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“This cargo is useless,” Jim said, looking at the open metal boxes on the cargo bay.
They had recently beamed them to the Enterprise from an extremely old satellite that had once orbited the Earth. According to the ship’s database, it had gone missing during the 1990’s, when it left orbit all of a sudden and was never seen or heard of again -until now. They had found it many light years away from its original position, with its only resident long dead.
“What do you mean, useless?” Leonard protested. “This is history, Jim. I thought you liked it.”
Jim looked at him with his eyebrows raised. “Expired food is history?”
“Kind of,” Leonard shrugged. He started walking slowly across the cargo bay, examining the content of the big crates. There was a lot of vacuum packed food, yes, but there were other utilities. A full box of toothbrushes and clothes. Shoes. Twenty to thirty packs of cigarettes. “I was talking about the cigarettes, though.”
“How are cigarettes a worthy piece of history?”
Leonard bent over the edge of the container and grabbed a pack. He ran his thumb over the letters on the front. ‘Marlboro’. The font looked neat, and so did the colors. The urge to peel off the plastic around the carton was strong, but Leonard resisted it -just barely. Something about its design was so enticing.
“Don’t you think it’s interesting that in the past some people did something that was terribly bad for them just because they… Liked it? Don’t you wanna know why so many people smoked?”
“Because cigarettes were addictive,” Jim answered, before approaching him to snatch the pack from his hands. “It’s not like they taste good.”
“You’ve tried vintage cigarettes?”
Jim threw the carton inside the box, with the others. “Yes, once.” He cringed. “I took a single drag and almost threw up.”
“Well, I ain’t knocking it until I try it,” Leonard said. “If no one else’s interested in these, I’ll take them.”
“Aren’t you a doctor?” Jim said, staring at Leonard with clear disappointment.
“Yes, sir,” Leonard said while he grabbed as many boxes as he could.
“Right.” As Leonard walked to the crate filled with clothes to put together a bundle of sorts, he felt Jim’s judgemental gaze following him. “I’m not a doctor, but I know these are bad for your health.”
“Yeah, and it can all be easily fixed now,” Leonard said before tying the bundle with a knot and returning to the cigarette container to pick up some more.
“Why do you need so many, anyways?” Jim asked.
“In case I like them.” A second bundle was filled with cartons and secured. “And if I don’t, I’ll just throw them down a trash chute.”
“Alright,” he conceded, and Leonard smiled in return to thank Jim for allowing him this whim. “But be careful. I don’t want you to get hurt, and I’m sure Spock doesn’t either. Especially not by something as illogical as smoking.”
Leonard approached Jim and, with his free hand -the other was occupied carrying two bags of cigarettes-, he held Jim’s face. “I’ll be just fine.”
Their lips met in a short, sweet kiss, a very practiced gesture between them, one that they would sometimes allow during their shifts, as long as there weren’t many people around. It was an affectionate gesture just slightly more charged than a hand on the lower back or a hug, and no one in the crew seemed to mind or find it inappropriate.
“I’ll leave you with history, then,” Leonard said before turning around to head for the door.
Behind him, Leonard heard Jim chuckling melodically. “I wish!” he said, and Leonard smiled as he exited the room.
**********
Twenty cigarette packs lay on Leonard’s bed, all still untouched. He paced from the head of the bed to the foot, seriously considering if, after all, he should give in to temptation.
Yes, cigarettes probably couldn’t harm him in any way that mattered -thanks to all the advances in medicine-, but there was something that worried him about the way he felt drawn to them even when he hadn’t opened a single box or lit a single smoke.
To hell. His curiosity was way more powerful than his fear or concern or whatever it was that had made him delay the experience.
Leonard went to the replicator on the corner and slipped in two models he had downloaded while still unsure -an ashtray and a lighter. The machine whirred into life and, after a few seconds, a glass ashtray shaped like a leaf and a classic kitchen lighter materialized on the replicator tray. Leonard grabbed them and, after making sure the lighter worked, he returned to the bed to get a pack.
