Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Monday, February 14, 2254

Jim Kirk was already a mess when Leonard met him. Leonard McCoy wasn’t much better. They were both young, both angry at the day, both drunker than they should have been on a Monday afternoon, and Jim was a flirt even before he opened his mouth, sliding up to the bar with the grace of a cat, and practically draping himself on the counter. The ID that appeared on the screen when the bartender scanned his hand was Sam—Leonard hadn’t taken him as an insert guy, and Leonard himself preferred to keep his identification where he could remove it from his person thank-you-very-much, but that wasn’t his business—, but his mouth said Jim, and Leonard didn’t particularly mind one way or another.

Maybe it was because it was the first Valentine’s Day since the divorce, but Leonard took his time taking Jim apart. It was therapeutic, in a way, Leonard reflected as he fished in his nightstand drawer for a pre-roll.

“That was—wow.” Jim tried to find his words as Leonard lit the joint, inhaling, holding, inhaling again. “That was great. Amazing.”

“Thanks,” Leonard exhaled slowly and passed the joint to Kirk. “Not too bad yourself.”

Kirk dragged deep and held his breath a beat. “You should go to massage school.”

That got a chuckle out of Leonard. “Too late, I’m already a doctor.”

Jim shrugged flippantly. “Well, when you get out of medical school—” inhale “—sign me up as your first patient.”

McCoy waved a hand as if he was trying to fan away Jim’s response like stale smoke. “No, I’m already a doctor. I graduated last semester.”

“Already a—?” Jim started with a lurch in disbelief, sitting all the way up, staring at Leonard as if he’d sprouted an extra eye. “How old are you?”

“I’m 27,” Leonard eyed Jim suspiciously. “How old are you?”

“I’m 20,” Jim said as if it were obvious.

“Twenty!” Alarmed, Leonard put the joint out in the ash tray by the bed. The whole point of picking up strangers at a bar was to make sure he didn’t end up taking home someone too young. “Why are you twenty?”

“Why are you 27?” Jim retorted.

Leonard flew right past that smart-ass remark. “You ordered from the bar!”

Jim scoffed. “Yeah, with my brother’s ID.”

Leonard ran a hand down his face with a grumble, “My God, I’ve just slept with an infant.” If Jim took offense to that, it didn’t show on his 0face, and Leonard accepted the fact that there was no going back now. “How did you even get the RFID to accept you as your brother? Don’t tell me you’re identical twins born a few years apart.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Jim said, pulling a pillow in his lap. “I just had to trick the chip into thinking my DNA was Sam’s.”

“Huh.” Leonard looked Jim up and down, really looked, impressed. Those chips were secured and tied into the global medical system. They had measures designed to protect and secure both the components and the data that went way beyond Leonard’s ability to understand. It was theoretically impossible to fool the things, or so he’d been told, and here this kid was, doing the impossible and admitting it to what was probably a one night stand. Leonard pulled a corner of the covers over himself and shuffled until he was lying fully down. “Not bad, kid.”

“Thanks,” Jim said lightly as he settled in for the night. “So, you’re really 27?”

Leonard shrugged. “I’ve got a young face.” He knew there were plenty of people younger than him who looked years older, and it was one thing to be careless with age at 18. 27 was a-whole-nother matter, which is why he chose to pick up from bars and not coffee houses. The whole point was to avoid accidentally tumbling into bed with someone underage.

“No kidding, you bag of bones.”

“Go to sleep, Jim.”

Leonard was fixing coffee the next morning when he finally asked: “Alright, so you reprogrammed the chip without setting off any alarms, but who did you get to insert it?”

“What do you mean?” Jim asked around a bite of toast.

Leonard rolled his eyes. “I mean that no doctor I know of would have installed the thing without being 100% certain it hadn’t been tampered with in some way—by law, we’re not even supposed to open the pack if it’s been damaged. So who’s going around committing malpractice and helping you steal your brother’s identity so that you can go have a drink?”

“Oh, that was me,” Jim replied without care.

“That was you,” Leonard parroted without any inflection, coffee cup hanging in front of his face from when he thought he was going to take another sip of it.

“Yeah, all I had to do was stick it in.”

“Stick it in,” Leonard repeated, appalled. “You don’t just—Give me your hand.” Leonard snatched Jim’s left hand before he gave the kid a chance to react, and lo and behold, there it was: a tiny white scar in the meat of the palm of his new right-handed friend. He could feel his face heat up in anger. “Jim Kirk, how long have you had this in here like this?”

“Not long.” Leonard gave no reaction, and Jim pulled his hand back, continuing: “Two years.”

“Two years,” Leonard muttered in disbelief as he finally sat at the small table. “I’m surprised you don’t have more visible tissue damage. Have you experienced any tingling—” Jim shook his head no “—numbness—” another no “—any twitching or other signs of muscle damage?”

“No, alright? I get it—you’re a doctor,” Jim shot back in exasperation.

Leonard’s eyebrow ticked at that. “Damn right I’m a doctor, and I’d really like to get that thing out of your hand before you end up debilitating yourself.”

Jim Kirk was ever petulant. “I’m not going to debilitate myself.”

“I’d like to hear you try to say that when you’ve stretched your hand wrong and severed a nerve on the edge of that tag. See if you’re still so nonchalant when you’ve got a dead muscle in that hand of yours.”

“Alright,” Jim rolled his eyes. “I turn 21 in like a month an a half. I’ll find my real ID and have you take Sam’s out then.”

Leonard knew Jim was trying to blow him off, and the doctor part of him wasn’t having any of that. “Or I can take it out today, and if you really need to drink that bad, you can just come here and do it where I can keep an eye on your reckless ass.”

If nothing else, Leonard thought his idea would push their argument to the point that Jim would have stormed out of the apartment never to be seen again, but instead, Jim paused in thought. “You really mean that?”

Leonard had known Jim Kirk for less than 24 hours, and if he was being honest with himself, he wasn’t sure if he was really up to hosting a potential 20-year-old alcoholic in his home until April, but he’d said it, and Leonard McCoy did not like to make a liar of himself. “I said it, didn’t I?”

Jim mulled it over, and in that space of time, Leonard wondered what kind of life he led. What kind of man was Jim Kirk, who could fool a foolproof system so he could go to a bar, who could do amazing things in bed but be thrown for a loop by Leonard’s age, who could keep pace with Leonard in drinks but was seriously considering his offer. Didn’t he have any friends of age? “Alright, when do we do this?”

Leonard wasn’t sure what kind of a person Jim Kirk was, and Leonard had a feeling he wasn’t even beginning to scratch the surface of Jim Kirk just yet. “Finish your breakfast and I’ll take you to my office.”

It turned out that what was under the surface of Jim Kirk was an overactive immune system. It took less than a minute from when Leonard gave him a numbing shot—a local anesthetic so Leonard could make an incision and inspect for any damage with minimal fuss—to when Jim’s throat swelled shut. The hospital’s emergency sensors kicked in and the two of them were automatically transported to another wing of the hospital to get the reaction under control, and Jim stabilized.

Once Jim was most definitely not going to die, and his body was in a state that it could handle a little additional stress, Leonard settled in to take the tampered RFID out of Jim’s hand before the kid came back around.

Leonard dropped the chip into the tray with a little more force than was necessary, having not registered the footsteps behind him. “I have the results of the tests you requested, Doctor.”

“Thank you, Mr. Spock,” Leonard said as he inspected the tissue around where the chip had settled, and was relieved to see no signs of lasting damage. “Are there any items I should be immediately aware of?” he asked as he began to run the dermal regenerator over the incision.

Spock flipped open the folder as if he hadn’t committed the entire report to memory and Leonard rolled his eyes. “The patient is also allergic to a component in a saline solution in use at this hospital.”

“Saline?” Leonard balked in disbelief, turning to face Spock for the first time. “How on earth can someone be allergic to saline?”

“To say the patient is allergic to saline would be inaccurate—,” Spock began by way of explanation, but Leonard was not in a mood to hear the specifics.

“Give me that,” Leonard said, alarmed at just how thick the file looked. Spock handed it over, and Leonard skimmed over the items. By the looks of things, Jim was allergic to just about everything under the sun.

“It is remarkable,” Spock continued, unaffected, “That the patient would have such a reaction to Numbivol, as all tests ran by the Vulcan Science Academy indicated that an allergic reaction to the medication would be impossible with the human immune system.”

“Us humans are full of more surprises than you might think,” Leonard concluded, snapping the folder shut. “Thank you for the quick work, Mr. Spock.”

“Indeed,” said Spock’s voice; his ascending brow wondering at why the efficiency of his work had been in doubt in the first place. Considering Spock had been sent to the hospital on loan from the Vulcan Science Academy to help improve the efficiency of earth’s medical labs, Leonard wouldn’t have been surprised if Spock had taken outright offense at the idea. Spock’s eyes slipped to the tray at Leonard’s side. “Was the patient experiencing difficulty with the identity chip?”

“The patient was an idiot and thought he could put it in himself,” Leonard grumbled.

“The patient did put it in himself,” came Jim’s sleepy voice.

“And therein lies the problem!” Leonard said with a snit in his voice. “You’re lucky I work at a hospital and not a family practice, Jim.”

“Are you familiar with the patient, Dr. McCoy?”

Leonard’s no overpowered Jim’s yes. “But why are you still hanging around? Did you have something else to report?”

Spock’s eyes drifted past Jim briefly. “There seems to be a discrepancy in some of the medical records that warrants further investigation.”

Leonard sighed long and pinched at his eyes. Of course Spock would want to be meticulously thorough. “I’m aware, Mr. Spock. We’re correcting the problem now.”

Spock’s eyes flicked to the identity chip, to Jim, to Leonard, back to Jim and Leonard knew Spock had figured them out. “How did you manipulate the chip into accepting foreign DNA?”

Jim, exhausted and stuck full of tubes and wires, managed to look smug laying on a hospital bed. “I grew a skin sample from my brother’s DNA and affixed the chip to it. After that, I just had to manipulate it until it matched mine enough to pass. The chip accepted it as normal DNA damage.”

“Fascinating—” Spock certainly didn’t seem fascinated from Leonard’s point of view, but Vulcans did lack much of the emotional range he’d come to expect from his human counterparts “—Have the chips not been calibrated to detect abnormal deviations—?”

“No,” Leonard butt in swiftly, only to raise a finger when Jim also opened his mouth to speak. “No. Jim’s recovering from a severe allergic reaction, and he needs to rest. You can discuss the specifics of committing identity theft after he gets some shut-eye.”

Jim crossed his arms and settled back with a mutter. “You really are a grumpy old bag of bones.”

Leonard whirled around, temper rising. “What was that?”

“I believe his words were—”

Leonard reeled on Spock next. The two of them were going to give him an aneurysm. “Shut up, Spock, you’re not helping. Now you get back to work, and you—” Jim held his hands up in mock-surrender “—go to sleep.”

“Yes, Doctor,” Jim said with a smile as Spock ducked out without another word. “I think I like Mr. Spock.”

Leonard frowned in distaste. “You would.”

Chapter Text

After Jim was released from the hospital, Leonard hadn’t really thought he’d ever see hide or hair of him again. Jim had vanished below his radar without so much as a by your leave. It was like Jim Kirk was nothing more than a ghost, a rare exciting—and possibly imagined—event in Leonard’s otherwise uneventful life. It was something he could tell stories about later, about that kid who stole his brother’s identity and committee several federal offenses just so he could get wasted at the bar, and nothing else. Life went on, and Leonard was not a man to break his routine.

Two weeks went by before Leonard received a text, asking if his offer still stood.

Leonard was not a man to break his word.

(On one of the rare occasions when his interactions with Spock wasn’t filled with professional bickering, Leonard learned that Jim and Spock had kept in touch. “For scientific purposes,” Spock had supplied. Leonard thought the two nerds deserved each other.)

Being around Jim was like old sweatpants—comfortable and familiar. Something about him just squeezed through every crack before Leonard had the chance to pull up any defenses. Jim quickly spread beyond the oblique inquiry of “Are you free tonight?”, to waiting on Leonard’s ground-floor balcony, to breaking into Leonard’s apartment in less than a month, and somehow the entire progression felt natural.

The kid was a dazzler, Leonard knew, but more importantly, Jim was a kid. Friendly or not, Leonard was keenly aware that he was a reliable source of liquor first and foremost, and that regardless of the time they spent crammed together in his apartment, come Jim’s 21^st birthday, he was liable to slip away and never come back.

Or so Leonard’s mind claimed, sloppy off moonshine and almost through March. His day had been long and hard, and he’d started drinking well before Jim had showed up, entering using the passcode Leonard had set for him instead of bypassing the security features on the lock. Jim’s finger stabbed through his train of thought, poking at the wrinkle forming between Leonard’s brows.

Jim’s smile was radiant, and somehow inappropriate. “Keep glowering like that and your face might just stay that way, Bones.”

Leonard thought Jim was full of nonsense. To Jim’s credit, he didn’t say anything, instead opting to plop down sideways on the couch, leaning onto Leonard like he was a cushion. “Sorry, kid,” Leonard’s accent was thicker than the haze he felt wrapped in, “I’m not great company tonight.”

“I’m great enough company for the both of us,” Jim deflected with a vague wave of his hand.

Leonard supposed he was right, but he wasn’t about to give Jim that kind of satisfaction—Jim’s head was big enough without his encouragement. Instead, he let Jim ramble on about his day, constructing a story that sounded grossly exaggerated at best, but Jim did seem to have an affinity for the dramatic.

Which is why Leonard isn’t really surprised when the very thing that had been bothering him since that phone call at lunch slips right past his lips: “Joanna said she doesn’t want to come see me this summer.”

Leonard can feel Jim shift beside him, some of his rigidity melting away, as if he had just been waiting for Leonard to interrupt him. “Who’s Joanna?”

“My daughter,” Leonard admits, eyes forward, feeling as if he’d almost taken a step back from the conversation. “She lives with her mom—turning eight this year. Every year, Jocelyn sends her up from Georgia to spend the summer with me. We decided we didn’t want to disrupt her school year, but I could have her every summer. Jocelyn’s—” She was a great woman, Leonard knew, even if they didn’t work, even if he couldn’t push the compliment past his lips. He could feel his mouth stretching grimly. “Joanna wants to spend the summer with her friends this year. Jocelyn and I agree she’s old enough to decide, but it still—” Leonard’s breath caught in his throat.

“But it still hurts,” Jim concluded softly. Leonard couldn’t do much but nod, and Jim’s following whisper felt like a heavy blanket in the cool apartment: “Oh, Bones.”

Jim didn’t comment further—not just then—and Leonard took it as a blessing.

“It is fortuitous that your mood has improved significantly as of late,” Spock began innocently, not looking up from his research on the lab’s computer screen.

“Indeed, Mr. Spock,” Leonard replied easily, taking the time to check in on a couple cultures himself as an excuse to be in a quieter section of the hospital to nurse an unforgiving hangover. “I suppose we really can get along if we try.”

The angle of Spock’s head changed just so, and Leonard thought he resembled a bird, piecing together new information by adjusting his point of view. It was true, though, they had argued less and less recently, and Leonard’s few remaining jabs were playful instead of incensed barbs. Having a Vulcan scientist assigned to his hospital to improve efficiency (Leonard was sure that was a euphemism for something, but for what, he wasn’t certain) certainly didn’t do much for his pride, and he may have lashed out at Spock for that fact more often than was strictly necessary. Spock was a good guy, really. When he wasn’t being a massive pain in Leonard’s ass.

“Thank you, Dr. McCoy,” Spock said, as if he had not considered this enlightening fact before. “However, I was referring to your more relaxed general state of being.”

Leonard tapped a pen against his palm a few beats, and Spock chose that moment to pay him his full attention. Leonard couldn’t read anything from him, but Leonard chose not to get suspicious—yet. “I guess I have been sleeping better.”

Spock paused as if he had expected Leonard to elaborate further, and when an answer was not forthcoming, he returned to his work. “The staff has expressed relief,” he started again, and if Leonard hadn’t known better, he would have sworn he could have seen a smirk on Spock’s face, “That you seem more restful. It seems they were concerned you would succumb to a stress-related illness.”

Leonard’s eyebrow ticked as he rose to the bait, though not with the vitriol he would have wielded before. “Now look here, Mr. Spock. If anything is going to put me in an early grave, it’ll be you and your Vulcan nagging.”

Spock’s response was smooth, as if he had anticipated Leonard’s exact response. “Then you will be pleased to know, Doctor, that Vulcans do not nag.”

Leonard paused, squinted Spock’s way in an attempt to mask a grin. “Mr. Spock, are you developing a sense of humor?”

“Humor is a human quality,” Spock said matter-of-factly.

Leonard very much doubted that.

It took a few days for the question to come. Jim and Leonard were sitting on the couch, watching sports and eating takeout, and the question felt out of place, as if it was meant for days ago and had only just now escaped Jim’s mouth. “Why don’t you go visit her down in Georgia?”

“I can’t,” came Leonard’s honest response.

Jim didn’t push further, and Leonard counted another blessing. Instead, Jim’s face split into a grin. “Let’s hit the bar.”

Leonard huffed at that. “Jim, you don’t have your brother’s ID anymore, remember?”

“Don’t need it,” Jim replied lightly, stretching a little as he stood from the couch. “I’m a fully qualified, regular adult now.”

Leonard cursed quietly around a mouthful of noodles. “I missed your birthday?”

“You didn’t miss it,” Jim insisted, “You had other things going on. Let’s go.”

They went, and when they returned, Jim Kirk fell into his bed again, and Leonard very specifically did not think about it.

“So, you’ve got a daughter right?” The question came between shows, the station showing previews for other programs they offered at other times, commercials having long since been rendered obsolete by economic changes. “And she’s your daughter?”

“That’s right, Jim,” Leonard confirmed, not looking away from the screen in case there was an expression on Jim’s face he wouldn’t like.

“So you’re bi?” Jim sounded casual, and Leonard relaxed a hair.

“Basically, yeah.”

“Cool. Me, too,” Jim replied, and that was the end of it.

The next program started and any response Leonard might have formed fell to the wayside, and somehow, that was alright.

It took another week before Jocelyn’s text arrived, but Leonard didn’t have the chance to check his phone until his break. Tamira talked to Joanna. And wasn’t it a joy knowing he was relying on his ex-wife’s wife to intercede between himself and his daughter this year. I guess the big fuss is about a summer camp her friends are going to. It doesn’t last the whole break, so we’re still going to try to get her to go out there. Don’t fret, we’ll make it work out that you’ll get to see her. She’s just at that age.

Leonard felt exhausted. Tell Tamira I said thanks.

The reply was almost immediate. Will do. Chin up, Len!

Leonard was given a third blessing when the what are we question never came. (He hated that question—hated that the answers he had were not the ones anyone actually wanted to hear.) Jim Kirk was just content to exist in whatever shape he was, steady and yet mercurial. It was as if Jim was caught in his orbit somehow, coming over increasingly frequently, and yet drinking considerably less. As a doctor, that could only come as a plus, and Leonard dared to think that Jim was already emerging from his party phase.

Leonard didn’t think to consider that he wasn’t the fixed point after all.

Leonard launched right into the good news as soon as Jim answered his call, pacing his office in excitement, sandwich long forgotten. “I just got off the phone with Jocelyn,” he said without preamble, “She convinced Joanna to come out here for a couple weeks.”

