A/N: Star Trek Beyond is AMAZING. The perfect balance of TOS and modern movies, of feels and humor, of action and thought - of everything, really. My only real complaint is that Carol wasn't in it, but it's totally awesome enough that I can overlook that.

Spock and Bones in this movie. Spock and Bones, man. Spock. And. Bones. Their scenes together are everything I have ever dreamed of, so of course I can't resist expanding on them, especially with Spock so obviously showing his emotions in that scene. I know he was a bit delirious from all that blood loss, but that can't completely explain away the fact that he both shed tears and laughed in front of Bones in the same scene. It warms my little human heart that he's so comfortable around his humans. And I just - "Lieutenant Uhura is in that compound." BE STILL MY BEATING SHIPPER HEART. (Bonus: "You gave your girlfriend a tracking device?" "...It was not my intention.")

And may I just say, this movie has the best use of "classical" music, and the one and only acceptable and perfect use of the f-bomb. Everyone else can just give up and go home.

I cannot wait for this movie to come out on digital and DVD so I may watch these scenes whenever I feel like it.

As you can probably tell, I haven't really had the chance to properly fangirl over this movie with someone, and I could go on and on... But, without further ado, here's the story!

Spock felt the warm tear slide down his cheek. He could hear the grief and confusion in his voice, and knew his downcast gaze showed his emotions. His Vulcan half, conditioned by a life of discrimination to suppress his human half at all costs, screamed at him to pull himself together. But his human half had grown more prominent in recent years, and it told him he was safe. His memories were conflicted on the matter, providing innumerable examples of bullying from both of his parents' species, but one memory in particular played through his mind.

Huddled in the security of the captain's private mess hall, Spock leaned his elbows on the table and lowered his head, closing his eyes. A glass of water sat in front of him, forgotten.

The doors slid open, but Spock didn't look up; his sensitive ears recognized the brisk but gentle footsteps. She said nothing for a few moments, walking to the replicator and ordering some food. The pleasing aroma of chocolate cake drifted to his nose, and a moment later she sat beside him. Only when she kissed the point of his ear did he react to her presence, leaning against her, taking comfort from her warmth.

"There's not a single person on this ship who would have you any other way, Spock," she promised.

Spock finally pried his eyes open, absorbing the love in Nyota's caring eyes. But all he said was "May I have some of your cake?"

Nyota leaned back, concern glittering in her eyes. "Spock, you know what chocolate does to Vulcans."

Spock dropped his gaze. "Never mind."

The doors opened again, admitting two newcomers. "Never mind what?" McCoy inquired.

"Bones, they're busy," Jim pointed out. "We can come back-"

"No," Nyota said. "You'll help make my case."

"What case?" McCoy asked.

"If this is another argument you're trying to drag me into-" Jim began.

"Spock wants chocolate," Nyota interrupted, her tone weighted by significance. For a moment, both men were silenced.

"Those damned Vulcans," McCoy burst out. "They think their damn diplomatic status gives them the right to come and say whatever the hell they want, and they think we're the arrogant species!"

Spock sighed silently, though he supposed the doctor had shown enough willpower by not doing this while they were still onboard. It always riled up his human crewmates when they witnessed the way other Vulcans treated the young hybrid.

"Just because your mother wasn't Vulcan, they think it's perfectly all right to treat you like a piece of garbage on their shoe," the doctor continued. "Humans may be the most irrational species in the universe, but I'd rather be that than a pretentious Vulcan any day. Who the hell do they think they are, just flinging around insults about your parents and your mixed blood? My bedside manner may be a bit lacking, but I don't go around making people feel bad about what they can't control. I especially don't target their loved ones. It's immoral in every sense of the word."

"You are being slightly hypocritical," Spock pointed out, unable to keep an edge out of his voice.

"I insult you because you annoy me, not because of your ancestry. Your ears and blood just happen to symbolize your incessant use of logic. Besides, I know you can take it and know I don't mean it. Much. Wait, you do know I don't mean it, right?"

"Of course-" Spock began, but McCoy kept talking.

"I don't give a damn about your ancestry, except when I'm trying to patch you up. You're Vulcan, you're human, whatever. You're a loyal friend, an outstanding first officer, and you've saved Jim's butt more times than even you can count. That's what counts in my book. Not the species of your parents. Not the fact that your mouth dared to twitch, or that your tone dared to show the tiniest bit of emotion, or that your eyes dared to look like your mother's, or any of that crap they seem to think is important."

"Those things are important, actually," Jim piped up, "just not in the way the Vulcans see them. They're important because they're part of who you are, and we wouldn't change that for the world. All your emotions tell us is that you care and aren't some heartless sociopath. If you ever do achieve kolinahr someday, fine. If you ever decide to completely stop suppressing your emotions, fine. If you're always mostly Vulcan with a little human coming through, fine. Whoever you want to be, we'll be right here to support you. Unless you decide to become a mass murderer, in which case we'll most likely interfere, because that's frowned upon by both humans and Vulcans."

Despite the surrounding situation, or maybe because of it, Spock couldn't help but smile. Maybe it was happiness at their words, or maybe amusement – he didn't truly know. Nor could he find the effort to care.

"My God, Jim, it's a miracle."

Nyota grinned happily, and leaned in for a long kiss.

"Oi, lovebirds, either get a room or breathe," Jim ordered.

A moment later, the doors opened yet again, this time admitting the rest of the senior crewmembers.

"Keptin! Zere you are," Ensign Chekov chirped.

"I brough' scotch," Mr. Scott announced, holding up two large bottles of the alcoholic beverage.

"The real stuff, not the synthehol those things make," Lieutenant Sulu added, gesturing at the replicators on the wall.

"There is a reason they do not create real alcohol," Spock pointed out.

"Laddie, we just suffered a week of a ship full of diplomats. I think we deserve a wee bit o' alcohol, don't ya think?"

"Right," McCoy readily agreed. "So, Uhura, if you could just give that cake to Spock…"

"I will not. If he wants chocolate, he can get his own, because I fully intend to enjoy every single crumb of this slice of cake."

"Spock, go get yourself chocolate," the doctor insisted.

"I no longer wish to become inebriated."

"Oh, come on. Jim, a little- never mind."

The captain was lost in conversation with Doctor Marcus, entirely oblivious to events around him.

The next few hours passed like minutes as the humans consumed their alcohol, happily including him in whatever discussions, games, or other activities they participated in, even if he declined the majority of their requests. He was content to watch Jim make a fool of himself in his efforts to impress Marcus.

"See?" Nyota murmured. "Those who mind don't matter, and those who matter don't mind."

So, as McCoy ended the serious and heartfelt discussion with a joke, Spock let the laugh come. For even here, on an unknown planet, with the fate of the crew largely unknown and an agonizing, potentially fatal wound in his side, he knew he could express as little or as much emotion as he wished, and there would be no real judgement. Besides, there was something to be said for witnessing McCoy's reaction.

"My God," McCoy exclaimed, his facial expression gradually morphing into one of extreme horror. "You're getting delirious."

Well, there was that excuse, too.