My prompt is: a return for Captain/Commander McCoy. (Yes, that was me and your take was a delight). Curzon Dax has been threatened during a diplomatic summit and now McCoy must stand in for him while he and Spock are investigating why they want Dax dead. (Other than the usual).
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What if McCoy were Captain instead?]
…
Spock was certain he should not have accepted this assignment.
He had not accepted it on a whim. It had been Captain Pike’s suggestion that finally drove him to apply for a transfer to the USS Varanio. The suggestion had come at the tail end of a dinner with the Captain. Pike had made these meals a custom since Spock had chosen to be his first officer. They still felt odd to him, although he’d grown used to Pike’s habits. And perhaps that was the issue, for as they talked conversation turned to Spock’s career, and Spock accidentally revealed that he felt he had stagnated.
“Well,” Pike had said, considering the issue very seriously. “Perhaps you need a new challenge.”
Challenge was a polite way of framing his new posting on the Varanio. Captain McCoy was certainly challenging enough. He was also provocative and hot-headed and frequently made Spock question his emotional sanity. Perhaps that was why the Captain responded so well to Klingons. They were also an overly-volatile species.
Spock had only been on the Varanio for two days and he already felt he knew everything there was to know about McCoy. He was certainly eccentric. He spent more time in Sickbay chatting with the doctors than he did on the bridge. Usually he left Spock in command, and although Spock recognized this was Captain’s prerogative he also disliked that he didn’t command his own bridge. The rest of the crew seemed unaffected, but perhaps they had merely accepted their fate.
McCoy was also deeply illogical. Spock had always appreciated Pike’s commitment to balance. Although Pike had the same emotional turmoil as other humans did he nevertheless preferred to proceed logically. McCoy was the opposite. Spock was beginning to suspect that McCoy intentionally chose the least logical path to follow.
Take, for example, his interactions with Curzon Dax. McCoy hardly treated Dax with the courtesy due a diplomat of his rank. More often than not he pulled Dax into a fight that sent the Ensigns scurrying for the lower decks. And now that they had received a threat against Dax’s life McCoy had been ignoring him entirely.
Spock dithered outside the Captain’s quarters, padd in hand. The padd contained his resignation letter and a detailed analysis of Captain McCoy’s abysmal command style. He looked at the padd again, and then at the Captain’s door. He rang the chime.
“Not now.”
Spock arched his brow. “Captain?”
There was a rustle, and a crash, and then the door slid open and there was Captain McCoy looking haggard and drawn. “What do you want, Commander?”
“I…” Spock neatly hid the padd behind his back. “I have come to discuss the mission details with you.”
“Fine. Get in here.”
McCoy’s room was very untidy. There was a stack of knocked-over datapadds on the desk and–Spock did a double take. A Klingon bat’leth on the couch.
Spock stood in the center of the room and kept his hands folded behind his back, the padd out of sight. He could see that leaving now would put the mission in jeopardy. It would be selfish of him to request a transfer at this moment. “Security has not been able to trace the source of the signal.”
McCoy grunted. “I figured as much. It’s probably Romulan.”
Spock raised a brow. “There is not enough evidence to draw such a conclusion.”
“What, you think the Klingons are trying to mess up their own negotiations?”
“There are many Klingon factions, any of which—”
“Yeah, no.” McCoy waved a hand to silence him. “You think Klingon spy technology is that advance that we can’t trace it? It’s Romulans or I’ll eat my hat.”
Spock opened his mouth. Closed it. He tried to picture that, and failed. “Such an action is ill-advise.”
McCoy frowned at him. “It’s an expression.”
“Regardless, we must discuss how to proceed. The Klingon council will not accept an alternate diplomat, as they do not believe the threat is real, yet Dax is very likely to die if we return to the negotiation site with him.”
“I’m not risking his life,” McCoy said sternly. “And I have a plan.”
“Oh?”
“I’m going to challenge Commander Kor to a fight.”
“…Excuse me?”
McCoy smirked. “Trouble hearing today, Mr. Spock? I said I’m going to challenge Kor.”
“Captain, I would strongly advise against that.”
“You got a better suggestion?”
Spock did not. “Certainly there are other ways—”
“I’ll make it a matter of honor.” McCoy moved to the couch and picked up the bat’leth, feeling the weight in his hands. “The Klingons don’t want to acknowledge that the threat is credible, because that means they let an enemy agent get close enough to send the message. The only way to get them to investigate properly is to trounce them in a fight.”
“You should not place yourself in danger.”
“We’re about a day away from having the Klingons on our back with blasters raised because we missed the next negotiation. If we want to avoid a firefight I have to do this.”
“Captain, I must protest.”
“Go for it.” McCoy turned and set the bat’leth down on the desk, bending over it. “That’s your job.”
