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Spock noticed the tenseness in the doctor’s hands first and then in the tone of his voice as he made idle chatter with Jim while waving his tricorder over them. The mission was political and was restricted to the captain and himself as representatives of Starfleet. While Dr. McCoy had been a regular presence on their away teams, he had not been inclined toward diplomacy and was therefore not included. He also did not respond well to taking the shuttle, which was the only permissible form of transportation to and from the meeting location. His exclusion wasn’t because the mission was unsafe, no, merely precarious and the doctor’s emotionalism was a risk to their success. Dr. McCoy’s exclusion was logical.
“Well, have a safe trip, I guess,” Dr. McCoy said as he finished his medical inspection.
An interesting, albeit deeply human, choice in phrasing. The lightness of Leonard’s tone sounded strange, abnormal compared to a typical presentation. Spock tilted his head precisely twelve degrees to the right as he observed the doctor one more time. It was likely an impulse to engage in their customary repartee, to put himself at ease. Not daring to question one of the healthier coping mechanisms his coworker employed, he took the obvious bait. “We have little say in the matter, Doctor.”
Dr. McCoy flinched, and his face pulled tight into a scowl as his skin took on a faint red, starting from under his collar and moving up through his jaw to his ears and cheeks. The red look was a familiar sight and appeared to effectively distract the doctor from his nervousness. Spock returned his head to the proper, neutral angle and lifted a challenging eyebrow in hopes to goad his coworker further. Dr. McCoy, although not on the command track, held a significant level of respect among the crew. It would serve no one to have him remain nervous.
However, the responding barb was not what Spock had anticipated.
“Die then,” McCoy tersely said as he lifted his hands in the air, immediately dropped them, then turned around and left. His footsteps were approximately two-point-seven times more forceful than average. A curious reaction, though perhaps his own was equally so.
“Spock, are you getting in the shuttle or not?” Jim leaned from the entryway, one hand at his side and the other holding the shuttle’s hatch frame.
Perhaps Spock lingered longer than was customary on the doctor’s retreating form. He mentally scolded himself, turned around with efficient steps, and strode into the shuttle and into his designated copilot seat. After buckling, Spock pressed several buttons and screens in quick succession. “The shuttle is ready for launch, Captain.”
“You sure about that, Spock?” Jim looked over at him with a crooked smile and pointed a finger to the controls, one of which was not in the correct position, before he briefly glanced down at his PADD.
“Apologies.” Spock corrected his error, dragging his fingers over the control to get the errant apparatus calibrated correctly to this area of space. He felt a burn of shame in the pit of his stomach that threatened to turn into a visible blush and took deep, steady breaths. Not only did his dwelling on the doctor’s comment cause him to delay, but it also caused him to make a mistake. His reaction to a typical response was atypical. Spock would have to meditate later and analyze his behavior.
Jim seemed to let his mistake go without comment, though Spock did not expect it to go completely without notice for long. He estimated that his friend would allude to it in some way in approximately seven point two minutes, earlier if there was not a volley of conversation from Nyota. Jim did not appreciate silence as Spock and McCoy did, and his ability to manage that was only marginally better when he was on duty. When Nyota simply confirmed their flight plan, Spock adjusted. Jim would be mentioning his mistake in thirty-eight seconds, although his frequent glances at his PADD toward unknown content could result in miscalculation.
“Something on your mind, Spock? You seem… distracted.” Jim’s face was neutral, but he’d known his friend and captain long enough to decipher his expressions. Jim was playing a game. He’d barely taken five seconds to engage, and it made Spock curious about what the other man was looking at on his PADD.
Spock tapped at his screen until it displayed the readouts in the efficient format that he preferred. “Dr. McCoy’s response was more virulent than I had anticipated.” He removed his hands from the console and took to his PADD to reread the mission directive. Or, at least, that was his intention. Saying aloud that the doctor’s comment distracted him caused him to dwell more on it. Surely Dr. McCoy did not wish him to die. It was against his very nature as a doctor—
“You know he didn’t mean it, right?”
“Of course. Dr. McCoy is inclined to exaggeration and sarcasm.” Spock continued reading in hopes of the subject being dropped, though he knew that it was not in Jim’s nature to let go once he caught the scent of something that interested him.
Jim turned the chair to face Spock, and he stared at him for twenty-six seconds before speaking again. This time, his tone was lower and more conspiratorial rather than inquisitive. “Do you know why he reacted that way?”
