At long, long, last! The final chapter of Joanna is here! Thank you so much for the reviews everyone. And away we go!

"Doctor?" Spock asked, his tone cautious. He did not wish to cause McCoy extra stress. As soon as he knew for certain the man's well being, he would leave if McCoy desired him to. As the doctor himself once said, the only thing humans were consistent on was being inconsistent. Desiring companionship in one situation and solitude in the next. It made choosing the correct course of action difficult at times.

There was a slight clatter on the other side of the door, followed by a mild curse. Then, in a slurred voice, McCoy said, "Come in."

McCoy was seated at his desk, a drink in his hand. His eyes were red and swollen, but whether it was from the alcohol or tears Spock was not certain. Most likely some combination between the two.

"What brings you here?" McCoy asked. "Jim sent you to check up on me?"

"No I came here of my own free will," Spock told him. "I was---" he stopped himself. He had almost said, 'I was worried about you.' "Making certain that you were all right," he said instead.

McCoy smirked at him. "So, you were worried about me, is that what you're trying to say?" It was the tone he usually used when he desired to banter with Spock; but there was something in his eyes that made Spock question if that would be a wise decision.

When Jim needed to sort things out, he and Spock often played chess. Perhaps McCoy's method was banter, to behave as if everything were normal. That would mean that Spock should respond to McCoy's inquiry in the negative. But suppose he did not wish to engage in their usual game? How should Spock respond then? An acknowledgement of emotions would be out of character and they both knew it. Unless he could come up with a method to answer the doctor that would not put them both ill at ease.

"Considering the trying circumstances of the past two days, it is only logical to question your well being."

"Humph," McCoy snorted as he poured himself another drink. "Fine then, have it your way."

"How much alcohol have you consumed since your return to the ship?"

"Not nearly enough. More 'logical' curiosity, Mr. Spock?"

"Yes. The affects of alcohol tend to linger---"

"So what? Jim put me on rested leave."

"---And they are extremely unpleasant," Spock went on as if he had not been interrupted. "Hardly worth whatever small amount of relief that it may bring you in the present."

"I'm not in the mood to hear a lecture."

"Nor do I wish to give one. I simply do not desire for you to have any unnecessary suffering."

"The drinks are nessessary, Spock. Just trust me on this, all right? It's better than nothing at all."

"Talking is a form of helping, is it not?"

"Yeah, but I've already been chatting with you and Jim almost nonstop. No offence, but I'm getting a little tired of it."

"None taken, Doctor."

Spock never could bring himself to address McCoy by his first name, despite the fact that the bond they shared was as close as the one he shared with Jim. The name felt foreign in his mouth. Nor could he bring himself to use the nickname "Bones." This was not due to any aversion of nicknames, particularly if the person preferred being addressed as such. It was because it was Jim's name for the doctor. It simply was not right for another person to use it. Even during one period when it was believed that Jim had died, Spock could only comfort McCoy be indirectly quoting Jim. McCoy did not seem to mind this situation, being very vocal in his likes and dislikes he would have certainly spoken up far sooner if he wished to be addressed by another name.

"C'mon, sit down, make yourself at home." McCoy's southern drawl was made thicker by the alcohol. He gestured to the bed. "I've stolen your bed the past two nights, only fair you return the favour, right?"

Was this McCoy's way of saying he did not wish to be alone? Spock decided to accept it as such. Should the doctor change his mind, he could still leave.

"Can I offer you anything to drink?" McCoy asked as Spock sat on the edge of the bed. "Doesn't have to be scotch, you know. Whatever you want is on me."

"No, thank you." Spock raised an eyebrow as McCoy poured himself yet another drink.

"Remember what I said about lectures," McCoy warned. "One word and you're out of here."

"Very well," Spock said quietly. The doctor would no doubt regret his decision soon enough. All Spock could do was try to make the inevitable fall out as tolerable as possible.

McCoy stared thoughtfully into his empty glass. "I remember this one time when Joanna was about six or seven, she asked me how babies were made," he chuckled a little. "It's not exactly a comfortable topic one discusses with their children, even if it is necessary. You understand, right?"

Spock nodded. Sarek had had a smililary unpleasent time having to explain the pon farr and what Spock could expect from it.

"Anyway," McCoy continued, "After much hemming and hawing I finally told her to ask her mother. Joanna looked up at me with those big green eyes and said, 'You mean you're a doctor and you don't know?'"

McCoy laughed then, but it had a slightly bitter sound to it. He glanced over at Spock.

"Did you just smile?"

"No."

"Liar."

They both went silent. The only sound was the hum of the ship's engines and the rattle of ice in McCoy's glass.

Finally, with a heavy sigh, McCoy said, "I guess you're wondering how the meeting went."

When Spock nodded, McCoy continued, "Joanna decided she didn't want to be adopted by Gene after all."

"That is what you wanted, is it not?"

"Yeah ... but there's still this distance between us."

"That's to be expected," Spock said quietly, his eyes on the floor.

"I suppose so. It still hurts, though."

"I know," Spock allowed a small amount of sympathy to creep into his voice. "I am sorry."

The corners of McCoy's mouth twitched, and he stifled a yawn. "Guess I should get some sleep, huh?"

"That might be wise," Spock said, starting to stand up.

"No, no, stay where you are," McCoy said quickly, motioning for Spock to sit back down. The Vulcan moved over to the side to give the doctor more room.

"Jus' stay 'till I fall asleep, all right? Then you can go back to your cabin if you want."

McCoy rested his head on the pillow, keeping his eyes on Spock the entire time. Eventually his breathing slowed, and for the third night in a row, Spock watched his friend sleep.

At some point, Spock must have dozed off himself, because the next thing he knew McCoy suddenly bolted from the bed and dashed into the bathroom, where the sounds of vomiting were soon heard.

Taking a chance, Spock went in to find McCoy kneeling on the floor in front of the toilet. Spock sat down beside him and silently rubbed his back.

"Thanks," McCoy croaked. He took slow, deep breathes. "I, I think I'm good now," he said finally, but made no move to stand. Instead, his eyes welled up with tears, and his shoulders started to shake.

"I really fucked things up, Spock," McCoy choked out. "They'll never be the way they were before and it's my fault.

What could Spock say in response to that? Nothing, unfortunately. But there had to be something he could do ... He closed his eyes, and for once in his life listened to his human side. And the idea that struck him was so ... logical, it was a wonder he hadn't thought of it sooner.

He wrapped his arm around McCoy's shoulders and pulled the doctor to him, wrapping the other arm around him as well, his chin resting on top of McCoy's head.

"What the hell are you doing?" McCoy asked in shock, but he did not pull himself free.

"This is the customary way humans comfort one another, is it not?" Spock asked.

"Well ... yeah. But you're not human."

Spock tightened his grip ever so slightly.

"But you are," he whispered.

The end! The end! At long last the end!!!