Title: A Comfort to Share
Author: klmeri
Fandom: Star Trek TOS
Characters: Kirk, Spock, McCoy
Summary: When Jim discovers an unusual arrangement between Spock and McCoy, he doesn’t know what to think… until McCoy explains.
A/N: On and off for the past couple of weeks, I have been considering “retirement” from fandom writing. Yet each time my mind is almost made up, some new idea comes along and I say to myself, “One more thing – let me write this one thing.” For instance, last night I woke up to a complete scene in my head, and I stayed awake for an hour or so, replaying the dialogue and drama. So here is just one more thing, set after the Vians incident. It’s a little OOC perhaps, and not intended to be slash. Enjoy!

The convenience of having a Vulcan in adjacent senior officers’ quarters is that Spock is liable to be awake when Jim wants to greet somebody in the morning. He doesn’t do this often, as he respects Spock’s penchant for solitude and personal quarters are after all a person’s private sanctuary, but there are times when Jim, upon awaking and before he starts his day as captain, likes the reminder that there is someone, a friend, close by. In all honesty, some nights his dreams get the better of him (and this latest experience with the Vians is quicker to trigger nightmares than most) and when those dreams finally release Jim into the waking world, he feels an almost physical ache of fear and sometimes of loneliness. Greeting Spock in the morning, even with just a simple passing hello in their shared bathroom, is enough to help him shake off a restless night.

It’s early (but not too early that Spock might be asleep) when Jim slips into the unlocked bathroom and taps lightly with a knuckle upon the entrance to Spock’s quarters. Normally there is a quick response, a familiar bid to enter, but this morning all is quiet. Jim, slightly disheartened by the accompanying silence and its implication, turns away, already forgetting how easily the door’s sensor can be triggered by movement (hence his slow, careful tapping from earlier).

Jim stands awkwardly at the now-open threshold for a moment, deciding what he wants to do. First he notes no movement or light in the room beyond the door or in the general living area past that, though there is a bundle of covers on Spock’s small bed, which is rather unusual since Spock uses more precise military corners when making his bed than Jim himself. Then he calls “Spock?” The lack of answer should cinch it for Jim and send him back to his own quarters except…

Except at the last second, those covers on Spock’s bed move. To be more precise, they flip back and reveal disheveled brown hair and a very familiar, sleepy face.

“Spock’s not here and, no, I don’t know where he went,” Leonard McCoy says without preamble, only to grunt in the same roughened voice, “Now could you keep it down, Jim? I was dead to the world.” The man retreats back into the covers with a mighty, aggravated sigh.

Jim realizes belatedly his mouth has dropped open (wide enough to catch not just one fly but a whole slew of them). He snaps it shut, brain suddenly firing on all cylinders again, and backs into the bathroom in haste. The door slides shut, and Jim, in his shock, about-faces without thought and retreats farther into the cool silence of his own room. It isn’t until much, much later when he can finally remember the event without a strange panic that Jim convinces himself of three things: 1) he isn’t delusional, 2) Bones had indeed been in Spock’s bed and had apparently slept there all night, and 3) James T. Kirk has missed something very significant going on between the Vulcan and the doctor, not just as a captain but as a friend to both.

Yet what that something is, Jim realizes as he observes the seemingly normal interaction between the two officers during the lunch hour, he hasn’t a clue.

A stardate has come and gone. Jim passes a hand over his face for the third time in a handful of minutes and thereby prompts a quiet, inquiring “Captain?” from his Vulcan First Officer. Said officer leaves his station to stand by the captain’s chair in order to grant them an illusion of privacy while he pries into Jim’s well-being.

Startled, Jim flicks a glance at Spock before quickly redirecting his eyes to a screen of floating starlight. He relaxes his muscles and answers the unspoken question, hoping he sounds as unconcerned as he looks. “I’m fine, Mr. Spock.”

The Vulcan doesn’t move, which means Jim’s answer is not sufficient, or convincing, in the least.

Kirk concedes, unconsciously tapping a finger on the arm of his chair, “I suppose I could have had more sleep.”

He has sense enough not to say my poor human brain is running in circles and tiring itself out because of you and Doctor McCoy. It’s bad enough that Jim knows he is going to have to confront them on that score soon. Despite that he might personally consider this thing, whatever it is, as none of his business (which doesn’t mean he doesn’t desperately want to know about it), a captain has to be aware of even the slightest thing which could impact his ship. In that regard, the matter cannot be ignored.

