Title: If I Had to Keep You (2/2)
Author: klmeri
Fandom: Star Trek AOS, Into Darkness
Rating: PG-13
Characters: Kirk, McCoy
Word Count: 10,610, this part
Summary: Leonard is not enthusiastic about his new roommate. Jim, on the other hand, is ecstatic. Or maybe manic, which is more than slightly disturbing to Leonard. That, along with a little PTSD, concerned friends, late-night confessions and an unusual pet put McCoy and Kirk on the road to recovery in the aftermath of Marcus and Khan.
Previous Part: 1

Jim is himself again within a day or so. He comes and goes more regularly from the apartment since he’s returned to active duty, and the conversations between Kirk and McCoy are less one-sided and hostile.

Yet Leonard still suspects Jim is not spending his free time in a way that’s normal because the kid is home like clockwork and those less-hostile conversations say nothing of his day and generally revolve around Jim wondering if Dude has missed him while he was away. For every step forward in Jim’s world, he supposes, frustrated but resigned, there has to be two steps back.

Since Jim doesn’t seem unhappy, Leonard tries minding his own business as best he can. Well, for as long as he can stand it. That leads to planning about the Klingon-business.

Nonetheless, the talk with Spock is not something which happens right away, no matter how good Leonard’s intentions are. He gets sidetracked from the task, first because of a minor crisis at work that requires him to pull three shifts in a row and then later through what he discovers are purposeful distractions created by none other than his much-too-precocious roommate. Unfortunately, this is something he figures out a week late in the midst of donning his favorite jacket in preparation to make a trip to the local convenience store.

Hearing Leonard, no doubt, Jim comes skidding out of the kitchen to beg him to have a movie night.

Frowning helps Leonard think. “It’s the weekend, and it’s the morning.”

“It’ll be a movie day!”

Leonard’s frown deepens. “I’ve never heard of that, Jim.”

Jim grins at him. “That’s because I just invented it!”

“You invent a lot of pointless things, kid. Sorry, I don’t have time right now.” He turns for the door, patting his pocket for his wallet. No wallet. Huh.

At Leonard’s back, Jim is saying, “Ah, c’mon! We can eat junk—I mean, healthy food! All the organic spinach and broccoli you want! I might even try some. Bones?” A hand grasps at the back of Leonard’s jacket. “Bones, hey, you really shouldn’t go out. What if you get stuck somewhere without your wallet?”

Leonard rounds on his roommate, disbelieving. “You took my wallet?”

And that’s when clarity strikes: in the form of a wide-eyed Jim.

“Maybe?”

“Jim!”

“Dude did it.”

“DUDE IS A FISH!”

Jim glances to the side. “He wanted me to do it.”

“My god,” Leonard says, completely horror-struck by what he is hearing, “there’s something wrong with you.”

Jim gives him a pathetic look. “It’s called missing my best friend.”

“Hah!” Leonard crowds in close and sticks a finger under Jim’s nose. “That is the most dishonest thing you’ve said all week! I can see right through you, Jim Kirk. Now give me back my damn wallet, or I’m going to knock you six ways to Sunday!”

“Tomorrow is Sunday.”

Grabbing two handfuls of Jim’s t-shirt, Leonard gives his roommate a none-too-gentle shake. “Jim!“

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Kirk’s hands fly up in surrender. “Easy on the clothes, man. You know this is my favorite shirt!”

Leonard lets him go with a slight shove and stalks off. When he returns, he has a ballpoint pen in his fist. He raises it and launches himself at Kirk. Jim dives out of the way with a “Bones! No! Stabbing, bad!“

Leonard hooks his would-be victim around the neck from behind and drags him backward. “Hold still!”

Instead said victim flails his limbs so much, Leonard has to fight hard to keep a hold of him. When the pen gets knocked out his hand and lands across the room, Leonard suffers a moment of indecision. Retrieve the pen, or keep Jim?

Jim, typically, takes advantage of that moment by head-butting him like a vengeful ram.

Stars explode in front of Leonard’s eyes. He doubles over, clutching at his face. “Motherfuuu—“

In the next moment Jim is bent over too, gasping equally hard for breath and bracing his hands against his knees. “You were going to stab me!” He sounds appalled.

“No, I—ow, fuck!—I was gonna write on your shirt, you idiot!”

“What?”

“Asshole,” Leonard snarl-whimpers through his pain. “I was gonna write ‘I am an asshole’ on your shirt!” He peels one of his hands from his face and inspects the blood on it. “Damn it, Jim, you broke my nose.”

Jim looks at Leonard’s hand, pales suddenly, and sits down on the floor with a thump.

Surprised, Leonard lets go of his nose and squats to Jim’s level. “What’s the matter? You look like you’re gonna throw up.”

“I might,” Jim agrees, and swallows. “Your—did I really break it?”

Using the back of his hand, Leonard tries to clean his bloody face. “It hurts, it’s fine. I’ll fix it,” he assures the man.

Jim lays a hand over his eyes with a murmur of “I’m sorry”. He says nothing else.

Leonard reaches for his friend’s shoulder but stops short, seeing his hand against the backdrop of the white t-shirt. He withdraws, unexpectedly ashamed that he had intended to mess with Jim’s shirt in the first place. Whatever had gotten into him, had sparked his fury, has fled him.

“Damn,” he mutters and stands up, thinking they might have reached a new level to their stupidity, the kind called dangerous.

On his way to the bathroom, he strips the oldest towel out of the linen closet for mopping up blood and finds his medkit. Under the harsh light over the sink, no amount of cleaning himself up makes the situation seem better: his nose still hurts like a wicked bitch; the mirror reflects back angry red skin and the beginnings of swelling; and Jim might be scarred for life. It’s his personal tricorder that saves the day by giving him better news than he expects.

Good news or not, though, still requires a trip to a doctor’s office. On his day off.

Leonard groans, sticks the tricorder back in its case, and washes his hands. The towel goes into the trash bin. He doesn’t bother to look in the mirror again. There isn’t anything worth seeing. To Leonard’s surprise, Jim is leaning against the wall outside the bathroom waiting for him, eyes restlessly roaming the hallway though the rest of Jim is perfectly motionless.

Jim takes one look at his face and says, “We’re going to the hospital.”

“It’s not broken, Jim.”

Jim’s jawline only grows more mulish.

“Fine, a hairline fracture,” Leonard admits. “But a few minutes with a bone regenerator, and my nose will be as good as new. It won’t take long. I’ll be back in a while.”

“I’m going with you.” Jim presents something to Leonard with an apology. “I’m really sorry, Bones.”

Leonard takes and tucks away his wallet without more than a glance at it. “Me too, Jim.” He shifts on his feet, uncomfortable. “C’mon, let’s go.”

Jim leads the way to the front door.

In the end, it’s not too much of a hassle after all. One of the nurses Leonard gets along with is on duty and she puts him in an empty exam cubicle. She agrees to use the regenerator on him after he tells her it’s a small bone fracture. Then the nurse asks, of course, what happened.

