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It wasn’t terribly rare for McCoy to find himself in his office, behind his desk filled with every kind of health-related informational pamphlet known to man and alien kind, giving a crewmember the sex talk. Despite being competent and incredibly intelligent individuals, the crew of the Enterprise could, occasionally, lack in the departments of sexual health and interpersonal relations.
The topic of the talks differed, but some common themes were STIs, the old ‘am I or am I not bisexual because I found that genderless alien kind of hot’ crisis, and awkward discussions surrounding every possible sex position in the book - and what could go wrong as a result of trying them.
Two years ago, Starfleet had made a course on communicating with queer officers mandatory for all medical personnel, and McCoy had been quite delighted to be presented with a whole new slew of pamphlets to keep in his middle drawer. ‘Your Guide To Mutually Beneficial and Satisfying Queer Relations on Risa’ read one, while another boasted ‘Top Ten Tips for Awesome Intercourse,’ and yet another hooked readers with the title ‘So You Think You’ve Experienced A Microaggression?’.
It wasn’t until one soggily boring afternoon in Medbay that McCoy realised, with grievous oversight because it could have spared him one hell of an interesting conversation, that he did not have a flyer about asexuality or aromanticism. Damn those flyer distributers in the Starfleet Med Institute, they sure could be ignorant sometimes.
*
“Doctor, may I have a moment of your time?”
McCoy glanced up from the meal on his desk, which resembled something like an egg salad sandwich. He wiped his hands on a handkerchief; it wasn’t really best medical practice to greet patients with eggy hands. “Come through.”
Spock stepped into view of McCoy’s desk as though he didn’t want to be there, was actively convincing himself to stay, and would bolt at his earliest convenience. He didn’t look to have anything actively or demandingly wrong with him, but something about his poker-stiff posture and lack of Jim trailing behind him told McCoy that he might do well to treat this visit with tact. “Spock, what brings you here off duty? If we’re going by the books, you don’t have another general checkup booked till March.”
“I am aware of that. I… come with an inquiry of unofficial nature.”
McCoy pushed his plate away and gestured to the plain but cushy chair on the other side of his desk. “Alright, sure. Take a seat, and we can talk.”
It took Spock a moment to first lock eyes on the chair, and then lower himself into it like he’d just engaged in a mental fight between sitting and standing on the side of standing, and lost. McCoy pressed a finger to his lips, trying not to make a comment. Spock certainly wasn’t his favourite patient (he had an infuriating habit of detesting doctors, assuming his own physiology was superior, and then having the gall to go get injured every other day anyway) but he’d taken a vow of impartiality and doctor-patient confidentiality.
“I don’t bite,” he quipped, finger still against his lips, when Spock had finally sat down in the chair and interlocked his hands on the tabletop. “What’s the matter, Mister Spock? Nothing serious, I hope?”
“No, doctor,” Spock said. “I do not have anything wrong with me physically, I assure you. Had I, I’m sure you would have noticed and been more forthright in your attempts to scan and probe me with your instruments.”
McCoy stifled a tsk-ing noise. “You’re half right about that one, if you’d been bleeding or limping you’d be in a bio-bed already. But surely you’d be the first to admit that not all maladies are physical - or, indeed, visible.”
He bowed his head at that slightly, keeping his pin-straight posture in the chair. “That is indeed true.”
“Is it something mental, then? If you’ve got an issue that ain’t exactly physical. I can refer you to one of my psychologists. Suzanne Zebit specialises in a few different mental therapies and I hold her in high regard.”
Lieutenant Zebit was a little too strict for his taste, and she had a truly horrible sense of taste in striped cardigans, but she was a very accomplished professional and the clients he’d referred to her in the past had told him how much they benefited from her sessions.
Spock’s nostrils flared. And McCoy wasn’t even trying to irk him! He was just talented like that. “I do not think that a psychologist’s assistance would help.”
McCoy leant forward and rested his elbows on his desk. He gave Spock a gentle grimace, realising that this egg might be more difficult to crack than he thought. “That’s fine, it might not. But you came to my office and you’ve obviously got something running through that head of yours that wants to get out. I’d love to be a mind reader, but I’m not blessed in that area and I’m not going to know what’s going on in there unless you tell me.”
“I am aware of your lack of mental ability, doctor,” Spock quipped back, but it sounded automatic. It was interesting that they’d squabbled (re. fought) over the same issue so many times that the whole thing had become a moot point. Something to kick shins at when they were at Kirk’s side - but not something McCoy was willing to broach while Spock was coming to him as a patient.
