Title: Council of Three (1/2)
Author: klmeri
Fandom: Star Trek TOS
Pairing: Kirk/Spock/McCoy
Summary: Jim and Spock have decided to woo the ship’s doctor.
A/N: I am mcspirking. No, don’t look at me like that. It’s a real thing!
Started this about two months ago. It’s only now making its way to the top of the pile. Just to warn you… it’s so sweet, it will make your teeth crack.
Read here or at AO3

Later there would be some question as to why Spock approached Jim first. It would not be jealousy which inspired the question but an epiphany of sorts from someone who is only then beginning to realize how precious others might consider him.

That being said, the answer to the question is quite simple, one which both Spock and Jim give readily: “We had to be certain.”

Meaning, We knew the gamble was all or nothing, Bones, and Spock and I play at our best when we work together to win.

Hearing what is unspoken, the man nicknamed Bones sputters and flushes. “I’m a doctor, not the grand prize in a contest!”

Of course, given how smitten he sounds, neither Jim nor Spock take his protest very seriously.

~~~

“Concerning the Doctor…” Spock begins in a frank manner.

“Reservations?” Jim asks, curling his hands around his First’s shoulders.

“None,” replies the Vulcan. “But I should like to note: to court him will prove most challenging.”

Jim hopes so. Already, as he lovingly strokes a hand down the Vulcan’s arm (and it satisfies him greatly that he can, given how long he has waited for Spock to allow this intimacy), his eyes are filled with anticipation. For a moment or two he looks exactly as he did when he heard their ship had been chosen to engage in war games with the USS Excalibur and USS Lexington.

Spock watches Jim’s expression intently, as though doing so allows him to better predict the plan as it unfolds.

“We’ll have to court him separately.” Then Jim amends, “At first.”

“Agreed. If approached in tandem the Doctor might feel overwhelmed,” Spock expounds, “which would increase the risk of failure to an unacceptable level. However, it is also not the objective for our attentions to be misconstrued as mutually exclusive.”

“And if Bones feels he is in a position where he has to choose one over the other, it’s game over.”

“Indeed. I suspect he would refuse us both on principle. He does not like to be ‘caught in the middle’, as you humans phrase it.”

Jim gives a low chuckle while drawing the Vulcan a little closer. “Then shall we discuss where and when to begin?”

“In detail, ashayam,” agrees Spock. He presents his forefinger and index finger. “I am available for the remainder of the evening.”

Jim touches Spock’s fingers chastely with his own. “Good.” His eyes twinkle. “I dare say Bones won’t know what hit him.”

~~~

Kirk enacts his particular strategy almost immediately. Leonard McCoy is, to say the least, unaware that the dinner he agrees to is not planned to be like their usual affair. Jim has to suppress his eagerness when the doctor arrives at the entrance to his cabin, a good bottle of liquor in hand and an absent smile on his face.

“Bones,” Jim greets him warmly, sliding his hand from the top of Leonard’s shoulder to the back of the man’s shoulder blade. It doesn’t take much pressure to steer the man towards the table across the room.

One of Leonard’s eyebrows goes up when he sees the fare set out, complete with two flickering candles and a tablecloth. “We celebratin’ something, Jim?” he asks.

“Oh, I thought we’d try something different for a change. Although, as far as celebrations go…” Jim picks up a glass already filled with champagne and hands it to the man before retrieving his own for a toast. “Here’s to our friendship, Bones… and our future.”

Leonard accepts the toast without question. Again, Jim has to bear down on his eagerness.

After they’ve each had a swallow of the champagne, Leonard studies the cork of the bottle he had brought. “I suppose I should set this aside.”

Jim takes it from him. “We’ll have both.”

Leonard laughs and sits at the table. “Just how much of a headache do you want to have tomorrow, Captain?”

Smiling, Jim takes a seat too, scooting his chair over until it is perpendicular to Leonard’s. “Jim, Bones,” he reminds his companion. “Ship’s business is not allowed in my quarters tonight.”

“Hm,” Leonard says, falling into a comfortable slouch. He tastes the champagne again. “You know, when I first came aboard, I wasn’t sure I’d have these kind of dinners with anyone. It was a lonely enough prospect that I almost didn’t finalize the commission.”