But even if it can’t be ignored, Jim still wants the explanation to be quick, painless, and something he can easily forget. Unfortunately, his common sense tells him that is almost never the case.

Spock’s voice pulls Jim from his thoughts in time to catch a rather mysterious reply: “An uninterrupted sleep pattern seems to be a rare occurence among humans.”

Jim thinks of McCoy in Spock’s bed, blushes like a school boy, and makes an excuse—possibly blurting out “I have to pee!” in a manner quite undignified for a starship captain—before darting to his ready room. The door closes, not swiftly enough to Jim’s liking. He leans against it, grateful for support, thinking, I have to handle this… but how?

The answer to Jim’s dilemma finds him.

Jim has just approved the last requisition his yeoman left on his desk, groaned, and moved to stretch his arms when the door to his quarters chimes. “Kirk here,” he says into the speaker, already reaching across the desktop to press a button to admit his guest.

“Captain,” a voice drawls from the other end.

Jim’s finger freezes just over the button.

“Don’t worry, Jim, I’m medical-instrument free,” McCoy adds, amused, as if he can sense from the corridor Jim’s sudden inability to move.

Annoyed at his own hesitancy, Jim stabs the button and slides out from behind his desk to face the door. “Bones,” he greets the man who steps into the living area of his quarters. Jim approaches him, brushing close enough to McCoy to drop a friendly hand to the doctor’s shoulder before continuing on to a tall storage cabinet that contains two prized bottles of liquor. “Good timing. I was about to call it a night.” He lifts a bottle, dark liquid sloshing on the inside, and holds it up in a silent question.

But Leonard shakes his head, declining the offer.

Sharing a drink is a ritual part of their friendship. If Bones isn’t here for that… Jim carefully replaces the bottle and shuts the cabinet door. He can’t help folding his arms as he turns around again, though his tone remains conversationally light. “What brings you by?”

Leonard looks at him and look he does, for a long moment as if weighing what he sees against what he knows. Then, of all things, the man shrugs. “I’m surprised you’ve kept quiet this long, sir. But humor an old man—why haven’t you called us out yet?”

Jim sucks in a sharp breath. Leave it to Bones to forgo beating around the proverbial bush. “Bones…”

“You won’t ignore it,” the doctor continues doggedly, “and I don’t think you’re the kind of person to make a man sweat over when the other shoe might drop.” McCoy goes to the chair pushed against a small table, drags it out, and sits down. “So let’s talk.”

Dropping his arms to his sides and only vaguely wishing this chat could be postponed, Jim seats himself in a chair opposite McCoy. McCoy’s silence is an invitation to say what’s on his mind. Unfortunately, the first thing that pops out of Jim’s mouth is nothing like the speech he had been rehearsing to himself for two days. It’s a question of surprise, from one friend to another: “How did I miss it?”

McCoy blinks in an uncanny imitation of an intrigued but give-nothing-away Spock. “Miss what?”

Jim groans, props his elbows on the table, and puts his face in his hands. “You’re going to make me say it, aren’t you?”

“Considering there are a number of things you could be missing, you’ll have to be more specific, Jim.”

Jim lifts his head up just far enough to glare at his friend. Then he wishes fervently he had made himself that nice, strong drink. “I’m talking about missing the… thing between you and—Spock.” At the lift of Leonard’s eyebrow (and damn, how did Jim not realize both Bones and Spock do that crazy-eyebrow thing, and it’s just another way the two are so alike), he clarifies poorly, “…you know…” and makes an awkward gesture with his hands.

Leonard’s facade cracks at last, not with horror but hilarity, and he bursts out laughing.

Jim sits back in his chair, surprised again, and watches the man go from tan to red to near hiccups.

“O-Oh, Jim,” the words are mangled by laughter, “J-Jim, you, we, seriously…?” It takes another minute before Jim’s friend can sober up enough to speak coherently. “Good Lord, you think Spock and I—? No, no, no!” McCoy insists, palms outward. Then he drops his hands to the table, pressing them flat, and grins. “I think it’s a good thing I didn’t tell Spock you caught me in his quarters. He’d have given himself a heart attack trying to explain things. Maybe the embarrassment alone would have killed ‘im.”

