Notes: Another pairing change! For spones lover - your super secret guilty pairing...isn't. Enjoy! So: five times Spock and Bones' relationship came as a shock to someone, and one time it didn't.
Disclaimer: I do not own Star Trek 2009, and I make no profit from this work.
Dr. McCoy was in an alarmingly good mood.
As much as Christine liked her boss, she had to admit that he wasn't the most cheerful of people at the best of times - his tongue too sharp and his manner too gruff - so to have him wander into the Sickbay at the start of his shift whistling had been, to quote Mr. Spock, interesting.
But interesting had become downright alarmed when he dealt with four different engineers with electrical burns without one single jab at their intelligence, went through eight routine physicals with a cheery manner and a smile on his face, and didn't even roll his eyes when the infamous Ensign Lang appeared with her fifth broken bone in as many weeks.
She didn't dare to ask what had happened - mostly in case it provoked whatever alien parasite had taken him over.
When he let the nursing staff go for lunch early and took over the supplies check for them, Christine went straight to the captain.
"Hm," he said, frowning. "Well, you never know. He might be having a good day."
They stared at each other, then Jim snorted.
"Yeah, who am I kidding?" he muttered, almost to himself. "Well, just keep an eye on him for the moment. We've not docked anywhere, or picked up anything or anyone. It might just be Bones being...not Bones."
That did not help. In the slightest. Christine was forced to entertain the thought that Nyota was right - for all his good looks and charm, Jim Kirk was about as useful as a Klingon diplomat sometimes.
So when Commander Spock appeared in the doorway at 1500 hours, Christine had never been happier to see him. (And that was saying something.)
"Is Dr. McCoy present?" he asked. "Captain Kirk requested a...second opinion on his behaviour, and seemed to think that I would be of service."
Well, he would be. If the doctor passed up the opportunity to snap at Spock, then Christine would have enough sedative in him to drop a pissy Romulan in three seconds, maybe less.
"In the..." Christine began.
"Somethin' the matter, Christine?" McCoy called, and appeared in the doorway of his office, and stopped when he noticed Spock.
Then Christine nearly fainted.
Because he smiled.
He honest to God smiled. Oh, Leonard McCoy smiled fairly frequently - for all his gruff manner, he was a kind man and as prone to laughing with his friends and colleagues as any other. And he smiled for his patients - some of them - when what they needed was a kindly, reassuring doctor.
But at Spock? No - as far as Christine knew, he had never smiled at Spock a day in his life. McCoy took special pleasure in insulting the Commander; he thrived on it! And to see him smile - not smirk, not sneer, not grimace - but smile...
Then he spoke, and Christine stepped towards one of the biobed trays, reaching for the nearest sedative. Because:
"Well, what can I do for you, darlin'?"
Spock's eyebrow flew upwards, but his voice and posture did not change. "Captain Kirk is under the impression that you are behaving strangely."
"Well, maybe I am," McCoy drawled. "What's that to do with you?"
"Judging from the disruption to your routine last night, and your resultant improved emotional state this morning, then I am forced to conclude that I am, in fact, responsible for your strange behaviour," Spock replied calmly, causing Christine to sway and grip the biobed tightly. Good God, what was happening here? "While I am here, are the Sickbay supplies reports completed?"
"You'll get your goddamn reports when I'm good and ready," McCoy replied - but the tone was all wrong. It sounded like him, but...but the way he looked at Spock, and the lack of bite, and the relaxed posture against the frame of the door...
"May I suggest that you become 'good and ready' shortly?"
"Yeah, yeah," McCoy grumbled, still so half-heartedly. "1700 hours, at the latest. I nearly done 'em."
"Then I shall take my leave."
And with that, Spock was gone, and McCoy stared at the closing door with that strange half-smile...then caught Christine staring, and snorted.
"Don't you give me that look," he snapped. "He's still the most goddamn frustrating hobgoblin I've ever met."
He swung back into his office, leaving Christine leaning on the biobed, forgotten sedative in hand, staring at the door like a rabbit caught in the headlights.
She took a deep breath, and rearranged what she had previously thought of the animosity between Leonard and Mr. Spock.
Yeoman Rand stepped into recreation room four - and stopped dead in her tracks.
The recreation room was usually empty at this time of day - Beta Shift was in full swing, and the rest of Alpha Shift were usually in the mess, eating, or in their showers. It was too early for the recreation rooms to be in use, and she had thought to tidy up before the engineering crew resumed their vigorous table tennis championship in here.
