Archive of Our Own

1. Rigel Prime – 2252

“He’s exactly your type,” is the first thing Movel says to McCoy when he brings up Ambassador Sarek.

The hospital McCoy works at on Rigel Prime is hosting a handful of Federation ambassadors in order to procure more funding for their research department. Starfleet is already providing some funding, but as its focus tends to be more on exploration and first contact, it’s not as much as they would like. Thus, they’re trying to persuade the Federation to cover the rest of the costs. Their department is at the forefront of a lot of cutting-edge research in terms of medicine development, vaccine creation, and the overall health of hundreds of Federation and non-Federation species, so they’re hopeful they can convince them to accept their proposal.

Or, at least, McCoy would be hopeful if he wasn’t the one his boss, Doctor Ngoma, selected to try and convince the ambassadors to fork over the funding.

He has no goddamn idea why she selected him, except perhaps because he’s as stubborn as a mule and won’t let any big brass walk all over him. Which, sure, he can do that. But he’s not sure it’s what the hospital should actually want if they ever want to gain funding from the Federation again.

But after a week of complaining doesn’t get him out of it, McCoy sits down and takes his job seriously. And his first task is, of course, to read about the ambassadors he’s going to have to try and convince.

Though it’s hard to focus on anything when Movel is giving him that not-smug look. Vulcans don’t express emotions his ass.

McCoy glances at them suspiciously. He almost thinks it’s a joke, but Vulcans don’t joke around, and even though McCoy has met some who definitely do, Movel is not one of them. They are also completely brutal in the way they won’t stop alluding to McCoy’s botched attempt to ask them out. He has always had a soft spot for assholes.

“So he’s a complete jerk, is that what you’re saying?” McCoy says drily.

“His debates are legendary, and his logic is cutting,” they say. “If you do not proceed carefully, he will ruin your reputation in front of the entire Board of Medicine. And we will not get our funding.”

“Which is exactly why I told Ngoma that I’m not the person for this!” McCoy exclaims, throwing his PADD down on his desk. He stews for a moment and then mumbles, “Doesn’t help that Sarek’s hot as hell, too. Damn.”

“Like I said,” Movel says, jotting something down on their PADD. “He’s exactly your type.” 

McCoy snorts. “Now if I didn’t know any better, I’d say that sounds a bit egotistical.”

Movel raises their eyebrow. “Fortunately, you do know better.”

McCoy shakes his head fondly and returns to his reading. If Sarek’s going to be a hard-ass, then McCoy just has to prepare as much as he can so that his arguments are completely foolproof.

When the day of the presentation arrives, McCoy stands in front of a podium, nervously shuffling his notecards. He notices immediately when Sarek walks in because his presence seems to command the attention of everyone in the room. It’s not because he’s noisy—in fact he’s quiet as a mouse as he glides across the floor—but simply from the magnitude of his posture, his air of importance.

Look at me, his posture seems to say, listen to what I have to tell you.

It’s a powerful tool for an ambassador to have, to be able to instantly demand attention and respect just by entering a room.

And it certainly works in his favor that he’s even more attractive in person.

Sarek makes eye contact with McCoy. McCoy flushes darkly, a burst of arousal shooting through him, and he hates that Movel was absolutely right. But McCoy has never been one to crumple under intimidation tactics, so he sets his jaw, straightens his posture, and stops fiddling with his cards. He stares back at Sarek with defiance, to which Sarek simply raises one, perfectly manicured eyebrow.

Somehow it relaxes McCoy slightly, and by the time all of the ambassadors are seated, he’s feeling confident. He goes through his spiel and accompanying holovisuals, carefully outlining each aspect of the projects they want to receive funding for, the protocols, the work they’ve already done to emphasis the importance of their research.

At the end of his presentation, he feels like he’s made an airtight argument.

But all of his confidence leaves him as soon as Sarek begins to speak. 

“You claim that the vaccines your department will develop will benefit hundreds of Federation species,” Sarek says. “How do you plan to account for non-universal efficacy, especially in terms of hybrids?”

McCoy blinks at him, trying to understand the question. The problem of non-universal efficacy is definitely relevant, as it’s a problem medical and public health scientists have struggled with since the dawn of modern medicine. All species, and individuals within those species, are drastically different and are thus going to react differently to various vaccines – that’s Biology 101.

But McCoy doesn’t understand why Sarek would ask about hybrids specifically. While the health of hybrids is of course important, they’re relatively uncommon, and most doctors wouldn’t have to treat one in their entire lifetime. Not to mention that every hybrid is going to react very differently from full-blooded members of their two species and from each other, making it nearly impossible to estimate vaccine efficacy for them.

So the question feels like Sarek’s trying to catch him off-guard more than anything else. McCoy thinks about how Movel had warned him that, if he wasn’t careful, Sarek could easily ruin his reputation.

He bites back his irritation and calmly replies, “Part of why we’re asking for as much funding as we are is so that we can perform extensive tests on all of our medications, both for initial research and clinical trials. That should improve our understanding of how to design vaccines and cures that are effective for a wide number of species. That’ll help hybrids, too, for we’ll have a better understanding of how the vaccine affects full-blooded people from each of their species.”

Sarek seems satisfied with this answer, to McCoy’s relief, so they move on.

A few of the other ambassadors ask questions, thankfully easy to answer, and McCoy starts to think that he actually managed to pull it off.

But then Sarek brings up the most dreaded question of all: “Why have you not run your protocols through the VIRB?”

McCoy gapes at him for what feels like minutes, but hopefully is only a matter of seconds. The VIRB—or Vulcan Institutional Review Board—is the Vulcan equivalent of the ethics board on Earth that goes through each medical and research procedure involving tests on living beings to make sure major ethics violations aren’t occurring. It’s an incredibly important thing to check up on, and McCoy’s all for it in principle, but the reality is that dealing with any ethics board is a huge pain in the ass. They’re always clogged with thousands of projects, so it takes forever for them to approve any one proposal, and if any changes are made to the protocol, no matter how small, it has to be sent in again for reconsideration.

Thankfully, the Federation has a standard ethics board so that researchers don’t have to go through each individual board, or it really would take forever. So why Sarek wants him to send his protocols through the fucking VIRB McCoy has absolutely no idea.

It just seems like yet another tactic to irritate him.

McCoy reigns in his anger, with effort, and tries to say evenly, “All of our protocols have been approved by the Federation’s IRB, and since that board accounts for all Federation members, they don’t require that our protocols also pass through each individual planet or species’ IRB.”

Sarek shakes his head. “But your project is also being funded by Starfleet. Starfleet and the VIRB have had issues in the past – I do not believe it would be wise to leave out the VIRB considering such history.”

McCoy grits his teeth. “Ambassador, we have dozens of proposals we’re trying to fund. To send each and every one through the VIRB when the Federation has already approved them—with Vulcan members on the board!—would only serve to delay the entire process and thus prevent us from saving lives that could’ve been saved in the meantime.”

Sarek raises an eyebrow. “And what do you propose to do when the VIRB learns of your research and shuts down your team’s whole project, simply because the VIRB was not asked to review?”

McCoy pounds his fist on the podium, failing to hold back his anger any longer. “If we sent them through the VIRB, we’d have to send them through the ethics board for every damn species we hope to help with our research! Do you know how long it would take to send the protocols through each and every IRB in the Federation? Nothing would ever get done! No cures would ever be developed, no vaccines! Researchers would just endlessly spend their days writing and rewriting procedures for all of the ethics boards – ethics which are extremely important, but already accounted for by the FIRB!”

Sarek seems taken aback by his outburst. Something in McCoy is screaming at him to stop, begging him not to ruin this after he had made such a solid argument, but his anger is boiling over and he can’t stop himself from shouting, “Say we go along with your plan – say we go through each board. Maybe, if we’re lucky, in a year we’ll get the go ahead from all of them. But what if we start the trials and find out we have to change a step of the protocol? Then we have to write it all out again, go through the same damn process, and maybe it takes longer this time because one of the ethics boards doesn’t agree with the change. Years go by, more people die, all because you’re not okay with the FIRB. Do you want to be responsible for thousands of deaths just because of some pedantic, bureaucratic nonsense?!”

“Doctor!” Reese, the Earth representative, snaps sternly. “I believe that is quite enough.”

McCoy snaps his jaw shit, panting from his outburst. Mortification slowly spreads through his chest as Sarek stares at him, something profoundly unimpressed in his expression.

…Good God, what has he done?

Swallowing, McCoy mumbles dryly, “…Forgive me, Ambassador. It’s not my place to determine if the VIRB is involved or not. I would have to discuss that idea with my supervisor.”

Sarek nods, though he no longer seems engaged.

The meeting ends, and McCoy trudges back to the office, his body sagging with defeat. How had he let himself get so worked up? He knew Sarek and the other representatives would bring up bureaucratic nonsense – he had even prepared for it. Maybe he was so thrown by the mention of the VIRB, which is notoriously stickler and slow when it comes to evaluating protocols, that his pent up frustration from dealing with them had just taken over. Dammit, and it had been going so well too! But now it’s all ruined, at no one’s fault but his own. 

God, he knew he wasn’t the right person for this!  

He enters the communal office space, where Movel is calmly sitting in front of their holomonitor.

They stare at him as he shuffles by. “…I take it it did not go well?”

McCoy’s only answer is to slam the door to the break room shut behind him.

--

McCoy wallows in self-pity for days afterward.

He hates himself for ruining a project he’s so passionate about—and that he truly believes will improve the health and livelihoods of thousands of Federation citizens—all because he couldn’t reign in his temper over one measly ambassador’s comment. He’s fought with the brass plenty of times before, when he truly believed they were putting lives at stake unnecessarily. But this time, arguably, he’s the one putting those lives at stake after fighting with the brass – at least delayed research due to the nonsense of the VIRB would’ve been better than no research at all. 

But, to his shock, the subspace message confirming their funding comes only a week later. McCoy can hardly believe it – he thought for sure he’d fucked the whole thing up, what with how he’d lashed out at Sarek and all. He’d even glumly told Ngoma not to expect the funding.