“That’s great, Bones,” Leonard could imagine Jim beaming on the other end. “Do you know when she’ll be coming out?”

“We think sometime early in June. I can’t wait to see her, Jim! She’s just the most wonderful little girl—” And Leonard gushed on her for the rest of his lunch period (and maybe a little longer, but if anyone noticed, nobody brought it up), from her grades, to her heart, Leonard had a comment or an anecdote to support the narrative he painted that she was the most perfect child in the world.

Life with Jim was so easy, Leonard hadn’t realized that it had become life with Jim at first. He hadn’t really noticed that Jim was over more often than not, how frequently he stayed the night, how many times he came home at night and Jim was already there, napping before a planned night out.

It wasn’t as though Jim had moved in. He kept a couple changes of clothes, some toiletries, and a few other assorted things at Leonard’s, but Jim wasn’t actually living there—at least, not in Leonard’s mind.

They were close; it was nice. Jim kept things tidy, Leonard kept them sanitary. It was as if Jim had always been there, and Leonard had simply never noticed before.

And if shortly after meeting Joanna, Jim made himself scarce for a couple weeks—well, it was only natural, Leonard concluded. It wasn’t proper to have Jim over like that with Joanna around.

Chapter Text

Spock had not originally planned to maintain contact with one James T. Kirk. He had resolved the identity issue, confiscated the RFID chip, asked the relevant questions, and collected some contact information on the off-chance that the VSA had some follow-up inquiries to make. He had intended for that to be the end of it.

However, the brief adventure held the promise of an intriguing series of experiments, and the first step into launching into derivative projects of his own would—logically—be to replicate the original. Spock had plenty of skin tissue samples and dummy RFIDs to work with. It was the method that was lacking.

And so, the first message was simple, brisk: Jim Kirk. This is Spock. I am inquiring as to what kind of radiation you exposed the tissue sample to during the course of your experiment.

An immediate reply was not forthcoming, and Spock had not anticipated one, considering the hour of the night, and it was over an hour before the response came.

I started with UV to mimic sun damage. When the DNA had broken down enough to accept artificial changes, I swapped out the markers manually.

Spock regarded the message for a moment, planning out the stages of his experiment in detail. With what device did you edit the genetic markers?

This time, the answer was almost instant. Mr. Spock, are you asking me to help you commit a crime?

I merely intend to replicate your experiment. That was the key word: experiment. So long as it was treated as such, Kirk’s actions were not illegal—not the ones on record, anyway—only poorly planned and funded, which in turn absolved Spock of any wrongdoing in continuing to explore the various possibilities. After which, I shall expand on it to better improve data security.

This time, there was a delay, as Kirk likely weighed the possibility that he was being led into some sort of trap. I had to make something from scratch. Don’t have a name for it, but I can bring it by in a couple weeks. It’s going to take that long for the UV damage to do its job, anyway.

This is acceptable. I shall remain in touch.

It’s a date!

Spock deliberately powered off the screen of his communicator, uncertain as to how to respond to this human’s odd humor.

The experiment proved to be sufficiently diverting. While his work at the hospital kept him busy, it was tedious and unchallenging. Spock had no doubt that his services could have been put to better use, but lab efficiency was his assignment, and he was not one to neglect his duties.

Kirk had sent him a message a week later, inquiring after the experiment. Spock informed him that all was proceeding as planned. It was simple, scientific, and brisk, and Spock found the short exchange was welcome without the odd human jokes.

And while his conversations with Kirk were increasingly pleasant, his conversations with Dr. McCoy proved to be less so.

It would have been inaccurate to say that the doctor was behaving in any way that could be deemed unprofessional. In fact, McCoy had adopted a manner that was so professional, it could almost be considered Vulcan-like in its stiffness.

It felt unnatural. Even worse, the change in demeanor was affecting morale, which Spock considered completely unacceptable.

Which is why when Spock spotted Dr. McCoy tensely reading a file in one hand and tapping the side of his coffee cup in his other, that Spock thought it would be appropriate to initiate another conversation. “Doctor, you seem to be exhibiting signs of stress. May I inquire as to what is troubling you?”

McCoy forced a breath out through his nose as if releasing pressurized steam. “Just that this file is almost as thick as that Kirk kid’s,” he said, tone flat. “I’m worried about him.”

“Then you will be pleased to know,” Spock began, confident that McCoy was referring to Kirk and not the nonbinary patient, “That I have been in contact with Kirk, and that he is doing well.”

McCoy shut the file with a snap, eyeing Spock with what Spock read to be some suspicion. “Why are you keeping tabs on Kirk?”

Spock raised a placating hand. “I can assure you, Doctor, that our continued contact is strictly for scientific purposes as I endeavor to recreate Mr. Kirk’s experiment.”

McCoy rolled his eyes, raised his coffee to his lips, and muttered in a voice that Spock doubted he would have heard so clearly were he human: “Is that what he calls it?” Spock chose not to ask after the comment’s meaning, having long since figured out that some forms of communication were meant to go unacknowledged with humans. McCoy took a swallow of his drink. “I can’t wait to read the research paper.”

Spock very much doubted the doctor intended that to be an encouragement. If anything, McCoy’s mood had further soured and Spock accepted that he had perhaps accomplished the opposite of what he had intended. “Thank you, Doctor,” Spock said by way of a good-bye.

“See you, Mr. Spock,” McCoy said, even less lively than he had been before.

Spock accepted the attempt had failed and would be better tried by someone who understood the complexities and logic of human emotion.

Spock was not sure what he had expected when Kirk finally arrived at his flat, but he had not expected the man to be carrying what appeared to have once been a common household replicator in his hands. Kirk smiled his way as the door slid open anyway. “Hi, Mr. Spock,” Kirk said, tapping a thumb against the side of the machine twice, and continuing the pattern of formality Spock had established, “Thought you’d like to see my matter manipulator.”

Spock was not so certain. He could see from his position that the device had been stripped of its various safety features and reconfigured in ways that Spock could not make logical sense of at a glance, but were no doubt dangerous. He had anticipated that Kirk had gotten hold of medical equipment that he had adapted to his needs, not that he would have butchered a low-power replicator designed to produce food and basic textiles. Still, he had committed to replicating the original deed as precisely as possible, and it was with a degree of resignation that he stepped aside to allow entry.

If Kirk noticed his reluctance, it didn’t show. Instead, he took the invitation and immediately set the matter manipulator on a counter. “Thanks. Now, let’s take a look at this experiment of yours.”

Spock trailed in, prepared to settle in for a long night, “I doubt that a mere look will be sufficient to acquaint you with the facts.”

Kirk was ever indulging. “Of course, Mr. Spock.”

Kirk had caught up remarkably quickly, and the matter manipulator was deemed not as dangerous as it first appeared after a thorough inspection. The theory behind the design was sound enough for Spock’s purposes, and it was not long before he was familiar enough with the device to be comfortable using it in the living area cum laboratory of his home.

Some time through introducing the first round of selective mutations to the sample, Kirk entered the kitchen area for some water. “You know, when you asked me about my experiment—” Kirk emphasized in a way that Spock decided indicated a euphemism “—I thought you would be setting it up in one of the hospital labs, not your apartment.”

“That would be unwise,” Spock intoned, recording his observations. Kirk did not immediately contribute further to the conversation, and so Spock offered additional information. “Were this experiment conducted at the hospital, then it would follow that there would be an obligation to officially report any findings and observations to the same, and subsequently to Federation Officials. However, as this research is of a personal interest, I arrived to the conclusion that it need not take up valuable hospital laboratory space.”

“In other words,” Kirk began in a way Spock chose to interpret as playful, “You didn’t want to get caught.”

Humans were surprisingly adept at finding their own meaning in perfectly clear statements, Spock observed. Their interpretations were not always inaccurate. “I choose not to involve the hospital in any work that may be of dubious legality,” he deflected.

“Mr. Spock,” Kirk paused, leading Spock to glance his way and offer his full attention. “I think you and I are going to get along just fine.”

Kirk was, indeed, easy to get along with. He felt out the boundaries of Spock’s comfort quickly and did not overstep them. Their interactions were nothing short of what Spock would call respectful. Kirk was considerate of Spock’s time and emotional constraints, keeping to a casual yet precise formality; and Spock was considerate of Kirk’s human limits and strange internal clock. More than once, Kirk had settled in to doze on the couch when Spock would have only required a 5-minute meditation to refresh himself.

As a hospital employee and a scientist, Spock accepted the human need for rest as a simple biological fact and thought nothing more of it, aside from how enlightening to was to interact with humans outside the work environment.

Spock was not completely blind to the spectrum of human emotion. He was acutely aware, in fact, that many of the hospital staff viewed his presence as an insult. They may not have resented him personally, but his assignment was one that negatively impacted their pride. To them, the Vulcans had stepped up where they were neither wanted nor needed, and were continuing to meddle where they didn’t belong.

Spock did not see fit to mention that as one of the top scientists, he could have chosen any position in the Federation. He did not see a reason why he should disclose that he had sought permission to carry out his work. He did not see the purpose in revealing that it had not been the Vulcan Science Academy that had interfered.

Spock did not say, and so he found neither reason nor opportunity to apologize.

“It is fortuitous,” Spock began when McCoy was halfway through making his second round through the lab, “that your mood has improved significantly as of late.”

“Indeed, Mr. Spock,” McCoy was quiet, but not seeming to be experiencing any emotional discomfort. “I suppose we really can get along if we try.”

Spock tilted his head in a manner he had seen Kirk do before, attempting to better mimic human nonverbal communication as he had been doing for some time. Predictably, his interactions with the human members of the hospital had improved markedly since he began the experiment in communication. This particular motion read as mild puzzlement, in his experience. “Thank you, Dr. McCoy, however, I was referring to your more relaxed general state of being.”

McCoy tapped a pen against his palm, and Spock glanced his way. “I guess I have been sleeping better.”

Sleep. It was a topic that came up often in Spock’s studies of humans, but something in McCoy’s increased ease led Spock to believe that perhaps it was a more colloquial definition of sleep that had benefited McCoy. He returned to the slide he was examining. “The staff has expressed relief that you seem more restful. It seems they were concerned you would succumb to a stress-related illness.”

“Now look here, Mr. Spock. If anything is going to put me in an early grave, it’ll be you and your Vulcan nagging.”

Spock interpreted the comment as well-intentioned humor, and Spock, fully relaxed for what felt to be the first time since he had begun to work at the hospital, chose at that moment to attempt some of his own: “Then you will be pleased to know, Doctor, that Vulcans do not nag.”

Spock could feel McCoy’s eyes on his back. “Mr. Spock, are you developing a sense of humor?”

“Humor is a human quality.”

Spock was not completely blind to the spectrum of human emotion, and so when Kirk abruptly announced they should celebrate a minor accomplishment with a trip to a local bar, Spock took a moment to respond. “My father’s race was spared the dubious benefits of alcohol,” Spock informed him lightly.

“Well, mine wasn’t,” Kirk proclaimed, already fetching a light jacket. “Just a couple drinks, for your human study.”

Spock, it seemed, was easily persuaded when it came to the whims of one James T. Kirk.

Two hours later, a couple drinks had become several, but Spock could not deny that the experience was sufficiently diverting. The bar was quieter than expected—a deliberate choice on Kirk’s part, he was certain—and the company was not unwelcome. Kirk had coaxed more than one drink into him, for the experience of course, and while Spock’s father’s race was immune to alcohol, his mother’s certainly was not, but that was a fact well hidden from Kirk, who seemed to be making a night of it all.

Spock was content to remain an impassive observer as Kirk reconnected with several people he seemed to be familiar with—for a time. “Kirk, perhaps it would be wise to drink some water,” he advised when Kirk sidled up to the bar with yet another empty glass in hand.

Kirk turned his way, not allowing his fingers to drop from his silent call to the bartender. “Spock, we’re friends now, right? You can call me Jim.”

“I hardly see how that is a relevant response to—”

“Alright,” Kirk’s grin only grew, and Spock did not see how he could find the potential hangover humorous. “Hyun-Tae, can I also get a water please?”

“Thank you,” Spock said, not entirely sure why he did, while Kirk moved from standing to perched on the stool.

When Hyun-Tae returned with both whiskey and water, Kirk took a sip from both in turn, then propped his cheek on a fist. “Spock’s your given name, right?”

Spock took another sip from his drink—a blue concoction his universal translator called a good-bye and he thought was likely inaccurate. “That is correct.”

“What’s your family name?”

Spock considered for a moment. “You would not be able to pronounce it.”

“I have a very talented tongue,” Kirk replied, practically draping himself across the bar, and Spock had an inkling the phrase may have stood for something inappropriate.

“Kirk, the components of the human mouth are not suitable—”

“I’m sure you could teach me all about the suitability of the human mouth.” Spock was certain that Kirk was being inappropriate.

“Kirk—”

“I’m sure I could teach you some things about it, too.”

“Jim—”

“Ha!” Jim shouted, pointing briefly in triumph. “You said it. I win.”

“Indeed.” Spock most definitely did not huff, and he so hid the fact by draining the rest of his drink in what was certainly not a human snit. Hyun-Tae (who had been calling Kirk “Sam” all evening, and who neither of them had corrected), brought Spock another adios without Spock’s prompting. Spock tried not to think of how green his cheeks must have been turning. “It’s S’chn T’Gai.”

Jim drained the rest of his whiskey. “You’re right, I don’t think I could pronounce it—yet.”

There was a challenge in Jim’s eyes, and Spock took a moment to get an accurate read of the situation, the conversation, Jim. It all came together in a recognizable pattern. “I presume it would not be inaccurate to say that you are ‘flirting’ with me.”

“You presume correctly, Mr Spock,” Jim confirmed patiently, returning formality for formality.

This was new, and Spock used a well-timed sip of his drink to consider this new dimension. “And Dr McCoy?”

“We’re friends, nothing more,” Jim reassured him.

Spock did not detect a lie—had not ever detected a lie from Jim in the albeit brief time he had known him—and he ran through variables, and what he understood of human relationships with each other, and human relationships with other intelligent species, and even how far the boundaries may extend on what humans may consider a joke—

“Spock?” Jim was waiting.

“Perhaps,” Spock began, running a finger along the rim of his glass in a way that would have been considered lewd on Vulcan. Jim was likely drunk, and Spock was on his way, but there could not be harm in the human practice of flirting. “You could learn to pronounce my name if provided with very thorough instruction.”

Jim smiled, and Spock could have sworn he saw the sun.

Hours later, Jim still could not pronounce his name, but it didn’t matter really. Jim was tucked beneath the sheets, stripped to his underwear. “For comfort,” Jim had insisted earlier, possibly alluding to the warmth of Spock’s quarters, possibly still being inappropriate. As Jim laid there, breathing heavy in deep sleep, Spock (himself down to his own briefs and undershirt and also beneath the sheets) found that he didn’t really mind either way.

“Computer,” Spock called softly so as not to wake Jim as the real sun began to peek through the window, “Light filters at 95%.” The computer chimed a quiet acknowledgment as it increased the tint on the window to comply. As the room was brought back into a comfortable darkness, Spock settled down for sleep, filing ‘flirting’ away in his mind as a useful communication exercise.

Chapter Text

Waking up in another person’s bed was not an unfamiliar situation for Jim Kirk, and he did so almost without moving. Inches away, Spock was breathing, deep and steady. New, but not entirely surprising. Brain operating on automatic, Jim leaned forward and left a soft kiss right on the tip of Spock’s nose before he could think any better of it. Spock’s response was an instant, deep rumble: “Jim?”

Spock’s sleep-shot voice went straight to Kirk’s still-clothed groin, and he backed off quickly. “Sorry, Spock,” Jim said, giving Spock more space in apology, “Reflex.”

Spock hummed a neutral tone and sat up, already seeming like he had been awake for hours. “It is of no consequence,” he responded, and Jim couldn’t read anything from that. “I trust you are not ‘hungover’.”

Jim sat up himself, still shaking off sleep. “I’m alright. How about you?”

“I am adequate.” Jim wasn’t sure why he had expected anything different. He’d pumped Spock full of liquor last night and he may as well have given the Vulcan water for all the good it did him. Seeming to detect the end of that conversation, Spock left the bed for the refresher. “You are welcome to use the facilities; I shall prepare breakfast.”

“Thanks!” Jim called after him, and while he waited for the facilities to become available, he pulled out his communicator and planned out his day.

Breakfast with Spock had been correct, for lack of a better word. They’d kept away from the kiss in bed and the flirting the night before, and instead spoke of their joint project. It felt more like a business meeting than breakfast between friends, and Jim got out as soon as would have been polite, breakfast sitting like a stone in his gut.

It would not have done to wear out his welcome too quickly.

Days were frequently a study in vacancy for Jim. He could go down to the library to read, or quietly pop in on some courses at the university. Sometimes, there were art shows to see, or live bands to hear down at the park. Eventually, he would make his way to a grocery store or a restaurant for a meal, or down to a gym for a shower if he needed one. Sometimes, he would take up space in the shops, looking around and trying on clothing he usually wouldn’t leave with—why bother, with nowhere to put it?

He couldn’t imagine being transient like this a couple hundred years prior, needing money just to survive. He’d learned about it in school growing up—how those without houses were marginalized and forced out of the public eye for the crime of existing without spending any money. It wasn’t a life he wanted, but it could have been him two hundred years prior, and the thought kept him firmly in the present.

(There were many things in the past he didn’t want to revisit.)

Every once in a while, it occurred to Jim that he could get a job to fill his time, but like a flat, he needed a functional identity chip for that. Bones had, unintentionally, screwed him on that front. Sam’s wouldn’t work, and his own was still on the farm in Iowa—assuming his step-dad hadn’t gotten rid of it yet.

Jim kicked a stray rock back into some landscaping he passed as he considered another area of life Leonard had made difficult: sleep. Not that it was Bones’ fault, not entirely. He had a right to see his kid, and Jim had made things awkward with Spock all on his own in the course of trying to make it easier to stay. That wasn’t anyone’s fault but his own, just like everything else in his life.

I should call Sam, Jim thought. Maybe he can get Frank to send my chip out. After a moment of consideration, Jim tossed the idea aside as he always did. Until he knew how much trouble he was in, it was better to shut up and lie low. The world he lived in may have been better than that of the 21^st century, but an assault charge was still a serious thing, and the uncertainty of whether Frank had even reported their last fight to the police or not coiled cold in Jim’s gut.

Having made himself anxious and having nothing better to do, Jim diverted to the park for a nap, if only to pass the day away.

Sometimes, Jim dreamed of going out to space—far, far away from all the troubles of Earth. He dreamed of exploring far-away worlds, of meeting new cultures, of discovering all manner of phenomena.

He dreamed of outer space as being endlessly vast, but not so large as to swallow him whole. He dreamed of casting off his healthy fear of the unknown and quite literally shooting for the stars.

He dreamed of an outer space that didn’t have phenomena that took his mother, of new cultures that hadn’t destroyed his father, of worlds that didn’t run out of food.

He woke up hungry.

There were many things in the past he didn’t want to revisit.

It had taken Jim years, but he had developed a system for the phantom hunger born of nightmares: drink water (just water) until his stomach accepted he was full—stopped sending signals to his mind that he was starving and needed fuel immediately at any cost—, and if it stayed down, it stayed.