Hanging out by the far wall of the small area, Jim looks guilty enough for the both of them but Leonard just replies, “I walked into a door.”

The woman narrows her eyes at him as she positions the regenerator against the left side of his nose. “You know, we’re trained to be wary of that answer, and since I think in general you aren’t an absent-minded person…” She looks to Jim.

“Hey,” Leonard says sharply, pretty certain Jim is going to confess any second to something ridiculous if no one intervenes, “even a smart man can be an idiot once and a while!”

She smirks a little, distracted from Jim again. “I guess so—but for the record, whether you walked into a door, met a wall that didn’t like you or accidentally punched yourself in the face, try not to repeat the experience more than once. You’ll save yourself and the hospital staff a lot of paperwork and unnecessary questions.”

“Yes, ma’am,” agrees Leonard. From the corner of his eye, he watches Jim nod.

“All done,” the nurses announces cheerily a minute later, removing the regenerator and stepping back from the exam table Leonard has perched on. She holds out her hand, palm up. “That will be one favor owed, please.”

Leonard sighs and slips to his feet. “I don’t know why I like you, Lydia.”

Lydia turns to the other man in the room, ignoring him. “Aren’t you Jim Kirk?”

Jim, stupid as ever, answers her. “Uh, yes?” Watching Jim wince, Leonard thinks he looks like someone expecting to go under an interrogation.

“So that makes you Dr. McCoy’s roommate!”

Both men blink.

“Leonard complains about you all the time,” Lydia clarifies. “At least three times a shift.”

Slowly but surely, Jim’s face brightens. For a split second, Jim and Lydia look like twins and that causes Leonard to shudder.

“If Bones is doing the complaining, then I know I have been grossly misrepresented, Nurse. Would you like to hear my side of the story?”

“No!” Leonard says at the same time Lydia replies too happily, “Oh, yes!”

“I haven’t had breakfast,” Jim says, glowing with his preternatural charm. As if recognizing its cue, the man’s stomach rumbles loudly.

Lydia starts toward Kirk, seeming much too pleased. “The cafeteria serves excellent blueberry pie, and I’m due for a break.” As she loops her arm through Jim’s and lets her chivalrous companion open the door for them, she sneaks a glance at Leonard and mouths: “Consider this the favor, my friend.”

Certain he’s been duped, Leonard starts after them.

In the corridor, Lydia is asking Jim with blatant curiosity: “Do you really put Dude in a fishbowl and bring him to the supper table every night?”

“I have to. The poor guy is lonely,” Jim explains, somehow sounding much more reasonable and sane than Leonard makes him out to be. “He may be at the biggest, smartest, fastest fish in the tank but that means he doesn’t have any friends. So how could I not bring him along?”

“That’s rather sweet, Mr. Kirk.”

“Call me Jim, please.”

“All right, Jim.”

Leonard slows his pace to allow the pair to move farther along the corridor, keeping his gaze fixed on his roommate’s back. Jim says Dude doesn’t have any friends, and while Leonard wouldn’t disagree (because, seriously, Dude eats his friends), is that observation a reflection of how Jim feels about himself? That he’s lost the people closest to him… or no longer deserves them because of what could have happened? The very idea is ludicrous to Leonard.

But he knows he’s missing something vital. Jim is fixing things that don’t need to be fixed, finding companions in the most wayward of places, and otherwise living in a dull routine that would have, in early years, driven the man crazy.

PTSD makes itself known in so many ways (like his own nightmares) but this… this is not the same way Jim has been through it before. This is not Jim going off the deep-end or throwing himself out of a moving object or standing in the middle of field while a thousand missiles plummet toward him. This is not bar fights or one-night stands.

It’s a new kind of Jim, closed-off, reserved and taking a punch without punching back. Even flirting with Lydia as Jim is, Leonard sees a person he doesn’t really know.

Rubbing a hand against his breastbone doesn’t ease the fright forming behind it.

What does he do? Where can he go from here?

“Bones! You coming?”

Leonard’s eyes snap open, surprising him since he can’t remember closing them. He spies Jim and Lydia paused near the elevator, watching him in bemusement. “Sorry,” he tells them, catching up, “thought I saw someone I knew.”

Jim smiles at him, the contentedness in his face barely mirrored in his eyes, and holds open the elevator door.

“What kind of pie will you have?” Lydia asks Leonard conversationally once they are all settled inside.

“Anything,” he says just as Jim answers, “Pecan.”

“I don’t want pecan pie today.”

Jim is looking up at the digital display of the elevator, seemingly mesmerized by the countdown of floors. He gives a slight shrug. “Strange. I guess people change.”

No, strange is you, Leonard doesn’t say. What are you thinking about, Jim?

“We’re here,” Lydia announces, breaking the awkward silence, when the elevator dings. She steps off, followed closely by Jim and then by Leonard.

He knows if he asks the question he won’t receive an answer. It could be Jim doesn’t know the answer.