“If this is something private, Spock, I do have to make a note of telling you that whatever you say to me is confidential. I won’t judge you, or tell anyone who doesn’t need to know. It’s my job as ship’s doctor to support you medically and I intend to do that to the best of my ability. Alright?”
Some invisible, tightly-bound wall around Spock’s defences visibly dropped an inch, and in the interest of keeping Spock in his office and not having him bolt out the door like a spooked deer, McCoy lowered his eyes. He took a moment to arrange the stack of PADDs on his desk and fidget with the panel that controlled how bright the lights around his office were. From previous experience he knew Spock’s eyes preferred mood lighting more than simulated synthetic light, and he tried to be sympathetic to that.
“It is a matter of sexuality,” Spock said finally, tightly.
McCoy met his eyes again, and blew out a breath. “Right. Right!” he repeated encouragingly, before realising what Spock had just said and comprehending that the conversation the two of them were about to have was probably going to be… fun. But he was, at heart, a professional, and sex talks (even with Spock) weren’t the hardest thing he’d done in his career so he said, “Alright. I appreciate your candidness. What in particular about sexuality brings you in today?”
Spock raised one eyebrow ever so slightly. “My lack thereof, doctor McCoy.”
His lack thereof.
“You mind telling me more?”
“On Vulcan,” Spock began, “Sexuality is, for all intents and purposes, unimportant. My people are a sexual race, we reproduce in much the same way as you do, but we do not experience sexual attraction in the same fashion as all humans do.” He seemed to settle into the chair a little. There was a pause in which he collected his thoughts. “We – Vulcans may experience pleasure during intercourse, a biological evolution designed to give incentive to procreate. To ensure the continuation of our race.”
He stopped and didn’t start again, so McCoy prompted, “But not sexual attraction?”
“Attraction is classified as emotion. To admit to feeling attraction is analogous to admitting feelings of sadness, or mirth, or rage - it is a loss of control, and a feeling people seldom allow themselves to indulge in, even privately.”
McCoy returned his pointer finger to his lips contemplatively, hovering it to say “I think I’m following. You can experience pleasure, because it’s incentive to make babies, and you can feel attraction and get all hot and bothered but you try not to and don’t talk about it because it’s a bit of a taboo. Am I getting that right?”
Spock hesitated. “Vulcans can feel attraction, and as you say, “get all hot and bothered,” yes.”
“Hm.” Leaning back, he pointed at Spock. “Vulcans, not you. Why the word change?”
This, apparently, was the crux of the conversation, because Spock swallowed and shifted before catching McCoy’s eyes. “I… have not experienced this particular phenomenon of Vulcan biology. It has only recently come to my attention that I am an outlier in this regard.”
“I’m afraid I don’t fully understand what you’re getting at.”
“My race is known to have a sexual attraction to others of their kind. We are not proud of it, it is not something we enjoy, but it exists. We are taught to suppress these feelings as adolescents. I do not believe I have ever felt this attraction. I am concerned it may be a result of my combined parentage, but given both of my parents come from sexually active species - and are such themselves - I am at a loss to understand why I have not inherited this struggle. I came to you to inquire whether you had any idea as to why I am… different.”
Something small and soft cracked inside McCoy’s heart, and his hardened mouth fell into a sort of gentle grimace. He reached out and touched Spock’s forearm for a second before retracting his hand.
So this was the issue - he thought he’d wrapped his head around it better now. His first thought was that perhaps it was something medical: there were still nuances to Spock’s unique biology, and it wasn’t impossible to think that somewhere in his uber-complicated wiring some synapse had crossed and stolen the ability to feel sexual attraction from him in a way that was unexpected.
His second thought was that he’d run every scan he had on Spock, done every test and heard about every exam the Vulcan Science Academy and Vulcan Medical Institute had conducted on Spock through his adolescence and early adulthood – and there was nothing he’d seen there that indicated anything out of the ordinary.
His third thought was that possibly, maybe, there was some chance in hell that Spock hadn’t heard the term ‘asexual’ before. And that was Not Good.
He realised he’d been silent for a bit too long, and that Spock was looking uncomfortable (despite what must be a herculean effort not to). Swallowing on a dry mouth, McCoy said, “I think I get where you’re coming from now, Spock.” He laced his fingers together in front of him and took a breath, centring himself. “Okay, let’s go over this logically.”
If he was more gullible, McCoy would have sworn he saw the barest bones of a smile pass over Spock’s lips. “That would be appreciated.”
“I don’t think it’s a medical issue,” he said bluntly, “at least not from what you’ve told me. It’s a… possibility, but I’ve run every scan in the book on you while you’ve been on the Enterprise - hell, you’ve had pretty much every scan, test and examination out there run on you, and I’ve got the results of all of ‘em in here.” He tapped the computer screen to his right. “I suppose it’s possible it’s some sort of… emotional erectile dysfunction, for lack of a better term, or a hormonal imbalance. But again, any chemical imbalance would show up on a medical tricorder. You know what I think is happening here?”