But Ngoma comes by the lab herself with the news, squeezing McCoy’s shoulder. “Good work, McCoy.”

She drops the PADD in front of a flabbergasted McCoy. Movel eyes him from across the lab bench and says, “Perhaps Ambassador Sarek is fond of assholes, too.”

“Yeah, yeah,” McCoy mutters, but he can’t stop smiling. He’s so relieved that they got the funding they needed to start their work, that he didn’t ruin the whole thing before it even began.

He’ll have to thank Ambassador Sarek if he ever runs into him again.

2. Starbase 11 – 2267

McCoy sits at the bar, clutching a shot of untouched brandy tightly in his hands.

He can hardly believe what’s happening. Jim Kirk, one of the finest starship captains in the galaxy, is accused of willfully sending a man to his death before the ship was truly in danger. Jim had testified that he ejected Finney’s pod into the ion storm after he called for red alert, but the computer records that Spock had beamed down with showed that Jim had done so before. That’s enough for a court martial, and thus the Enterprise and her crew are stuck at Starbase 11 until an official inquiry can be made.  

McCoy’s been stewing in the bar over it for the last few hours. He can’t believe Jim of all people is being accused of something like this. He would never crack under pressure like that, let alone wantonly murder a man! It makes him so angry that he barely contains himself from launching into a shouting match with Jim’s old classmates who are also still hanging out in the bar. He’s also unreasonably angry that Spock isn’t here. Spock had finished his diagnostics on the computer, beamed down to inform Jim that the computer was not in error, and then left again without another word. It had been obvious how upset the news had made Jim, and yet Spock hadn’t even offered any kind of comfort. He had just left.

He could at least be here comforting me, McCoy thinks, and then angrily pushes the thought away. He knows that one is just plain unreasonable, even if they are…something to each other now.

McCoy had felt that something fluttering around in his chest the second he met Spock. He had just beamed aboard the Enterprise after Doctor Piper retired, giving a massive hug to Jim and a shaky ta’al that he couldn’t hold very well—or at all—to Spock. Spock’s eyebrow quirked, the corner of his mouth crumpled into something that suspiciously looked like amusement, and he said, “That gesture you are presenting is quite offensive on Vulcan, Doctor.”

McCoy had blushed, lowered his hand, and grumbled something about how it was the best he could do even after working with Vulcans for over fifteen years.

But inwardly, he was thinking, Oh no, another Vulcan asshole.

Jim and Spock gave him a tour of the Enterprise, saving Sickbay for the very end, probably because they could both tell how much it irritated him. McCoy had known Jim for years and years, so he knew why he was teasing him, but he hadn’t understood why Spock was. Vulcans absolutely had a sense of humor, but Spock seemed like the type who pretended they didn’t. McCoy couldn’t quite figure him out. He stood stiffly, his voice had little to no inflection—he even managed to shout across the Bridge with a completely flat tone of voice—and he seemed awkward in social situations. But there was something about his eyes – they sparkled with depth and intrigue, and McCoy found himself badly wanting to understand the person beneath the familiar logical exterior.

Especially since Spock kept teasing him until McCoy couldn’t help but snap back at him, and they fell into an argument. An argument that McCoy extremely enjoyed, Jim seemed perplexed by, and Spock looked even more blank about than before, which could either mean he found McCoy an annoying loudmouth, extremely attractive, or couldn’t care less about him.

McCoy was somehow turned on by all three options.

Fuck.

It had only taken one more argument for McCoy and Spock to become friends, five for them to kiss each other breathlessly in a conference room, six for Spock to show up at McCoy’s quarters one night, his eyes darker than usual and a scathing retort on his tongue, and seven for them to end up in McCoy’s bed without any clothes on.

Movel’s right again, he’d thought as he laid next to Spock afterward, both of them trying to catch their breaths.

They’ve had thirty arguments and twelve nights together since then, not that McCoy’s keeping track, and yet neither of them have said a word about what exactly it is that they’re doing. McCoy has stubbornly decided that there’s no need to, because they’re just two people having fun and enjoying each other’s company.

And if his heart beats just a tiny bit faster every time Spock enters the room, well, no one needs to know that but him.

So there’s absolutely no reason for him to be mad that Spock isn’t down here comforting him. They don’t do that kind of thing very often, and besides, Spock isn’t the one McCoy is really mad at. It would be unfair of him to take it out on him, so it’s probably for the best that he isn’t here.

Movement catches McCoy’s eye, and he looks up to see Ambassador Sarek enter the bar. McCoy’s heart seizes in his chest. Mostly from surprise and embarrassment, but also partially because of a sudden rush of attraction. Damn, how does Sarek manage to look so fine at 102 years old?

He isn’t sure if Sarek will remember him. God, he sure hopes he doesn’t. He makes a pathetic attempt to hide behind his hand, but still somehow manages to make direct eye contact with Sarek.

Sarek gives him a look, and McCoy flushes.

Oh yeah, he definitely remembers him.

But, surprisingly, Sarek sits beside him at the bar anyway. “Greetings, Doctor McCoy.”

“Ambassador Sarek.” McCoy dips his head. “What are you doing on this Starbase?”

“I was on the Intrepid, overseeing the integration of the Vulcan crew with Starfleet standard procedures. Our ship was in dock for repairs before your ship, but its repair schedule was pushed back to prioritize the Enterprise.”

“…So you’re stranded too, huh?” McCoy mumbles, finally knocking back his brandy. He’s going to need it if he and Sarek are going to have a prolonged conversation. “So why are you at the bar? I thought alcohol didn’t have any intoxicating effects on Vulcans.”

“It does not,” Sarek says, folding his hands neatly in front of him. When the bartender comes around, he only orders water. “However, the Starfleet engineers seemed to find it unsettling that I was standing behind them watching them, so they requested I wait elsewhere.”

McCoy snorts, smiling into his glass. “You do have quite a presence, Ambassador.”

Sarek tilts his head but doesn’t contest the point.

They lapse into silence; McCoy nervously picks at his glass. Sarek isn’t mentioning the last time they met, but even after fifteen years McCoy is still embarrassed about how he’d lost his cool. It had been miraculous that he’d still managed to nab funding for the project after his atrocious behavior, and a lot of that is likely due to Sarek’s influence.

“Ambassador Sarek,” McCoy starts sheepishly. “I know this was a long time ago, but I wanted to thank you for voting to fund the Rigel Prime project. We were able to do a lot of good work because of it.”

“Indeed, the work you and your colleagues were doing there was important,” Sarek says. “Though if I was swayed by emotion, not logic, your behavior probably would’ve caused me to vote against it.”

McCoy flushes with shame. “I, uh, should apologize for that. I was young and brash, but that’s not much of an excuse.”

“I should think not.” Sarek raises an eyebrow in an oddly familiar way. “Particularly because I hear reports from enraged commodores that suggest you still behave in much the same way.”

Irritation pricks under McCoy’s skin, but he tries to ignore it. Don’t fight with the brass when Jim’s career is already on the line. “Well, it’s hard to keep a cool head when a lot of those commodores give orders from their comfy desk chairs while having absolutely no idea what it’s really like out here.”

Sarek is quiet for a moment. “I agree with you, Doctor.”

McCoy blinks, taken aback. “…You do?”

“Yes. I have always believed it to be a major flaw in Starfleet design.” Sarek is quiet for a moment, his long fingers curling around his glass of water. They’re highly distracting, and McCoy has to avert his eyes. “It can be incredibly dangerous to have someone in power who does not fully understand the situation. I believe more information and decisions need to come from the bottom up, from those who have actually served in space.”

“…I feel the same way.” McCoy tightens his grip on his glass slightly. “It’s like with Jim’s whole court martial. Ah, Captain Kirk, I should say. He’s in trouble now because of people who claim to know what happened even though they weren’t even there.”

Sarek raises an eyebrow. “And yet they are basing their conclusions off of computer evidence. That is difficult to dispute – computers do not have bias, or ulterior motives.”

McCoy clenches his jaw. “He didn’t do it.”

“And what do you base this conclusion off of?”

“Because I know Jim Kirk!” McCoy snaps. “He’d never panic under pressure like that!”

Sarek gives him that same unimpressed look he’d given him fifteen years ago. “Humans often base their conclusions off of unreliable sources, such as instinct or emotion.”

McCoy opens his mouth, just about yells something as bad as he did back then, and then shuts his mouth again, with effort. Don’t fight with the brass, don’t fight with the brass, he repeats in his head over and over again until he can say calmly, “Well, illogical or not, I know he didn’t do it.”

“Then you must find evidence to support your claim,” Sarek says, and then stands. “Forgive me, Doctor, but it is time for my evening meditation. Farewell.”

“Oh, uh, yeah. See you around,” McCoy says, surprised by Sarek’s abrupt departure. He watches him go, thinking about what he’d said.

…Evidence, huh? Where the hell is he supposed to find something like that?  

--

It turns out he doesn’t need to, for Spock finds it for him. After realizing that the computer must have been in error, Spock sat down to challenge the computer to games of chess, games which he won, therefore proving that the computer was malfunctioning. McCoy had misunderstood this scene when he stumbled upon it, and he’d snarled something nasty that Spock didn’t deserve, especially since his proof led to the discovery that Finney was still alive and framing Jim. Once he was found, it was a simple matter of ending Jim’s inquiry and clearing his name.

All of it is a huge weight off of McCoy’s shoulders. Well, except for the part where he snarled something nasty at Spock.

McCoy shows up at Spock’s door that same evening, nervously shifting his weight from foot to foot. When Spock opens the door, he tries for a smile and says, “Hi. Can I come in?”

Spock raises an eyebrow, but he has yet to bar McCoy from entering, so he steps aside to let him in.

McCoy passes him and stalls in the middle of the room. Spock moves to the table, where a pot of tea sits with steam billowing out of the spout, and prepares another cup. He doesn’t say anything, waiting for McCoy to find his words, and McCoy feels a rush of gratitude for him. Spock has always had a unique skill of making someone feel welcome to take their time without things becoming awkward. McCoy strangely wants to touch Spock’s wrists, but he keeps his hands to himself.