Spock watched McCoy for a moment, uncertain what to do next. McCoy looked… very tired. It had taken Spock over a year to learn how to recognize the signs of exhaustion in Captain Pike. He had learned McCoy’s signals in just a few days. Perhaps it was a result of the time he spent among humans; or maybe he was merely more attuned to McCoy.
“Captain,” he said slowly. “I will challenge Commander Kor.”
“What!” McCoy whipped around. “No you won’t!”
“It is logical,” Spock reasoned. “My superior Vulcan strength is nearly on par with that of Klingons. I also have hand-to-hand combat and weapons training. At the very least the Varanio would only stand to lose her first officer, not her captain.”
“No way in hell am I letting you do that.”
Spock paused, taken aback by McCoy’s vehemence. He wasn’t sure why McCoy cared so much when they had only known each other for a few days. “Then you go into certain death.”
McCoy deflated. He leaned heavily against the desk and rested his forehead on the palm of his hand. He truly wore his emotions very openly. “Spock, am I doing the right thing?”
“…I have already voiced my objection.”
McCoy chuckled without mirth. “Sorry. I’m not used to having an actual first officer around to put me in my place. How about I make you a deal?”
“A deal,” Spock repeated. Never in his years on the Enterprise had Pike ever offered a “deal” with him. He was uncertain how to handle the proposal. “Of what kind?”
“I’ll give you twelve hours to come up with a better plan. Take whatever resources you need. Even talk to Dax, if you like. If you can come up with something halfways decent that doesn’t involve you falling onto a sword or us shooting at anybody, then I’ll take it. Otherwise, Kor will be having company for dinner.”
Spock mightily resisted the urge to point out that McCoy was being contradictory in trying to protect everyone but himself. “Very well,” he said instead. “I will return to you in twelve hours.”
Spock left him at the desk, contemplating the bat’leth.
*
Spock had forty-seven datapadds and was still arguing when the beamed down to the negotiation site.
“Captain McCoy, you must recognize that you’re being irrational.”
“Oh, I’m being irrational, am I?”
“Yes.” Spock said, hastening after the Captain as he walked down the dimly lit hall. “You have not had time to duly appreciate the alternate plans I have prepared.”
“I listened to ‘em. What more do you want?”
“I want—” Spock tripped and dropped a handful of padds. Annoyed, and trying to hide it, he stooped and began picking them up. “I wish for you to engage fully with an alternate solution to this predicament!”
Suddenly McCoy was right there, kneeling beside him. McCoy reached out and picked up a padd, handing it to Spock with a small smile on his face. “Spock, if I didn’t know better I’d say you’re in a tizzy.”
Spock pursed his lips. “I have no wish to become Captain of the Varanio three days into my stay here.”
“Hey.” McCoy reached out and rested his hand on Spock’s shoulder. “It’s going to be fine. I’ve got a plan.”
“That is what concerns me.”
McCoy chuckled and stood, offering a hand to help Spock as well. Spock accepted it, juggling his datapadds as he rose. McCoy’s hand was warm and sure, and Spock was hit with an illogical burst of confidence at the mere touch. At first he assumed there had been some telepathic transference, but his shields were in place. It was just McCoy’s steadiness that inspired him.
“…Very well,” Spock agreed, although McCoy hadn’t said anything more.
McCoy still smiled at him.
The council chamber was packed with Klingons eager to see the fall of a Starship Captain, especially one as infamous as McCoy. They rattled their weapons and hooted at him as he found a place to stand at the edge of the ring, Spock at his side. Spock disposed of the datapadds and stayed one step behind McCoy, eyeing his competition.
Kor was not large, for a Klingon. Which meant he still had fifty pounds of muscle on McCoy. He held his bat’leth with the ease of years of practice. McCoy held his like he’d replicated it this morning. Spock attempted to look foreboding, but Kor merely laughed at them.
“Captain, Klingons have a weakness three centimeters below the left edge of their thoracic cavity.”
“I know,” McCoy said. “I studied medicine for six years, but I’m not going to stab him there. That could kill him.”
Spock raised both brows in surprise. “I was not aware you studied medicine.”
“You should do a little more research on your commanding officer next time.” McCoy winked.
Spock felt himself grow warm. “I hope that I will not have to.”
“Can you hold this?” McCoy handed him the bat’leth.
Spock accepted it without thinking, and then averted his gaze as McCoy stripped off his shirt. He couldn’t help but look again and was surprised to realize that Kor might actually have more trouble defeating McCoy that he had originally assumed.
“Thanks.” McCoy traded, shirt for blade. He turned to the ring and said something in Klingon that the universal translator struggled to interpret.
Spock pinched the shirt daintily in one hand as his Captain stepped into the ring, poised and ready. Spock took a deep breath, and held it.
