0Title: A Starship Sweet Affair
Author: klmeri
Fandom: Star Trek AOS
Pairing: Kirk/Spock/McCoy
Summary: Chocolate doesn’t have a season. Neither does love.
A/N: Written for Christmas round of 2017 McSpirk Holiday Fest; based on the prompt by ladybuggete: Halloween means chocolate. Chocolate makes Vulcans drunk. Jim and Bones know this…
My dear friend, who would have thought a simple Halloween prompt could span the holiday season? I hope you find this fill entertaining. And cheers to another year of Star Trek and wonderful friendships!
Leonard McCoy watches his boyfriend separate out colorfully wrapped bonbons from other types of candy, a large quantity of which the captain had had the gall to purchase during a recent shore leave without his physician’s approval—not to mention that Leonard has only just uncovered their existence. With Kirk’s attention directed solely on the sorting, his movements are frenetic, driven by some unknown deadline that no one but the man feels pressured to meet. Moreover, McCoy has the stomach-sinking impression that Jim’s state of mind is skirting dangerous territory, on the edge of an unrelenting fixation both his First Officer and Chief Medical Officer have privately dubbed a ‘Kirk Red Alert’.
And having heard a moment ago of what Jim’s self-appointed operation entails, Leonard can only look on in waning amusement and growing doubt, reminded that he does not always understand the mystery that is James Tiberius Kirk even after years of knowing, befriending and falling in love with the man.
A sigh bursts from McCoy, his personal habit of making others aware of when something simply doesn’t sit right with him. He follows up the gusty sigh with reason. “You know, Jim, any form of sugar will do.”
“Chocolate is more concentrated.”
“Most kinds of chocolate are less concentrated than what you’re pushing into that other pile,” corrects the doctor. “Jim, is it the full effect you’re after? If so, why don’t we just feed him sugar cubes and be done with it?”
Jim pauses in his task to level a hard stare at Leonard. “That’s not funny. These chocolates are high-quality. They’re romantic.”
“An inebriated Vulcan likely isn’t. That would be like saying I thought you were romantic even after you puked all over my shoes from that third round of Scotty’s hooch.”
The corner of Kirk’s mouth tips up. “Bones, it was you who did the puking.” When Leonard purses his mouth, Jim demurs, “But point taken.” The man resumes the candy-sorting with less energy but more care. “We’re doing this. You know why.”
McCoy shakes his head. Something’s going to go wrong. It always does. But Leonard doesn’t have the heart to say so to Jim. After all, he appreciates the motive behind this crazy plan. If all goes right, it might make a fantastic memory for the three of them.
And, admittedly, just the tiniest bit, Leonard is curious to know what a drunk Vulcan would be like. Specifically, a drunk Spock.
“What’s that dopey look for?” Jim questions, his gaze cutting to McCoy, having finished placing the last bonbon at the summit of his bonbon mountain upon their bedspread.
“Maybe drunk Vulcans are cuddly.”
The corners of Kirk’s eyes crinkle as he smiles. “Maybe they are.”
Leonard decides then, “I guess I’m in.”
~~~
Leonard cannot help but smile as Jim saunters across the recreational room, the tail of Jim’s Gorn costume swishing back and forth like an appendage with its own mind. The captain, making a beeline toward his unsuspecting target, has set into motion the top-priority mission; and Spock, being preoccupied by a discussion with one of his latest Science protégés, has no idea what is truly headed his way. It isn’t simply Jim plus a cellophane treat bag hanging from one of his green claws. Packed among those colorful little bonbons Kirk so determinedly separated away from the subpar competition resides a very special gift.
Ah, Jim, thinks McCoy. Silly fool.
Feeling sentimental and slightly foolish himself in his role as a bystander, he makes certain to offer an encouraging smile as Jim glances back. Then, like any unfortunate co-conspirator of Kirk’s, he prepares to see the evening to its conclusion by downing his punch from his paper cup (purposefully provided to him by Jim with a little extra kick to fuzz his nerves). Finally, McCoy too heads in the Vulcan’s direction, hoping his relaxed pace disguises a case of the jitters.
“Don’t let Spock suspect anything,” Jim had repeated the warning more than once while Kirk and McCoy had donned their costumes for the Halloween party.
Recalling that, McCoy has to pause halfway across the room and stop his nervous twirling of one of his fake pistols. In that moment, Saloon Girl Christine Chapel floats by with a “Go get ’em, cowboy,” winking at Leonard as if knowing what her boss might be up to (though the nurse couldn’t possibly have any clue).
McCoy tips his hat to her, drawling a polite “Ma’am,” before acknowledging the man on her arm as well, M’Benga, dressed (of all things) like an old country doctor.
Chapel whispers something to the Assistant CMO when the pair is out of earshot. They look back at McCoy then, disturbingly, toward Kirk now at his First Officer’s side.
Leonard shakes his head to dislodge paranoia before it can take over, and spies the treat bag now in Spock’s hands. He swallows once, growls, “Man up,” at himself and once again starts forward.
Fate has a sense of humor McCoy cannot usually appreciate. Before he reaches Kirk and Spock, a jarring yell rends the air. Engineering chief Montgomery Scott appears there first, a daunting image in a tarlatan secured over some type of battle armor, covered in blue war paint, and bearing a sword nearly as tall as himself.
Scotty raises his sword high above his head with a resounding war-cry. “They may take away our lives, but they’ll never take our freedom!“
Then the Scotsman charges Kirk—or to be more specific, charges Jim the Gorn. And said creature reacts like any sensible being about to be attacked by a madman: he lurches out of range. Unfortunately, in scrambling to get away, Jim trips over his own uncooperative tail.
Cursing, Leonard breaks into a run. Arriving with an astonished “What the hell!”, Spock reacts to Leonard’s exclamation by turning away from Kirk and Scott engaged in some kind of dirty play-fight. His gaze drops to McCoy’s hand.
Leonard realizes he has drawn a pistol, but by the wrong end. Due to his embarrassment, it takes a second to shove the damn thing back into its holster the right way up.
“Spooock!” Kirk cries in the meantime, dodging another sword-wielding lunge, though clumsy, by his insane Chief of Engineering. “Gah! Watch where you swing that thing—stop trying to hit me! Stop! I AM YOUR CAPTAIN!”
