Archive of Our Own ^beta

“Dr. McCoy, your presence before the Vulcan High Council, and therefore the Royal Crown, is required immediately.”

There was a guard holding each of Leonard’s arms, heaving him through the door of his office. “Take care of Joanna until I get back—” the doctor managed to shout over the clamor of armor. If I get back.

He thought he heard Christine answer with ‘Of course,’ but her voice was lost in the clatter of metal.

For nearly two days Leonard was stuck in a carriage. He kept reliving his leaving in his mind; Surely he could trust Chris with his practice, but to leave his daughter, without warning or reason— How long could they possibly keep me? Will Joanna understand that I didn’t have a choice?

…

Leonard had never had a desire to see the Vulcan capital, a busy city that boasted its modernity, but the palace was a sight to behold: It sat atop the slope that cradled the city, its tall, silvery walls and many gleaming windows a beacon to be admired for miles. As they drew closer Leonard could see more of the grounds: a lush lawn behind the towering gates, the sprinkled green of spring hedges that hinted at a garden beyond. Atop the palace perched three peaked domes of glass, each with a spire sporting a long, silk flag.

He supposed he knew he was going to be brought here, though for what, no one could tell him. Still, when the carriage passed through the gates Leonard felt his hands begin to shake. He tried to remember how to breathe.

The carriage did not pull up to the front doors of the palace, but cut between the hedges onto a hidden lane that hooked to the nearest side of the palace. They skidded to a stop; Guards opened the carriage doors and ushered Leonard from his seat. He was hurried through a gap in the wall— a hidden door, he realized— that was shut behind him. Darkness swallowed them.

“What the hell is all this?” Leonard’s voice echoed back to him in the endless black of the corridor.

“We’re only following our orders,” came the voice of the guard who had orchestrated the doctor’s abduction. Sparks of flint flew up unfinished stone walls, and then a torch flickered to life. “This way, please.”

Leonard had another thought to turn back, to flee from the crown— But even if he could get away from the guards, (of which Leonard realized at least two more had followed them into the darkness) they would know where to go looking for him.

They walked through the narrow tunnel in single file, sometimes sideways; The floor sloped upwards, then downward again, and twisted so suddenly that Leonard felt his stomach churn. Other paths branched from theirs, their destinations lost to the pitch. At last the corridor widened and Leonard could look beyond his captors: The tunnel ended with a shiny, black door with a lever of twisted silver. The two guards behind Leonard stood shoulder to shoulder, blocking the exit.

“Are you ready to speak before the Vulcan High Council?”

“N-Now?” This was hardly the pomp Leonard expected to precede the highest seats in the Kingdom; He ran his fingers through his hair in hopes that would soothe his appearance.

The guard gave him a moment, then swung the door open and gestured for Leonard to step into the room beyond. The doctor swallowed, walked into a circular room, and flinched when he heard the door slam and lock behind him.

A man’s cool, even voice cut through the dark: “Are you the Doctor Leonard McCoy?”

The floor Leonard stood on was dropped so he had to look up at the members of the Council. Firelight flickered on the walls behind them; One silhouette bore a tall crown. “Yes, Your Majesty.”

King Sarek continued, “Then, Doctor, you have developed a reputation of being most skilled for a human— That you treat a number of both physical and mental conditions with significant success. Is this a claim to bolster your establishment?”

Leonard scoffed, “If you had doubts about my abilities, why would you rush me all the way here?”

Whispers wove through the council members. The Vulcan tongue was a well guarded secret, never to be taught to those whose did not carry the blood of the Gods in their veins. The strange constants crept down the tall walls of the chamber. One Common phrase found its way to Leonard’s ears: “Mind your tongue.”

Before the doctor could defend himself King Sarek spoke again: “You will forgive us for the secrecy, Doctor; We are usually more hospitable to our new staff, but you must understand that what you are to do here is not to be discussed.”

“I’m a good doctor,” Leonard sighed. “I want to help— And I mean no disrespect, Your Majesty— but I have a family—”

 “My son, the Prince, will be wed within the year. Were you aware of this?”

“I heard rumors, but I’m a busy man.” Leonard managed to stop himself from adding, and I couldn’t give a damn.

“Should you speak any rumors of your stay here, including with other members of staff, you will be swiftly punished; But, should you prove an effective doctor, you will be significantly compensated for your work.”

Leonard couldn’t deny that a little gold would go a long way not just for the care of his patients, but for his and Joanna’s livelihood. “What would you have me do, Your Majesty?”

There was another round of whispers, a hushed debate that was once again silenced by Sarek. “The Prince is well learned in Vulcan traditions, yet his emotional state has been disruptive to any further progress; He needs to be tempered. Vulcan physicians have applied many techniques to subdue his outbursts, but it is time to attempt less refined tactics.”

“You want me… To tame the prince… So he can get married?” but as Leonard was saying it he thought it sounded ridiculous.

“In essence, yes.”

Leonard took a breath. “That’s not the kind of condition we can correct overnight,”

“Then rest assured that you will have all summer.”

“All summer, I’ll miss my daughter’s birthday—”

King Sarek stood, his silhouette becoming taller still. “Then make haste, Doctor, and we will gladly send you home sooner.” He turned and left through an unseen doorway.

In the king’s absence another member of the Council stood, their voice not as smooth as Sarek’s. “As His Majesty has instructed, your mission is of utmost secrecy. We are not to discuss the Prince’s condition under any circumstances, least of all to the servants.”

“I understand,”

“Therefore, you will be known as an attendant, specializing in medicinal teas and seeing to Prince Spock as often as he sees fit. You will be allowed access into the southern gardens and introduced to the kitchen staff in short order.” They gestured to another figure and several more began to stand.

“But not as a doctor? You bring me here for my skills and then won’t let me talk about them? About myself?”

“Is that beyond your ability?”

“I— No, but—”

“Wait here and someone will come to collect you and show you to your new room. Good luck, Doctor; The prince can be stubborn.”

…

As promised a young servant collected Leonard from the dark, brought him back into the light of the palace, and lead him to the kitchens and pantries. The walls here retained warmth and there was a low buzz of staff; Even the windowless corners were strikingly alive compared to the servant passages.

Leonard’s room was small but private and had a desk large enough to be functional. He was introduced to several cooks and wait staff who generously showed their new tea specialist the door to the connecting southern gardens. Leonard could already see himself writing letters on the low walls that surrounded the square of seasonings and medicinal herbs. He stood in the sun and stretched.

The doctor was just deciding that he should relax, maybe try his new bed, when an older woman with kind eyes approached him. “Excuse me, McCoy? The prince is ready to see you,”

…

Never met royalty until today and now I ’m going for the whole court.

The route to the prince’s rooms was quick and brightly lit; His double doors were decorated in cast silver, amethysts inlaid in the handles. The woman left Leonard before he’d thought to ask her if he should knock, or just walk in; He debated for a full minute in the empty hall.

At last Leonard summoned enough courage to knock. He waited, doubted he was loud enough— and then the door opened. On the other side was not another servant, but a Vulcan too handsome, too well decorated to be anyone but Prince Spock himself:

Silver jewelry glistened at his breast, a matching shimmer was dusted onto his eyelids and high cheekbones. “Are you McCoy?”

“Yes,” Leonard hoped it was the last time he was asked.

Spock stepped aside so Leonard could step in, then closed the door behind him without bothering to lock it. Without a word he walked back to a large, dark wooden desk filed with stacks of paper and piles of parchment rolls. Spock’s long, layered silks of indigo and lapis trailed on the floor behind him, reminding Leonard of a star shrouded in night.

Accompanying the desk was an ornate wood and leather chair with a spired back that matched the domes of the palace. The other furniture around the sitting room was caped in velvet covers; Thick, black drapes hung between the windows. Red and purple glass hung from the ceiling and made tinted sunlight dance on the floor.

“It is my understanding that you are a surgeon.”

“I am, and a damn good one.” It wasn’t Leonard’s first time being questioned by a new patient, and it wouldn’t be his last.

“Do you intend to cut me open, Doctor?”

“Only if there were a dire emergency,”

“Perhaps you intend to prescribe me a lobotomy to optimize my behavior?”

Leonard put his hands on his hips. “You think I’m some half-witted quack? The brain is an incredibly complex—”

“Then you admit that it is not your area of expertise.”

“I— Well, no, until anatomists can really understand how the mind—”

“Then I have no need of your services, Doctor. I will make arrangements for your immediate departure.” He gestured to the door Leonard had just come through.

Leonard wanted to laugh. “Oh, you are stubborn,”

Spock stopped, turned, and looked at Leonard seemingly for the first time. His dark eyes scoured him head to toe and back again. “Stubbornness is an emotional state that I do not experience.”