“Spock, I, uh…” McCoy starts, clearing his throat as he runs his fingers gently down the rim of Spock’s lyre instead. “I wanted to apologize for what I said to you earlier. And thank you, for doing what you did to save Jim’s career.”

“The computer was obviously in error,” Spock says. “It was only logical to then look for evidence to prove it. One does not thank logic, Doctor.”

McCoy bites back a scathing remark about logic. He doesn’t feel like arguing tonight. “Well, many Vulcans have told me that many times in the past, so it doesn’t seem very likely that I’ll stop.”

Spock glances at him, a glint of amusement in his eyes and the corner of his mouth. “Then I will accept your gratitude, Doctor, and your apology.”

McCoy chuckles and accepts the cup of tea that Spock brings over to him. Even once he’s passed the cup over, Spock remains close, close enough that McCoy can feel his breath on his face and the warmth of his body. Their hands brush together when McCoy lifts the cup to take a sip, causing heat to spark all the way down to his toes.

“Spock—” McCoy starts, going to say something pointless about tea, but then Spock reaches up to caress his face with his hands, and suddenly speaking doesn’t seem all that important anymore.

McCoy sets the cup down and steps even closer to Spock, kissing his thumb with very light pressure. Spock’s breath still hitches, a shuddering, intoxicating thing, so McCoy presses up to kiss him on the lips too. They get lost in it, each other, mouths parting almost at the same time to deepen the kiss. Spock always tastes like fruit or some kind of tea, a sweet, delightful mixture that McCoy can’t seem to get enough of no matter how many times he tastes it.

“…You were saying, Doctor?” Spock murmurs when they eventually, slowly part for air.

McCoy is so wrecked that he wouldn’t have been able to remember what he was saying even if it had been something important.

“Asshole,” McCoy grumbles fondly, smiling as he loops his fingers through Spock’s. The asshole comment reminds him of Sarek suddenly, so he says, “You know, Spock? Sometimes you remind me exactly of this ambassador I’ve met several times now.”

Spock’s eyes gleam as he raises their entwined hands and slowly kisses McCoy’s fingers. “Indeed?”

McCoy’s pulse picks up as he starts tracing Spock’s lips. “Yeah, I met him while I was stationed on Rigel Prime. He had a dry wit that could kill a man, and was quite honestly rude as shit. Although, I used to have a bit of a crush on him.”

McCoy laughs at himself as Spock caresses McCoy’s hand. “And who was this ambassador, Doctor? Perhaps I should introduce myself.”

“His name is Sarek,” McCoy says, and watches with confusion as the mirth slips right off Spock’s face.

Spock steps back from him, his expression stony, and then he turns around and leaves his own quarters.

McCoy gapes and runs out to the hallway to call after him, “Hey, Spock! Where are you going? …Spock?”

3. U.S.S. Enterprise – 2268

McCoy stands next to Spock in the hallway outside the shuttle bay, trying not to fidget.

He’s both nervous and excited as they await Ambassador Sarek and his delegation. He’s excited because he’s hoping that the third time really is the charm, and that he’ll be able to talk to Sarek about Vulcan physiology now that they’ve gotten initial meetings and bad behavior out of the way. McCoy had read that Sarek came out of retirement in order to represent Vulcan at the Coridan conference, but it seems strange that he had retired at all, considering he’s only 103. Especially since he had seemed perfectly healthy the last time McCoy had seen him. So McCoy’s curious to learn about it, if Sarek’s willing to answer such a personal question. He hadn’t seemed offended by him the last time they met in the bar, so he’s hoping he’ll be open to an intellectual conversation. 

But he’s also nervous because he’s worried he still won’t be able to behave himself in front of Sarek and his delegation. It doesn’t help that his formal uniform feels like it’s suffocating the life out of him and he’s seconds away from just tearing the damn thing off of himself. McCoy doesn’t know how Spock and Jim can stand still with the scratchy fabric brushing across their skin with every slight movement.

“How does that Vulcan salute go?” McCoy asks, hoping to distract himself.

Spock glances at him. He’s been out of sorts for weeks now, and despite McCoy’s persistence and stubbornness, he hasn’t been able to figure out why. Spock still argues with him and spends the night with him, but he seems…subdued, somehow. Distracted. Whenever McCoy asks about it, he changes the subject or just doesn’t answer at all. McCoy figures it has something to do with Sarek, since he had been so upset after learning that McCoy was acquainted with him, but he can only guess at the reason.

He just hopes that Sarek’s arrival won’t cause another fight like that one. It had taken weeks for Spock to speak with him again, let alone want to continue their courting. The fact that he had just cut McCoy off and refused to explain or even talk about it with him had hurt McCoy very deeply, and McCoy had a bad habit of disguising hurt with anger. The arguments they’d had during that time had been anything but fun.

McCoy had hated every second of it. He really doesn’t want to go through it again.

But at least Spock’s still speaking to him, and he’d slept in McCoy’s quarters the night before McCoy moved in with Jim. Despite being rigid as a log, he doesn’t seem upset with him now, either. He patiently displays the ta’al for him again, even though he must know that McCoy has tried to replicate this gesture for years and years and has never once gotten it right. After all, teasing him about it was the first thing Spock had ever said to him.

McCoy tries to copy it, but as expected, he can’t force his fingers into the shape. Even using his other hand to guide them proves a fruitless effort.

“That hurts worse than the uniform,” he mutters.

Spock doesn’t smile, but a very tiny corner of his mouth crumples as he presses closer to McCoy, brushing their shoulders together.

Sarek steps aboard, elegant as always, and exchanges greetings with Jim. Then, Jim introduces Sarek to Spock.

“Vulcan honors us with your presence,” Spock says, holding up the ta’al. “We come to serve.”

Sarek merely stares at Spock. McCoy doesn’t miss the frosty exchange that passes between them before Sarek turns to McCoy. Good Lord, something really did happen between these two.

“Ambassador Sarek,” McCoy says with a small grin. “It’s good to see you again.”

Sarek dips his head. “Greetings, Doctor McCoy. I trust you are well?”

“I’m just fine, thank you.” McCoy feels Spock’s eyes boring into the side of his head, but he doesn’t dare turn to look. Spock’s body is so stiff that McCoy can feel it from where their shoulders are lightly pressed together, and that’s never a good sign.

Sarek introduces his aides and his wife – McCoy is surprised to realize that she’s human. He knows that there are plenty of Vulcan and human couples, as he had met and worked with many of them while stationed on Rigel Prime and he of course knows of Spock’s mixed heritage, but he wouldn’t have pegged Sarek for the type. Sure, he’s an Ambassador to the Federation, but his policies and his manner all seem to suggest that he prefers Vulcan ancestry and tradition. 

Apparently that isn’t fully the case, however.

McCoy finds himself even more curious about Sarek, so much so that he almost misses Jim turn to Spock and say, “Mister Spock, we’ll leave orbit in two hours. Would you care to beam down and visit your parents?”

“Captain,” Spock says, very gravely, “Ambassador Sarek and his wife are my parents.”

It’s dead silent for nearly a minute. All of the air feels like it’s been sucked right out of the room, as if the shuttle bay doors are still open and they’ve all been abruptly thrust into the cold, quiet, airless vastness of space.

It takes a moment for the information to sink in. Sarek is Spock’s father. Then, suddenly, everything clicks into place – this is why Sarek had been so adamant about vaccine efficacy for hybrids, why he seemed oddly familiar in his mannerisms after McCoy met Spock. This is why Spock had been so upset with him when he found out he knew him, as based on their interactions so far there’s definitely some kind of bad blood between them.

Jim smiles in a very strained, very unpleasant way, and then swiftly changes the subject back to the tour. He soon leaves with Sarek, his wife, and his aides in tow, leaving McCoy and Spock frozen in the hallway.

“Spock—” McCoy starts, intending to end that sentence with why didn’t you tell me Sarek was your father? But when he glances at Spock and sees how stiff and guarded he looks, he decides not to question him. He knows how messy family ties can be, and it’s not really any of his business anyway. So instead he steps closer, touches Spock’s wrist, and murmurs lowly, “Are you going to be okay?”

Spock looks surprised for a split second before he suppresses it. His shoulders relax slightly as he reaches out to brush his fingers against McCoy’s. “I appreciate your concern, Doctor. However, I believe it is unwarranted.”

McCoy, well-versed in parsing through Spock-speak by now, nods. “Okay. But I’m here for you if that changes, alright? I’m rooming with Jim right now, but I can always kick him out if necessary.”

A ghost of a smile passes across Spock’s lips. “I’m not sure the Captain would ever forgive you.”

McCoy chuckles. “Trust me, I did way worse to him whenever we were temporary roommates on the Republic. He knew what he was signing up for.”

Spock presses his fingers more purposefully against McCoy’s. It’s the most he’ll ever kiss him in public, and while McCoy isn’t one for public displays of affection either, he can’t help but be slightly envious of the easy, casual way Sarek and his wife had kissed earlier.

“Thank you, Leonard,” Spock murmurs before stepping away. “I believe I am needed in Engineering.”

McCoy’s eyes widen. “Wait just a minute! You’re not leaving me alone with a lounge full of pissed off delegates, are you—?”

“I will go to the lounge once I am finished with my duties,” Spock says, his eyes sparkling with amusement as he turns and walks off down the hallway.

McCoy gapes after him for a moment before pulling his wits together enough to shout, “You owe me big-time for this, Spock!”

Spock doesn’t respond – he merely tucks his hands behind his back as he continues down the hall.

McCoy shakes his head, grumbles under his breath about entitled First Officers, and then heads for the lounge with a sinking, inescapable feeling of dread.

--

McCoy scrubs up in preparation for surgery, numbness settling in his chest as he thoroughly washes each one of his fingers.