But one must be found. Leonard resolves to find it—and he knows where he has to start. Somehow unsurprised, he realizes that place is the very one he needed to go to all along.

~~~

Knowing where to start is not the same thing as knowing how. Then again, in a situation such as this, Leonard simply throws caution to the wind and forges on. That’s not to say the recipient of this tactic always appreciates his method.

“You’re staring,” Leonard says, staring back. “Stop that. Let me in.”

“I am accustomed to receiving notice of an impending arrival. You provided none.”

That’s an accusation if Leonard ever heard one. The doctor has to remind himself he is there to seek help; tossing out insults beforehand is not the wisest thing he could do.

As mild-mannered as he can sound, he explains, “I was invited.” When the staring doesn’t stop, Leonard makes a noise of exasperation. “By your girlfriend, Spock.”

“Nyota is not present. I do not know the precise time she will return. I will inform her that you attempted to visit,” Spock replies, polite but brusque. The Vulcan steps back so the door can slide closed.

“Now wait just a cotton-pickin’ minute!” Leonard positions his foot in front of the sensor. “Nyota mighta said I could come by but you’re the one I need to see!”

Spock looks down at the boot planted in his doorway, mouth thinning ever-so-slightly. “My home is not the proper place to discuss matters of business, Dr. McCoy.”

“Except for the little matter of ensured privacy,” Leonard all but hisses in return.

“You wish to hold a private conversation?”

“No, I’m gonna come in ‘n dance on my head! I just said I did.”

One of Spock’s eyebrows does its you make me peevish and this is the only way I can show it routine. “You said no such thing, Doctor.”

Leonard presses his mouth into a thin line, unhappy to have to force out the next word. “Please.”

Spock opens his mouth, only to close it again and scrutinize Leonard. After a moment or two Leonard is asked, “What does the matter concern?”

He plans to answer that question but not in the hallway where ears might be growing long. A neighbor farther along the way has already poked his head out of his apartment to see what’s going on. So Leonard says instead, “I’ll give you one guess.” When Spock continues to wordlessly consider him, Leonard resists a random urge to bounce on the balls of his feet and settles for wearing the usual expression he gets whenever he’s about to say guess what our idiot of a captain just did.

Slowly, in a tone almost suppressed, Spock remarks, “I… see.”

And he finally moves aside to allow Leonard entrance to his home.

Thank all that’s holy, they haven’t lost this one tiny ability of theirs, Leonard thinks. There’s no one else he can look at and have it understood without words Jim is the priority. He wishes he knew why that was so, because it’s not like they can communicate rationally about anything else. Hell, they don’t even particularly like being in the same room. (Department-head conferences used to be a real pain. Especially if Leonard got bored enough to nod off and Spock had the opportunity to point him out to the rest of the room as ‘an example of an officer with an attention deficiency.’ Maybe Leonard would have let that go if Scotty wasn’t usually drooling on his padd at the other end of the table. Damn Vulcan tattle-tell.) And no matter how Spock would protest to care about such things is not something a Vulcan does, Leonard knows it’s true. He sees it in the way Spock habitually ignores him outside of ship’s business.

Not that he does anything on his part to bridge the unfriendly gap between them. That would be… that would be plain weird. Why would he need or want a know-it-all like Spock for a friend?

He tucks those thoughts away. They won’t do him any good right now.

“Jim’s an idiot,” he begins in his gruff way. “And in case you haven’t heard, he’s an idiot I live with.”

“I am aware of your housing situation.”

Leonard puffs out a breath and crosses his arms. “Is Jim the one who told you?”

“No. We have had little-to-no contact in eleven weeks and four days.”

That gives Leonard pause. “Not since the hospital?”

“Negative, Doctor.”

“It’s worse than I thought, then,” he murmurs grimly. Leonard waves a hand at a nearby chair. “Mind if I sit?”

“I do not.”

Spock moves toward the couch opposite the chair but stands beside it, folding his hands behind his back. For a quick second, Leonard has a flash of a memory: Spock flanking the captain’s chair, listening as Leonard argued a case to Jim. Leonard had sort of resented the Vulcan for doing that, like he was subtly waiting for the moment to oppose anything Leonard said in order to turn Jim’s favor, and all because he could as the ship’s First Officer.

But that’s not the way Spock works, he realizes all of a sudden. A question pops out of him, unbidden: “Do you ever wonder why Jim calls on the both of us when he has to make a command decision but can’t make up his mind?”

Spock is frank, as always. “I know why he asks for me, Doctor: it is my duty to assist him in such decision-making. I present facts and provide risk-based calculations.”

“I meant why me, Spock. I think we both know a medical opinion isn’t always warranted.”

“Indeed. However, it is precisely your position aboard the ship which makes you the best candidate to report upon the ship’s readiness.”

“Readiness?”

“Its psychological status, Doctor. Mechanical status can be garnered from the ship’s computer, but the mental fortitude of the crew cannot be measured so empirically.”

“You sure about that? I’d think the Chief Communications Officer would be up-to-date on the crew. Uhura’s the one with her ear to the ground all the time.”

“I believe it was she who pointed out no one knows a man’s woes better than his doctor.”

Leonard almost smiles. “That’s certainly a part of the job a medical school doesn’t advertise.”

“Why have you asked this question?” the Vulcan wants to know, looking interested. “I doubt it is related to your motive for coming here.”

“It’s not, but I just wondered… does it bother you, that Jim looks to me sometimes?”

Oddly, no hesitation accompanies Spock’s “No.”

“Why?”

“You provide an opinion I cannot. That in itself makes the opinion valuable, Doctor. Also, if the captain requested only the facts and gave no credence to the status of his crew, I would question his ability to command.”

Leonard rubs a finger against his mouth. “Spock, sometimes I think you have a better grasp of interpersonal relationships than you let on.” Since Spock neither admits nor denies that, Leonard lets the opportunity pass. “About Jim,” he says, returning them to the most important subject. “He was up at Headquarters recently, and he’s come back with a notion that, frankly, terrifies me.”

Spock straightens minutely. “Explain.”

“Hold your horses. I’m getting there. What’ve you heard about the Klingons?”

“Not a great deal. Unfortunately, the security clearance of what I do know restricts me from discussing it with you.”

“As somebody who might know more than me, then, you’d be better informed to speculate what’s gonna happen—like say when Command turns Jim into a patsy.”

One moment Spock is too still, the next moment he is too close to towering over Leonard’s chair, his voice abrupt. “You are mistaken.”

Leonard tries not to feel intimidated by the severity of Spock’s tone. “I’m not the one who came up with the idea, remember? And we know how Jim’s hunches usually play out.” He waits for Spock to finish judging him with that inscrutable gaze before speaking more quietly. “Do you get now why I’m a little worried? We like to believe Starfleet is a fair and just body of governance, Spock, but it’s only as good as the people who run it—and I think we’ve had it proven,” he adds darkly, “not all of the brass operate on the same level of morality as everybody else.”

“Admiral Marcus was an exception.”

“Admiral Marcus might be a warning shot over the bow,” Leonard counters. “Do you really think he was the only one heading up Section 31? Spock, things like that don’t get done by one man. He had to have support in the right places, and that means there’s a least a handful of people in positions of power who think the way he did. Who want war with the Klingons.” He’s too agitated to stay in the chair but the unfamiliar space of Spock’s home leaves him nowhere to go. “Christ. If they try to pin it on Jim… resigning my commission is the least of what I’ll do.”

