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Chapter Text

"Jim! There you are. What the hell is going on?"

Being the chief surgeon of a starship on a long-term mission to explore the unknown was already a job that came with plenty of stress, but this day in particular was really wearing McCoy's nerves thin. He had a patient whose physiology was unfamiliar to him suffering an apparently fatal condition, about which said patient seemed to know a lot more than he was letting on for whatever weird Vulcan reason. And on top of that, the whole ship was in a tizzy about getting to a major diplomatic event on time, as if the inauguration of some backwater planet's new president outweighed the importance of a man's life. And now here was his captain just swaggering down the corridor without a care in the world, hair damp like he'd just gotten out of the shower. Was McCoy the only sane man aboard this vessel?

"Just heading up to the bridge, Bones. Why? Is something wrong?" There was a dreamy and distracted quality to the captain's voice that almost made McCoy worry that whatever was wrong with Spock was somehow catching.

"Is something wrong? I just heard we're back on course for Altair VI!"

"Yes, that was my order."

"But why, Jim? Was I not clear enough when I explained to you that if we don't get Spock back to Vulcan as soon as possible, he'll die?"

"Ah. Right. Sorry, should have kept you abreast of the . . . developing situation. No need to worry about that anymore. The problem's been . . . taken care of."

Kirk tried to move past McCoy toward the elevator, and McCoy had to seize him by the shoulders to stop him.

"Has the transporter malfunctioned and split you in half again? Am I talking to the stupidest possible version of you while your smart side is elsewhere on the ship? Jim, what do you mean 'the problem's been taken care of'? I examined Mr. Spock not an hour ago and determined that he was deathly ill!"

"He was," Jim conceded, seemingly unable to make eye contact, "and now he's . . . fine. You can examine him again yourself if you don't believe me. I think he went back to the bridge."

It took every ounce of McCoy's rapidly draining self-control to stop himself from shaking the captain violently.

"If you're telling me you just happened to find some miracle cure," he responded through gritted teeth, "then you're going to need to thoroughly explain exactly what in tarnation you're talking about to your chief medical officer, right now."

Kirk sighed deeply. "Fine. Can we speak in private? Please?"

Keeping one hand on Kirk's shoulder, McCoy practically dragged him into sick bay. He scanned the room for Nurse Chapel, but found that they were conveniently already alone—maybe the lovestruck fool was off making more soup.

"Alright, we're in private," McCoy announced. "Now will you give me a straight answer about what's happening with Spock?"

Kirk chuckled nervously. "Look, Bones, I'd appreciate it if you left this out of your medical records. Spock asked me to keep it confidential. It was a very . . .  personal thing, for Vulcans. It had to do with . . . biology."

McCoy could almost physically feel what little patience he had left snapping. "Yes, it was a medical issue, Jim, they all have to do with biology!"

"I mean . . . the biology of Vulcans."

"Jim, if you don't start talking sense right now, I'll have to—"

"Biology as in . . . reproduction."

Kirk cast his gaze to the floor as McCoy stared at him open-mouthed, beginning to pick up on the implication.

"You mean . . . you're telling me this business with him needing to go back to Vulcan was because of some kind of . . . reproductive drive?" he asked. "Like salmon or . . . eelbirds?"

"Precisely, doctor."

"And you . . . took care of that problem." McCoy had pretty much formed an educated guess by now about why Kirk was still staring at the floor.

"I, uh, I understand it's technically a policy violation for a captain to . . . to get involved with someone under his command, but, well, it seemed the most expedient solution to . . . a very pressing issue."

"Well, hell, Jim," McCoy broke into a grin at how silly the situation was beginning to feel, "it sounds like you discovered the best possible medical treatment. I should be commending you for your contribution to science."

"You understand, then? And . . . you'll keep this between us?" Kirk looked up and finally met McCoy's eyes properly, a hint of vulnerability to his expression that McCoy wasn't used to seeing from the confident captain.

"Sure. Doctor-patient confidentiality. I won't tell a soul."

"Especially not Spock. He'd be horribly embarrassed if he knew . . . that you knew."

"As much as I'd like to see that pointy-eared piece of work squirm, I promise. Not a word."

"Appreciate it, Bones."

"I have to say, I'm a little surprised you volunteered yourself, Jim," McCoy added. Promising not to bring it up to anyone else didn't mean he had to promise not to tease his friend a little bit while he had the opportunity. "I thought you preferred women."

"Well, it would have been even more inappropriate to expect anyone else to . . ." Kirk trailed off.

"To take one for the team?"

Kirk let out a peal of wheezing laughter. "Exactly. But besides that, I have been known to swing the other way on occasion. Don't tell me you were so drunk that night at the academy that you forgot."

A flush crept up from McCoy's collar as he realized that his old friend had managed to successfully turn the teasing back the other way.

"I didn't forget, Jim," he responded. "I thought you might have. You were the one who was always getting yourself into trouble hitting the Saurian brandy a little too hard."

"We had some good times back then, didn't we, Bones?" Kirk patted McCoy's shoulder with a smirk that showed he felt he had won their little battle of wits. "Well, back to the bridge, then. Duty calls."

"Send Spock back down here when he gets the chance. I want to confirm he's really back to normal," McCoy ordered as Kirk turned to the door. "Or whatever counts as normal, for him."

"Oh, he's probably better than normal. I showed him a great time." Kirk looked back and winked on his way out.

McCoy could see him the way he once was in that wink—the young, babyfaced Jim Kirk who had lived down the hall from him in the dorms their first year. There had been a certain level of brashness and arrogance to him that had lessened over the years as he matured, but he had been friendly at the same time, always willing to strike up a conversation with whoever happened to be next to him in line at the cafeteria. He was loudly opinionated even during lectures, and at least one instructor had called him a smartass, but they were all just as likely to hold up one of his assignments as the shining example for the rest of the class to follow as they were to tell him off for his attitude. Everyone knew him, knew he was going places, knew which parties he'd said he'd attend and who he was rumoured to be dating. In a word, he was popular—which should have placed him far outside the league of a shy, awkward, pre-med student who spent most of his free time practicing hiding his southern accent.