It rarely did, but it didn’t burn so bad or feel as wasteful as when he used to stuff himself full of food just to see it come back up.

The solution wasn’t necessarily the healthiest thing, Jim knew, but it was the best he had, and so it would have to be good enough.

Bones sent him pictures of Joanna periodically throughout the day, as if Jim was his emergency external storage—a back-up should anything happen to the copies on his own communicator. Joanna was clearly enjoying herself with her father, and it put a smile on Jim’s own face as he wasted time at a cafe. She had Leonard’s eyes, and his faint freckles, but the warmer skin tone tone had to be her mother, though Jim had never seen a picture of her. She looked strong, too, some distant part of Jim observed.

She looks like she’s having a great time, Bones. You’re a good dad.

Jim could almost hear the huff behind Leonard’s quick reply: Of course I am. It was followed by a quick Thanks.

Jim’s felt his chest warm, and he wasn’t entirely sure why. Now stop texting me and spend some time with her.

Bones didn’t reply, so Jim could only assume he’d taken the suggestion to heart. He checked the time. Still 2 hours to kill. He ordered another sandwich and coffee.

Hyun-Tae was a lifesaver, even if he didn’t know it. He recognized Jim from before he’d had the implant out—even if he still thought he was Sam—and didn’t bother to scan again where the chip would have been to verify his identity. He’d been of age before; it wasn’t as if he would suddenly start aging backwards.

That was why this bar was Jim’s go-to spot when he had no other option. Jim knew the bartender, and he knew the normal crowd. Better yet, his reputation often preceded him, and that in and of itself did half his work for him.

He’d barely had his first drink when someone sidled up next to him at the bar, all smiles and false coyness, and Jim knew this exact game. They’d stay and banter, and then flirt, and possibly even dance a while.

Barely an hour later, Jim left with xer with some good fun planned, and a place to spend the night secured.

Jim took great pride in the traits he had. He was smart, he was strong, he was witty, he was fit, he was lucky, among many other things.

His mind was tool for him to keep sharp and ready for anything that came at him. He knew from experience he was good in a crisis, that he was quick on his feet. It had gotten him out of trouble more than once, coupled with his infamous charm.

And like his mind, Jim saw his body as a tool as well. It was there to do what he wanted, when he wanted, and as surely and confidently as everything else he did. It, too, was part of his charms, and he wasn’t above using every part of it when he deemed it necessary.

Jim was aware in some part of his mind that finding a place to sleep by sleeping around wasn’t something normal people did—that there was probably something deeply unhealthy about it, and that he should probably try settling down or at least sleeping outside once in a while when it got warmer out. He could pretend he was camping, like he and Sam used to, before—

Not that it mattered, Jim had decided long ago. His body was a tool, a vessel for everything that made him him, and he would use it anyway he damn pleased.

In the morning, Bryce wasn’t much for breakfast food, and xe had a shift to get to, so xe only shared a coffee and a kiss with Jim before Jim was out for another day, starting his very familiar pattern over again.

Things got interesting for Jim later the next afternoon with an unexpected message from Spock.

I trust you are doing well. I believe the tags will accept the new living tissue at this stage. If you are free this evening, I would welcome your assistance for the next stage of our experiment.

“Our” Spock had said. Jim didn’t miss that. Maybe Jim hadn’t messed things up with Spock as bad as he’d thought. I’ll swing by in a bit. Who’s living tissue are we using?

I have calibrated the tags to accept my own.

Now that was ballsy, Jim thought, a wicked grin crossing his face. Mr Spock, I would be glad to assist you for the next stage of our experiment, and I will be right over.

Chapter Text

When Spock led Jim into the living-room-cum-laboratory, Jim figured either Spock was really good at compartmentalizing, or that he really had thought nothing about the last time they had seen each other. Either the flirting at the bar, the accidental kiss, and the sleeping together and yet apart had meant nothing to Spock, or Spock was an expert at putting his feelings aside for the sake of the work. Jim wasn’t sure which yet.

The first hour or so, they spent going over what had changed in the experiment since the last time Jim had been over, and affixing the tags to chips designed to grab the skin without causing damage so that they wouldn’t have to be planted subdermally to be tested.

The first two chips were fixed on Spock’s right arm without issue, but the first chip rejected Spock as the rightful owner almost instantly, and the next rejection came when the second chip was allowed to connect with the galactic database, with Spock’s genetic makeup being too different from the original to pass the normal series of checks against old records. If Spock was peeved, it didn’t show—much.

Spock affixed the third chip to a spot on his left arm and scanned it. “The result on this specimen is favorable,” he declared after a moment studying the screen.

Jim glanced over the read-out, reading a little slower as he waited for his universal translator to transform the text. It had accepted Spock as the owner, but the data was flagged. Chromosome error. “I don’t know, Spock. It says you’re supposed to be a woman.”

“Correct,” Spock replied. “However, we were able to manipulate the subject’s DNA to the extent that it accepted a completely different chromosomal configuration. That would seem to be a significant milestone.”

Jim couldn’t see the practicality of it. “It’s a cool trick, but it’s still flagged. No one would be able to keep the chip very long before someone investigated it.”

“The problem lies in the medical data, and not the chip itself,” Spock countered as if the information was useful at all. “The individual in possession could potentially assume the identity of a being of a different sex, provided they took the appropriate steps.”

“I dunno, Spock,” Jim said, scratching his head. “If someone wanted to transgend the data, then why not go directly at the data?”

That got Spock’s attention, and suddenly Jim felt like he was the one under the microscope. “Please elaborate.”

“Well, if it’s the medical data that’s the problem, then why not get a chip with the correct chromosomal configuration, and edit the data file to show a different gender? People change their gender markers all the time—just a few forms and you’re done. It’s less suspicious and way harder to catch.” Spock’s attention slid just a little to the left while he processed the information. “I’m not saying it isn’t useful for your research, I’m saying there’s not much real-world application here. Work smart, not hard, you know?”

“Indeed,” Spock intoned, as he gingerly picked the chip from his arm. In that space of time, he realized that something important happened in their exchange, but he wasn’t sure what. “Let’s proceed with the next specimen.”

Jim smiled easily. “Of course, Spock.”

After testing over a dozen different chips using various different configurations and connection procedures (including one which resulted in the test chip heating rapidly and causing a minor burn where it was in contact with Spock’s shoulder; Spock assured Jim he would have the wound checked out on his next hospital shift), Spock was finally satisfied that he had milked all the information from this leg of the experiment that he could, and excused himself from Jim to compile the data.

Jim took the opportunity to steal what was intended to be a cat nap on the couch. All he needed to do was sneak a few minutes of rest, and he would be ready to keep going for the rest of the night. Never mind that he had been up til 4:00 the night before, never mind that his body ached and he could feel his eyelids burning. All he needed was a brief refresher, and he would be good to go.

Jim didn’t even realize he had fallen dead asleep until he was startled back awake by Spock shuffling back into the living room. The jerking movement gave Spock pause. “Are you unwell?”

“What?” Jim replied sleepily, brain slowly processing what Spock had asked before it caught up with him. “No, I’m fine. Just a bit tired.”

Spock did not look convinced. “If you require rest, there is a room stocked with equipment to serve that exact purpose with which I believe you are already acquainted.”

Jim rubbed at his face, getting the feeling that Spock was laughing at him in his half-asleep state—good-naturedly mocking his human limitations. “In plain old Standard, Spock.”

“It is late,” Spock said patiently. “You may use my bed while I continue interpreting the data.”

“I’m not taking your bed from you Spock,” Jim argued weakly around a yawn.

“And you will not be,” Spock countered. “Vulcans require considerably less rest than humans do. An hour of meditation before I leave for the hospital will be more than adequate to allow me to do my job effectively. You, however, will not function well tomorrow if you do not receive ample rest.”

It was hard to argue with Spock when he made sense, at least it was for Jim at that moment, and so he relented with a standing stretch. “Thanks, Spock. I’ll see you in the morning, then.”

“Indeed,” Spock replied to Jim’s fading back, and Jim stripped down to enjoy some much needed, uninterrupted sleep.

Spock did not wake him in the morning.

//

When Spock went to wake Jim in the morning before he left for his shift at the hospital, he was greeted with the sight of Jim’s exposed chest, peaking out from beneath the sheets.

Specifically, he noticed an odd pattern of bruising and teeth marks that were scattered across the expanse.

Spock elected to let him sleep.

Spock spent most of the walk to the hospital considering what he did and did not know about Jim Kirk. Jim was intelligent and resourceful; he was mindful of Spock’s mannerisms and stayed within his comfort zone throughout their interactions; he was considered a friend by the discerning Dr McCoy. These were all positive attributes.

Spock had met Jim as a man who had committed a felony; he did not know much about him outside of his scientific interests, and Jim was presumably secretive, or at least very private despite his open-seeming nature. These were suspicious.

Jim was frequently very tired; he had expressed a personal interest in Spock recently; he was now sporting fresh wounds of a sexual nature; his interest in Spock had begun in earnest around the time when Dr McCoy had taken a vacation for his annual visit with his daughter. These were neither damning nor praise-worthy—just facts.

Spock’s mind picked at the details, hoping the facts would unravel themselves to reveal the reality of Jim Kirk, but the shapes they formed were unsettling at best, and Spock wasn’t certain if the wrong element was the situation he had postulated Jim could be in, or Jim himself.

And if Spock found the facts difficult, then there was one other who should at least be made aware, Spock reasoned with himself as he pulled out his communicator to compose and send a text. Doctor, I have some concerns about Jim.

The reply wasn’t instant, but it didn’t take long to arrive. Who is this?

This is Spock.

McCoy’s response was much more rapid this time. What’s wrong with Jim?

Spock chose to present the fact of least concern first, to test the waters. I find that he is frequently in need of rest. He has napped on my couch many times these past several weeks, more frequently since the arrival of your daughter, and has used my bed for a full night’s rest on two occasions this week.

That is weird. Have you asked him about it?

Spock gave a small frown at the screen. He claims he is “just tired”.

Tell him I want to see him at in my office.

I do not believe he is ill.

You’re not a doctor, Spock.

Spock weighed his options for a moment, and decided it would be better to make his point more clear. I have observed he has injuries which may be sexual in nature. This, coupled with my observation that he seems to be seeking my home to recover from his lack of rest, leads me to believe Jim may have become involved in a precarious situation. As the two of you seem to be close, I thought it best to inform you of this. Spock waited for a couple minutes, and when a reply was not forthcoming, he continued. Doctor, did you receive my previous message?

I received it. McCoy’s reply seemed terse, and Spock was in the process of countering it with a matching response when a follow-up message arrived. Joanna goes home tomorrow. Try to keep an eye on Jim for me until then. Assign him a task with y’all’s experiment to keep him busy. He loves that thing. I can meet up with you after I see Joanna off at the shuttle and we can grill Jim then.

Spock was uncertain what he could ask Jim to do that would keep him occupied for a day and a half, but McCoy’s advice was sound. A logical plan, Doctor. I will keep you advised of any changes.

//

Leonard breathed out a long sigh, reading Spock’s last message. He was worried to the point of anger, and angry to the point of exhaustion, and all it took was one little text conversation. He turned over in his head everything he knew about Jim, and all the things he realized he didn’t. He couldn’t think of any friends, any family (except for the brother who was missing his now-confiscated RFID), any mention of a home in all the long and winding conversations they’d had.

While you’re at it, see if you can find out where that kid lives. Leonard had half a mind to add that if they found out it was a cardboard box, he was going to beat Jim with it, but he thought better of the remark. And thank you for looking out for Jim, Spock.

You are quite welcome, Doctor.

Leonard very much doubted that, but he shelved the matter in favor of ditching the kitchen for the couch to finish watching a film with Joanna.

Jim wasn’t going anywhere.

It wasn’t until Leonard was trying to go to bed that he allowed his mind to go back to the subject of Jim. Jim not sleeping. Jim sleeping with Spock. Jim sleeping with Spock.

Spock had said himself that he had observed injuries he believed were sexual in nature—that Jim had come to him for rest, and then the injuries had been observed. Leonard’s mind refused to ignore the fact that sexual injuries generally occur in sexual areas, and that if Spock had the opportunity to catalog enough of them to start sprouting theories, well—

Leonard had thought it was a blessing when the what are we question had never come with Jim. He’d felt relieved when Jim hadn’t tried to steer them in a romantic direction. He’d been content with being friends that fucked once in a while.

Now he was thinking maybe he was less of a friend and more of a bed, just as he had probably been a liquor store before: simple, reliable, and convenient.

Leonard was spiralling and he knew he was sprialling—it was a sickeningly familiar feeling to experience, laying there in the dark—, but that didn’t stop the thoughts from occurring. The knowledge didn’t stop the doubts from surfacing. In an effort to distract himself, he activated his communicator and brought up the search function to scour what resources he had access to and read everything he could find on one James T Kirk.

He didn’t sleep.

Chapter Text

When Jim slept that night, he dreamed of Tarses.

He dreamed of fields gone barren, decimated by a fungus. He dreamed of adults trying to mask their concerns. He dreamed of food becoming less and less. He dreamed of gossip, of tales of ships that would not be coming. He dreamed of rations. He dreamed of sickness. He dreamed of younger children crying for hunger. He dreamed of murmurs. He dreamed of the emptiness in his stomach. He dreamed of drinking water until he became ill. He dreamed of the tests at his school—height, weight, fitness, intelligence. He dreamed of surpassing expectations. He dreamed of the look on his mother’s face when he told her of these. He dreamed of announcements. He dreamed of desperation. He dreamed of rallies. He dreamed of stranded shuttles. He dreamed of a strong voice, and men with phasers.

He dreamed of screams, and fights, and the smell of burning flesh.

He dreamed of leading younger kids down into the tunnels.

He dreamed of ships that came too late.

He dreamed of fire.

He dreamed fire.

When Jim woke, he was covered in sweat and he cast off the too-hot sheets as if they were branding his flesh. And then, he waited.

The room got a little cooler, but not by much. (A distant part of him remembered that Vulcans were from a hot world and were more comfortable in warmer climates. Spock would have naturally programmed his quarters to be warm.) It was still overwhelming, and Jim went straight to the refresher for a cool shower.

“Get a grip, Jim,” he chastised himself under the cool spray. “You can’t freak out every time things get a little sketchy. Everything’s fine. You just gotta stay on top of your shit. There’s food everywhere. It’s Earth. You’re fine.”

It was enough of a pep talk to get him out of the booth, dried off, and wandering back into the bedroom. The clock on the nightstand indicating early afternoon told him Spock was likely long gone by now. A shift at the hospital, he remembered.

Jim was briefly curious if Bones was at the hospital. He doubted it. Len probably took the time off for Joanna. He could check of course, and the thought had him snatching his communicator off the charge pad, but he didn’t want to bother Bones when he was getting some rare daddy-daughter time.

Instead, Jim accessed the message Spock had sent him. I hope you find yourself well-rested. I have considered your position on altering the data files linked to the tags and have found the thought worth pursuing. If you are not otherwise occupied this afternoon and are so inclined, I would find your advance research on the subject to be of much assistance to my study. Feel free to make use of the facilities in my absence, and please lock up properly if you elect to return home.

It sounded like a fun distraction, and Jim found himself smirking down at his communicator. This isn’t going to get you in trouble with the VSA, is it?

He didn’t have to wait long for the response. While the network I have set up does accurately mimic the security protocols of the information-medical database, it is a stand-alone system. Any changes you make will not leave the network.

I might break it.

I encourage it. The data would be useful in preventing attacks on the real network in the future.

Jim’s face stretched with glee. This really was going to be fun.

Jim didn’t even wait for Spock to step through the door to announce his triumph: “I broke it.”

“How so?” Spock asked as he removed his shoes.

“Set up a dummy protocol for dealing with incompatible encoding in the tag identifier and injected it into the medical database,” Jim tried and failed to keep the cockiness out of his voice as he practically danced his way across the room to Spock, who had made a beeline to the kitchen for a glass of water. “Now if the tag reads unrecognizable, the database accepts the tag for whoever it claims to be regardless of the actual information on the chip. You can be anyone and the system wouldn’t know the difference.”

Spock quirked an eyebrow around the sip from his glass. “Fascinating. And how did you get the database to accept the new programming?”

Jim propped his chin up where he was half-laying across the counter. “I disguised it in an information packet for a newborn.”

“And so the database readily incorporated the new data,” Spock concluded. “And the resulting cascading error caused the system to go offline.”

“Nope, still online,” Jim boasted. His project had been a perfect companion for what Spock had been testing. Spock had wanted to allow the chips to adapt to an entirely different person, and now a program existed to allow precisely that. “Just running a new program that no one would even think to look for, as long as it wasn’t abused.”

“Ah,” Spock remarked, placing the glass back in the replicator. “Then you have not broken it.”

Jim dropped his hand to the counter in disbelief. “Excuse me?”

“As the system is still functional, you have merely introduced a new feature. While the result is interesting, I find your claim of having broken the system to be inaccurate.”

The easy way Spock had said it ticked something in Jim off, and he rose to the challenge readily. “You want me to actually break your mock information-medical database?”

Something told Jim Spock knew exactly what he was doing with the off-hand way he replied. “If you are able.”

“Spock,” Jim asserted, already turning over in his head what he could do that would possibly do to bring that system down, “I can break anything.”

Spock glanced out the window, as if he weren’t just outside a couple minutes ago. “It would be time-consuming. If you would prefer to return home for the evening, we could continue at a later time.”

“Oh no,” Jim responded, already making his way back to the computer he had appropriated from Spock for his task. “I’m crashing this thing tonight.”

Jim plopped down on the couch, bringing up the notes he’d taken before on the operation and protocols in the database, and he was so instantly caught up in his work, he missed the sly look that slid across Spock’s face before he grabbed a piece of fruit and joined him.

It took most of the night and a lot of simulated false tags to make up for the low amount they physically had, but Jim did crash it. All it took was a couple thousand tags claiming to be the same person, requesting the same data from the server at the same time. Spock was impressed, but not surprised. While Spock undid all that Jim did and brought his test system back online, Jim adjusted the environmental controls for the bedroom, and slept peacefully.

Spock did not wake him when he left for his shift at the hospital.

When Leonard woke up, his mind was still heavy with the thought of everything Jim. He hadn’t thought Jim had lived a perfect life, but he’d expected something along the lines of normal life troubles such as losing a parent young or having a childhood illness. He hadn’t anticipated that Jim had lived through the Tarses Catastrophe, or that he was currently listed as missing and as a Person of Interest in Iowa, that his last known address pointed to a burnt-down farmhouse outside Riverside.

He’d also seen the medical file. Jim grew up normal, for a time. He had been admitted to a Federation hospital after Tarses for malnutrition, and complications related to starvation, then increasingly often over the years for gastrointestinal problems and increasingly severe allergic reactions, and then later on, sometime after his mother passed, bruises and sprains and broken bones all the way up to his disappearance, when he fell of the medical radar entirely. Even the trip to the clinic to remove the tampered RFID wasn’t registered, as the computer had automatically logged the visit as Sam.

Whatever it was Jim allegedly did in Iowa, Leonard doubted it was unwarranted. Over-the-top, maybe, but not undeserved. He could understand being on the run—hell Leonard was technically on the run himself, if he was being honest.

