It was a December night not so different than any other. The elegant homes lining
Stephens Boulevard were decorated for the holidays -- a pine wreath on the Morrison's Georgian
manor, lights and a holographic creche in front of the Campbell's geodesic dome. The carolers
had gone to bed some time ago, and since Christmas Eve was still two days away, no children
had stayed awake to listen for Santa.
So no one was on the streets to see the blue light shimmer into existence, then solidify
into the form of a man. Nelsonville wasn't so isolated that transporter beams would startle
anyone -- however, if anyone had been there to witness, they might have been surprised to see
that the new arrival was a Vulcan.
Spock breathed in the crisp air, and allowed himself a brief shiver. Although he
understood that Georgia's winter weather was mild by most Terran standards, he would have had
to go to Vulcan's polar region to suffer such a chill. However, he was able to control the
discomfort. Pulling his cloak more closely around him, he began walking towards the small
home at the very end of the street.
He knew he was taking a terrible risk by coming here. His plans had been carefully laid
out over the last few years, and it was critical that now, at this last moment, they stayed secret.
And, more troubling, Spock was aware that there was no logical reason for him to take this
chance.
And yet he had come. As a young man, he never would have done it -- then, later on, he
would have found a way to explain it reasonably. Now, finally, more mature and certain in his
thinking, he allowed himself the occasional emotional response.
Not that he would ever admit it.
As he came to the door, Spock briefly considered not knocking -- it was late at night here,
and perhaps he should not awaken the people within. But he dismissed this thought
immediately. <I should not even have taken this much time,> he thought. <Courtesy must
occasionally be sacrificed to urgency.> He rapped on the door, prepared to wait the few minutes
it would take for a human to rouse himself from sleep and get to the door.
To his surprise, it opened almost instantly. "Mr. Spock!" Joanna McCoy stood there, a
small smile dawning on her face. "Oh, they told us you'd gone on retreat and that there was no
way to reach you -- but you got the message anyway. Thank goodness --"
Spock was startled -- then concerned. Joanna believed he'd responded to a summons --
an illusion he had no intention of correcting. But why had she --
"I'm afraid Daddy's only gotten worse," Joanna sighed, sitting on a small bench near the
door. "We've tried just about everything -- but once a man turns 140, we can only buy so much
time."
"How long has he been ill?" Spock asked, ignoring the sudden quickness of his pulse.
"About three weeks now. Always before, when he'd get weak like this, he wouldn't
accept it." Joanna's eyes were teared slightly as she spoke. "Daddy would tell me to get my
hands off him -- he wasn't so addled that he couldn't tell when he needed help. And he'd give
himself a hypo, or do a regen session, and sure enough, he'd bounce back. But this time, Mr.
Spock -- this time he's accepted it." She looked up at him through her reddened eyes.
"He's accepted that he's dying."
Spock took a deep breath, thinking to himself, <Control, you must control.> "Is he
conscious?"
"Off and on. I know he'll want to see you -- in fact, he's due for some more pain
medication now. Would you like to come in with me?"
Spock nodded silently, and followed her up the stairs. His mind seemed scattered
suddenly, almost unrecognizable to himself. <Other friends have died,> he reminded himself
sternly. <You of all beings understand that death is merely a passage.> However, he was
somehow unable to fully calm himself -- something that hadn't happened to him in many
decades.
They entered Leonard's room -- Spock was stunned again at the sight of the withered
figure in bed. McCoy had grown more frail as the years passed, but now he seemed lighter, paler
than ever before -- he almost disappeared in the whiteness of the sheets. Joanna turned the small
light up a little. "Daddy? I've got your medicine -- "
"About damn time. My joints are killing me."
She smiled a little at that. "And look who's come to see you."
McCoy somehow found the strength to prop himself up on one arm and squint at the
doorway; suddenly, his wrinkled face split into a huge grin. "Spock! Right here in Georgia.
Well, there goes the neighborhood." Even those few words seemed to take too much energy;
Leonard eased himself back onto the pillows as Joanna administered his hypospray. Spock
moved to his bedside, and sat in the small chair there.
"Dr. McCoy -- " Spock was speaking to Joanna -- "Might I have a few minutes to speak
to your father?"
"Of course, Mr. Spock. I'll be right outside if -- if you need me." Joanna slipped out the
door quietly, leaving the two old friends alone.
There was an awkward pause for a moment -- Spock found himself struggling for words,
and against an unfamiliar tightness in his throat. McCoy was totally silent for a few seconds,
then rasped, "Well, for somebody who crossed the quadrant to console me at my deathbed, you
don't have a hell of a lot to say."
The old challenge was in his voice -- weaker, but ready for battle. Spock could almost
have smiled. "As usual, you have failed to comprehend my motivations."
"Oh, I see. You're going to sit here, banter with me until I get ready to drop, and then, in
that one second before I die, you're *finally* going to get in the last word." McCoy chuckled at
his own joke, until the laughter turned into shaky coughs.
Spock shook his head. "While you may be capable of devising such a devious plan,
Leonard, I assure you my journey arose from better motives. In fact, I did not learn that you
were ill until I arrived here."
McCoy raised a bushy eyebrow. "Well, now wait just a minute. Why in the worlds did
you come all this way if you didn't know I was dying? Kinda long trip just to say hello."
"Leonard, what I am about to tell you *must* remain secret."
From the depths of the bed, McCoy managed to raise up a hand in the Scout's salute. "I'll
take it to my grave. Short trip."
"Your penchant for humor at inappropriate times never ceases to amaze me."
"You're serious about this. Spock, what's happening?"
"Do you remember Ambassador Pardek, the Romulan reformer we met at the Khitomer
conference?"
