Title: A Union to Remember
Author: klmeri
Fandom: Star Trek AOS
Pairing: Kirk/Spock/McCoy
Summary: One holiday in particular has much meaning for Kirk, Spock, and McCoy.
A/N: Written for McSpirkHolidayFest round; based on this prompt from starfleetdicks: Academy Era: Commander Spock finally takes time to view the fireworks over the Golden Gate Bridge after much proding from Cadet Kirk and his friend Cadet McCoy. It’s a night he won’t forget.
My dear starfleetdicks, my apologies, as this isn’t quite what you had in mind but I hope you enjoy it nonetheless!
FYI, this story utilizes a ‘made-up’ holiday in the sense that it isn’t in any Star Trek lore that I know of but is based off of a major event in Earth’s history and the founding of the Federation.

2255

Spock of Vulcan exits a public shuttlecraft onto the dock of the Skyline Visitor’s Center, a ten-story rounded tower built to resemble the Lime Point Lighthouse of the twentieth century which had long ago been torn down. From its observation deck, the Skyline is known to have the best view of all San Francisco has to offer, spanning the colorful marina to the carefully preserved landmark still in use, the Golden Gate Bridge, and the ocean beyond. Directly below the Skyline resides the remnants of Battery Spencer. Off limits because of an on-going restoration project and a dangerously eroding coastline, it looks almost medieval surrounded by the modern architecture of the area. Normally lush green, the grassy headlands have mottled to brown after an extended heat wave and look as desolate as the abandoned fort.

Spock notes how significantly empty the observation deck is of tourists. He had transversed the bay with a singular group of four. Upon arriving, the parents hustled their offspring into the interior of the building, no doubt seeking shelter from the sweltering heat and a cooler entertainment than standing on the outdoor deck. Spock, having grown up in the arid landscape of Vulcan, finds the heat comforting.

As he approaches the curved deck railing, his gaze is immediately drawn to the massive structure stretching over the bay to connect two points of land. As happens on this day of the year, the Golden Gate Bridge has been closed to all traffic except pedestrians on foot. Now, as evening closes in, thousands are jammed together from one end of the bridge to the other. From the Skyline they look like a stream of ants, always in motion. The sun sinks below the horizon; its light reflected off the ocean creates the occasional strange shimmering patch of air around the bridge, the only evidence of a force field activated as a safety precaution to keep the onlookers from leaning too far over the bridge’s edge and plummeting to their deaths. At this distance and altitude, because of the sheer number of people, Spock can hear the din of their voices like a constant hum.

He is not here because, in anticipation of a holiday weekend break from their studies, his students had been difficult to settle in class all week. He is not here because for the third year in a row, his colleagues had looked befuddled to hear that he has no plans for United Earth Day. Nor is he here because yesterday the Dean of Starfleet Academy had given a speech about what it means to remember Earth’s past, which she does every year. The older cadets had been restless at that gathering, ready to be dismissed so they can shoot off to the local clubs and bars in San Francisco’s downtown while the first-year youths had been stirred enough by the Dean’s speech to salute her.

Spock is merely interested in discovering for himself how the most lauded event of United Earth Day unfolds. This vantage point he chose with care and the intention of avoiding the crowd; yet its proximity to the bridge is still near enough to observe the proceedings accurately. He understands now just how beneficial choosing the Skyline is, for had he tried to join the masses on the bridge, he surely would have been overwhelmed. Despite how telepathically strong Spock is for a Vulcan, such a multitude of active minds in one place would lap relentlessly at his own shielded mind, at best distracting him, at worst incapacitating him. Here is a relative calm and a sufficient view. He will not miss the fireworks that are said to be the culmination of the holiday’s celebration.

Activating one of the view-screen stations installed an incremental distances around the deck, Spock magnifies the image, sliding it from the edge of the marina along the opposite coast towards the ocean and back again. Then he positions the viewer over the bridge, idly scanning the most densely populated area at the mid-point, a mixed group of Federation citizens talking, pointing, and huddling together with family members and friends to take holo-images of themselves. As he is somewhat preoccupied by the peculiarities of these activities, he belatedly catches a flash of familiar red in his peripheral vision.

Two human Cadets, he notices, both a little older than the average age of the newest class. One of them glances Spock’s way.

Spock returns his attention to the viewer. It seems he is not the only one who had the idea to view the festivities from a suitable, safe distance. But surely their reasoning for doing so could not coincide with his. It occurs to Spock, then, that they must have ventured here for privacy. One would not have privacy down there, he decides, taking note of more than a few amorous embraces among the crowds.