It had never occurred to Jim that McCoy would consider leaving the ship. The thought isn’t a pleasant one. “But you knew me,” he protests lightly. “Knew what I was like. We were already friends.”

“Well, yes,” Leonard agrees, cutting his eyes at Jim, “but having a friend who’s also your commanding officer is a little different.”

Jim reaches over to drop his hand on top of the hand McCoy is resting on the table. “It’s not so bad, right?”

Leonard presses his lips together. It does nothing to dissuade his smile. “I’d say it’s manageable.”

“You’re a tease, Bones.”

The man laughs, shaking his head. “All right, Jim.”

When Jim’s eyes fall to half-mast and he repeats the nickname “Bones“, letting the full force of his fondness drive the word, Leonard turns slightly red around the collar and insists, “Enough.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” counters Jim in his smoothest voice.

“Uh-huh,” his friend says. Leonard turns his hand over so they are palm-to-palm and squeezes Jim’s fingers affectionately. Then he pulls away and picks up a fork. “The food’s gonna go cold in another minute.”

Jim takes his own eating utensils in hand and smiles to himself, pleased so far. If there is anything to regret, he thinks, is only that he won’t be around to see Spock take his turn.

Silverware clinks against plates. Jim savors his first bite of a rare roast beef before remarking, too casually, “There’s peach pie for dessert.”

Leonard looks up from his meal, blinking his surprise. “That’s my favorite.” After momentarily considering Jim, he comments, “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were buttering me up for some reason.”

“What could I possibly want,” Jim demurs, “when I have everything within reach?”

“Good question,” his friend replies, turning back to his dinner. “Truth is you are a lucky man, Jim Kirk. You’ve got it all.”

Almost, Jim thinks, looking at the one exception.

As is habit between them, they fall into a comfortable silence while they eat.

After the main course and before the dessert, Leonard finally breaks the silence. “Tell me about that book you were reading last time. Did you finish it?”

“Last time… Oh, Salt-Water Poems,” Jim remembers. “What do you know about John Masefield?”

“Well, I’m guessing he’s the poet.” Leonard smiles crookedly at him. “And now you’re going to quote me your favorite parts because you’ve already memorized them.” He waves his hand in mock-tolerance. “Go on, then. I’ve got at least one ear for listening.”

Jim laughs, delighted. “This is why I love you, Bones.”

Then he clears his throat and begins, “Sea-fever, by John Masefield: ‘I must go down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky, And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by…“

~~~

It is an hour past Spock’s shift and nearly three hours past Dr. McCoy’s. Nurse Chapel appears pleased that someone has shown up who has the authority to roust the doctor out of Sickbay. Spock finds it a convenient excuse under which to proceed.

Dr. McCoy, however, does not.

“Are you sick?” Spock is asked.

“No, Doctor.”

The human eyes the Vulcan suspiciously from head to toe. “If you’re not sick, then you should not be pestering me.”

Two responses immediately come to mind. Both are truthful. Spock chooses the one which is less likely to give him away: “I did not think you would be disagreeable to my presence.”

The doctor opens and closes his mouth.

Spock watches him, fascinated.

Following a short stretch of silence, the man admits, “I’m not disagreeable,” then huffs like he cannot believe he would say that and grudgingly waves Spock the rest of the way into his office. Picking up a stylus and rolling it between his fingers, Leonard takes to studying Spock. “So… this isn’t business?”

Spock gleans that the human is slightly discomforted by his standing in parade rest so he selects a chair in front of the desk and sits down. “I am told it is often appreciated if one inquires as to how another’s day fares.”

Leonard leans back in his chair, a smile ghosting his features. “Did a certain meddlesome captain tell you that?”

“Negative. My mother provided the insight.”

Leonard’s eyebrows shoot upward. “Really now? You were asking your mother for… what, exactly? How to socialize with humans?”

Spock has no intentions of sharing the conversation which led to her advice on cultivating the attention of one of his shipmates. If he were capable of forgetting it, he would—not that it is likely his mother will forgo asking about his progress the next time they communicate. Spock can only hope she has not yet shared these private matters with his father. Sarek will not ask questions; he will schedule a rendezvous with the Enterprise to meet the humans which have engaged the interest of his son.

He explains, “She feels she must impart to me some of her experiences as a human in hopes that I will find the information useful one day.”

“Ah,” Leonard murmurs more softly. “Well, that’s just what mothers do, Spock. It’s a protective instinct, really, even if it can sometimes be annoying for the recipient.”

“Yes, I understand.”

Leonard continues to fidget with the stylus. Silence descends upon them in the small office, until Leonard mutters abruptly, “I think I want to get out of here.”

“Where would you like to go?” Spock asks.

The doctor’s gaze traces the walls, the shelving, the door. “Don’t know.”

Ah. “Then might I make a suggestion?”

Leonard’s eyes return to him. “Sure.”

Spock stands and starts for the door.

“Wait!” the doctor calls, catching up to him in a hurry. “You haven’t said where!”

Spock tilts his head ever-so-slightly to consider Leonard’s expression. “I believe,” he decides, “I would rather it be a surprise.” He pauses, then adds, “If that is comfortable for you, Doctor.”

Leonard has been studying his face in turn. Spock wonders what the man sees there that helps with his decision, for the doctor eventually nods and says, “Lead the way, then.”

Spock does.

