Title: In Need of a Friend
Author: klmeri
Fandom: Star Trek TOS
Characters: Kirk, Spock, McCoy
Summary: Cuddling must be like a disease. Kirk, Spock, and McCoy fall prey to it way too often.
A/N: I blame this fic upon and dedicate it to kcscribbler, who I believe purposefully mentioned Triumvirate cuddling knowing full well that images of said cuddling would haunt me until I wrote them down. I spent all night dreaming about it. This is on you, KCS.

Kirk & McCoy

The wind blowing against the hut sounded like an old twentieth-century bullet train. Leonard tried plugging his ears with his fingers, to no avail. Against his back, Jim was clearly fighting off a shiver.

“Oh shove it,” grunted the doctor. He rolled over and flung his arm around the other man.

Jim’s teeth chattered. “B-Bones?”

“This is ridiculous,” he grumbled, jerking the animal skin up to the tips of his and Jim’s ears. “Ridiculous. I’m boycotting ice planets from here on out. Don’t you ever put me on the landing party roster for an ice planet again!”

This time Kirk’s body might have been shaking from suppressed laughter. He took Leonard’s left hand between his own and squeezed it, saying, “Your hand’s cold.”

“Every part of me is cold, Captain, and possibly turning blue.”

“Sorry.”

Leonard’s tone softened. “Not your fault, Jim. It’s our usual run of bad luck. When the storm blows over, Scotty will have us plucked outta here and shipside in no time.” His nose wrinkled slightly. “Not that I’ll miss any of this. Do you know what kind of bacteria lives on dead fur?” He hmphed. “And it smells.”

“I’ll make it up to you.”

“Just promise me no more adventures involving sub-arctic temperatures and bear skins.”

Jim reached around to pat the doctor’s arm. “I promise.”

“Liar,” Leonard retorted fondly.

“Probably. What can I say, Bones? This is what they call ‘the nature of the business.'”

The men fell silent as time crawled on. Leonard felt his muscles start to relax as their shared body heat finally warmed the cold air under their makeshift blanket to a bearable degree. He tucked his nose behind Kirk’s ear, glad in some respect this unfortunate circumstance happened to them often enough that there was no need to feel embarrassed.

Jim’s breathing had already evened out. Leonard let his own shallow breaths match the slow pace and curled his fingers slightly around the man’s hand, which hadn’t let go of him. Admittedly he hated the cold, didn’t approve of their caveman attire, and harbored a small irrational fear over the howling wind.

But the rest of it, well, wasn’t so bad. Since Jim never complained during these times, Leonard figured they must feel the same: that they would rather be with each other than without. Friendship was what defined that difference.

And Leonard supposed he would be friends with Kirk to the very end.

Kirk & Spock

Spock understood that friendliness could be akin to an affliction for some humans. After the first three months of serving aboard the Enterprise under Pike’s successor, he had concluded that his new captain suffered from a milder form of it on a daily basis, with the occasion flare-up which drove the man to exceptionally strange behavior. It was with concern for Kirk’s mental health that he, in conjunction with the ship’s chief medical officer, stayed vigilant with regard to the identification and removal of all objects from the man’s vicinity which might exacerbate the condition.

He could not, Spock told himself after one notable occurrence, have predicted the effects of an ambassadorial dinner with the O’gi’la’ne, which in the native language of the race translated to Companion of All. They proclaimed, of course, to be the friendliest race in the galaxy.

The O’gi’la’ne touched Jim Kirk as much as he touched them, and in return Jim tried to touch them more. Touching turned to individual hugs, and individual hugs to group affairs. Invariably, this surplus of affection spilled over to the rest of the people attending the dinner.

In a three-minute span, the Vulcan First Officer had to dodge an elaborate handshake, a series of face grabs, and a two-person tackle. He was in the process of fending off a particularly determined O’gi’la’ne, waving four of its tentacle-like arms in a cheerful manner at his person, when the captain finally came to his rescue.

“Commander Spock is a touch-telepath,” Jim told the O’gi’la’ne apologetically. “He has to be very judicious when it comes to physical contact.”

“Oh, I see,” said the O’gi’la’ne. “Apologies.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Spock saw Mr. Scott, who was a shade of red to match his uniform, had become stuck between two enthusiastically hugging O’gi’la’ne. He was about to mention this potential suffocation of the Chief Engineer to Kirk when Dr. McCoy separated from a crowd of nearby guests and hurried in that direction. No doubt, the doctor would find some way to save Mr. Scott.

Spock returned his attention to the people in front of him. “No apology is necessary,” he said as graciously as could be managed, for someone with a different set of tentacle-arms had just made a brief inspection of his back and shoulders. (Upon turning around, however, no one had been there.)