“I AM WILLIAM WALLACE!” roars Scotty.
Kirk dives under a table, upending the punch bowl much to the dismay of those in the near vicinity. From beneath the tablecloth, there comes a thump and the sound of stitches ripping followed by a muffled curse—Jim, demanding, “Somebody do something!”
“I believe,” Spock reports matter-of-factly, “that Mr. Scott is drunk.”
“Oh hell, why.” With an exasperated huff, McCoy draws a very real weapon out of his leather vest. He checks the dosage of the hypospray. “Spock, distract Braveheart for me.”
The Vulcan cocks an inquiring eyebrow.
“Scotty,” Leonard clarifies.
“Of course, Doctor.”
And thus together, officers Spock and McCoy go to their captain’s rescue.
~~~
No one knows what happened. Apparently Spock disposed of the bag during the melee, probably at the exact moment he and Leonard realized Jim was not faking his agonizingly slow crawl away from his hiding spot beneath the punch bowl table, only to collapse partway to them. And so, after many medical tests, endless questioning (born of a very terrifying worry Kirk might have been trampled on by other people in the mad dash to escape Scotty’s wild display of swordsmanship) and finally a few hugs, a recovered, pink-faced Jim sheepishly admits the zipper of his costume had gotten stuck, and during the excitement he overheated. McCoy promptly feels like a heel for not checking the costume for proper ventilation. Once Jim manages to comfort him, saying it isn’t his fault, Spock goes off to deal with Mr. Scott.
Leonard escorts Jim back to their shared quarters, and that is when they both remember the chocolate bonbons. Almost immediately Jim wants to return to the rec room to look for the treat bag, but Leonard comms Christine and Geoff, calling in a favor by asking them to check the area in his and Kirk’s stead. When it comes to light the bag is simply gone, Leonard spends the remainder of the evening doing damage control with Jim.
He dozes off at some point in the night, utterly exhausted, and upon awakening discovers Kirk has slipped out of the cabin. Not surprising, thinks McCoy, feeling somewhat despondent himself, because Jim’s investment was never in the chocolates themselves.
Suffice to say, McCoy is not in the best of moods when he starts his morning shift in Sickbay.
Then again, neither is his first patient of the day. To be honest, McCoy has never before seen the usually cheerful Pavel Chekov harbor such a deep, troubled frown.
“How are you feeling?” Leonard asks after reading through the notes attached to Chekov’s medical chart. “Any more cramping, nausea?”
“No, sir,” grunts the young man slowly, still frowning at the ceiling. “I am okay now.”
“Well, be that as it may, I’d like to see you a little more hydrated before we release you. Don’t worry, a message has already been forwarded to your supervisor. You are off-duty today, son. Doctor’s orders.”
But that pleasant piece of news doesn’t seem to lighten the lieutenant’s mood.
Leonard eyes him for a second longer and with a great internal sigh hooks a foot around a nearby stool, maneuvering it over to the bedside. Chekov blinks, then, his head angling toward the seated doctor in surprise.
McCoy braces his data padd against a knee and folds his arms across the device. “Wanna talk about it?”
“Vhat?” questions Chekov. “Ze vomiting?”
“No,” Leonard returns dryly, “not your physical condition. I know about that. I meant whatever it is causing you heartache.” His tone gentles. “Anybody with eyes can see you’re upset, Pavel. Now, granted, I’m no psychiatrist but as a friend I do have two fairly good ears.”
Pavel’s face reddens slightly despite a warm smile. “You are a good friend, Dr. McCoy.”
“Thank you.”
The young man’s smile falters, fades out. “My friend… Zhara… I think she dumped me.” Chekov is quick to add, “We had a fight.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Leonard says, meaning it. “But what makes you think she dumped you?”
“She pushed me out her room!”
“And threw something at your head in the process?”
“Da.” Pavel’s eyes widen. “How did you know?”
Leonard almost laughs. “I’ve dated plenty—and fought plenty.” Had fights that ended worse than being kicked out, actually, but he doesn’t like to remember the last moments of his first marriage. “So…” Here McCoy grins. “What’d you do?”
The young man puffs up, as expected. “Nothing! I vas being a gentleman. I walked her to ze door, and I gave her ze chocolates and also gave her ze kiss.” He adds almost bashfully, “Then she invited me inside.”
The story creates a funny feeling in the pit of McCoy’s stomach, though he is not certain why.
Chekov goes on, “Zhara went to change clothes. When she came out of ze bedroom, she vas wery happy. But vhen I asked why, we ended up fighting.”
Poor puppy, McCoy thinks. Pavel looks genuinely confused. The only advice Leonard can offer is mostly common sense: “Dates sometimes go sideways. Since you both have had time to cool off, maybe it’s time to ask her what upset her.”
But Chekov says, “Oh I know vhat made her mad, Doctor! It was ze ring.”
And this, Leonard decides, is why he should listen more often to his intuition. He leans forward, already anticipating the answer. “Ring? What kind of ring? Was it a silver band?”
The man blinks at him, but responds readily enough. “Da, silver. Dr. McCoy, how do you know such things?”
Leonard presses on, “And the chocolates, by chance were they handed to you by—”
“Mr. Spock,” both men finish at the same time.
Chekov’s eyes become huge.
McCoy groans. “This is the best news I’ve heard all day.”
Chekov stares.
“Spock probably shoved the bag of chocolates at you during last night’s Halloween party. After Security had to shut down the party because of Scotty, you left with Zhara. You offered her the chocolates as a gift. Later she found a surprise inside the bag and thought you were gifting her with something more special than sweets—a ring to symbolize commitment.” A marriage ring, to be precise, Leonard wisely doesn’t clarify. “When she confronted you about it, you had no clue about the ring. She got angry, and the rest is history.” He thinks on the tale for a moment, eventually wondering aloud, “By chance, did you eat any of those chocolates, Chekov?”
Though Pavel is still gaping at him, the man nods.
“I knew it,” McCoy concludes grimly. He calls up the notes on the data padd and adds in one of his own: stomach illness likely caused by food-borne bacteria. “Damn it,” he mutters under his breath, “I thought the tagline ‘exotic imported chocolates from every corner of the galaxy’ sounded sketchy.”
“Doctor?”
McCoy looks up.
“Are you psychic?” his patient asks with levity.