So all that left Leonard with was what to do about Jim Kirk.

Of course, there really was only one thing, and Leonard popped out of his bedroom to find Joanna fetching waffles from the replicator. “Jo sweetie,” his drawl was back in full force now that he’d been around her so long, “Hows about you and me go on a scavenger hunt today?”

Joanna smiled wide, syrup covering the teeth that weren’t missing. “What scavengers are we hunting?”

“Big ones, darlin’. We’re lookin’ for reaaaally big ones.”

When Spock stepped outside to the grassy break area by the hospital, he found Leonard waiting for him, just as he said he was. The sun was setting and Jim had already left Spock’s apartment for the day, and Spock said as much. Leonard hoped Jim had wandered back to his own flat, and that he would still be there when Leonard got home.

Leonard pulled a tin out of his back pocket and fished out a joint before replacing it. He lit the end and took a long drag, then exhaled slowly, mulling over his next words.

“I did not take you for a smoker, Doctor,” Spock commented blithely.

“Grew up around tobacco fields,” Leonard replied. “Hard to leave that without a habit for smoking something.” He took another hit, and he offered it to Spock quietly. When Spock declined wordlessly, Leonard just let it dangle between his fingers. “Now I need too much quiet time to share a room with anybody, and none of us qualify for a two-bedroom on our own.” Jim hadn’t said as much, but Leonard imagined since Jim was wanted in Iowa, he didn’t want to be legally tied to any residence just yet. Leonard wasn’t going to be the one to admit it for him, but neither was he going to out Jim on that fact. “But the two of us could make an argument that we need an office space and score a three bed unit by the hospital, if you’re alright rooming with two illogical humans.”

A hint of distaste crossed Spock’s face. “Would you be indulging this ‘habit’ indoors?”

Leonard’s eyebrow ticked. “It’s called a porch, Spock. The unit I was looking at today’s got one, and I can keep the smoking outside if that’s what you want. I’m an ass, not inconsiderate.”

The considering look on Spock’s face told Leonard that he didn’t really think there was a difference between the two, but maybe that wasn’t what really mattered here. “I’ll require separate environmental controls for my quarters.”

Leonard exhaled the next cloud of smoke pointedly away from Spock. “And I’ll help install them. Are you in or not, Spock?”

Spock paused in thought and Leonard thought for a moment that Spock would turn his offer down, but it seemed Spock was full of surprises. “I am not adverse to this arrangement.”

Leonard released a clean breath he wasn’t even aware he had been holding. “Then excuse me. I’ve got to phone Lorena and tell them to hold the place for me.”

He’d thought that would be the end of it and began to step away, but Spock spoke up once more. “Doctor.”

Leonard pivoted. “What is it, Spock?”

Leonard wasn’t sure if Vulcans hesitated, but this one certainly did, though he doubted Spock would own up to as much. “Are you certain Jim will be open to such an arrangement?”

“He damn well better,” Leonard answered, then stepped away to make that phone call.

When Leonard finally made it home well after dark, Jim was indeed waiting for him, sitting on the couch and watching the viewer, beer on a coaster in front of him. An uneasy relief spread through Leonard as he picked his way to the replicator for a drink. “Hey Jim.”

“Hey Bones,” Jim said, barely glancing over, enthralled in whatever drama he had decided on for the evening. Leonard could see one of the hickeys that had Spock so concerned peaking out from under his shirt collar. He wondered distantly if Jim knew how easily he bruised. “Sent Joanna off?”

“Yeah, she’s on her way back to her mother’s.” The bourbon left a warm trail that slid down Leonard’s throat and pooled in his gut—a stark contrast to the coolness that seemed embedded in his limbs. He plopped heavy down on the couch. “Still got a couple days off to recover.”

“A couple days, huh?” Jim slid over until he was flush against Leonard, the hand ghosting Leonard’s thigh obvious. “I can think of a few ways to spend a couple days.”

Leonard was sure he could, but that wasn’t the point. “Jim, I’m tired.”

Jim’s response was to swing a leg over so he was sitting square in Leonard’s lap, facing him. “Then I’ll do all the work.”

Instinct told Leonard to push Jim right off, but sense told him that would do more harm than good and he let Jim kiss him softly for a moment, then broke the contact. “Really, Jim, I’m tuckered out.”

Jim was unconvinced and Leonard’s hands placed on his hips from habit probably didn’t help matters. “You are,” Jim agreed, swooping in for a quick kiss. “But I’m not.” And another, punctuated with a roll of his hips.

Leonard felt more than saw Jim’s arms leave his shoulders to start wandering down. “Kid, I’m really not—”

“Hush,” Jim cut him off with a laugh in his voice.

“Jim!”

“Bones.”

Leonard had had enough and he snatched Jim’s hands with both of his, looking Jim dead in the eye. “Stop.”

Jim frowned, but climbed off immediately, hands on his hips as if he were the affronted party. “Really? We haven’t seen each other in over a week and you really don’t want a hello fuck?”

Leonard ran a hand down his face. Part of him did just want to go with it, to let Jim take control and run the evening like he often did, but that was for later, if at all. “I’ve got something I gotta talk to you about first. So please,” whatever anger was in Jim washed off with the use of that one word, and Leonard indicated vaguely the seat next to him, “Sit down.”

Jim studied him for a moment, then acquiesced, slowly lowering himself back to his original spot on the couch. “Alright, Bones. Talk to me.”

Leonard took another bracing sip of his bourbon, still not sure about his plan of attack. “Spock tells me you’ve been hanging around him a lot lately.”

“Well, yeah,” Jim replied easily, and he picked up his own drink. “You were busy and he needed help with a project.”

Leonard looked straight at the TV and decided to be blunt: “Do you like him?” Jim choked on his sip, and Leonard took the opportunity to barrel forward. “It’s alright if you do.”

Jim snorted. “I guess he’s alright. Why are you asking?”

Leonard knew instantly that Jim thought the conversation was going in a completely different direction than it was about to. “Jim, you’re an adult, and I’m going to be frank about this because you are an adult, and you deserve that much. So I’m gonna say my piece and then you can do whatever you want, okay?”

Jim’s laugh sounded a little uneasy to Leonard’s ears. “Okay, shoot.”

“I just want you to know: if you’re waiting for me to love you, you’re going to be waiting a long time.” It never got any easier to say this, but then again, Leonard didn’t often have the chance. “Probably forever.” He’d had a similar talk with Jocelyn, not long after Joanna was born and Leonard realized what love actually was. “I’m just not wired for it. You’re my friend, and I like what we have going here, but I don’t want you to feel like you’ve got some kind of obligation to me just because we’re sleeping together.” They’d had that conversation again another way later, when Jocelyn had met Tamira, before she and Leonard went to another state just to get the divorce. “So if you’re interested in Spock, don’t worry about me. Just go for it, and know that if need a place to go, my door is always open.”

Even though Jim had agreed, Leonard was still surprised Jim had let him get it all out in one go. “Is that all?” Jim asked neutrally as he picked his drink back up off the table.

Leonard sunk back against the couch. “Yeah, that’s pretty much the gist of it.”

Jim was quiet, swirling his beer in the bottle for a moment while he processed everything Leonard had said, and the anticipation had Leonard doubting coming clean about his feelings—and lack thereof. “You’re right, we are both adults, and I do have something to say.” Jim drained the rest of his drink in one go and the glass hit the table with a dull thunk, and while the look on his face was calm, his next words were heated: “I know we’re not in a relationship, so of course I don’t have an obligation to you. I don’t like Spock like that. Maybe I will someday, I don’t know, but if I decide I do, you can be sure I’ll damn well act on it, because we are both adults and we can talk about feelings and shit like goddamn adults. And full offense: I think it’s pretty arrogant of you to assume I’ve fallen in love with you just because I’m excited to see you when you get home. Oh, and not that it matters, but I haven’t slept with Spock, not that it would be any of your business if I had. So if you really don’t like these hickies that bad—” Leonard fought back a flinch at that, feeling called out “—then either grab your dermal regenerator or give me new ones—your choice.”

That wasn’t quite how Leonard had thought Jim would respond, and for a minute, all he could come up with in response was a quiet “Is that all?”

Jim crossed his arms. “Unless you’ve got something else to add?”

“No,” Leonard answered, and he didn’t—not anything that he didn’t think would be a mistake. Not anything that he believed wouldn’t run the risk of pushing Jim to leaving. And if Jim wanted him to overwrite the marks on his body with some of his own, Leonard found the idea to be an agreeable one. “Are we good?”

Jim sighed long, and Leonard could see the tension bleeding out of his body with the air as if he had been the one afraid that Leonard was leaving. Jim’s arms loosened considerably. “We’re good.”

“Good,” Leonard bridged the gap between them with a kiss, and he could feel Jim relax into it immediately. “Because I’m going to need your help moving tomorrow.”

Jim pulled back just a bit. “You’re moving?”

“Gonna be closer to the hospital,” Leonard lied around a shrug by telling only the truth, “And it’ll be a bigger space. You can have a room, if you want it.”

“Alright.” Jim looked a little cautious, and Leonard found the instinct to pin him down so he couldn’t escape to be strong. He wanted to hold him still so he couldn’t run off to god-knows-where and get into whatever kind of trouble he’d been in before. Leonard wanted to cage Jim in, protect him, and know truly and fully that Jim was indeed safe.

And if Leonard did happen to map Jim’s hills and valleys with marks of his own in the process, so much the better.

Chapter Text

Jim found quickly that helping Leonard move was a little more complicated than scheduling a site-to-site transport, moving all items to a designated area, and replicating the appropriate beacons to signal where the beam area would start and end. No, instead Leonard had to separate things into the categories of “What would be an acceptable transporter loss” and “What I wouldn’t send through the transporter to save my life”, and the latter would have to be lugged from the old place to the new.

Even worse, Leonard had made sure to get the specific transport tech who had moved him before on the line to work with him throughout the experience, and the poor man was indulging him. “Doctor,” the man tried reasoning through the communicator, “I promise I’ll put everything back exactly the same way it was before.”

“Sorry, Scotty,” Leonard called in the direction of his communicator sitting on the counter while he moved a painting to the transport pile, “Some things are just too precious to put through that machine.”

The long-suffering man sighed. “Alright, but I’m sending you an antigrav cart so ye cannae be complaining about a sore back later. Can I put it down in the kitchen?”

“You’re an angel,” Leonard replied with scincerity, “And yes, please.”

The cart materialized moments later, perfectly centered, and Leonard took one more brief tour through the apartment, making sure he got everything. “Alright, Scotty. We’re ready for transport.”

“Energizing,” came the automatic answer, and all the things piled neat into the square the beacons outlined vanished. “Transport complete. Everything made it through just fine. I’ve still got time to run another if you’ve changed your mind.”

“Thanks but no thanks, Mr Scott. Jim and I’ll take it from here. I’ll call you when we’re finished with the antigrav.”

“Acknowledged. Scott out.”

Jim started grabbing items from the remaining pile and moving them to the antigrav. Most of the items that didn’t go through the transporter seemed older, and he could understand on some level why Leonard wouldn’t want to risk losing them in a transporter accident—not that they wouldn’t be able to replicate new ones from the transporter pattern if it did occur. “I didn’t know they lent out antigravs,” Jim remarked lightly, by way of making conversation.

“They don’t,” Leonard grunted a little as he lifted a heavier box onto the platform. “But Scotty and I go back a ways, and he knows I don’t trust that thing.”

“Why not?” Jim asked, rearranging some items for stability.

Leonard didn’t quite sigh at the question. “The first mass casualty I helped out with coming out of med school was a transporter malfunction. Scotty lost a finger; had to give him a cybernetic one. Lots of people had some ugly injuries that day.”

Jim smirked playfully, deliberately trying to shift the mood while Leonard double-checked that everything on the cart wouldn’t be falling off one more time. “I guess I won’t be seeing you use one to get around any time soon.”

“Not on my life.”

Once everything had been loaded, it didn’t take very long to maneuver the cart into a turboshaft and down to street level. The way wasn’t crowded for mid-afternoon, and skimmers slipped by overhead unnoticed by the people below. It was a nice walk, though long as they couldn’t bring the cart onto the transit system, with shade cast by the fruit trees along the lane. Having the antigrav meant they only had to exert the barest amount of force to keep the huge stack of things moving. Half of the time, they let it coast on inertia alone.

They passed unhurriedly through the city, stopping once for a snack and water, making their way beyond what had become familiar territory for Jim over the past several months. The people and shops he had become most familiar with got further and further behind him as they advanced deeper into town.

A few miles later, Leonard took them off the main lane onto another street, more winding than the one before. The neighborhood looked as though it had always existed, and the city grew around it, accommodating the odd shapes and turns of each building, community and structure building and evolving together to leave an eclectic blend of shops and housing in configurations Jim wasn’t used to seeing in such a large city. Then, they happened on Leonard’s new home.

The new building was significantly closer to the hospital, less than a kilometer away, and Jim thought it looked nice even from the outside. The tower-like structure took up the whole city block, and flashes of red brick showed in the few gaps between the plants climbing the walls. The entrance let out into a small park in the center, around which the housing was built. Polarized windows reflected sunlight down to the park, keeping it warm and well-lit in the daylight. The ground floor units had modest porches facing inward, and the levels higher up were equipped with balconies, many of which were decorated with lights, plants, or tarps. Each of the walls were only one unit wide, and so they had access to both the sidewalk and the park, if they so desired. A turboshaft ran up each outward corner of the complex, and stairs climbed along the inside.

Leonard led the way to one of the north-side ground units, back porch facing south to the park. “Here we are, unit 17-01.”

He pulled out the screen door first, then the main door swung open to reveal Leonard’s things had indeed made it safe and sound, just as Scotty had reported, and those waited against a wall to be sorted into their rightful places. The kitchen to the left was small but functional, and there was a dining set already set up in the open space adjacent. The area to the right was sunk down into the ground, lined with couches and a low table in the center. The west wall held a viewer built flush into the wall. Beside that, a door led to what was presumably the master bedroom, as it looked to be the largest enclosed room. A short hall led to the front door, along one side of which were the refresher and a closet. On the other side of that hall were two more bedrooms.

Jim whistled low, impressed on some level. While rent was a thing left long in the past, the housing authority almost never allowed one person to reside in so large a place when there were families that needed the space. “Who’d you bribe to get a place this big?”

Leonard parked the antigrav near the dining area. “I told them I’d need an extra room for all your sass. Now help me unload this so we can get it back to Scotty.”

An unexpected voice made Jim jump. “Do you require assistance?”

Jim whirled around to be greeted with the sight of Spock exiting the master suite. “Spock? What are you doing here?”

Spock didn’t have the chance to answer before Leonard cut him off. “Spock wanted to move closer to the hospital, too, and there was no way either of us were going to get approved for this place on our own, and yes,” Leonard switched his focus back to Spock, “We could use a hand.”

Spock summoned up his patience and breezed past Jim to where Leonard was unloading the cart. Jim watched them bicker with some suspicion. “I fail to see why these items could not have been transported from your previous dwelling.”

“Because, just because something is identical on a molecular level, does not mean it’s still the same thing you put in.”

“And yet matter, both animate and inanimate, regularly pass through the transporter sequence and are completely unchanged.”

“No, you take something apart atom by atom and you destroy it, Spock. You’re not getting the same thing back.”

“Illogical, as there is no discernible difference from the original to that which is assembled.”

“I didn’t say it was logical, I said it was not the same. Look, if you want more information, there was a lot of debate on this exact thing in the 20^th and 21^st centuries. Why don’t you read up on those? Maybe it will grant you some insight into the human psyche.”

“I can assure you, Doctor, that my time living among humans has given me all the insight I require.”

“Yeah, well I’m gonna insight you in a minute,” Leonard mumbled without much bite, to which Spock responded with a short illogical. “Jim, ring back Scotty and let him know we’re almost done with his antigrav.”

Jim pursed his lips, but kept his thoughts quiet, for the time-being. “Yeah, sure.”

After the anitgrav had been beamed back to where it had come from, Leonard had called for a break. Spock excused himself back into his room to finish setting his lab back up, while Leonard and Jim relaxed for a bit on the porch outside. For a while, they watched the extended members of their new home go about their daily lives. Children explored the trees, a family across the way barbequed dinner, someone walked their cat along the meandering path. The park-like area offered a quiet place of respite to those seeking to get away from the bustle of the city. The levels of apartments served as fortress walls, keeping the noise and busyness safely outside the keep. The sky above slowly transitioned from a bright blue to a deep purple hue, preparing for the plunge into an almost star-less darkness for all the city lights.

Leonard and Jim had made themselves comfortable on the chairs, saying some things that were a lot of nothing for a time. Between them, they’d had a few beers, passed a couple joints. Leonard had called it a Christening, said that it wouldn’t really feel like home until he broke it in.

A shuttle cut across the sky above, leaving a contrail tinged pink in the sunset. Jim watched it, inhaled deeply, let it go. “Bones, what’s going on?”

“Real talk?” Leonard asked, before taking a gulp of his drink.

“Real talk,” Jim confirmed.

“Alright,” Leonard picked himself up just a bit, sitting more than laying in the chair. “Spock was worried about you. Enough that he told me about it.” Jim deliberately did not react to that, so Leonard pushed on. “I looked up your file.”

“That’s a breach of privacy,” Jim shot back hotly, wondering at just what exactly in his record Leonard had had access to.

“Go file a police report about it,” Leonard retorted, and they both knew Jim would do no such thing. “You don’t have to stay here. I’d like it, Spock would like it, but you ain’t on the lease and nobody’s gonna make you stay here if you really don’t want to. We can use your room for storage and that can be the end of it. Or,” Leonard took another gulp, standing to go back inside. “You can stay here whenever you want, as long as you want. It’s up to you.”

Leonard went back inside, and Jim stayed out to think just a little while longer.

When it was dark and the lights hidden in the trees had turned on to light the paths for those out wandering in the night, Jim looked up to the sky for answers, and saw nothing but void.

Chapter Text

Leonard was still organizing his things when he heard the south door briefly open and shut again. He breathed a low sigh of relief, sure that Jim had seen sense and had come inside after sitting on the porch alone for over an hour. There was a brief, polite knock at his bedroom door, and Leonard commanded it to open, only to be faced with Spock.

Leonard’s heart sank. “He left, didn’t he?”

“Jim is no longer outside,” Spock responded neutrally.

“So he left,” Leonard concluded, sinking down to sit on the edge of the bed. “I’m sorry, Spock.”

Spock only raised an eyebrow out that, but Leonard could practically hear the illogical coming out of his mouth. Spock at least had the tact not to say as much out loud. “Jim was unaware that he would be residing with me as well?”

Leonard sighed, pinched at the bridge of his nose. That had been a gamble. “I was trying not to spook him. He’s been through a lot and—” Leonard stopped himself. It wasn’t his place. “I was just trying not to scare him off.”

“It would appear that you were unsuccessful,” Spock replied, not unkindly.

Leonard flopped back, laying down across the bed. “Tell me something I don’t know.”

Leonard was answered only with silence, and he assumed Spock had walked out of the room, having seen the conversation to its conclusion. It didn’t bother Leonard, not really. It wasn’t as though he and Spock had gotten along very well before. They could work together without biting each other’s heads off—usually—and that was it. It would have been a stretch to call them friends. Now, they had to learn to tolerate each other both on work and off, and Leonard thought maybe he shouldn’t have given the antigrav back to Scotty just yet. Chances were, he’d be moving again quite soon.