“Bones,” Jim begins, completely confused and somewhat miffed on Spock’s behalf at the joke, “this isn’t funny. If you and Spock aren’t… sharing quarters, then why are you sharing quarters?“

The laughter suddenly vanishes from McCoy’s face and, alarmed, Jim watches a shadow grow in its place. “That’s why I’m here,” the doctor tells his captain in a mild voice which belies the sudden seriousness of his eyes. “I think I have to be the one to explain, Jim, because… well, I’m the one who initiated it.”

“I don’t understand.”

Leonard sighs softly. A contemplative silence stretches for some seconds until the man speaks again. “I needed—no, that’s not the right place to start.” He meets Jim’s hazel eyes. “I don’t sleep well anymore; at least, not since our encounter with the Vians.” That McCoy can say their name without a waver in his voice shows how far he has come in healing.

A spark of anger flares inside Jim all the same. To this day, he isn’t certain how much of his anger is directed at the cold-hearted aliens, and how much of it is for himself. McCoy suffered, and in no time or place should that ever have happened, whether by choice or not. But Jim knows better than to bring that particular emotion into this discussion. He flounders momentarily then lowers his voice, asking, “What about—”

“The counseling sessions? Jim, you and I both know there’s only so much talking can do to help a man.” Leonard shakes his head slightly. “Time has to take care of the rest.”

“Time doesn’t always make a scar easier to bear,” Jim replies quietly.

The compassion in Leonard’s eyes is a balm for Jim; it always has been. Thankfully though the doctor lets that loaded gun behind Jim’s words lie. He only remarks, “I know that too, Jim,” before rubbing a hand against his mouth. “Fact is, I know a lot of things,” McCoy continues, reaching up to tap his own forehead with a finger for emphasis, “but knowing them and accepting them are worlds apart.”

“Where does Spock come into this?” Jim asks, thinking he sees where this conversation might be headed. “Did you ask him to… help you?”

But McCoy pales. “No,” he answers quickly then looks away. “I-It’s simpler than that, actually. A couple of weeks ago, I had—one of my bad nights. I couldn’t sleep, and I didn’t want to be cooped up in my room. Nor could I go to Sickbay again.”

Leonard’s mouth quirks faintly at that statement and Jim can easily imagine why. As much as the CMO’s staff adores him, they won’t hesitate to tattle if their boss is working unscheduled shifts. It’s not always about the perks, being a personal friend to the captain of a starship. At least, not for McCoy, when Jim puts his authority to good—that is, meddling—use.

“Spock was about the only person I could think of who’d likely be awake at that ungodly hour. And,” the doctor finishes, “I mighta thought pestering him would do me some good.”

Jim chokes back a laugh, waiting for the rest of the story.

“I was right. He was awake, but God knows why but he let me in. I’m sure he could tell I was wound up.” McCoy hmms for a second. “You know, for a block-headed Vulcan, Spock’s pretty good at reading people. Don’t tell him I said this, but he’d make a decent psychiatrist—as long as his patients wanted a logical approach to therapy.”

They share a grin.

Jim’s chuckle dies as soon as McCoy’s face returns to a somber countenance.

“Spock refused to argue with me, for which I guess I have to give him credit. I was exhausted and emotionally unstable—don’t you dare repeat that to him, Jim, or so help me God… He just gave me The Look.”

“The one that makes you feel like a naughty child caught in the middle of a big lie?”

“That’s the one. So I caved. I told him I couldn’t sleep, and why, ‘n then I said being around somebody was better than being alone, or at least it generally helped.” Leonard’s face colors at his admission.

“Does it help?” Jim asks softly.

His friend nods.

Jim sags, feeling sorrow press him down into his chair. “Bones, I’m sorry. Why didn’t you tell me this?”

Leonard doesn’t answer him, however, saying instead, “But I haven’t gotten to the good part!”

Jim raises both eyebrows (since he can’t manage only one at a time) and allows the distraction.

“Spock, being a fussy Vulcan mother-hen, told me I had to sleep, that I was human and therefore vulnerable without proper rest—like I don’t know that! I’m a doctor, for God’s sake!—and if I wanted to take a nap on his bed, I could certainly do that.”

Jim opens his mouth then closes it.

“Well, contrary to what you’re probably thinking, I didn’t agree to the fool notion. I said I would sleep on the sofa, if he didn’t mind, because I wasn’t there to take his bed from him.”

