Work Text:
“Spock, what is this?”
Spock fought down the impulse to answer, ‘What does it look like?’ for he had no idea what McCoy had come across. It could be anything from a used insulin syringe to a withered leaf from an elephant ear begonia. But since there was no reason why either of those items should be in their quarters, that eliminated two possibilities. However, the number of other choices were virtually endless. How could two fussy old bachelors accumulate such items, and so much of them?
Another reason, and perhaps the best for not answering McCoy with the first thing to cross his mind (even if it was highly logical), was that McCoy would take it as a personal affront steeped with condescension. The acidic tirade caused by that remark would cause a stop in their original project if not a general shutdown while McCoy aired his grievances, either real or imaginary. Then McCoy would proceed to rant while Spock steadily began to fear for McCoy’s blood pressure. Meanwhile the minutes for vigorous headway would slide away from them, as well as their energy and incentive.
“I do not know, Leonard. I am finding questionable items, also.” There! That should take McCoy’s attention away from whatever he had found.
Of course, it might also set up the dangerous scenario that McCoy would not only want to survey, but discuss and access the ‘questionable’ items that Spock had found. Spock had to take the chance.
McCoy appeared in black hip hugging levis and black muscle shirt, an outfit guaranteed to set Spock’s heart aflutter at any time and stir definite interest in other parts of himself. What enhanced the picture, though, but almost seemed ridiculous, was the frilly yellow apron around McCoy’s waist.
McCoy held a feather duster in one hand and a lump of black something in the other. “What is it? An asteroid?” he quizzed as he studied it with a blank look on his face. “An experiment that failed, but you couldn’t bear to dispose of it because it was so close to your heart?“ He rotated it in his hand while continuing to study the lump. “Your heart?”
“Please, Leonard. How prosaic!”
McCoy gave him a wicked grin and chalked up one score for himself, even if Spock thought that the comment lacked imagination. McCoy thought it was rather clever, himself.
McCoy considered the lump. “Coal? Petrified dinosaur shit? If it is, no wonder the dinosaur died. I bet that hurt to pass. That must‘ve been some really tough--”
Spock took the lump from McCoy. “I believe that this is a rock from the desert.”
McCoy shrugged. “See one desert rock, you’ve seen them all.”
“You know that is incorrect, Leonard. As a scientist, you recognize that there are many kinds of rocks. Why the types, alone, are varied: igneous, sedimentary, and conglomerate. And where the rocks are from also tell a story of climate, habitation, native flora and fauna, landscape features, adaptability, and more information about an area.”
“What does this particular desert rock tell you?”
“That its companions are gone.”
“Huh?”
“It is a rock from the deserts of Vulcan.”
“Spock, I’m sorry. I had no idea what it meant to you.”
“I should put it away so that it will not be in the way.”
“Nonsense! It means something to you. It should be out so that you can see it and be reminded of home.”
“A home that no longer exists, Leonard. This is my home now. Wherever you and Jim are. That is home.”
McCoy batted a hand at his eyes. “Damn dust! I’ll be getting dust pneumonia next! Why did we ever start this cleaning, anyway?!”
That surprised Spock. Even now, McCoy could still do that.
“You said it was a rite of Spring,” Spock explained.
“Well, you should have stopped me.”
McCoy was then treated to the display of a genuine emotion on Spock’s face: Complete astonishment.
“What?!” McCoy demanded.
Danged if you do, Spock considered, danged if you don’t. He never completely understood that Earthling saying until just now. Or appreciated it, the way he suddenly did.
True, he could not lie.
But he could divert.
“Will we be doing this also in the Autumn?”
“Of course! Hard telling how many mysterious gimcracks would winter here unless we grub them out then.”
“So, we would not really need to be doing this activity now? We will deal with them in the Autumn, anyway.”
Spock knew that the logic was sound, FOR THE MOMENT, but not for the overall concept.
But McCoy was willing to grab at it. He was tired of Spring housecleaning.
“I’m finding things I really don’t know what to do with. My aunt used to say that she would keep fifteen percent and toss five percent. Easy! But then what do you do with the other eighty percent? It was not good enough to keep, but too good to toss. A person just got frustrated, and eventually just shoved it away into a dark corner for someone else to judge. Damn nuisances, that‘s what I say! And all junk!”
“But it is all memories, Leonard. The evidence of a life lived. And whether good memories or bad, it still means something.”
McCoy nodded slowly.
“What happened to your aunt’s collections?” He had barely stopped himself in time from saying ‘hoard.’
McCoy smirked. “Damn house burned down with all of her ‘treasures’ inside! Saved herself and her two cats, though. Which, when you come down to it, was what was important and what she really needed.”
“That is the criteria we should really use, Leonard.”
“And keep it all?” McCoy asked with a lazy smile.
“They are our memories.”
“We’ve dusted pretty well and moved things around. Why not call it a day and get cleaned up? How about grabbing a shower?”
Spock’s inscrutable face almost hid his dancing eyes. “Together?”
McCoy‘s eyes flashed back. “It would save water. And soap.”
“Really, Leonard?”
“Let‘s find out!”