This, of course, is no reason to vacate the observation deck. There is an alcove on the opposite side sized to accommodate at least four persons.

“Excuse me.”

Spock stiffens without thinking and steps back from the viewer. He modulates his voice to encompass a basic politeness which his mother calls having manners. “Cadet, how may I assist you?”

The fair-haired cadet smiles at him. Spock has seen many unusual eye-colors in the past but none so strikingly vibrant as this man’s. He would like to have a name for the particular shade because it cannot simply be called blue.

Once again caught off-guard, Spock finally comprehends a request has been made of him.

The cadet tilts his head, smile dying and reviving in quick succession. “The viewer,” he says a tad more slowly, perhaps in case Spock is new to Standard (a ridiculous notion, as all Vulcans learn Standard simultaneously with their native language). “Would you mind if…?”

The human has no time to finish speaking as Spock takes another step back and replies, “Use it at your leisure.” He pivots and strides around the curve of the deck, passing the second cadet with neatly trimmed brown hair, whose eyebrows shoot up and whose gaze Spock feels follows his retreating back. He purposely tunes out the sound of voices and pauses several feet away, clasping his hands behind his back as he deeply scrutinizes the landscape laid out before him.

His acutely developed sense of time tells him how many minutes have lapsed since his arrival and he calculates the length of time left until the sun is completely invisible beneath the horizon. From that point, it will be another hour before the sky is dark enough for a fireworks display to be appreciated. Spock relaxes his posture just infinitesimally and prepares to wait. He trains his gaze on the sight of the Golden Gate Bridge and slips, quite reflexively, into a light meditative trance.

Precisely thirty-seven minutes and sixteen seconds later, a tap on Spock’s shoulder breaks his concentration.

He blinks and angles his head sideways.

“You all right?” Spock is asked by the companion of the blue-eyed cadet, his words forming a curious drawl Spock has only heard in old Earth recordings.

It strikes Spock suddenly that the man’s intense scrutiny of him is born of concern.

“I am well,” he replies, bemused.

“Ah,” murmurs the man. Then, “Sorry if I startled you. You just… You haven’t even twitched in over half an hour. I wanted to make certain there’s nothing wrong.”

“A commendable action.” Spock purposely shifts his stance, then, as to help alleviate any lingering concern the man may feel. Clearly the human has no knowledge of a Vulcan’s ability to control his physiology at will, but then again by order of the Elder Council only a select group of non-Vulcans, including non-Vulcan physicians, are privy to such information.

“Bones?”

Spock and the cadet break eye-contact as the first cadet reappears at the archway to the interior of the Skyline, holding two beverage containers in his hands. Offering one of them to his companion, which ‘Bones’ takes, he then stares curiously at Spock for some seconds before asking with child-like innocence, “Bones, aren’t you going to introduce me?”

Bones chokes on his mouthful of drink, thereby prompting Spock to instinctively lean out of range of flying spittle.

The dark-haired cadet sputters a moment longer, then claims, “I don’t know him!”

Spock raises his eyebrow at this heated declaration.

“Oh,” replies his friend. Then, again with that show of innocence, “But didn’t you come over here to get to know to him?”

“Jim,” Bones says, and Spock is glad to finally hear a name since apparently neither man intends to introduce himself, “that’s—I mean, it’s not what it looks like. I thought he might be ill.”

Jim laughs to hear this. “He’s a Vulcan. Vulcans find it convenient to meditate to pass the time.”

Spock’s eyebrow arches nearly to his hairline.

The dark-haired cadet voices a disbelief they seem to share. “How do you know that?”

“What don’t I know?” Cadet Jim counters, his voice merry instead of arrogant. He turns to Spock. “I forgot to thank you for earlier, Lieutenant-Commander. I apologize.”

“An apology is unnecessary as is gratitude. The viewing station is public property.”

Jim accepts the response without much ado; the other cadet, however, frowns slightly, as though he finds something disagreeable about Spock’s logic.

Without a warning, a wild undulation goes up from the Golden Gate Bridge, carried swiftly to their ears by the winds crossing the bay.

Jim grins. “Thirty minutes ’til the show, gentlemen.” In one causal move, he slings an arm his companion’s shoulders.

Spock is reminded that these cadets are strangers, and their purpose here has nothing to do with him. Silently, he returns to facing the marina and the bridge. He watches the tiny pinpoints of people below circulating to and fro now, more hurriedly packing in tighter groups to make room for newcomers. Their excitement is palpable to him in a way he had not expected, he muses, for there is no other logical explanation that he should experience a sense of heightened anticipation on his own.