Leonard swallows a laugh. “Definitely not, Mr. Chekov.” The doctor tucks the padd under his arm and comes to his feet. “Rest up. I’ll be back in a couple of hours to check on you. In the meantime, don’t beat yourself up about that girl of yours. I have a suspicion this little misunderstanding will be cleared up very soon.”
“Okay,” Chekov says, apparently willing to take McCoy at his word.
Leonard leaves the young man in the care of a nurse armed with blankets. Behind the closed door of his office, he pings Jim on a private comm channel: Found a lead on the ring.
Kirk responds instantly. Bones, you’re a miracle worker!
McCoy snorts. Jim does tend to get ahead of himself. Thank me later. Right now, you need to track down Lt. Zhara.
As in Giotto’s second-in-command, Zhara? Why?
Because last night she mistakenly believed Chekov was going to propose.
SHIT.
Leonard grins, wishing he could be a fly on the wall for the conversation that will ensue between Jim and the lieutenant. Zhara has a penchant for flipping people over her shoulder who piss her off, rank be damned.
With a shake of his head, McCoy minimizes the comm screen and returns his attention to his next task. Maybe, just maybe, he thinks as he reaches for a data padd, Jim will reconsider his method of proposing to Spock.
~~~
“It’s going in the cake,” Jim explains, as though those words do not comprise the most damning sentence Leonard has heard in his life.
He sputters. “In the cake?”
Kirk huffs—and gently pries McCoy’s grip from his arm. “Bones, I meant on top of the cake. In a flower, to be precise.” Jim smiles reassuringly. “I commissioned Chef Batu for the job. He will prepare everything: his best triple-layer chocolate cake with chocolate icing roses for garnish. The ring is to be part of the centerpiece.”
Truly, McCoy doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry. “Jim, putting that ring anywhere near food is just a plain bad idea. You can’t have already forgotten the chocolate candy catastrophe!”
Jim glares. “That wasn’t my fault.”
“I didn’t mean… Damn it, Jim.” Leonard’s shock has faded, leaving behind pure alarm. “What if somebody bites into—”
“Spock, not somebody,” Jim interjects immediately and fiercely. “Spock gets the first piece. I’ll see to it myself.”
“For crying out loud, that’s not my complaint!” But it’s moot to keep harping on the subject, for Jim is already walking away, muttering what must be his new game plan to himself in a low voice. McCoy yells after the man, “At least tell me when this is happening!”
“Thanksgiving dinner!” Kirk shouts back. “By the time we clear our plates, we’ll be engaged!”
Somehow, some way, vows McCoy, he will clue Spock in on to inspecting his food thoroughly before putting any part of it into his mouth. While Jim may not like that, Leonard refuses to accompany another poor soul to Sickbay due to avoidable circumstances.
Dear God, he prays, please don’t make me perform the Heimlich maneuver on turkey day.
God, however, must have folded out of the high-stakes game with the Enterprise eons ago because no one—not even the omnipotent—can win against its captain, James T. Kirk.
Being a mere mortal, McCoy prepares for the worst with resignation.
~~~
Jim Kirk is all charm on Thanksgiving. He shares funny anecdotes, lights up the dining hall with his winsome smile and draws out infectious laughter among his senior officers. The comfortable atmosphere is a welcome change from ship’s business, and McCoy is counting his blessings to be part of a group of individuals who have become closer to him than his own blood relatives. Up until the moment the dessert cart is ferried in, he has simply forgotten about the one activity which could change the course of the evening.
Jim, it seems, has not even remotely dismissed the event from his mind. His chuckling laughter at one of Sulu’s jokes dies abruptly at the sight of the dessert cart. In the next instant, Kirk is on his feet. With an expression turned almost ferociously solicitous, he swoops toward the cart and the junior chef manning it, plucking the cake-cutter out of the stunned chef’s hand and shouldering the fellow away from the cart.
“What a beauty!” the captain croons to the cake on display. He brandishes his knife. “Who wants a piece?”
The chocolate cake truly is a work of art. Leonard makes a mental note to thank Chef Batu for his hard work, because in no way is it Batu’s fault Leonard is unable to fully appreciate the majesty of the dessert. His apprehension lies with what’s inside.
While Jim carefully slices through the cake—creating the largest piece any person has likely ever set eyes upon—Leonard leans toward his dinner companion on the right. “Psst,” he hisses. “Spock!”
Spock, who like everyone else had hitherto been distracted by the enormous cake slice rising in the air (so large it wobbles precariously on the flat of the cake utensil) turns to McCoy.
“Check the flower first,” Leonard whispers cryptically.
The Vulcan just stares at him.
“Don’t ask questions—just do it!” Leonard looks up, jerking back from Spock just in the nick of time. Jim descends upon the Vulcan with a plate almost too small to contain its contents.
Spock is not the only person to look flummoxed that he is the recipient of said dessert. Uhura sits back with a frown, and Chekov looks like a kicked puppy.
“A sweet for a sweet,” Jim rumbles by the officer’s ear.
Scotty is nudged into silence by Sulu when he starts to protest, “But Mr. Spock doesn’t—” Then Sulu leans toward Uhura on his other side, murmuring to her. Her frown transfers to him.
Spock doesn’t immediately pick up his fork. Eyes narrowing, Kirk nudges the dessert closer to him, causing Spock to begin with evident uncertainty, “Jim…”
“We know, we know,” Jim is quick to say (almost too quick in Leonard’s opinion). “You don’t partake of this sort of edible.” His voice turns silky, then. “But have one bite, Spock. For me.”
Spock flicks a glance to Leonard. Leonard nods—then nearly sighs aloud in relief as Spock sinks his fork directly into the chocolate rose on top. When Spock lifts his fork, the entire flower comes with it. Everyone at the table—including Jim—ponders the perfectly sculpted rose for a moment.
Then, laying it by itself to the side of the cake, Spock dissects the rose in half then into quarters and further still, attempting to make the smallest bite of icing possible. Jim starts to frown, staring down at the lump of icing, growing more diminished by the second. Leonard does as well, until finally they look up at the same time to catch each other’s gaze above Spock’s head.
Where is it? mouths McCoy.
Kirk, his lips pressed thin, shakes his head in the negative. Then Jim turns toward the cart and the junior chef, obviously dismayed. When Kirk’s entire body freezes, Leonard lifts up in his seat a little to see why.
