Title: Destiny for Three (1/2)
Author: klmeri
Fandom: Star Trek AOS
Pairing: Kirk/Spock/McCoy
Summary: When at first you don’t succeed, seduce again. That is Leonard McCoy’s motto, and he puts it to good use when his favorite shipmates finally seem interested in each other.
A/N: Before you wonder why I’m writing another McSpirk-flirts story, I will remind you the world is a better place when the Triumvirate is in love. Also, I have been in a mood to indulge myself lately.

“You have an eidetic memory, Spock. You must know the instructions better than I do, and I wrote them!”

“Doctor, is it not of concern to you that we do not have a complete assessment of possible reactions? What if—”

“Dear god,” says McCoy, “stop there please. How many times have you and I accurately guessed what Jim will do?” When Spock opens his mouth, Leonard warns, “Don’t answer that.”

“What is your point, Doctor?”

“Think of when we have been wrong. That’s my point!”

In the ensuing silence, McCoy stares hard at Spock and Spock, unblinking, offers no reply. Clearly, thinks McCoy, Spock knows when he is wrong. He snorts sardonically.

McCoy eventually mutters, “I am right,” and faces a full-length mirror to adjust his bowtie. He frowns at Spock’s reflection, who still stands stiffly on the opposite side of the room like he is waiting for another saucy remark relating to his previous complaint. When Spock notices McCoy watching him, he stiffens further.

Leonard can’t help but say critically, “That shirt, Spock…”

“It is not mine,” the Vulcan is quick to assert.

“Oh, I could tell,” comes McCoy’s retort. “Who did you borrow it from and what bargain bin did they dig it out of?”

“The concierge.” Spock follows a short hesitation with, “Based upon my specifications.”

Leonard literally has to bite his tongue to keep his next comment unspoken. Not only did the concierge probably mistake Spock for a silly tourist, but Spock must have acted like one. A fashion-ignorant one, that is.

He insists, “You need something subtler for tonight. Otherwise, Jim might catch on.” He thinks over their choices, then orders, “Take it off.”

Spock doesn’t budge, his gaze turning wary.

Leonard rolls his eyes. “Spock,” he says, both amused and exasperated, “you don’t have anything I don’t see in the mirror every day. Not to mention, as your doctor, I have seen every inch of you already.”

Spock apparently knows when he’s been bested and removes the shirt. McCoy strolls to his room’s closet, digs around for a minute, and returns with a shirt that, in his opinion, is much less of an eyesore and less likely to scare off the public. But Spock takes the silky material with obvious doubt, and it is a good long minute before the Vulcan dons it.

Leonard’s not adverse to a shirtless Vulcan in his room—not this Vulcan, anyway—but they do have a schedule to keep to. “Ten minutes,” he warns Spock, already fully aware Spock might attempt to delay their departure with more complaints. McCoy heads for the bathroom, tossing over his shoulder for good measure, “Stay right there.”

As the bathroom door slides shut behind him, Leonard hears, “Nine minutes and twenty-five seconds.” He grins broadly at the closed door.

Spock thinks he knows the sequence of future events from start to finish but in truth, Leonard is more devious than the average man. While Spock’s busy pretending to be ‘open to flirting with others’, Leonard McCoy shall be engaged in a special dance of his own—one that takes precise coordination and plenty of advance planning.

And neither of McCoy’s targets this evening will recognize his sweet little trap until they are well and truly caught in it.

Twenty-eight minutes later (that is, per Spock’s internal clock), the shuttle drops them off at the district’s town hall, where a valet obligingly gives them directions to the ballroom.

But before they reach their destination, Leonard pushes Spock toward a quiet little alcove and crowds in close. Because of the low ceiling sloping down to meet the wall, Spock’s neck is craned at an angle such that McCoy can feel the puff of Spock’s breath against his neck.

“Don’t overthink anything,” he says firmly to the Vulcan. Then he silently reminds himself not to get distracted. Distraction comes later on the timetable. “Spock?”

“Affirmative, Doctor.”

Leonard steps back, then, not quite certain of the meaning of the look in Spock’s dark eyes. “You go first.” As Spock moves around him, he adds, “And good luck.”

Spock pauses, and they look at one another. For an odd moment, it seems like Spock is assessing Leonard’s prowess and ability to get the job done.

Then the Vulcan remarks, too calm, “Luck will not be necessary. I have a contingency plan.” Before Leonard even fully absorbs that statement in order to question what in the heck his companion means, Spock’s long strides have carried him far away down the hall.

Leonard mutters to himself about unnerving hobgoblins and smoothes back his hair. A few minutes after that, he is on his way to the party too.

The young man at the table plays with the stem of his wine glass while surreptitiously watching the crowd, anticipating the arrival of a particular guest. He commandeered the small table by the decorate foliage, as it was outlined in the setup. There are so many little details he had to be certain of for this adventure.

When that guest finally appears nearby, he throws a hand up in the air and gives an enthusiastic wave to catch his attention. The tall Vulcan notices him and glides over, coming to a graceful halt just out of arm’s reach.

“Hi there,” he says warmly if a tad nervously.

“Greetings.”