“You want to know my expertise, Spock? The reason I’m here, instead of one of your Vulcan wet nurses?”

“I have long since outgrown the need—”

“I’m here to make sure you behave until your pretty little bride-to-be gets here. Every day we are going to meet in private and discuss what you’re feeling, you’re going to be honest with me, and maybe, if you listen to me— Maybe we can get you a few coping mechanisms so you can be a half decent king.”

“I do not need your approval to lead my kingdom,”

“You need your father’s, who says you need my help.”

“My father has been in counsel with many accomplished doctors.”

“Now including me.”

“Your qualifications fail to impress me.”

Leonard shrugged. “I’m not your servant, I don’t need to impress you.”

Spock’s eyes narrowed. “You are a citizen performing your duty to the reigning crown—”

“I don’t care.” Before the prince could think of something smart to say to that Leonard went on, “I’m just here to talk about you, your Highness. If you keep deflecting we’ll be talking in circles for hours. I’ve known you for five minutes and you’re already trying to throw me out; You think that’s going to look good to the Council?”

They stared at each other, neither of them moving. At last Spock broke the silence: “I very much doubt your services are required daily.”

“Do you keep a personal diary I can read up on?”

“It would be most foolish to write down one’s secrets only to then distribute them to a third party.”

“Then I guess you’ll just have to talk to me.”

“How will you know if I am being dishonest during our visits?”

“Well, that wouldn’t do anyone any good now, would it? Least of all you.” He waited for Spock to say something, but the Vulcan wasn’t ready to admit defeat yet. “Look, I don’t know what your last doctors have been like, but I do want to help you, your Highness.”

“Why?”

Leonard blinked. He wasn’t sure he’d ever had that question before. “Because I’m a doctor, it’s my job to ease the ailments of the suffering.”

“You think I’m suffering?”

“Suffering of the mind is just as critical as suffering of the body.”

Spock was quiet; Leonard made out the distant sound of a ticking clock, a metronome for the silence that settled over them. He didn’t see it in the room, and had to assume that the clock was large enough to be heard through an adjacent wall.

At last the prince asked, “What would these daily appointments entail? Besides talking,”

“That will depend on what you need every day; I’ll help you recognize when you’re going to have an outburst and teach you how to relax more effectively, maybe make you some medicine to calm your nerves… I’ll give you advice as often as you need it, and do whatever else you think might make you a better reagent and husband.”

“Your treatment plan is deceptively vague.”

“I hardly know anything about you,” Leonard reminded him. “But if you sit down I’ll measure your pulse and we’ll start a baseline.”

“I can’t expect you to understand, but I do not have time—”

“It will take you more time to have me found and fetched than it would to just finish the appointment! Sit down!”

Spock raised an eyebrow, his reluctance dissipating into something akin to curiosity.

A sinking sensation swelled in Leonard’s stomach. If I’ve offended the crown prince— Did I forget who I’m fucking talking to? He could have me executed— Couldn’t he?

But no such threat came; Instead, Spock crossed back to his magnificent desk, passing Leonard so closely their shoulders almost touched, and sat in his ornate chair. “You have certainly proven your stubbornness, Doctor.”

Leonard heaved a sigh; If he refrained from arguing further, he could consider this a win. “May I see your wrist, please?” As he stepped closer he remembered to add, “Your Highness?”

The prince slid his silk sleeves up his arm and revealed the skin underneath. He rested his elbow on the edge of his desk and held his hand aloft towards Leonard, displaying the dark paints on his nails. As Leonard reached for Spock’s wrist he became hyper aware of the callouses around his own nail beds, his swollen arthritic joints, the scars and other imperfections that flecked his skin.

“Did I give you permission to touch me?” but his voice was light, as if he were jesting.

Is this some kind of aristocratic trap? But Leonard swallowed the thought and tried to answer with something professional: “If you don’t expect a doctor to touch you to take your pulse, either your doctors should never be allowed to treat patients, or you Vulcans really are hiding superior technology from the public.”

“That is baseless nonsense derived from paranoid conspiracists,”

“Then be quiet while I count out your heart rate.” To Leonard’s surprise, Spock obeyed and breathed evenly without having to be told. He was also surprised that Spock’s skin was cold to the touch, and even without counting he could tell his pulse was shallow. He raised his other hand to mind his pocket watch; It ticked in perfect time with the prince’s unseen clock.

After two full counts Leonard released the prince and straightened his back. “Do you feel tired often, Highness?”

“No.”

“Really?”

“Yes.” Spock straightened, too, pulling his sleeves back down; The shining fabric rippled back into place. “In fact I often go several days with only a few hours of sleep with no consequence.”

“I doubt there’s no consequence—”

“I am more than able to meet all of my responsibilities beyond many of my predecessors.”

“And how long do you think you can keep that up?”

Spock stole a glance at the floor and furrowed his eyebrows for a moment, then looked back up at Leonard. “It is expected of me to continue this trend until my throne is bequeathed unto my heir.”

Leonard let that sink in a moment. “You’re expected to be better than perfect until you die?”

“Or until I abdicate my position unto the following generation.”

“Alright,” though it was anything but. “Ah… If you don’t sleep, what the hell do you do all night?”

Spock leaned back into his chair and turned away from him, his attention slipping from Leonard. “I work, and study. I don’t expect you to understand the labor involved with statue—”

“If you want to vent that’s perfectly fine,” Leonard cut in. “But I’m not going to have you talk down to me.” Spock opened his mouth, but Leonard couldn’t stop; “Your father summoned me here away from my home, away from my family, because I’m a damn fine doctor. And that is hard work. Now,” he heaved. There was more to say, but it would be impossible to say it all through the thickening lump in his throat. “Now,” he repeated.

Spock stood. He ghosted his hands over Leonard’s shoulders and in a whir he spun them into the other’s places and guided Leonard into the dark leather of the chair. It was softer than Leonard expected; He melted against it as the prince regained his posture.

“From which village do you hail?”

Leonard scoffed, “It’s not close.”

“Then you’ve had a long journey, Doctor. Have you been shown your rooms yet?”

“Yes. I wasn’t there very long.” Leonard debated standing, but was unwilling to give the prince any possible satisfaction of making him uncomfortable with his presence.

“I’ll have someone fetched to help you find your way back to them.”

“Fine, dismiss me. But your blood pressure’s quite low, your Highness.” The formal address still tasted bitter in his mouth. “You’re not going to get out of seeing me if you’re half as exhausted as I think you are.”

“Thank you, Doctor, but I believe we will both be in better form if we address this at our next meeting.”

“Tomorrow.”

“As soon as I’m available.”

“Tomorrow,” Leonard reaffirmed. “I can take your pulse while you do paperwork, and you can spare a few minutes to talk to me about your life, your biggest stresses, and we’ll make some goals regarding your, uh, condition.”

“Goals,” Spock hissed.

“Well, I’m not going to be here forever, Highness; Ultimately you’ll have to do a few things for yourself.” Leonard stood at last, ignoring the prince’s scoff and making for the door he’d come through.

Spock grabbed the back of his coat, making Leonard lurch. “I’m sure you have been made aware that my condition is to remain a closely kept secret.”

“Right, right— Can’t have anyone know you’re prone to feeling.”

The prince’s jaw tightened, then relaxed again. “Correct. Most of the staff is under the impression that you are a new personal attendant of mine; You  are permitted to say you are making custom teas, but not that you are a doctor, and not that you are attending to my health.”

Leonard huffed, “Don’t worry your pretty head, I can keep secrets.”

“I am more concerned with your ability to remain humble.”

“My hard work deserves to be recognized, regardless of the job I’m doing. Or pretending to do,”

“You’ve already received it,” Spock suddenly let him go. “Your work ethic and reputation are why you’re here.”

Leonard didn’t dignify that with an answer; He left the rooms as quickly as he dared and pulled the door so it slammed shut behind him. The nerve of Vulcan royalty— His steps echoed in the tall, empty halls. He navigated by the floral vases and tapestries he remembered. To think that being abducted is some kind of compliment— The audacity to assume I’m honored to be here—

The halls were a labyrinth; Suddenly Leonard remembered none of his surroundings, nor the views out the windows. He felt his anger fizzle into a dull irritation as he remembered Spock had offered to have someone escort him back to his room. I’ll have to ask someone, or wander these halls forever. A tiredness sank into him as the thought of such a monotonous existence.

I’ll write Joanna a letter before bed, he decided, and the new purpose rejuvenated his stride.