“I confess that I do not. I believe my response was in line with our typical interactions.” Spock altered his breathing patterns to perform a light meditation. He was uncomfortable with the feelings that were growing inside of him. The anxiousness over the doctor’s anger, the rejection he felt at his hasty exit, the embarrassment over his mistake…
“Bones was genuinely worried, Spock. You responded to him in the worst possible way.” Jim shrugged and swung his chair back and forth, his arms relaxed over the armrests and fingers drumming.
Spock straightened in his seat at this revelation. He had not realized McCoy could have interpreted his response more negatively than his previous interactions. If the doctor needed reassurance that they would return, he behaved callously. While his statement was not incorrect, it was inappropriate. Spock was ashamed of more than just his emotional response to this news. He turned his chair seventy-five degrees toward his friend and looked up from his PADD. “I did not intend to cause the doctor further stress.”
“Well yeah, I think we both know that, but you know how Bones is.” Jim waved his right hand around. “He’s protective and gets worried when he doesn’t come with us.”
Spock was about to speak further when he heard a chime and looked down at his PADD. He’d received a message from Dr. McCoy, and he tapped the screen harder than intended in order to open it swiftly. He thought he heard a stifled laugh from Jim, but his friend motioned to the PADD. Spock’s eyes scanned over the brief, terse message: ‘ You’re not allowed to die.’
“So? What is it?”
“Dr. McCoy said that we are not allowed to die.”
Jim lunged for the PADD and pulled it from Spock’s grasp to inspect the message himself. “No, he said you aren't allowed to die.” His grin was reminiscent of the cat from Alice in Wonderland as he tossed the PADD into Spock’s lap.
“I believe the sentiment extends to both of us, Jim. Perhaps you especially, considering your close relationship with the doctor.” Spock’s hands tensed, and he sat up straighter, though he could not entirely say it was related to the seriousness of his conviction.
“Yeah. Sure. Because Bones didn’t just comm me a million times asking about you just now.” Jim brought out his own PADD and turned it so that Spock could see: ‘Make sure the elf knows I didn’t actually mean what I said . ’ Followed by: ‘Spock knows that I don’t want him to die, right?’ And another: ‘Goddammit, Jim, answer me!’ Another message displayed as Spock was still looking at the PADD. ‘ Jim, if you let Spock die, I will personally murder you. Answer me.’
Spock was perplexed. While he and Dr. McCoy were slowly growing their friendship, he did not understand why it was such a concern that Spock would take the doctor’s statement literally. It made him… anxious. His jaw muscles tightened, and he reflexively gripped at his PADD as his brain started running through various scenarios. What does this information mean? Why does this make him feel so strongly? What is it that he is feeling strongly about? Why is McCoy—who sent yet another message—so concerned?
And why did it look like Jim was struggling to breathe?
“Are you alright, Jim?”
Jim snorted during an intake of breath and repeated it once more before he tossed his head back in his chair and laughed. His feet tapped six times, alternating between left and right foot, while his hands clapped once. “Oh, this is so good. I’m so gonna—no, not yet.” Jim cleared his throat and sat up straight, staring into Spock’s eyes intently. “You should message him.”
“It is you that Dr. McCoy wishes to hear from.”
“Message him.”
“Jim, I—”
“Message. Him.”
Spock did not sigh, but he may have let out a breath harder than he intended. He picked up his PADD, opened a message to McCoy, typed out a response, and sent it. “We should discuss the mission.”
“What did you say to him?”
“I said that his worry is misplaced.”
“That’s it?” Jim looked down at his PADD again. “What did you really say? Because Bones didn’t like it, and he’s blaming me.”
“I told him that the likelihood of this mission resulting in my dying was nine-point-eight-nine percent.” Spock turned his chair toward Jim without knowing what he was doing. When his brain caught up with the change in angle, he was surprised. Though not enough to supersede his curiosity. “How did Dr. McCoy respond?”
Jim turned the PADD toward him to see a string of messages in all caps: ‘ YOU SAID THIS WAS A SAFE MISSION!’ - ‘YOU SAID THISWAS JUST POLITICS!’ - ‘WHY DID SPOCK SAY THERE’S A CHANCE OF YALL DYING?’ - ‘JIM IM GONNA KILL YOU IF YOU DON’T ANSWRE ME!’
Spock allowed a slight frown as his brows furrowed. “I do not understand why he is behaving in this manner. Our jobs are inherently dangerous, and there is always a risk of injury and death on even the most benign missions.”
“Yeah, but this time he kinda knee-jerk told you to die because he didn’t like your response to his well wishes.” Jim shrugged and turned the PADD off, effectively silencing all messages sent through unofficial channels. “Anyway, we can talk about this later. Just send him another message asking him to dinner tomorrow, and then let’s get this politicking done so I can go… win a game of chess.” Something in Jim’s eyes convinced Spock that his friend was referring to winning an entirely different game.