Spock’s eyes flicked to him, as if saying ‘do you really expect me to roleplay along here?’
Yes, McCoy did.
“What,” said Spock finally, “do you think is happening ‘here’?”
“You mentioned that you thought all humans experienced sexual attraction, which isn’t exactly true. Have you ever heard the term ‘asexual’, Spock?”
After a moment of pause, Spock nodded his head. “I have. It is a biological term - of reproduction, not involving the fusion of gamatedes.”
McCoy blew out a breath. “Huh. Okay. I would have thought this of all things wouldn’t be a gap in your knowledge, considering how chatty cadets are and how much you read, but I guess miracles happen.”
“Doctor,” Spock said dryly, “I think you overestimate the number of people I interacted with during my time at the academy.”
A small grin grew on McCoy’s face. Yeah, Spock not having friends in university tracked with his own personal view of the universe. To be fair, McCoy hadn’t had many either, so he couldn’t say much. “Asexality is an identity, like being gay or straight or pansexual. It means someone who experiences little to no sexual attraction to other people, or not desiring others in a sexual fashion. Not all humans are the paradigm of Mother Nature’s wishes, just as I’m starting to doubt all Vulcans are either.”
Spock was listening, but didn’t seem to have anything to say yet, so he continued. “I mean, some asexual people still get down and dirty, don’t get me wrong, it’s not like they don’t have genitalia and can’t get off with sex, it’s more that they just don’t feel that attraction like allosexual people do. You follow?”
“Yes,” Spock said quietly. “It sounds eerily similar to the Vulcan way of sexuality.” He sounded somewhat repugnant towards the fact though.
“It’s not an ugly thing,” McCoy reiterated, “to be asexual. You ought to get that in your head, alright? I don’t know what things you’ve been thinking about whatever you’ve got going on, but not wanting someone is just as normal as wanting them. It’s not wrong.” He paused. Took a breath and made sure Spock was looking at him squarely. “If you want, I can still do some scans to make sure I haven’t missed anything physical, but I would recommend you look into the asexual spectrum and see if any of it resonates with you.”
“Thank you, Leonard,” Spock murmured finally. First name basis - perhaps he had indeed struck a chord somewhere within Spock. “I admit I am somewhat regretful that I have gone so long without knowing of that term’s existence. I… had considered asking your assistance earlier, but…”
McCoy gave him a begrudging smile. “You don’t have to explain yourself. Is there anything else I can help you with this evening?”
“No–” Spock started to say, but he was cut off by McCoy snapping his fingers.
“Actually, let me see if I have any pamphlets you can take. I love a good pamphlet, they’re worth a thousand words.” He pulled his drawer open and rifled through it, delving down to the section adorned with rainbows and flags. “‘Entering Betazoid Perimenopause, A Beginner’s Guide’... No… ‘Contraceptives For The Conscientious Klingon’... ‘Long Distance Lesbian Relationships: Love Beyond The Unstable Wormhole’...”
He looked up. The expression Spock wore was something akin to scandalised confusion, though very subdued, and it was almost enough to make him laugh. “They like to get creative with their titles,” he said. “I’m not making them up.”
Spock squirmed. “I do not believe I require one of those pamphlets. I’m certain the ship’s computer will suffice.”
McCoy brandished a piece of paper. “You don’t want to learn about–” he checked the title “--’Making Polyamory Your New Normal’?”
At this, Spock stood up. “Goodnight, doctor McCoy. Thank you for your assistance. I would appreciate your discretion in this matter, please.”
McCoy bent the paper between his fingers and leant back against his chair. “Yeah, Spock, of course. You have a good night, and I’ll… well, I think I feel like writing a polite letter to the Starfleet medical publishers putting in a good suggestion about an asexuality info pamphlet. I’ll let you know how that goes.”
Spock paused at the door to McCoy’s office. “May I make a title suggestion?”
“You most certainly may.”
*
Two months later, McCoy called Spock to his office after a stop at Starbase 13, grinning like a cat who had just had its cream.
“You called for me?” Spock asked, eyeing the desk. On it was a huge lidded box overflowing with grey, white, purple and black striped papers.
McCoy picked up one of the pamphlets, gave it a good examination, and thrust it towards Spock. “I sure did.”
He watched Spock take it.
It read, in bold Starfleet font, ‘Asexuality and Me: The True Logical Choice.’
“Fascinating,” was Spock’s only response.
He pocketed the pamphlet on his way out.