Scrub, scrub, scrub …

His pre-op routine has always helped him empty his mind. Back in med school, when he first started training to be a surgeon, he was often overwhelmed by his emotions. Each surgery had been like torture, his anxiety running rampant before and during and after each procedure so that he felt sick all day, his stomach twisted up in painful knots and his lungs constricted in his chest. He’d needed to do something, or he would’ve flunked med school as soon as he began. Starting anxiety medication had helped, of course, but so had focusing on his scrubbing-up routine. He’d gotten into the practice of pretending like he was scrubbing away his emotions as well as any bacteria, so that with each stroke he became the calm, clinical surgeon everyone expected of him.

Scrub, scrub, scrub …

By now, he’s done it enough times that it works like a charm. He imagines it’s a lot like how Spock’s meditation works for him, though McCoy has never been able to achieve anything like it outside of the emergency room.

Scrub, scrub, scrub …

This time, though, he can’t quite get rid of everything. A few emotions still poke at him, making his heart rate spike before he can focus on his scrubbing again. It’s always much worse whenever he has to operate on someone he knows personally and cares deeply for—which happens more than he would like on board the Enterprise—but this time the situation is also trying its damnedest to poke through his calm projection.

Scrub, scrub, scrub …

He’s never operated on a full-blooded Vulcan before, only done research, and now he has to perform heart surgery while the ship’s rocking around like they’re being blasted right out of space. And it’s not just any Vulcan either – it’s Ambassador Sarek, someone McCoy greatly respects, and Spock’s father to boot. McCoy had thought that the worst of his problems was dealing with the way Sarek had brushed off his questions like his curiosity irritated him – he never would’ve guessed that he’d find himself having to prevent his heart from exploding in his face.

Scrub, scrub, scrub …

And Spock himself… 

McCoy glances at the hypo next to him, already loaded with the Rigelian stimulant, and has to consciously prevent himself from rocking on his toes angrily. He knows exactly who invented that drug—the early stages of its development had been conducted in their lab on Rigel Prime—and while their work had been brilliant, and promising, Doctor Drayden was often impatient and unwilling to wait for proper tests to be done before pushing their drugs on sentient subjects. It was all for the sake of patients who were dying, but it still left a bad taste in McCoy’s mouth. They had butted heads countless times, and it’s aggravating to McCoy that this is the person he has to rely on for something as important as Sarek’s and Spock’s lives.

It’s equally ironic that Sarek had helped pave the way for such drugs to be developed.

Scrub, scrub—

McCoy stops scrubbing and just leans on the counter for a moment. He takes a deep breath, holds it, and then releases it out his mouth slowly. He repeats that a few more times before stepping away, making sure not to touch anything as he makes his way back into the operation room.

Spock meets his eyes as McCoy comes up to his bedside, hooking him up to a tube that will transfer his blood to Sarek. McCoy doesn’t know what he sees in his face, but he reaches up and gently brushes his fingers along the underside of McCoy’s jaw. His trust and confidence, so freely given now that they understand each other much better, makes another spike of anxiety surge through McCoy’s stomach.

He takes a deep breath, presses his lips very lightly to Spock’s knuckles, and then injects him with the stimulant.

He tries not to think of anything as he watches Spock’s green blood flow through the tube.

--

The surgery is, miraculously, a success.

McCoy would boast about it if he didn’t feel so utterly wrecked by it. Sarek’s heart had stopped, the power had gone out, and Spock had become so dangerously anemic that McCoy was almost certain he was going to lose both of them. Even after he sews Sarek back up and declares them both stable, he has to sit in his office for hours, reminding himself that they are stable, that he didn’t lose them, that everything’s fine, before his stomach loosens even a tiny bit.

He sits for an hour longer, practicing deep breathing and coming down from the stress of the procedure, and then gets up to check on his patients.

When he steps back into the operation room, he’s surprised to find that Sarek is coming around, blinking groggily at the dim light shining over his bed.

“Ambassador Sarek,” McCoy says, coming up to his bedside. He quickly scans the biomonitor, and then takes Sarek’s pulse and temperature manually, just to be sure. “What is your status?”

“I am experiencing some pain in my chest and lethargy, no doubt from the procedure. Otherwise, however, I appear to be adequate.” Sarek turns to look at him. “You are not going to ask how I ‘feel’?”

“Give me some credit, Ambassador – I’ve served with and treated enough Vulcans to know not to ask that question.” McCoy smirks. “I bet sixteen years ago you never would’ve predicted that you’d end up on my operating table.”

“Indeed,” Sarek says, his voice tired. “But I believe it is to my benefit that I did.”

McCoy glances at him, unreasonably touched. It’s nice to finally leave a good impression on the Ambassador, after so many times of meeting him at his worst.

“That means a lot to me, Ambassador,” McCoy says. He knows better than to thank a Vulcan too, though he still wants to.

Sarek hesitates for a moment, and then asks quietly, “And my son?”

“He’s okay, too.” McCoy glances over at Spock, sleeping in the bed on the other side of the room. McCoy plans to wake him up a little later once his healing trance has had a chance to further increase his red blood cell count. “I’m going to keep monitoring him to make sure there are no lingering side effects from the stimulant, but his red blood cell count is already returning to normal, so I think he’ll be just fine.” 

“I see.” Sarek sits with this information for a moment, and then says, “I am grateful to you, Doctor.”

McCoy dips his head, employing the Vulcan way of accepting gratitude. He doesn’t want to offend the Ambassador more than he already has in the sixteen years that they’ve known each other.

It’s crazy, when he thinks about it, that they knew each other for so long and yet somehow the fact of him being Spock’s father never came up.

“…You could’ve mentioned that Spock was your son,” McCoy says.

Sarek’s face closes off, and McCoy very nearly rolls his eyes. “I was not aware at the time that you had close enough relations with him to warrant my disclosure of that information. Besides, Spock obviously did not tell you of our affiliation, either.”

McCoy shakes his head. “You’re both stubborn.”

“…My wife says that as well,” Sarek says. “Perhaps there is some truth to it. My son and I have had…difficulties understanding and speaking with one another for many years. After all this time, I find it even more difficult to know what to say to mend this situation.”

McCoy doesn’t answer for a moment. Strangely enough, he realizes that he understands Sarek perfectly. After all, he knows all too well how it feels to be an estranged parent.

“…I actually have a similar experience, with my daughter,” he says softly. “I wasn’t around while she was growing up, and now that she’s a grown woman with her own mind, I find, more often than not, that I have no idea what to say to her.”

Sarek peers at him, but without judgment – merely curiosity. “…I believe I have misjudged you, Doctor. You are much more compassionate and thoughtful than your brash nature would suggest.”

McCoy flushes with embarrassment. “…Well, I suppose I can’t blame you for thinking that way, Ambassador. In my defense, though, you seem to have a knack for catching me at my worst.”

Something almost like a smile passes across Sarek’s face. “Well, now you have caught me at my worst, Doctor. Perhaps both of us can follow a human idiom, and forget about it?”

McCoy smiles. “That’s very kind of you, Ambassador. I think I’ll take you up on that.”

Sarek nods his agreement, and they lapse into silence for a moment. McCoy continues his checks and then, upon seeing that Sarek’s vitals are still stable, thinks back to their conversation earlier that day. 

“I, uh, thought I had offended you with my questions earlier,” McCoy admits. “I know you must not have a very good opinion of me, but I thought you wouldn’t mind some conversation. I apologize if I overstepped.”

Sarek appraises him for a moment. McCoy swears he sees something like amusement cross over his face for a split second before his expression falls neutral again. “Doctor, the reason I did not answer your question is in fact due to a cultural misunderstanding. You see, on Vulcan, telling someone your age is a sign of deep intimacy – it is akin to a human telling someone about their unusual sexual preferences.”

McCoy’s jaw drops open and his face flushes a dark red. He just stands there for a long time, gaping at Sarek. He hasn’t felt this flustered and embarrassed since he was in high school. He’d been worried about committing a cultural faux pas, but he didn’t think he could mess up this badly.

He finally finds his voice and stutters out, “I-I can assure you that wasn’t my intention…!”

Sarek holds up a hand to stop him. “I am aware of this, Doctor. Though I know humans mean nothing by it, I find this custom very difficult to put aside. Even my wife did not know my age until we were well into our courtship.”

McCoy frowns, trying to parse through what he’d said. “…Wait. Then why did you correct me, and tell me a more accurate version of your age?”

Sarek raises an eyebrow and says, “If you were going to publicly divulge such sensitive information, you could have at least been accurate.”

McCoy gapes at him, and then starts to laugh. He laughs so hard that Chapel pokes her head into the room, staring at him like she’s considering hooking him up for a brain scan. He never would’ve expected Sarek to have a sense of humor, but it’s the same kind of wit that Spock uses, so it’s obvious where he got it from.

McCoy thinks that, after all this time, he must have misjudged Sarek, too.

“Ambassador,” he says when he’s recovered himself, “do you know that you have the most scathing wit of anyone I’ve ever known? Your son included.”

Sarek dips his head. “I will take that as a compliment.”

McCoy grins. “It was meant as one.”

Sarek considers him thoughtfully. “Doctor, while we are on the topic of personal information, may I ask you what may be considered a sensitive question to humans?”

McCoy blinks, surprised by Sarek’s forwardness. “Sure, go ahead.”

“What exactly is the nature of your relationship with my son?”

McCoy freezes. …Had he been that obvious? Had Sarek still been present or conscious when he and Spock had exchanged light touches earlier? Or maybe his superior sense of smell picked up Spock’s pheromones on him, but he’d been too polite to say anything?

McCoy swallows nervously. He doesn’t know how to answer. He doesn’t even know the nature of their relationship, if he’s being perfectly honest.

“…To be honest with you, Ambassador,” McCoy says slowly, “I’m not really sure. And I think it would be Spock’s place to disclose that information, regardless.”

Sarek nods, accepting his vague answer with no offense. “Then may I make a suggestion?”

McCoy raises an eyebrow. “Sure.”

“Perhaps, next time you see each other privately, you should try asking my son his age,” Sarek says drily. “If he gives you an honest answer, then you will know the nature of your relationship.”

McCoy stares at him for what feels like an eternity. Then, when he’s finally processed what Sarek said, he chuckles and wipes his mouth, trying and probably failing to hide a goofy grin. “Thank you, Ambassador. That’s not a bad idea at all.”