He put all the material on the table and took a seat. His deft fingers had no problem unwrapping the outside plastic layer, or the golden-colored wrap that protected the cigarettes after the top was lifted. Leonard stared at the twenty white circles that stuck out of the pack, tight against one another.
He thought it all looked very fancy. Very ritualistic, too. There was something very interesting about the simple action of unwrapping a well-designed box. Something familiar. Surely from experiencing Christmas mornings and birthdays, which at this point in life, Leonard had done many, many times -but it had been years since he’d felt so excited to open a gift.
Now, Leonard knew the gift itself, in this case, could be shitty, but he decided that, even if it was, he’d keep all those boxes to open them when he felt like it. As a treat.
He took the end of a cigarette between his index and his thumb and pulled it out of the box. He studied it. The shape was nice; not too thin, like those he had seen in almost pre-historic French holovids, and elegant, the perfect width to hold it between your lips without looking stupid. The orange color was a nice touch, though he didn’t understand why it was painted at all… Did people light the wrong end if they were completely white or what?
Before putting the cigarette to his mouth, Leonard smelled it. It smelled of dry grass -which made a lot of sense considering that was pretty much what tobacco was- and licorice and he found that to be very appealing. He licked his lips and parted them to leave space to the cigarette, and when he took in a breath to practice before the real thing, he tasted the smell on his tongue, subtle and earthy.
His heart leaped with anticipation.
Leonard picked up the lighter and, completely conscious of the fact he was probably looking ridiculous by using a bright green kitchen lighter for this, he pressed his thumb against the handle and brought the small fire closer to his face until it came into contact with the cigarette. He sucked in and the tip lit up bright red, like ember stirred by the wind, and he swallowed the smoke, which was thinner than he thought it’d be -water vapor, not barbecue, he thought.
The taste… Wasn’t good. At all. At first, while the smoke was still inside him, Leonard didn’t notice it, and he liked the feeling of his lungs being filled by something other than air, but after blowing it out of his mouth, he winced with disgust at the…? At the something -it truly was indescribable- taste of it. Jim had almost thrown up? Fair! Leonard would like to too!
But instead of that, he put the cigarette between his lips again and took another drag. And another.
And another until he had to tap the stick for the bundle of ash forming at the tip to fall.
And another until the taste settled in his mouth and stopped being horrible to become familiar and pleasant.
And another until the ventilation system was no match to the smoke, which started hanging in the air, stinking up the room and making Leonard’s eyes itch.
And another until the cigarette went out on its own when the last mass of ash fell on top of the pile of gray on the ashtray. Right at the line between white and orange paper. Turns out no one was lighting cigarettes the other way around, after all; the color was just to mark the filter.
The cigarette was out, but it lingered, in many ways. The smell; the taste, which had become sweet on Leonard’s tongue; the sensation of being light, not of body but of mind. Obviously, the effect of nicotine wasn’t comparable to that of alcohol. It was barely noticeable, and probably closer to caffeine than it was to other drugs. Leonard sat back and considered lighting another cigarette, but decided against it to prove he could resist temptation.
The door of his room swished.
“Are you meditating, Leonard?”
Leonard chuckled and turned to see Spock standing next to the door, head tilted and nostrils flared as he examined the smell.
“I don’t meditate,” he replied, and to give a real answer he picked up the pack of Marlboros in front of him and showed it to Spock.
“You do not smoke either,” Spock said, approaching the table with curiosity. That was a great point. “Are these from the satellite cargo?”
“Jim was gonna throw them out.”
Spock took Leonard’s pack and examined it in much the same way Leonard had done before trying that first cigarette.
“Do you want one?” Leonard teased, grinning.
“Do I want a cigarette?” Spock asked, his right eyebrow slightly raised in the Vulcan version of bewilderment.
“They’re quite good,” Leonard said. “They taste better than they smell.”
“Oh, really?” Leonard nodded. Spock smirked. “I believe your brain is releasing dopamine as a reaction to the nicotine and, therefore, your opinion is completely biased.”
“Maybe. But you haven’t answered my question.”