“These are not thoughts I advise you to speak of freely.”

Leonard cuts a sidelong glance at Spock. “I don’t hear you disagreeing.”

Something flickers through Spock’s eyes. “I cannot disagree, Doctor.”

Leonard rounds on Spock with “Then what do we do?” His words are less demanding than they are desperate. He almost adds How do we stop them? but stops himself, rephrasing the question in a way that means more to Spock. “How do we save Jim?”

“I do not know,” Spock tells him with clear reluctance.

Leonard closes his eyes. “You know, I failed Jim once already, Spock. I wasn’t there when he died, and there’s not a day that goes by that I don’t hate myself for it.” His eyes open, and he looks past Spock’s shoulder, thinking if Spock has a kind bone in his body, he won’t mention the hint of tears. “If it’s even possible to settle that kind of debt, then there’s no better place for me to start than by making sure his sacrifice for us isn’t forgotten or repaid with betrayal.”

Spock stiffens in a such way that Leonard instantly recognizes the Vulcan has thought of something which might help them.

Except Spock tells him, “You have solved your own problem, Dr. McCoy.”

“What?” Leonard can’t think of how.

“Perhaps,” Spock says in a tone so smooth it ought to belong to a politician, “we should thank Jim Kirk for his heroism.”

It’s possible Spock is suffering from memory loss. “Didn’t we already do that? Like, yay, you saved our ship from being squished like a bug, and damn it, Jim, why did you have to die in the process?”

“Not formally, Doctor.”

Leonard notices the glint to Spock’s dark eyes and wonders… but wait. Wait! Oh Lord, why didn’t he think of this! “You mean, we haven’t thanked him publicly! And if we… my god, man, that’s brilliant. If Jim’s a hero—hell, like he isn’t already one after the Narada—a bigger hero than before, Starfleet will have a hell of a time explaining why they’ve turned him over to serve a life sentence in Rura Penthe!”

Spock’s “Precisely” may be a little bit smug but Leonard can forgive him that. In fact, he’s kind of contemplating hugging the hobgoblin.

“Hmm,” he says, and takes a step toward Spock.

Spock just tilts his head in his trademark curious manner, like he’s trying to work out what mischief Leonard is up to. Sadly, that is the moment Nyota comes home.

Leonard turns to greet her, unable to keep his good humor out of his voice. “Hello there, darlin’.”

“Leonard!” the lovely woman returns, sounding surprised but also pleased. Then she moves into the room and looks from Spock to Leonard and back again. “I see you took me up on the offer.”

“Nyota, how was your trip to the market?”

“I found everything I wanted.”

Spock observes the open door. “Do the items need to be retrieved?”

Nyota waves at the hallway beyond her and explains vaguely, “No. They’re being brought up.”

Really? This complex has footmen? Spock definitely must be a penny richer than the rest of them, Leonard thinks. He’s on the verge of asking about that when Spock begins instead, “Dr. McCoy and I—”

“G-Geez, Uhura,” comes an interruption from the hall, a groan so easily familiar it causes Leonard to freeze like a deer caught in headlights. “What did you buy, rocks? Wait, where’d you go?”

“In here,” calls Nyota too sweetly. Addressing Spock, she says, “You’ll never guess who I ran into on the way home.”

Spock lifts an eyebrow, no doubt having already delineated as much.

Seconds later, a huffing-and-puffing Jim Kirk appears in the doorway, weighed down by several overloaded grocery bags. He’s sweating. “Whew,” breathes the man, dropping the bags to the floor and half-falling against the doorframe. “Stairs. So many stairs.“

Leonard scoots behind Spock as quickly as possible. Spock immediately turns to question what the doctor is doing but Leonard pokes the Vulcan in the back with his elbow to keep him still.

“O-Okay,” Jim says, trying to straighten and not stagger at the same time, “I’m okay now. Where do you want the bags?” He looks around the room. “Is the kitchen that way? Oh, hey, Spock. Hey, Bones. I suppose I could just—” Kirk’s voice dies. His gaze snaps back to Spock and Leonard.

“Um,” Leonard begins cautiously, because a certain green-blooded bastard fails miserably at acting as a sight-shield and has stepped to the side to reveal McCoy to the one person he doesn’t want to see him.

“You’re… here.” As McCoy looks on, Jim’s shock is replaced by something dark. “Bones, why are you here?”

This isn’t going to be pretty, Leonard can tell. He tries for an air of unconcern. “What, you think you’re my only friend? I’m visitin’.”

If anything, Jim looks more suspicious. “With Spock?”

There’s another tick of silence in the room wherein Jim’s eyes narrow to slits and Nyota, shaking her head at them, gathers the grocery bags forgotten at Jim’s feet and takes them to the kitchen, somehow not surprising anyone that she doesn’t need help to lift them.

Leonard starts to speak, not certain what lie is about to slip out but more than ready to make one up. “Jim…”

Spock cuts in. “Leonard is indeed here to see me. We are…” He looks at the man beside him. “…learning how to improve our relations.”

Grinning his approval, Leonard rocks back on his heels and declares, “I am beginning to like you better. Imagine that!” Who would have thought a stuffy Vulcan could be sly and straightforward at the same time!

“Doctor, I am not comfortable when you look at me in that manner.”

“Look at you like what? You do know I was thinking about hugging you earlier, right?”

“I—” Spock starts, stops and really does look uncomfortable. “I believe I hear Nyota in the kitchen. Excuse me.”

“I hear her too,” Leonard agrees, grinning so hard his face feels like it might split in two. “She’s laughin’.”

“Liar.”

The word is softly spoken but it freezes the room like a wave of frigid air, killing Leonard’s good humor.

“Vulcans aren’t supposed to lie,” accuses Jim. A muscle in his cheek jumps. “What has he told you, Spock?”

Spock looks less than pleased to be called a liar. His eyebrows come down like thunderclouds. Prudently, Leonard takes a step sideways to leave the other two men to their face-off.

“Your concern is not necessary, Jim.”

“Oh? Bones has a habit of making me into a cause, and I don’t think you’re wise enough to turn him down,” counters Kirk. “Tell me what he said. Consider that an order.”

“You cannot give orders, Commander.”

The blow is low enough to make Leonard flinch. Jim’s temporary reinstatement as captain died with Marcus, and although there’s been plenty of rumors about whether or not Jim will be given back his rank, nothing official has been said or done. Personally Leonard can’t think of Jim as less than a captain, especially after Jim laid it all on the line, so he continues to use the title. He has to hope Starfleet wouldn’t be so foolish to keep a man like James T. Kirk out of the captain’s chair. Jim is brash, reckless sometimes, but it’s trial-by-fire where he shines brightest.

“Spock,” Jim warns.

Spock will not be swayed. He turns for the kitchen, stiff-backed and armed with silence, and walks away.

Jim’s shoulders draw into a tight line as he focuses on an obscure spot on the far wall. He must be counting to ten. Leonard taught him that, said it was an easier way to manage anger than most. He can’t help but feel bad about putting Jim and Spock at odds with each other.

“Jim, don’t be angry with him.”

Jim’s attention snaps to Leonard. “I’m angry at you! Don’t think I don’t know why you’re here, Bones.”

Feeling defensive, Leonard crosses his arms. “Yeah, so? Contrary to what you seem to think, I can do whatever the hell I want.”

“Not about this!”

“This what?” Leonard challenges, his temper sparking. “This as in trying to keep you out of prison? Or worse yet, getting executed by the Klingon High Council?”

“I didn’t ask for your help!”

He bellows right back, “You don’t have to! I’m your friend, Jim!”

Jim laughs. The sound is short and bitter—not something Leonard has heard from Jim often in the past. It makes his stomach sink to hear it now.

Jim turns away, hand coming up to rub at the back of his neck. His rejoinder is flat: “Sometimes being friends is worse than being enemies. Now I get why you hate being stuck with me.”

What? If that is an explanation of some kind, it flies right over Leonard’s head. “Kid, you’re not making any sense.”

“One day,” Jim says, not looking at him, “you’re going to call me kid and I am going to hit you for it.”