~~~

They—as living creatures—are so infinitesimal compared to something as vast as space. Spock admits to an awe he carries within him, since the first time he had a true look at the stars, whenever he is here. That, perhaps, is why he comes to the observation deck so often.

The human next to him is watching the stars also. Like Spock, he is silent and seemingly at peace. This characteristic is one they share: the ability to stand still and observe.

Leonard shifts on his feet, a sign that he is aware Spock is more inclined to observe him than the pinpoints of winking light.

“Does this suit your need?” Spock inquires.

Leonard glances in the Vulcan’s direction, eyes as blue as the reflection nebula far, far in the distance beyond the windowpane. He begins to nod but cuts the motion short in order to speak. “Do you know… one of the cures for an attack of claustrophobia is to stand at an open window. The idea is sort of planted in our heads that when we aren’t confined by walls—by any structure—we are free of restraint.” The man resumes staring ahead. “Being on a spaceship makes people more sensitive to things like claustrophobia. We know we can’t go outside this hull if we want to live, so sometimes it can feel more akin to a cage than a home. But ironically, I can stand here and feel like I’m really at a window, Spock. There’s so much out there… so much. A wide-open space, even if it’s a vacuum. Maybe that’s the reason,” he ends a touch sheepishly.

“This deck is open to all staff. You are free to come here when you wish, Doctor.” Particularly when it would be beneficial, he wishes to add but does not out of caution.

“I know,” Leonard says, crossing his arms. “I’m just not very fond of coming here alone. You might think it’s foolishly emotional of me, but as beautiful as space is, it makes me feel lonely.”

Spock does not respond to this right away, instead choosing to think on the words.

“Sorry,” mutters Leonard, in the ensuing silence. “I didn’t intend to over-share.”

“Not at all,” Spock assures him. “Though I wish to, I cannot say that I understand completely. I come here because it is a place of interest to me. The stars intrigue me.”

“And the unknown that accompanies them,” guesses Leonard. “You and Jim—that curiosity is what you two have in common.”

“Perhaps.”

The doctor hmphs quietly. “Even while being considerate, you’re still a stubborn hobgoblin, Spock.”

“I will assume that is a compliment, Doctor.”

“You would.”

They lapse into a silence that is more comfortable than the previous one. Leonard takes a position right up against the sill, folding his arms against it and leaning forward onto them as he stargazes. It is irrational in some respect to think so but the starlight, in Spock’s opinion, turns the human’s profile into a work of art. The face, although familiar, is full of unknowns.

Leonard may be correct after all about his predilection for mystery.

“Vulcans do not dream,” he says unexpectedly, subsequently surprising himself as well as Leonard.

Leonard turns to him, curiosity piqued. Spock can see it easily enough in Leonard’s reflection.

“Not unless they are given to dreams of portent,” Spock has to clarify so that he is not inaccurate. “Even then the ability is rare.”

“I didn’t know that.”

“It is not something which Vulcans are likely to discuss, given that the concept is foreign to them outside of theory.”

“Sounds like you don’t include yourself in that group,” the man next to him surmises gently.