Except for that one night.

The spring party at the student union was one of the biggest social events of the year, and the dorm hallways had been abuzz for days with discussions of what people planned to wear and what they'd be doing beforehand and afterward. McCoy didn't want to just sit in his room all night and regret missing it, but once he got there, he felt like he didn't know what to do or how to join a conversation or what was a normal way to stand. He had a few drinks hoping they'd help him relax, but they mostly just made him dizzy and slightly nauseous, and by the time the sun had set, he was outside in the courtyard desperately gulping down the fresh air.

It was nice out there, though, once he'd had some time to breathe. A warm night, but not too hot, music and chatter muffled except when the door occasionally opened to admit a few more people out onto the grass. Most of the others leaving were in couples or groups of three, and they traveled with purpose—either back to their dorms or out to a bar, no doubt—and McCoy observed them curiously as they passed, wondering how everyone else at this school seemed to have formed close relationships with others so easily. How did they find each other? What did they say?

The distant sounds of laughter drifted around the corner of one of the buildings, and McCoy wandered in its direction, taking occasional sips of the half-empty beer in his hand. The source of the noise turned out to be a group of his fellow first year students, crowded around the giant statue of the Phoenix that featured in so many of the academy's recruiting advertisements, and apparently taking turns trying to climb it. McCoy recognized Ben Finney scrambling up the side of the facsimile, then losing his grip and hopping back down on the grass to jeers from his friends. Finney was then replaced by Jim Kirk, who made a much slower and more considered attempt, clearly putting some serious thought into the best hand- and footholds.

He made it a lot farther than Finney had, but then banged his shin and tumbled down with a yelp of pain. McCoy gasped to see the way Kirk went over on his ankle and then fell to one knee, the grimace on his face readable even from a distance in the dark. And his friends didn't seem to care—they were just laughing and daring each other to go next! What drunken idiots. Before he knew it, McCoy had tossed his drink aside and rushed over to the group, announcing that he knew first aid.

Any momentary confidence in that theoretical knowledge had faded, however, by the time he was sitting down with Kirk's foot in his lap, trying to gently ease off the injured man's shoe. This was stupid—he'd never actually treated a patient before. What did he think he was doing?

"Hey, I know you!" Kirk exclaimed, jabbing his finger toward McCoy's face. "McCoy, right? We had history together last term. You did that presentation on that 21st-century plague."

"Yeah, that was me." McCoy flushed with embarrassment to think of how much his hands had been shaking as he stood up in front of the whole class on his own.

"That was the best project anyone ever did in that class!" Kirk winced in pain as his foot was finally freed from his shoe, but it didn't seem to dampen his enthusiasm. "The others . . . they were putting me to sleep. But you! You were so . . . passionate. And I had never even heard you speak in class before, but then you got up there and you just really knew what you were talking about."

"I got a lousy mark on that. Went way overtime. Professor Gill said I needed to be more concise. Uh, can you wiggle your toes?"

Finney and the rest of Kirk's friends had apparently lost interest in the Phoenix, and were starting to gradually filter away as McCoy stripped Kirk's sock off and felt around his ankle.

"Concise? That's rich coming from the man who made me late for my next class once because he wasn't done rambling about World War II."

McCoy chuckled. "Well, it's not broken, I can tell you that much. Let's get you back to your room and put some ice on it."

"You'll have to help me, Sawbones," Kirk responded with another wince when McCoy placed his foot back down on the ground. "I don't know if I can walk."

McCoy gave Kirk a hand to get to his feet and helped him hobble in the direction of their dorm building, one arm supporting him and the other hanging onto his shoe and sock. Kirk leaned on him heavily and kept up a stream of chatter about which professors he did or didn't like the whole way, his breath smelling strongly of brandy now that it was right in McCoy's face.

"—and then she told me that I still needed to 'state my point,' as if I hadn't already done that at the beginning of the paragraph, before I—oh, it's that one at the end of the hall there. J.T. Kirk, that's me." Kirk gestured in the direction of the sign of his door, as if everyone in his year didn't already know exactly who he was and where he lived.

He fished the key out of his pocket to let them in, and sighed in contentment when McCoy summarily deposited him on the tiny dorm bed. McCoy found an icepack in the minifridge and propped Kirk's ankle up with an extra pillow.

"Uh, keep the ice on for 10 or 15 minutes," McCoy instructed as he arranged it using a nearby hand towel as a barrier between it and the skin, "and don't fall asleep until you're done with it. You don't want to give yourself frostbite."

"What, you're leaving?" Kirk protested as McCoy stood up and turned toward the door. "What kind of doctor are you, just abandoning a patient?"

"I'm not a doctor yet, and nobody's ever died of a sprained ankle."

"Still, shouldn't you keep me under observation for the night, just to be sure?"

McCoy turned back around to see a suggestive smile on Kirk's face as he patted the bed next to him in invitation.

"Well, I'll be . . ." McCoy exclaimed in disbelief as he replayed the evening's events in his mind with new understanding. ". . . you played up a minor injury for all it was worth just to get me to your room, didn't you, Kirk?"

"Don't criticize a winning strategy. And my friends call me Jim."

"Jim." McCoy repeated the name softly as he sat next to him and leaned down for a kiss.

It wasn't his first time, but it wasn't too far from it either. Kirk was at least rumoured to be much more experienced, but he'd also clearly had a lot more to drink than McCoy had, which seemed to put them on about equal footing in terms of clumsiness. There was a lot of nervous giggling, a lot of fumbling over words as they both struggled to express what little they knew at that age about what worked for them and what they wanted.

They lay pressed together in the tiny bed afterward and spoke dreamily about what had brought them to the academy and where they hoped their future careers in Starfleet would take them next. McCoy could feel that last beer he drank half of in the courtyard hitting him with the unpleasant sensation that the room was spinning, but the warmth of Kirk's arm flung across his chest kept him grounded, and he eventually drifted off to the sound of an increasingly slurred list of far away planets.