…

By his second week in the palace Leonard had fallen into routine: The bustle of kitchen staff would wake him by dawn, he broke his fast with some of the wait staff, and Leonard could spend much of his morning doing as he wished, provided he was as unseen and unheard as the other servants. By eleven Leonard would return to his room and read until a maid collected him to attend to Spock; The prince was always at the imposing desk of his sitting room, pouring himself over documents, maps, or letters.

“Your Highness? Your afternoon attendant is here,” chimed the chambermaid as she opened the door for Leonard.

“Thank you,” Spock answered automatically. His gaze was locked on his work, a long scroll of parchment that rolled off either side of the dark desk. A wheeled side table was stocked with glass bottles with decorative stoppers, each containing a thick, lustrous ink.

The door shut behind Leonard and the reminder of routine summoned his courage to step closer to the prince. “How have you been feeling this morning, your Highness?”

A pause, then Spock took a long breath. “Less than ideal.”

“Tell me about it.”

Spock shifted the parchment; Leonard decided he must be writing something. He retrieved the foot stool he’d become accustomed to sitting on during his visits and found to avoid the table of ink bottles, he needed to place himself on Spock’s left, as opposed to his right. Only when he set it down and settled onto it did he see that Spock was holding not a pen, but a brush with a lush, copper colored tip.

Leonard leaned forward to eye the used end of the parchment; Circles spun into each other across the page. “Painting?”

“Calligraphy,” the prince corrected.

“I don’t think I’ve seen you do that before.”

Spock hummed. “It is a traditional Vulcan practice.”

Leonard let a laugh slip by his lips; “You don’t seem too thrilled about it,”

“I could be doing something more productive with my efforts.”

“Like exhausting yourself?”

“Such as answering diplomatic queries, formal addresses and—”

“And all the other shit you do every day of your life? This is the closest thing to art I’ve ever seen you make.”

“It is art,”

“Then why aren’t you having a little fun with it?”

Spock rested his forearms on the desk and turned to look at Leonard. “This is a serious practice.”

“I didn’t say it wasn’t,” Leonard huffed. “Honestly, this isn’t even a little relaxing for you?”

“The goal is perfection—”

“The goal should be expression.”

Spock turned back to his work, dipped his brush in the ink pot nearest him: An expensive black made from squid ink that flashed pink and green like gemstones when it dried. Leonard watched Spock’s chest heave, then still— He held his breath as he painted characters Leonard now recognized as Vulcan script.

He sat taller on his seat, trying not to invade the prince’s peripheral. There was no embroidery on the cuffs of his sleeves, nor down the length of their sides; Both his hands and wrists were covered by fingerless gloves, all a deep black in color. It occurred to Leonard that this was to prevent staining should there be a spill, but he wondered if there was the added intention of annoying the doctor when it came time to measure his heart rate.

“So what’re you writing?” Leonard asked when Spock lifted his brush and breathed again.

“Philosophies, lines of poetry,” Spock listed. “Nothing of great significance to you.”

“Are they your poems?”

He paused; “What gave you the impression that I wrote poetry?”

“I’m just anxious for you to develop an outlet, Highness.”

Spock gave a small nod, then went to dip his brush again.

“Don’t hold your breath.”

“Don’t distract me.”

“Slow, even breathing is really much better for you— Will even help you calm down if you’re under stress,”

“Doctor,”

“You have been practicing those breathing exercises I’ve been teaching you, right?”

“Yes, Doctor,” Spock stressed the word in such a way that Leonard was sure it was a fib. “And my condition has been noted to be… better, since incorporating your methodologies.”

Leonard wasn’t sure if this was true, either, but he supposed he would have been told directly if the Vulcan High Council disapproved of his work with their prince. “Well, good.” He cleared his throat; “But we can do better. Vulcans meditate, right?”

“Yes,” Spock sighed. “I am quite familiar with the practice.”

“Let’s try some, while you’re writing.”

“I doubt that will improve my concentration.”

“I’m not your teacher, I don’t give a damn about your penmanship. Here,” he stood, walked around Spock, and examined the inks. He withdrew a plain, cylindrical glass from the lower shelf and set it on the desk. “We’re just practicing; No need to pressure yourself using the finest materials.”

“Should I not practice with the materials I intend to use?” It was a rhetorical question.

“Sure, if we were practicing using that ink, but I’d much rather we practice your breathing.” Before Spock could argue Leonard went on, “You ever sit and watch fish swim in a pond or a tank?”

“To what end?”

“To enjoy the fish. Many people find it relaxing to watch them swim, to see the flow of the water,”

“Is there relevance to this phenomenon, or are you babbling?”

“You think fish in a pond always make perfect movements? That they’re always swimming in the same patterns?”

Spock paused, his eyes flicking to the ink Leonard picked: A warm blue.

After a few seconds, Leonard went on, “Look at your ink.” He pointed to a line of swirls lulled off the edge of the desk. “See how much they’re dripping?”

“It is an exceptionally thin ink.”

“I bet you’re rushing. Why don’t we try some shorter phrases, or single words?”

“What do you suggest?”

Leonard thought a moment; “Something to meditate on. Perhaps a virtue like leadership, patience, or control…?”

Spock replaced his brush with a clean one and tested the tip against his fingers; Leonard imagined its softness against his own skin. He occupied his hands instead by resting them on Spock’s shoulders and pressing his thumbs into the knots there. “Relax your whole arm, up to the neck,” Leonard said softly. Almost at once he felt the shift of muscle under his hands. “Deep breath,” and as Spock exhaled Leonard guided his spine out of its slouch. “There; Now try.”

Spock quickly mixed the ink with a silver rod before introducing his brush. As he started to write Leonard lightly squeezed his shoulders to remind him to keep breathing.

The first circle was as shaky as the prince’s breath, but the subsequent ones became progressively much smoother. Leonard was mesmerized watching Spock shape the swirls into characters, the wet ink shimmering like a stream. Each taking queues from the other, by the time Spock needed to shift the parchment their breathing had nearly synchronized.

“You’d think you were using a stencil,” Leonard chuckled, feeling more credited of Spock’s calligraphy than he knew he deserved. “Amazing what a little guidance can do, eh?”

A smile pulled at the corner of Spock’s mouth. “If you’re feeling confident in your skills I will invite you to try it yourself.”

“Doctors aren’t exactly known for their good handwriting.” He playfully clapped his hands on the prince’s shoulders. “Besides, I don’t know a lick of your language, ‘specially not written,”

“I will teach you.” Spock held the brush up, offering it to Leonard.

“That’s forbidden, isn’t it? I mean— I know you’re the crown prince, but,”

“If you do not teach anyone else, it will be an easy secret to keep.” He turned to look at Leonard over his shoulder; Intent twinkled in his eyes. “But if you are too intimidated by the artistry,” and he slowly started to lower the brush.

Leonard grabbed it, was a little surprised that Spock let him pluck the brush from his grasp. “I’m not foolish enough to pass on an opportunity this rare.”

Spock pushed his chair away from the desk and Leonard came around it so he could reach the parchment. He was bracing himself to do poorly when Spock put his hands on Leonard’s hips and pulled him into his lap. Spock’s right hand came over Leonard’s and guided the brush to the ink well. He felt Spock’s breath on the back of his neck; “Is this comfortable for you, Leonard?”

Warmth spread across Leonard’s face and up his ears. “It’s great,”

They wet the brush tip together. Leonard hoped he didn’t tremble.

“What would you like to meditate on?”

“Ah— I just assumed I’d copy yours,” Leonard admitted.

Spock guided their hands to paint a series of small circles, making the doctor relax his wrist and shoulder. “I remember you have a family,” he said gently.

“A daughter,”

They began a new column, and this time Spock guided the brush into a wave. “Daughter,” he narrated in a whisper. They repeated the characters twice more before the ink was spent.

As he returned their brush to the inkwell Leonard could admire their handiwork. “Pretty,”

“Are there any other members of your family?”

“It’s just us,”

They began to paint a new series of characters anyway. Before Leonard could ask, Spock gave him a quiet translation: “Father,” and again they repeated the word for as long as the ink would allow.

“I hope she thinks I’m a good one.”

“I have no doubts.”

A question popped into Leonard’s mind. He chewed his lip before asking, “How do you feel about your father?”

Spock hesitated. “He has proven to be a most favorable king, a settler of disputes.”

“Hmm. Do you remember your mother?”

They started a new column of calligraphy. “No; The Vulcan Queen passed when I was very young; I was raised primarily by nurses and teachers while my father was in Council.”

“Are they still around?”

“The one I remember most passed away two summers ago.”

“I’m sorry,” Leonard supposed his next question was moot, though it still tumbled through his mind: Do you miss her? Instead he asked, “What’s this we’re writing now?”