Without comment, Spock takes note that the cadet Jim and his Bones seem content to stay on Spock’s side of the observation deck. They settle an arm’s length away, elbows braced against the railing. Discretely observing how the men’s heads bend towards one another, how comfortable they are when in such close proximity, he thinks he may not be wrong about their relationship being a special one.

That too gives him a strange, inexplicable feeling.

He is infinitely grateful, then, once the first firework screams into the sky and bursts into a shower of sparks. The beauty of it is something he does understand, from its ability to change colors as it blossoms to its mathematically tailored shapes. Yet despite all Spock’s studies of the mechanics of fireworks, of the texts and films, to see the phenomenon in person is a distinguishing factor he will not forget.

Spock is compelled to remark, “Fascinating.”

As the night progresses, the fireworks light the faces of the remaining observers on the deck, now numbering as a dozen or more since many have abandoned the shelter of the Skyline to watch the show as well. In the very moment that Spock glances aside, the red washes out of his companions’ uniforms by brilliant blooms of gold and blue. To his eyes, the colors suit the men.

Spock decides then he would not be opposed to seeing this strangely attractive display again.

~~~

2256

“Hey, it’s you!”

The Vulcan turns at the greeting, quite pleased that his hypothesis had been correct. A full year later at the same landmark, the Skyline, the same cadets are making their way from the shuttle dock to the stairs leading up to the observation deck. Spock had calculated the probability of encountering them again as marginal but his hypothesis hinged on the fact that what is improbable is also still possible.

The cadet who called to him waves enthusiastically as humans are sometimes wont to do. Spock knows him to be Jim Kirk.

To be more precise, James Tiberius Kirk, son of George Kirk, the last captain of the USS Kelvin. Jim is a protégé of Cpt. Christopher Pike, a man for whom Spock has great respect.

Of all one thousand seven hundred sixty-two students in the first-year class of Academy students, two hundred thirty-two of them have some form of their legal name as ‘Jim’ or ‘James’, are biologically male, and are registered with the eye-color of blue (though that word still seems much too plain a description to Spock). Spock spent one evening scanning through each profile until he identified the correct cadet.

Against all common sense, he had also attempted a brief search of the misnomer Bones. As expected, it is nothing more than an unusual nickname. Unfortunately that means Spock still has no idea who the other person is that slinks onto the observation deck behind Kirk. By the man’s expression, he would rather be anywhere else.

Jim doesn’t seem affected by his companion’s sour mood, for he grabs the man’s arm and tows him in Spock’s direction.

“Lieutenant-Commander,” Jim calls brightly, “how fortuitous to meet you again. I bet that you might be here.”

The dark-haired cadet mutters, “I lost that bet.”

Spock replies, quite without meaning to, “Perhaps you might share your winnings since it was my decision to alter my evening’s work schedule which indeed made today’s venture fortuitous for you.”

Jim’s mouth hangs open only for a couple of seconds before it stretches in a broad grin. “You got it, sir.” He orders the man at his side, “A drink for myself and the commander, Bones.”

“No more drinks for you,” Bones replies, stabbing a finger uncomfortably close to Jim’s eye-socket. He glances at Spock. “For him, maybe.”

Spock interjects quickly, as the man has already turned away, “What should I call you?”

The man glances back at him with a moment’s undisguised astonishment. When he recovers, he says, “McCoy. Leonard McCoy.”

“And I’m Jim,” Kirk introduces himself. “Jim Kirk.”

“Well met, Cadets Kirk and McCoy,” Spock replies, raising his right hand in the Vulcan Ta’al. “I am called Spock.”

The fireworks after sunset are no less pleasant to watch, but Spock spends most of his time surreptitiously studying Kirk and McCoy’s reactions. When the three men part ways following the show, Spock spends the hours until morning in his quarters researching the man Leonard McCoy. McCoy, it turns out, is a licensed doctor on an accelerated track through Starfleet Medical and has far more of a public profile than one would assume after an initial impression. McCoy’s name, like the Kirk name, is already famous to certain circles of people.

Intrigued, Spock hypothesizes that next year’s United Earth Day they will meet again. He should like that tremendously.

~~~

2257

Congestion at the port creates delays in all shuttle departures. Spock arrives at the Skyline just as the orange glow over the ocean begins to fade to twilight, noting with some apprehension that the number of visitors on the observation deck is double from the prior year. He takes a circuitous route through the deck, on his first pass experiencing sharp disappointment.

