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On the eleventh day of D'ruh, Spock awoke to a vase of flowers beside his bedside. The flowers were Vulcan—he recognized the shape and smell of them as blooming pereks and svais. Common flowers; at least as common as any flower was on a desert planet.
That was the second occurrence of flowers in his room in no less than three months. In the month of T'ke'Tas he had received a small floral arrangement from his parents at his Starfleet-issued apartment, as the anniversary of his death rites. Flowers were generally uncommon for Vulcan funerals—except for the funerals of one's child. Grieving parents would receive flowers upon their house and gifts from friends as a symbol of sharing that loss. Childloss wasn't altogether uncommon on his planet. Recovering a child from death, however, was certainly rare.
He had understood immediately that the flowers were intended as a gift. A sign that his parents were celebrating, in an understated, Vulcan way, that their child was returned to them. He had sent a message thanking each of them. His mother had replied with a "laundry list" of well-wishes and requests for updates about his life on Earth and his students.
Sarek had only written, "Return to Vulcan when the time suits you. Your clan would be grateful to receive your presence."
He slipped out of bed and stopped at the nightstand, bending down to inspect the blossoms. He knew better than to touch them. The svais were particularly delicate. Wind was known to render the blossoming branches bare with a moderate gust. Whoever had the flowers delivered had taken great care to ensure they arrived unharmed.
The doctor was in the kitchen when he wandered towards the front of his apartment, holding the vase at chest-level. McCoy turned as Spock approached, though Spock had made no sound of his entrance.
An off-guard smile caught McCoy's face, accentuating the age lines and wrinkles around his mouth and eyes. He twisted the knob on the stovetop and shoved the pan aside; an instinct borne from one too many accidents where he and Spock would argue so intensively and completely forget about their food. Though Spock did not intend to start an argument. "Well, good morning, sleeping beauty! I see you found your present."
"Leonard," Spock returned. "I appreciate the gesture. I am curious as to how you managed to find such rare specimens on Earth, however. And even more so as to the intent."
"Sulu hooked me up," McCoy answered quickly. "He knows some Vulcan florist who makes rounds every couple years." He eyed Spock critically. "You really don't know?"
"I am unable to recall any events of significance on this date," Spock answered honestly. "Though that may be at the fault of my … missing memories." At some point, McCoy and Kirk had filled up a calendar on the computer containing most of the dates that required particular emotional or sentimental value, as Spock worked to regain his sense of self and memories in entirety. The computer had not chimed or warned him of any event upon waking.
The answer did not appear to alarm or sadden McCoy. He simply smiled and said, "Today is the day you came back."
He was glowing as he said it, emanating patience and gratitude and happiness as the realization slowly dawned on Spock.
"The fal-tor-pan ceremony," Spock supplied.
"Yes."
"I see." Spock glanced at the flowers and obliged an emotional urge to break one of the twigs of perek. McCoy was watching him as he lifted it to tuck into the collar of his uniform. "A sentimental celebration, then?"
McCoy snorted. "What could be more sentimental than a guy getting a bunch of old Vulcan priestesses—"
"Leonard."
"Yeah, sue me," McCoy said grumpily, but without real heat. "So I wanted to celebrate."
Spock tilted his head and inspected him again, closer. The sunlight from the tall windows (McCoy would complain they gave him a headache, but if Spock attempted to close the shades, he would argue that it was too damn dark) manifested as golden beams, a halo of light from the top of McCoy's graying hair to his waist, where he rested against the counter.
Flecks of brown sparkled in McCoy's blue eyes in the light, like sunspots on the surface of a strange blue star. If Spock were to turn to the mirror in their foyer he was sure he would find matching flickers of blue within his own.
Remnants, the priestess had informed Sarek; who had in turn, told Spock. Sharing one's katra will always leave something behind.
"Indeed," Spock said. "Then it is only fair that I should also celebrate my return to you."
McCoy's grin softened. "Y'know, for a moment there I was sure you were gonna say I was being 'illogical' or something."
Spock gave him a look. "It would hardly benefit to provoke my husband on a day that he has deemed an important milestone of our relationship."
"Uh-huh," McCoy agreed, though his smile turned sharp. "Annnnnnd here it comes…"
Spock was unphased. "However, I can only speculate that within a decade you will have dedicated nearly half the calendar year to various holidays and anniversaries—"
"Yep, alright, maybe making up a Captain Spock day was a little much, but—"
"—by which point we will not be able to arrange for anything besides one holiday to the next—"
"—next time I'll just get you a roll of duct tape—"
McCoy made a surprised but no less delighted noise as Spock crowded him against the counter and sealed their mouths together and kissed him, fervently, the Terran way, which Spock still found somewhat strange and unhygienic but the warmth of McCoy's mouth made for an alluring exchange. It was a most effective end to any recurring argument.
McCoy concurred.
The eggs were "as hard as rubber" by the time they finished arguing. Any attempt at salvaging what remained was summarily discarded. They left, arm in arm, and resolved to attempt brunch at a nearby Academy cafe instead.