“This word is ‘mother,’ since you asked,”

Leonard waited until they finished the column until he risked conversation again. “Thank you, for teaching me,”

“Your company makes practicing almost congenial.” Before Leonard could decide if that was a compliment Spock asked, “Shall we continue with the familial characters?”

“Yes, please,” and Leonard shifted so he was more comfortable, fitting his back against Spock’s chest.

The prince hummed in his ear. “I get the feeling that you don’t much care about the words now,”

“I don’t,” Leonard admitted. “And I don’t want to overstep on any Vulcan culture, but I like this for you.”

“Do you like it for you?”

Leonard forced a laugh to break through his remaining awkwardness. “Oh, I think I’m getting pretty used to this,”

…

Leonard found more and more of his afternoons became occupied by Spock, doing anything to distract his attention from work. Leonard took to shaking the velvet covers off various pieces of the prince’s furniture and lounging on them to compare their comfort. If the mood struck Spock he might read some poetry, and though Leonard could not understand the words he appreciated the beats and fluctuations of his voice. If Leonard was exceptionally lucky, Spock would practice his lute or hum to him. On days with a cool breeze they would sit on the grounds and order treats from the kitchens, each tasting dishes recommended by the other.

The gardens began to bloom with rare and pale flora.

The inevitable swelter of summer heat eventually drove them to spending lazy days in the swimming pool. It was following one such afternoon, both dripping onto the palace tiles, that Spock pulled Leonard into an alcove hidden behind a tapestry: Their first kiss was salted with sweat.

…

Leonard’s body woke him up before the attendants. He slid out of Spock’s bed and heaved open the heavy curtains; Dawn was still but a soft glow on the horizon. Leonard stayed here for a few minutes, watching the stars shrink into the sky and listening to Spock’s gentle breathing. What will sleeping with him change? he wondered.

When the sky warmed with color Leonard found the clothes he was wearing the night before and hurried them on, being sure to smooth the collars before returning to the bedside.

How long has the poor bastard actually been asleep? he wondered. Even tucked in his bed Spock looked tired. His eyelashes flicked with a secret dream; A word half formed on his parted lips. Leonard brushed a lock of silky hair off his brow and it furrowed. He thought about placing a kiss there.

“Time to wake up, Your Highness,” Leonard murmured, brushing another lock from the prince’s face.

Spock gave a hazy blink.

“You don’t want a chambermaid to find me lurking in here, do you?”

At last Leonard received a focused gaze, but Spock’s voice was still quiet and slurred. “You are not lurking,”

“I’m not, and she’d know that.”

“You’re my attendant, you’re permitted to wake me up,” but as he said it Spock tilted his head to read the wall clock behind Leonard.

“She would be able to devise what was goin’ on if you’re not actually awake. Come on, up and at ‘em,”

Leonard helped Spock lift himself off his pillows, then cupped his face to thumb away the crust that collected in the prince’s eyelashes. He pretended not to notice that Spock was watching him.

“You make a dutiful chambermaid,” he teased.

“What a waste of my skills that would be,”

“And yet, here you are.”

Leonard had the thought to slap him and pulled himself away from Spock before he could talk himself into it. “Alright,” he said instead, crossing to Spock’s wardrobe and yanking the wooden door open. “You won’t mind my picking what you wear to see the advisor this morning, then.”

Spock threw the blankets off himself, the sound of sliding satin covering his yawn. “Your sophistication still requires refinement,”

“Then you better hurry up and help me over here,” Leonard ran his fingers over a row of embroidered sleeves, making the dark fabrics ripple in the dawn. “Don’t worry, I’ll pick ya’ a pretty one,”

“There are multiple layers to my state of dress, as I’m sure you are aware,”

“Fine, fine,” Leonard pushed the ornate hangers aside as if he were looking for something behind them. “I’ll pick ya’ two pretty ones.”

Spock came up behind him, put one hand on Leonard’s shoulder and used the other to reach beyond into the wardrobe; He withdrew a black outer robe and the plum silk that hung behind it and handed their hangers to Leonard. Spock then opened a drawer deliberately slow as to show Leonard which was the proper home for his underclothes.

It seemed a shame to cover Spock’s brilliant nakedness. Leonard still did not know the proper folds, nor when to wrap the silk, but Spock made the procedure feel easy. He held his arms open for each set of sleeves, sending the silver embroidery into a shimmer, and wrapped the silk around his own hips. Leonard retrieved a set of silver pins and Spock gently reminded him where each of them belonged, starting at his wrists, and then going up his torso. Spock tapped the overlapping silk at his throat; “The longest clasp fastens here.”

Though Spock held the fabrics away from his skin, as Leonard fumbled with the clasp he imagined pricking the prince. He held his breath as he threaded and closed it again. Behind him he heard the door swing open.

“Your Highness, it is— Oh!”

Spock didn’t so much as glance at the chambermaid. To Leonard he said, “Crookedness is not acceptable. Do it again.”

“My prince, allow me,”

“It’s fine,” Leonard said over her, his breath fogging the silver. The pin was straight, Leonard had put it as close to Spock’s fingertips as he could. This time he would be sure the prince felt it; He let his callused fingers brush over Spock’s manicure as he repositioned the pin, using his hands to guard the prince’s from being pricked.

“Shall I—?” started the chambermaid again, but stopped herself to say instead, “Is there anything else you need of me, your Highness?”

Leonard felt her gaze on his back, knew that she was watching his unpracticed fingers fondling the royal silver. What gossip is this going to bring about?

“My attendant is seeing to my waking this morning. Thank you.” His dark eyes flicked to the door. She took the queue, and left the rooms as quickly as she came.

“Well,” Leonard sighed after a moment. “At least we know we’re on schedule.”

“Yet I fully expect to be rushed.”

Spock was right; The parade of breakfast was brought to them in short order, of which Spock ate his usually meager portion while servants set about to brushing his hair and fixing his rooms. For once Leonard didn’t mind being shuffled into the throng of servants; While Spock got his face powdered Leonard sneaked some apple slices into his mouth.

“Will you be attending the meeting with Advisor T’Parik as well?” a servant asked Leonard so suddenly he nearly choked on the stolen fruit.

“Yes, he will.” announced Spock from the vanity, his eyes all the bolder with pigments painting his skin.

The servant smiled. “Then I’ll comb your hair, too, if you don’t mind,”

“Ah—” Leonard hadn’t considered his own appearance beyond being clothed. “I don’t exactly have the dress for a meeting of such importance,”

“You appear adequate otherwise,” Spock said, adding to the servant, “Comb his hair.”

“I can brush it out myself,” but the servant took Leonard’s arm and lead him to a chair. Leonard sat with a huff; Why do I expect them to listen to me when they have orders from royalty? Submitting to the servant, at least, meant that he could unabashedly watch the others carefully extend Spock’s eyelashes and perfectly position his crown. The chambermaid leading the regalia was murmuring in Spock’s ear about the advisor and listing the topics they would discuss; T’Pring’s name stuck out to Leonard’s ears more than once.

Leonard thought he might breathe when at last the kerfuffle of dressing was over, but instead he was ushered to his feet and into the hall with Spock. The throng of servants dissipated almost at once into their secret passages, the last of whom was the chambermaid saying, “Advisor T’Parik will be in the east drawing room in less than a quarter hour.”

“We will not be late.”

The doctor took his stride a pace behind Spock, trying to watch his feet and time his steps to the prince’s so they did not cause unnecessary echo in the wide halls. When Spock slowed to glance out a window or stopped for a corner, so did Leonard. Going unnoticed was not Leonard’s preference; Questions buzzed behind his skull, all of them too inappropriate to ask the prince outside the privacy of his rooms.

“You’ve been very attentive this morning.” Spock’s soft voice crept up the walls. He kept perfect posture, never turning to look at the commoner behind him.

“Is that why you’re permitting me to come along with you?”

“I wish for you to accompany me, so you will.”

“And what will the advisor say about that?”

“Nothing of consequence. Nor will you say anything to Advisor T’Parik.”

Leonard scoffed, “If you wanted a pretty servant to hang off your every word, you could pick someone who’s better at holding their tongue.”

“As my advocate of health, I chose you.”

“Well, aren’t I lucky,”

“You are.”

The east hall was a tall windowed corridor guarded on either end. Aside from the servant who opened the drawing room door for them, it was remarkably empty. Leonard took a breath here before stepping in behind Spock. The drawing room was a monument to embroidery; On every wall hung hand sewn impressions of flora and rivers; Beaded bees drifted from the ceiling. The tablecloth was embroidered with wild grasses; The advisor sat there sipping tea from ornate glassware shaped like flower blossoms. They stood and bowed when Spock entered, but was quick to sit again.