The bed beside Leonard dipped down, and Leonard startled as Spock reentered his field of vision. “It is far too early to assume that Jim will not come around. He may not be pleased with the actions you have taken. However, I believe he will understand that you were only attempting to assist him in a way you know how. That as a father and a doctor, your instinct is to care and provide.”

Leonard rolled on his side so he didn’t have to look at Spock. “Doesn’t seem all that logical to me.”

“Doctor,” Spock started, then paused when Leonard didn’t move. He tried again: “Leonard.” That got Leonard to peek back over his shoulder and meet Spock in the eye. “Jim will come around.”

Spock sounded so certain that Leonard wanted to believe he knew what he was talking about, but even a Vulcan had to be wrong from time to time. Still, it didn’t feel right to shut Spock down completely. “Yeah well, I hope you’re right.”

They were still for a time, neither moving nor saying anything. Leonard found Spock’s continuing company strangely soothing. This whole side of Spock was new to him, and he found that it wasn’t wholly unwelcome. Finally, Spock spoke quietly, rising to leave. “You should rest. We have much to do tomorrow.”

Leonard grunted an affirmative, almost content to leave it at that and just sleep, but second thoughts had him calling out just as Spock reached the door. “Spock?” Leonard could see the shadow of Spock pause, turn, and Leonard changed his mind. “Thanks.”

Behind him, Spock nodded. “You are quite welcome.”

Spock left. Leonard, eventually, slept.

The much-to-do the next day turned out to be the act of unpacking and settling in to their new home, and not the discuss-how-to-bring-Jim-back that Leonard thought Spock had been implying. For the most part, items were sorted into their individual rooms, as neither of them believed they’d be spending much time in the common areas. Briefly, they went over any ground rules, and Spock had only offered “So long as we both behave in a manner intended to be considerate of the other, I believe we can continue to cohabitate with no difficulties” and left it at that. Leonard wasn’t certain it would be so easy.

He gave Jim space. Through an enormous amount of willpower, he did not send him messages, or ask Spock about him, or come around the bar where he had first met him at, nor any of the others they had been to together in the time they’d known each other. Occasionally, he would check Jim’s empty room, hoping to catch him in there sleeping, but only found a naked bed undisturbed.

Instead, Leonard went back on a steady diet of eat, sleep, and work, and with closer quarters that drastically cut his commute time, he found the amount of free time he had almost oppressive. He and Spock passed each other on occasion like shuttles in the night, and at work nothing was changed. It was a routine that felt empty, but Leonard stuck with it, regardless. He had responsibilities, and he stuck with them.

He and Spock were cordial, living together yet apart. Spock had been right, and as natural hermits, they didn’t really interact often enough to be a bother to each other.

Then, one day in September, Leonard performed what had become his weekly check of Jim’s room, and found there were now sheets on the bed. He closed the door—silently, hopefully—and went to work.

Leonard was going over the quarterly inventory report for the third time when Spock entered his office without preamble, shutting the door behind him. “Doctor,” Spock began, not bothered that Leonard had not so much as glanced up from the PADD, “I believe you would be relieved to know that Jim’s passcode was used to access our home yesterday.”

“Thanks, Spock, but I already know,” Leonard scrolled up and down, trying to locate just where the data was off, “Saw the sheets on the bed this morning.”

Spock frowned—Leonard was familiar enough to identify the slight turn of his eyebrows as Spock’s version of a frown. “Is something troubling you?”

Leonard peaked up from the PADD, then set it down roughly. “Either somebody in inventory doesn’t know how to do their job, or someone is stealing medication.”

Spock blinked patiently. “The inventory does not match the records?”

“It’s just Spiro,” Leonard reasoned, trying to convince himself that it wasn’t as big a problem as it was. “It’s not like anyone can abuse it, so who knows—maybe the count’s just off.”

“Perhaps you and I should take the time to verify the count,” Spock offered.

Leonard shook his head. “Thanks, but this is the second quarter in a row that hormones have turned up missing.” He exhaled roughly through his nose, considering. “I think we’re going to have to start locking everything up—have everything logged by voice-print. Maybe we can figure out where it’s going.”

“Doctor,” Spock reasoned, “If I recall, Spironolactone is a medicine not required for life-threatening emergencies—”

Leonard smacked the table, standing suddenly. “But what if it’s not just the Spiro, Spock? What if someone’s making off with something that is vital like plasma? We might not even figure it out until something happens and there’s none left! I’m going to nip this in the bud now, before this thief gets somebody killed.”

Spock took Leonard’s tirade in stride, only cocking his head to the side in a neutral response. “A wise precaution.”

“Thank you,” Leonard said evenly, sitting back down. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have some locks to order.”

The anxiety of running into Jim again after months of absence left Leonard with a stomach that felt cold. Jim hadn’t announced his return to him, and the unknown kept Leonard’s mind working in circles. Had Jim forgiven him? Were they starting over, or maybe picking up right where they had left off? Was Jim only coming back because he had nowhere else to go?

Leonard found himself still at the hospital, finding busywork for himself long after he usually called it quits, and it took his head nurse just short of bodily throwing him out the door to finally get him on his way home. The sun had already set, and Leonard strolled in no rush.

It was almost a relief when he got home and did not immediately run into Jim. Instead, he heard low voices coming from Spock’s room—Jim and Spock reacquainting themselves, no doubt.

Leonard breathed a sigh of relief, and skipped his usual dinner to retreat into his room for the night, ignoring the small voice in his head that demanded him to just up and face Jim like the grown man he was.

Maybe, Leonard reasoned, he and Jim would talk in the morning.

Spock did not understand humans very well, despite having been birthed by one. Much less did he understand the human capacity for avoidance of interpersonal issues. Leonard and Jim had clearly proven to each other that they were compatible for cohabitation, and that each could trust the other, over the course of the months they known each other. One incidence should not have been able to wipe all of that away.

When Spock had gone out to the porch to encourage Jim to come back inside, only to find it empty, he had figured that Jim simply needed a night to think it over. This was a reasonable response, and so Spock had simply sent him a message that had gone unacknowledged: Should you elect to return, there is a bed prepared for you.

Spock had assumed that this would be the end of the incident. Jim, who had not had a consistent place to stay for reasons unknown, had been offered a residence with people he knew and trusted. The logical choice would have been to accept the offer and return.

Humans were seldom logical.

When a week had gone by, Spock had tried again from a different angle. He sent Jim a brief summary of any changes made in their shared experiment, to which Jim had replied readily with questions, comments, and suggestions. After some back and forth, Spock invited Jim to assist him with the next step, to which Jim declined.

Ever patient, Spock followed up. Your passcode is still valid should you alter your decision.

This, again, went unacknowledged.

It became a bit of a dance. Spock could speak with Jim about anything under the sun—except for their home and Leonard—and Jim’s responses would be lively and almost instantaneous. Any breach of these subjects was met with silence.

The situation with Leonard was not much better. Despite Spock’s advice, Leonard remained adamant that he did not wish to push Jim any further, and that Jim would come back in his own time, if he ever decided to.

And so with one human who refused to reach out, and another who refused to acknowledge the situation entirely, Spock became very familiar with the emotional state of frustration.

Late in September with the weather changing for the colder, Spock decided that he had had enough.

Chapter Text

On a Friday, Leonard’s usual day for checking Jim’s room for any changes, Spock woke up early to replicate some sheets for the empty bed. He dressed the mattress sloppily with purpose, and then shut the door again for Leonard to find. Or for Jim to find—unlikely though it may have been.

This, was the first step.

Later in the day, Spock feigned casual in Leonard’s office, announcing that Jim had used his code to enter the home—a lie, and possibly not a very convincing one—and despite being met with the frustrated doctor on an unrelated manner, this encouraged Leonard into believing that Jim was ready to come home.

And so, the second step was complete.

It was fortuitous, then, that Leonard would be busy for the afternoon, and Spock finished his day early to set the next phase of his plan in motion with a message to Jim. As you appear to be uncomfortable returning home at this time, may I propose we meet somewhere for a drink?

Jim readily accepted, and Spock only went home long enough to change into casual robes and refresh his eye shadow, before he was off again in the early afternoon to the same bar he and Jim had patronized before.

It occurred to Spock on the maglev that perhaps the entire plan was absurd, that humans were absurd, that his irrational attachments to these particular humans was absurd. He blamed these on his mother’s influence and his time on Earth, then fully committed to the task at hand.

When Spock arrived, Jim was waiting for him with an adios already prepared for Spock, and a half-finished drink for himself. Jim practically leapt out of his chair in barely contained enthusiasm. “Spock! Over here!”

Spock picked his way through the light crowd, appreciating deeply that the music volume was still set low at this time of day. “I am pleased to see you appear well,” Spock said by way of greeting.

“I’ve been staying with Hyun-Tae. He’s a great guy,” Jim glanced over his shoulder and waved at the bartender, who only nodded his way, and began fixing another drink. “So, what’s the occasion? You finally finish your project?”

“I have put it on hold for the time-being,” Spock said around a sip of his drink—he drank more deeply this time than he had before, welcoming the delayed effects his human heritage would eventually grant. “I find the work less satisfying without the unpredictable element of a human partner.”

Jim tossed back the rest of his drink. “Sorry, Spock, but it’d be too awkward around there now.”

“Indeed,” Spock said dryly, not agreeing in the slightest.

Jim thanked Hyun-Tae when he brought Jim another drink. “So, if we’re not celebrating, then what are we doing here?”

“I found I had missed your company,” Spock replied, not at all dishonest, then sipped again and was almost surprised to find he had already emptied his glass.

Jim grinned wide, laughing at the raise of Spock’s eyebrows at the empty cup. “Or maybe you just missed the taste of goodbye,” was the response Spock heard as his universal translator took the name of his drink literally. Jim called to the bartender for another drink for Spock, and Spock idly fingered his straw. When Hyun-Tae returned with Spock’s drink, Jim raised his own glass. “To friends reunited.”

The corner of Spock’s lip quirked upwards just the barest amount as he raised his own glass. “To friends reunited,” he echoed, then drank deep.

Spock found quickly the hours were passing quicker than hours rightly should as Jim caught him up on everything he had missed out on in his absence. Jim told stories of events and encounters that should have rightfully been mundane, and yet Spock found that he was enthralled.

He blamed this on the alcohol as he kept pace with Jim. It seemed that Jim’s tolerance despite his human blood and Spock’s susceptibility because of his own meant that Spock only seemed less intoxicated for his lack of emotional expression and the fact that he was content to remain in his seat. There stood no doubt in his mind that he had been strongly affected by the pure volume of liquor he had consumed, nor that Jim was oblivious to that fact entirely.

Perhaps it was because of this that when more patrons started filing in and the music started getting louder that Spock touched Jim’s hand lightly to interrupt another thrilling tale. “Perhaps we could continue this elsewhere.”

Jim frowned, glancing back over his shoulder briefly, then leaned closer to Spock. “I don’t know, Spock. Hyun-Tae asked me not to bring any more people back to the flat.”

Spock took a gamble. “Mine is also an option.” Jim looked uncertain, but Spock wasn’t going to allow him time to mull it over. “If we are quiet, Leonard would not be alerted to your presence.”

Jim sighed, shucked his hand through his hair. “Are you sure about that?”

“I am certain,” Spock replied with a nod.

Jim hesitated, but only for a moment. “Fuck it, let’s go.”

They were exiting the maglev they had taken home before Spock finally let the drunkenness get the better of him, and he barely stumbled as he crossed the platform. Jim didn’t miss that, nor the nearly liquid way Spock managed to right himself without falling. To any other human, the reflexive movement would have seemed almost graceful, but Jim had known Spock for too long and a sly look crossed his face. “I thought you said Vulcans couldn’t get drunk.”

Looking back, Spock wasn’t certain if had wanted Jim to know, or if he had simply found the admission unavoidable—perhaps it didn’t matter. “I told you my father’s race is immune,” Spock replied, a pride still smarting a bit at his clumsiness. “However, my mother is human and so it would appear that the chemical has some effect.”

Jim looked almost gleefully surprised, tugging Spock lightly in the direction of a shop, and Spock did not put in any effort into resisting. “I am going to get you so sloshed.”

Spock found he was agreeable.

When they finally made it back to the apartment, Spock entered first, holding a shopping bag with a couple liters of various alcohols, and verified that Leonard had indeed not returned home as of yet. It was vacant, and so he signaled Jim to follow him inside, both walking quietly without real cause. Spock abjectly refused to believe they were doing something so undignified as sneaking, but it was hard to deny in the face of the facts.

The door to Spock’s bedroom sealed behind them, and Jim, who had been drinking straight from a bottle of tequila the last leg of the trip back, erupted into a fit of giggles. “I can’t believe we’re actually doing this.”

“Shh,” Spock shot back without any real force, though it was clear that enforcing the directive of silence was a lost cause. “Computer, sound proofing at maximum.”

The computer chimed an acknowledgment, and Jim passed Spock the already opened bottle of tequila. “Not sure if you’ll like this, but give it a try.”

“From the bottle,” Spock asked with no affect, grabbing it by the neck anyway.

“Do you really want to deal with rinsing out glasses tonight?” Jim asked in a way that almost sounded like a challenge.

Spock considered the matter briefly, still put out by how undignified the action of simply passing bottles around seemed. “No,” he decided.

Jim watched him closely as he took a short sip, and when Spock’s face contorted at the unpleasant taste, Jim broke out in giggles again. “No! No, Spock, you gotta—you gotta just chug it. Don’t try tasting it.”

Spock frowned in Jim’s direction, wishing to wash his tongue of the flavor that clinged to it. “I hardly see how that is to be accomplished with the sensory organ primarily responsible for taste existing in my mouth.”

“It takes practice,” Jim assured him, and Spock got the vague impression that Jim was making excuses for him. Spock didn’t have time to think on the matter before Jim started rummaging through the other bags. As Spock had only been exposed to one (admittedly strong) drink, Jim had insisted that he should have the opportunity to sample various kinds, and that had lead to them leaving the store with far far more alcohol than they would drink that night—or so Spock hoped. Jim fished out a bottle of merlot and twisted the cap off before holding the bottle out to Spock. “Here, this should be easier. It’s fruity, you like fruity.”

“Indeed,” Spock replied, tasting the wine with a little more caution than before. Jim hadn’t been wrong, and the flavor was much more pleasant than Jim’s drink of choice. Spock took a couple swallows before commenting. “This is agreeable.”

Jim drank to his triumph. “Told you! Drink up, Spock. You gotta keep up with me.”

Spock eyed the contents of Jim’s bottle, and distinct lack thereof, acknowledging the challenge for what it was. “I am certain matching your pace will prove no challenge to me.”

“No, no,” Jim chided as if he had caught Spock being sneaky. “The alcohol content of that is much lower than tequila. If you’re gonna keep up, you’ve got to drink a whole lot quicker than that.”

Spock pursed his lips, then read the labels of both bottles, doing the math in his head on just how much a difference it would make in volume. “Perhaps a stronger drink would be in order.”

Jim, encouraged, dug out another bottle.

It took some testing and a restroom break, but eventually they found that of the stronger liquors, Spock was agreeable to bourbon, a fact which sent Jim nearly into hysterics at the time. Spock chalked it up to his tastebuds being in a state of shock from all the foul-tasting potions Jim had offered so far.

Keeping pace with Jim, Spock found, was easy when the alcohol content was matched, and though they kept mostly quiet, he doubted that the computer was successful in blocking out all the sounds. It was alright, Spock decided, so long as Jim was feeling comfortable. Even if it was only one room—one that was not even Jim’s own—if Jim was feeling comfortable in their home, then Spock was willing to chalk up his plan as a success.

As the night wore on, Jim grew increasingly tactile, and Spock found that he did not mind. They sat on the bed against the wall, Jim practically leaning against him in a way Spock imagined he had often done with Leonard before. Jim sniggered. “Still can’t believe you’re a bourbon-drinker. Bones would piss himself if he knew.”

The true meaning of the phrase went straight over Spock’s head, and he answered sincerely, openly. “That would not be a favorable response.”

“No, I mean—he’d think it was hilarious. You two—” Jim cut himself off, as if he had only just realized that he was talking about someone he considered to be in his past “—I think you’d get along great if you tried.”

Spock tilted his head, just barely feeling the warmth of Jim’s own against his cheek. “The past few months have been without conflict, though I regret we are not sociable towards each other.”

Jim drank deep. “You just gotta have a night like this one. Let loose, let your hair down.”

“My hair is down,” Spock returned, this time getting the reference but saying it anyway in attempt of a joke.

Jim shoved at him lightly in jest. “Your poker face needs work, Spock.”

Spock hummed at that, but didn’t have anything to say—not immediately. Then: “I have considered growing my hair out to a more traditional style. To do so would have been considered wholly unprofessional on Vulcan. On earth, however...” He trailed off, not entirely certain where that sentence was meant to go.

Jim studied him earnestly, running a hand through Spock’s hair just once. Spock barely caught himself before he chased the sensation. “I think it’d look nice.”

Spock was genuinely surprised, and in his drunkenness, allowed it to show openly. “Is that an honest opinion?”

Perhaps it was the alcohol, or the change in mood, or something in Spock himself he was not yet aware of, but Spock inwardly marveled at how soft Jim seemed in that moment. “I wouldn’t lie to you, Spock.”

Spock believed him wholly and before he was even consciously aware of the action, he’d leaned forward to Jim, and their lips met in a kiss. It a nice, enjoyable sensation, and Spock allowed it to continue perhaps longer than he should have. He reasoned inwardly that the length of contact was irrelevant and would not change the fact that the contact had occurred. The justification seemed hollow, somehow, but it suited his purposes just the same.

When Spock pulled back, Jim was still smiling. “Would you like to do that again?” he asked as if he had been the one to initiate the action.

Spock found he was agreeable.

Chapter Text

Jim woke from a dreamless sleep warm, with someone pressed against his back and an arm holding his middle like a vise. He kept still with eyes shut, feeling the looming hangover behind them threatening to come to the forefront with any movement.

Unfortunately, a full bladder was a strong motivator, and after several minutes he made to get up with some regret, only to have the arms clamp down more securely. “Do. Not. Move,” Spock ground out quietly, and Jim could feel the wince he suppressed at the volume of his own voice.

Knowing that Spock had a hangover, possibly his first, left Jim feeling some regret. He kept his voice to the lowest murmur he could. “C’mon Spock, I’ll get you something for the pain.” Spock groaned but relented, unwrapping around Jim so Jim was able to pull away. Spock, still partially clothed, burrowed deeper into the sheets, hiding his face from the dim light. “Computer,” Jim whispered, “Light filtering at maximum.”

It didn’t do much, but it was something, and Jim gingerly stepped into the refresher to relieve himself, then washed his hands before rummaging through Spock’s cabinet as quietly as he could. While there were a couple medications in bottles with labels hand-written in Vulcan that his translator couldn’t make sense of, none of the pills looked familiar, and they didn’t look like any pain medications he ever saw.