Sarek dips his head slightly. “We may be on uncertain terms, but I still know my son. Just as you, no doubt, still know your daughter. Have confidence in that fact.”

An indescribable, but big, emotion wells up in McCoy’s chest at that. He has to swallow and blink away a few sudden tears before he can say, “I’m grateful to you, Ambassador. Get lots of rest, and I’ll check on you in the morning, alright?”

Sarek dips his head again. “Good night, Doctor.” 

McCoy looks over Sarek’s chart and biomonitor one more time, just to make sure everything’s still alright, and then goes to check on Jim. He’s asleep, thankfully, his bandaged chest slowly rising and falling. McCoy counts his breaths—an old habit he doesn’t think he’ll ever break—and then checks the biomonitor. His stab wound is healing up nicely, and if he’s a good patient, he’ll only have to stay in Sickbay for one more night.

McCoy closes his eyes, thanks a God he doesn’t even believe in, and then leaves Sickbay in the capable hands of the night crew.

He drifts down the hallway, lights dimmed to simulate an Earth evening even though it has no real relevance in space. He almost heads to his quarters by mistake before remembering that he’s staying with Jim. It’ll be strange to be there without him, but right now he doesn’t care where he is as long as there’s somewhere to lie down. He’s absolutely exhausted – it’s been a long time since he’s had so many medical emergencies all at once, especially involving a lot of people he holds dear.

All he wants to do is throw himself into bed, drink a brandy, and maybe cry a little.

When he reaches Jim’s quarters, however, he finds Spock standing just outside the door, his hands tucked behind his back.

McCoy blinks, stalling just in front of him. “Spock? What are you doing here?”

Spock turns to face him, but his eyes drift somewhere just past McCoy’s ear. “My doctor informed me that I should monitor my health to assure that there are no lingering effects from the Rigelian stimulant. The Captain and I thought it might be best if I was under the observation of said doctor, and as the Captain is currently spending the night in Sickbay, he offered his room for the endeavor.”

A small grin pulls at McCoy’s lips, but he tries to keep a straight face. He’s unreasonably pleased that Spock made up some exaggerated excuse to spend the night with him, but he’ll do him a favor and spare him the embarrassment of it for now. “Is that so? Well, I must say Mister Spock, that is mighty logical of you.”

Spock meets his eyes finally, subtle amusement in his expression. McCoy steps past him to key open the doors, close enough that their shoulders brush together. They stumble into Jim’s room as one entity, hands and lips brushing against skin in a strange sense of urgency.

When McCoy’s lips are kiss-bruised and his fingers tingle from touching, he rests his head on Spock’s shoulder and wraps his arms around his waist. Spock holds him in return, one hand splayed against his back and the other against the base of his skull, grounding him. McCoy closes his eyes and focuses on the warmth of him, his body temperature so much higher than that of a human’s.

He really thought he was going to lose him today. It isn’t the first time, but it’s just as awful every time it happens. He doesn’t know how Spock knew that he needed comfort tonight—maybe he had needed it, too—but McCoy is so, so grateful for him.

Spock’s lips brush against the shell of his ear. “Have you been sleeping on the couch here?”

“No – Jim and I have been friends for ages, and we’ve shared a bed just as long,” McCoy says, pulling back slightly to look at Spock. “Feels a bit weird to sleep there without him, though.”

The corner of Spock’s mouth crumples into a tiny smile. “Indeed. Perhaps we should utilize the couch.”

McCoy watches Spock glance at the couch, can practically see the gears grinding in his mind as he calculates just how likely—or unlikely, in this case—it is that they’ll both fit on it. He thinks of what Sarek had said, and finds himself wondering. He and Spock have had their current arrangement for well over a year now, but lately it’s felt deeper, more serious. Their intimacy these days is so casual that most of the crew has probably noticed something between them, which is a strangely thrilling thought.

McCoy realizes suddenly that he wants that more permanent commitment, longs for it even. Right now, with Spock so close and warm, it feels highly possible that Spock might want it, too.

Well, he thinks, only one way to find out.

“Spock,” McCoy says, grinning from ear to ear as he slides his hands down to Spock’s hips, “how old are you?”

Spock turns back to him, his eyebrow sailing into his hairline. “As my doctor, you are well aware of my age, Leonard.”

“I’m trying to be intimate with you, my dear Mister Spock,” McCoy hums. “On Vulcan, I hear it’s quite the scandalous thing, asking someone their age.”

Spock stares at him, obviously trying to calculate where McCoy is going with this. He’s absolutely right to be suspicious.

“I believe your father likened it to a kink negotiation,” McCoy adds, and laughs as Spock sends him a nasty look.

“And why were you discussing such things with my father?” Spock asks frostily. He doesn’t step out of McCoy’s embrace this time, however, so he must not be as offended as before.

“Oh, I can’t share that information, I’m afraid,” McCoy says, pretending to be remorseful. “Doctor-patient confidentiality.”

Spock looks very displeased with this information, and his grip tightens slightly around McCoy. “Do you always discuss such things with your patients?”

“Oh, all the time,” McCoy says, waggling his eyebrows to let Spock know that he’s definitely not serious. “Only with the really attractive ones, though.”

“I fail to understand what you find so attractive about my father,” Spock huffs. Then, however, he cups McCoy’s face with his hands, rubbing his thumbs gently along a few of McCoy’s psi points. His voice is unbelievably soft when he says, “To answer your question, Leonard, I am 38.675, in Earth years.”

McCoy blinks at him, and then blinks again. He can’t do the math in his head to figure out if the .675 part is correct, but the 38 part absolutely is.

If he gives you an honest answer, then you will know the nature of your relationship.

A wide, happy, carefree grin stretches across McCoy’s face, and he bounces up on his toes to kiss Spock, all tongue. Spock hums, kissing him back with both his lips and his hands as his fingers trail down along McCoy’s neck and ears.

As it turns out, they can both fit on the couch after all.

4. Vulcan – 2285

Years pass before McCoy sees Sarek again.

He hadn’t expected it to be so long, as he and Spock have grown closer and closer over the years. Once they started officially courting, and got over their original uncertainty, things seemed to progress rapidly – or, at least, rapidly when it came to them. By the end of the five year mission, they were so close that they were strongly considering marriage. However, their relationship hit an extremely rough patch when a misunderstanding in their intentions followed Jim’s solemn announcement that he had accepted a position as Admiral. It was so bad that it led to Spock running off to Vulcan to erase all of his emotions and to McCoy heading back to a home he no longer had in Georgia with a broken heart, convinced that he would never even consider a relationship again.

But after that whole mess with V’ger, when McCoy realized that he still loved Spock very deeply and couldn’t pretend that he didn’t, they sat down, talked like the adults they were, and straightened things out. They took up new positions on the Enterprise together and spent ten lovely years running a ship full of youngsters before they started thinking about marriage again.

This time, it even got to the planning stage. They had a date picked out. They had informed their friends and family. Even Spock’s parents had been contacted.

So it seemed, well, logical that McCoy would run into Sarek again as family at their wedding.

Then Khan happens. And Spock, the person McCoy has been in love with for going on twenty years now, dies.

McCoy doesn’t process it for a long time. He can’t – every time he tries to even think about it, something big and overwhelming and horrible presses up against his mind. They’ve been planning and living a life together for so long that it feels impossible that all of it has suddenly been ripped away. They’d been planning to get married. They’d been planning to move to Vulcan after the Enterprise’s current mission. McCoy had been thinking about accepting a position offered to him, begrudgingly he believed, by the VSA. Spock had been thinking about discussing the path of diplomacy with his father. McCoy had secretly met with Amanda to look into building them a house near the L’langon Mountains.

What is any of it without Spock? What is McCoy supposed to do without him?

His persistent confusion prevents him from being able to think about it just yet, at least, though that’s just as concerning. He knows the common signs of devastating grief, thought he would be able to recognize them in himself, but he doesn’t understand this. Sometimes, he finds himself alone in a room thinking about Mount Seleya, a place he’s never been. Sometimes he isn’t even aware of where he is or what he’s done, finding himself in a place he doesn’t remember going to or talking to someone he isn’t even sure he knows.

It scares him that he seems to have lost his mind as well as his fiancee. Has Spock really broken him that much, that now he can’t even function without him?

He doesn’t learn for a while that the something pressing against his mind and causing his confusion is Spock’s katra. Sarek had come to investigate the possibility of McCoy carrying his son’s katra, but not before McCoy, in a bout of massive confusion, had tried to hijack a shuttle and landed himself in a mental health facility. Jim had to break him out, and only then passed on what Sarek had told him about Spock’s katra. Jim had then started to explain what the katra even was, but McCoy already knew. He’d had an in-depth discussion with Movel about it once, back on Rigel Prime. McCoy had been talking about the human concept of a soul and life after death, and Movel had skeptically likened it to the Vulcan katra. They doubted it was real, just as they doubted that there was life after death.

“Some people find it a source of comfort, believing there’s something more after death,” McCoy had said. “That you’re not just…gone.”

Movel sniffed. “Not I. Vulcans who believe in katra also believe they are stored in sacred arks for eternity. Being placed on someone’s shelf and confined to a small, dark space with nothing to stimulate the mind sounds like nothing less than torture.”

McCoy had grinned. “In many human cultures, it’s the remnants of the body that get placed on someone’s shelf and confined to a small, dark space. I guess it would be different if it was your mind in there instead.”

“Precisely,” they said. “I would much rather believe that my mind will be set free at the end.”

Now, sitting in his quarters on the Bounty with Spock’s prone body laying in front of him, McCoy thinks he understands more what Movel was talking about. Obviously they were wrong about the katra not existing, but were they really wrong about its existential state? What kind of life is it for Spock right now, to be nothing more than a bundle of memories in McCoy’s mind? Can he see and hear and feel using McCoy’s body? Is he just as confused as McCoy is when their thoughts slide together and they lose all track of who they are? If he is in some state of consciousness, what will it be like for him if they can’t return him to his body and he has to stay in one of those arks for the rest of time?

What if he dies for real?