He woke up the next morning to a pounding headache and the smell of coffee that turned out to have already gone cold, in a mug holding down a note on the bedside table. Had to catch my train home for the weekend. I promise not to put too much weight on the ankle. See you around, Sawbones. - Jim. Well, that was one way to avoid the awkward morning after conversation, he supposed.

He didn't hold out much hope for that night to ever be repeated, so he wasn't surprised when the next time he saw Jim Kirk on campus, it was with a pretty blonde woman on his arm. He was surprised, though, that Jim waved and called him over, introducing the girl as Ruth and telling her his buddy Bones McCoy was going to be a great medical officer one day.

He'd go on to express the same sentiment to many more classmates over the years, seamlessly integrating McCoy into social groups he had never imagined would accept him. It was as if he'd won Kirk's loyalty for life that night by running to his side when he was injured—even though the injury hadn't really been that bad. Maybe he'd just impressed him on principle with his willingness to help. Either way, Kirk more than returned the favour, paving the way for McCoy to make all kinds of professional connections he would have had a hard time with on his own.

They spent many more late nights together at the academy—sometimes at raucous parties, and other times in quiet study groups, helping each other prepare for exams. But there was never another night quite like that first one.

Until Kirk casually mentioned it again so many years later, McCoy had genuinely believed he might have forgotten it.

Chapter Text

McCoy had been over his little academy crush for years. He'd had a suitable period of mourning for it in his youth, and then moved on and had relationships with other people. (Nancy, for instance—boy, had that one ended badly.) When Jim Kirk re-entered his life aboard the Enterprise, it was as his friend and his captain. He respected the man and enjoyed his company. Nothing more complicated than that.

Or at least, it hadn't been complicated, until the day Jim revealed in one fell swoop that he a) did in fact like men, and b) could demonstrably be persuaded into bed with a man under his command in the right circumstances. That knowledge burrowed deep into McCoy's brain, unearthing his old attraction toward his classmate-turned-captain, and making it a hell of a lot harder to ignore than it had been back then. When Jim was with Ruth, or some other pretty woman, McCoy had told himself that any rekindling of the connection they had briefly shared was out of the question—it had clearly been an alcohol-influenced experiment for an otherwise heterosexual man. But knowing what he knew now, McCoy couldn't seem to silence a little voice in the back of his head that responded to any protestations about what a bad idea it would be with a refrain of but you might just have a chance.

That little voice only grew louder and more insistent when the whole crew finally got a few days' well-earned shore leave on Starbase 5. Starfleet had really gone all-out with improving the accommodations there recently, practically turning it into a luxury hotel, and the others were enjoying the amenities without a care in the world, spending their time relaxing in the spa or competing at the variety of games available in the recreation room. McCoy, on the other hand, had made the fatal mistake of lounging on the pool deck with a cocktail, unknowingly putting himself at the perfect eyeline to witness Kirk stepping out of the water in a tight little bathing suit that left very little to the imagination. The way he had run a hand through his hair as tiny rivulets of water trailed down his chest had made McCoy feel like all the blood was rushing away from his brain, and by the time he had finished furiously beating off about it in his room, he was late for the movie night Chekov had been so excited about inviting everyone to and felt horribly guilty. He wasn't even having any fun—just enduring a torture of his own creation every time his captain happened to look his way.

So, fuck it. If there was ever going to be a time to make a move, it was going to be now. Worst case scenario, he'd get rejected and get over it again. At least that would be easier than not knowing and always hoping.

Late their second night there, he grabbed the first bottle of wine he recognized the brand name of from the commissary, threw on his least crumpled shirt, and knocked on the captain's door.

"Hey, Jim?" he called out, hoping he sounded normal and not as nervous as he felt. "It's me."

There was a long enough pause that he was about to turn around and leave, assuming the captain was somewhere else—with someone else—before Kirk finally opened the door.

"Bones?" He was dressed in a robe that revealed an unnecessary amount of thigh. "What can I do for you?"

"Hi." Breathless, McCoy held up the bottle of wine as he struggled to remember how talking was supposed to work. "Are you busy? I thought we might . . . have a few drinks. Reminisce about old times?"

"That sounds great, Bones, but . . . maybe tomorrow night." Kirk's expression turned a little downcast, and McCoy couldn't help wondering if there was something wrong he didn't know about. "I was just . . . getting ready for bed."

"What do you need to get an early night for?" McCoy asked. "We're off-duty."

"Well. Yes. But I'm . . . tired." There was something in those words that didn't ring true, something that reminded McCoy of when a patient was trying to avoid telling him about an embarrassing symptom—and a moment later, he understood why. Again.

"Jim," a familiar deep voice interjected from within the room, "you may as well be honest with him about my presence here. He was bound to find out eventually."

Spock stepped into view, clad in a different style of robe that gave him a strangely elegant quality, and McCoy's face flushed with embarrassment that swiftly turned to anger.

"Oh, okay!" he exclaimed, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Well, I can see you're obviously too busy getting your dick wet to spare time for an old friend. Tell you what, how about you let me know in advance when you expect to be done with this latest little fling, and I'll see if I can pencil you into my packed schedule then."

He spun around and stormed back in the direction of his room, holding the stupid wine bottle tight. What a horrible waste of what could have been a nice night on shore leave.

"Bones!" Kirk called out at the tense, retreating form of his medical officer. He started to go after him, then cursed under his breath and stepped back into the room to get dressed first. Even off-duty, it would probably raise some eyebrows if anyone else in the crew saw him running around without pants on.

"I did not anticipate the mere fact of my presence provoking such an outburst," Spock stated, still standing in the middle of the room.

"Not your fault, sweetheart. I shouldn't have even answered the door, I just thought it might be something important," Kirk responded as he threw on the crumpled clothing he found on the floor. "I'd better go talk to him, though—find out what he's so upset about."