In the time it took for both men to realize the ring could not be inside the rose being meticulously demolished by Spock, the chef had begun to hand out cake slices to the others at the table. Leonard looks on horror, from the young chef to Uhura, Sulu, and Scotty, all digging into their respective piece of chocolate cake, visualizing one of them clutching his or her throat in the next instant and dropping dead.
But before he can come out of his seat to stop them, Jim releases the tiniest gasp, then immediately snatches the fork from the person closest to him.
“Keptin!” Chekov bleats.
Paying no heed to his navigator’s shock, Kirk quickly and violently smashes the flower on top of Chekov’s cake slice until the cake itself nearly splits in half.
Oh shit, thinks Leonard as Jim tosses the fork aside and stalks around the table toward his other officers, now staring at their captain like the man has lost his mind. Knowing he needs to desperately take control of the situation before his partner does something unforgivable, Leonard springs up and announces, “Jim loves icing roses! Quick, give your roses to Jim!”
This must be news to their friends because even Scotty looks aghast at the suggestion, a large portion of his own icing rose already in his mouth. Leonard fixes a glare on the man.
Clearly unhappy about it, Scotty lets what remains of the chocolate rose fall back onto his plate.
Having made it to Jim in time to stop him, Leonard whispers to the man, “Deep breaths, Jim.” Then he slides around his boyfriend, picking up an empty plate from the dessert cart on his way. He goes around the table, dutifully collecting every whole and partially eaten rose, hoping he doesn’t look as crazy as he feels.
In the end, after McCoy has turned over the icing decorations to Jim and Jim has hammered them all into goop under the incredulous stares of their peers, there is no ring to be found. Leonard simply doesn’t know what the hell to say to salvage the dinner.
Neither does anyone else, except for Spock.
Staring from Leonard to Jim and back again, Spock questions in a voice that is close to a demand, “Is there something wrong?”
“No,” McCoy answers for both himself and Jim, dropping a hand to his captain’s shoulder. “Just a bit of a mix-up. Everything’s fine now.”
Jim wordlessly shrugs off McCoy’s hand, pushes away from the table and marches off, snagging the junior chef on the way, which suggests everything Leonard just said is a lie. Thankfully the other officers are polite enough (or wise enough) not to pursue the matter while Kirk is still in the room, albeit in a corner interrogating a man whose knees are practically knocking together in fear.
Leonard returns to his seat, avoiding direct eye contact with anyone. He gestures at the mostly untouched cake on Spock’s plate and asks, “Do you mind?”
Spock says nothing but obligingly pushes the cake slice his way.
With grim determination, Leonard digs in. At length, the others follow suit, picking at the dessert with care. Whether the cake is enjoyed or not by that point, Leonard could not say.
Later, after Leonard has quietly begged off from Spock’s company and settled into the captain’s quarters alone, Jim eventually shows up. He tells Leonard about the results of his investigation. Chef Batu made the simplest of mistakes.: he forgot to put the ring in the cake.
“I don’t know what to say,” Leonard murmurs, curled up against Jim’s back in bed, wishing Jim was not so stiff with anger. “I’m sorry.”
“It happens,” Kirk responds after a long silence. “We’ll try again.”
McCoy swallows his doubt, guessing, “Christmas?”
“Christmas,” confirms his bedmate. “It is the most wonderful time of year.”
I hope so, wishes Leonard, and tells the computer to dim the cabin lights.
~~~
Leonard is more nervous than he cares to admit. In fact, he’s so nervous, he has started to sweat in his best (and only) suit. “Damn tie,” he mutters, yanking at what currently offends him the most.
Nyota appears at his elbow, pressing a champagne flute into his hand. “Relax,” she advises. “We’ve got this.”
“Do we?” Because frankly Leonard is skeptical of everything right now.
“The plan will work.”
“He picked brownies this time. Brownies, Nyota,” he emphasizes. “Of all the tempting chocolate creations known to man…” Leonard sighs, stating morosely, “We’re gonna fail.”
The woman reaches up and pops the back of the doctor’s head. Leonard yelps and nearly pours his champagne down his front.
“What was that for?” he growls.
“Stop it,” she growls right back. “There’s a reason you told me—and Sulu. And Chekov. Scotty. Chapel, M’Benga, Giot—”
“Okay, okay. I get it. Y’all have my back.”
“And Kirk’s,” Uhura murmurs, her gaze sliding away from McCoy to a different section of the ballroom. “Although if you had simply asked for help two holidays ago, the three of you would be married by now.”
Leonard’s harrumph is mostly a chuckle. “If I had my way, I would have gone down on one knee on our last vacation to Risa. But you know, Jim’s more old-fashioned than I am in some ways. He wanted to take things slow. And of course Spock, being Jim’s most loyal fanboy, said that was a perfectly logical idea.”
“Sometimes logic is overrated.”
“Hear, hear!” agrees McCoy, raising his glass in a salute. “If I didn’t love them so much, I would have ripped my hair out ages ago.”
Uhura’s gaze skims his hair. “Don’t worry, it’s already turning gray.”
“Shhh,” he hisses, as if no one else can tell he’s aged after too many five-year missions, glancing around before briefly fixing a glare on her. “Why’d you have to ruin my mood?”
“Your mood wasn’t pleasant to start with.”
“Touché.” Once again, McCoy feels his nervousness returning. “Where’s that plate of brownies? Something’s going to go wrong, I just know it. Who did we put in charge of fending off potential partakers? And where the hell is Jim!”
Uhura makes a motion with one hand, as though subtly signaling someone. “The brownies are on that side table by the mistletoe. Sulu has them under surveillance, and Scotty’s running interference with anyone who looks marginally hungry.”
Leonard nods, only slightly shame-faced that his little tag-team is discouraging other party-goers from enjoying the food buffet due to one captain’s insanity.
Uhura goes on, “And your boyfriend is trying to find out why your other boyfriend didn’t show up to the party.” She shakes her head slightly. “I can’t believe you left Spock to his own devices. You know he loathes this particular festivity.”
McCoy grins. “It’s the mandated caroling.” And hadn’t Spock surprised them all with his rather nice singing voice? Leonard has that special recording tucked away for future use.
“Caroling is not logical,” Uhura retorts, causing them both to share in mutual cackling.