Jim sighed quietly. He wasn’t a doctor, but there was one in the house (probably), and he was better equipped to treat a hungover half-Vulcan. It wasn’t as if Spock had done this entirely to himself. Jim had pushed him to it, and he felt responsibility for Spock’s current condition. It was that point that had Jim padding over to Leonard’s room in his underwear.

The door opened automatically at his approach. Clearly, Leonard hadn’t found a need to set access restrictions when Spock was not one to invade another’s privacy. He made a beeline directly for Leonard’s desk, and slid open the drawer that had held the medkit when Leonard had been living on his own, only to find it empty.

Leonard stirred at the clatter, groaning low before peeking open an eye. “Who the—Jim?”

As Leonard started to sit up, Jim cut off whatever he was about to say, not really in the mood for whatever it was. “What have you got for a hungover Vulcan?”

That certainly woke Leonard up, and his next question came out more clearly, almost angry as he reached under the bed. “What the hell did you do to Spock?”

“What do you mean what did I do to Spock?” Jim whispered indignantly was Leonard got out of bed, medkit in hand.

“Go replicate a bucket, Jim,” Leonard replied sourly, but not unkind, “I’ll handle it.”

Jim huffed, but he couldn’t deny that the bucket was a good idea, and so he made his way to the kitchen to do just that. When he returned to Spock’s room, somehow even dimmer than he had left it, Leonard was trying to coax Spock up into a sitting position, hand firm but gentle on Spock’s arm just below where the cuff of his shirt cut off. “Come on, Spock. I’m not gonna administer you an antinauseant, so you’re going to want to be sitting up for this.”

“Your aim is to induce vomiting,” Spock shot back suspiciously, but he obeyed all the same.

“It’ll make you feel better, I promise,” Leonard bargained gently. “Besides, I don’t have one that would be effective on Vulcans on-hand anyway.”

Jim handed Spock the bucket, which was accepted in an almost delicate manner, and Spock placed it between his two naked knees in preparation for what was surely to come.

Leonard continued, loading up a hypospray. “Pain and sensitivity first, alright?” Spock only nodded and Leonard administered the hypo. Spock’s face almost immediately went a little greener. Leonard turned to give Spock some illusion of privacy, then adjusted the setting on the hypospray. “Now you, Jim.”

Jim offered his arm without a fight, and was granted an almost immediate relief when Leonard released the cocktail into his system. With how many times they had been hungover togethernin the past, it was no wonder that Leonard had perfected the ratio for Jim’s systems.

Behind them, the medication took its predicted effect and Spock vomited into the bucket, drawing Leonard’s immediate attention as he automatically began rubbing tight circles on Spock’s back. “There you go. Little better?” Spock nodded minusculely and Leonard turned to Jim for a moment. “Mind getting you and Spock some water?”

“Yeah, no problem.” As he exited the room again, he could hear Leonard asking about any other symptoms Spock was having. Jim, through his relief, was grateful that Leonard was keeping the conversation professional for now, and not turning his sudden reappearance in their lives as some emotional event. Having to band together to take care of Spock somehow lessened the stress. Maybe it was because Leonard was just a good doctor, maybe it was because they knew each other and could put off whatever they had to say to do what needed to be done. Either way, the distinct lack of tension in Spock’s room was welcome, Jim thought as he returned with both glasses.

Leonard accepted Spock’s glass on his behalf and gently guided it into his open hand. “Now, sip slowly Spock. That’s it.” While Spock reacquainted his body with the wonders of water, Leonard ran him over once with a tricorder. “I’m gonna have to administer an antihol. Just how much did you two drink?”

“A lot,” Jim conceded as Leonard loaded up the appropriate cartridge.

Leonard treated Spock first, then motioned for Jim’s arm as well. “Must’ve done, to get a Vulcan drunk.”

Jim winced even though the shot was painless. “Yeah, that was kind of my fault.”

“Jim,” Spock spoke up behind them, still sounding wrecked, “You may recall I did not object at the time.”

“Not the point, Spock,” Leonard cut in, then indicated the bucket in Spock’s hands. “You think you’re done?” Spock nodded, and Leonard took the bucket in one hand, pushing at Spock’s shoulder with the other. “Jim’s had hangovers before; you haven’t. Go back to sleep.”

Spock was in no mood to fight, and he burrowed himself back under the covers without hesitation. Jim and Leonard exited the room quietly to allow Spock the space to recover, and Leonard headed straight to the kitchen without a word. Jim trailed after, watching Leonard put the temporary bucket and its contents straight into the matter recycler, where it was taken apart atom by atom and transported to replicator storage to be used again. “So that’s it, then?” Jim asked irritably, leaning against a wall with arms crossed.

Leonard sighed, washing his hands. “Do you want to do this now, or do you want to go back to sleep and recover some more first?”

Some of Jim’s fight deflated when he realized Leonard was just trying to be considerate in his own way. Maybe he had been reading him wrong this whole time. “No, let’s go ahead and get it over with while we’re talking.”

Leonard shrugged, then turned and leaned against the counter himself, the whole room a gap between them. “Alright,” Leonard said, voice light as if he was trying to distance himself further. “I’m sorry. I treated you like a kid and went behind your back because I thought I knew what was best for you. It wasn’t right, and you were right if you were angry at me. I’m an ass and I shouldn’t have broken your trust like that.”

It was a start, Jim thought. “And?”

Leonard blinked in confusion, and something about it really pissed Jim off. “That’s all I’ve got, Jim.”

“At least Spock had the decency to check in on me once in a while,” Jim spat.

That got to Leonard and he gestured forward, trying to reason with Jim with a rising voice. “I was giving you space! I didn’t want you to feel like I was trying to pressure you.”

“By cutting off all contact?”

“You didn’t exactly give me any reason to believe you wanted me checking up on you.”

Jim wanted to pull his hair out. “Jesus, Bones, I needed time to think, not for you to cut me off entirely.”

“And how was I supposed to know that, Jim?” Leonard abruptly lowered his voice when a neighbor knocked against the wall. “I’m a doctor not a psychic.”

Jim almost argued with him on that, but he couldn’t rightfully say Leonard was entirely wrong. “Alright, that’s fair.”

Leonard sighed, deflating. “Jim, I was worried sick about you.” That caught Jim’s attention and he let Leonard continue. “When Spock told me he had seen sexual injuries on you, I thought he meant someone had seriously hurt you, not that you were just marked up with hickies. You hadn’t asked to move in, so I thought I’d make a space for you so you didn’t feel like you were intruding, just in case you were in some kind of situation you couldn’t get out of.”

“I wasn’t,” Jim pointed out, unhelpfully.

“That’s not the point, Jim,” Leonard retorted, sounding tired. “I realized I didn’t even know where you lived, and I really only meant to find out. And then I saw your file and—”

“What was in it that got you so spooked, anyway?” Jim interrupted.

Leonard brought a knuckle up to his teeth, considering. “It’s a big file, Jim. Do you want me to just send it to you?”

Jim shook his head. That wasn’t going to cut it. “No, we’re going to go over it together so you can ask your questions and be done with it.”

“Alright,” Leonard answered lightly with a shrug. “Now?”

Jim thought for a moment, then reconsidered. “Later. What’s for breakfast?”

Jim didn’t realize how much he had missed Leonard’s smile until it brightened up the room. “Better fix up something greasy to sop up all that liquor.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

“When we go over the file,” Jim started around a mouthful of potatoes, “I’m gonna give you a pass.”

“Oh?” Leonard asked over his coffee.

“You can ask me anything about what’s in it and I can’t get mad,” Jim clarified. “Just this one time, so you better get it all out.”

Leonard mulled it over for a moment, then went back to reading off his PADD. “That’s more than fair.”

“And I’m still mad at you.”

“I know.”

“I’ll probably be moving in anyway.”

That gave Leonard pause, and he set his coffee down on the table.

“No point letting you worry yourself into an early grave over me.”

Leonard tried to hide a please look behind his toast. “Thanks, Jim.”

Jim indulged him, and pretended he didn’t see it. “No problem.”

And for the first time in a while, Jim felt right.

Chapter Text

Spock found the transition from living with Leonard to living with Leonard and Jim to be an easy one, but he had always found a certain comfort in the mercurial. He and Leonard had lived as two sides of the same coin: frequently working, rarely crossing paths outside the professional setting, naturally quiet and reclusive in the home. At times, Spock found their shared existence to be reminiscent of Vulcan. They had been on positive terms on the basis of sheer compatibility.

The introduction of Jim was a study in engagement. Jim sought him out for companionship and with genuine interest in the (nonexistent) changes in Spock’s world. He advanced their project in leaps and bounds after months of stagnation, simply by introducing the element of human unpredictability to the equation.

But also came the frequency of touch. Jim, Spock observed, was a hyper-tactile being, and seemed to both benefit from and provide constant sensory feedback as a matter of course. He would sit close, their shoulders would brush, Jim would lay a hand on Spock’s arm.

Sometimes when their skin touched, Spock would feel a warmth like home, like familiarity, like belonging. He chalked this all up as the natural emotional transference of someone without proper mental shields.

Deliberately neglected was the ghost of the taste of Jim’s lips at each touch of skin, a memory of contact of a different kind, an urge, a craving.

Living with Leonard was the desert. It was familiar, comfortable, and home to Spock: always present but not always at the front of his awareness. While it may not have seemed nurturing to those not well acquainted to the environment, Spock found himself wholly suited for it.

Jim was the oasis: cool, refreshing, and—in the right circumstances—exciting. And on some level, Spock feared he would experience a shock to his system should he dare to take a plunge into the depths.

So he declined.

Jim hadn’t realized before how much time and energy he had been putting into his daily survival until he found he didn’t have to do so anymore. Where his hours had once been eaten up by planning and doing to ensure a roof over his head, now he had time he didn’t know what to do with. For a while, he threw himself fully into the experiment with Spock, almost forcing it ahead by willpower alone.

Spock had invited his input and said he valued the assistance, but the back of Jim’s mind itched with the phantom of old habits all the same. There was a drive there to map out safe areas of the neighborhood, to calculate where the next nap could be taken, to plan a trip out and find somewhere (someone) new to sleep (with) so as to not wear out his welcome here.

It was as though his mind refused to process that there was no welcome to wear out. This was home now, and Jim was determined to force his mind to accept that.

Still, the need to be doing something was strong, and he was finding himself making messes of things just to have something to clean because all his energy was just begging to get out somehow. He needed something productive to do like he needed air, and Jim found he was at the end of his rope not even a whole month in.

It was with that in mind that Jim decided he needed to get his legal affairs in order, but he needed a better understanding of just what those were, and he sat down with Leonard at the dining room table to finally go over his file. It didn’t take long for Leonard to locate it—Jim had the suspicion that Leonard had been waiting for him to ask—and he passed the PADD to Jim without comment.

Jim read over the file once or twice, and all the while Leonard just waited. There was more in there than he thought would be, and enough information that he was sure Leonard had come up with the appropriate conclusions. Jim followed his medical record and various annotations that tied into his legal record all the way through his abrupt departure from Iowa over a year ago. One detail, though, had Jim’s eyebrows bunching in the middle. “The farm burnt down?”

Leonard blinked in surprise at both the question and the sudden breach of silence. “That’s what it says. Didn’t you know?”

“No,” Jim trailed off just for a moment, trying not to think about how his mother’s house was gone forever and he hadn’t even known. “I want to make this clear: I fought Frank before I left, but I didn’t set the farm on fire.”

“I believe you.”

“I mean it, Bones,” Jim persisted, needing him to understand. “It could have been an accident, or Frank trying to get back at me, or—”

“And I said I believe you,” Leonard asserted, cutting Jim off before he worked himself up further. “You don’t seem the fire-starting type.”

“Right,” Jim replied, nodding to himself, relieved that Leonard believed him. He really didn’t want to have anything to do with fire, not after—

Jim shook his head as if the action alone would clear the thoughts away. There would be plenty of time to revisit the past later if he wanted. “Do you have anything you want to ask me?”

“Your stepdad was hitting you, wasn’t he?” Leonard asked without deliberation, and Jim knew then that Leonard was taking the pass Jim had granted him seriously.

“He was,” Jim confirmed neutrally.

“Thought so,” Leonard muttered in distaste. “You were avoiding signing up for housing because you thought the cops would be coming for you after fighting him?”

“That’s right.”

“Have you been seeing somebody about Tarses?”

These were not the questions Jim thought Leonard would be asking, and it took him a second to process the change in topic. “I was assigned someone when we were rescued, but after we moved back to Iowa...” Jim let the implication dangle between them, looking away to a spot somewhere beyond Leonard. He had kept up with a therapist remotely when his mother had moved them all back to Iowa, but space had called to her like a siren, and without her making him go, he had eventually just stopped.

Leonard searched Jim for an emotional response, but Jim had a lot of practice on his poker face. “You fell through the cracks, huh?” Jim only nodded, and so Leonard continued on. “If you can tell me with a straight face that you’re over it, I’ll believe you. Otherwise, I’d like you to talk to someone about it. It doesn’t have to be professionally. Just—find someone you trust and talk it out for a while. I can recommend some therapists if you want, and they can keep everything off-record if you—”

“You,” Jim interrupted swiftly, suddenly very sure on who he wanted to talk it out with. He’d be lying if he said he was even remotely over everything that had happened on Tarses, and despite everything that had happened, Leonard was still his closest friend.

“Me?” Leonard echoed, uncertain.

Jim powered off the PADD and placed it down between them like a gauntlet. “I want you to be my therapist, Bones.”

Leonard balked. “I didn’t exactly major in psychiatry, Jim.”

“Even better,” Jim replied with a flippant tone of voice, trying to play it off like an off-the-hip decision and not a deliberate offer of trust, “Traditional psychiatry sounds boring anyway.”

Leonard caved as if it had been a relief to do so. “Don’t think just because we’re friends that I’m going to cut you any slack. I’m gonna be on your ass until you’re a functioning adult, and that means getting your damn identity tag.”

“Good,” Jim smirked as he rose from the table. “I look forward to it.”

Jim swooped in and pecked a kiss on Leonard’s cheek, then started out of the dining room before Leonard had time to react. Leonard called after him: “You’re not gonna flirt your way out of this, Jim!” And Jim smiled, because that was exactly what he’d hoped.

This was going to be fun.

Leonard found the transition from living with Spock to living with Spock and Jim to be a rocky one, but he had always been good in a crisis. He and Spock had lived as two hermits on the same mountain: understanding when they worked together, and respecting each other’s territory otherwise. At times, Leonard found their shared existence to be reminiscent of the end of his marriage with Jocelyn. They had been on positive terms by existing apart.

The introduction of Jim threw off his balance. Jim sought him out differently now—less as a bed and more as a friend. They went out for drinks and smoked on the porch, bringing color back into what had become a gray world for him.

But with genuine friendship came accountability, and Leonard almost found himself a father all over again trying to straighten Jim out. He called Jim out on his bullshit, and provided an open ear. Meandering conversations often took sharp, sudden turns into the murky depths that were the extent of Jim’s trauma, and while Leonard had been firm on the boundaries he had set for himself if nothing else, he often found himself lying in bed together with Jim, just holding him as a reminder of safety and home.

Sometimes when they laid together in the dark, Leonard would feel a pain like letting go, like anticipation, like well and truly cutting Jim off so he wouldn’t become too emotionally attached. He chalked this all up as something he’d held over from his divorce, and fought it back as best he could.

He was distinctly aware of Jim’s relationship with Spock—that while Spock may not have seemed emotionally available, Jim cared deeply for him and Leonard hoped that one day, Jim would see sense and go after Spock with everything he had.

Living with Spock was the desert. It was void, barren, and alien to Leonard: not always hospitable but where he chose to live. While he might not have been the most compatible, Leonard found he had adapted well.

Jim was the oasis: cool, refreshing, and—as Jim had always been—a source of life. And on some level, Leonard feared that if he drank too much, he’s suck Jim clean dry.

So he declined.

Chapter Text

November 2254

Jim Kirk was already a mess when Leonard had met him, and nine months later, Leonard was only just scratching the surface of it. It had taken over a month of talking, coaxing, and spirited debate—Jim’s favorite euphemism for outright arguing—to get Jim in contact with a lawyer. “To straighten out your shit,” Leonard had called it. Spock had agreed, though not in those precise terms.

And Spock had been there, present, steady, and patient throughout all the processing. Leonard figured even Spock had to know that Jim was a human meat-sack of unprocessed trauma, and it wouldn’t be resolved all at once. They’d managed to curve Jim’s habit of stashing snacks away in his room, and they’d even been able to cut down on the frequent nightmares, but Jim was still often a ball of frenetic energy, too wound up to stay in one place too long, and he had a habit of taking long walks when he felt too boxed in.

Leonard was still keen to call it progress, and Spock did not seem to disagree. Where Leonard played the role of kind doctor, Spock offered stone-cold logic where appropriate.

Jim was not always appreciative at the time, but sometimes that’s what it took, and it was that logic that finally got Jim into looking into what exactly he was wanted for in Iowa, if only because he wanted a reason to be out of the house, and finding work meant being able to prove who you are.

And so it was that Jim fell into Leonard’s bed for the first time since their argument months ago, a conduit for stress relief as much as a celebration of progress, and Leonard could not help but remark how different it felt from before. Jim was no longer playing a role, but fully involved and participating in a way that felt more natural now that Leonard knew Jim more.

Leonard was able to put off the realization that much about Jim before had been false—an act of self-preservation on Jim’s part—all the way up until they were both settling down for sleep. It hit him like a wall, then, and Leonard couldn’t let it lie. “Jim,” he called softly, not sure if Jim was even still awake to hear, “You wanted to do that, right? You didn’t just have sex with me ‘cause you thought I expected it, or felt like you had an obligation to?”

For a moment, Leonard that Jim really had been asleep, then Jim shifted, sitting up fully and looking Leonard dead in the eye. “Bones, I had sex with you because I wanted to, and I’m staying in your bed because I want to. I know I’m fucked up, but I’m not that fucked up.” Jim leaned forward briefly, placing a light kiss on Leonard’s forehead. “Now stop worrying and go to sleep.”

Appeased, Leonard shuffled down, scooting back until his back was flush with Jim’s front. Jim’s arm locked around his middle, and Leonard made a conscious effort to relax. “You seeing that lawyer tomorrow?”

“Yup,” Jim muttered dismissively into Leonard’s hair.

“What do you think she’ll say?”

“She’ll say you’re going to have a coronary if you don’t calm down and go to sleep.”

Leonard chuckled quietly at that, feeling the contentment of human contact and hormones washing over him and dragging him down to sleep. “Alright, Jim.”

Morning had Leonard up and out the door before Jim had even woken up, but that was fine. They weren’t teenagers in love, and Jim could use the rest for the day he likely had ahead of him. Leonard, for his part, was not going to wake him any more than he was willing to be late for his shift at the hospital.

He found he enjoyed the short walk to work now, much more so than he had before. The trees that lined the lanes felt warm even as they grew barren, and the people didn’t feel so distant and cold, even though they were much more bundled up than they had been in the summer months. It was all a matter of attitude, Leonard knew, and perspective.

It was that change of attitude that had Leonard bouncing on his toes as he waited for his coffee from the cafeteria replicator, when he spied his other roommate. “Morning, Spock.”