McCoy squeezes his knees and pushes the thought away. He hadn’t been able to process Spock’s death before, and he doesn’t want to now, either. Not when the hope of his living, breathing body is mere meters in front of him. Not when they’re en route to Vulcan, with plans arranged by Sarek to undergo an ancient ceremony that will supposedly return Spock’s katra to his body. To bring him back to life again.

It’s much easier to think about the intricacies of the Vulcan katra instead. McCoy should be able to feel him, he thinks. He should be able to press against Spock’s katra and recognize a glimmer of his mind, a memory, a feeling, something. He should be able to recognize that the thing he’s carrying in his head is something sentient, the soul of the person he’s loved for so long.

But instead it’s like the feeling of his ears being clogged – his mind is irritated, muted, full, but he can’t sense much about it otherwise. He feels like tilting his head to the side and tapping his ear until his mind clears.

Illogical, his mind tells him, and he pretends for just a moment that he can hear Spock after all.

--

The fal-tor-pan procedure is long, intense, and unexpectedly painful.

When the priestess first joined with McCoy, he hadn’t thought his mind could take any more. It had already felt overly full with Spock’s katra nestled inside, but with her thoughts added on it was intolerable. He remembers screaming, begging for it to be over, for someone to make it stop. But then, when she took Spock’s katra away, it was even worse. Suddenly, it was not the pain of excess, but the pain of something gouged out – there was a bleeding, throbbing hole where his mind used to be.

He thought he was going to die. At the time, he was in so much pain that it had even been a relief.

He sleeps for days afterwards. Vulcan healers visit him every once in a while, which he only knows because their thoughts quietly enter the dark emptiness he finds himself in when he’s asleep. He doesn’t dream. He can’t think. He feels like he’s forgetting something important, but for a while he doesn’t remember anything, not even his own name, not even how he got there.

The healers help him get those memories back, and after a Vulcan week McCoy starts to feel a little like himself again.

He’s still incredibly tired and weak. He wakes up long enough to down some soup, all his stomach can handle, and sleeps the rest of the time. His head hurts, constantly. Sometimes, even when he can stay awake, the pain is too unbearable to want to. People come and go from his tent, people he recognizes and loves, but he often doesn’t have any energy to engage with them. Jim comes most often, holding his hand and wiping his sweaty forehead with a damp cloth.

He hasn’t seen Spock.

The agony of that is usually enough to send him right back to sleep again.

A few weeks later, however, the soft rustle of the flap to his tent pulling back wakes McCoy.

He supposes ‘wakes’ isn’t really the right word – he hasn’t been asleep. But he can’t really explain what he’s been doing in the time that’s elapsed, either. His mind wanders in and out of thoughts, in and out of awareness. It’s better than it used to be – he sleeps a lot less and he has some energy to talk to Jim and the healers and others that come to visit him. But he’s still not at 100%, and sometimes it feels like he’ll never get there. As a doctor, he knows how long and painful recovery like this can be, but as a patient, it’s just plain frustrating. Thinking and staying conscious shouldn’t be as hard as it is.

He struggles to be aware of his surroundings as he glances at the person stepping through the flap. To his surprise, it’s Sarek, dressed in a light beige robe. It almost looks like Spock’s sleeping robe, and McCoy frowns at him as he approaches. He has no idea why Sarek, esteemed Ambassador of the Federation, would be caught dead wandering around in his pajamas. Spock had been so private about his pajamas that McCoy had been dating him for years before he was comfortable with wearing them while McCoy was in bed with him.

He realizes suddenly that he doesn’t know if Spock is alive or not, and it hits him like a punch to the throat. The sleep robe seems a lot less important now, and of course it does. Sarek probably hasn’t paid any mind to it the whole time his son has been dead.

McCoy swallows. He’s not sure which situation Sarek would come to visit him under, which news he’s about to deliver. He tries to sit up straighter, hoping that it’ll help him focus. “Ambassador.”

“Doctor McCoy. I came to check on your status,” Sarek says in a bland voice, and it’s the most Vulcan thing he could’ve said that it makes McCoy smile, despite everything.

“I’m honored,” he says. His voice is croaky and hoarse from disuse. He licks his lips and whispers, “Spock…?”

“Alive,” Sarek says, and the relief that hits McCoy is almost too much to take. He sags back again and closes his eyes, letting the information sink in. Spock is alive. Spock is alive. Spock is alive. He thanks every god he can think of, his lips moving with the ferocity of it.

When he opens his eyes again, Sarek is gingerly lowering himself into a stool at McCoy’s bedside. “However, his memory is severely impaired. He still does not recall most of his life, or indeed much of anything.”

McCoy frowns, taking a moment to process this. “Is that normal for this type of procedure, or did something go wrong?”

“I do not know – this procedure is so rarely done that most Vulcans believed it to be myth.” Sarek folds his hands in his lap. “You are welcome to evaluate him if you wish.”

McCoy flaps his hand tiredly. “That’s alright, I’m sure your doctors are already crawling all over him, anyway. I’ll take a look whenever I have the energy to get out of bed again.” 

Sarek nods, accepting this. “You never answered my question about your status. Are you well?”

McCoy thinks about this for a moment before answering, “I don’t know if I’m well, but I’m getting there. I still have a lot of pain and not much energy, but I’m staying awake longer than before. And my memory seems intact, too.”

“That is fortunate,” Sarek says. “It is a relief to hear that the procedure did not harm you irreparably.”

McCoy frowns again. “Was that a possibility?”

Sarek hesitates, and then admits, “We believe it was. A human has carried a Vulcan katra only once before, and the experience had detrimental effects on him.”

It’s silent for a moment. McCoy gapes at Sarek in disbelief.

“Well hell – then Spock could’ve at least asked first!” he exclaims finally.

“I am…thankful for all that you have done to save my son’s life,” Sarek says. He seems to be having difficulty finding his words, which McCoy wouldn’t have thought possible for such a skilled diplomat. “Recent events have been…most distressing.”

“You can say that again,” McCoy mutters. He looks at Sarek, noting the bags beneath his eyes. It appears that Vulcans and humans are the same, in that regard. “You did a lot to save him too, you know. Thank you for arranging all of this.”

Sarek dips his head, and they fall into silence again. McCoy thinks over what he had said, and then blurts, “Maybe this is an opportunity to start over, then.”

Sarek blinks at him. “Elaborate.”

“Well, you and Spock haven’t been on the best of terms for going on 35 years now,” McCoy says. “If he doesn’t even remember why, then maybe it’s a good opportunity to put it behind you, hm?”

Sarek considers this for a long time. He looks a lot like Spock as he is now, with his head tilted slightly down and his eyes far away as he turns it over in his mind. McCoy smiles faintly thinking about how neither of them would appreciate it if he pointed out this similarity.

“You are more thoughtful than Spock gives you credit for,” Sarek says finally. “I believe you are correct.”

McCoy puffs out his chest slightly, smug, and then almost immediately deflates again. If Spock doesn’t remember any of their typical arguments, it hardly seems worth it to rub it in his face now.

He lets out a shaky sigh. “Do you think it’ll be alright if I see him?”

“In fact, I think it would aid his recovery – it is only logical that his mate would trigger the return of at least some memories,” Sarek says, standing again. “I will send him to you when he is done with his appointment.”

“Thank you,” McCoy murmurs.

Sarek hesitates, and then places a comforting hand on McCoy’s shoulder. McCoy closes his eyes, overwhelmed suddenly, until Sarek withdraws and his footsteps recede out of the tent.

--

McCoy is woken by his tent flap opening again.

He doesn’t remember falling asleep, and he’s extremely disoriented as he struggles to sit up. He clutches his head, a sudden burst of pain making him momentarily dizzy, and then squints at the entryway.

“…Spock?” McCoy croaks, slowly standing from the bed.

For a moment, Spock just looks him over, his hands tucked away into the sleeves of the white robe he’s wearing. It occurs to McCoy suddenly, horribly, that he has no idea if Spock remembers him or not. They’ve spent a big chunk of their lives together at this point, in one way or another, but memory loss can be random and sporadic. Spock could remember his time at Starfleet Academy, but nothing about his time on the Enterprise. He could remember his elementary school science teacher, but not his closest friends.

It’s perfectly normal, but the thought is so unbearable that for a moment he’s frozen there, just staring at Spock.

Spock blinks, and then says simply, “Leonard.”

Just that is enough to hit McCoy like a shuttle. Tears press against the back of his eyes and he takes a deep, shaky breath. “You remember me, then?”

Spock tilts his head slightly. “I recall your name, and other snippets of memories that I cannot fully grasp yet. But I do not know if it would be accurate to say that I remember you.”

It hurts more than McCoy would care to admit. The doctor in him scolds him for it, telling him he should understand better than anyone that it’s nothing personal, that it’s just the nature of this type of injury. But all of those years they’ve spent together feels lost suddenly, and no amount of reason or logic can make that hurt any less.

Spock takes a tiny step forward. “However, this—” He reaches for McCoy’s arm, gently pulling him against his chest, and McCoy falls into place just as snugly as he always has, “—feels…familiar. Correct.”

For a moment, McCoy is stunned. He blinks up at Spock, hardly knowing what to say. It isn’t much, it isn’t even a real memory, but it feels monumental. Until this very moment, McCoy hadn’t actually believed that Spock would be returned to him in one piece, that they would be okay.

But he believes it now. He believes it so fully that he can hardly stand in the face of it.

“It is,” he says.

Spock looks at him thoughtfully, and then reaches up to touch McCoy’s face. McCoy lets him explore, his fingers tracing along his jaw and up across his ear and back into his hair. It’s so familiar, so correct, that it unleashes the tears McCoy’s been trying to hold back.

He holds Spock tightly, crying into his shoulder as Spock cradles the back of his head.

5. Sancti Flagship – 2286

The next time McCoy sees Sarek, the Enterprise is escorting him to a diplomatic mission on New Ketira.

McCoy, Spock, and Jim go to greet him, and it reminds McCoy of the first time Sarek had been on board the Enterprise. He remembers how nervous he’d been, convinced that he was going to screw everything up between them once again. It feels like a long time since he was that intimidated by Sarek.

