"Want You Home"
Rating: PG-13? C'mon, it's McCoy talking here.
Pairing: SpockMcCoy implied
by echo_alone
Note: This may fall under Drabble, not sure.

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Love?
Don't talk to me about love.
Don't ask me about love.
Don't even *think* about love in my presence.
'Cause that's something that's way to painful for me now.
Ever since that pointy-eared, green-blooded bastard went running off to Gol, to the terribly stony arms of Kohlinar, I've been alone and loveless.
Dammit, I thought I knew better. Knew better that to go prodding for emotions- especially ones that strong- in a Vulcan. Knew better that to fall into that trap, again.
Spock.
Sometimes, at night, I let myself relive our nights- and days- together. On nights when I've had to much brandy and I'm feeling particularly lonely. I drift off into my memories of you- of us.
Vulcan, after you were rejected by that horrible Vulcan bitch, when you stumbled into sickbay, still in the clutches of the plak tow. The first time we made love...
Jim's birthday, that party when you introduced me to Vulcan alcohol and the whole crew found out about my love for you. And the next morning when I woke up in your bed, in your arms, with the hangover from hell, you introduced me to your Vulcan hangover remedy.
And the time your pon farr came four years to early; a test of your tradition and my strength.
The night on Risa, in the pink morning sun, cuddling in the sheets. The first time I ever saw you smile that tiny little smile of yours, the one that always set a tiny spark of hope alight in my heart. The hope that maybe you weren't as cold as you always led us to believe.
Was I wrong?
Were you wrong?
Were we all wrong?
I don't know.
I don't know if I want to know, now that you've gone.

I miss you, Spock. Damned nuisance that you were.
I wish you were back here. With me.
Home.