Leonard is taken aback. He doesn’t know what to say. His chest hurts as if Jim has already punched him.

Nyota enters the living area, closely followed by Spock. Her look in her eyes is cool, and there are faint lines at the corners of her mouth. Damn, thinks Leonard. Of course those two were eavesdropping. He swallows, feeling a little ashamed.

Like Nyota, Spock doesn’t say anything, although his gaze tracks slowly from Leonard to Jim. He takes a step in Jim’s direction but is intercepted when Nyota hooks her arm through Spock’s and swings them into opposite positions with one deft pivot of her bodyweight. The woman reaches up and lays a hand against the Vulcan’s cheek, smiles, then breaks their physical contact to go to Jim. Spock is left facing Leonard. His blink could be a product of his disorientation.

Leonard blinks back.

No one is as tough as Nyota Uhura. This Leonard decides as he watches her latch onto Jim’s forearm, give the man a vicious-looking view of her teeth, and basically strong-arm Jim across the room to a set of double balcony doors. Jim, for his part, resists only a nanosecond before he looks genuinely terrified. She must be using her nails.

He clears his throat once Kirk and Uhura are gone from sight. Spock does not take that as a cue to talk.

Leonard rolls his eyes. Of course. He gets the stoic one. “Look, I think you’re supposed to say something to make me feel better.” He lifts his eyebrows at the Vulcan’s continued silence. “Like friendly counsel?”

Spock moves, then, locking his hands behind his back. “I was nominated for this position, Doctor. I did not volunteer.”

Thinning his mouth, he flaps a hand of dismissal at Spock and drops down on the couch. “Fine, I get it. Stuck with the overly emotional human, whatever.” Leonard rubs at a phantom ache in his left kneecap. “I guess this ‘visit’ was a bust. Jim hates me.”

“He could not.”

Leonard glances up at the Vulcan. “You mean doesn’t.”

“Negative. He could not hate you. When your only purpose is to help him, Jim should not hate you. It is illogical.”

“Hate isn’t logical, Spock. People hate other people for the stupidest reasons.” His gaze drops to his hand on his knee. “And sometimes they hate for the best of intentions too.”

“I understand your argument, Doctor, and I understand why you perceive Jim is not amendable to your efforts. In fact, it is evident he does not want protection. However, I cannot believe he would negate every positive association with you when he knows you cannot stand aside in the face of another’s mistreatment, as that action goes against your very nature.”

Leonard is somewhat startled that Spock would think that about him, much less say it. “Don’t make me out to be a saint, Spock,” he says, feeling uncomfortable.

“I would attempt no such thing” comes the dry reply. “A saint would be an individual recognized as having an exceptional degree of virtue. Your virtue I often question.”

That should make him mad but it doesn’t. On principle, because it’s Spock, Leonard tones down a full-blown laugh to a chuckle but he does say approvingly, “Sometimes you can get my goat real good, but other times I wonder if you’re a comedian in disguise and not a pointy-eared computer.”

“Vulcans do not have a sense of humor, Doctor.”

“Good thing you’re only half-Vulcan, then.”

Spock opens his mouth to respond, and Leonard sits up in anticipation of the counter-barb, only to be disappointed when Spock’s mouth clicks shut again. Jim and Nyota step through the balcony doors.

Leonard twists around to get a good look at Jim and is relieved to see some of the tension has left his friend. A tiny hope flares within him that they can hold a conversation without it turning into a yelling match.

But Jim walks by the couch, not hurried but not stopping to acknowledge him either. He goes to the front door. Nyota stops Leonard from saying anything with a subtle shake of her head. In the next moment, Jim is gone.

“Well…” Leonard says, staring worriedly at the empty doorway and the lack of Jim, “I don’t know if that’s good or bad.”

“Good,” supplies Nyota readily. When she gives him her full regard, though, she is frowning. “What was the point in lying to him, Leonard?”

Leonard contemplates lying to her too.

“Don’t try it with me,” Nyota warns him in a no-nonsense voice, placing her hands on her hips. “Don’t deflect either,” she adds.

“I wouldn’t dream of it, darlin’.”

“You would. Believe me, I know because you’re male and even Spock thinks he’s good at it. He’s not.”

It is probably better Spock considers himself to be more Vulcan than human. Otherwise he’d be wilting right about now. Leonard wisely decides to answer her question honestly: “If I kept lying, I’d make him angrier and angrier. You’ve seen how Jim gets when he’s truly pissed.”

“Silent.”

“Exactly,” Leonard confirms. “Then he wouldn’t ask questions about the plan.”

Nyota looks between Spock and Leonard, finally settling on narrowing her eyes at the Vulcan. “There’s a plan?”

“Affirmative. I attempted to tell you of it but Jim’s arrival delayed my intention.”

“Then tell me now, Spock, and don’t leave any parts out.”

Times like this Leonard appreciates being a bachelor. Until, that is, Spock demurs, “Doctor McCoy would explain it best.”

“You—” Leonard starts to curse but quiets under Nyota’s gaze. “…All right. The long and short of it is: HQ might be planning to throw Jim to the wolves, said wolves being Klingons, and Spock and I are gonna head them off at the pass.”

“How?” Uhura wants to know.

“Uh,” he cuts a glance at Spock, “we don’t have all the details worked out but we’re thinking we go public with Jim’s death.”

“…And then Command is going to strip out your intestines and string you up by them,” supplies Nyota. At Spock’s faintly ill look, she amends, “Figuratively speaking.”

“That’s very possible,” agrees Leonard. “Breaking silence is a career-killing move.” He says to Spock, “I still think it’s our best shot but I don’t want you to waste those years of service you’ve put in, Spock. I’ll do it myself. It’s not collusion if I look like I’m the only one who’s lost his mind.”

“That’s sweet, Leonard,” Nyota says. “You’re an idiot.”

Spock quirks his brows in a way that means he echoes the sentiment. Leonard figures it’s not worth arguing with them because he’s seen what a stubborn team they can make. That trader the Enterprise intercepted a few months before Nibiru, Harry Mudd, could attest to that fact. Somewhere, Leonard has the footage of the little man cowering and blubbering under the combined glare of Uhura and Spock.

He stands up and pops his shoulder joints. “Well, it’s late for old folks like me.” He eyes the Vulcan. “Maybe I can stop by your office this week?”

“Yes. I will send you my schedule.”

“I can look up reporters,” Nyota offers. “We’ll want someone who won’t try to turn around and sell this right back to Starfleet.”

Leonard feels a weight lifting from his shoulders. “Thank you. And thanks from Jim too. I can say that on his behalf because I live with him and, believe me, he’d be thankful if his head wasn’t so far up his ass.”

“I think it very fascinating, Dr. McCoy, that you can defend and insult a person in the same breath.”

“That’s because normally you only hear insults from me, you green-blooded hobgoblin.”

“If you believe referring to the color of my blood insults me, you are mistaken.”

“I said hobgoblin, too!”

With a roll of her eyes, Nyota turns away.

“I researched the term. Hobgoblin was referenced most commonly in conjunction with Terran folktales, in particular those stories concerning a host of fantastical creatures known as the Seelie Court. It was playwright and poet William Shakespeare who popularized ‘hobgoblin’ in his late sixteenth-century work called A Midsummer Night’s Dream, wherein a character named Puck—”

“You have a point, Spock?” Leonard interrupts.

Spock pauses to tilt his head slightly. “Yes, always.”

“Then get to it!”

“I fail to see why you are agitated, Doctor.”

Leonard throws up his hands. “My god, Nyota, how do you stand it?”

But Nyota is nowhere to be seen. She, apparently, has already given up on them. Leonard points to the door, declaring, “Leaving now!”

Spock follows him to the door. “If you wish, I can forward you my report on the troublesome but often harmless meddling of the sprite Puck. Perhaps then you will see why to refer to me as a hobgoblin—”

Leonard makes certain to shut the door in Spock’s face. It irritates him to think he will have to come up with a new insult.

That blasted Vulcan!