It isn’t until a man in nondescript clothing at the railing lifts his head, causing the lighting of the Golden Gate Bridge to catch the corner of his shadowed face, that Spock recognizes him. Spock makes his way in that direction.

“Dr. McCoy,” he says carefully.

McCoy glances over his shoulder—and looks as relieved as Spock feels. “I thought I would end up standing here by myself looking like a fool.”

There are too many people pushing forward to catch a glimpse of the bridge for someone to appear foolish and alone but Spock understands the sentiment. He joins McCoy at the railing.

“There was a delay at the shuttle terminal.”

McCoy nods. “Busy time for everybody.” A moment of silence ensues, then, “Congratulations on your promotion.”

Spock masks his surprise. “How did you know?”

Leonard twirls a finger around the vicinity of Spock’s uniform collar. “I can count.”

His ranking braids—of course. How embarrassing an intellectual lapse not to surmise that McCoy had noticed them.

“Don’t let it rankle you if I forget to call you Commander.” The human folds his arms across the top railing and leans slightly forward as if to judge the distance to the ground. “I’m better with names than titles.”

Spock resists the urge to draw the man back. “Rank is… for duty. I am not on duty at the moment, Doctor.”

“Ah,” Leonard murmurs in agreement. “Well in case you’re wondering where my dumber half went…” He flashes an old-fashioned wristwatch at Spock. “Jim’s later than you.” He hesitates, then, saying with unexpected caution, “You’ve probably heard… Hell, I think everybody has heard. He’s taking the Kobayashi Maru.”

Spock is quite aware of this fact. He monitors who takes the test he programmed purposely to be unwinnable. “He has already taken it and failed.”

“Failure isn’t in Jim’s vocabulary. He’ll take it again, mark by words.”

“That is—” Spock pauses, searching for the right word and coming up short. “—illogical.”

McCoy snorts. “Tell that to the pain in my ass.”

Spock becomes more alarmed. “Are you in pain?”

For some reason, the man starts laughing. “Figure of speech,” he explains to Spock a full minute later after he wipes his eyes. “Pretty much Jim is the reason I stay up at night, worried what he might do next.” McCoy sighs, then, some of the humor gone from his voice. “You would think joining Starfleet makes a man less reckless, not more. Sometimes I think…”

But Spock does not know what Leonard thinks, as Leonard quiets without finishing his statement. A person nearly elbows Spock in his side, jostling with another person for the meager opening of space available. Leonard slides right, tugging Spock with him, and putting them at a safer distance of being knocked around. Afterwards, the silence which settles between them isn’t tense by any means but it does occasionally prompt Spock to search the nearby crowd for Jim’s arrival.

McCoy seems to catch on to his discomfort. “Tell me, Spock, what do you like so much about fireworks that you come here every year?”

“I am not here specifically for the fireworks,” Spock remarks automatically. He amends with equal haste, “While interesting what appeals to me more is… human nature.”

“Oh?” questions McCoy more curiously. “There’s something about us humans that appeals to you? I wouldn’t have guessed it.”

Spock stares at him.

Leonard huffs. “I was teasing you. Please tell me you know what a joke is.”

“Vulcans do not joke.”

“I didn’t say you did—oh, never mind.” McCoy blows out a breath in apparent frustration, likely unaware that his mutter of “I’m no good at this” is audible to Spock’s ears.

Spock has an inquiry of his own: “May I ask you a personal question?”

“Sure, if you want to.”

“Are you… partnered with Cadet Kirk?”

“Partnered?” Understanding doesn’t immediately dawn in the man’s eyes but when it does he answers rather casually, “Not yet.”

“Interesting,” Spock decides, tucking his hands behind his back. More interesting than fireworks by far.

“So that’s what fascinates you about human nature, huh?” Leonard laughs and looks away, continuing to smile for some reason. “Color me surprised.”

Spock has no inclination to correct the man’s thinking. It isn’t how humans interact with each other that makes him curious so much as how they are prone to interact with him.

Perhaps, in due time, there will be an opportunity to explain this interest of his more fully. For now, both Spock and McCoy hear a bellow of their names drowning out the sound of other conversations.