A voice says from behind them, “Aye, and here comes Mr. Superior Logic now—ooh, accompanied by Capt’n Cocoapuff.”
Leonard would be offended by that on his boyfriends’ behalf but he is too busy snorting champagne out his nose. Nyota rolls her eyes in Mr. Scott’s direction.
Leonard turns his attention to Jim and Spock, watching as Jim herds a stone-faced (and therefore unhappy) Mr. Spock into the ballroom with all the subtlety of a sheepdog with a flock of one. Said flock has his hands hidden in the long sleeves of a plain black robe.
At the last second, just when it looks like Kirk is going to complete his mission, Spock breaks off to the side without warning, taking his guide by complete surprise. Leonard’s eyes widen as he realizes Spock is coming directly at him, the lines around the Vulcan’s dark eyes deepened with the intensity of his unexpected escape. Spock arrives at McCoy’s side before Kirk catches hold of him, clearly much to the captain’s displeasure.
The Vulcan states baldly, “I will not sing.”
Jim plucks at Spock’s robe. “I told you, we won’t make you sing. Spock, c’mon. The food—”
Spock searches McCoy’s gaze.
Leonard hands his glass to Uhura, closing the distance between him and Spock to place his hands on the other man’s shoulders. “Spock, you don’t have to sing.”
Spock holds McCoy’s gaze a moment longer before his stance relaxes ever-so-slightly. “Thank you. Would you care to dance?”
Leonard cannot help his smile. “I’d love to,” he says before catching sight of Jim’s expression. Then clearing his throat, he amends, “Could we dance after a bite to eat? I’m suddenly famished.”
Spock nods. Jim swings around the Vulcan, falling into step on McCoy’s right side as Spock precedes the pair to the buffet table.
“Thanks,” he tells Leonard.
Leonard’s hand finds Jim’s. Jim squeezes his fingers in response.
Then Kirk is back in the game, pushing forward to once again move their third to where Spock needs to be—that is, arriving precisely at the end of the table where the brownies and that hidden engagement ring will be. Leonard breathes a sigh of relief, more than ready to have the surprise over and done with so that they can broach the subject which has been on his mind for months now: marriage.
But when he glances ahead to his destiny, the brownie platter isn’t there.
Uhura, no doubt struck by McCoy’s sudden change in expression, looks with him. She momentarily stiffens in surprise, then launches ahead of every man with a burst of energy that nearly bowls Kirk over. Her sharp cry of “Sulu!” precedes her.
Sulu—his back currently to the buffet table—spins around, Chekov beside him. Both men pale when they see the empty spot where the brownie platter should have been.
Always sensitive to an atmosphere with an undercurrent of trouble, Jim reacts by grabbing Spock by the arms, shoving the surprised Vulcan backward with such force that he smacks into Leonard’s chest. Then Kirk barrels down the line of the table, toward Uhura, Sulu, and Chekov. Scotty has also joined that group, all four officers arguing among themselves at the same time, their confusion, panic and fury all palpable. When Kirk reaches them, the heated discussion ends abruptly, turning to tense silence.
Spock, recognizing something is amiss, tries to follow Jim, but Leonard holds him back.
“Doctor,” the Vulcan begins in consternation.
“Don’t interfere,” Leonard says sternly. Sensing the warmth in Spock’s demeanor start to withdraw, he swallows and adds a bit desperately, “Please, Spock.”
After giving McCoy a measured look, the Vulcan remains where he is.
They’re distracted enough by staring at each other that it is a little shock when Kirk suddenly swoops past them. The man is strangely silent as he goes by; he doesn’t appear to notice them. Leonard winces at the look on Kirk’s face which is, in a single word, murderous.
Spock’s dark gaze follows Kirk across the ballroom until at last the man is out of sight. Then he faces McCoy. “Explain.”
Leonard is well-aware the commander’s calm request is merely pretense. Spock’s pinched eyebrows are a clear indication that he’s on the verge of being pissed.
Oddly, like a child under a parent’s steely gaze, Leonard loses his voice. What could he say anyway? Jim and I love you and want to spend the rest of our lives together but we’re getting a little mixed up on how to go about it.
Yeah, not happening. At least not here with an audience to judge his and Jim’s foolish behavior.
Something of McCoy’s predicament must be present in his face. Spock shifts his stance suddenly, a hand uncurling from behind his back to lightly touch the doctor’s forearm.
“Should we speak in private?” he asks Leonard.
Leonard nods.
Spock slides his hand to Leonard’s elbow, and Leonard relaxes, recognizing the embrace for what it is: an apology more than an act of assistance.
As the pair crosses the ballroom together, they are stopped in their tracks midway by a sudden spit of noise from overhead. The comm system has come to life. It’s Jim, his tone clipped, full of seething fury:
“This is your captain speaking. I have just come from the annual Christmas soiree, where to my great horror and disappointment, a platter of brownies has gone missing.” Jim’s voice reaches a deeper pitch of rage. “I don’t care who you are or why you thought it was wise to walk out of that party with food which was not specifically yours, but you will return the platter immediately, UNTOUCHED, or so help me…” The abrupt end to the threat is followed by a moment of silence. When the captain resumes speaking, he sounds more collected, though still like a commanding officer capable of flaying errant subordinates with a single look or word. “Return the missing dessert within the hour, or I will investigate the theft personally. That will be all. Kirk out.”
In lieu of meeting the gaze of anyone else in the ballroom, Leonard drags a hand down his face. For better or worse (he is undecided which), the only thing he can pick out from Spock’s posture at the moment is intense curiosity.
“C’mon,” he murmurs to the Vulcan. “Let’s get out of here.”
“And the missing… brownies, Doctor?”
“Not our business,” Leonard says with a sigh. Not anymore.
Spock follows him from the ballroom.
~~~
Spock contemplates the chair at the round table. “It is rare that we come here.”
“Not much reason to, considerin’ I moved in with Jim a while ago.”
Spock studies him, then. “Do you miss having personal space of your own?”
That question gives Leonard pause. “But this is my place, Spock.”
Spock’s eyebrow lifts. “This cabin is officially assigned to you, that is true. However I have noticed you rarely come here.”
Leonard shrugs, saying somewhat bashfully, “Maybe I prefer the company at Jim’s.”