"I do not envy you your responsibility to manage the erratic emotions of the crew."

Spock sat down and stretched his legs out on the bed. Kirk fastened the last button of the semi-casual shirt he so rarely had opportunity to wear, and leaned down for a kiss.

"I'll be right back."

He made sure the door was locked before walking briskly to the room he knew to be assigned to McCoy.

"Bones?" he called out again as he knocked. "Can I talk to you?"

"About what?" came a muffled voice from inside.

"Can I come in, please?"

There was a moment of silence before McCoy gruffly responded, "It's open."

Kirk stepped inside to find his friend with his back turned, facing out the window.

"Boy," McCoy grumbled without turning around, "that 'Vulcan biology' must really be something to keep you coming back for more."

"Bones, I'm sorry I didn't really tell you that Spock and I are . . . that we're seeing each other now." Kirk wanted to join McCoy at the window, maybe place a hand on his arm, but he maintained his distance. "Things were . . . uncertain for a while, and then, well . . . he's so private about anything personal, you know that. And we haven't exactly put a label on it, things being the way they are with . . . cultural differences, and it technically being against a regulation I'm sure he could quote for you verbatim, and . . . I've been meaning to tell you, I really have, but—"

"You don't need to give me a full report every time you get laid, Jim," McCoy snapped. "God knows it was weird enough hearing about it the first time you fucked his alien ass. I'm just surprised you're still doing it, is all. Good-looking guy like you with plenty more normal options. Do they teach them some really out-there moves on planet Vulcan, or—"

"It's not just about sex, Bones." Kirk couldn't help raising his voice. He knew McCoy, knew he was being an asshole on purpose to get a rise out of him, but damn it, it was working. The doctor's brand of provocative humour wasn't funny at all right now, not when it was targeted at someone so important to him. "I . . . I love him."

He surprised himself, saying it out loud for the first time, when he hadn't said it yet to the one he felt it for.

He was even more surprised when McCoy finally whirled around to face him, and he saw that his eyes were rimmed with red, as if he'd been crying.

But there was much more vitriol than sadness in the doctor's voice when he spat out the words, "Is he even capable of loving you back?"

Wordlessly, Kirk turned around and slammed the door on his way out.

Chapter Text

Spock was reading in bed when Kirk returned to their room, and it made Kirk feel a little calmer already just to see him sitting there so peacefully. He threw himself down on the bed with his head in Spock's lap, and Spock set his book down and ran his fingers through Kirk's hair. Kirk sighed.

"Was your diplomatic mission unsuccessful?" Spock asked wryly.

Kirk heaved another sigh. "He still seems angry about this, and I don't understand why. I thought it might have been because I hadn't exactly told him about us—that he felt hurt I was keeping a secret from him. But I apologized for that, and he was still . . . fuming. He said . . . well, it doesn't matter what he said. I just hope he calms down about it sooner rather than later."

"My understanding of the subject is limited, but I would venture a guess that the good doctor is currently struggling with the primitive human emotion known as jealousy," Spock suggested.

"You think so?" Kirk tried to imagine what his curmudgeonly friend's perspective might be. "You mean he's upset because he's lonely and wishes he had someone to . . . be with?"

"I mean he wishes he had you. I would imagine that was his objective in inviting you to spend time together and partake of a substance that lowers human inhibitions so late in the evening."

"What?" Kirk sat up to look Spock in the eye and make sure he wasn't joking. It could be hard to tell with his dry wit sometimes. "You think he was trying to . . . oh. Huh. That . . . could explain a lot, actually."

Spock inclined his head in an expression of agreement. Kirk settled back into his embrace, leaning his head against his shoulder and slipping one hand below the soft fabric of his robe. He could feel the faint pulse of his heart, located lower down in his body than a human's.

"Huh," he repeated. "Bones McCoy trying to put the moves on me after all these years. I never would have thought."

"Out of curiosity, Jim—in my absence, would you have reciprocated his advances?" Spock asked. "You may answer honestly. As a Vulcan, I am incapable of feeling jealousy."

Kirk chuckled nervously. "Spock, if I were seeing another human, and they asked me a question like that, I might think they were trying to pick a fight."

"Such a meaningless provocation would be highly illogical. I only ask, as I said, out of curiosity. It seems that it would be especially advantageous, in light of our . . . altered relationship, for me to develop a greater understanding of the motivations and feelings of humans."

As strange as it had sounded at first, Kirk knew he could trust Spock to be honest.

So he closed his eyes for a moment, nestled against the shoulder of the man he loved, and allowed himself to imagine being with someone else. Another world in which he was on his own in the room, perhaps watching one of those old Earth movies they had such an expansive archive of at the Starbase, when an old friend of his knocked on the door with an offer of company for the night. An old friend he could maybe see in a different light all of a sudden, out of uniform and off the ship, temporarily free of all the responsibilities that sometimes brought tension to their relationship. A night when they could just be two men who once went to school together, and who shared a memory of a beautiful night they once spent together in a different time.

"Alright, hypothetically," Kirk cautiously began, "if you weren't here, if we didn't have the relationship that we have, and Bones came over here with a bottle of wine and . . . made a proposition? Sure, I guess we could have ended up in bed together. In a . . . parallel universe."

"I find it interesting," Spock responded, his tone as level as always and thankfully showing no trace of offense, "that humans seem to default to monogamous relationships despite the evident commonality of their feeling attraction toward multiple people. Why is that, do you think?"

"Hmm. That's a good question." Relieved that Spock definitely hadn't been engaging in the illogical human pastime of picking a fight after all, Kirk embraced him tightly and planted a kiss on his cheek before attempting an answer. "Well, not all humans are monogamous—I've certainly met some who worked out other arrangements. But . . . culturally, I guess it's often seen as romantic to devote yourself completely to one person. That, and there is that issue of jealousy."

"The concept of romance is still one that eludes my understanding. It seems deeply complex." The irony no doubt lost on him, Spock punctuated the statement by tilting Kirk's chin upward and kissing him.