Jim has arrived and is searching for them.

~~~

2258

Spock has lost his appreciation for beauty. The universe is less remarkable than it was, revealing its uglier, crueler side in one heart-rending moment when an entire planet crumbles inward and disappears. His mother, so close to his reach yet not close enough—the horror on her face as the cliff gave out beneath her—all of it stays forever etched in his mind. He had known tragedy and cruelty in his life, only mild shades of them, but not until this one event, when Nero’s revenge changed everything, had Spock questioned his worth as a living being.

He goes on because he must as a survivor of genocide. That he carries guilt, shame, and rage inside him makes him no different than the other survivors; of this he is keenly aware. But Spock can no longer look at the intact Earth, albeit scarred, and recall what he once enjoyed about it. Whether a side-effect of the psychic rending of his race or simply a hallmark of personal grief, he wishes he knew how to bring the feeling back. For this reason, he leaves his apartment on United Earth Day seeking what has gone missing.

Nero’s attack wasn’t strong enough to shake the Earth’s population from their traditions. There are motorists en route across the bay, shops opening up to welcome crowds, shuttles filling with civilians. Though the faces about Spock appear more reserved, these people of San Francisco march towards the Golden Gate Bridge like troopers prepared to enact their duties no matter what the war-front looks like.

Spock notes the lack of uniforms among the travelers as he waits in the shuttle queue. It is to be expected, he reasons, for what cadets remain in the devastated ranks of their class are hurrying at warp-speed towards their graduation, some of them young enough to have barely finished their second year. Starfleet sorely needs them, and so it is that this particular generation will have their testing of the qualities that make junior officers directly in the field.

The Skyline is completely devoid of people when Spock arrives, and for a moment he is convinced it has closed without notice. Then a fleeting figure moves across the gray-translucence of the entrance door, and Spock propels forward, entering the building to identify the presence.

The figure is a janitor monitoring a robotic cleaning crew. Spock has no chance to speak before the janitor shrugs at him, saying as though he hears Spock’s concern, “Observation deck is open. Door to your left.”

Passing the janitor by, Spock realizes it may very well be that the male read his mind. He is Betazoid.

Spock locates the entrance off the left wing and climbs the steps to the observation deck. It is mostly unchanged, the view-stations swept clean, the trash receptacles emptied. Not abandoned, precisely, he determines, but a place unused for many days.

Spock goes to the deck’s edge and looks down at the Golden Gate Bridge. A bubble flies around the one of the suspension towers, likely a worker drone engaged in some repair. His gaze turns skyward, then, to an overcast sky. The ocean is no different, its hues subdued.

His disappointment grows as darkness falls and the fireworks are triggered in rapid succession, like someone is hurrying the show—and the lackluster celebration—to an end.

Afterwards the world becomes silent for a long time. Lights wink out across the bridge.

When a hand finds Spock’s shoulder, he does not react, in the silent dark having been fully aware of the echo of footsteps approaching him from behind.

“Spock… Why haven’t you called?”

“Captain,” Spock names the newcomer in a softened tone.

“Cadet,” Jim corrects, his tone also hushed. “For now.”

Spock turns around, hardly surprised to find that Kirk is not alone. McCoy watches them both from the halfway point of the deck.

“How long have you been here?” Leonard asks him.

“I arrived—” Spock calculates the time. Nearly four hours have lapsed. “—some time ago,” he answers.

McCoy takes a step forward as though Spock has challenged him in some fashion. “You can’t be bothered to pick up your personal calls—”

“Bones,” Jim says with faint resignation.

“—and you can’t be bothered to answer our messages—”

“Bones,” Kirk says again, this time with more warning.

“—or at least have the goddamn courtesy to let us know you’re still breathing somewhere, but you can show up here to watch a few fire-crackers go off alone? I hate you,” Leonard states. “I hate you for worrying us out of our minds, Spock.”

“I accept your feelings,” Spock replies without inflection.

Jim closes his eyes. “Spock, it’s not like that. Bones, tell him.”

“I just did, Jim.” Leonard crosses the deck to stand within arm’s reach. “If Spock isn’t capable of understanding why we are upset, I don’t know why we came here.”

Jim looks to Spock. “Because he needs us.” To Spock, “Let us help you.”

“I do not know that I can be helped,” Spock confesses. “What I feel—or no longer feel—is not easily explained.”

“Try,” Leonard insists.

Spock takes a moment to gather his thoughts. He says, “You once asked me why I come here. The answer is that in this place I discovered something I perceived to be beautiful. Tonight,” his voice roughens, “there was no such thing as beauty. I cannot explain it more clearly than that, Dr. McCoy.”

Leonard’s answer isn’t immediate but his compassion and grief are unmistakable. “Spock, I’m sorry.”

Spock too is filled with sorrow.

Jim tilts his head back and sighs. His throat works. Then he suggests, “Look up.”

Spock does. Stars are faint but becoming more visible as the clouds drift apart.

“Out there is all the beauty you could ever want or need,” Jim tells him. “Come with us, Spock. We can help you. I give you my word.”

A yearning in Spock has been urging him to do much the same. Would it be all right, he wonders, if he allowed himself to hope again?

Jim brushes a hand along the Vulcan’s arm, and Leonard shifts closer, turning his face upwards as well.

Afraid of what he might give up otherwise, Spock silently vows to try.

