Spock's hair had grown long from the last time McCoy had seen him. They were sitting alongside each other in the waiting room that had Vulcans mostly populating it. They were in a Vulcanian hospital. The waiting patients ranged in age physically. They all appeared in be in their mid-twenties. Any Vulcan here over one hundred could fool humans that they were in fact younger. Some of the Vulcans were black, some of them had lighter shade of black skin, and some were white. It wasn't surprising for a planet that lived under the sun. The temperature was comfortable to most Vulcans, but poor McCoy was in a short sleeved gray jacket with a high collar. He had on knee length pants. He wore a madelion around his neck. Spock's eyebrows were bushy. He did not wear eyeliner.

"Doctor?" Spock said, looking at the human with a raised eyebrow.

McCoy appeared to be concerned.

"Spock?" McCoy said. "You almost don't look like you."

"What brings you here, Doctor?" Spock inquired.

McCoy folded his legs taking out the Vulcan magazine from off the table

"I am just here for some Vulcan business," McCoy said. "Medical business." He raised a brow back at the Vulcan flipping through the magazine. "I am about to ask you that same question but I know I shouldn't bother with that. Because, as you said, once: Highly illogical to ask someone who is in the mist of Vulcanian business."

Spock was covering his wrist.

"That is not what I said." Spock said. "You grew a beard,doctor."

"You grew your hair out." McCoy was looking at the image on the page.

"I am in the middle of Kolinahr–" Spock started but was cut off by McCoy.

"Purging?" McCoy looked at him, startled, then his face softened. "Emotions finally overwhelmed you. And here you are runnin' away from them. Just like ... Oh well, that is the past."

"Negative." Spock said.

"Spock,if I were your doctor, I would be concerned and have your health checked but I am T'Pring's temporary physican," McCoy looked over toward the Vulcan. "Christine and Nyota were against it because of irrational fear of somethin' happenin' to her."

Spock tilted his head.

"Did you not retire?" Spock asked.

"Of course, I did." McCoy said. Spock straightened his head.

"You are aware that retirement is not a revolving door." Spock said.

"To Jim, it is." McCoy's face faltered. "Or could have been." His voice grew smaller. "You haven't called since . . . since. . since that planet was destroyed. Jim and a entire paradise. Three months we could have found him." He glanced over toward Spock. "How lon' has it been since we last had a civil conversation?"

"Three years, four months,three weeks, three hours, and forty-eight minutes." Spock replied.

McCoy grew a small smile.

"Punctual as ever, Mister Spock." McCoy said.

"What is T'Pring's condition?" Spock inquired.

"Classified." McCoy said.

Spock raised the eyebrow.

"Sorry, can't talk about it. Not even to a old colleage." His eyes drifted over toward the Vulcan, "You should stop blamin' yourself for Jim's death. Because you know, like Scotty said, he is not gone lon' as we remember him." His eyes returned to the magazine, "Good to know you are still alive. That is a relief." He had a sad sigh. "You know, Jim would have wanted you to finish the mission."

"Captain Decker is reportedly doing excellent." Spock said.

"You didn't hear of the romance sparking between with his navigator. Star Fleet is busy working out rules for that now because of it." He glanced over toward the Vulcan. "Some of the crew members complained about the captain being too open with the Deltan. I have been runnin' around helpin' people. Been helpin' with my grief."

"That was three years ago." Spock said.

"You didn't grieve, didn't you?" McCoy lowered the magazine. "You still think he's alive."

"That is because he is." Spock said.

"I feel sorry for you," McCoy said, with a sigh as he leaned back into the chair and returned his attention to the page. "And here I thought love wasn't in your book."

Spock turned his attention away from the older man. Spock considered his luck with the doctor not prying into why he was here. He hadn't bothered to continue the conversation. The man's slim, female like waist was still the way it was before. His hair had only gotten grayer. There were a few more lines on his face than the ones Spock had seen three years ago. McCoy's eyebrows reminded Spock of the horns from a bull only thinner and smaller. Not long ago had they been part of frowns in debates with the Vulcan. Spock resumed writing on the pad with his injured hand.

The door slid open.

"Doctor McCoy?" Came a Vulcan female. McCoy looked up from the magazine. "Please come. You are needed."

McCoy stood up then placed the magazine to the counter. But before he left, he looked toward Spock and attempted to give the ta'al sign much as it was painful for him. He moved his fingers into the correct position then, and added, with a light hearted comment. "At least I tried." McCoy left the room.

Spock tried, too.