“Good morning, Doctor,” Spock returned, his cup of tea almost drained to the dregs, and Leonard had to marvel at how Spock could still look professional with his hair pinned and tied back in a small knot behind his head. It was taking time, but Spock had managed to simulate a year’s worth of growth in a little over a month with regular care and treatment. Now, he could gather most of it up in the back and only had to pin back a few locks that would otherwise come loose in the course of the day. Spock deposited his finished cup in the recycler and began down the hall while Leonard kept pace with him, coffee in hand. “I trust you slept well?”

Spock was being cheeky, Leonard could tell, but there was no malice behind it so Leonard took it in stride. “Very well, Mr Spock. Better than I have in a while.”

“Indeed,” the tilt of Spock’s head told Leonard that Spock knew fully well what Leonard meant, and wasn’t upset about it. Leonard had worried about that, too, just a bit—that Spock would have seen him and Jim sleeping together as an intrusion on whatever Spock had going on with Jim—but it seemed Spock didn’t mind in the least. “Did Jim say when he was meeting Ms Rosa?”

Leonard shook his head. “He was still asleep when I left, but I’m sure he’ll tell us all about it tonight.”

Spock hummed neutrally at that and they came up on Spock’s lab. “I am certain we will be able to overcome any obstacles that present themselves, regardless.”

“I don’t doubt it,” Leonard agreed. “Have a good shift, Spock.”

“And you, Leonard,” Spock offered before disappearing into the labs.

Spock’s well-wishes could only go so far, and Leonard was a doctor, not a miracle worker. Spock had just been preparing to leave for the day when he heard the call come in: a skimmer accident involving a young patient, riddled with complications.

Spock had anticipated walking home with Leonard that day—one of the rare occasions when the end of Spock’s longer shifts coincided with the end of Leonard’s own—but it seemed the journey was not in the stars for that day.

Knowing that his presence would neither benefit nor impede the hospital’s services in this regard, and that Leonard would not be available for some time, that Leonard would possibly even feel guilt at delaying him, Spock left for home alone, but not before asking the head nurse to provide him updates when she could.

Christine, always accommodating Spock’s requests, obliged.

When he came home from work, Spock sat in front of the mirror with a brush and began to take his hair down. His theory had been correct. His coworkers had not thought the change in style to be unprofessional, and in fact offered unsolicited tips on growing it out and caring for the new length. Spock was well-researched in the process, but he humored them all the same, knowing that it was coming from a place of caring, and not an assumption of ignorance.

In truth, he found he favored himself with longer hair, and he savored the time he took each day to care for it. It was a ritual for him now, just as it was to look after the rest of his body—almost a meditation, a grounding.

Spock heard the front door open and shut and listened carefully for the sounds of the steps. He identified them as Leonard’s, heavy with the weight of a long day. On a whim, Spock grabbed the follicle stimulator and headed out into the common area. He found Leonard in the kitchen, ordering a drink from the replicator in his own ritual. “Leonard,” Spock called softly by way of greeting, “If you are not otherwise engaged, I would ask a favor of you.”

Leonard spotted the brush-like device in Spock’s hand immediately. “Isn’t that yours and Jim’s thing?” he asked with only a small amount of curiosity.

And it was. While Spock was perfectly capable of providing the treatment to his own hair, he found that Jim enjoyed sitting behind Spock, running the device through his hair and watching it grow incrementally, and Spock, in truth, was not adverse to the contact. It was a bond-strengthening exercise—one Jim had reportedly found calming, and which Spock thought Leonard could benefit from today. Spock tried another angle. “I would be gratified if you would assist me.”

Leonard considered the idea, but not for too long. “I’m free now, if you’d like.”

Spock inclined his head just so. “Indeed.”

When Spock had settled onto the recessed couch of the conversation pit, Leonard arranged himself cross-legged on the floor behind him, drink set a ways to the side so he would not knock it over. “How long are we going for?”

“I believe 2 centimeters growth would be appropriate,” Spock replied without turning.

“Alright, 2 centimeters,” Leonard acknowledged, activating the device with some trepidation. He felt like he was intruding on something intimate, that he should ask Spock why he didn’t just wait for Jim. He had a feeling Spock would find the question illogical, and so he bit it down, and ran the stimulator through the first section of Spock’s hair. It moved easily, not catching at all through the strands. It was all still very healthy, Leonard observed, and Spock had done a great job caring for it and not pushing it too hard, not that Leonard had expected anything less.

Growth was slow but steady, only really measurable by comparing the section he was working on with other sections, and Leonard did not want to overtax Spock’s hair and potentially damage it, so he worked on the right side first, stopping occasionally to compare its length with that of the untreated sections.

Leonard fell into the rhythm of four strokes on top, four strokes underneath, then checking the length almost unconsciously. The motions were familiar to him from when he’d had to tame Joanna’s hair back, and he nearly fell into a kind of trance in the process. He found that he was more soothed than he typically achieved with a post-work drink, and that he truly did not mind running the brush through Spock’s hair.

Which brought him back to wondering why he was being invited in in the first place. “You and Jim fighting or something?” he asked, almost feeling surreal in the moment, doubting that Jim and Spock would ever fight.

“I simply wished to engage in this activity with you, Leonard,” Spock replied, and Leonard chose to believe him.

Finally, the right side was of the correct length, and Leonard moved to the back section. “I must admit, I’m surprised you’re taking an interest in your looks like this. Most Vulcans I know seem to be very utilitarian.”

Spock hummed in thought, perhaps an audio cue that he was not ignoring the question in lieu of tilting his head. “I find I have an increased interest in exploring my appearance than the norm.”

“Maybe your time among humans is affecting you,” Leonard offered, giving Spock an out in case the subject was uncomfortable.

“Perhaps,” Spock allowed, “Though the thought of extending the length of my hair predates my visit to earth.”

“Well, I think it looks good,” Leonard said, and he meant it.

Spock paused, and continued with a tone that suggested that something in what Leonard said had surprised him, but not in an unpleasant way. “Thank you, Leonard.”

“No problem,” Leonard said, comparing lengths before continuing to grow out the back section a little more. They lapsed into a silence, even more comfortable than the first that continued until after Leonard had finished with the back and was almost through with the left side. All the while, Spock sat perfectly still, looking forward in a relaxed state Leonard rarely saw him in. For the first time, Leonard noted just how long Spock’s eyelashes were—an adaptation well-suited to a desert world. “You know,” Leonard chimed up, not filtering the sudden thought as it occurred to him, “I bet you’d look great with a pinker eye shadow. Something more magenta. I think we’ve got something like that in the replicator.”

Spock peeked up to Leonard without moving his head. “I am open to this experiment.”

Leonard had thought he might be, and he compared the lengths of Spock’s hair, finding it to be even across the board. “Want me to put this up or leave it down?”

“I believe tying it back will allow for clearer access to my face,” Spock replied in obvious invitation.

“Got it,” Leonard replied, gathering Spock’s hair back, using the follicle stimulator in a powered-off mode instead of grabbing a proper brush. When he was satisfied with how the hair fell, he snapped the hairband off his wrist and secured it back. “Not too tight, is it?”

Spock faced Leonard for the first time since they had sat down, hair staying perfectly tamed. “It is perfect, thank you.”

A warmth spread in Leonard’s gut, threatening to climb up his throat, but he gamely fought it down. “Let’s go see what the replicator’s got,” he grunted, rising to his feet.

“Of course,” Spock nodded.

Leonard tried not to think just how beautiful Spock looked in that moment, and he buried himself in finding just the proper shades.

Chapter Text

When Jim finally came home, he was greeted with the sight of Leonard and Spock sitting cross-legged facing each other, Spock with one of Leonard’s hands in his own as he filed away at Leonard’s nails. It was hard to miss the shade of pink on Spock’s eyes, or that his nails were painted black, or that Leonard’s eyes were lined with a cat’s eye that could cut a man. They both barely glanced up at his entrance. Jim only smiled gently, setting the PADD and shopping bags on the counter. “Long day?”

“Yes,” was Leonard’s reply, and Jim knew immediately he wasn’t getting any more out of him on that front. And Leonard wasn’t likely to get up either, sitting there in the loose gray T-shirt and sweatpants that passed as his housewear. Spock had changed into the soft blacks that he typically wore under his robes.

They both looked so comfortable. “Mind if I join you?”

Leonard and Spock glanced at each other briefly, some kind of silent communication passing in a moment, though Jim doubted Spock had needed anything visual to gather Leonard’s opinion, given they were in direct contact. Spock was probably reading all the surface thoughts running through Leonard’s head. “We’d welcome it,” Spock replied for both of them, studying his work on Leonard’s hand.

“I’ll just get changed, then.”

Jim watched Leonard’s lilac-tipped fingers dance in and out of his vision as he painted a cloud on Jim’s cheek with the body paint Jim had pulled out of his room. Leonard was sporting a star on his, and he’d already seen Leonard’s work on the cat painted on Spock’s forehead. They’d moved the table to a corner of the pit and had sat together on the padded floor, Spock having only just now left to fetch some snacks. Jim wasn’t sure he’d ever seen Leonard so focused in his life. “You wanna talk about what happened?”

“No,” Leonard replied briskly, putting the final touches of stars on Jim’s cheek. “There, you’re done. Unless you want something else?”

“I think I’m alright,” Jim replied, studying the miniature painting on his cheek in the mirror. “You’re really good at this, Bones.”

Leonard was quick to deflect. “A surgeon’s got to have steady hands. Besides, I’ve got a kid, remember?”

“How old are they?” Spock asked as he returned with chips and hummus to snack on.

Leonard was the first to take a chip. “Jo’s 9 now.”

“I didn’t realize she was that old,” Jim commented innocently. “Aren’t you like 26?”

“I’m 27, Jim,” Leonard said with a swiftness that made Jim aware he either hit a nerve somewhere or Leonard’s day had been worse than he’d thought, “But, yeah, she is growing up pretty fast.”

Jim leaned back against the couch behind him. “You miss her a lot?”

“Of course I do,” Leonard shot back bitterly, hand unconsciously curled on his knee in the same shape it did when holding a joint, “And she’s growing up without me.”

Jim stood up with a little effort after having been on the floor so long. Joanna wasn’t the only one getting old. “How about we grab a drink and pop outside for a smoke?”

Leonard didn’t look impressed at the suggestion. “Jim, it’s 8 degrees outside.”

Spock touched a finger to his chin in thought, and Jim knew Spock knew something he didn’t. “I believe, considering the circumstances, I would not be opposed to you indulging indoors.”

Leonard didn’t look convinced. “You sure, Spock?”

“The environmental controls of our home are efficient,” Spock offered nonchalantly. “I do not believe one instance will be particularly damaging.”

Leonard offered Jim his hand, and Jim pulled him to a standing position so that he could fetch the rolling kit from his room. “Thanks, Spock. I owe you one.”

“It is of no consequence,” Spock assured at Leonard’s retreating back.

When Leonard’s door slid shut automatically behind him, Jim leaned towards Spock and spoke in a low murmur. “What happened at work?”

Spock’s eyes cast sideways, as if he was uncertain he should divulge the information. “Leonard performed emergency surgery on a young patient with an unborn child this afternoon. The result was not favorable.”

“Got it,” he whispered back with a cringe, before popping over to the kitchen to make some drinks. He called back over his shoulder after placing his and Leonard’s order: “You want an adios, Spock?”

Spock considered his answer for a moment. “I would prefer a bourbon.”

Jim chuckled. “Bones is gonna love that.”

“Gonna love what?” Leonard asked as he returned with the box he kept his rolling supplies in and settled back into his original spot in the pit.

Jim opened the freezer door for the bottle of unreplicated bourbon to refill their glasses with later. “Spock’s drinking bourbon.”

Leonard paused, head whipping over to Spock. “You drink bourbon?”

“I do not find the flavor as appalling as that of other liquors,” Spock conceded.

“Don’t let him fool you,” Jim said, clamoring back into the pit with their 3 drinks and the bottle of bourbon on a tray, “Spock was bourbon-wasted that time you had to treat him for a hangover.”

“I do not believe ‘wasted’ would be an accurate assessment of my condition that evening,” Spock responded, a little miffed.

Jim pointed Spock’s way with the hand that held his drink—a rum and coke—grinning wide. “You were rambling on about how beautiful perfectly comprehensible infinite numbers like pi were, and you started reciting all the digits from memory to see how far you could go.”

Leonard sniggered at that, having just licked the paper to seal the roll. Jim could have sworn he could have seen Spock’s cheeks color slightly at the memory, but that may have been wishful thinking on Jim’s part. “It was not memory; I had been doing the requisite mental calculation—hardly a feat possible for a ‘wasted’ individual.”

“A wasted human, maybe,” Jim allowed, but he dropped it when he heard Leonard’s lighter click. “Bones, you’ve gotta be the fastest roller in the West.”

Leonard’s voice was thick with the smoke exiting his lungs. “It’s called practice, Jim. Maybe if you learned how to roll you could beat me someday. You want a hit, Spock?”

Leonard had offered to be polite, and Jim knew that perfectly well, but Spock was full of surprises today, and he accepted the lazily offered joint after a moment’s hesitation. “I do not believe it contains any chemicals toxic to my system.”

“I wouldn’t be smoking inside if it did,” Leonard assured him, because of course he wouldn’t, and that was one of the things Jim loved about him. Leonard would have taken the time to research whether the smoke was harmful to Spock probably before they had even moved in together, on the off-chance that Spock would have come into contact with it. “Just inhale, hold it as long as you like, and let it go. Simple stuff.”

Spock nodded, then followed Leonard’s instructions with two pairs of eyes on him. At first, Jim thought Spock, with his Vulcan control and penchant for doing everything perfectly the first time he tried, would be able to execute the action flawlessly, but on the exhale, Spock gave in to a short bout of coughing, and that alone made Jim’s day.

Leonard rubbed Spock’s back while Jim accepted the joint from him with a grin. Leonard’s look was sly. “You think the two of us can handle a high Vulcan?”

Jim shrugged. “We’ll see.”

Spock, predictably, did become more proficient, but kept his hits small. So as to not overwhelm myself was the reason he gave, but Jim thought he just didn’t want to embarrass himself coughing again. Jim knew Spock liked to remain dignified when he could and the fact that he had coughed in the first place was probably mortifying as it was, so Jim kindly did not call him out on it.

The three of them were sitting side by side now, still on the floor, facing the window that overlooked the park with the lights dimmed, watching the wind rustle the trees. Jim had long abandoned his cocktails in favor of bourbon as well, so as to not have to keep going back and forth for another drink.

It was quiet for a time, all three content to just exist with the others in silent camaraderie after the playfulness granted by crossfading had worn off. Jim’s arms were painted up to his shoulders now, courtesy of one Leonard McCoy, decorated with winding roads and beaches and trees and many other scenes Jim couldn’t quite rotate his arms to see properly. He lamented that he’d have to wash them off, lest they stained his bed.

Then, out of the silence, came Leonard’s voice, calm and steady. “Jocelyn turned 26 today.” Leonard emptied his glass. “You know, she was just 16 when I got her pregnant?”

So that was it, Jim thought to himself as he quietly refilled Leonard’s glass. Spock, instantly proficient at anything and everything, took this as a cue to roll another joint. “You were just kids yourselves,” Jim commented neutrally as he bumped the glass against Leonard’s hand.

Leonard nodded, accepting the drink automatically, but he didn’t take sip just yet, instead just gazing forward with a distance in both his stare and voice. “She kept her. I told her I’d support her either way, I’d even take her over to the clinic the next county over and no one would have to find out, if that’s what she wanted. But she kept her.”

Spock lit the end and got the cherry going, then passed it silently to Leonard, who took a long drag.

“Her daddy hated me—still does. Found out we were foolin’ around even before her birthday. He told me I could marry her or I could leave and that would be the end of it, but if I ever left her and he caught me in Georgia again, he was going to the judge.”

“So you married her?” Jim asked while Leonard took a swallow from his glass.

“I did,” Leonard confirmed. “Wasn’t even sure I really loved her, but I did. She knew, of course. Told her right away what her daddy’d told me. She wouldn’t see him run me out of town like that.”

Jim watched Leonard get lost in some middle space for a moment, then brought him back. “But it didn’t work out, did it?”

Leonard looked at him, then, holding together for now, but not by much as he continued on, almost rambling. “I didn’t love her, Jim. No matter how much she loved me. We didn’t hate each other, but I didn’t love her the way she deserved to be. I didn’t even know what love was until Joanna was born. We decided to stick it out for Joanna, anyway—that if she ever found somebody she loved and loved her back, we were gonna get a divorce and she could be happy the way she should.” Leonard sighed. “And she did, eventually. We went and got a quickie divorce behind her daddy’s back, and I lived with her and Tamira until I got the post here.”

Jim took a hit of the dwindling joint himself. “And that’s why you can’t go back to Georgia?”

Leonard nodded. “Not yet, not unless I wanna risk getting a sex offense on my record. No Romeo and Juliet law in Georgia.”

“It is an unfortunate situation,” Spock offered, “That you are unable to visit your daughter due to threat on your person is regrettable.”

“You’d think they’d just leave Georgia,” Jim thought aloud. “You and Jocelyn still care about each other, right? Can’t she just move somewhere else where you could visit once in a while?”

“That’s their home, Jim,” Leonard reasoned sleepily, sinking lower against the couch. “I couldn’t do that to her.”

“No,” Jim agreed, laying his arm across Leonard’s shoulder in half an embrace, shooting a glance towards Spock over Leonard’s head, “I guess you couldn’t.”

Spock left the pit as Leonard began nodding off, coming back once to leave Leonard’s medkit and 3 glasses of water on the table they’d pushed to the side, and once more with a large blanket. Leonard barely stirred when Jim scooted them down to lay on the soft floor, taking a few cushions to serve as pillows with them, nor when Spock draped the blanket across them before joining them for bed, Leonard in the middle, already lost in the world of sleep.

Chapter Text

Leonard woke curled up again Jim’s torso, his head resting on Jim’s shoulder, Jim’s arm serving as his pillow. Leonard’s arm rested across Jim’s middle, and Jim’s held his waist. Groggily, Leonard realized that was too many arms on that side of Jim’s body, and he ceased burying himself into Jim’s side to do a recount. The nails grazing where his stomach had become exposed were coated in black nail polish, not Jim’s but—

Spock’s voice came low behind him as his body shifted slightly upright. “It’s only me, Leonard.” Leonard wondered how long Spock had been awake. “You can relax, we have some time before we must get up.”

Leonard snorted quietly, though he knew that when Jim slept, he slept as though he were dead. “I am relaxed.”

Spock tapped a finger against the exposed skin of Leonard’s stomach. “Vulcans have a degree of contact telepathy, Doctor.”

That only served to make Leonard more uncomfortable, though a part of his mind realized Spock couldn’t be that good at it if he thought Leonard had been riled up because he thought he was late for work. “So you’ve been reading my mind this whole time?”

Leonard could hear Spock shake his head behind him. “Like this, I can gather your emotional state, and clear dominant thoughts. Your mental privacy is secure.” That did appease Leonard some, and he adjusted his posture only slightly so that the rest of sleep didn’t seep away from him. “If it is my presence that is disturbing you, I can move.”

Leonard considered it briefly, but it wasn’t necessary. Spock’s presence was unexpected, but not unwelcome, and it had been a long time since Leonard had been sandwiched like this. He found the living pressure on both sides of him calming. “No. Stay a bit longer, Spock.”

