Story description: In the days following Star Trek: Beyond, Spock is grieving and McCoy worries about him.

"Firstly, logic is not a verb."

A/N: AO3 Chocolate Box exchange gift for fullmoon02. This story is set in the days after Star Trek: Beyond, with spoilers for that movie. The title is inspired by the box Spock opens at the end of the movie.

The Late Ambassador Spock

Spock and late only went together when combined with a word like never.

McCoy and worry went together more easily. So when Spock was late for the lecture on tricorder advancements, McCoy fretted.

He told himself that maybe this was a good thing. It was obvious that Spock and Uhura were back together. If she had convinced him to do something as human as sleep in and forget a lecture, McCoy thoroughly approved.

He loitered at the entrance, half-listening to the speaker's opening remarks while deciding whether he should check up on Spock. He glanced into the corridor once more, and saw Uhura in the crowd walking out of another lecture hall. So much for his theory that she was distracting Spock.

In the back of his mind he could hear Spock explaining that it had been a hypothesis, not a true theory.

"That's just typical. Even in my imagination he's pedantic." McCoy strode out of the room and made his way to the quarters assigned to the crew of the Enterprise. A few minutes later he was knocking on Spock's door.

He expected that Spock would be in civilian attire. Most of the crew were out of uniform while they waited for their new ship to be ready. He hadn't expected to see the First Officer in black, silky pajamas. He wondered if that was standard sleepwear for Vulcans, or a gift from Uhura.

"I thought we were to meet at the lecture hall," Spock said.

"We were. Fifteen minutes ago." In other circumstances, he'd feel smug over Spock's look of surprise, but not today. He walked into the room, aware that it was a breach of etiquette. Spock rarely invited people into his cabin on the Enterprise, and had made it clear many times that he valued his privacy.

The crew's temporary quarters here on the Yorktown base were utilitarian. Not many personal belongings had been recovered from the Enterprise, and therefore personalization was limited to the settings for wall color and lighting, and items people had picked up in Yorktown shops or replicated. As expected, Spock's quarters were particularly spartan and dark. McCoy could make out a box labeled "Property of Ambassador Spock" on the table, and near it was something that looked like it belonged in a lab.

"Is that a Bunsen burner?" he asked, walking up to the table.

Spock followed, and the door to his room closed. "The candle I used for meditation was not recovered from the Enterprise. Now that there are so few Vulcans to request such items, the candles are not widely available."

"You could replicate one," McCoy suggested. The candle in Spock's quarters on the Enterprise had been one of the few personal items on display. It seemed wrong to replace it with something as sterile as a laboratory burner.

"Having an open flame in my quarters requires special permission. The Yorktown officials prefer this, as it automatically deactivates if the inertial dampeners go offline. And..." Spock trailed off.

"And what?"

"The one on the Enterprise was made on Vulcan. A replicated candle would not have the same connection to my culture."

McCoy chuckled. "That sounds almost emotional, Spock."

Spock didn't respond to the jibe.

McCoy looked at him with concern. The fact that Spock's hair wasn't perfectly smoothed down had McCoy guessing he'd just gotten out of bed. The mussed hair and pajamas made the Vulcan look younger and more vulnerable than usual.

"My apologies for causing you to miss the lecture, Doctor McCoy. You should have attended without me."

That had McCoy raising a brow. Spock usually called him either Doctor or McCoy. The full title was reserved for when McCoy was acting in his official capacity as a physician. Did that mean Spock needed a doctor now? He looked to be in perfect physical health. His emotional condition was another matter, and a Starfleet doctor needed to be well-versed in psychology. "How are you holding up?"

"I have been..." Spock paused, in that way he had when he was searching for the most precise word. "Tired." He ran his hand over his hair, as if finally realizing he hadn't smoothed it into its usual Vulcan shape.

"Tired enough to make you late."

"It seems I am late in multiple ways this morning. Late to meet you, and the late Ambassador Spock."

That gave McCoy the opening he was hoping for. He sat down, making it clear he intended to stick around for a while. "I'm glad you mentioned that. I want you to tell me about Vulcan mourning. And don't tell me that you don't mourn. Even Vulcans can't ignore death."

"To ignore death would be illogical," Spock agreed. He sat in the second chair at the table and described a set of rituals, concluding with, "After the loss of our planet, I joined the remaining Vulcans in these rituals, which took place over the course of a week."

"What about your mother? Do you mourn a non-Vulcan in the same way?"

"She was included in the rituals." Spock looked down at his hands. "Then, a day later, the Ambassador invited me to join him in a private memorial for her — as her sons." He shook his head. "Son."

"Time travel is weird, isn't it? Two of you, but the same person. I never did figure out whether to use plural or singular to refer to the both of you."