Spock’s seat was already withdrawn, and he took it without acknowledging the advisor at all. Leonard took his place standing behind Spock’s right shoulder, keeping himself just within the prince’s peripheral.

“I expect this to be a brief meeting,” Spock said.

Advisor T’Parik nodded. “Of course. You are well aware of your marital duties; As the date of your union to T’Pring draws closer, we will have to settle more details.”

“What details?”

“T’Pring’s entourage will be arriving in a fortnight.”

“Sooner than anticipated,”

“What are a few weeks when forever is concerned?”

Spock sat a little taller. “We will rule only from my father’s abdication to my own.”

“Your blood will continue.” When the prince did not answer, T’Parik cleared their throat and went on: “The last event of this scale was your father’s coronation; To sate the curiosity of your subjects there is consideration of how to seamlessly indoctrinate T’Pring.”

“There was a guarded parade after my parents’ wedding so the commoners could see their new queen.”

“Yes, but there are fewer knights now than then, and assassins have grown more clever. Your father recommends writing a state of address to the public, and will hire a printer to distribute your speech and a lithograph of T’Pring.”

Leonard couldn’t imagine a lithograph doing the beauty of a Vulcan justice.  “That hardly counts as seeing her,” he grumbled.

Spock turned his head just enough to flick his dark eyes to Leonard. To the advisor Spock said, “I do not believe that will satisfy the public; It is expected of us to have a grand debut.”

“Oh, please,” Leonard groaned. “Just have a balcony ceremony and get it over with,”

“Leonard.”

Advisor T’Parik huffed as he tore his eyes off Leonard, answering to Spock as if he was the one who had spoken. “Being in view of the public includes being in range of radicals. It would be in both yours and T’Pring’s best interest to be joined privately.”

Spock raised an eyebrow. “Are you admitting that my life in danger?”

“Of course not, your Highness. Only that this is a delicate matter that you must consider further.”

Leonard crossed his arms over his chest. “He must?”

They both ignored him. Spock asked, “Are the public so unfamiliar with foreign Vulcans they find it necessary to know T’Pring?”

“One must be known to be respected; Your favor with the commoners will surely decline if you reign from isolation.”

“Favor—?” Leonard almost laughed. Every sentence betrayed the growing distance from civilians and the throne. “You hardly—”

T’Parik started to speak over him: “Considering the publics’ opinions, we will be making the ceremony preparations a top priority, as will your—”

“What the hell do you know about public opinions?” Leonard spat.

Spock raised his hand to silence Leonard, his eyes still unwavering from the advisor.

Leonard put his hand over Spock’s and slammed both their palms onto the table, making the glass dishes clatter. “When was the last time any of you were out in the public?”

Spock was quick to pull his hand out from under Leonard’s, using it instead to grab Leonard’s sleeve and yank him down; Leonard’s knees hit the carpet and he hissed.

“Quite an opinionated servant,” and though T’Parik kept a low voice they had meant to be heard.

“Quite.” Spock agreed, his voice thick with warning. “Continue.”

T’Parik waited a moment, watching Leonard and waiting for him to say something else. “Preparations are a top priority, as will your personal studies in T’Pring’s regions and her ancestral lines.”

“I am as well aware of hers as my own; Further studies are not necessary.”

“Your father disagrees. It has been some time since we last reviewed the nuances.”

“Indeed? Then what will these studies replace in my schedule?”

“Your schedule remains unchanged.”

“That is,” Spock paused. “Unsatisfactory.”

“It is not my place to question the King. Nor is it yours.”

Spock tightened his grip on Leonard’s coat, keeping the doctor from returning to his feet. “I am not questioning my father. Do not assume—”

“I’ll question him!” Leonard was saying before he could stop himself. Both Vulcans snapped their attention to him. “He’s absurd— Spock doesn’t have any more time in his day than you do!”

“Enough,” Spock hissed to him, but the advisor was already loudly declaring, “Your attendant is entirely out of order!”

“I’m not a damn attendant, I’m a doctor, and you know it!”

“Enough!” Spock suddenly stood, hauling Leonard up with him.

T’Parik narrowed their eyes. “And it’s a fine job you’re doing with our prince, Doctor,”

“He has every right to be upset!”

“I could not expect a commoner to understand the responsibilities of the blood of the Vulcan High Council—”

Spock started speaking over them, “This is a matter for my father and I to—”

Leonard realized he could reach the table again; With his free arm he swept the tea pot and several dishes onto the floor, shattering them. “It’s called rest, damn it! It’s the most basic of medicines and Spock doesn’t get an ounce of it!”

“Doctor,” Spock was stepping towards the door, pulling Leonard with him. Tea squelched in the carpet at they stepped.

“Listen to me, damn it! What was the point of bringing me here if no one’s going to hear what I have to say?” but they were through the door, leaving Advisor T’Parik unsticking themselves from their wet robes. “Aren’t you even going to pretend to hear me?”

“Your behavior is incredibly inappropriate—” Spock snarled

“I’m doing my job!”

“It’s reason enough to have you forcibly removed from the capital—”

“You know I’m right!”

The windows of the east hall shone with the morning sun. Spock pushed his shoulder into the wall between two of them, opening a hidden door and flooding the prince in light. Leonard blinked and stumbled as he was pulled through and into the gardens.

“I cannot have you officially accompany me if you behave so irrationally.”

“At least they’re not going to talk about your behavior,”

“You spoke over me—”

“I stood up for you!”

Spock suddenly stopped at a hedge of blooms and turned so he was facing Leonard, who nearly stepped bodily into him. The hand that had been gripping the doctor’s sleeve relaxed and slid to his shoulder; The other flew to Leonard’s face. Leonard went to grab that wrist, but stilled when Spock’s soft fingers traced over his cheekbone.

“You—” the prince sighed. The sun shone off the water and danced in his eyes.

The intensity of Spock’s gaze reminded Leonard of their night together; He felt himself growing warm at the memory and tried to push it far from his mind. “I what?”

Spock took a slow breath as he caressed the creases beneath Leonard’s eye. “You perplex me.”

“I thought you liked puzzles,”

“Not when the puzzle is how to keep you.”

Leonard blinked at him a moment. “Keep me?”

“Would you not wish to stay?”

“I—” but if Leonard knew what he was going to say, he immediately forgot it. He held his breath; The gardens became a blur; The word echoed in his ears: Stay.

“Fine.” The word was a growl so low that Leonard wasn’t sure he’d heard it. He opened his mouth, fumbled for a word, any word, but Spock’s hand was leaving his face, the embrace of his shoulder evaporating. “Remain here while I attend to my duties.”

“Wait—” Leonard’s voice cracked, but the prince was stepping away from him, his shoulders set back. “Wait!”

“I am exceptionally busy, Doctor.”

It was Leonard’s turn to grab Spock’s sleeve and yank him by it; “You can’t just ask me something like that!”

Spock raised an eyebrow. “Can’t I?”

“No!”

He felt the prince stiffen beneath his silks. “You forget—”

“My manners? My place?” Leonard spat the word. “Don’t act like I don’t listen when you’re the one who hardly hears anyone! If you don’t listen to me, how the hell are you going to listen to your subjects?”

Spock pulled himself free of Leonard’s grip hard enough to leave creases in the fabric. “I do not have the time to attend to your emotional outbursts.” Leonard huffed, but the prince went on: “I will return for you when I am finished with these matters.”

“So I’m just supposed to wait for you, to worry about you?”

“I do not need your worry.”

“Then why am I here, Spock? What do you want with me?”

He pretended not to hear him; Spock strode inside the palace quicker than he’d left it, leaving Leonard standing alone amid the gardenias.

…

Leonard did not exist to be forgotten and remembered at someone else's leisure; He did not wait among the flowers. He marched through the floral hedges to the south grounds and found sanctifying solitude among the pharmaceutical herbs. He breathed with the sway of the Hawthorn tree in the summer breeze; He brushed his fingertips over the ginseng leaves; The feverfew blooms smiled at him, the warmth of the sun in their centers.

He breathed in the warm summer air. He’s perfectly entitled to feel that way, he reminded himself. But— How do I feel? Leonard couldn’t decide; He wasn’t sure if he wanted to.

He cut through the kitchens, ducked into his room, and opened his window blinds to let the sunlight in. He swept his current book up from his desk and whisked himself into his chair, ready to think about something else, anything else.

Leonard held the book in his lap, unable to focus on the paragraphs but lazily drifting his eyes over the illustrations. His temples buzzed with hypothetics: How long could I stay here before Spock drove me mad? Or the other way around? Have I already gotten too comfortable here?