"Well, I can . . . educate you further on the subject at a later date. For now, I seem to recall we were in the middle of something before we were interrupted." Kirk tugged open the belt of Spock's robe and ran a hand across his exposed skin. "Ah, I remember now—I was about to show you something I learned years ago from a woman on Argelius II."

"Is that the planet that boasts of women who—"

Kirk silenced Spock with another kiss as he lowered his hand to his thigh. He'd had just about enough talking for one night.

Their third and final night on Starbase 5, McCoy found himself sitting at the bar feeling sorry for himself. A few other people he recognized were gathered at various tables, including Scotty playing some kind of boisterous drinking game with his engineering staff, but McCoy was definitely not in the mood to join them. All he wanted to do was drown his sorrows over how badly he had blown it with Jim.

It hadn't even occurred to him that whatever went on with Jim and Spock on the way to Altair VI would have been more than a one-time thing. The way Jim had talked about it that day, it had sounded like it happened purely out of biological necessity. Just this weird Vulcan reproductive cycle that the captain had to bravely step up and assist with. It was hard enough to picture that walking computer having sex at all, let alone being interested in carrying on an ongoing sexual relationship for such illogical reasons as attraction, or even love. And since when had the smooth-talking Captain Kirk stuck around for more than a night or two with anyone? He'd been breaking hearts all over the galaxy ever since his first posting.

No one could blame a guy for being a little shocked that those two were apparently serious about each other. But still, McCoy knew he had taken the news badly, and possibly said a few things he shouldn't have, and generally all-around embarrassed himself. He just hoped his friendship with the captain was still salvageable. Hell, might as well admit it to himself, he hoped this wouldn't affect the friendly rivalry—or whatever you call it—he had with the first officer either. Spock's single-minded devotion to logic drove him crazy, and he hated every minute that pointy-eared menace spent in the captain's chair in Kirk's stead, but he was damn good at his job when he was over at his own station on the bridge where he belonged. And arguments with him were usually at least as entertaining as they were infuriating. Challenging that Vulcan intellect of his could be fun.

Speak of the devil—just as he was on his mind, the last person McCoy would have expected to see in a bar strolled in and sat down beside him.

"Good evening, doctor." Spock nodded at McCoy, and then at the approaching bartender. It was a little strange seeing him out of uniform again, even though the plain black shirt he had chosen still bore the Starfleet insignia. "I'll have the same as my colleague."

"I didn't take you for a drinker," McCoy greeted him. "Didn't you say something once about alcohol not affecting Vulcans?"

"Correct. However, I understand that even absent its physiological effects, many humans find there to be social benefits to consuming alcohol in the companionship of others."

"Is that a roundabout way of saying you came here and ordered a drink just to talk to me?"

"Affirmative." Spock took a sip from the glass the bartender had served him, and for a moment, his characteristically placid expression twitched into a slight grimace. "Doctor, this tastes terrible, and produces a most unpleasant burning sensation in the throat. You purposely subject yourself to this negative experience in exchange for the alcohol's intoxicating effects? Fascinating."

"It's an acquired taste." McCoy drained the last of his own beverage and gestured for another. "So, what did you want to talk about?"

A part of him wondered if Spock was here to gloat about "winning" by getting to Kirk first, but it wouldn't really be like him to do that kind of thing directly. He'd probably just imply it with his general superior attitude.

"You said something that bothered the captain last night," Spock began. "He did not see fit to repeat your exact words to me, but he was evidently shaken."

"Yeah, yeah, sorry," McCoy grumbled. "I went too far, I know."

"I am not the one to whom you should apologize. That ritual holds meaning only to humans." Spock took another sip of his drink with no reaction this time. Maybe he was already acquiring the taste for it.

"I'll talk to him," McCoy agreed, reaching for his own newly replenished glass.

"Would I be correct in hypothesizing that at the root of this conflict lie your own feelings of attraction toward the captain?"

McCoy choked and nearly spat a mouthful of scotch all over the bar. He could have sworn he caught a hint of amusement in Spock's face as the Vulcan silently observed him struggling to swallow properly and breathe again.

Well, there was no use trying to lie about it after that. "I guess I made it pretty obvious, huh?"

"I thought so, although he failed to notice until I suggested it."

McCoy scoffed. "How is it you're better at recognizing emotion than he is?"

"An objective outside viewpoint, perhaps."

Spock was starting to look pretty casual about taking swigs from that glass of his. Who would have guessed he'd adapt to a human custom so quickly?

"Well, don't worry, I'm not trying to steal him from you. I didn't know about you two, that's all. I was . . . caught off guard."

"You cannot steal a person."

"The hell do you mean you can't steal a person?" McCoy argued. "Ever heard of kidnapping?"

"Figuratively, doctor, in the same way you employed the term yourself. You cannot steal a person's affections. Jim is in possession of his own free will."

"Okay, but you knew what I meant. I'm not trying to . . . influence him differently."

"And I suspect you knew exactly what I meant as well. Which is that I am in no way threatened by your recent emotional display."

"Good, because I'm not trying to pose a threat. Or display any particular emotions, for that matter."

"You display them whether you try to or not."

"Well, not all of us were trained from infancy to be cold, unfeeling logic machines."

"A shame. A lot more might get done around the ship if you were." Spock shot McCoy a sardonic look and drained the last of his drink. "I trust you'll convey your apologies to the captain within a reasonable time frame."

"Yeah, yeah, I already told you I would." McCoy waved him off.

Spock stood up, and then reached out a hand to grip the bar tightly, as an expression of surprise crossed his face. "Doctor, I find myself a bit light-headed. Strange—all of the research on the subject has found that the amount of alcohol consumed socially by humans has little to no effect on the Vulcan metabolism."

McCoy let out a guffaw of laughter at the sight. "Well, you're half-human, and you just knocked back a double scotch. So if my math is correct, I guess that works out to one normal scotch. Which is still a lot if you're not used to it. Come on, let's get you back to your room."