"Indeed. It is still a matter of debate among Vulcans. Of course, with the Ambassador's death, the need for a linguistic solution is less urgent. I am singular again." Spock's tone when he said singular was a lot like a human saying lonely. It sounded awfully sad for someone who would deny having such feelings.

"You know, those rituals you described remind me of a human custom called sitting Shiva. I'm surprised to hear the Vulcans spend a full week on something as emotional as grieving."

Spock shook his head. "You misunderstand, Doctor. The rituals are not an act of grief. They are an acknowledgement of the loss to our community, and an attempt to minimize that loss. It would be illogical to deny that a death diminishes us, and we seek to preserve all that we can of the information the deceased has accumulated during their lifetime. For a week those who best knew the deceased set aside all other obligations to focus on collecting and discussing that information. We archive not only the data, but also the context. Thus we ensure both are available and of use to future generations."

"You capture the stories about who the person was and their experiences in collecting the data, so it isn't just a collection of facts. The person lives on in that archive."

"That is not how a Vulcan would describe it, but in essence you are correct."

"I don't get it. Why aren't you on the new Vulcan home world participating in those rituals for the Ambassador? We've got plenty of time before the new ship is ready."

"One does not attend one's own rituals. In fact, they considered not holding the rituals, as I am still alive. However, it was deemed wisest to archive the research of my alternate self while those who remember that version of me are still alive to provide context."

The cynic in McCoy had to add, "And they want access to all of his data now."

"Indeed. It would be illogical to deny the Vulcan community access to the Ambassador's accumulated knowledge in a time when we are struggling to re-establish ourselves. His research and logs are a resource that cannot be ignored."

McCoy tapped his fingers on the table, and stopped after a sharp glance from Spock. "Your father's attending, isn't he? Mourning you while you're still alive."

"Sarek is acknowledging the loss of the Ambassador, yes, and he is contributing to the context of the data to be archived."

The exclusion of Spock from those rituals didn't sit well with McCoy. It felt like being told he didn't have a right to mourn, and that was too cold-blooded for his taste. "So, what are you going to do? How will you mourn your alternate self?"

Spock's eyes darted toward the bed.

"I get that grief makes you tired. Sleep is good, but you need to deal with this, Spock. Denial isn't doing the job. I might be the first to notice what's going with you, but I won't be the last. Remember when you lost command of the Enterprise? Article 619 – emotionally compromised."

"Regulation 619," Spock corrected automatically.

"Whatever. As First Officer, you need to be ready to step into the Captain's shoes at a moment's notice. If you don't do something about the grief weighing you down, I'll have to tell Starfleet you aren't fit for duty."

"And what do you recommend? Are you here to remind me that I am still alive and to tell me to snap out of it?"

"Did you just accuse me – the person you constantly criticize for being too emotional – of being unfeeling?"

Spock took a deep breath. "Not constantly. However, I acknowledge your point."

McCoy magnanimously decided to pass up on the opportunity to make a joke about points and ears. "Your human half needs to wallow in the emotions that come with grief, but I'm worried you don't have enough experience with emotions to make it productive."

Spock's expression indicated he doubted wallowing in emotions could be productive, no matter how much practice he had with it.

"Fortunately you have a medical officer here to help. We'll start with your denial about your death."

"An alternate version of me has died. That is a fact, and I do not deny it, Doctor."

"Really? Then why didn't you tell Jim about it before the Enterprise..." McCoy whistled and made a motion with his hand to indicate the ship crashing.

"It was hardly the time or place."

"In other words, if no one knew, you could forget about it. You could pretend it hadn't happened. I'll bet you only told me down on the planet because you thought you were going to die, too."

Spock's hands had tightened into fists, and now he seemed to notice. He opened them flat on the table. "You are attributing motivations based on your own human emotional processes. You do not understand how a Vulcan thinks."

"You can say that again."

"I do not feel the need to repeat my words." Spock stood up and walked to the room's replicator, where he ordered a cup of tea. "Would you care for anything, Doctor?"

McCoy declined. He waited until Spock was seated with his tea and then said, "It sounds like you've moved on to bargaining. As I expected, the Vulcan version is to logic your way out of things you don't like."

"Firstly, logic is not a verb." Spock drank some of the tea. "Secondly, I take it that you are attempting to apply the Kubler-Ross model of the five stages of grief. As I'm certain you are aware from your medical training, that model was not based on scientific evidence."

"It has plenty of anecdotal evidence to back it up." McCoy dove into the argument, even though he knew Spock was using it as a distraction. The important thing was to get him talking, and there was nothing like a good argument to pull Spock out of a morass of introspection and grief.

A/N: My description of Vulcan mourning rituals is based on my own imagination. My apologies if there's a canon description that differs. Hopefully this was logical enough to suit most readers. Since this is from McCoy's point of view, we can blame any discrepancies on his human, emotional filters.