~~~

Jim doesn’t come home. Leonard has to quell the beginnings of worry (after all Kirk is an adult and, though it could be argued otherwise in Leonard’s opinion, a competent one), and by late evening has prepared more food than one person can eat. It isn’t until he catches himself in a one-sided conversation with Dude while he’s having dinner alone on the couch that he realizes Jim’s absence is something he can’t ignore.

Leonard drops his half-consumed bowl of pasta to the coffee table with a pained expression, no longer hungry. “I can’t believe he gets to me like this. The problem is I care too damn much—and boy is that a riot! No way in hell I signed my godforsaken soul away to Starfleet to chase after some kid through the galaxy.” His jaw works with agitation for a few seconds. “Where is he?”

In the tank, Dude just looks at him.

“You’re a real fucking help, you little monster.”

Dude rolls one round black eye in the direction of a tiny huddle of fish and makes a slow, floating turn to observe the patterns of their movements.

“Don’t you dare,” Leonard warns him. “Those are your cousins.”

Dude faces Leonard again to burp air bubbles at him.

Not expecting that response, or any response as a matter of fact, Leonard has to sit up from his slouch against the couch cushions. “Can you… can you understand me?” he asks, even though the question seems silly.

When the fish does nothing, Leonard approaches the tank and bends to eye-level with Jim’s pet. Dude presses his fangs against the glass.

“O-kay,” he says slowly. “Is this a trick to get me to stick my finger in the water? Because I’m not stupid, Dude. I’ve seen what you do to flesh.”

Dude gamely flicks his tailfin back and forth.

“That’s what I thought,” mutters Leonard, pulling back. “Sorry, I think I’ll pass on the cuddles. You’ll just have to wait until my dumber half comes back.”

The fish watches Leonard cross to the couch and coffee table to gather his bowl and silverware then start for the kitchen. The next time Leonard glances over his shoulder, Dude has disappeared in a cloud of bloody water and the other fish in the tank have fled for their lives: cowered behind bright-colored coral, hid within the various sea anemones, or buried themselves under a pile of pebbles at the bottom of the tank.

He shakes his head. If anything, Jim needs to return for the sake of Dude’s poor relatives. He has the sneaking suspicion Dude plans to be a true terror until his one and only friend is back again. That is how Jim affects those around him, whether they be misfit, neurotic, or just plain psychotic.

And Leonard—well, Leonard misses his roommate a little, too.

~~~

The routine Leonard has come to expect has utterly failed him. Jim does not return the next day at his normal time. A minute later, Leonard is on the phone to Jim’s temporarily appointed commanding officer at Headquarters.

The man is baffled to hear from Leonard. “Dr. McCoy, Kirk is only required to report in to me twice a week.”

Leonard sways, feeling like the solid ground under his feet has suddenly betrayed him. He leans against the nearest wall. “I don’t understand, sir. I thought he was there every day. If he isn’t… then where does he go?”

“I don’t ask.”

Leonard bites back, Well, Pike would have. Criticizing the man won’t get him answers. “Can you hazard a guess?”

There is a beat of silence from the other end. “I could. I will, I suppose, but only out of respect for Admiral Pike. I wish I could say Commander Kirk and I get along but our interactions are strictly formal. I know I’m no replacement for the person he looked up to, nor do I want to be, but sometimes… I have to wonder if Kirk is the same whippersnapper Chris defended so vehemently.”

It’s hard not to say anything to that, because Leonard shares the same concern. “Then you have some idea of where he might be.”

A sigh funnels through the vid-less comm. “In his will, Pike left half of his estate to various charities and the rest to Kirk. That includes his home here in San Fran.” The man’s voice lowers, perhaps out of mutual mourning. “It can be very difficult to let go of the dead, and for some, more so than most. If I were in Kirk’s shoes right now, I know where I’d be.”

Leonard is struck silent.

“Dr. McCoy?”

Breathe, Leonard, he reminds himself. “Thanks.” The word comes out as a croak. “Thank you, sir. The address—”

“Sending it now.” Before they sign off, Leonard is told, “Good luck.”

He’ll need it, he thinks. Leonard rubs at his chest, at the ache there.

Jim has somewhere else to live.

~~~

Jim answers the door on the fifth insistent buzz. Wordlessly, he steps aside to let Leonard inside the condominium. Jim’s Starfleet greys are wrinkled, like they’d been slept in.

Leonard figures he must look a sight himself. He hadn’t sleep at all the second night of Jim’s absence, caught between straining for noise of Jim’s return to the apartment and berating himself for being unhappy that Jim had another place to go. Since Leonard has had so much to complain about concerning his roommate, he ought to be ecstatic at the thought of having his home to himself again.

He wets his lips and sucks in a quiet breath, doing a slow survey of Pike’s—no, Jim’s—living room. It’s spacious. The furniture isn’t new but it looks well-kept. Through a wide window, there is a nice view of the bay. The neighborhood seems quiet and safe; Leonard knows because he prowled through it for two hours before gathering his courage to come into this high-rise.

Now that he’s here, watching Jim stand awkwardly in the middle of the room and refuse to look anywhere but at his shoes, everything makes perfect sense. Leonard’s breath catches with the clarity of it.

He ambles to a couch, gingerly sits on its edge and says bluntly, “You have a house.”

Jim doesn’t argue the semantics with him, just nods.

Leonard briefly closes his eyes and takes another deep breath. “That thing we don’t talk about, Jim? I think it’s time we did.”

Jim shrugs. As he speaks, his voice cracks like he hasn’t spoken in a long time. “When I tried to talk about it at the hospital, your orders were pretty explicit. You said don’t bring the subject up again.”

Leonard grips his knees, throat working. “I don’t mean your death, Jim. I meant Pike’s.”

A blow to the face might have been kinder, considering the pain that crosses Jim’s face and lingers there, aging him through grief. “No,” he tells Leonard, voice flat and full of warning. “We’re not talking about him.”