"Portly fellow. Yes -- for a Romulan, he didn't seem to be such a bad sort. I knew you
two had stayed in touch for a while, but I didn't know you still communicated with him."
"Pardek has become a leader in the Romulan underground. There are thousands --
perhaps millions -- of Romulans who yearn to put their warlike ways behind them, and follow
the Vulcan teachings of logic and peace. They will require a teacher -- and I have agreed to go
there and fulfill that purpose."
"What the -- " McCoy's blue eyes lit up with something between amazement and outrage.
"Spock, are you actually sitting there and telling me you are defecting to Romulus?"
There didn't seem to be much answer to that, besides the obvious. "Yes."
"Damnit, Spock, you've got to be crazy! I've put up with your craziness for eighty years
now, but I swear, I don't think I'm gonna make it ten minutes more. They'll hunt you down -- do
you have any idea how many crimes you're wanted for on Romulus?"
"About the same number that you are -- various charges of espionage. Some of them
true."
"Well, I'm not the one about to drop into the Tal Shiar compound and say how d'ya do.
You'll get yourself killed, Spock. And for nothing!"
"Not for nothing, Leonard." Spock's voice grew gentler. "For the teachings of Surak --
teachings that could bring peace to a troubled world. It is my duty to try, and to teach those who
would learn for as long as I can. If even a few people learn to follow Vulcan ways, those few
people may have the power to change the future of Romulus. Even if I am no longer with them."
"That's all this galaxy needs -- more Vulcans." At Spock's raised eyebrow, McCoy
sighed. "All right, all right, you people aren't so bad. A damn sight better than the Romulans
I've known. Just exasperating, at times."
"I trust you would find a galaxy of Vulcans far less distressing than a galaxy at war. As
long as the Romulans continue in their traditional ways, we cannot be assured of peace."
"True. Well -- good luck to you, Spock. It's a fool's errand -- but a noble one, I'll give
you that. And if anyone can change centuries of Romulan tradition, it's you."
"I have had some experience dealing with stubborn minds." Spock saw McCoy smile
slightly at that -- and saw also that his eyes were growing dimmer. The exhaustion and
medication were dragging him back into sleep again.
"Only one more thing I want to ask you, Spock -- if it's so critical that this stay secret,
why tell me at all?"
Spock stayed silent for a long moment; this same question had occurred to him, many
times, but he had been unable to answer it to his satisfaction. "I -- am uncertain. I know only that
I wished to tell you goodbye. I do not expect to return, and if I do, it will not be for many years ---"
"And I'll be long dead by then. Gracious, Spock -- I believe you're getting sentimental in
your old age."
"Scarcely," Spock said, although he could think of few better words to describe his
motivation.
"It's more than me that you're saying goodbye to, though. You know that, don't you?"
Spock shook his head. "I told you, nobody else knows that I am going --"
"Still literal after all these years. No, I mean -- when I'm gone, you'll be the last. The
last from the old days. You're saying goodbye to our days on the Enterprise, and all the people
aboard her. I dare say that's enough to even get to a Vulcan."
Spock considered the statement for a long moment; there was substance to it. For all
McCoy's bluster, he was capable of great insight -- and in this matter, he'd found the truth that
all Spock's thought and meditation had been unable to unearth.
Because the memories had been with him ever since he walked into the room, a thousand
memories, as sharp-edged and clear as any photograph or holo could ever be. Of Uhura, singing
to the tune of his Vulcan harp, with a smile on her beautiful face and in her voice. Of Sulu, tense
at the controls in battle, but maintaining a control worthy of any Vulcan. Of Chekov, battered
but unbowed, returning to the bridge for the final battle against Khan. Of Scotty, with his face
creased with exasperation as Spock tried to explain the requirements for whale tanks.
And of Jim.
Spock closed his eyes suddenly against a wave of emotion -- although an internal voice
warned against the feeling, urging him for control, he simply allowed it for a moment. The cause
was sufficient, after all.
They were all gone now; some of them died as heroes, others in accidents, and one of
them safe in his own bed. And while his Vulcan mind accepted this as the natural progression of
life, his human instincts were not beyond a moment of grief -- and gratitude.
"You have been a good friend through the years, Leonard," he said at last.
McCoy sighed. "As have you, Spock. I may have called you some names, and I meant a
lot of them, but you're as fine a man as I ever met. I'm proud to have known you."
"As I am to have known you." Their eyes met for one long moment; almost
imperceptibly, Spock smiled. McCoy caught the expression, eyes lighting up in triumph.
"Be careful, Spock. And I hope you succeed."
"I shall try." Spock would have said more, but McCoy had finally drifted into a drugged
sleep. He reached one hand up toward the side of McCoy's face -- melding under such
circumstances would have been nearly impossible for any but a trained Vulcan healer, and
inappropriate as well. However, when two minds had been as closely linked as his and
Leonard's, rejoining was almost instantaneous, and no longer intrusive.
Deep within the chaos of Leonard's medicine-clouded mind, Spock found purchase, and
let their connection deepen. Slowly, he entered a healing trance, not completely, but enough to
feel Leonard's body begin to respond to the effects.
After a few long minutes, Spock broke the meld. His actions would not save McCoy's
life indefinitely -- but he had given his friend a few more days, perhaps weeks. Time to have
another Christmas with his great-great-grandchildren, and to enjoy a time without pain.
Spock stepped from the room; Joanna glanced up at him, concerned. He shook his head.
"Your father is sleeping peacefully."
"Will you stay here until the morning?"
He shook his head. "I have matters of great importance to attend to. Although I wish I
could remain here, I cannot."
"I'm glad you were able to come."
"As am I, Dr. McCoy." And she simply watched him as as he left the warmth and
security of their home, to face the cold darkness of the December night.