to the bridge, changing back into my duty uniform requires time which I may not have."

McCoy brushed his fingers against the fabric. "I wonder if I can get PJs made out of this stuff," he muttered.

"I now direct your attention to the silence helmet." Spock set down his juicebox and lifted an opaque black headpiece from its place on a small stand. "It is significantly lighter than previous iterations, and has the advantage of being easily removable in the event of an emergency. I shall demonstrate." Raising the helmet above his head, he slid it into place with a soft click, covering his face completely. "It relies upon a sound-jamming frequency which can be enabled with the press of a button, here," Spock added, pointing to a small panel. His voice echoed inside the helmet, deepening it.

McCoy studied the panel, then rapped on the front of the helmet with one fist. "How do you breathe in that thing?"

Spock pressed a second button. Air hissed in and out, matching the pattern of Spock's respiration.

Crossing his arms over his chest, McCoy frowned, shaking his head from side to side. "I have a really bad feeling about this."

 

[Robert Bruce Scott]

"Now, where did I put that solute..."

 

[Bynar0110]

HAHAHAHAH