He mindlessly flipped a few pages. The sun crept through his west window. It was after noon when there was a clatter from the kitchen, a bustle of voices, and then a firm knock at his door. Leonard scrambled to get to his feet, his book slid onto the floor, and Spock stepped into his room and flicked the door shut behind him. The frame quivered. "I told you I would return for you."

“I obviously wasn’t that hard to find.” Leonard grabbed his book from the floor, was glad that softly setting it on his bed gave him an excuse to turn his back to the prince. “You could have sent for me,”

“I do not need to trouble staff for every task, Doctor.” Spock tilted his head to the door behind him.

Leonard could only make out muted mumbles from the servants beyond. “Bet the kitchen staff isn’t too used to seeing your family down here,”

“Indeed,” he paused; “They would have considerably less to talk about had you followed my instructions.”

The surgeon was not in the mood to be lectured. “Did the advisor say anything important? Or did they just waste more of your time?”

Spock’s jaw tightened. “You’re changing the subject,”

Leonard crossed his arms over his chest. “Do you actually want to talk about what you said in the garden?”

Silence— The prince tilted his head as if he were listening again. Leonard wondered if he was pretending. The quiet stretched between them.

Leonard decided to offer Spock an easy escape: “If you want the opinion of an actual commoner I would be more than happy to offer mine.”

“You don’t usually wait for the invitation.” He straightened and looked around the room for the first time since entering. His eyes lingered the longest on the window and the letter littered desk beneath it. “I understand if my statement this morning seemed sudden to you. And if you wish to leave after my marriage,” he paused; “You have every right.”

“I didn’t need your permission,” though Leonard knew that was not entirely true. He could feel his heart picking up speed. “But I have to admit it’s… tempting,”

“It is?” Spock’s gaze snapped to Leonard.

“Are you joking?” Leonard heard himself echo in the little room and stopped himself from becoming even louder. He sat on the edge of his bed and took a deep breath. “I don’t know anyone who wouldn’t be tempted to live in a place like this. Especially when you don’t have to work too hard,”

“It’s not enough for you,”

Leonard scoffed, “Don’t make it out like I’m the spoiled royal here.”

“You need to tell me what you want, Leonard,”

He sighed. “I want you to tell me why you want me to stay in the first place.”

Spock looked at the floor, then back up. “Have I not made my opinions on the matter clear?”

Leonard sat up straighter, bracing himself against the comments that would soon follow the words, “If you’re just going to tell me that I’m fun to have in bed, I already know that.”

“Deflecting will circularly divert the conversation.”

Leonard fought the smile that pulled at his mouth, and lost. “Now who taught you that?”

“Someone whose wisdom I should apply more often.”

“Damn,” Leonard laughed the word and his remaining tension evaporated with his breath. “You’re awfully sweet when you want t’ be.”

Spock’s shoulders stiffened. “Admitting my abruptness does not equate to sweetness—”

“No one else is here, Spock. You don’t have to pretend with me.”

He watched the prince take a long breath. “I know,” he whispered.

An awkwardness settled over them. Leonard cleared his throat. “Come here,” and when Spock obeyed the doctor gently took his hands in his own. “It’s been a— a fast summer,”

Spock succumbed to a soft smile. “An eventful summer,”

“A fun summer…” Leonard intended to say more, but his voice trailed and he found it hard to catch his breath. Spock, I think I love you.

The prince squeezed his hands. “Leonard, what must I do to convince you to stay in the palace?”

“You wouldn’t be able to explain my position to T’Pring. I can barely keep up with the secrecy as it is, and—” he took a breath; “And I like being a doctor, Spock, talking to people, helping them. We’re so damn isolated in secrecy, from my own daughter, even,”

“I understand being parted from her has been difficult for you, and I agree it’s cruel to keep you apart for so long. If I were to bring her here, and accommodate you both with better rooms, would you find that agreeable?”

Leonard blinked at him. “Aren’t your nice rooms reserved for Vulcan delegates? That’s— That’s pretty rich for our blood. And T’Pring—”

“Let me worry about Vulcans,”

“That only leaves me to worry about myself and Joanna,”

“Perhaps that’s a reasonable amount of worry,”

Leonard huffed. “And leave you to worry about the entire Kingdom? That’s hardly fair,”

“If you stayed you could worry about the human populous, perhaps be an ambassador to the common people?”

“That’s not a title,”

“I could make it one.”

“And ruin this cushy gig I’ve got now?” Leonard laughed.

“And help people, in or out of your practice,”

Leonard had to think about this; A royal indoctrinated position at the Vulcan palace? What commoner would say ‘no’ to that? He bit his lip. “We’d still sleep together?”

Spock hesitated. “If you would like to, yes,”

“Of course I’d like to, but,” Leonard tried to organize his thoughts, his temptations. “Spock, I… I don’t know if I can stay here while you marry someone else,”

“Leonard,” The prince squeezed his hands again. “That is an obligation of my bloodline I cannot circumvent.”

“I know, I know, it’s the whole reason I’m here,”

“Then we must compromise,”

“And watch you raise a family I couldn’t talk to without permission?”

“I would give you every permission,”

“You can’t guarantee that T’Pring would, or your father, or the rest of the Vulcan High Council,”

“I told you not to worry about them,”

“How can I not?” Leonard’s voice trembled. “I’m just a commoner, it would be so easy for me or Joanna to just disappear here,”

“I would never let that happen,”

“I… I know, but,” Leonard sighed. “We’re talking about changing my entire life— My child’s entire life,”

Spock slowly nodded. “You need time,”

Leonard wasn’t sure if it was a statement or a question, but he agreed. “Yes, I… I’m sorry,”

“Don’t be,” Spock flipped their hands over and lifted them so he could kiss Leonard’s knuckles. “I can be patient.”

…

All of the work Leonard put into securing leisure time for Spock evaporated in a matter of days. Even their medical appointments were postponed and sometimes skipped in favor of readying the prince for his impending wedding. Leonard, like most of the other staff, was left uninformed and saw less and less of the Vulcan High Council as summer began to submit to the autumn winds.

The day T’Pring and her entourage arrived Leonard did not see Spock at all, nor the day following. He spent his time writing a lengthy letter to Joanna, only to decide to omit the majority of the pages.

…

“I swear your father over schedules you just to get under your skin, see if you crack,” Leonard huffed. He was walking behind Spock to the northern end of the palace where something or someone had arrived nearly every day for two weeks. “I’ve hardly seen you, and for what? Not your health, certainly,”

“I think you will reserve your objections on this occasion.” Spock held his head high; Makeup hid the stains of sleeplessness under his eyes, but Leonard knew how overworked he was.

“I doubt it’s worth walking the length of the palace for. Really, I’m surprised you’ve made it this far,”

“Peace, Leonard; This particular arrangement is for you.”

“For me?” Leonard so wished he might get a gleam into his thinking. “What are you up to?”

“Only something I saw as necessary. If you like, you may consider it a gift.”

“Huh— I do like that, actually,”

The guards at the door advised Spock against stepping beyond the palace walls, but he dismissed them and Leonard followed him into the sun. A narrow lane curved before them.

“So, are we waiting for a shipment?” Leonard prompted.

“A carriage should be arriving directly.”

“Containing…?”

“Your gift.”

They stood side by side for a few minutes watching the first of the autumn foliage fall from their branches. How long has it been since we’ve had genuine time together? Leonard took a breath through his nose. “I’m worried about you, Spock. Are you sure this wedding is good for you?”

Spock’s answer was almost lost to the wind; “I miss you, too.”

The clatter of horses and tack came to their ears. Leonard bit back his reply and regretted it, for the carriage had to slow to make the curve before stopping in front of Spock and Leonard. A guard sitting beside the coachman jumped down and unlocked the cab. “Your Highness,”

Spock waved his hand for the guard to continue.

Leonard furrowed his brows at Spock, trying to silently ask him, Is this the gift you were expecting? But the prince pretended not to notice him.

The guard opened the carriage door and for a moment Leonard saw nothing but the vague shadows of movement— And then his daughter emerged, wide eyed but smiling.

“Joanna—!” Leonard forgot his royal company and etiquette, rushing to his daughter and sweeping her into an embrace.

“Daddy!” and her laughter spurred a symphony in Leonard’s soul.

“I didn’t know you were coming, I— You— You’ve gotten so tall!”

“I haven’t grown that much,” but the strength of her hold on his ribcage suggested otherwise.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were visiting?”

She gave him a shy smile. “His Highness said it would be more fun to surprise you,”

Leonard looked over his shoulder at Spock, his features soft with adoration, and smiled at him. “Thank you, Your Highness,”

“You’re welcome, Leonard. Of course, you and Joanna will be considered royal guests for as long as she’d like to stay,”

“Don’t tell her that, she’ll never want to leave,”

Spock fought a smile, a bittersweet reminder that he was still waiting for Leonard’s answer.