There is a good reason why this young man offered his services for this special assignment. He admires the neat figure Mr. Spock cuts in the simple black silk shirt, black tailored pants, and polished-to-a-gleam shoes. Only a blind man would call the commander unattractive and believe it.

He pats the empty chair next to him eagerly. “Take a seat.”

Mr. Spock only stares at him gravely. “To the red rising moon, and loud and deep.”

Oh, right! He flushes. There’s a secret code by which they are to recognize each other. “The nightingale is singing from the steep.”

Lines from a poem written by a long-dead Terran named Longfellow. He had looked that up. An odd choice to be certain, but he had repeated the line dozens of times in the last hour so he wouldn’t forget this most crucial introduction.

Mr. Spock sits in the chair.

The young man’s excitement grows. “So, how does this—”

Without warning, the Vulcan shifts to directly face him and says, “Scientists have recently discovered a rare new element called Beautium. It looks like you are made of it.”

His mouth drops open.

“Should I try again?” Mr. Spock blinks and does not wait for a reply. “If you were an element you would be francium because you are the most attractive.”

Ears on fire, the dumbfounded young man stutters, “E-Excuse me?”

“Dr. McCoy said you are a chemist by profession. Therefore I tailored my research of human courting to reflect your expertise.”

Some of his shock fades to be replaced by a rather horrific suspicion. He looks from the Vulcan to his glass of wine and then twists away. “More drinks!”

The yell startles the occupants at the next table, not just the server handing out beverages to them.

Mr. Spock straightens slightly and folds his hands on the table as if there has been a cue of some kind. “According to the Second Law of Thermodynamics, you are supposed to share your hot—”

“No,” the chemist interprets quickly, “that’s enough, I mean, plenty. How about we move on to… mutual staring?”

“Staring is an acceptable form of courtship?”

“Silent staring is,” Mr. Spock’s fake date states with a tinge of sympathy. “In some cases, it’s the only acceptable form. Don’t worry,” the young man is quick to add, “to anyone else it will seem like we’re… interested.”

“I see.” Mr. Spock’s pause is a thoughtful one. “Then I am amenable. Proceed.” The stare the Vulcan subsequently levels on his date is frightening in its intensity.

“Wonderful,” mutters the man. Taking two full wine glasses from the server who has finally answered his desperate call, he starts drinking one and places the other at his elbow. All the while he fights to maintain eye-contact with an unblinking Vulcan.

Mr. Spock is still nice to look at, he decides as some of the awkwardness of the situation fades. At least there will be some small reward for tonight’s participation.

Leonard McCoy makes his way across a crowded ballroom, finding his quarry with little to no trouble. There is a flock of hawk-eyed ladies (and a few gentlemen too) who aren’t chatting amongst themselves but rather keenly observing a man standing alone by an empty table. Why try to see over a sea of heads and hairdos, muses Leonard, when one can simply assess the patterns of the bystanders? After all, Jim so easily catches the eyes of others—always the center of attention in some form or fashion, even when Jim isn’t trying to be.

He chuckles to himself. He could swoop in like the best friend he is and save the poor man, warding off unwanted attention.

But unbeknownst to McCoy, as his formal wear suits him so well, heads have turned to track him as well. One of those is Jim Kirk’s, whose gaze brightens when he spots McCoy coming toward him.

Leonard calls teasingly, “Why, Captain, don’t you look dashing this evening!”

Jim grins, then ducks his head and peers at McCoy over the rim of a wine glass. “So, you finally showed up.”

“Didn’t think I had a choice. I am your plus one.” Leonard steals the wine glass from the man’s hand, who lets him have it without reaction. “You owe me big, by the way.”

“Let me guess. My debt is in proportion to the amount of time you’re required to stay in that fancy wear.”

“At least you understand the situation.” McCoy downs the last of the wine before handing the glass off to a passing server. He rocks back on his heels as he glances around. “Where are the bride and groom? This is their party.”

“Probably already slipped away. They are newlyweds after all.” Kirk sighs a little, as if wishing he could do the same.

Or wishing he was the one who had found his life partner, perhaps?

Leonard suppresses a grin and indicates the dance floor. “If you’re not feeling too morose, how about some fun?” He admires the faint pinkness coming into Jim’s face. “Kid, I’ve told you before—it doesn’t matter if you are a terrible dancer. Just follow my lead.”

“I thought I would be the leader,” Jim complains with a distinct lack of heat as he lets McCoy take his arm and pull him to an empty spot between couples.

“With some dances,” Leonard advises his old friend, “you definitely are not the guy in the lead.” He won’t enlighten Jim to the fact he is talking about an entirely different kind of dancing.

The kind that, Leonard thinks, spying Spock from the corner of his eye, has already begun.

When the allotted time is up, Mr. Spock’s companion bides him goodbye and then sinks back into his chair, studying the three empty wine glasses in front of him partly in disbelief. Unaware of this, the Vulcan moves at a determined pace through the crowd toward the bar area of the ballroom. There a woman sits, seeming relaxed with her legs crossed and a small personal padd on the counter in front of her. She skims through it at a lazy pace. Once Spock reaches her shoulder, it takes the woman a moment to become aware of his arrival. Then she slips the padd in a pocket of her pants suit.