~~~

2259

The significance of the date occurs to Spock too late.

Upon his arrival to the recovery unit within Starfleet Medical, he finds Jim sleeping comfortably, the lights of his hospital room dimmed. The on-duty staff simply reply to his inquiry concerning Dr. McCoy’s whereabouts, “He signed out soon after the patient fell asleep.”

Basing his next destination on knowledge of Leonard’s habits over the past two months, he goes to the hospital’s communal living quarters next, looking for its most tenured resident. However, McCoy is not there catching an hour of sleep as he should be. Troubled now, Spock begins the trek across the medical campus to the adjacent Academy grounds. His slow pace is conducive to thinking as an unpredictable human might.

By the time he requests help to trace Leonard’s communicator, he is extremely annoyed and more frazzled than any Vulcan by rights should be. What possessed McCoy to go to the Skyline on his own?

Spock proceeds there with all haste, his greeting of “An invitation would not have been remiss” to the figure sprawled along a low wall bench of the Skyline deck a barely disguised chastisement.

Leonard doesn’t remove the arm draped over his eyes, commenting instead almost languidly, “Bridge is kinda empty today.”

Spock glances towards an operative view-station. He had noticed the state of the bridge from the viewport of his shuttle. The line of people filtering towards its center is more reminiscent of a muddy trickle than the usual stream of color. No banners have been stretched across the suspension cables as the upper right suspender is still damaged. In the wake of the Vengeance’s destruction, San Francisco is struggling to rise from the ashes.

His gaze does not linger on the scarred city horizon.

“Why have you come here?” he asks. All festivities had been postponed until the rebuilding of the downtown area is completed.

“Had to,” Leonard answers at last, lifting his arm up slightly. “Jim asked me to.”

Spock locks his hands tightly behind his back. Of course. He should have known. Leonard, who has not left the hospital since Jim was admitted, would not seek to leave their captain on his own. Such is Jim’s power over this man.

Over them.

“Why?” Spock asks again, knowing the obtuseness will rouse McCoy.

Leonard doesn’t disappoint. He plants his boots on the ground and sits up. “What do you mean why? I said why!”

“The request was illogical.”

“Oh, stop it,” Leonard says, coming to his feet. “We both know how it works. Jim says jump and we ask how high. Damn fools, the pair of us.”

“Normally I would not disagree with the Captain, but in this instance I am without an understanding of his motive for sending you here,” Spock’s speech slows, “…alone.” Only just then does it occur to him that Jim could have anticipated that he would find Leonard.

Leonard shrugs and frowns at something in the distance. “Spock, I can’t tell you why. Why does Jim do anything that he does? Why does he want to beat an unbeatable test? Why does he say, okay, let’s fly a ship into a volcano?”

Spock is about to point out that had been his idea when Leonard’s voice falters.

“Why does he—he—”

Yes. Here is the reason Leonard obeys so easily. “Why,” he finishes in the man’s stead, “does Jim act so recklessly that he throws his life away? But was the action truly reckless? I find I cannot fault Jim for what he did. Under those circumstances, I can only hope I would have done the same.”

Leonard’s head snaps around.

If Spock is honest with himself, he does not expect the reaction he receives. The rough shove into his shoulder sends him a step backwards.

“How dare you,” Leonard begins, voice strangled but on the rise. “How dare you say that to me! You, you cold-blooded bastard!“

Rarely has Leonard addressed him with such unmitigated anger. However, the raw pain burning through Leonard’s voice is what causes Spock’s defensive comeback to die on his tongue.

When Leonard tries to shove him again, the Vulcan catches the man’s arm.

“Let go.” Leonard’s eyes blaze. His fingers curl into a fist. “I’m warning you…”

“I upset you. Help me understand why. Was it because I disagreed?”

“Let me go, Spock!”

“I shall not.”

“Damn you, I SAID LET GO!”

Studying Leonard’s angry, reddened face, understanding dawns. Spock remarks more slowly, “That is not why. You are angry because…” He does not need to touch the psy-points on Leonard’s face to absorb his emotions. They are startlingly clear.