Jim looks at his own short sofa, which wouldn’t comfortably fit a grown man, and winces.

“Granted, it was a little hot in his quarters and he likes that awful metallic-y incense but I’m Southern and I’ve smelled worse. So I actually laid down on his couch.” Leonard snorts half-heartedly. “Or I tried to, anyway. Next thing I knew, Spock was waking me up from another screaming fit. That was damned embarrassing, Jim, let me tell you! I was going to leave then because what was the point in my staying there if he had to shake me awake every other minute? Spock would’ve ended up as sleep-derived as me. By that point, I think I was so tired I was kind of crashing. I musta sounded like a drunk, because I said, to Spock of all people,” he looses a sigh before finishing, “‘Forget it. This isn’t going to work, Spock. Maybe if I was a five year-old you could tuck me into bed with you…’“

Jim puts a hand over his eyes and wills himself not to laugh. “Oh, Bones. You had to say that, didn’t you?”

“Actually,” McCoy explains, somewhat chagrined, “I assumed Spock would be all Vulcan about it, since my sleeping habits aren’t his problem and I’m just an inferior human who can’t master his own mind, and kick me out. Instead he agreed. It was kinda sweet.” Leonard smiles. Jim simply waits, watching as that smile falters and the man’s eyebrows slowly form a thunderous line. “Wait… why did he agree? Do you think that made sense to him? Heck, to a Vulcan, humans are five year-olds!”

“Bones…”

McCoy thumps his fist on the table. “Why, that arrogant—!”

“Bones!” Jim interjects sharply.

Leonard settles with an exaggerated hmph and a “shoulda known” then smiles faintly. “Well, there you have it, Jim: the tale of our sordid affair. Was it as dramatic as you had hoped?”

Jim folds his arms, as good at play-acting as Leonard is. “I have just one question for you, Doctor McCoy.”

The doctor straightens from his slouch, the purse of his mouth and flash of his eyes saying challenge accepted.

Jim leans forward, eyes narrowed, and after a pause asks, “Exactly how did both of you fit on a standard-issue bed?”

McCoy flushes. “Awkwardly” is his only reply.

This time Jim is the one laughing.

They finally share that drink and afterwards, Leonard rises to leave, suddenly skittish. Jim makes a snap decision in that moment and blocks McCoy’s beeline for the door.

“Bones.”

“‘Night, Jim,” the man says, giving him a distracted half-smile.

Jim puts a hand on his arm, squeezing the muscle slightly to gain the doctor’s attention. “Bones,” he repeats more firmly.

Leonard frowns at him.

“Where are you staying tonight?” he asks his friend.

An unreadable expression flits across McCoy’s face. Jim watches the man make an effort to sound relaxed rather than defensive or, possibly, frightened. “I don’t go to Spock’s unless… not all the time. I don’t want him to think I’m his responsibility just because…”

“Good,” Jim says like the sentence had actually been finished instead of left hanging painfully wide-open. “I might not be as mentally soothing as Spock, and my brother always complained that I was a kicker when we bunked together, but I do have a bed and… I don’t mind,” he ends, which sounds more than a little lame to his own ears.

“I can’t!” Leonard gasps, shocked and slightly appalled. “You’re the captain!”

That pricks at Jim in a way which hurts deeply.

“Sorry, Jim,” his friend immediately apologizes, covering Jim’s hand with his own, “I didn’t mean it that way.”

Jim is no fool; he knows he can use McCoy’s regret to his advantage. “Then you’ll stay?”

“Jim…”

“If you say no, I will have to assume you’re playing favorites.”

Which is exactly the right thing to say. The doctor’s eyes roll heavenward. “As if I’d like one of you better than the other! You’re both give me heartburn.”

“Great!” Jim releases McCoy and heads for the section of his quarters that functions as a bedroom. “I know I have an extra set of covers…”

Leonard shoots him a look over his shoulder and, after a moment of muttering under his breath, moves toward the bathroom rather than the exit to the corridor. One small step for man… Jim thinks proudly to himself and digs through a storage drawer built into the frame of his bed.

Jim has just thrown an extra sheet across his bed and is contemplating its very small dimensions (exactly how did Spock and Leonard share one of these? cuddling? …now that would be blackmail-worthy material) when Leonard returns from the bathroom clutching a pillow.