Now, he considers him family, as they all do. This greeting should go about a thousand times better than the one eighteen years ago.

“Captain Kirk,” Sarek says when he steps off the shuttle, politely bowing his head. Amanda’s not with him this time, as she’s scheduled to speak at a teaching conference on Andoria instead.

Jim nods in return, and then Sarek turns to Spock.

“My son,” he says, reaching out. Spock meets him halfway and they grasp each other’s forearms, the Vulcan version of a publicly acceptable hug. Things have been much friendlier between Spock and his father recently, and McCoy is relieved to see it. Neither of them have spoken to him about it, but Sarek must have taken his advice about burying the hatchet after all.

“Father,” Spock says, and squeezes Sarek’s arms before letting go.

“Doctor McCoy,” Sarek continues, turning and offering him the ta’al. It’s a joke, one that makes McCoy roll his eyes and offer him a slight bow in return, as he always does. It’s one of many gradual changes that have happened over the years as McCoy and Spock have gotten closer and closer. Sarek also usually calls him Leonard now, though, like his son, never in public.

“Ambassador,” McCoy says. “How was the journey over?”

“Uneventful,” Sarek says evasively. McCoy sets his jaw, but before he can say anything, Sarek continues, “Other than a slight dizziness upon take-off, I suffered no ill effects from entering the upper atmosphere of Vulcan, or from space travel. My heart has had no issues, just as it has not for 18.29 years. Your concern, as always, is unwarranted.”

McCoy frowns, which turns into an outright scowl when he glances at Spock and sees the amusement in his eyes. The only downside to Spock and Sarek getting along is that now they like to team up against him. “Well, good. But if I find out you’ve been lying to me—”

“You will have to get in line behind my wife,” Sarek interjects softly. “She still has not forgiven me for neglecting to tell her of my heart condition.”

“As she shouldn’t,” McCoy huffs.

Jim steps forward, an amused smile pulling at his lips. McCoy scowls at him too for good measure. “Are you gentlemen ready for our debriefing, or should I schedule it for next year?”

McCoy and Spock both open their mouths, a scathing retort on McCoy’s tongue and no doubt Spock’s as well, but Sarek beats them to it, “I am adequately prepared whenever you are, Captain. Please, lead the way.”

As they start to walk down the hall, however, Sarek pulls McCoy aside with a light touch to his arm. Spock raises an eyebrow at them, but continues on to the conference room with Jim.

They wait a long time for Spock to get out of earshot before Sarek says, “I wish to discuss something with you privately, when you are able.”

Anxiety instantly churns McCoy’s guts. He can guess what this is about—he had worried that Sarek would ask him about it—and it’s not a conversation he’s been looking forward to.

McCoy and Spock had started dating again a few months after the fal-tor-pan, as Spock had regained his memories but still felt detached from them. His affection for McCoy was genuine and strong, he had told him, but he wanted to experience their romance again, so he could have memories of it that didn’t feel like they belonged to someone else.

McCoy had understood that, and was more than happy to agree.

But somehow, despite how intense and joyous it had been, he hadn’t expected Spock to propose marriage again a few years later.

It had been incredibly romantic. He’d taken McCoy to Premer, where they had first gone on a romantic shore leave together. He’d rented a private cabin near the beach, though he and McCoy tended to nerd out in the tide pools instead of the ocean itself. They’d spent an evening exploring and lounging and tangling up together in a way that made McCoy feel like he was in his early twenties again.

It had been absolutely wonderful.

Then, in the morning, Spock had pressed a kiss to the side of his head and asked him if he would marry him.

And McCoy completely froze. He’d stared at Spock like he’d just asked him to jump out an airlock, and had to be gently reminded to breathe. It pained McCoy not to have an answer for him right away. It should’ve been so easy to say yes.

But instead, what had flashed through his mind was Spock’s dead body, covered in radiation burns that even McCoy couldn’t heal.

He said he’d think about it, and Spock had accepted that.

But it’s been two weeks now, and McCoy’s no closer to a decision. Every time he tries to think about it, fear strikes him so badly that he has to lay in a dark room focusing on his breathing for hours before he feels like he can face the outside world again. His psychology training knows what’s happening, but even with that knowledge he has yet to work past it.

It’s just too much. If he loses Spock again, he can’t—

McCoy takes a deep breath, trying to calm himself. Sarek watches him, appraising him with a very familiar gaze. McCoy swallows and says, “Sure thing, Ambassador. Just let me know.”

Sarek stares at him for a moment longer, and then nods and continues down the hall.

McCoy stays in the hallway for quite a while longer until his stomach stops feeling like it’s going to jump right out of his body.

--

They don’t get a chance to talk about it before the Enterprise reaches New Ketira. In fact, they don’t get around to it at all until McCoy, Sarek, and a dying Lar’tok, New Ketira’s leader, are kidnapped by an alien vessel. The aliens, the Sancti, are also Ketirans, and claim themselves to be the descendents of New Ketira’s ancient spiritual leaders. They’d beamed the three of them to their vessel in the middle of negotiations, apparently for the purpose of buying time to find the holy artifacts that Lar’tok wouldn’t let them have access to. Thus, they spend the next few hours in a jail cell, McCoy fretting over Lar’tok in an attempt to help her. Her dying state is intentional, as the Ketirans are able to choose when their bodies begin the chemical process that eventually leads to death, but it had started too soon due to the stress caused by the Sancti.

Now, she’s dying weeks before she’s supposed to, and before she was able to pass on her thoughts and memories to her successor.

“My son told me that you have not yet accepted his marriage proposal,” Sarek says suddenly, completely out of nowhere.

McCoy glances at him in bewilderment. They’re both standing over the cot where Lar’tok lays unconscious and dying, her chest barely rising and falling. McCoy has been totally occupied with trying to understand Ketiran physiology on the fly and think of something, anything to help her – this topic is the absolute farthest thing from his mind. “Is this really the time or place to be talking about this?”

Sarek dips his head, conceding the point.

McCoy continues to work in silence, focusing on his readings instead of Sarek’s comment. He frowns down at his tricorder, makes a few adjustments, and then sighs. “Ambassador, it doesn’t look good. Now I’m no expert on Ketiran physiology so I could be wrong, but medical common sense tells me she doesn’t have much time left. I…I’m sorry.”

“Your remorse is inappropriate, Doctor – this was Lar’tok’s choice,” Sarek says, lowering himself onto a bench adjacent to the cot Lar’tok is lying on. “Still, I shall regret the loss of her friendship and counsel.”

McCoy blinks. Sarek had told him that he and Lar’tok have been friends for a long time, but this is the first time he’s heard about this. “Counsel?”

“Yes. Though we have seen each other only sporadically over the years, Lar—as you may have noticed—does not hesitate to speak her mind.” A faint shadow of a smile passes over Sarek’s face. “She is quite similar to you in that way, Doctor.”

McCoy rolls his eyes heftily. “You’re never going to let me live that down, are you?”

“It is one of your strong suits, Doctor – you should embrace it, no matter how it may get you into trouble.” Before McCoy can get over the shock of that, Sarek continues, “As I was saying, in a way, Lar’tok is responsible for Spock’s existence.”

McCoy’s eyebrows shoot up. “She’s what?!”

“Indirectly, of course,” Sarek says. McCoy’s almost certain that he worded it that ambiguously on purpose. “My initial dealings with Lar’tok came while I was considering marriage to Amanda. I had…doubts.”

McCoy can’t help but crack a grin. “A Vulcan with cold feet?”

Sarek raises an eyebrow. “Under certain environmental conditions, any warm-blooded—”

“It’s just an expression,” McCoy interrupts, holding out his hand before he gets the whole lecture. “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

Sarek hums, considers him, and then continues, “My hesitation was based on the fact that Amanda, as you know, is not Vulcan. At that time, such marriages were…quite rare, and even second marriages were usually arranged. It was most unusual to marry—”

“—for love?” McCoy supplies.

“I suppose that is the descriptive phrase humans would use,” Sarek muses. “Vulcan culture is tradition-bound. To shatter two such traditions in one marital union was…difficult.”

“You never told me you were such a rebel,” McCoy teases. “Do you know when I first met you I thought you were the type to care about tradition and nothing else?”

Sarek nods. “It is not surprising. For much of my life, I tried to uphold Vulcan tradition. I believed in it quite strongly. I still believe we can learn much from tradition and history, but to strictly abide by it, I have learned, can be quite illogical in a modern age. Still, it was not easy to discard those beliefs.”

“So what did Lar’tok have to do with it?”

“She convinced me that marriage to Amanda was the logical thing to do,” Sarek says simply.

McCoy huffs out a small laugh. “Is that your way of telling me I’m being illogical?”

Sarek raises an eyebrow in a very familiar way. “Yes.”

“It took a lot more convincing than that, Sarek!” a voice says next to them. They both turn to find Lar’tok awake now, softly grinning at them. “Didn’t hear the whole tale, just enough. Vulcans are mighty stubborn, Doctor.”

“That’s been my experience,” McCoy says, leaning over to speak to her better.

Her grin widens. “So if you’re being more stubborn than a Vulcan, you know you’re in trouble!”

McCoy blinks at her, surprised, and then chuckles. “You certainly have a point there, ma’am.”

“Cultural standards have changed much since then – while some may still protest, most would not have any concerns,” Sarek says. “So if that is what is stopping you—”

“It’s not,” McCoy interrupts. “T’Pau already gave us her blessing the first time, so unless she’s come to hate me in the meantime I don’t think she’d change her mind.”

“Then what is your concern?” Lar’tok asks bluntly.  

McCoy chews on his lower lip, and then admits quietly, “Last time, we were days away from getting married when Spock died. And I—I can’t help but think that this time, if it happens again, I’ll really lose him, and I can’t—”

He stops, swallows, breathes against the tears caught in his throat. “…I don’t think I could stand to lose him again.”

Lar’tok puts her hand over his, squeezing gently. McCoy focuses on his breathing and the warmth of her touch, counting his breaths in rhythm with her slow pulse.