I couldn ’t possibly leave him before the wedding— We’ll have to stay at least that long.

…

In the final days before the wedding Spock’s itinerary filled and Leonard was free to wholly entertain Joanna. He ordered a cake from the kitchens and they held a belated celebration for her 12th birthday; He toured her around the palace one day, and the gardens the next. Joanna’s cheer was infectious, and offered a break from the seriousness of ceremony that consumed most of the palace residents. The head grounds keeper commented on her smile; The royal tailor, an old Vulcan with a pinched brow, said the most words Leonard ever heard her say at one time: “Such a well tempered young lady.”

Leonard was eager to show Joanna the library, a monument to any knowledge, any career, she might possibly desire, and intended to spend an entire afternoon there. “We could bring back a book on every subject if you wanted to.”

“Daddy, I can study after the wedding, can’t I?”

“That doesn’t mean we shouldn’t take advantage of the opportunity while we have it,” And I don’t know how long we’ll really be staying.

Joanna managed to pretend not to be impressed by the size of the library, the floor-to-ceiling shelves full of tomes and scrolls, but as they strolled through the subjects she did pick several titles and started to stack them onto a table. Leonard pretended not to notice in fear of making her self conscious, meandering himself towards recent history.

“Dad—?” Joanna hissed as she suddenly caught up to him again, her eyes glittering with curiosity.

Leonard couldn’t help but smile at her enthusiasm, but matched her quiet volume. “Yes, Jo?”

“Are we allowed to touch the Vulcan ones?”

“Ah…?” Leonard wasn’t sure. The Vulcan usually tending to the library had yet to be seen, but Leonard couldn’t remember being given any such restrictions himself. “Sure,” he said after a second. “But you won’t be able to read them.”

“It’s still nice to look at,” Joanna grabbed the book nearest to her with a swirled, Vulcan title on its spine; A stack of scrolls fell through the gap it left and rolled across the floor. “Oops,”

Leonard sank to his knees to gather them up, and Joanna quickly followed his lead. A few had popped open and revealed their calligraphy, hand painted, and Leonard surprised himself as he reached for one and his eyes glimpsed a character he recognized: King. And then another: Son. He gently grabbed the scroll, the parchment relatively new and stiff, and realized that until very recently it had been sealed with shining, purple wax and one of the Council’s personal stamps. “Shit,”

“Shit?” Joanna echoed, leaning over to see what Leonard was swearing about.

“Don’t repeat that,”

“But you just—!”

“Shh!”

Joanna huffed as she started stuffing the other scrolls back behind the books. “I bet no one knows they’re hiding here, anyway,” she grumbled.

“I bet you’re right,” Leonard looked up and down the aisle to make sure they were still alone, then gently rolled it open a little further. Sure enough, he recognized a handful of other words Spock had taught him; King, father, son, and mother appeared frequently, and often in that order.

“What is it, Dad?”

Leonard opened his mouth to tell her his guess, (Spock’s birth record, perhaps?) but it occurred to him that it could be dangerous information. He wouldn’t risk Joanna. “I don’t know,” he whispered, being careful now to roll it up as tightly as he could. “But I really doubt it’s supposed to be here,”

“Just put it back,” Joanna hissed.

“It could be important,” Leonard’s heart was quickening. There was so little information about the last Vulcan Queen that he was sure there was something secretive in the scroll. “Jo, why don’t you start taking your books back to our rooms?”

She frowned. “You’re not going to go with me?”

“I think I better take care of this,”

“Then let me help you,”

A smile cracked through Leonard’s mounting anxiety; Joanna reminded him so much of himself. “Alright,” he whispered after a few seconds. “We’re going to keep these scrolls a secret for now, okay?”

Joanna nodded eagerly.

“So to keep this a secret, I want you to find the librarian.”

“But no one’s here,”

“Exactly. You need him to check out all your books— Don’t rest until you find him, and don’t let any other Vulcan rest until he’s found.”

A broad smile plastered itself onto Joanna’s face. “You want me to make a distraction?”

“Think you can handle that? And still be polite?”

Joanna was beaming; “This will be so much fun.”

…

Leonard cut through all the servant halls he could remember to make it to Spock’s rooms as quickly and discreetly as possible. The scroll was hidden under his coat, pinned to his ribcage by his arm. Relief washed over him as he finally reached the prince’s doors and he knocked on the filigree much harder than he’d meant to. He tapped a foot on the floor, impatiently passing the time it took for Spock to answer the door.

When at last he did, he raised an eyebrow. “Leonard?”

“Hi,” and he stepped bodily into Spock to push them both into the rooms beyond.

“I am preoccupied—”

“Are you alone?” He started to shrug out of his coat.

Spock pulled the door shut behind the doctor. “Leonard, I regret to say that now is not the ideal time for—”

“Save it.” Leonard let his coat fall to the floor, nearly dropped the scroll, caught it, and held it triumphantly up between them. “I found this hidden in the library.”

Spock took the scroll, taking a step back from Leonard to look at it. He furrowed his brows. “Did you break this Council’s seal?”

“No,”

“Did you read it?”

“You know I can’t,” Leonard huffed. “But it doesn’t exactly look like the other public records, and it wasn’t on display,”

“Then you took it from its catalog?”

“I took it from whoever stole it in the first place!”

Spock studied him a moment. “That is a serious accusation.”

“I know,” he gulped. “But you’re a fool if you think the Council doesn’t keep secrets from you.”

Only now did Spock begin to unroll it, his eyes making quick work of the first columns of calligraphy. “I admit that if they had managed to keep my own birth from me I would be impressed.”

“So it is about you? Or your mother?”

“So you do remember some of the language?” but a smile flickered onto Spock’s lips as he asked it. He unraveled the scroll further, kept reading, and any remaining delight was quickly washed away. “What other information have you gleamed from this document?”

“I only know the words you taught me, Spock. I can’t make out a sentence of it.”

“Indeed,”

Leonard let him read, bouncing on his heels. “Well?” he prompted when he couldn’t take any more of the silence. “What’s it say?”

Spock’s gaze flicked to Leonard, then back to the parchment. “This document is likely blasphemous,”

“If you’re so sure about that, you’ll tell me what rumors the Council is spreading.”

The prince’s hesitance spoke volumes. “It claims that my father’s wife, the Vulcan Queen, is not my mother.”

Leonard almost laughed. “That’s ridiculous,”

Spock read from the scroll: “The Vulcan High Council, in accordance with the infertility struggles of Her Royal Majesty, the Queen, has granted the King Sarek a consort and child-bearer of his choosing.” Spock took a breath. “It then lists my true mother,”

“Are…? Are you serious? What’s her name?”

“Amanda Grayson,”

“That’s— That’s not a very Vulcan name,”

“It isn’t.” Spock started rereading the scroll from the beginning again. He was becoming paler, accentuating the dark powders on his eyelids.

“Maybe you should sit down,” Leonard suggested, already reaching for one of Spock’s shoulders to turn him to his desk chair. “You said it’s probably a lie, right?” He tried to make his voice loud enough to hear over their pounding hearts. “Maybe— Maybe to give T’Pring an excuse not to marry you?”

“I knew her,” Spock choked as he sat. He had stopped reading, his eyes transfixed on one set of characters. “She—” Spock’s voice hitched, and he bit his lip to stop himself from betraying anymore.

Leonard cupped the prince’s face and lifted it so Spock had to look up at him and not down at the scroll; He thumbed his cheekbones. “It’s alright, Spock,” and his own voice quivered. “It’s just me here; It’s just us.”

Spock dropped the scroll in his lap to put his hands on Leonard’s wrists. Leonard had a flash of memory to the gardens, when it had been Spock’s hand on Leonard’s face and he’d asked him to stay. This time Spock’s frustration was welling in his eyes; He shut them tight and moisture collected in his lashes.

Leonard’s hands were already in place to thumb any tears away. “Don’t hold your breath,” he reminded gently. “I’ve got you,”

“They treat me,” Spock’s chest was heaving, forcing him to speak in short bursts. “Like I’m broken; Like I’m savage; When they knew,”

It clicked in Leonard’s mind: “That’s why you needed a human doctor,”

Spock hissed his breath.

“Hey, Spock, easy,” Leonard cooed. “I’m here for you. I’m here, and you can have all the time you need. And when you’re ready, we’ll make a plan. Together, a’right? So don’t you worry, Spock. I’m here…”

…

Leonard tried not to fidget, not to hold Joanna’s hand too tightly. They were among the few humans allowed to attend the wedding; Leonard looked around the crowd, wondering where Sarek’s consort would have sat if she were here.