If only that were an option, thinks Leonard. He backtracks a little as he begins to speak, hoping to lessen Jim’s building anxiety by helping Jim understand why they have to discuss the dead commander. “I screwed up,” he says. “I thought I knew why you weren’t yourself. I thought—like the fool I am—that dying would have left you a little shaken. That’s my mistake, Jim, because when it matters most, I always forget you aren’t like the rest of us.” At Jim’s expression, he clarifies, “You’re stronger.”

“Bones.”

“No, shut up and let me say this.” He has to fight for his next breath because the air in the room seems be growing thin. “So it’s not you dying. To you, that’s just a thing you had to do and something you might have to do again. If I’d been smart, I would have wrangled the psychologists’ reports outta somebody and read that and realized the truth a lot sooner. I’m sorry I wasted our time by assuming you were hurting from something that I had no experience with.”

Leonard falls silent for a moment, comes to a decision and stands up. Jim doesn’t turn him away when he closes the distance between them.

“Jim, the thing about death is… it’s always the worst when it happens to someone you love.”

“I know,” Jim responds, words forced, as if he doesn’t trust himself to speak.

Leonard shakes his head. “You may think I don’t understand, but I do. Pike meant so much to you, not just because he believed in you but because he treated you like a son, and in turn you saw him as a father.”

“Don’t. Bones, don’t.”

“I’m not trying to hurt you by bringing this up. I’m telling you you aren’t alone. If it was senseless for Pike to die, for such a good fucking man to die, then to me you’re my Pike.” Leonard swallows hard. “I know why you did what you did, Jim, but everything that happened… it was all so senseless. You keep wondering over and over why did Khan have to take his revenge? Why didn’t you figure out his plan of attack fast enough? Why did you fuck up on Nibiru and put Pike in the position of being in that room in the first place?” His voice drops, wobbles precariously. “So many fuckin’ why’s. Why did the ship have to fail, and why did you have to be the one to give his life to save it? Why didn’t you want me there?”

Jim closes his eyes but it doesn’t stop the tears from pooling at their corners. “Because of that—that look on your face, Bones. I was too much of a coward to watch you have your heart ripped out.” Tilting his face downward, he opens his eyes and wipes away the evidence of his emotion with the back of his wrist.

Leonard has to look away too. “You’re not alone,” he repeats. “You may think I’m the lucky one who gets the second chance—but sometimes,” his voice drops close to a whisper, “I don’t think I’ll ever stop grieving for my friend in the body bag. I… I really loved that bastard.”

Jim reaches out to hold onto him, one hand bracketing each arm as if he expects Leonard to walk away. “Bones, I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

“We’re both of us sorry, Jim. So sorry we don’t even know how to stop being sorry.”

“I mean it.”

“I know you do. That’s why I’m telling you on behalf of myself and on behalf of a man who wouldn’t want you to let his death ruin you to stop beating yourself up over what’s done. He made you his First Officer so I have to think he wanted you to live and learn from your mistakes and achieve that greatness he saw ahead of you. Isn’t that true?”

“I don’t know.”

Leonard grabs Jim’s arms, mirroring the way Jim holds him. “Yes, you do,” he says forcefully. “You know what Pike would have wanted, Jim.”

They match stares until Jim swallows and nods. “This place,” Jim says, if slightly roughly. “He wanted me to have his place.”

Fondness swells within Leonard at the typical part-admission, part-deflection. “I think more to the point, he wanted to look out for you even in death. So,” Leonard asks, easing back, “are you going to live here?”

But Jim shakes his head. “I don’t—not yet, Bones.”

His “Why?” isn’t demanding, just gentle.

“Because I—” Jim looks around them, at the picture frames on the walls, the closed cabinets and the navy-blue jacket left lying over the back of a chair. “—feel him here, and I’m not ready to, to…”

“Face him yet,” Leonard supplies, understanding. “Okay. That’s okay because, Jim, I think you will be ready, someday.”

“Will I?” Jim questions, sounding as raw as he looks.

“Trust me,” murmurs Leonard, echoing the way those words have always been said to him by Jim.

That seems to be enough for his friend. They let go of each other. Jim sucks in a breath that lifts his shoulders then releases it.

Leonard’s heart aches, but the ache is finally bearable. He asks, “Will you come home?”

“If you want me to.”

“I guess I can stand it,” Leonard replies. That draws a faint quirk to Jim’s mouth. “I think you’d better anyway. Dude is sick.”

Jim seems more like himself as the defeat seeps out of his stance. “You wouldn’t let him get sick, Bones.”

Leonard snorts. “Like I can stop him from spinning in circles and eating the greenery. I’m a doctor, not a fish nanny.”

Jim’s focus sharpens. “Why isn’t he eating the other fish?” the man all but demands.

Leonard starts for the door. “How the hell should I know? Maybe Dude’s developed a conscience since you abandoned him.”

“I didn’t abandon him!” argues Kirk, following closely on Leonard’s heels. “I would never abandon Dude, Bones, he needs me. We have a special bond. Didn’t I tell you I think he’s communicating to me through my dreams?”

“Fine, then. When you get around to moving out, you can take him and his entire family with you. Good riddance to the lot!”

“Does that lot include me?”

Leonard cuts a look at Jim. “Depends. Are you going to start doing the dishes?”

Jim wrinkles his nose, proceeds to close the door and to engage its lock, and points out instead, “If you had a dog, he could lick them clean. We should get a puppy, Bones.”

“I already have a puppy. Its name is James Tiberius. Jimmy T for short. Sadly, I am not entirely sure it’s house-broken yet.”

“Hey,” his friend says with urgency, darting nervous glances at the other doors in the hallway. “That was one time, I was drunk. And you said you didn’t remember!” Jim cries one second later, indignant.

“I forget nothing, kid—especially when it involves pee on my carpet.”

“I cleaned it up!”

Leonard snaps back, “Yeah, with my medical scrubs, you noodle-brain!” They step into the elevator together. “Turns out, people were giving me a ten-foot berth because I STUNK LIKE PEE. Stop, stop laughing, asshole. It isn’t funny! I had a meeting with my superior that day!”

Jim appears unable to stop. He starts repeatedly smacking his hand against the elevator door, gasping and choking between belly laughs. Leonard smiles over Jim’s bowed head and shaking shoulders and has an entirely un-supernatural premonition things are going to work out just fine.

…So long as he and Spock can be brilliant and ultra-sneaky. And cooperative with one another. Damn.