“It’s mine,” the doctor says defensively in response to Jim’s questioning look. He tosses the pillow into the corner of the bed and wall. “There’s one thing you learn fast when sleeping with a Vulcan—don’t ever expect ‘im to share his pillow.”

Jim almost asks for details, almost, but thinks better of it.

Later, after they have settled next to each other (and there is definitely some manly cuddling going on, which both of them valiantly ignore) and the lights are out, Jim tucks his forehead against the back of McCoy’s neck.

“Jim,” his friend says softly in the dark, “if the nightmare…”

“I’ll wake you,” Jim promises, only adding more quietly before he can lose his nerve, “if you will do the same for me.”

With Leonard McCoy, there is no need to explain or to be made to feel lesser by such a confession. They relax. Some time later, Jim murmurs drowsily, “Bones?”

A soft huff of a laugh. “Hush, Jim. This isn’t a slumber party.”

“Just wanted to say… I’m glad.”

Silence. Then, “Why’s that?”

“If Gem hadn’t…” His throat swells with words that hurt too badly to voice.

A hand finds his, gives it a squeeze. Jim is comforted by the warm metal of the ring on Leonard’s smallest finger against his knuckles.

“It’s all right, Jim,” Bones whispers back to him. “We made it through. We made it.”

They don’t speak again, not until morning.

Jim enters the bedroom, a towel draped across his shoulders, and neatly ducks to the side as Leonard, bleary-eyed and grumbling, grunts a good morning and commandeers the captain’s bathroom. Jim is already dressed and in the corridor long before Leonard shows any sign of emerging from his apparently relocated hibernation into the sonic shower. Smiling to himself as he heads toward a turbolift, Jim recalls that neither of them had dreams haunting them in the middle of the night. For once, he feels like he actually slept instead of spent a night indulging in the continuous pursuit for sleep.

There is someone waiting for Jim at the entrance to the turbolift.

“Hello, Spock,” Jim says, moving to one side to make room for his First Officer in the lift.

“Captain,” Spock replies, locking his hands behind his back in his customary pose. They face the door.

After about a nanosecond Jim begins to wonder if he should mention Bones. Luckily, Spock has always had a sixth sense (not to mention an ability to read minds) when it involves matters Jim wants to discuss, however awkward they might be.

“I assume you and Doctor McCoy have reached a mutually beneficial arrangement.”

While McCoy is not one to beat around the bush, Spock is definitely the person to glide around it in circles.

Jim answers mildly, “From what I’ve heard, the arrangement isn’t uncommon at all.”

The silence in the turbolift is deafening. Jim bites down on the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing. Eventually curiosity gets the best of him as they exit the lift. He asks, “How did you know?”

“There is a matter of a missing pillow.”

Jim chuckles. “So it wasn’t his singing in the shower that gave it away?”

“There is little difference between his singing and yours, Captain. You are both, I believe the apt term is, tone-deaf.”

“I can sing!”

“As you say.”

They walk into the cafeteria side-by-side. Spock waits patiently for Jim to retrieve a cup of coffee.

Jim smiles at his First Officer and friend over the rim of his cup. “Thank you,” he says, meaning that to encompass many things but mostly to express his gratitude on Bones’ behalf.

The Vulcan nods slightly in acknowledgement and identifies himself to the replicator so it can retrieve his meal card information.

Jim waits until Spock has placed an order before he leans in and catches the Vulcan’s attention. Partly serious, partly amused, he wants to know, “Tell me truthfully, Spock, because I need to be certain in order to feel easy about keeping this between us: does McCoy’s visits truly not bother you?”

Jim can almost see the moment Spock changes his automatic “Negative” to a more honest “There is some discomfort but that is inconsequential when compared to the result.”

Spock means his words, Jim can tell, and Jim smiles.

“However…” Spock continues, with a touch of his dry humor, “I had a sehlat as a bedmate when I was young. The sehlat, with its six-inch fangs, was a kinder face by which to be greeted in the morning than the doctor.”

None of the ensigns grouped about the replicators understand why their Captain is laughing so hard coffee sloshes onto his uniform but they smile, glad to see his mood has vastly improved. Then, as they are elbowing each other and no doubt speculating about what Mr. Spock said, the Vulcan shoots them A Look (not The Look but akin to it) over their Captain’s head and quite wisely they scatter.

-Fini

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