“It is not logical to deny yourself happiness because of fears that are not currently, and may never be, based on reality,” Sarek says softly.

McCoy shakes his head. “I know it’s not logical, but…it still holds me back. It catches me every time I try to think over Spock’s proposal.” 

“…Do you know why I believe it means more to say that my marriage to Amanda is logical?” Sarek asks after a moment. McCoy considers it, and then shakes his head no. He hadn’t really understood it when Sarek said it many years ago, and he still doesn’t understand it now. “When logic is involved, it means that my universe does not make sense without her. It means that to have her by my side is not a spur of the moment decision, but a conscious choice, a well-thought out plan. It means that I am better with her than without her.”

For a moment, all McCoy can do is blink at him. He can hardly believe Sarek of all people just said something like that, but it does make sense now. Really, it should’ve all along – to a Vulcan, logic means more than anything. If a marriage is logical…then it surpasses emotion, surpasses devotion, and just becomes fact. 

Sarek meets his gaze. “If it is logical for you to have Spock by your side, then you must not let him go.”

“Why, Sarek,” Lar’tok says, a big smile on her face, “we may make a romantic of you, yet!”

“I’ll say,” McCoy mutters, his mind reeling as he turns back to Lar’tok.

He has a lot to think about.

--

Two weeks later, on a small planet called K’tona, McCoy walks with Spock along a rocky beach. The Enterprise is on shore leave and most of the young officers are at the bar or the paragliding tours, hoping for sex or adventure or maybe some of both. McCoy has had more than enough of watching Jim Kirk fall off a mountain, and he gets all the sex he needs from the person beside him, so he had suggested that he and Spock have a quiet evening together instead.

Spock had, surprisingly, agreed – ever since he came back to life, he’s found shore leave much more enticing than he did before.

McCoy picks up a stone and attempts to skip it into the still, pale ocean. It’s more of a lake than an ocean – this planet doesn’t have a moon in orbit, so there’s nothing to create the same kind of tidal force that would be observed on Earth. The only reason there’s something resembling a beach at all is because the rocks were brought here by glaciers in the planet’s distant past, Spock tells him. Thus, the water is completely still as McCoy’s rock sinks immediately with a solid plunk.

Spock is not smiling at McCoy when he turns to look at him, but he may as well be with the humor dancing in his eyes. “Your rock skipping skills appear to require polishing, Leonard.”

“Oh, shush,” McCoy grumbles good-naturedly, hooking his arm around Spock’s elbow. “I’d like to see you try.”

Spock bends to examine the rocks at his feet. McCoy watches with blatant amusement as Spock picks up a rock that isn’t at all smooth or flat and attempts to skip it.

It, too, sinks with a solid plunk.

Grinning, McCoy walks up and kisses Spock’s befuddled expression. “Here, darlin’, I’ll show you what kinds of rocks are best for skipping.”

They comb the beach, McCoy explaining what to look for and showing examples when he finds a decent rock. Spock kneels beside him as they both sift through the upper rock layer, hoping to find better ones underneath. At one point, their hands brush together, and a slice of guilt randomly shoots through McCoy.

He’s had plenty of time to consider his answer, and he’s kept Spock waiting long enough.

“Spock,” he says, his voice soft enough that it draws Spock’s attention from the rock pile at his feet immediately, “my answer is yes.”

Silence for a moment. Then, “I did not ask you a question, Doctor.”

McCoy’s head shoots up to glare at Spock. “Wh—what do you mean you didn’t ask me a—!”

Then he sees the smile in the corner of Spock’s mouth, and he laughs. “Alright, I guess I deserved that.”

Spock abandons his rock pile and kneels next to McCoy, leaning in to kiss him. McCoy hums, weaving a hand back through Spock’s hair as they get lost in the soft, lazy kisses. Being with Spock has always felt right, like they’re two puzzle pieces slotted together, and he thinks about what Sarek had said. Perhaps, all along, it has been the logical choice, for both of them.

“I’m sorry it took me so long to respond,” he says when they pause for air. They’ve barely parted – he can feel Spock’s warm breath on his face. “I was…afraid.” 

Spock presses their foreheads together, slowly stroking his fingers up and down McCoy’s. “Afraid of what?”

McCoy’s throat works for a moment before he can speak. “Of losing you again. I know us getting married and you dying had no correlation whatsoever, but I can’t help but worry—”

He stops, swallows, tries again, “But it would be, well, illogical to lose you because I was afraid of losing you. You’re an important part of my life, Spock, and I want to live it with you.”

Spock touches his face reverently, his eyes unbelievably soft. “It is the same for me, Leonard. It was logical to spend my life with you before I died – it is just as logical now. If you will have me, I would be honored.”

McCoy closes his eyes, warmth spreading through him. He thinks about the logic of loving someone, and he smiles. “I already said yes, Spock. But it’s my honor, too.”

Spock kisses him, warm and soft against the cold wind blowing off the water. McCoy presses closer, slipping his hands beneath the folds of Spock’s robe. He’s always thought that Vulcan robes were specifically designed for a lover to easily slip their hands in, which, knowing how many romantic and sexual acts on Vulcan involve hands, seems rather logical indeed.

They separate, just holding each other for a moment, foreheads pressed together.

“…I did not purchase you a ring,” Spock says suddenly. He almost looks stricken, if he would ever allow such an emotion to cross his face. “Or one for myself.”

McCoy considers him for a moment, and then takes his mother’s ring from around his pinky. He slides it onto Spock’s left ring finger, where it fits snugly, but not uncomfortably so.

“We can pick some out together, but in the meantime, why don’t you look after that one for me?”

Spock makes a soft noise. “I cannot accept this. It is a treasured possession from your mother—”

“—who got it from my father, and cared about tradition more than anything.” McCoy smiles and squeezes Spock’s hand. “I don’t think she’d mind my fiance wearing it for a little while.”

Spock touches the ring, running his finger over it reverently, and then nods. McCoy watches him, admiring the way his mother’s ring looks on his finger. This way, it feels like both of their parents have granted them their blessing.

“…Speaking of parents, your father helped convince me that marrying you was a good idea,” McCoy says, with a really nasty grin. “So be sure to thank him, alright?”

Spock sighs, long and hard, but presses closer to McCoy, ignoring McCoy’s laughter echoing across the lake.

+1 Vulcan – 2288

McCoy stumbles out of Spock’s childhood bedroom and down the stairs, only to find the house empty.

Last night had been their wedding, at long last. They’d held it on Vulcan, with T’Pau officiating and their close friends and family there. They’d wanted to keep it small, so there was less chance of drama and unexpected complications. The ceremony had been traditional, quiet, and meaningful, though at the end of it McCoy had kissed Spock so hard that even T’Pau’s ears looked a bit bronze. Jim had been in charge of the following reception, as he’d been slightly put out that he wasn’t asked to officiate, which had been extravagant and flavorful and enhanced by a seemingly never-ending supply of Saurian brandy.

He really knew McCoy too well.

Afterward, McCoy and Spock returned to his family home, where they stayed wrapped up in each other for the rest of the night.

McCoy had woken up early, intending to prepare the morning meal as per Vulcan tradition, but Spock, who was already fully dressed, had gently pushed him back down and insisted that he would take care of it. McCoy had found it strange, but he’d been so tired from the day before and the oppressive heat of Vulcan that he’d easily been persuaded back to sleep.

Now, he wanders through the house, looking for signs of where everyone had gone. There’s no sign of Spock or Amanda, but he does find Sarek sitting outside on the back porch, facing a garden. He appears to be meditating, a cup of tea brewing beside him. McCoy attempts to backtrack, knowing how private meditation is for Vulcans, but Sarek’s eyes suddenly open and he glances up at him.

“Leonard,” Sarek says, unfurling slightly. “You are welcome to join me.”

“If you’re sure,” McCoy says, hesitating for a moment before Sarek gestures at him to sit. He plops down next to him with his coffee, pushing his bare feet into the warm sand at the edge of the garden. “Where are Spock and Amanda?”

“Amanda took Spock to the market, to prepare a feast for brunch,” Sarek says. “It is a family tradition of hers, and Spock is the only one of our children who she will get to observe it with.”

McCoy nods, sullen. He thinks of both Sybok and Michael, though he never met the latter, and their lives that were cut so unfairly short. It also explains why Spock had been dressed so early, and why he’d said he would take care of the morning meal.

“Does your family have any marital traditions that you would like us to observe?” Sarek asks.

McCoy blinks, slightly taken aback. “Oh, not really. Usually the McCoys have a huge feast and drink too much on the day of, and I already did that yesterday. It was more than enough for me that my daughter could come to the wedding yesterday. Though I was thinking of taking Spock to Earth to visit my siblings, too.”

Sarek nods, lapsing into silence. It’s a comfortable silence, one that’s become common over the years. McCoy will often visit Sarek when Spock is prickly about doing so, and most of the time they just sit in companionable silence, each doing their own thing. McCoy nurses his coffee, his mind wandering to the first time he met Sarek. It’s funny how things turn out many years down the line.

He chuckles, and Sarek glances at him again. “Is something amusing?”

McCoy shakes his head, still grinning. “I was just thinking about the first time we met, how badly I behaved. I bet you never would’ve predicted that I’d end up your son-in-law, huh?”

“No – I would have predicted the odds at that time to be very slim indeed,” Sarek agrees. “But I am fortunate that I would have been incorrect. My son made the logical choice.”

McCoy blushes, staring into his coffee as he swirls it around. “…That means a lot to me, Sarek. Thank you.”

Sarek nods, and then suddenly says, “If you wish to continue your family tradition, my sister-in-law from my first marriage has brought over a particularly potent bottle of fermented chanik that she is eager for you to try.”

McCoy laughs. “If that’s the kind Sybok used to drink, then absolutely.”

Spock and Amanda come home to a slightly tipsy McCoy and an all-too-innocent looking Sarek, and look very much alike as they stare at them with fond disapproval. Spock raises his eyebrow at him, and McCoy can practically hear him say, Drinking already, Leonard?

McCoy lifts his glass towards him in a mocking toast, and projects as hard as he can, Love you too, darlin’.