He gently placed a hand between Spock's shoulderblades and guided him out of the bar, in the direction of the room assigned to the captain. Face flushed—which looked really weird, what with the green blood—Spock talked McCoy's ear off about some study he'd read comparing Vulcan and human liver function until they got there.

Kirk was mercifully fully dressed this time when he answered the door. Spock brushed past him with an announcement that it would probably be "beneficial" for him to lie down, leaving Kirk and McCoy alone on the threshold in an uncomfortable mirror of the previous night.

"What's going on here?" Kirk asked with a bemused smile.

"Hi, Jim. Sorry I got your boyfriend tipsy. Or you're welcome, I guess, depending on how you feel about it." McCoy cast his gaze down to the carpeted floor of the hallway. "And sorry about what I said last night too. About you and him. I didn't mean it."

"I know. I'm sorry too, Bones. I approached it all wrong—I didn't know how you felt. If I knew earlier, I—"

"Look, just forget about it, Jim." McCoy hastily cut him off, desperate to avoid any further embarrassment by making the conversation as quick and efficient as he could. "Sure, I like you—you're handsome and charming. I figured it might be worth a shot, I was too late, you're with someone else now. It happens. I got a little jealous. I'll get over it."

Kirk nodded solemnly. "I won't mention it again if you don't want me to."

"Go take care of your boyfriend. He's having the deeply human experience of discovering he can't hold his liquor as well as he thought he could."

Kirk chuckled. "Brings back memories, doesn't it?"

"Sure as hell does."

Chapter Text

McCoy had worried, after Starbase 5, that things would be different now—that despite Kirk's promise never to mention the awkward interlude again, it would affect their friendship and working relationship. It was a relief that it didn't, and that everything seemed to easily return to business as usual on the Enterprise.

Even when he accompanied the captain and first officer on away missions, he didn't feel nearly as much like a third wheel as he had thought he might. Thankfully, Kirk and Spock were evidently professional enough that their little romance didn't distract them from their work. If McCoy hadn't known about it, he wouldn't have noticed any difference in the way they interacted while on-duty. Since he did know about it, he did occasionally catch them looking at each other with a little more affection than most members of Starfleet showed for their crewmates, but it was subtle enough that he doubted anyone else could tell. After a little while, it wasn't too hard to ignore.

McCoy even found that Spock seemed a little more tolerable these days. He didn't have the urge to seize him by the shoulders and shake the logic out of him nearly as often as he used to. Maybe the brief time they spent together on shore leave had given McCoy a glimpse at another side of him that made it a little easier to sympathize with him and understand his point of view. Or maybe getting some action on a regular basis was all the Vulcan had needed all along to mellow him out a little bit and stop him spending so much goddamn time complaining.

But the day the Enterprise was being pulled in by the energy surrounding a giant amoeba-like creature in the Gamma Seven-A system was the day McCoy remembered what he found so infuriating about that stubborn, small-minded son of a bitch.

McCoy was in the chemistry lab, trying to gather the tools he'd need to take with him on the shuttlecraft to learn as much as possible about the life form out there that was killing the ship. He had to be the one to go—he'd done the preliminary work and had the biological expertise necessary to find a way to stop that thing. If anyone could save the crew of the Enterprise, it was him.

And yet Spock insisted on accompanying him to the lab, getting in his way, and acting like he was the one the captain would choose for the mission.

"Can you make yourself useful and hand me that enzyme recorder over there?" McCoy snapped as Spock ransacked the cabinet drawers and generally made a nuisance of himself. "I'll need it to take wavelength readings."

"You mean I will need it to take wavelength readings, doctor," Spock insisted, refusing to stop whatever he was doing.

"You can't still be serious about that!" McCoy brushed past him and grabbed the tool himself. "You're not going! How can you possibly imagine that Jim is going to send you of all people out there on your own?"

"I have the requisite scientific knowledge, doctor, as well as greater physical resilience."

"Even with everything there is between the two of you, you still have next to no understanding of Jim's feelings, do you? He's not going to risk your life, Spock, not when there's a choice. How would you expect him to carry on without you, knowing it was his order that led to your death?"

"Surely your loss would be just as difficult for him, both on an emotional level and in terms of the functioning of the ship." Spock slammed a cabinet drawer shut and tried to step past McCoy, but McCoy stopped him with a hand against his shoulder.

"That's completely different and you know it. As infuriating as it is, you're not just the best first officer in the whole damn fleet, you're also his boyfriend—"

Spock folded his arms. "Hardly the word I would use, but your language lacks a direct translation of the more appropriate Vulcan term."

"Can we not argue semantics just now? You know what I mean. You're his romantic partner, and I'm just . . . I'm just . . ." McCoy's hand dropped to his side as he trailed off, unsure what to say.

"You are one of his closest friends and most trusted advisors," Spock stated. "I fail to see how that relationship is in any way inferior. It is deeply important to him, and just as essential to both his personal happiness and his effective command of this vessel as the connection that he and I share. It is simply different in nature, as no two relationships can ever be exactly alike."

McCoy stared in disbelief, wondering if hell had frozen over to make a Vulcan say something that almost sounded like a compliment.

"Jim said that to you?" he asked. "That I'm . . . essential?"

"He does not need to say it. It is readily evident."

McCoy shook off his amazement. He couldn't let this distract him from the issue at hand. "But you understand the major difference here, right? If he has to choose one of us to keep safe, well . . . you're the one that he loves. Or is that word completely meaningless to a Vulcan?"

"I understand the human concept of 'love' to encompass a wide range of relationships. A very broad term that could also be applied in both cases." Spock's angular eyebrows knitted together, like he really had to put serious thought into grasping the basic idea McCoy was trying to convey. "Is it the physically intimate nature of my relationship with the captain to which you ascribe such particular significance?"

"Yes! Obviously that's significant!" McCoy threw his hands up in frustration.