She had not expected...
She had not expected them to be here, but...
Commander Spock and Dr. McCoy were stood - or, rather, leaning - against the outer hull, having clearly been looking out of the viewport at the stunning view of Hepscat II. Only they weren't looking any more - the Commander had his back to the window entirely, and somehow Janice doubted Dr. McCoy was paying any attention to the planet.
Well, they were kissing.
And if that wasn't shocking enough, they were kissing...comfortably.
It was a strange word to use, but that summed it up. Although the doctor had Commander Spock pressed quite firmly up against the hull, it was not the passionate groping of hormone-fuelled sexual release. Yeoman Rand had seen plenty of that type of kissing herself.
No, they were...relaxed.
Both of the doctor's hands were in that risky territory between Spock's pants and his shirt, toying with the hem almost lazily, and he was using his chest, not his arms, to keep the Vulcan in place. And every time his head moved with the slow motions of their kissing, the Commander's hands would shift and adjust their grip in the doctor's hair, and...
Janice became vaguely aware that she was blushing, and backed out of the rec room hastily, in case one of them - most likely Mr. Spock - opened his eyes.
She stood outside the rec room for a few minutes, fighting down the flush and the slight embarrassment at having caught two of her commanding officers in such a compromising position - then smiled.
Rummaging in the nearest storage room, she took a few moments out of her work shift to affix a 'closed for cleaning' sign on the door before going on her way. She would let this secret keep itself.
If it would put the ship's grumpy CMO - not to mention the Vulcan - in a better mood, then she was all for it.
T'Rama had not seen her half-human grandson since his completion of mandatory Vulcan schooling at the age of seventeen Terran years. She would admit to a certain amount of regret about the situation: her son was most illogical concerning the career path of his son, and T'Rama had not been surprised by the decision. Spock was not fully Vulcan; it was logical, therefore, that Vulcan should not exert the same amount of compulsion upon him to remain as it had his father or forefather.
Few Vulcans ever left Vulcan in the long-term, due to this biological compulsion to remain on their homeworld, but T'Rama had not been surprised when Spock had left, perhaps forever. And yet, she would admit to a small familial sense of loss: in the Terran vernacular of her daughter-in-law, she missed Spock. He had always been a particularly astute, logical child, and T'Rama had found satisfaction in assisting his growth and development.
When she had heard of Vulcan's destruction, from her conference on Deep Space Five, she had been most relieved to learn of the survival of not only her son, but her grandson as well.
It was further eight years before she saw him again, at the funeral of Horek, anothe of her grandsons. He had been injured in a shuttlecraft collision and subsequently died, and the clan had taken the opportunity to regroup and reconcile themselves with the stark fact that their reunions were so much smaller than they had been.
Spock's ship - she did not know the name - had been in the area and he had been granted leave. She had found it pleasant to speak with him again - even sharper than she remembered, and also improved. There had always been a sense of unease about her grandson, and an angry restlessness beneath his skin.
It was not purely human to feel concern over the wellbeing of one's offspring and descendants, and T'Rama had...worried, about him.
But over ten years since their last meeting, he had changed, and when they touched palms in the gesture of familial comfort and love upon their parting, a quick scan - brief and non-invasive, of course - revealed why.
He had found someone.
Oh, he did not bear the mark of the bonded - and she would not have had to touch him to know - but his psyche and his telepathic imprint had both shifted to bear the signs of...commitment to another. It was not a bonding - but it was also not a bonding yet.
It was only not purely human to seek assurance that certain individuals in the lives of one's children and grandchildren were...logical.
Yet T'Rama did not have the opportunity to ask - Spock turned away from her as the hum of a transporter beam sounded, and a middle-aged human male materialised some ten feet away, dressed in a blue Starfleet uniform and wearing a somewhat emotional expression.
"Hey," the man's accent was thick. "Thought I'd come down and see how things're goin'. You alright?"
"I am quite well," Spock's tone gave nothing away, perfected by years of hiding his somewhat lacking emotional control. "It was unnecessary to subject yourself to the transporter when you dislike it."
The man shrugged. "Yeah, well."
T'Rama glanced their way sharply, in time to see the man smile and extend one hand towards her grandson, all the fingers but the index and middle curled into the palm.
Spock met him halfway, and T'Rama realised that she was quite possibly seeing her future grandson-in-law for the first time - and he had no name, no House, and no occupation of which to begin an analysis.
