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Spock struggled with conducting. In a profession so dependent on emotional expression, he fought his instinct to mask every thought, and for a conductor, that can be fatal. How will the orchestra know what to do? Will they follow his lead, and play every note exactly as written? or will each performer choose to interpret the piece at will, creating a catastrophic chaos of conflicting moods? That wouldn’t do at all. However, a sterile symphony is no symphony at all. Spock knew this. He just didn’t know what to do about it.
How do you learn to deny everything you’ve been taught? to deny that which is the very essence of being a Vulcan, that which you spent your childhood fighting to emulate?
How do you learn to listen to your human side again, after 25 years of shutting it out?
It takes help. That help came in the form of Leonard McCoy— the first clarinetist, and the symphony librarian to boot. Rumor had it that his day job was pediatric nursing, but Spock didn’t believe it. There’s no way the man could have time for that, on top of his duties with the orchestra.
McCoy came to Spock after a particularly disastrous rehearsal. The first violinist (metaphorically) threw down her instrument and stormed off in a huff, because she couldn’t read Spock’s emotional cues. After that, Dr. Pike decided to end rehearsal early.
Leonard walked up to Spock and leaned lazily against the podium. “So. You seem to be having trouble adapting to this whole conducting thing,” McCoy drawled.
“It was not my intention to upset her.”
“Oh I know that. She does too, you know. She just got frustrated. Anyway, seems to me that you need help.”
“I am receiving adequate training from Dr. Pike, Mr. McCoy,” said Spock.
“Maybe on the technical side, sure, but that’s not what you’re struggling with. You need to unlock your emotions. You grew up pushin’ everything down and pretending you didn’t feel anything at all, and you’ve reached a point in your life where you’re gonna have to either unlearn all of that or quit.”
For a moment, McCoy thought he saw Spock almost flinch, but— no, it must have been a trick of the light. When Spock spoke, it was in the same even, measured tone as always.
“I do not wish to quit. I simply need to practice harder.”
Leonard lifted one brow. “You could do that, if you wanted to run yourself ragged. Or, you could take me up on this offer I’m about to make to you.”
Spock matched his raised brow with one of his own. “And what might that offer be, Mr. McCoy?”
The older man snorted. “Call me Leonard, or don’t call me anything at all. Anything but Mr. McCoy. Anyway, Bernstein is conducting Mahler’s Second Symphony in London tomorrow night. I happen to have tickets, and I was going to go with Nyota but she got a last-minute opera gig tomorrow night. Wanna come with me?”
“You want me to come with you... to London?”
“I’ve got a couple hotel rooms booked, dinner reservations, all that. It had been a while since Nyota and I hung out— schedule issues, you know— so we went all out. Since she can’t go, I’m asking you, because I want to get to know you better, and I want to help you with conducting.”
“I am still unsure of how going to London will help with that, Leonard.”
McCoy chuckled. “You need to learn how to feel the music. Perform with passion, and vivacity, and light. You’ve never seen Bernstein conduct, and that’s why we’re going. He was a true master, and you need to experience it for yourself.”
The next day, they’ve hopped on shuttle for transport to London. McCoy is visibly nervous, but Spock doesn’t know how to help. He never knows how to help.
“Leonard... do you need anything?”
McCoy chuckles drily. “How about a stiff drink?” After a beat of silence, he settles back uncomfortably. “No, guess not. Alcohol wouldn’t have any effect on you, why would you carry it with you?”
They sit awkwardly for the rest of the shuttle ride. McCoy runs to the bathroom at least three times.
They arrive at the hotel and leave their suitcases with no trouble. They dress for dinner and the concert, and meet in the lobby.
Spock is... well, he’s just stunning. Leonard didn’t know that someone could fill a tuxedo so well, but it looks like it was made for Spock. Hell, maybe it was made for Spock. There’s a rumor going around the brass section that his daddy’s some kinda big shot on Vulcan.
It occurs to both men that they really don’t know each other at all. It also occurs to Leonard that he has essentially asked Spock on a date; not necessarily a bad thing, given how beautiful Spock looks in that tux.
Spock raises an eyebrow at the other man. “Leonard? Are you quite all right?”