"Then let me see if I follow your logic. You believe my life is of more value to the captain than yours. Your reasoning is that my relationship to him is more important, in part because of its sexual component. Therefore, if you were to return to the captain's quarters at this very moment and immediately engage in intercourse with him, that act would bestow upon you greater worthiness to live?"

"Well, when you put it that way, it just sounds silly."

Spock wordlessly raised an eyebrow, and McCoy sighed in defeat.

"Like that'd ever happen anyway," he grumbled. "He already made his choice on that front."

"As usual, doctor, you are operating based on several flawed assumptions."

"Now what's that supposed to mean?"

Before Spock could answer, the captain's voice came through the intercom, with an order for the two of them to report to his quarters. Their gazes lingered on each other for a moment before they turned and headed for the door.

McCoy was shocked to the point that Kirk had to repeat himself when he assigned Spock to the shuttlecraft, with the calm and restrained statement that he was the best qualified to go. But maybe he shouldn't have been all that surprised, he reflected as he accompanied the Vulcan to the hangar deck. Not knowing what he knew about the two of them and their relationship.

For better or for worse, they had learned from each other. The captain had chosen logic over emotion.

He was shocked again by the sadness that he felt on the bridge when it seemed like the shuttlecraft would be lost. The regret that he hadn't been able to bring himself to say "good luck" until Spock was out of earshot, as if it would have made any difference. He hadn't known he had cared so much.

But luck was with them all that day in the end, and soon Spock was back aboard and in sick bay, McCoy examining him as thoroughly as he could to be sure there were no nasty side effects to close exposure to that huge space amoeba.

"How is he?" Kirk asked as he entered the room at a brisk pace that almost turned into a run for his last few steps to Spock's bedside.

"Alive, conscious, and perfectly capable of answering questions myself," Spock responded, his voice a bit weaker than usual in contrast to his insistence on downplaying the situation.

"I won't be letting him out of here just yet, but as you can see, he's at least well enough to be as irritating as usual," McCoy added.

"Well. Good." Kirk straightened his posture and regained the usual authoritative tone he had on the bridge. "Keep me apprised of any changes in his condition, doctor."

McCoy scoffed at the attempted formality. "You can kiss him, Jim, I won't be scandalized."

Kirk let out a soft sigh of relief and gripped the light blue fabric of Spock's medical jumpsuit as he bent down. McCoy blushed and turned away before their lips met, but he could still hear it, so not looking didn't really do much for his embarrassment. He had expected a quick peck on the lips, not for them to really go at it like this. Were they slipping each other some tongue in his sick bay? He loudly cleared his throat.

Kirk stood back up with a nervous chuckle. "Sorry, Bones. Got a little carried away."

"You'd think dating a Vulcan would teach you how to control your emotions a little better than that," McCoy quipped, his face still feeling uncomfortably hot even now that they'd stopped.

"Perhaps you should kiss the doctor as well," Spock had the nerve to say as if it was a completely normal and neutral suggestion. "From what I've recently learned about human psychology, I understand it would improve his self-esteem and make him less likely to throw himself into danger at the next opportunity."

McCoy gasped. "Why, you pointy-eared devil—"

Kirk had a wide grin on his face as he cut him off. "Bones, you performed admirably today. You volunteered yourself for what could have been a suicide mission to save the rest of the crew, and put all your skills to work supporting that mission even when you were disappointed not to be assigned to it. It's thanks to your efforts that Spock and the rest of us are safe. I can't say I entirely understand what he's talking about, but I think I would quite like to kiss you for that if you don't mind."

"You're actually serious about that, aren't you?" McCoy studied his friend's face and saw only earnestness in his warm brown eyes. "Sure. What the hell. Might as well lay one on me, if your boyfriend wants to see it so much."

Kirk placed his hands on McCoy's shoulders and leaned in. McCoy closed his eyes.

What faded and fuzzy memories he had of kissing in the academy dorms all those years ago featured mostly clumsiness and uncertainty, but this couldn't have been more different. Jim's touch was firm and deliberate, and each slight movement of his lips seemed almost calculated to send shivers down the spine. Figuring he might as well get as good as what he'd been forced to witness, McCoy wrapped one arm around the captain's waist and pulled him closer.

With his other hand, he fumbled in his pocket for the remote control that would let him lock the sick bay doors. He didn't want to think about the awkward conversation he'd have to have if Nurse Chapel walked in on this—that is, if she didn't immediately get a nosebleed and pass out, in which case maybe he could try to convince her it had been a hallucination.

The only problem with this otherwise lovely experience was that it was starting to get him hard—something Jim would probably be able to feel against his thigh in a minute. He wasn't sure they were at that level of comfort yet.

He drew back out of necessity, then looked over the captain's shoulder to see Spock with an unbearably smug expression on his face.

"No need for you to look so pleased with yourself," McCoy told him.

"On the contrary, doctor, I believe I have many reasons to be satisfied with a job well done."

McCoy turned back to Kirk, who was still standing distractingly close to him, and jerked a thumb in Spock's direction. "He needs to get a lot of rest and stay hydrated, by the way, so no hanky-panky between the two of you until I give him the go-ahead."

"Not a problem, doctor," Spock chimed in. "I am rather tired, and as such, quite content to simply watch."

Kirk's cheeks flushed slightly, but the salacious smile didn't leave his face.

"Oh, for the love of—" McCoy glanced back and forth between Kirk and Spock in disbelief. "Are you seriously telling me the first thing you want to do after surviving a near-death experience is watch me fuck your boyfriend? In my place of work?"

"I believe I expressed to you earlier that 'boyfriend' is not the verbiage I would employ."

McCoy rolled his eyes.

"But that aside," Spock continued, "yes, if you'd like. Your place of work does appear to be the most convenient location under our present circumstances."

"Bones, you can always say no, of course," Kirk added, lifting a hand to McCoy's shoulder again. "But, well, he and I have been talking about it a bit, and if you want to . . ."

"The two of you talk about me?" McCoy asked.

"Only good things, Bones."

Jim's voice was soft and inviting, and temptation was quickly beginning to win out over any slight discomfort with the strangeness of the situation.