“Is the foul smell of this room not an answer already?”
“You thought it was incense!” Leonard sneered.
“Not all incense has a pleasant scent,” Spock argued. “And taste is not everything, Leonard. You are aware that vintage cigarettes are poisonous,” he added, his tone carrying some smugness.
“And we have the antidote.” Leonard crossed his arms over his chest, unfazed.
Spock looked at the pack with interest once again, then carefully placed it on the table, next to the lighter.
“I must admit, I am… curious,” he said, brown eyes fixed on Leonard again. “About the taste, especially.”
That admission was a half-victory. Leonard smiled and tapped his lips with his index. “Do you want a sneak peek?”
And even though Spock huffed with irritation in response -as he often did-, he still bent down to take Leonard’s lips, and parted them delicately with his tongue to taste him better. Leonard let him probe for a while, glad to be kissed by familiar lips no matter the reason. When Spock pulled back, he looked contemplative, as if he really was studying the taste. Or considering the offer to smoke.
“Your opinion on the taste of tobacco is biased,” Spock concluded.
“You didn’t seem that disgusted while your tongue was in my mou-”
“However,” Spock cut him off, “I remain curious, which is odd. Smoking cigarettes is illogical.”
Leonard had learned -the hard way- that Spock could argue for and against anything with arguments based on said thing’s logic or illogic nature. He just decided which ones were more convenient to him; which ones proved his point, that is. It was a bunch of bullshit, but he knew Spock too well to be fooled by it.
“It is harmful and addictive,” he started explaining, his tone expertly composed. “And besides that, it would not have a positive effect on my brain, for I suppress my dopamine receptors for cultural reasons.”
“Uh-huh.” Leonard replied, challenging.
“‘Uh-huh’, Leonard?”
“Don’t you go on dangerous missions all the time? The odds you get killed on an alien planet are way higher than the odds of a single cigarette- No, a single drag out of one killing you. They’re not even close! This is better and it will satisfy your curiosity, which need I remind you is the reason you are in Starfleet and exploring space and whatnot.”
Spock squinted, but didn’t disagree.
“For fuck’s sake, Spock, just try it,” Leonard said.
“Are these doctor’s orders?” the Vulcan teased as he extended his arm to grab the pack.
“If you want to,” Leonard said, and picked the lighter up.
When Spock placed the cigarette between his lips, Leonard discovered a new appealing side of smoking. The smoke, still unlit, gave Spock an edge, and made him more attractive -which until then, Leonard thought impossible. Leonard rose to his feet with the urge to yank the cigarette out of his mouth and replace it with his own lips, but instead, with an almost-Vulcan self-control, he pushed the button on the lighter.
“Fascinating…” Spock said after blowing out the smoke of his first drag.
“I know,” Leonard said as he lit his second cigarette. “We can share them, if you want,” he added, seeing that Spock was still smoking and didn’t seem to plan on stopping.
“We can smoke on special occasions,” Spock proposed, then he flicked his thumb over the filter to throw the ash on the ashtray.
“Yes,” Leonard agreed -if they barely smoked, they wouldn’t get addicted to tobacco. Then, as he fanned a puff of smoke away from his face, he realized the air was ridiculously foggy. “But I think we’re gonna need to install a better venting system first.”
**********
After they convinced Scotty to install an exhaust fan in Leonard’s quarters, Spock and Leonard smoked a cigarette each to check that it worked. Scotty refused to partake in the act, but stayed with them nonetheless, claiming the smell of smoke reminded him of his late grandfather who had a passion for “vintage fags”.
The next day, Leonard didn’t smoke, and the pile of ash on the leaf plate didn’t rise, so he guessed Spock didn’t either.
But the day after that, while Spock and Jim were on their shifts and he had to review a report from the labs before sending it to Starfleet, he got really bored and couldn’t help but light one. He actually couldn’t believe how much more bearable that article was once he started smoking. It was almost interesting. Plus he got to try left-hand smoking, since he needed the right one to write on the padd.