—
Leonard knew he was being irrational, the whole thing was irrational. He was a Vulcan’s-worst-nightmare level of emotional, and now he was the epitome of irrational behavior, which made it worse. Leonard immediately regretted what he said, but they were on too tight of a schedule to fix his mistake in person, then Jim didn’t answer his PADD, then Spock didn’t answer his, and then when Spock DID answer, it wasn’t anything good. He essentially told him there was a chance of them dying, so Leonard’s words were the worst possible thing he could have said to Spock. And after Jim’s continued non-answer, he might have set his PADD down a little too hard and broke it. Leonard didn’t want to think about how hard it must have been to break such a hardy device.
“They’re going to be fine, Len,” Christine said in that smoothed-over honey tone that she used with patients. It sounded gross being directed at him, but it did startle him enough to calm down. “Why are you so worked up, anyway?”
“I, uh, you know how sometimes Spock and I snipe back and forth?”
Christine crossed her arms with a knowing grin. “Sometimes?”
“Yeah, OK, all the time. Anyway, I told ‘im to have a safe trip, and Spock said some bullshit about it not being in his control, and I, uh, kinda told him to ‘just die then.’” Leonard sat down hard on the nearest chair and shoved his face in his palms. If sickbay had a fainting couch, he would have thrown himself across it dramatically. “Christine, I told him to die on a mission that could potentially kill him.”
Christine… Laughed. She laughed! Leonard looked up with a glare, but Christine shut him off before he had a chance to start. “Spock’s a smart man. He’ll understand.”
“He’s smart, but sometimes he’s so goddamn literal!” Leonard didn’t understand why Christine wasn’t taking him seriously. “What if he actually dies?!”
“You’ll find a way to resurrect him so you can kill him yourself like you did with Jim. Aside from the killing him again, part. Though I suspect that you still might one of these days.” Christine shrugged and looked at her nails. “I am curious why you’re so worried about Spock and not Jim, though.”
Leonard sputtered when his lips couldn’t keep up with what his brain was telling them to say. “I didn’t tell Jim to die.” He knew Christine would see right through him, but he hoped she’d at least drop the subject.
“Right. Well. I will get back to work, and I suggest you find something to occupy your mind while you wait for them to come back. Otherwise, it’s going to be a long day.”
And a long day it was. While Leonard did manage to find some inventorying, organizing, and report writing to busy himself, he couldn’t stop the nagging voice in his head that Spock took what he said to heart. Did he overreact? Sure. Did the green-blooded elf toss his feelings in the fire? Absolutely. Still, what if something did go wrong, and those were the last words he ever said to the Vulcan he was growing… feelings for. Shit .
Leonard’s comm pinged with a notice that Spock and Jim were on the way back and that the mission was successful. It still didn’t settle his nerves, and he made it up to the shuttle bay in half the time it normally took. He was awkwardly standing and waiting with the techs for ten minutes before the shuttle entered the bay and landed neatly, and a few minutes longer for them to open the door. It took every ounce of control not to invade Spock’s space to confirm that he did not, in fact, believe Leonard had wanted him to die.
Leonard stalked up to them when boots finally hit the deck and started waving his medical tricorder around Spock. All the readings were within normal ranges; he was perfectly healthy, absolutely nothing wrong with him. He nodded and turned the tricorder to Jim, finding the same results in less time. The emotions pooling inside of him felt like a whirlwind as he turned back to Spock to properly apologize. Leonard decided to save the feelings part for later, but he had to get this out now. Only Spock didn’t let him.
“I apologize for my disregard of your concern… Leonard.” Spock’s eyes darted to the side before returning to Leonard’s. “It was not my intention to cause you stress or dismiss your care for my safety. I simply…”
“No, Spock, I shouldn’t have said something like that, ever. Not to you. Jim, sure, but not to you. I know you take things literally, an’ that was…” Leonard whistled while lifting his eyebrows. “That was neither the time nor the place to poke fun at that, especially with those words. I really, truly don’t want you to die, Spock.”
Spock nodded and was about to say something when Jim abruptly shoved Leonard in the shoulder hard enough for him to step into Spock. “Go get dinner. That’s an order from your captain.”
Leonard was in the process of launching himself at Jim when he felt Spock’s grip on his arm holding him back. He turned, red-faced, and looked at the hand first and then Spock. “Sorry for running into ya.”
“Your sincere apologies are unnecessary, Leonard. I much prefer your sarcastic ones.” Spock let go once it was clear that Leonard wasn’t going after Jim. “I did not receive your response to my request before we went out of range, and I did not receive it upon reentering. If you are upset with me, I understand, though I would prefer a direct response rather than assuming.”