The Vulcan inclines his head. “As do I.”
McCoy grins. “Prefer what? Jim’s place or my company?”
Spock prudently chooses to take the proffered chair instead of answering.
Leonard joins him after retrieving a gourd-shaped bottle. Though it is only filled with water (not liquor, as is customary when Kirk is present), it’s difficult for McCoy to break the habit of offering a drink prior to a serious, sometimes difficult conversation.
Spock accepts a glass without comment.
Leonard takes a moment to decide how to broach the subject of three failed proposals. Surprisingly, Spock saves him the trouble.
“Jim is obsessed with offering me chocolate. What is his objective?”
All of a sudden it becomes easy to explain. Leonard laughs softly. “Marriage.”
Spock’s eyebrows nearly reach his bangs, but he says, “I see. Is Jim not aware I do not need to be in an intoxicated state to be his bonded?”
McCoy drops his head forward, grinning.
For some reason, that alarms the Vulcan. “Doct—Leonard. Surely Jim does not believe—”
“No, no,” the doctor is quick to amend, “Jim isn’t that crazy, thank god.” With Spock staring at him so patiently, Leonard is able to meet the other man’s gaze. “He wanted to surprise you by proposing in an unexpected way. So naturally, Jim decided to hide your engagement ring in something you never eat.”
Spock blinks. “That is highly illogical.”
“Of course, it’s Jim.” Leonard’s mouth quirks, then. “It could’ve been worse, Spock. Jim put my engagement ring in a cup of coffee. I almost swallowed it and died.”
Spock stares.
“Yeah, disturbing as hell, I know.” Leonard sighs. “Look, Spock. As much as I want Jim to fulfill his dream of proposing in a memorable way, I also want us to get to the good part—you know, the actual ceremony. So if you can think of any way I can assist y’all in moving things along…” He purposely lets the sentence trail off.
Spock’s ability to process a situation and derive a counterplan is sometimes breath-taking. “I believe you can,” the Vulcan says almost immediately, folding his hands on the table between them. “I have an idea.”
Leonard’s breath hitches, hearing an echo of something similar said by Jim that fateful day before the Halloween party. But McCoy is nothing if not a fool for Spock as much as he is for Jim, and so he leans forward, saying, “Tell me.”
~~~
“What should I tell Jim?”
Spock leans over McCoy in order for Leonard to see his face more easily. It provides an opportunity for him to admire Spock’s eyes and how very warm they seem.
“Comfort him as you will,” Spock says. “I shall see to the rest.”
“All right.” But just before Spock moves too far away, Leonard reminds him, “I love you.”
“And I love you,” comes the soft answer. “Rest well. Jim will find you.” That is something both of them know well, for Jim has often remarked how much it means to him to have someone ready to welcome him home.
“Mmm,” is all Leonard can manage, drowsy as he is.
Sometime later, a door hisses. His first thought is that his ears have delayed passing along the sound of Spock’s exit to his brain, but when a shadow falls over him, he realizes he had fallen asleep a while ago. The shadow belongs to Jim.
Leonard opens his arms without thinking. Jim kneels beside the couch, leaning close to drop his forehead to McCoy’s chest. When McCoy closes his arms around his partner’s shoulders, a breath shudders out of Kirk.
“Did you find it?” Leonard asks softly.
“Yes.” The word is mostly a disappointed croak.
Leonard closes his eyes. “It’ll be all right, Jim.”
After a time, a response comes. “I don’t know if I can try again.”
Leonard figured Jim would say that. He assures him, “You don’t have to.”
Jim won’t understand what Leonard means, not yet. No matter. Leonard is more than willing to care for and comfort Jim when Jim needs it.
And Spock, as promised, will do the rest.
~~~
One of Jim’s hands lifts toward his eyes. He issues an uncertain “Bones?”
Leonard presses the man’s arm back to his side. “Leave it on. You promised.”
Kirk’s mouth forms a thin line but he doesn’t attempt to remove the blindfold again. When the turbolift announces their arrival, his light hold on McCoy’s arm tightens. “The observatory?”
“Yes, the observatory,” drawls McCoy. “C’mon now, I’ve got you.” He encourages Jim to follow his lead from the lift, fully sympathetic as to why Jim is nervous despite having walked this corridor a thousand times in the past. Even the most familiar place can become unwelcoming without one’s sight.
“Why are we doing this?” Jim wants to know, not for the first time.
“Patience, kid. You’ll find out in a minute.”
“What’s the surprise?” Jim tips his chin up, sniffing the air. “I smell something.”
Leonard rolls his eyes. “Well, it ain’t me. I showered.”
A grin flashes across Kirk’s face. “Guess not.”
“Shut up,” mutters McCoy. When they reach the short staircase leading to the main deck of the observatory, he transfers Jim’s hand from his arm to the railing, switching to support the man’s opposite side. “Three steps,” he instructs. “Up we go.”
“Bones?” Jim says his name again as they halt on the last step.
“What?”
“It must be Spock I smell.”
Leonard sputters. “What. You can’t smell Spock from here!”
“Ah.” Jim’s mouth curves. “So he is here. Knew it.”
“You—” Jim’s boyfriend continues to sputter, “—devil! That was a mean trick.”
“Ssspock!” Kirk calls in a singsong fashion. “I think Bones is about to push a blind old man down the stairs!”
“Blind old man, my ass,” snarls Leonard, jerking off Kirk’s blindfold. “I want you to see my face when I injure you.”
Jim clucks his tongue chidingly, in perfected form to annoy Leonard even more, before taking advantage of his newfound sight to study his surroundings. “Hm, I still don’t see my surprise.”
Leonard stabs a finger at the Vulcan approaching them from the other side of the deck. “There is it.”
Jim’s face lights up. “Are we on a date with Spock?” He starts forward, only to pull up short once more. “Wait, are we the only ones here?” Kirk looks between Spock and McCoy with genuine surprise. “Just how far in advance did you book this place?”
“Yesterday,” Spock announces.
Jim continues staring, his expression of surprise tinged with admiration. “Wow. So you managed to kick everyone out of the most popular lovenest on the ship on New Year’s Eve? I’m impressed—and kind of jealous. Why is it when I tried to do that last year, Event Planning just laughed in my face?”
“Because no one would dare laugh in Spock’s face.” Leonard smiles at the man in question. “Good thing he has his uses.”