“But this is most lonely a life,” the O’gi’la’ne replied, waving its arms in clear concern. “How does one cope?”

“Yes, yes, we must know!” another O’gi’la’ne chimed in, joining their discussion. “Is this why the eyebrows of the Vulcan are so severe?”

Spock could make no logical connection to that observation, although it caused the human at his side to grin.

Jim stepped closer to Spock and casually (but not casually enough for Spock) looped an arm around the Vulcan’s upper back.

Spock nearly twitched. “Captain.”

“I have the greatest respect for the commander,” Jim was saying, as if oblivious to the fact that the closer he drew Spock to him, the stiffer Spock’s posture became. “And I know for a fact Mr. Spock has great respect for me.”

Spock held his tongue.

“Because of our mutual respect for one another, we’re good friends—” Here Jim looked directly at said friend. “—and good friends touch each other once and a while. Even hug.” His tone dared Spock to deny it.

Spock considered the man; then he considered all the waving arms of the O’gi’la’ne in the room. They seemed more than ready to be proper friends with him, if he would only allow it.

“Occasionally,” he conceded, “Captain Kirk and I may be friends.”

Kirk’s face lit up. The O’gi’la’ne made pleased sounds and left en masse to victimize someone else.

“Do you mean it, Spock?” his captain asked him.

“I do not say that which I do not mean, sir,” Spock informed him.

“Wonderful!” He let the Vulcan go. “I think we’re going to get along just fine on this five-year mission.” And with that pronouncement, the man strode away, as cheerful as the O’gi’la’ne. Spock watched Kirk hug passers-by as he went.

Not certain at all if what he had agreed to and what Kirk thought he had agreed to were the same thing, Spock headed for the nearest exit. He detoured once to extricate Mr. Scott from a second (or possibly third) group of too-friendly admirers, but otherwise reached the door unscathed. When he looked back, Jim Kirk was beaming at him, having already re-attached himself to others, Dr. McCoy on one side and a pretty pink O’gi’la’ne on the other.

Spock had the uncomfortable feeling the pink O’gi’la’ne was merely a substitute. His common sense told him not to linger on the thought, and so he did not.

Spock & McCoy

The Vulcan was bent over and in obvious pain. Even in the semi-dark of the room, Leonard could see that much. He couldn’t stand it any longer.

Steeling himself against the way Spock always dug his fingers into the fabric of his uniform pants any time Leonard came nearer to him (a sign of just how shaky the Vulcan’s control was), the doctor left his makeshift pallet to cross the distance between them. He spoke in low tones, as a man would address an animal on the verge of being spooked: “Spock… this can’t go on. You’ll lose your mind.”

“I am… open to suggestions, Doctor.”

And Spock meant it. The strain in his voice said as much.

Leonard’s heart went out to him. He knelt by the Vulcan. “Use me.”

Spock’s head jerked around, the sickly pinch to his features seeming more prominent than it had been a half-hour ago. His very posture rejected the notion. “I-I cannot.”

Leonard flexed his hands against the covers, feeling an all-too-familiar urge to take the Vulcan by the shoulders and shake sense into him. He said instead, “You’re being illogical. Let me help you.”

Spock grew paler, and Leonard instantly reigned in his temper, ashamed at himself. His usual behavior was exactly the kind of overpowering emotion Spock currently had no defense against.

Or any defenses, really. This had to be the most hated place in the galaxy for the psy-receptive. It literally stripped the telepathic ability to shield oneself and amplified what the telepath or empath could feel. Spock was able to protect his hands but not his mind. The longer he remained stranded here, the worse he would suffer.

“There’s a meditation technique,” Leonard said. “I’m sure you know it. When you can’t block out all the…” He indicated the world around them. “…noise, concentrate on a single part of it.”

“I have attempted to do so and failed. There is too much, too… many.”

Desperation was not something the doctor ever wanted to associate with Spock and it pained him now to hear the inflection of it. He touched his companion’s elbow. “Then use me,” he repeated. “Look, I’m no good at… thinking quietly. I know that. But I can think about, about—” He cast around a bit wildly and came up with “—science.”

Spock blinked at him, as if uncertain of what had just been offered. “Science?”

Leonard gently tightened his grip on Spock’s wrist and lifted the Vulcan’s arm midway to his face. “Science,” he promised. “A biological science, at least. A paper I’ve had it in my mind to write.”

“I am not opposed to science,” the Vulcan murmured.

Leonard nodded and gave a gentle tug for Spock to follow him as he scooted toward the center of the pallet. “C’mon, lay down—doctor’s orders.”