Spock’s attention is caught by the brightest star in a cluster on far right pane. “That would be because I dream.” He allows for a period of time for Leonard to respond but no response is forthcoming, and so he continues on. “I was nine when I experienced my first dream. It was, as my mother later explained to me, a particular type of dream called a nightmare.”

Still, oddly, Leonard stays silent.

“I awoke on my own. I remembered the dream but I did not understand it or why I would experience images which were not memories and which did not seem based in reality. The same dream occurred twice more before my mother convinced me to tell her of my troubles. Once I did, she explained that, for her people, a nightmare was not uncommon for a young child to have. Often times it was inspired by a subconscious fear, and that it would not make sense until the reason for it—the fear, that is—had been identified.”

“Did you figure it out?”

“My mother did, once she knew the details of my imagining.”

Leonard nods slightly but does not, to Spock’s surprise, ask after the nature of the fear. “You’re fond of your mother.”

There is no reason to deny it. “Affirmative.”

“Spock,” all-at-once Leonard sounds too grave, when he should have no reason to, “I want to tell you something but you have to promise to listen until I am finished talking.”

He has heard Leonard ask this of their captain when there is a high probability Jim will not like what Leonard intends to say. Spock, being forewarned in this manner, feels curiosity more strongly than he does trepidation. He promises, “I will listen.”

Leonard sighs, a soft sound in the quiet stillness of the deck.

“When I pick at you, it’s not because I hate your nature. To be honest, I’ve always thought Vulcans are, heaven help me, fascinating. You approach everything around you so differently than we do, and yet you are able to find value in the same things, want the same things, as a people.” Leonard pauses. “I pick at you because you aren’t entirely Vulcan—because you’re half-human too. When we first met, I thought, here’s someone who has a chance to be the best of two worlds. But you were—are—Vulcan, Spock, from the pointed tips of your ears down to your toes. It seems like you don’t want to be anything else. I guess that’s the part which galls me.” He draws in a long breath and releases it in a rush of air. “But I’m wrong, aren’t I? It’s not that you don’t want to be human. Being human, even half-human, is difficult for you.”

Yes—such a simple word to say and yet Spock cannot voice it. He has not admitted such a thing in many years.

Leonard looks away. “You don’t have to say anything. I just wanted to apologize. I’ve been more of a problem than a solution.” The doctor takes his hands off the sill and twists the ring on his smallest finger. “If it’s any consolation, I do like you the way you are. Even at your most logical.”

“Thank you,” Spock tells him with utmost sincerity.

Leonard pushes away from the windowpane. “We should—I mean, I should probably get back. I appreciate you bringing me here.” He hesitates, then, as if there is more he would say, but in the end simply shakes his head and starts toward for the deck’s exit.

“Dr. McCoy,” Spock calls after him.

The man stops, turns, the starlight casting a silhouette of his sloped shoulders against the far wall.

“If you should ever wish to return but do not wish to do so alone, I would be pleased to accompany you.”

Though it is a slow change, a majority of the uncertainty clears from Leonard’s face. His “Thanks, Spock” is genuine.

Spock replies, “You are welcome,” and follows the man’s progress across the deck until he disappears into the corridor beyond.