McCoy shakes himself out of his reverie. “Yeah— uh, yeah. Let’s go to dinner.”
At dinner, they manage to somewhat lessen the tension by engaging in small talk.
“So.” McCoy points his fork at Spock. “What do you know about Leonard Bernstein?”
“I am more familiar with his compositional works than anything about his personal life or his conducting career. He wrote some pieces that grew to be extremely influential in the 20th and 21st centuries, did he not?”
“That’s correct. Now about his conducting career— this man singlehandedly introduced the world to Mahler. Before Bernstein came around, Mahler was a forgotten composer. He brought Mahler back to the public eye and created a legacy that would last until now, and probably beyond as well. He also hosted television programs meant to introduce regular people the classical music.”
Spock leaned forward slightly. “Fascinating. Forgive me, Leonard, but was he not also homosexual? Something that I believe was frowned upon during this time? How was he able to create such an name for himself?”
“He hid it, Spock. He married a woman, and had affairs with men on the side.”
The two men sat quietly for a moment as they tried to imagine the world when people weren’t accepted for loving whomever they chose to love.
Eventually, Spock nodded. “Thank you, Leonard. I look forward to seeing him conduct tonight.”
McCoy smiled. “Me too. It’s an unforgettable experience, Spock.”
Later that night, they took their seats in the concert hall. The lights dimmed, and the holographic Bernstein cued the live orchestra.
McCoy had seen this concert before. When he was visiting Germany, the Berliner Philharmoniker had the Bernstein hologram. It belonged to the New York Philharmonic (as was fitting), but the hologram was frequently loaned out to other symphony orchestras. The classical music world, while oft in disagreement, came to a consensus on one thing: Bernstein’s legacy deserved to be shared worldwide. While McCoy was in Berlin, he went to every single Bernstein concert they performed during his stay. And so, his attention was not affixed to the conductor. No, McCoy was watching Spock. For one hour, 29 minutes, and 11 seconds, McCoy watched Spock. He watched Spock’s hands, dancing across imaginary oboe keys in a well-rehearsed pattern. He watched Spock’s mouth, softly mouthing the German words with the alto soloist. And he watched Spock’s eyes well with tears as the finale rang through the hall. The man blinked them back before they could fall, but Leonard saw, and he smiled. This was why they had come.
As they walked out of the concert hall, Spock finally, tentatively spoke. “Leonard... thank you. I believe I understand better what you meant about feeling the music. I shall endeavor to emulate Bernstein in my own conducting.”
McCoy smiled. “I’m glad you enjoyed it. Now, follow me. I have one last surprise for you.” He gently took Spock’s shoulders and steered him towards a side hallway. They turned and ducked into a curtained, beautifully decorated lounge— and there he sat. The great composer, conductor, and humanitarian, Leonard Bernstein himself.
Bernstein smiled at Spock. “I hear you’ve been having trouble letting go. It’s all right, Mr. Spock. Being a part of an ensemble— being part of life means recognizing your weaknesses. It is through no fault of your own that you are struggling with this aspect of conducting. It is, however, on your own shoulders to overcome it, though you will have help. There is a whole galaxy of people who will reach for you. Let them guide you.” Bernstein smiled at McCoy, who stood quietly by the door. The man then turned back to Spock. “You have the makings of a great conductor. Great as me, perhaps even greater. All you have to do is open up and release yourself.”
Bernstein sat back down. “Thank you, gentlemen, for listening to me. Enjoy the rest of your visit, and please, come visit me again sometime.”
Spock was— admittedly not uncharacteristically— silent as they left and began to walk to their hotel. How could he have known that she said that to me? No one else was with me and Michael, and Bernstein is just a hologram...
Leonard noticed that Spock’s silence was different this time. He glanced over at Spock, whose eyebrows were knitted in confusion.
“Spock, you okay?”
Spock looked up sharply, his reverie broken. “What?”
“You seem odd. Are you okay?”
“I am fine, Leonard. Something Mr. Bernstein said.... reminded me of someone I knew a long time ago, that’s all.”
Three days later, the orchestra met for rehearsal. It went quite smoothly, to the surprise of most symphony members. And at the end, when they played the final chord of Respighi’s Pines of Rome— Spock smiled.