In trying to force Spock to release him by brute strength, Leonard only succeeds in knocking himself into Spock. Almost absentmindedly, Spock uses the leverage to pin McCoy where he stands.

“…I said I would choose death too.” Spock slides his fingers away from McCoy’s wrist, up his arm to his quivering shoulder. “Leonard, thank you for valuing my life.”

Leonard stares at a spot on Spock’s uniform. “Pointy-eared bastard. I didn’t say that.”

“Have you not learned by now that your thoughts are also my thoughts?”

The man pulls back. “What? What does that mean?”

“Only that I have been foolish to deny the truth for this long.”

Leonard looks more confused. “The truth about what, Spock?”

Spock shows him.

When Spock draws back, he observes how stunned McCoy is—until the man suddenly bursts into noise, cursing.

Spock draws a quiet breath. “Did I perform the kiss incorrectly?”

“No. But, damn it, Jim wins again!”

“Excuse me?”

Leonard latches onto Spock’s shoulders and gives him a little shake, crying, “I bet you would kiss him first! Do you know how much money I owe him now? Goddamn it!”

That, Spock decides, is reason enough to kiss Leonard again.

~~~

2265

The three men at the top of the Skyline Visitor’s Center present a striking image: watch-guards over the mouth of the San Francisco Bay, their gazes turned seaward. The one in the middle has a hand on the shoulder of the others. He is the first to speak.

“What could be better than enjoying this beautiful sunset with my husbands?”

“God,” complains the one on to his left, “would you stop already? We aren’t married.”

“Technically,” points out the companion on the right, by all appearances human expect for his pointed ears, “all that is missing is a license.”

“I’m ready when you are,” Jim Kirk challenges them.

Spock raises an eyebrow.

Leonard McCoy’s expression goes through several contortions. “Jim, you’re crazy,” he finally manages, “if you think I’m gonna tie myself down to a wit-addled captain and a block-headed Vulcan.”

“You love us, Bones, or you wouldn’t keep coming back here.”

Leonard argues in disbelief, “So I’m the crazy one? Yeah right!”

Jim removes his hand briefly from Leonard’s shoulder to cup it around one ear and tease, “Was that ‘oh yes, Jimmy, let’s file the license!’ that I heard?”

Leonard rolls his eyes. “Depends on what logical reason Spock can come up with, and if I agree with him.”

When Jim turns to Spock, it’s with a playful grin overlaying an unspoken request in his eyes to be as convincing as possible. Spock has had much time to contemplate why it is that he met these two humans and continued to do so over the course of nearly a decade by unwitting circumstances, then later by choice. Jim need not worry for he is prepared.

“My first year in Starfleet I had no interest in a holiday intended to memorialize a part of Earth’s past. I observe days of Vulcan rites for I am a Vulcan, as I observe days of importance to the Federation in which Vulcan thrives. Why should this particular holiday be of consequence to someone such as myself?” He pauses a moment. “However, there are times when my curiosity often leads me to question what should be… basic logic.” There is a sudden sparkle in Jim’s eyes and a growing smile on Leonard’s face. “If you attempt to tell anyone I said this, I will deny it,” he warns them.

“Vulcans don’t lie,” Jim counters.

“Unless it’s a matter of admitting they aren’t so logical after all,” Leonard rectifies with a chuckle.

Spock ignores them and continues on. “I chose this spot with one purpose: to observe Terrans participating in United Earth Day, a holiday of significance in that one hundred and fourteen years ago, Earth, with the hope of starting anew to create a more peaceful existence for all, stepped onto a path that would lead to the founding of the Coalition of Planets and later the United Federation of Planets.”

“We don’t need a history lesson about our own planet, Spock.”

“Bones,” Jim admonishes. “Does that mean something to you, Spock?”

The Vulcan nods ever-so-slightly. “I learned that our races are much alike despite obvious differences. We both honor enlightenment. For example, it could be said that your planet’s unification is the equivalent to Vulcan’s Time of Awakening.”

“Huh,” says Leonard, “I never thought of that.”

Spock thinks other Vulcans might take insult at the comparison but he does not. “Earth is… unique. Humans are unique. You celebrate with unabashed joy the hardship you endured and the wisdom you earned. You continue to grow from and take comfort from those lessons. United Earth Day in particular acknowledges a universal truth: that strength in unity does not require the sacrifice of one’s differences as an individual. It is a most remarkable holiday—one which I would suggest can easily be applied on a personal level.”