“Clearly,” Spock rejoins dryly.
With a hum of approval, Jim pushes Leonard closer to Spock and places a hand on each of their shoulders. “I’m liking this date already. What’s the agenda? Somebody enlighten me.”
Spock steps out from Kirk’s hand. “Come with me.”
Kirk and McCoy follow him across the deck. At first, Jim appears confused when they reach a square table covered by a white tablecloth but without place-settings or glassware. In fact, the only thing on the table at all is a plate of cookies—chocolate cookies.
Jim stares. “Is this… dinner?”
Leonard just smiles to himself.
Spock clasps his hands behind his back. “Please take a seat, Captain.”
Jim’s gaze flicks over to Spock’s, sharper, more assessing, before moving on to McCoy. He sits at the table as instructed without disguising his sudden wariness.
Then Kirk looks at the cookies again, his throat working. “What’s going on?”
Leonard takes a deep breath and confesses. “I told Spock about the failed attempts to propose.”
Jim simply stares at the cookies, so motionless it’s difficult to tell if he remembers to breathe.
Spock glides around the table to stand opposite Kirk. “I am aware it was not your wish that I know of your plan in advance. However, knowing also provides an advantage for my plan.”
Jim’s head jerks up, then, gaze narrowed. “What plan?”
“I refused your gifts, Jim, because I intended to propose to you and Leonard and—quite reasonably—wished to be sober at the time that I did so.”
When Jim is unable to say anything, Leonard cracks up.
Through his laughter, he says, “Can you believe it, Jim? Not only are we a couple of love-blinded fools but we’re fools who think alike.”
“I take exception to the term fool, Doctor.”
“What else do you call it when intelligent people forget how to use words, Spock?”
Spock and Jim both become indignant upon hearing this remark.
“Spock, I don’t think Bones knows how to be romantic.”
“I agree, Jim.”
Leonard rolls his eyes ceilingward. “If we’re pointing out each other’s flaws…”
Spock states calmly, “I am well aware I am flawed.”
“Flawed?” Leonard questions sharply. “Who said you were flawed?”
The look Spock pins him is the equivalent to a sarcastic Really?
Leonard is annoyed despite himself. “Spock, I didn’t mean having flaws was a problem. Sure, you can be a stick in the mud at times, but we like you that way! So don’t think your personality is a problem for us.”
Spock breathes out with not quite enough force for the act to labeled a sigh. “I never said I considered my personality an issue.”
“But you said—”
“Bones,” Kirk intervenes. His gaze fixes on the Vulcan. “McCoy has a point. We wouldn’t change who you are, Spock. I hope you don’t think the chocolate was about that.” Color creeps into the man’s face. “I honestly thought it would be a fun way to propose. Turns out I was very wrong.”
Both Spock and Leonard say at the same time, “You were not wrong.” They look at each other, startled.
Jim stares at them in turn. “I wasn’t?”
“Jim, it would have worked if it weren’t the three of us doing it.”
“I don’t follow you, Bones.”
“I’m saying it’s probably fate that you had to find another way of asking us to marry you.” Leonard adds more somberly, “And let’s be honest. Normal and typical are not words that apply to who we are.”
“You don’t say,” Jim retorts in his driest tone.
“I echo Leonard’s sentiment,” Spock agrees. “Neither he nor I harbor the expectation our lives will conform to a set standard. We are content to simply exist as we do now, with you.”
Jim smiles. “Good to know.”
Leonard glances at Spock, who nods ever-so-slightly. “Long story short, you’ve got the two of us at your mercy, Jim. Think you can ask that burning question to Spock?” He winks deliberately at Spock. “Or shall I?”
For some odd reason, with their attention on him, Jim begins to stutter like a nervous man. “Spock… I-If you would—I mean—maybe you want to do this instead?—I’m not sure.” He stares at the Vulcan, eyes wide. “So, yeah. Let’s get married. But just in case… You can turn me down.”
Spock blinks.
Leonard chokes. What kind of proposal was that?
Spock eventually looks between the two of them and answers, “The hell I will.”
When both Kirk and McCoy gape at him, he inquires curiously, “Did that phrase fail to express my acceptance correctly?” The Vulcan looks momentarily bewildered. “I must review Ambassador Spock’s notes again.”
“What?” Jim and Leonard both say.
Spock cocks his head. “As part of my training in how to approach marriage with humans, I have been studying phrases which will allow me to respond to you with more… charisma. Ambassador Spock seemed to believe this would improve our interactions greatly. He left instructions among the belongings I inherited.” Spock pauses. “Although it did take some time to comprehend the logic of his advice.”
Jim groans.
Leonard places a hand on Kirk’s shoulder. McCoy’s eyes are twinkling merrily as he asks, “Now I gotta know, Spock. What other kinds of charismatic tricks do you have up your sleeve?”
Spock’s eyebrows pinch together slightly. “I am not certain I understand. Are you requesting I perform a magic trick?”
This time when Leonard chokes, he doubles over with laughter.
Spock transfers his questioning stare to Kirk.
Jim pinches the bridge of his nose but is clearly unable to keep a smile off his face. “Spock… let’s stow the magician talk for another time.” He shakes McCoy by the shoulder. “Bones, you can stop now.”
McCoy wipes his eyes, straightening up. “Sorry, sorry. Oh god. I haven’t laughed that hard in years.”
“I do not see how my explanation is humorous, Leonard. I was trying to inform you I am prepared to engage on any emotional level you require. Communication is the key to a healthy relationship.”
McCoy clears his throat. “That’s sweet of you, darling, but… did you get that from the Ambassador’s notes too?”
“Negative. It comes from a tutorial on prolonged fraternization.”
Leonard cannot look Spock directly in the eyes or he will start laughing again. And he does appreciate Spock’s efforts. He does.
Jim is grinning too. “Did that book instruct you on how to handle unruly fraternization, Spock? We have chocolate cookies on this table.”
Rolling his eyes, Leonard says, “Spock, honestly, you don’t have to eat them. Jim and I are happy knowing you are willing to be flexible for our sakes.”
“Nonetheless, I prefer to make my position clear.” Spock reaches for the plate of chocolate cookies, pausing after he picks one up. His gaze slides from McCoy to Kirk. “I trust whatever happens after this point will remain… private?”