Jim straightens, laughter dying to a chuckle, and throws an arm around Leonard’s shoulders. Leonard sighs, but it’s a good sigh, and decides not to worry for the remainder of the day. Jim, despite looking less devastated than he did earlier, deserves the undivided attention while Leonard has it to give.

~~~

two weeks later…

“But how did he survive?” asks the interviewer, looking very shocked.

“It was…”

Spock quiets for a split second, although this answer is a rehearsed one. Leonard imagines it’s still difficult for Spock to say.

“Basically a miracle,” he finishes in the Vulcan’s stead. “The miracle of all miracles.”

The interviewer looks skeptical. Leonard can’t blame her since she’s probably having visions of Jim with his face fried off—which isn’t far from the mark. Radiation does cook the inside of the body and turn it into an organ soup. He ruthlessly forces down the emotion that thought conjures and tries to steer the conversation toward his and Spock’s endgame.

“We’re lucky to have Jim still with us. But more than that, we were blessed on that fateful day because of him. Imagine you’re a bird with both your wings broken, falling out of the sky. Who saves you when you can’t save yourself? Jim did that for us. I know Commander Spock and I wouldn’t be sitting in these chairs today if it weren’t for Jim. I know that the tragedy caused by John Harrison’s acts of terrorism—” The media doesn’t call him Khan, doesn’t in fact know John Harrison and Khan Noonien Singh are the same man, and all who are privy to that fact have been sworn to secrecy for the sake of the Federation and made liable if they don’t keep it. “—would have been that much more tragic. Kirk is a savior.”

“Like his father,” the woman says, jotting something down on her padd.

“Right,” Leonard agrees. “We want him known for what he is. There’s a lot of brave officers in the ‘Fleet but we’re not all created equal. Captain James T. Kirk is one of the best of us. He proved it as a cadet, and he’s proved as a commanding officer.”

“Captain?” she repeats, looking up sharply. Leonard almost curses out loud, having forgotten for a second she might have done her research before their scheduled chat.

But Spock seems entirely unruffled when he affirms, “Captain.”

No one, Leonard believes, could disbelieve a voice filled with that much conviction. He allows himself a small smile. The proverbial shit is going to hit the fan when this goes public because they’ve not only dared to give Jim back his hero status but given him back his rank too. Leonard finds he rather looks forward to that shit-show.

Studying his face, the reporter remarks, “You seem happy, Dr. McCoy.”

“Only because I’m glad to finally get this off my chest. Spock—Commander Spock and I agree that there isn’t really a proper way to thank Jim. I mean, I thought about sending a card with one of those funny anecdotes like ‘thanks for your sacrifice, it means a grave deal to us’.”

Spock lifts an eyebrow as if to ask why are your jokes always so horrendously inappropriate? The woman opposite them catches and swallows her laugh but her eyes are twinkling.

Leonard continues. “But that seemed kind of rude, so we’re asking you to help us. Would you please?” He drawls the last word, honey-like.

She nods then blushes to match her red blouse.

Next to Leonard, Spock unfolds his hands, which is his way of clearing his throat to draw attention. “Ms. Kalomi, you may also wish to include in your article that I extend a formal thank you on behalf of the Vulcan High Council and Ambassadors Sarek and Selek. Once the news is brought to better public awareness, of course, they will issue official statements on the matter.”

“Ah,” murmurs their female companion. “There’s some backing to this, then. Should I ask where Starfleet stands?”

Spock and Leonard share a look. “I believe they’ll answer that for themselves… eventually,” Leonard tells her.

She nods. “I thought as much.” She tucks away her padd and stands. Leonard and Spock do the same. “It’s nice to meet you both, officially. Please know I will do my best. My sister Leila was aboard the Enterprise when Nero attacked, so I have a personal bias when it comes to Kirk’s heroics.” She smiles. “Yet somehow I believe you already knew that.”

The inclination of Spock’s head is subtle, though he says aloud, “It was an article you wrote of our Captain after the Narada incident which factored heavily into our final decision to approach you versus other candidates, Ms. Kalomi.”

“I’m flattered, Commander.”

Leonard finds it hilarious that Spock, despite his relationship with Nyota, still doesn’t know how to respond to a woman when she shows interest in him. He takes pity on the poor Vulcan and reaches for the reporter’s hand, dropping a gentlemanly kiss to the back of it.

“It’s been a pleasure, darlin’.”

“Hm,” the woman says when she has her hand back, “I have to say… I really like both of you. It would be hard to choose.”

The tips of Spock’s ears flush green.

Leonard grins. “What’s there to think about? Humans are vastly superior to Vulcans when it comes to romance.” He winks.

“Doctor,” Spock objects, “that statement is highly illogical.”

“And just amongst humans,” continues Leonard with a hint of glee, “doctors are the most romantic. It’s because we’re skilled with our hands.”

Spock pivots in a way that forces Leonard to move, saying abruptly, “Thank you for your time, Madam. Please contact me with the date of the article’s release. Dr. McCoy, I believe we have another engagement to which we shall be late if we do not leave in precisely ten seconds.” He corrals Leonard towards the exit without, amazingly, sacrifing his dignity.

Leonard hears laughter in their wake and feels close to laughing himself. Once he and Spock are on the open street of downtown San Francisco, Leonard comments, “I didn’t think Vulcans approved of being rude.”

“While I do not often rely upon emotions, I do have them, Doctor. Perhaps you would label my interruption of your hapless human flirting as rude, but it is pity I felt for that woman and pity which spurred me to spare her from your annoying and particularly self-absorbed habit of ‘wind-bagging’, as Mr. Scott would have labeled it.”

“I think you’re confusing me with Jim.”

“I think,” counters Spock, lifting a hand to hail an empty cab, “there are moments when the difference between the two of you is negligible.”

“Ouch,” Leonard says, not really offended at all. He climbs into the hover car after Spock. “Does this mean our truce is at its end?”

Spock gives him a frank stare from the far side of the cab (which isn’t far at all but Leonard isn’t going to spoil the illusion). “We had success in a mutual endeavor today. I cannot say I am dissatisfied. If one course has a favorable outcome and projects more favorable outcomes in the near future, it is logical to continue to pursue that course.”

“So,” Leonard translates, “you’re not opposed to being friends.”

Spock doesn’t bat an eye.

“Friends it is, then,” Leonard agrees and sits back in his seat with a smile playing about his mouth.

Oddly enough, the following silence in the cab feels comfortable. When the automated driver pilots down the feeder which circles the outskirts of the Academy, Spock breaks the silence by stating, out of the blue, “I will continue to address you as Dr. McCoy.”

“Yup,” says Leonard, “and you’re still ‘that hobgoblin’. Nobody need know anything.”

“In particular, not the Captain.”

“Oh, especially not that monkey-head. He’ll be dancing around for days.” Leonard pauses. “If you want, we can pinky-swear or slice open our hands and take a blood oath.”

“Either action will be quite unnecessary.” Spock does not sound impressed by them and maybe a tad disgusted.

Leonard thinks for a moment then lifts his hand, trying his best to will his fingers in the proper position. A little fumbling later, he’s managed it. He holds his hand up to the light filtering through the front windshield of the cab and admires the Vulcan salutation.

“Then may we live long and prosper, Spock. For Jim.”

From a stillness that seems almost reverent, Spock’s reaction comes slowly: a raising of his hand as well, fingers splayed to match Leonard’s.

“Yes,” the Vulcan echoes his human companion, “may we—for Jim.”

-Fini

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