Spock has known for some time that Leonard understood him, but to have confirmation of it brings him a joy he has rarely known. The sensation is, as Leonard remarked earlier, most freeing.

~~~

The familiarity of it or the length in which they endure does not matter; the truth is that space is the antipathy of earth. For those born with their roots in the earth, there is always something missing: the feeling of the sun’s warmth, the sting of wind, the change of seasons. When living in the sterile, climate-controlled environment of a starship becomes just slightly too much, the heart seeks the comforts of home.

If missing the earth under his feet, Jim Kirk comes here: to the gardens. They are his comfort, one which he believes it is meant to be shared.

As he walks, he glances sidelong at the man beside him. Their pace is leisurely, their strides evenly matched.

Leonard releases a long sigh, the kind that men make when a troubling weight falls off their shoulders.

“Feeling better?” Jim asks. Bones had seemed tired to him. Not overworked, precisely, but weary maybe. Then again, the long months between shore leaves wear on them all.

The doctor nods, and when he smiles, wide and warm and genuine, Jim’s heart stutters in his chest. He has to study the path under his feet to get a hold on the feeling.

“I should come here more often,” Leonard tells him. “It’s nice.”

“It’s a good place to think,” Jim agrees. “A place to feel…” He searches for the right word.

“Grounded.”

“Yes, grounded.” Jim admires the rose bushes on his left. “Even a starship captain needs that sometimes.”

Leonard makes a thoughtful noise. “I would have thought you liked the observation deck better.”

“I do go there on occasion,” Jim confesses. “When I need to remind myself why we’re here, why it’s important. But honestly, that’s more Spock’s place.”

For some reason Leonard smiles again. “Yeah.”

Jim stops walking and turns partly toward him. “Do you want to go to the observation deck, Bones?”

Leonard shakes his head slightly. “No, this is good. Better than good.” He looks at Jim and bounces slightly on the balls of his feet. “Say, where do you think they keep the magnolias?”

Jim would indulge him if he could. “There’s not a lot of room for trees on a starship.”

“Well now, Jim-boy, considerin’ the size of this starship, I’d say you’re wrong.”

“Trees don’t do as well here,” he amends.

Leonard nods. “I’ve heard Sulu say that flowers are easier ’cause they can grow in shallow soil. Nonetheless,” the doctor adds, a fond memory coming into his eyes, “I sure do miss the magnolia trees in Georgia sometimes.”

Jim has seen the blooms on a magnolia tree before, so he is fairly certain he remembers what they should look like. Because he is thinking about their shape, size and color, an idea occurs to him. He catches a hold of Leonard’s hand and without warning starts towing the man down a side path. Leonard sputters at the change in pace.

“C’mon, Bones!” he urges.

“Jim? Why in tarnation are we going so fast! I swear, you’re no better than a child in an amusement park at times!”

“Hurry!”

“Or what?” his friend retorts.

Just after this corner, Jim thinks, and—

He swings Leonard around to face him at the last moment so his back is to the flower bed ahead of them. “Close your eyes,” he all but demands.

Leonard purses his mouth. “What for?”

Jim gives Leonard a slight shake. “Close them, Bones. Trust me!”

The doctor lets the air out of his lungs with a whoosh and says, “Fine.” His eyes snap shut.

Jim gently turns the man around, an arm secured across his shoulders to keep him steady. “Just a moment more. Keep them closed.”

“Yes, sir,” Leonard says dryly.

Jim looks left then right and, seeing no one, hurries into the flower bed and plucks the nearest bloom. He is in front of Leonard again when he says, “Okay, you can look.”

Blue eyes open, blink at him—then Leonard looks down. For a moment, nothing happens. The man just seems to be studying the blossom.

Jim feels a pang of disappointment. “It’s not a magnolia,” he says hurriedly, “but I thought—well, I thought it might have looked like one.”

Oh, how terrible is this? He wasn’t even this awkward as a schoolboy!

“Jim,” Leonard says softly. Then, surprisingly, he cups Jim’s hands with his own, like they contain something precious. “My god, it’s just like a magnolia.” The thickness of Leonard drawls tells Jim how strongly his friend is affected by the gift—that, and the sudden sheen of tears in the man’s eyes.

A lump lodges itself in Jim’s throat. He doesn’t think he can talk around it, so he settles for nodding. Then he lifts his hands a little higher to offer the flower.

Leonard starts to take it but stops short. His gaze snaps up to Jim’s, wider than before. “Jim, you picked this?“

Jim feels the back of his neck flush. “Yes, so—uh—so hurry up and take it!” He knows he shouldn’t have picked it. He tries to dump it into Leonard’s hands.