Jim smiles. “We are stronger together than we are apart.”

“Yet shall always be our individual selves,” Spock concludes. He looks to McCoy. “I approve of Jim’s proposal because you and Jim are my path to enlightenment. Without you, I am less wise. I am less happy. Simply… I am less than I am capable of being.”

“Well,” Leonard says, seeming momentarily stunned into silence, “I guess we wouldn’t want you to miss out on enlightenment.” He glances somewhat shyly at Jim.

Jim’s hands slide around their shoulders, drawing them in closer. “Do you know what the best part of United Earth Day is?” Jim tightens their hug. “It’s perfect for unions, gentlemen. As a captain, I would know. I turned down three separate requests to officiate an wedding—” He ducks his head a little and grins. “—in hopes of having my own.”

“I knew it,” Leonard says, seeming exasperated but also amused. “I knew you had something up your sleeve when you dragged us up here a day early!”

Jim doesn’t look at all repentant.

“Does this mean you have found someone to officiate for us?” Spock inquires.

“You bet! And for twenty-five-hundred credits,” Jim further explains, “he said he won’t even notify the press until the day after. We should be well on our way to a honeymoon destination by then.”

“Lord preserve me,” remarks McCoy. “This is going to be the best decision or the worst decision of my life.”

“That’s why the vows say for better or for worse, Bones.”

Spock is hardly surprised when Leonard transforms the hug into a wrestling match that ends with Kirk’s head locked under his arm.

Leonard’s eyes are bright with laughter as he meets Spock’s gaze over the flailing form of their partner. “I hope you’re prepared, darlin’. Jim kicks and talks in his sleep—”

“Do not!” cries the accused.

“—and I don’t pick up after myself. That’s just some of the things that will drive you crazy. If there’s anything I know, I know marriage. It’s messy.” Leonard lets Jim go.

Jim straightens up, rubbing the back of his neck. “Don’t listen to him, Spock. He’s just curious to see if he can scare you off.”

Spock looks from one human to the other. “I have one question.”

Jim drops his hand to his side. “Ask.”

“Do you believe we met by chance?”

When Jim answers, his eyes are suddenly hooded like he is shielding a secret they don’t know. “I would say it was chance… but one of many chances we were likely to have.”

Leonard folds his arms over his chest. “That’s called destiny, Jim.”

“Destiny,” Jim murmurs. Then, “I’m okay with us being destined. Maybe not… the rest of my life but this one thing, this one part where I have you both, I’ll call it anything as long as it means you are with me.”

That satisfies part of Spock’s concern. He prompts Leonard, “What do you believe?”

“I’m not certain, Spock. I’m tempted to call it chance. After all, our lives are the culmination of the decisions we make. What if I had chosen not to befriend Jim during recruitment?”

“Hey,” Jim intercedes, “I befriended you.”

Leonard snorts. “Don’t flatter yourself. I took pity on your poor bruised face.” He sobers. “Then again, we know from Spock’s alternate self that the three of us do co-exist in at least one other universe in much the same fashion as we do now. Does that mean we are predisposed to make decisions which will lead us to be together? You’re asking me for an answer only the Almighty knows. I can tell you this, though. Am I glad that we met? Hell yes.”

“Then I have every reason to believe this marriage, however messy, will work in our favor.” Spock tucks his hands behind his back. “Jim, I would appreciate the details of tomorrow’s schedule. Most fortunately my father is here on Earth for a meeting.”

“You’d better tell our friends, too,” Leonard adds. “If they read about it on a news-prompter, we’re in for a hellish second five-year mission.”

Jim rocks back on his heels, stuffing his hands into his jacket pockets. “Gentlemen, please, quell your worries. I am, after all, captain of our Federation’s finest ship. I’ve pulled us through more difficult, more dangerous, and more terrifying missions than this!”

“Uh oh,” says Leonard to Spock. “He’s comparing getting married to a deep-space mission.”

“Indeed,” murmurs Spock. In his experience, a backup plan will be crucial to the success of marrying these humans on United Earth Day. Luck would have that he long ago strategized for such an affair. The second part of his hypothesis shall finally hold true.

“How partial are you,” he inquires calmly, “to fireworks during this event?”

The End

Related Posts:

• Follow Me Dark – from November 30, 2023
• Say a Little Prayer – from November 10, 2021
• Twist and Take – from October 31, 2021
• Clear from the Battle (But Not the War) – from October 11, 2021
• Consider Me Accounted For – from October 3, 2021

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