Leonard looked down sheepishly and put a hand on the back of his neck, squeezing it once before dropping his hand back to his side. “My personal PADD broke, and I haven’t checked my messages. What was your request?”
Spock’s eyebrows furrowed slightly. “The PADDs are built to withstand rough treatment and typical hazards. How did your PADD get broken?”
“I, uh, well, when Jim ignored me—an’ if he didn’t tell you, he didn’t send me a single message—I might have dropped my PADD. Roughly. I didn’t toss it down, but I wasn’t gentle either, and it managed to hit something on my desk in just the right way.” Leonard pinched the bridge of his nose. “I was out of sorts, Spock. You have no idea.” He sighed, crossed his arms, and looked back up. “What was the request?”
“I request that you join me for dinner.”
Leonard’s eyebrows shot up. He wasn’t expecting that at all. Though maybe he should have, they have been friendlier lately and eating together, sometimes without Jim. He should probably clarify, though. “As colleagues?”
Spock’s eyebrows dipped again. “We are colleagues, yes.”
“No, no, I mean, is this a working dinner?”
“We are both off duty, and I would not expect you to continue working through dinner.”
“Are you purposefully being obtuse?” Leonard’s voice had an edge to it.
Spock lifted an eyebrow and tilted his head. “Our typical routine would have me stating that I am not an angle greater than ninety degrees, but my last attempt at following this routine resulted in conflict. I am not being obtuse. I do not understand the intentions of your question and would prefer a more direct question so that I may give you a satisfactory answer.”
Leonard smiled a little at that; finding out that Spock did some of this on purpose gave him butterflies. “There are three main reasons for askin’ someone to dinner: romance, friendship, or work. So if it’s not work, what is your reason for asking me to dinner?”
“Which would you prefer?” Spock moved his hands behind him in his typical parade rest, though his posture seemed more casual. He was almost teasing.
“That’s cheating.” Leonard pulled his arms a little tighter.
“Would you be disappointed if I chose one over the other?”
Leonard recrossed his arms twice before dropping them to put his hands on his hips. “Would you treat me any different if I chose the one you didn’t want?” He couldn’t meet Spock’s eyes.
“Of course not, Leonard, and I trust that you would do the same for me.”
“OK.” Leonard took a deep breath and met Spock’s eyes. “I vote for the second option, but based on some of the things I felt today, maybe we can explore that first option. In the future. Maybe. If, y’know, you’re interested.”
“I am amenable to the first two as well, though I did not wish to influence your choice.”
Leonard smiled. “It’s a pre-date, then. See you in an hour?”
“An hour would be sufficient, thank you, Leonard.”
—
Precisely two weeks, six days, seventeen hours, and six minutes later, Spock, Leonard, and Jim sat around a table in the officer’s cafeteria. Leonard sat next to Spock while Jim was on the opposite side with a smile that indicated he was at least marginally aware of what they would be discussing. Leonard, to his right, had his arms crossed, and his leg was bobbing up and down, a clear indicator of nervousness, though Spock did not understand what he was nervous about. Jim was their mutual best friend and has made multiple attempts at pushing them together.
“Jim, we have requested your presence, both as a friend and a superior, to discuss a change in our relationship.” Spock paused to take a sip of his tea, leaving his plomeek soup untouched for now. Leonard hadn’t even touched his eating utensil since sitting down, which was unusual. It was best to address the ‘elephant in the room’ as quickly as possible so that his partner could eat before getting back to work.
Jim’s smile grew. “Go on…”
“Leonard and I have decided to engage in a romantic and sexual relationship.”
“Dammit, Spock! You didn’t have to tell him the latter part!” Leonard blushed furiously and kicked at Spock’s foot with adequate force to jar him, but not enough to harm him. His partner then placed his elbows on the table and rested his face in his palms, hiding behind his hands.
Spock tilted his head to the side as he observed his partner’s response. “I apologize, Leonard. Given our close mutual relationship with Jim, I did not anticipate that the subject of sex would bring you discomfort.”
“MOVING ON.” Leonard jerked his hands away from his face and thrust one toward Jim. “I expect the same level of privacy that you gave me an’ Chris. No interfering just ‘cause we’re all friends here. Got it?”
Jim grinned. “Sure, but when did you officially get together romantically?”
“Leonard and I agreed to pursue romantic relations precisely six-point-seven-seven days ago.”
“Dammit!” Jim’s right hand swept at a diagonal from upper right to lower left as he snapped his fingers. “So close!”