"Oh, hell, Jim." McCoy reached up to caress the captain's face. "You know I want you."

They kissed more roughly this time, nibbling each other's lips and tugging at each other's clothes. McCoy let himself be backed up against the wall, Jim's mouth hot against his neck, strong hands sliding steadily toward the waistband of his pants. It had been so long since anyone had touched him like this that he started to worry he was getting too excited about it too quickly—that he'd barely last long enough to really enjoy it properly.

He almost felt like he could come already just at the enticing sight of his captain getting down onto his knees.

He took a few deep breaths, and looked over at his peculiar patient in the sick bed instead. That would calm him down a bit—nothing hot about that aggravating alien. Well, maybe some people might see something exotically handsome about him in a certain light, but at least he wasn't doing anything at all attractive. He was just sitting there calmly with his hands folded in his lap, eyes fixed on the scene in front of him with the same expression of intent focus he got when he was looking into his scanner on the bridge. What kind of weird non-reaction was that to watching his lover wrap his lips around another man's cock?

Okay, the more McCoy looked at him, the more there somehow was something hot about the completely casual nature of his observation. It wasn't helping him hold back at all—and neither was the way Kirk took him deep into his throat like he'd been born without a gag reflex.

"Fuck!" McCoy cried out, approaching the brink in spite of himself. "Jesus Christ, Jim, when'd you get so good at this?"

"I believe he was instructed in the art upon his first visit to Argelius II," Spock responded.

"I didn't ask you."

"You expected the man whose mouth was otherwise occupied to answer?"

"Now don't you dare ruin this incredible blowjob by telling me I'm being illogical."

Spock raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. McCoy tossed his head back, eyes shut tight, mouth hanging open as he panted for air.

"Jim, I'm—oh, fuck—"

His words gave way to a groan, his legs trembling so that he had to brace himself against the wall to keep from falling.

Kirk swallowed like it was nothing, and looked up with a glint in his eye before wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. McCoy wanted to burn that image into his memory forever.

The next thing Kirk did after he hopped to his feet was stride over to the bedside and kiss Spock full on the mouth again, which McCoy couldn't imagine was particularly pleasant for the Vulcan, considering what he must have been able to taste. Then again, who knew? These two were total freaks.

"Hey!" McCoy interrupted them as he pulled his pants back up. "What did I say about letting my patient rest?"

Kirk laughed and turned back to McCoy with his hands in the air. "Alright, I'm not touching him."

"You'd better not. Let me take care of you."

"What if I just sit next to him?"

"I'll allow it. Take your pants off first, let me see what we're working with here."

Kirk complied and then perched on the edge of the bed, his back to his reclining partner's side. McCoy's hands were still a little shaky as he knelt down and tentatively took the tip of his captain's thick cock into his mouth. He knew he didn't have the skill and experience necessary to take it too deep, but he hoped he could make up for that by getting his hands more involved, stroking the shaft while he licked the head, maybe seeing if Jim liked a bit of gentle pressure on his balls. Hearing a soft moan in response to that last experiment gave him more confidence to keep going.

He looked up at Jim to see that Spock had put an arm around him, and Jim was holding his hand against his chest as if he wanted Spock to be able to feel his heartbeat. McCoy was halfway to formulating a joking comment about how he had ordered them not to touch each other, when something in Spock's eyes made him reconsider interrupting the moment.

Of course Spock loved Jim. You could see it in the way he looked at him, even if you didn't know he'd just come back from risking his life for him. It was sickeningly adorable, really. Of course it would turn out this way for the two of them, always so devoted to each other despite their differences, always looking to each other for support. They'd always had something beautiful, long before it was physical, and that newer development didn't make McCoy's role in their lives any less important than it had always been either.

He was happy to be here with the both of them.

Jim came with a sharp gasp that turned into a satisfied sigh, and collapsed sideways against Spock's shoulder. McCoy couldn't swallow quite as effortlessly or elegantly as Jim had earlier, but he managed.

"Thank you, Bones, that was . . ." Jim interrupted himself with a yawn. ". . . that was lovely. I'm exhausted."

"You should be, after what you've been through today. My prescription is heading back to your quarters for a solid eight hours of sleep at the very least."

Jim yawned again. "Far be it for me to argue with expert medical advice. Goodnight, sweetheart." He gave Spock a tender kiss, and McCoy didn't look away this time.

"I'll take good care of him, Jim."

"I know. You always do." Jim fastened his pants and smoothed down his shirt. "Presentable?"

"You look like you've been through the wringer, but so do we all."

"Goodnight then, Bones." Jim kissed him too. "And get some rest yourself. That's an order."

"Doctor M'Benga is taking over in a couple hours."

"Good." The captain looked back over his shoulder, and McCoy had the sense that he and Spock communicated something without words in that moment of eye contact before he left the room.

Leaving McCoy alone with Spock, which was a little awkward.

"I did wish you luck," McCoy stammered after a few seconds of feeling like those stern dark eyes were boring right into him.

Spock's only response was a quizzical expression.

"When you left on the shuttle. I just said it too late. You didn't hear me."

"Ah. Then I appreciate the sentiment, doctor, however belated."

"You were right," McCoy added. "I wouldn't have survived. And I'm glad you did."

Did McCoy imagine it, or did the smallest hint of a smile flicker across Spock's face?

"You may find it helpful to remember this, next time you have any difficulty accepting a logical conclusion."

"Not a chance. I said you were right one time. You're still wrong plenty of other times," McCoy said with a smile. "And my prescription for sleep applies doubly for you, so don't let me catch you just meditating and claiming it has the same effect."

"It would be easier to sleep, doctor, if you would cease your chatter."

Spock closed his eyes and settled in against his pillows. McCoy watched over him as his breathing slowed, in tandem with the heart rate on the monitor above his bed.

He almost wanted to ruffle his hair or kiss his forehead or something, he looked so peaceful.

Now there was a feeling McCoy would have never thought he'd have in a million years.