Spock obeyed in silence. Once they were resting on their sides, facing each other, Leonard drew Spock’s hand toward his face again. “Okay,” he said, voice a little tremulous but otherwise resolute. “Just try not to poke around too much.”

“I would not,” Spock replied, sounding so sincere that Leonard automatically believed him.

He closed his eyes and let Spock do the rest. As Leonard felt the connection of skin to skin, then a gentle, inexplicable pressure, he put aside any apprehension by thinking of potential titles for the unwritten publication.

Gradually Leonard relaxed. It turned out that Spock’s presence wasn’t alien at all. It was warm, and it was felt like fascination personified, curious yet unobtrusive and as familiar in thought as the word ‘fascinating’ would have been spoken aloud.

Premise, he began. Exophysiological factors in the diagnosis of externally generated delta waves as dictated by emergency medical protocol in the field.

They were both asleep by the end of the second chapter.

Kirk, Spock & McCoy

Your pain is the deepest of all.

Had it been an illusion? The brain-washing he first thought it to be? Or something… some personal hell he had desperately wanted, just for a moment, to be released from?

McCoy raised the last of his bourbon to his mouth but didn’t drink. At his feet, the campfire was a bed of embers, the warmth of it having died earlier in the night. Somewhere in the woods behind him, an owl made itself known.

Leonard’s body wanted sleep, but his mind would not rest. What pain Sybok had stirred up still lingered. It had seemed to be gone for a time but, like a true wound on the heart, it came back, slightly less deep yet still aching. He would never know, he understood now, if his mercy to his dying father had been the right choice.

Like Jim, he should have refused to face his past. It was exactly that—choices which could not be changed and, for better or worse, made him who he was.

Which was a man stuck on a log drowning his sorrows with a mostly empty tin cup, Leonard thought somewhat sourly. He set the cup on the ground and scrubbed his palms against the fabric of his pants. There would always be time to mourn. Right now should be for sleep.

Leonard would have risen at that point to find his bedroll but to his surprise a dark cloth settled over his shoulders. Wool, the man realized, rubbing the blanket between his fingertips. He looked up.

Jim Kirk smiled down at him. “Couldn’t sleep?”

“I was about to, actually.” Leonard didn’t get up, for as he had immediately guessed his friend sat down next to him.

Jim fixed his attention ahead, on the fading glow of the fire or beyond. “I never asked,” he said. “For that, I’m sorry.”

“Asked?” Leonard echoed, not catching on.

Jim glanced sidelong at him, then. “About your father, when he died.”

It was Leonard’s turn to look away. “It’s all right, Jim. I doubt I would’ve told you anyway. It’s not…” He trailed off. It wasn’t something he wanted to talk about even now.

“I get it,” the man said simply. He tucked his arm around McCoy’s shoulders.

Leonard held up the corner of the blanket. “It’s big enough to share.”

Jim shook his head slightly. “Share it with Spock.”

The doctor blinked. “Spock? But—”

It was in that moment he realized he had been a fool to think his friends had gone to sleep and left him to relive his pain alone. A shadow by the tent, which Leonard had thought nothing of, detached itself from the rest of the night and came toward him slowly.

“You’re supposed to be meditating or somethin’,” Leonard accused the Vulcan. “You’ll be as grumpy as a bear tomorrow if you don’t.”

“That would be Jim whom you describe,” Spock replied serenely. “He is not, I believe it is said, a morning person. Thus, why I packed coffee.”

A corner of Jim’s mouth rose, though he did not refute the pronouncement.

Leonard chuckled and lifted his right arm, edge of the blanket held aloft. “C’mere, you green-blooded hobgoblin. It’s cold out here.”

“I am suitably dressed.” Spock sat down on Leonard’s right anyway and accepted a portion of the blanket.

Leonard relaxed between Jim and Spock, more comfortable than he had been all night. “I can’t believe we’re this old and still having adventures,” he said softly, amused and feeling a little nostalgic, even if he didn’t quite know why.

“It is not our age which is strange to me but that we, as a matter of course, continue to meet these adventures together.”

Leonard stared at Spock. “That’s what is strange to you, Spock?”

Spock arched one of his eyebrows. “It does not seem logical.”

Leonard laughed.

It was Jim who gave the answer. “Friendship rarely is logical.”

“Ah,” murmured the Vulcan. “Then I would assume family is even less so.”

Leonard nudged Spock with his shoulder. “So which are we? Friends or family?”

It must have been the last spark of firelight bursting and fading from the scorched wood like a solar flare that gave the illusion of a tiny, tiny smile on Spock’s face, just in that moment. Must have been.

But then Spock said, “You have always been the most illogical of us all, Doctor. I will leave that inference up to you.”

And Leonard just knew: with his family, illusion was never necessary.

-Fini

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