"You sure you're alright?" the man asked in a low murmur, stepping closer and frowning at her grandson. "If you need more time..."
"I am well," Spock repeated, his fingers curling about the man's.
T'Rama recalled Skon, and his elegant hands, and the pale hands of her daughter-in-law at her son's Human wedding, and eyed the darker, rougher Human hand meeting that of her grandson. This, she had not foreseen - but then, Spock was half-human.
Perhaps, then, at least a part of it was...logical.
The comm sprang to light and life at roughly the same moment as the ship rocked from the first hit from the lurking Klingon warbird, and Scotty practically felt the adrenalin kick-start his own systems. Damn, but Delta Vega was nothing on this!
"Scotty, get us out of here!" Kirk yelled, his voice hoarse. "We need a medical team! We need a fucking medical team!"
"Understood, Cap'n," Scotty said, hitting the emergency button almost casually as his hands flew over the console. "Ensign, send an alert to clear the halls from here to Sickbay - ah, ye cannae be serious!"
The light came together and died to reveal Kirk and Lieutenant Giotto, crouched over the prone form of the Commander, and their hands and clothing liberally splattered with gleaming wet blood.
"Where the fuck is that - Bones!" Kirk yelled, eyes flashing up to meet McCoy's as the medical team crashed into the room.
"What happened?" McCoy was on the Commander in seconds, elbowing Kirk out of the way unceremoniously when it became apparent that Giotto was exerting the pressure on the - holy hell, that was a wound and a half. From the transporter station, Scotty could see the bloody, shredded mess that had been made of the Commander's chest, and felt his heart sink.
He mentally reviewed the state of his kilt, and wondered if it was appropriate to show one's knees at a funeral.
"I..." Kirk was fumbling, then made up his mind when the ship rocked again. "I need to get to the bridge. Bones, will he...?"
"Go," McCoy said grimly. "Nurse, relieve the lieutenant. I need pressure pads, and lots of 'em!"
Spock stirred as the lieutenant exchanged places with a blue-clad nurse, and his hazy gaze rolled up to meet McCoy's.
"Le..." he broke off with a wet cough and McCoy swore softly.
"Don't do that," he ordered, and glanced sharply at the Vulcan's face again. "You stay awake, you hear me? You're staying awake and aware until we get you into surgery, or I'm gonna stick you with so many hypos it'll make Jim think he has it easy."
One of Spock's hands came up, shaking, to grasp at the sleeve of McCoy's medical tunic, and the tremor in the fingers made Scotty bite his lip. He'd never spent much time with the Vulcan Commander, and now he regretted it. It would have been one hell of a thrill to engage warp core theory with a mind that sharp, but now...now it was undoubtedly too late.
"Hey," McCoy's voice softened as the nurses began to prep the stretcher. "You stay with me, alright? Stay with me, Spock. You can do it."
"I'll cut you a deal," McCoy was muttering, very fast and very low, but Scotty could still just about hear him. "You stay awake for me, all the way into surgery, and next time we get the chance, I'll pay special attention to those pointy ears of yours, just the way you like it, okay?"
Scotty physically felt his jaw sag - and saw a similar expression out of the corner of his eye on Ensign Bannerman's face - and yet the nurses carried on as though the doctor had said nothing whatsoever. But Scotty had heard him, had...
Well, he thought, as they finally transferred the bloody body of the Commander onto the stretcher. Apparently, living in the engine rooms left you out of the gossip loop.
Because if he'd missed that little development, what else had he missed?
...And did it mean that that lovely Miss Uhura was available?
Jim was just about ready to piss himself laughing. Oh, did Bones have all the luck.
They'd just signed one heckuva good deal with the J'Na'Kiy'ns (thank God for Uhura and her...skills, or Jim would've fouled that up just on the hello) and were enjoying the party - and Bones was glowering jealously at Spock every time the very attractive ambassador's daughter sidled up to him.
Man, the one time in about five years Jim had seen Bones get interested in a girl (barring the disaster that had been Cherry Maypeace at the Academy) and said girl was more interested in Spock than in the doctor.
This was going to end in another classic shouting match - and Jim loved watching those.
"So, Bones, from a medical perspective," he said, grinning a shit-eating grin around his glass of...whatever, "what would Vulcan-Jeenakiyans babies look like?"