Kirk’s grin turns to just this side of lecherous. He tugs out the chair closest to him, beckoning Spock into it with the purr, “I assure you what happens next will be very off-the-record.”
As Spock takes a seat, Leonard snatches a cookie off the plate and shoves it between Jim’s teeth, who gives a muffled yelp. Then he takes a cookie for himself. “These are my mother’s recipe.”
Spock takes one delicate bite of the cookie and, after a moment, raises an eyebrow. “I commend your mother. I believe this quality rivals that of my mother’s recipe.”
Kirk takes the cookie out of his mouth to question wonderingly, “Your mother baked chocolate cookies?”
“She baked all manner of chocolate desserts,” Spock explains all too easily. “I believe such was her way of alerting my father that he was being particularly inflexible. Also, in my adolescence, she allowed me to partake of her desserts under her supervision.”
Leonard gasps. “Letting her son imbibe!” He grins, then. “Clearly your ma was a special woman, Spock. We would have loved to meet her.”
“And she, you.” Spock breaks the rest of his cookie down the middle and proceeds to polish off each half. “It will take approximately twenty minutes for me to feel the effects.” He stares at the chocolate smudges on his fingers. “Shall I have another and shorten that period?”
Jim is already reaching for the plate, saying, “He’s perfect for us, Bones.”
“We already knew that, kid.”
“I am appreciative of the compliment.” Spock considers the plate of cookies for too long. “In my opinion, you are perfect for me as well.” He blinks as he accepts another cookie for Jim. “‘Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind, And therefore is winged Cupid painted blind.’“
Leonard leans around Jim to peer in Spock’s face. “Is that another seduction technique from Ambassador Spock?”
The corner of Spock’s mouth tips upward. “Negative. Flattering humans with Shakespeare is a Spock original.”
Leonard’s eyes widen. “Oh my god, Jim. I think the chocolate’s hitting his system faster than we thought.”
“This is the best day of my life.” Jim flashes a look of pure happiness at McCoy. “Did we ever figure out how we would handle a drunk Vulcan?”
“Nope, so we’d better get on that, stat,” Leonard replies, amused, as Spock tries to offer him a cookie with far less coordination than usual.
Spock quotes to his loves: “‘Hear my soul speak: The very instant that I saw you, did My heart fly to your service.‘”
“The Tempest, my favorite,” murmurs Jim, his face aglow, no doubt gearing up to respond in kind as though there could be nothing more romantic in the galaxy than a love-sonnet-quoting competition.
Leonard pulls out his own chair and prepares himself to be both audience and judge. Luckily for his two boyfriends—now fiancees—McCoy already considers them the winners of his heart.
~~~
“Package for you, Dr. McCoy!”
Leonard McCoy stills his rocking chair as a young sandy-haired man jogs up the steps to his front porch. He may be far past his prime but he still prides himself on having most of his wits intact. “What brings you out to the farm today, son?” he calls, then sets to chiding. “And it’s not Doctor anymore. How many times do have I tell you to call me Mr. McCoy?”
The man grins cheekily. “That’s not what I hear Mr. Spock and Mr. Jim callin’ you, sir.”
“They do that on purpose to get on my last nerve. Ain’t no reason for them to be calling me anything but ‘Leonard sweetie’.”
The man bursts into laughter.
Leonard harrumphs and holds out an imperious hand. “Gimme that package. You said it was mine.” He inspects the thing once he has it in his hands, whistling softly. “Didn’t think anyone mailed boxes these days.”
“It came through the transporter, same as always, Doc—I mean, Mister McCoy.” The young fellow ducks his head slightly. “My dad was busy with the shop, so I’m doing the deliveries.”
“Mmhm,” hums McCoy knowingly. “And hoping to hear an adventurous tale or two from the great Captain Kirk, I wager.”
The man fidgets, caught.
Leonard flaps a hand in dismissal, saying, “He’s in the barn, trying to make some antique fly that was never supposed to be airborne in the first place.” As the young man jumps off the porch, Leonard yells after him, “Tell those two if they set fire to my barn, I’ll divorce both of them before they can say ‘whoops, sorry!'”
“You’d never do that, Doc!” the delivery boy yells back, already sprinting across the lawn.
That little whippersnapper, thinks McCoy. One of Jim or Spock has been giving him lessons in sass. The boy was a shy little thing the first time he ever made a delivery to their household.
Leonard returns his attention to the package in his lap. He breaks the seal and the lid releases with a hiss of air. Inside the box, there isn’t much: a single data padd. When Leonard picks it up, the screen comes to life, recognizing his fingerprint.
In Christine Chapel’s voice, her vocals a little deeper but steady and confident as ever, the PADD tells him, “Merry Christmas, Leonard. Here’s a little something I found from my commission on the Enterprise. Those were the good old days, weren’t they? Oh, and I will definitely see you at this year’s reunion! My ship’s docking from her last voyage. I need advice on how to handle retirement. Until then, stay out of trouble! And give my love to Jim and Spock.”
He’s a little misty-eyed by the end of the message, but his sight clears with wonder as the message fades to reveal the reason for the sending of the PADD.
“Oh,” he says, staring at the holopic. “Oh.“
He brushes a hand over the screen, his face splitting into a smile. “Sometimes you will never know the value of a moment until it becomes a memory. Bless you, Christine.”
His smile becomes a grin. It’s only been twenty years; Jim should be a little less miffed by now about the whole affair. On the other hand, Leonard is inclined to believe Spock will be much more appreciative of this reminder of the past.
Leonard’s going to put this one on the wall, he decides. It simply tickles him. It will hang right up there next to the framed portrait from their wedding, a cute contrast to the formality of the marriage ceremony that took place (though the reception afterward was anything but dignified, he recalls).
Gorn Jim, big and green and awkward, only the stubborn jut of his chin visible in his bulky costume. A bemused Spock in everyday Science blues, being handed a little cellophane bag with a red twist-tie. And Leonard, somehow also in the visual, on his way to them, boots, chaps, hat and all, twirling a pistol on one finger. Beneath that cowboy hat, he looks positively terrified.
“Should have tucked tail and run in the other direction,” the older version of the McCoy in the photo chuckles to himself. Then he sets his rocking chair in motion again, looking the exact opposite of the sentiment, a man content with his life.
-Fini
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