But the man backs up, laughing, hands out, fingers splaying. “The botanists are going to kill you!”

“Shh!” Oh god, what’s he done? He cuts his eyes to the side. Had that bush just rustled? Who was watching? “They can’t hurt me,” he says, hoping for the best. “I’m their captain.”

Leonard crosses his arms, eyes dancing with mirth. “Oh, Jim. How do you manage to get yourself into so much trouble? That’s what I’d like to know!”

“All right, McCoy,” he warns, “that’s enough.”

But Leonard isn’t one to stop when the joke is so good. He opens his mouth—

And someone else clears his throat.

Then calls politely, “Captain?”

Jim almost flings the flower up into the air and makes a run for it but pride keeps him planted in place and common sense tells him not to leave Bones behind to face the wrath of the botanists on his own. He turns toward the sound of the voice, stashing the flower behind his back. “Yes, ah…” He finally sees who it is and feels a jolt of shock. “Spock?”

One of Spock’s eyebrows rise. “Captain.”

“Hello, Commander,” Leonard says, coming to stand beside Jim.

The Vulcan inclines his head. “Doctor.” Then he transfers his gaze back to Jim. “Forgive me… was I interrupting?”

“No,” Jim says. “Nope. Nothing.”

“Jim’s done something bad,” Jim’s worst friend in the galaxy tattles. Leonard knocks shoulders with him. “C’mon. Show ‘im.”

Spock’s other eyebrow joins the first.

The flush at the back of Jim’s neck has spread to his face. He straightens and squares his shoulders, saying in his best command voice, “It isn’t anything to worry about, Mr. Spock.”

Leonard, damn him, takes that opportunity to pluck the flower out of Jim’s cupped hands and scuttle out of range before Jim can go after him. Leonard presents the blossom to Spock with a huge grin.

“Old Jim-boy over there picked me a magnolia.”

“That is not a magnolia,” Spock replies. Nonetheless he carefully takes the bloom’s stem between forefinger and thumb. “But I see the resemblance.”

“I know,” the doctor agrees, looking pleased. “It was a sweet thought.”

“Unfortunately,” Spock says a moment later, “I must remind the Captain that it is against regulation for any personnel who is not a designated care-taker of the plant life to prune the bushes.”

Leonard snickers.

Jim turns a sour look on them both. “I don’t know why I do anything for you two.”

Leonard gives him an amused look. “Sure you do, Jim.”

“You…” he starts, only to stop. There isn’t any inclination in him to fight. It truly is not fair that he cannot keep his ire very long with either Bones or Spock. He gestures at the flower instead in a silent, helpless question of what do I do about that?

Spock returns the plucked blossom to its flowerbed, laying it upon the ground with reverence where others have fallen naturally. Then the Vulcan straightens, clasping his hands behind his back.

“You’re in luck, Jim,” Leonard remarks. “It looks like Spock’s going to let this one go.”

Spock twists slightly at the waist to eye McCoy. “I did not say such, Doctor.”

“Do you need to?” Leonard counters, eyes still dancing.

Spock does not reply, instead turning to face Jim. “Captain,” he says formally, “I will see you on the bridge.”

Jim stops the Vulcan before he can go too far. “Actually,” he says, “I have an appointment to keep.” When Spock just looks at him, Jim adds pointedly, “Isn’t that why you came to find me?” He casts an apologetic look at McCoy, saying quickly before Spock can deny anything, “Sorry, Bones.”

Leonard nods, always more understanding than he should be. That is another one of the things Jim loves about him. “All right, Jim.”

Jim cuts his eyes back to Spock. “I really hate to leave Bones like this, Spock. I was giving him a tour.” Leonard starts to protest but Jim steamrolls over that, saying, “I would consider it a favor if you would take him around the gardens in my stead.”

Spock stares, the look in his eyes plain that he knows what Jim is about. “Very well,” the Vulcan says at last. “I accept.”

“Now wait just a minute,” interrupts Leonard, looking from Jim to Spock and back again. “Who’s to say I don’t have somewhere to be too?”

“Now, Bones, you know you’re off-duty,” Jim coaxes in his most amiable voice. “And where better is there to be but here?” He reaches out to squeeze Leonard’s bicep briefly and then plants a hand firmly on the man’s lower back, giving Leonard an encouraging push in Spock’s direction.

Jim looks Spock in the eyes while Leonard is still fussing. “You two enjoy yourselves—Captain’s orders.”

“Yes, Captain.”

“Jim!”

Jim walks away, humming a happy little tune to himself.

It’s all been going so very well. And now that he has shown he can share Bones’ affection with Spock, they can begin the second phase of their plan: to prove the three of them together is better than two.

Next Part

Related Posts:

• Council of Three (2/2) – from January 17, 2014

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