“Jim…” Leonard’s voice was on the cusp of anger.
“What? We had a bet, just me, Uhura, and Chapel. Well, just me and them, they guessed you two would get together within two weeks of the ‘die then’ operation, I guessed three.” Jim frowned and crossed his arms as he leaned back in his chair. “I was so close!”
Leonard turned around in his seat and began looking around the facility, looking increasingly frustrated as his eyes scanned the room. His frown lessened, and he abruptly stood up and stalked over to the table that held Nyota and Nurse Chapel. “Y’all owe me an’ Spock a bottle of somethin’ nice. I can’t believe you two would bet on yer friends!” Spock had to agree that though he expected Jim’s behavior, he did not anticipate either of the women would have an affinity for gambling.
Both Nyota and Nurse Chapel smiled, but it was Nyota who spoke first. “Of course! We made a bet because we knew we’d win, and we’d get the two of you a good gift with Jim’s credits.”
Leonard turned back to Spock and grinned at him before returning his attention to their friends. “I like your style, and I appreciate it.”
Jim, who did not have Vulcan hearing, was unsure of the interactions going on and kept looking to Spock. His facial expressions indicated a mix of guilt and anxiousness that was only moderately assuaged by Leonard’s grin. “It is fine, Jim. They are merely discussing the distribution of their winnings from the bet. They lacked faith in your ability to reward us sufficiently for our union, which I was unaware such a custom existed. Further, they are explaining to Leonard that they leveraged their superior knowledge of mine and Leonard’s tendencies and your affinity for gambling to secure the ability to provide such a gift.”
“Oh, that’s bullshit. My present will absolutely beat theirs!” Jim got up and walked expediently toward Nyota and Nurse Chapel’s table while Leonard was walking back. Spock noted the passing shoulder squeeze from Jim to Leonard, who smiled in return. “I bet they’ll like my gift better than yours!”
Nurse Chapel laughed. “We’d be happy to take your credits again, Jim!”
“Double or nothing!” Jim countered.
Nyota smiled in a way that Spock could only describe as calculating. “What, are you afraid that you can’t beat us if we were able to use our earnings from the first bet?”
Though Spock kept his awareness on the commentary from the other table, he turned his visual focus to Leonard as he returned to his seat. The back and forth between his friends and Nurse Chapel—who he expected to grow closer to given Leonard’s relationship with her—was moderately entertaining. Still, he needed to ensure that they both ate a nutritious, full meal together. “There are only ten point six minutes left for our meal break.”
“Yeah, yeah, I’ll eat.” Leonard moved his tray to Jim’s former seat and sat down. Spock was momentarily concerned, but when he felt the weight of Leonard’s foot against his calf, the concern faded. “For once, I ain’t mad about being one half of the subject of their betting pool over there. I think we’ll be gettin’ some pretty swank gifts from our friends.”
Spock watched as Leonard shifted his food across his plate but did not put any to his mouth. “Are you content with your meal, Leonard? I can fetch you another if your choice is no longer palatable for you.”
“Nah, thanks,” Leonard said with a smile. “I’m just wondering when they started this bet.”
“I have a hypothesis.” Spock took a carefully measured bite of his salad that took exactly six seconds to chew appropriately and swallow to build suspense, something that he’d found Leonard to respond to positively.
Leonard leaned forward, as predicted. “Yeah?”
“On the shuttle, during the mission which proved to be a catalyst for our union, Jim was typing on his PADD, but he was not communicating with you.” Spock took another calculated bite which caused Leonard to lift an eyebrow and still his fork. “I suspect that he was in contact with Nyota, who was then in contact with Nurse Chapel.”
Leonard thrust his fork down onto his food with a significant force three and a half times before letting it fall to the plate entirely. He stood up, his chair loudly scraping against the floor, and moved around the table to place his first two fingers on the back of Spock’s hand. “Be right back, darlin’. I need to go rip our captain a new one.”
Spock grabbed Leonard’s wrist and held firm. “You will have markedly better dexterity and wit if you finish your meal, Leonard.” He stopped restraining Leonard when he felt his resistance wane. “In addition, I believe the better course of action would be to wait until we receive our gift from him. Nyota and Nurse Chapel’s gamble may prove fruitful, and I am eager to see the results.”
“Well, when you put it that way…” Leonard sat back down and started consuming his meal. He made it five-sixths through his plate before glaring up at Spock. “Wait. Did you say I’m dumb when I’m hungry?”
Spock lifted an eyebrow. “I did not, though the delay in your misunderstanding of my statement may make your interpretation apt.”
“Yer lucky you’re cute.”