“Hello,” Spock begins politely. “To the red rising moon, and loud and deep.”

She looks up at him with a warm smile. “The nightingale is singing from the steep. You must be Commander Spock. I’m Ann, Leonard’s friend. He has told me plenty about you.”

“He shared information concerning you as well.”

“Won’t you take a seat?”

Spock does so. With a considering look at his new companion, he intones, “I find your culture fascinating… I would like to learn more about your mating rituals.”

Her eyes widen. “Oh, dear.”

At the Vulcan’s lack of reaction, she swallows a laugh and takes pity on him. “I won’t consider that as a sincere request. Didn’t the Doctor give you some instruction?”

“His instructions were left to interpretation. The exact words were: ‘Make them laugh, and I’ll do the rest.'”

She laughs aloud, then, unable to help herself. “You certainly accomplished that!”

Mr. Spock raises both eyebrows. “Should I try again?”

“Please don’t,” she says lightly. “I think we can manage to be convincing another way.” Ann leans closer to him, glancing aside just briefly, and then gently touches the sleeve of his shirt.

“See?” she whispers. “Someone is paying attention already.”

The Vulcan inclines his head ever-so-slightly. “What do you wish to discuss?”

She shifts her position so that from the view of an onlooker, they appear to be very close to each other indeed. “I’ve heard something of your purpose tonight but tell me, Mr. Spock, what is your opinion of the man who set this up?”

McCoy slows down the dance to a quiet swaying, tacitly giving his partner more time and attention to continue watching the pair at the bar.

Spock seems to be getting along fine with Dr. Dermott, he observes. Ann is a mutual friend through the couple who married that day, and Leonard knows her well enough that he had no qualms about asking her for this favor. His brief description of Spock’s second date to Spock had been: “An anthropologist who is hard-working, infinitely curious and doesn’t mind a little fun.” He had left out the bit about her being fascinated with matchmaking.

Well, Jim has stared plenty now, Leonard decides, giving Kirk’s side a slight squeeze with his arm.

In response, Kirk snaps his head back around to his dance partner with a hasty apology.

McCoy smiles. “Where’d you go, hm?”

There is a significant pause while Jim extricates himself fully from his inner train of thought in order to reply. “Sorry,” he says again. “That was rude of me.”

“I didn’t say I was offended. But what caught your attention?”

“Spock.” When Jim starts to look away, Jim freezes, appearing to catch himself in the act. “I didn’t know he would be here. Did you?”

“Oh, I had an inkling.” Leonard keeps smiling. “We shared the shuttle service from the hotel.”

Kirk stiffens in his arms the tiniest bit. “And you didn’t think to tell me that, Bones?”

“He was invited, same as you.” I saw to that, McCoy doesn’t add.

“That’s not it,” starts Kirk before falling into dismayed silence.

Leonard grins, then. “So. You are interested in his company.”

“I never said that.”

McCoy harrumphs. “You didn’t have to, kid. Now… I have some advice for you.”

Jim states with both dry amusement and exasperation, “Go on. I can’t stop you.”

“You planned ahead and brought a plus one. Spock didn’t.”

The man frowns. “I’m not following.”

“Because you’re not patient enough to let me get to the point!” gripes McCoy. “As I was saying, Spock doesn’t have a date tonight. And from what I can tell, he looks fine with that. In fact, he seems more than happy to be single at this wedding party. Notice that he has been talking to other singles.”

Jim takes the lead of their dance suddenly, swaying Leonard right out the line of sight to the bar. “Bones…” Jim both looks and sounds quite taken aback. “You think Spock is—is flirting?”

“Hell yes! Can’t you read body language?”

“He’s too in-control of himself,” mutters Kirk but his gaze narrows. “Which means he is consciously sitting close to that woman.”

Ding-ding-ding, we have a winner! praises Leonard silently. Just one little push in the right direction… “So help the guy out.”

Kirk and McCoy cease moving altogether.

Jim’s lips thin, like he could be angry. “You can’t be serious.”

“Is Spock your friend?”

“Of course he is!”

“Then go help him.” McCoy meets and holds his friend’s gaze. “Unless you have a reason to be against the idea.”

Jim lets go of him, then, looking very grim as he takes a step back. Oh, he won’t admit Leonard is right. Moreover, he definitely will not back down from what he perceives as a challenge.

“I’ll do it,” Jim growls at last and pivots away.

Cheering internally, Leonard slides his hands into his pants pockets, calling out to Kirk’s retreating back, “Good luck!”

This has all been too easy. Smug now, McCoy lets out a cheerful little whistle.

Someone touches his shoulder from behind, a lovely woman with a shy smile. “May I have this dance?” she asks. She too glances toward Jim, who is striding away from the dance floor with obvious purpose.

“Darling,” Leonard croons, taking her hand, “this dance and the next one are all yours.”

That will certainly give Spock plenty of time to lure Jim from the ballroom. Then Leonard can find them ‘by accident’ and make good use of their confusion to his advantage.

Truly, never before has he felt so duplicitous—and pleased about it!

He leads his new partner to the middle of the dance floor.

TBC

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