Spock obligingly shuffled back down, laying against Leonard’s back as he likely had all night. “Jim said the human term for this is a cuddle puddle. Are there benefits to this arrangement?”

“Humans derive a sense of safety and belonging when in physical contact with those they are familiar with,” Leonard replied, humoring Spock. “Many of us find it soothing.”

“Then touch is beneficial for humans as well,” Spock concluded.

“For different reasons than for Vulcans,” Leonard allowed, “But yes.”

Spock hummed and Leonard could feel his nose in his hair. “And are you soothed?”

Leonard couldn’t stop the snort-laugh that escaped his nose. “I’m much better than I was last night, Spock. Thank you.”

“You are quite welcome, Leonard.” Spock’s communicator chimed behind them and Spock activated it long enough to read the message and send a brief reply. “Chapel reports the condition of both patients are improving. M’Benga believes it will be possible to reincorporate the fetus once both are sufficiently recovered, if the patient wishes it.”

Relief washed over Leonard for a moment, before exactly what Spock said occurred to him, and Leonard peeked back over his shoulder suspiciously. “M’Benga was scheduled off today.”

Spock met his eyes, a picture of innocence. “Chapel informed me you were required to have a ‘24 hour turnaround’ before returning as you were ‘forcibly ejected’ from the hospital. The schedules were adjusted accordingly.”

Leonard’s eyes narrowed further, not believing for a moment that Spock was not involved in the decision. “She would. And you?”

“My position in the lab offers me the flexibility to work when I wish to.”

Meaning, Leonard translated in his mind, Spock had told them that if he would be in today, he would likely be late. Leonard wondered how he had gotten stuck saddled with such a meddlesome Vulcan. Still, it wasn’t as though Spock had acted out of malice, and Leonard could accept that. “Sounds about right.”

Spock behind him sounded vaguely startled. “The truth should always seem correct, Leonard.”

“Go back to sleep, Spock.”

The next time Leonard stirred, Jim was waking up as well, and then it was well and truly time to get up. “Morning Jim.”

“Morning Bones,” Jim returned, surprisingly clear for someone who had just returned to the world of the living. Jim glanced behind Leonard, and continued without any surprise at all: “Morning Spock.”

“Good morning, Jim,” Spock replied, sitting up first of everyone.

Leonard could feel Jim trying to stretch beneath him, so he sat up as well to free Jim’s arm, and Jim rose in a deep stretch. “Feeling better, Bones?”

“Yeah, I’m alright.”

Jim nodded absently, and Spock spoke up. “Did you have a successful meeting with Ms Rosa yesterday?”

Leonard blanched, only just realizing they had forgotten about Jim with his own crisis last night. “Yeah, what’d she say?”

“We’re good,” Jim assured them. “The fire was started from a lit cigarette in Frank’s room. Kelly had already provided the footage to the police proving I was at the bar when it started. The police just wanted a statement on record because Frank tried to say I burned the place down.” Leonard released a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. All this over an accident. Jim noticed the water left out on the table and started distributing the glasses. “I can get my ID when I’m ready.”

Leonard couldn’t help but feel embarrassed. “So we could have been celebrating if I hadn’t spent the whole evening moping around. I’m sorry, Jim.”

“We can celebrate another time,” Jim assured him lightly, “When we’re all feeling up to it. Hungover?”

Leonard shook his head. “Nope. Spock?”

“I am adequate.”

Jim’s grin was wide and cheesy, and perfectly appropriate in Leonard’s mind as Jim picked himself up off the floor. “Then I’d say last night was a success. Now, let’s get some breakfast.”

Not an hour later, Leonard found himself at the hospital ahead of schedule, Jim and Spock in tow, reading over a lab report Leonard didn’t doubt Spock would have done if he himself wasn’t the patient. The panel came back just as Leonard had suspected, though he shook his head at it all the same. Jim and Spock were going to be the death of him, though Jim was the one outside the room this time. “Congratulations, Spock, you are the first Vulcan in history with a recorded banana allergy.”

Spock, blotchy and pumped full of an antihistamine that was working slower than Leonard would have liked, was unimpressed. “As bananas are not indigenous to Vulcan, my people would not have had much opportunity to develop such a reaction.”

“Well, you have,” Leonard said, filing the report away and trying to pull up Spock’s medical record despite the VSA security screen surrounding it. “Anything else I should be aware of? Like why you aren’t responding to divoradine?”

Spock’s response was cool, and Leonard thought it a bit out of place. “Desloratadine should be sufficient.”

Leonard peeked up from over the PADD, surprised that Spock would even suggest that. Maybe the reaction was affecting him more strongly than Leonard had thought. “That’s a human medicine, Spock.”

Something in Spock stilled, and Leonard watched as he visibly reassessed the situation. “You do not have access to my medical record?”

Leonard turned the PADD around, showing Spock the error message on the screen. “I have about as much information on you as anything else handled by the VSA.”

The fact that Spock hesitated before he wordlessly reached forward for the PADD did not appease Leonard in the slightest, but he passed it over anyway. Spock mutely inputted his own credentials, bypassing the security lock-out entirely, then handed the PADD back to Leonard. Leonard felt his own shields go down as he read it over briefly before he ordered the computer to lock the door to ensure Spock’s privacy. It was easy to submit to Spock’s logic in the face of the facts, and Leonard adjusted the settings on his hypospray for desloratadine. Spock accepted the injection passively.

“I guess that explains why alcohol affects you,” Leonard stated quietly, conversationally, as he monitored Spock’s reaction to the medication. At least it was favorable.

“Indeed,” Spock replied, and Leonard couldn’t read anything from it.

Leonard ran his tricorder over Spock briefly, confirming that Spock should be experiencing some physical relief at least. “If you want to talk about it, we can talk about it. If you don’t want to, I’ll shut up. Either way, until you tell me otherwise, you’re still Vulcan to me.”

That, it seemed, finally got Spock to relax, and Leonard had to wonder just what kind of reaction Spock had thought Leonard would have upon discovering Spock was half-human. “Thank you, Doctor.”

Leonard paused just long enough to know Spock didn’t intend to follow that up further. “You can go, Spock, but please, if anything comes up,” Leonard trailed off, letting the implication hang between them. If anything came up, personal or medical, that Leonard could assist with—

Spock nodded. “I shall come directly to you.”

Leonard smiled gently. That was all he asked.

Leonard’s shift went blessedly easily after that, much to his relief. A dull day was a good day in the world of medicine, in Leonard’s opinion, and he settled down in the break room with a coffee and sandwich, reviewing a patient file in his down time when Christine Chapel joined him at the table.

“Love what you’ve done with your eyes today, Len,” she commented sincerely.

“Thanks,” Leonard said glancing up. The cat-eye that Spock had drawn had smudged into a smokey eye look that Leonard had a hard time achieving on his own. “It’s my roommate’s work, I just touched it up this morning.”

“Well they did a good job.” Leonard nodded in agreement and they lapsed into a friendly silence. Christine propped her chin up in her hand. “Was that Mr Spock in your office earlier?”

Leonard swallowed his bite before answering. “He came in with an allergic reaction to some fruit, but he’s fine. It wasn’t severe.”

She nearly dropped her hand back to the table in surprise. “He came directly to you?”

“We’ve got a rapport,” Leonard lied by telling the truth. He hadn’t told anyone that he and Spock had moved in together, mostly because it wasn’t anyone’s business, and also because it would breach Spock’s right to privacy to do so.

Christine ticked her head sideways in a shrug, “I guess you’re the closest thing he has to a friend here. I don’t think he even talks to anyone else.”

“Mr Spock is a person, just like anyone else,” Leonard said without too much force, almost a reminder to himself. Vulcans weren’t the invincible, homogeneous untouchables they sometimes made themselves out to be. They were individuals, with their own unique personalities, histories, and problems. “The sooner everyone remembers that, the better.”

Christine pursed her lips at that, lamenting through a pout. “He’s just so hard to get to know.”

“Christine, if you want to talk to the man, then talk to him,” Leonard advised as he gathered his dishes for the recycler. “You’ll find out he’s more relateable than you think.” And before he could say something he shouldn’t, Leonard left the table to go back on shift.

He’d just about had it with everyone’s misconstrued ideas about Spock.

The next time Leonard went on his rounds, his patient was awake, though not sitting up yet. Which was good, because if he had been sitting up, Leonard would have made him lay back down anyway. “Are you the one who operated on me?” he asked with the tone of a person who had asked this question of others before.

“I am,” Leonard confirmed, placing the chart back at the end of the bed.

The patient, Darryl, looked Leonard up and down briefly, and Leonard wondered at what Darryl saw. “The nurse told me you saved both of us. Thank you.”

“All in a day’s work,” Leonard offered lightly, perching up against the empty bed next to the one Darryl occupied.

Darryl settled back flat, looking away from Leonard and up at the ceiling. “Will you be able to put them back?” he asked softly, voice wavering just a bit.

“You both will need to heal a bit more, but I believe we will have no problem reincorporating the fetus,” Leonard confirmed, “If that’s what you want.”

Darryl just nodded at that, still distant and slipping back into sleep. “Thank you, Doctor.”

Though Darryl’s eyes had slipped shut, Leonard still replied: “You’re welcome.”

Leonard pinched his eyes at the sight of the man who sat across from him at his office—a man who was supposed to be staying home with his roommate that day. “I can’t conduct this interview, Jim,” he said, placing Jim’s resume back down on the table.

“Why not?” Jim asked haughtily.

Leonard rolled his eyes. “Because I’m biased.”

Jim pointed to the note he’d attached to the paper on Leonard’s desk. “That’s alright. See? I’ve got a letter of recommendation from Spock.”

“That’s even worse!”

Jim threw himself back into his seat in a snit. “So you’re not going to hire me because we’re roommates?”

“No, I’m not conducting the interview because we’re roommates,” Leonard groused as he thumbed his intercom. “McCoy to M’Benga.”

“M’Benga here.”

Leonard pointedly ignored Jim crossing his arms. “I’ve got an applicant for the inventory security position in my office. Would you mind giving the interview?”

“Sure thing, Len. I’ll be right up.”

“Thanks, Geoff,” Leonard said, deactivating the intercom, then addressing Jim again. “Dr M’Benga will be here in a minute. If you’re as qualified as Spock says you are, then you’ll have the job.”

Jim was still visibly peeved at the hoops he was having to leap through, but he relaxed all the same. “Thanks, Bones.”

Leonard stood. “I’ll see you at home.”

Chapter Text

A week later had Jim installing new locks throughout the hospital, with a special emphasis on supply areas. It had been a tedious process at first, determining what precautions to take for each space, and how to implement them for the extra security without compromising efficiency. There were things that would need to be accessed without a moment’s notice, and a lengthy check process could have disastrous consequences in an emergency. And so it became that the non-emergency medications would be secured with a voice print lock, with a passive DNA scan as the person entered the room, coupled with updated shelving and containers that would track what was added or removed as it happened.

Jim released the wrench in his hand, and it hovered in place as he checked his work. “Phillips-head screwdriver, small,” he said clearly, the voice command sending the wrench back to the toolbox, and the screwdriver into his right hand, attracted by the wristband he wore there.

Beyond the door, Spock was transferring materials from their old containers to the updated versions, cataloging as he went so the inventory would be most accurate, as he had been for the past hour. He was, perhaps, not working at his most efficient, but it wouldn’t do to be hasty and risk errors that would cause issues down the line. Indeed, without an aide to verify with as they went, it was better to double-check his own work, just to be safe. It had nothing at all to do with the companionable silence he and Jim had been working in, or how comfortable and right it seemed to be.

“Spock,” Jim called, “Can I borrow you a minute for a systems check?”

“Most certainly,” Spock replied, ever obliging. Besides, it wouldn’t hurt to verify his credentials had been accurately assigned. He wouldn’t want trouble accessing the materials he needed later on.

To say things were going smoothly would have been an understatement. At work, all the priority systems had been installed within a week, with the less urgent ones going up as the time and space became available. For the most part, Spock had been able to continue his regular tasks, though sometimes Jim called upon him to assist when the job was too much for just one person. Though occasionally, Spock volunteered himself, such as when the time came to update the locks on Leonard’s office. This was, of course, not at all to be witness to Leonard’s huffing as he was booted from his own space for the afternoon. It was simply a professional desire to see that the task was done quickly, so as not to inconvenience the doctor more than necessary. Leonard had voiced his doubts to such quite clearly. If Spock had a corner of his lips upturned at the time, it was most certainly not in amusement.

At home, Spock found the situation to be stable, even with the degree of what Jim had called “affectionate bickering” Leonard brought to the table. With something to do outside the house, the manic energy that seemed to follow Jim wherever he went seemed to subside, much to everyone’s relief.

So it was stable, yes, though not necessarily balanced. Jim, ever tactile, had fostered nebulous relationships with Spock and with Leonard, but Spock still found he and Leonard not to be as close just yet. It was as if he and Leonard were stuck in Jim’s orbit, and came close for short periods more by coincidence in their revolutions than by a genuine connection with each other. They simply were not yet adequately sociable with each other, in Spock’s opinion.

However, relationships were a malleable thing, and Spock was well prepared to step in and change the shape.

It was fortuitous then that Spock and Leonard would once in a while end their shifts around the same time. It didn’t happen often, with Leonard’s shifts frequently changing based on the hospital’s needs, but they could generally leave for work together, and (with a little overtime here, or an early leave there on Spock’s part) at least once a month, go home together.

It was on such a walk home, that Spock suggested a diversion into a coffee shop, just for a bit of a treat. Jim would not be home for some time yet, he reasoned, and the evening was particularly cold. Leonard, cheeks a little red from the chill, had no objections.

And so it was they were sitting across each other, Spock with his hands wrapped around his cup for the extra warmth, and not at all as a way to keep them still, and Leonard sipping slowly, savoring the mocha Spock had gotten a sip of by mistake a couple minutes prior. Perhaps it was that small amount of chocolate, sitting warm in his gut like a shot of what Jim would call “liquid courage”, but Spock, feeling bold, broke the easy silence. “Leonard,” Spock began, “I would like to propose that we deepen our relationship.”

Leonard, with a great amount of self control, did not spit his coffee across the table. Spock noticed the unease that seeped into Leonard’s shoulders as he hesitated, though he gamely kept it off his face. “I thought you and Jim had a thing,” he said, voice steady and clear.

“That fact does not preclude the possibility of you and I becoming similarly close,” Spock reasoned. “On the contrary, I believe you and I could provide support for each other in ways that Jim, by his nature, may not.”

“I don’t need the extra support,” Leonard said hastily.

“Leonard—” Spock began, but Leonard cut him off:

“I just don’t think it would work, Spock.”

Spock closed his eyes a moment, gathering himself before the conversation devolved into an argument, then regarded Leonard once again. His body language seemed defensive, facial expression peeved. There was no progress to be made at this time, and Spock took a sip of his coffee, considering. “I see no reason why we would not be able to strengthen our friendship. We have proven we are able to be companionable, and that neither of us particularly offends the other. The increased confidence and reliance I am proposing could only serve to benefit us both, and it would be illogical to presume we would not be able to do so, given our mutual history at this time. So please,” Spock concluded as he rose from his chair, “Consider it.”

Spock left then, but Leonard lingered until long after his coffee had gone cold.

“That was... unexpected,” Leonard thought after Spock left. Spock had been the last person he would have thought would suddenly express feelings for him over coffee, as far as emotions even came into the picture for Spock, and him asking for a relationship directly was nothing short of a shock to his system.

Leonard’s mind travelled back to a month or so ago, when a bad day at work had culminated in a Leonard sandwich, with Jim and Spock on either side of him, and Leonard wondered if that had anything to do with Spock’s increased interest. Either way, things were going to be super awkward now, at home and at work, and Leonard didn’t know if he could handle a pining Vulcan.

But then again, maybe it wouldn’t, Leonard considered as he rolled the cup in his hand in circles along the table. While Leonard had assumed Spock had brought him here for a love confession when he talked about deepening their relationship, Spock had specifically said friendship in the end. Spock was Vulcan afterall; it wouldn’t have been a stretch to believe that Spock was unaware what his original phrasing implied. It was possible there was a misunderstanding, and that in the face of it, Leonard had overreacted—just a bit.

And being genuine friends with Spock couldn’t be too bad. Jim seemed to get a lot out of it, and Spock wasn’t lying when he implied he could help in ways Jim wasn’t suited for, the same way Jim had a different friendship with Spock than he had with Leonard. It might be nice, even, to have someone to go to when he needed to work through something logically, instead of the gut instinct that seemed to be the center of everything that was Jim Kirk.

Coffee spent, Leonard rested his head in his hands, still not totally convinced that a friendship was all Spock was after, and not at all ready to face him at home. “Dammit, Spock, why’d you have to go and do that?”

It was late when Leonard finally made it home, and he made a beeline straight for the kitchen, ordering a hot chocolate with Baileys for a quick warm-up. Spock, as if he had sensed Leonard’s return (and with Spock’s abilities, Leonard thought, he may have done just that), chose that time to exit his room. Spock waited until he had made it to the kitchen to offer a greeting, probably assessing the situation as he crossed the living-space and playing it off as not wanting to talk across the flat. Leonard wondered when he had gotten so good at reading Spock. “Good evening, Leonard.”

“Good evening yourself,” Leonard replied, a little tired but not snippy as Spock busied himself ordering a water from the replicator. It seemed he was content to leave it at that for now, and so it was Leonard who took initiative after a bracing breath. “About what we talked about at the cafe.”

This gave Spock pause before he continued neutrally: “What would you like to discuss?”

Leonard deliberately did not look in Spock’s direction. “When you said you wanted to deepen our relationship, did you mean romantically or platonically?”

“I am not accustomed to romantic feelings, and so I am not certain how to discern the difference between the two,” Spock began, “However, I would be content to advance our friendship in the manner you are most comfortable with.”

That didn’t really help things at all, in Leonard’s opinion, but for Spock’s sake, Leonard decided to be direct, and regarded Spock almost clinically, as if they were banging out the details of an experiment and not things as complicated as emotions. “Spock, I’m not really wired for romantic relationships, so if we’re going to do anything it’s going to be platonic. You see, I’m what we humans call aromantic; I don’t experience romantic attraction.”

“Indeed,” Spock said at length, glancing down briefly in consideration. “Do you also experience repulsion at the idea of romantic relationships?”

“I wouldn’t call it a repulsion,” Leonard explained. “But I’ve never been in one that worked out, and the idea of someone being romantically interested in me does make me a little uncomfortable.”

Spock nodded sagely, and Leonard felt some relief that Spock was taking the conversation seriously. “Is Jim aware?”

“We’ve had a similar conversation,” Leonard hedged, then elaborated. “Some people have some misconceptions about what being aromantic means, so I try not to say it outright just in case. But you’re a Vulcan, so…” Leonard trailed off, gesturing vaguely in Spock’s direction.

“You believed we would be able to find “common ground”, and that our friendship would not be adversely affected by my knowledge of your orientation,” Spock supplied.

“Yeah,” Leonard added lamely, “That.”

“I am honored to have earned your trust in this matter,” Spock replied, sounding sincere. “I hope we may both continue to similarly rely on each other in the future.”

“I’ll drink to that,” Leonard said, bringing his glass forward, which Spock met with his own. “To a beautiful friendship.”