"J'Na'Kiy'ns," Bones snapped (goddamnit) and added: "I wouldn't know or care."
"Well, throw in about a quarter of Human DNA too..." Jim speculated, the grin widening as Bones ground his teeth together.
"Shut it, Jim."
"Woo, she's brave," Jim whistled through his teeth as the ambassador's daughter stepped well within Spock's personal space. On some level, it was hilarious - she had to be a foot and a half shorter than him, and he was quite easily just staring over the top of her head at the middle-distance, more or less ignoring her. Man was made of freaking stone.
"Fuck this," Bones growled, throwing himself up out of his chair and stalking across the well-cut purple lawn towards them. Jim snickered and sat back, waiting for the inevitable verbal sparring - and spat out his drink in shock when Bones seized Spock's hand and locked their fingers together tightly.
Spock spared him a brief glance as the ambassador's daughter backed up a foot or so, clearly startled - and Jim spluttered through another mouthful of vile drink when his fingers, quite deliberately, returned Bones' tight grip.
He found himself staring, wide-eyed like a little kid getting the sex talk for the first time, as the woman slunk away and Spock turned fully towards Bones, expression unreadable.
And Bones kissed him.
Right there, in the middle of a diplomatic party and most of the command crew, he just leaned in and kissed him, smack on the mouth, without a care in the world.
And more than that, Spock let him.
Jim sat back and gawped.
So if they were fucking...then what in the hell was a lover's spat going to be like?
The thought dawned slowly, and then the shit-eating grin was back. Oh, he couldn't wait to find out.
The doctor had been nervous for approximately ten point four days, after his odd behaviour around and towards Spock had come to a head after a steady build-up of four point four months. Spock was vaguely impressed that the doctor had restrained himself thus far - and Spock really could not be sure that he had not been considering the idea prior to Spock noticing four point four months ago.
He had, for once, done an admirable job of keeping his emotions under control and almost out of sight.
But Spock had made careful note of how to read the doctor's body language, facial expressions and somewhat colourful speech and slang, and so for the last ten point four days, he had been patiently waiting. The doctor, once he had come to a decision, was not prone to delaying acting upon it.
On the eleventh day, he acted.
They had docked at Starbase Two to collect supplies and a new crewmember, and Spock had appeared in the Sickbay exactly one hour after the routine physical of the new lieutenant to collect the report to add to the new employee file. It was one of the more...tedious dutis of the First Officer, to add to such files, and one that even Spock had to admit he put off on occasion.
He found the doctor restocking one of the supply trays at the head of the fourth biobed into the bay, and received an irritable glance when he entered.
"Can't you leave it until the morning?"
"To do so would disrupt my work schedule."
"Can't be easy to disrupt a twenty-four hour schedule," the doctor grumbled, still fiddling with the gleaming instruments. "Do you ever take a break?"
"Don't answer that," the doctor grumbled, stalking into his office. He seemed to be in a particularly agitated mood, and Spock elected to remain where he was until the doctor returned with a padd and thrust into his hands, promptly returning to his fiddling with the instruments.
"Are you quite alright, Dr. McCoy?" Spock asked, scrolling quickly through the report and giving it a cursory once-over. It seemed to be complete.
"Edgy," came the sharp, unusually short response.
"May I ask the reason?"
"No, you may not," McCoy replied waspishly, then huffed a loud breath and rolled his eyes to the ceiling. "Goddamnit, I can't do this."
"Cannot do what?" Spock pressed.
The doctor eyed him; Spock could almost see his wariness, though what could be done about it, he didn't know.
"Alright, fine," the doctor threw up his hands. "I'll never get up the damn nerve any other way."
Before Spock could ask any further questions, McCoy stepped around the biobed, brought those rough, skilled hands up to clasp around the back of Spock's neck and lace the fingers at the base of his skull, and - kissed him.
It was both as Spock had imagined it would be, and not. The batter of emotions - all human and turbulent and somehow dangerous and alluring simultaneously - against his skin was expected; Dr. McCoy was an incredibly emotional man, after all. But he had given little thought to the physical sensation - the warmth of the doctor's skin, the gentle pressure and slow, almost coaxing motion of his lips, and the comforting weight of him as he pressed Spock back lightly into the edge of the biobed.
He placed the padd aside, carefully, and wrapped his arms around McCoy's back to keep him in place.
He could not say that he was remotely surprised by this turn of their...acquaintance...but it was still not quite as he had expected.