The chapel was aglow with the sun of early autumn. It was a wide, half-circle room whose walls stretched high above them before giving way to the center glass dome of the palace. Strings of silver bells sung from the rafters and between the windows: A paper with well wishes or prayers was tied to the clapper of each, twisting in the air above them like poetry inscribed petals. A low murmur was rumbling through the guests.

“It’s not every wedding where both parties are late,” Joanna whispered, lifting herself onto her toes and down again. They were standing near the back of the concave, allowing them to see both ends of the aisle that ran along the straight wall. A door off either side lead to the suites, though Leonard couldn’t remember which was Spock’s, and which was T’Pring’s.

“I should’ve been allowed to talk to him before they started,” Leonard grumbled. He was imagining Spock fighting his emotions, giving himself anxiety over his suppression of them, and it was making Leonard remarkably ill with guilt.

A chorus of bells, and the crowd hushed; Both doors unlocked, then opened at the same time. Bride and groom stepped onto the aisle and faced each other. T’Pring was in fitted silks of silver, shimmering as she moved; Diamonds encircled her hair, encrusted her pointed ears, and adorned her fingers. Spock, the jewel of Vulcan, matched the amethyst and garnet hues of his crown.

Except for the silk tucked into Spock’s collar: A pop of gentle blue. It reminded Leonard of the first time he saw the prince, and of the ink they had used together.

“Blue?” the hushed word echoed in the domed ceiling. Hissed Vulcan stirred the air; “Who let him—?” “Untraditional—” Even T’Pring inclined her head at the prince.

Joanna squeezed Leonard’s hand, and he squeezed back.

Spock and T’Pring began to walk towards the other, their steps in perfect mirror. They were still eying each other when they met in the middle.

It took a moment for the guests to hush, and then a Council woman to Leonard’s far left declared something in Vulcan; It had a poetic rhythm. When she was finished King Sarek stood to address the chapel, but Spock rose a hand to him and asked, “May I?”

Sarek paused. “It is not usual for the groom to bestow the blessing at his own wedding.”

“Fear not,” and Spock turned away from T’Pring and raised his voice as to address the chapel in entirety: “For I will not be marrying this day.”

Hissed gasps and whispers struck through the attendance. Leonard noticed several members of the High Council looking at each other— and looking at him.

Sarek set his shoulders; His crown caught the sunlight and shone. “Spock, now is not the time. You have long known of this custom—”

“And its renouncement is long overdue.”

“If you want to speak of renouncement, your duty to the throne of Vulcan—”

“My right to the throne is not my concern; You may relinquish it, Father, but I remain your only heir.”

People were beginning to stand, shuffling with each other to speak to whom they wished. Leonard pulled Joanna closer to him.

Still Sarek spoke to command the room, “If Vulcan is not your concern, what is?”

“Do not make it sound like I do not care for Vulcan or our traditions,” Spock was nearly shouting to be heard against the rising noise. “But seeing as you have broken marital tradition before, I do not see any logic in forbidding me from doing something similar.”

“What are you—?”

But Spock was already withdrawing the scroll from the depths of his sleeve, flicking it open in a flourish. “As my blood is half Common, I reserve the commoners’ right to marry of my own volition. T’Pring?”

“Yes?” She suddenly straightened.

“Would you not prefer to marry— or keep consorts, of your choosing?”

She cautiously nodded. “I would,”

“Then we will be finished polluting our bloodlines with this obsession of monarchical status.”

T’Pring blinked away her surprise. “Agreed, your Highness.”

The whole attendance was standing now, talking and arguing with each other in both Vulcan and Common: “Your prince—” “Without the High Council—” “Totally unheard of—” “Where’s this Amanda?” “Where’s that doctor?”

“Let’s go,” Leonard steered Joanna towards the door they’d come through, trying to avoid eye contact with members of the Vulcan High Council. The exit was in sight when someone grabbed his sleeve— Leonard let go of Joanna’s hand to push her towards the door: “Keep going!”

Leonard was spun by his arm and found he was being held by Advisor T’Parik. Their usually stoic face was bright with blood rush. “How did you get that?”

“What are you talking about?” but more eyes were falling on Leonard by the moment, more of the Council converging around him.

“The prince has spent far too much time with the common—” “Some influence you’ve been, specialist,” “The Vulcan families will be outraged—” “What have you done?”

“Enough of this uncivilized squabble!” King Sarek’s voice shook off the glass and echoed back down to them.

People cut their sentences short; Their last syllables rang for a few moments more.

“Unhand him.” Spock marched towards them and the Council parted to make room.

Advisor T’Parik released Leonard at once, who had to fumble for balance. “Your Highness, this commoner has been nothing but trouble for the Council, and for your health—”

Sarek cut them off, “Do not speak for those who can speak for themselves, T’Parik,”

“Y-Yes, Your Majesty,”

Spock grabbed Leonard’s hands. “Are you unharmed?”

“I’m fine,” though terribly uncomfortable with all this damn attention.

“Good.”

T’Parik summoned their voice again: “But Your Majesty, the benefits of marriage go far beyond—”

“The three most Noble authorities present are myself,” Sarek listed, “His Royal Highness, Prince Spock, and Her Grace, Lady T’Pring; For once it seems that we are all in some degree of agreement.”

T’Parik’s gaze jumped between the aforementioned Vulcans. “The preparations,” they wheezed. “The lords,”

“Will be our most honored guests,” the King announced.

Spock matched his tone: “And are none of your concern. Your seat on the Vulcan High Council is hereby relinquished.”

“You aren’t even on the Council, Your Highness,”

King and prince exchanged a look. “Advisor T’Parik, I regret to inform you that Spock does have a seat on the Council: Yours.”

…

Spock’s work for the Vulcan High Council took utmost priority, but graduated his reputation from a royal ingénue to a practicing politician. The prince kept Leonard informed on most of the topics and consulted Leonard often for his opinions. Autumn winds nipped at the palace grounds; Flora took on hues of red and gold. Wool blankets began to appear on the end of Spock’s bed.

Spock pulled one up around Leonard’s shoulders to fight the chill. “How long are you going to be gone?”

“I wish I could say, Spock, but winter’s always roughest on my patients. Head colds, falls on the ice, sun deprivation—”

“And you promise you’ll return?”

“How could I possibly stay away?”

“And you’ll bring Joanna back with you?”

“Of course, of course,” Leonard nuzzled into him. “She’s too fond of you to keep her away, either.”

“Are you sure she is not simply taken with the library?”

“Hmm, tough choice; You have a lot in common,” He kissed Spock’s neck. “We’ll write you as often as we can.”

“I look forward to it, though not to our parting.”

“We’ll be back by mid spring at the latest, and we can have another summer here.”

“Is it our fate to only see the other half the year?”

“It’s not fate, Spock, and it won’t be forever. Maybe next year you’ll come away with me for a time? Actually see the country side, meet a few of the common folk,”

He smiled, if just a little. “And leave who here to keep the Council in check? Joanna?”

Leonard laughed, “Wouldn’t that make a statement.”

…

Leonard felt age creeping into his joints.

He would never tire of receiving letters from Joanna and updates about the New High Council, but he did grow weary of the fanfare that accompanied the royal mail carriers. He slammed the door shut behind them. “I keep asking her to be more discreet,”

“Messages from the Crown Princess ought to be protected,” Spock said from his chair by the window. “Even if they are just notes to her fathers,”

They had spent over a year living in one of the royal hunting cabins. It was still grander than Leonard felt was necessary for so few people, but small enough that they could maintain most of their needs without any servants. Their favorite chairs looked out a wide window where they could watch the birds and the changing of the seasons. They planted gardenias around the walls. It was the quietest they had lived in a long while.

Leonard slid into his chair next to Spock’s and handed him the envelope with his name. “How’s her calligraphy coming along?”

“Better than yours ever was,”

“Well, I’m sure she has a much better teacher than I ever did.” He smiled at Spock. “When am I going to convince you to officially retire?”

Spock hummed. “I do like it here,”

Leonard reached over to take his hand, brought it to his mouth to kiss it. “Then let’s stay,”

“Are you ready for Joanna to be the Queen?”

“She knows we’re here, she sends us letters whenever she has questions,” though the idea still gave Leonard shivers. When Spock first proposed the idea of naming Joanna his heir Leonard didn’t think he was serious, but Jo rather took to the idea.

The public was enthralled with Joanna; The Vulcan High Council protested, but was soon reformed.

Spock squeezed Leonard’s hand. “Perhaps it is time to spend the rest of my days with you."