When he finished, he didn’t smoke another one. He met Jim and Spock for dinner as usual and then they all went to Jim’s quarters -tobacco was the last thing on his mind, in there.
Leonard thought he had beat nicotine. And then he realized he didn’t -he wasn’t- when three days in a row, before dinner, he smoked. He didn’t notice it at the moment, because during two of them he was talking to Spock -who was also smoking- and the action felt so casual and unimportant that neither of them seemed to remember their only-on-special-occasions pact. But the next evening Jim joined them, and as Leonard opened the top drawer on his chest, where he kept the packs, he paused, concerned.
Routine. Bad.
He closed the drawer and sat on his chair. He didn’t need cigarettes to talk to people! While Jim was explaining the plot of the novel he had just finished reading, Leonard felt Spock’s eyes on him. He turned and met them, and he read the question in them: why are we not smoking? He shook his head lightly.
It was ridiculous. They could do this, or anything without smoking, couldn’t they?
Of course, it wasn’t that simple. He could , technically, but his hands felt so empty he had to fidget with a pen. Spock, it seemed, had better self-control -steepling his fingers as he sometimes did was enough.
They got through the evening without smoking, eventually, but with cravings. Not good. Not only was he slightly addicted to nicotine already, but he had also turned Spock into a smoker. If it was actually terrible for them, like it had been back when people smoked, this would be the moment Leonard would throw away every single pack and vow not to touch a cigarette ever again. But it wasn’t, so he didn’t.
The routine of the pre-dinner cigarette established itself in Leonard’s and Spock’s lives, and it kept being just that, a cigarette a day, always around the same time, sometimes alone, sometimes in company, until work got in the way. That’s when Leonard really noticed the addiction.
He had beamed down to a planet for a quick check-up with the colonists, who were stricken by a flu-like illness that should’ve been very easy to cure. Turns out it wasn’t all that simple, because the illness had mutated and affected more systems than the respiratory, and Leonard had to stay down there until morning. That means that from 1800 hours to 1100, he had to work while feeling a strange pressure inside his chest, like a void was inside his lungs and the air intake was too poor to ever fill them completely. When he got back to the ship he smoked until he felt at ease again.
Spock confessed that the same thing happened to him when he had bridge shifts at a later time. He, too, had started smoking at different times during the day; when he could, when he craved it.
Soon, the routine gave way to something worse. Leonard smoked anytime, and often. He spent most of his mid-morning breaks in his quarters with Christine while he smoked and they both complained about the silly injuries they had to treat; he sometimes lit a cigarette while he drank coffee, and, to Jim’s horror, he and Spock started lying strategically on bed just so they could share a smoke or two before going to sleep.
And Leonard was very satisfied.
**********
“Oh, no, no,” Jim said, watching Leonard reach for the Marlboro pack on the shelf behind the bed.
“What?” he asked, acting surprised.
He knew exactly what Jim was complaining about. They were naked in bed, their minds still going through the post-orgasmic haze. Everything was still soiled, Jim could barely move his body -but he could certainly protest- and Leonard was already craving the feel of nicotine.
“Leave the drugs and come here, Bones,” he said, tapping the spot right next to him on the mattress.
“You won’t let me be a cliché?” Leonard teased, and he lit the cigarette despite Jim’s irritation.
He blew the smoke out and Jim rolled his eyes. “I hate that you look good when you smoke.”
“And have you seen Spock? Every time he puts a cigarette between his lips I want to s-”
“I’m starting to believe I should start smoking too,” Jim said as he finally sat up, slightly recovered from exhaustion.
“Please, don’t,” Leonard said.
“Am I not allowed to look sexy?” Jim asked, practically pouting.
“Smoking sucks and I already got Spock into it. I don’t want to reel you in too.” Leonard took another drag. “And also, if you smoked, I don’t think I’d be able to get my hands off of you. I can barely handle doing that now.”
Jim smiled lazily. “Thanks, Bones.” Leonard smiled back at him, then put out the cigarette on the ashtray behind him. “You smell terrible, by the way.”
“Oh, I’m aware, Jim. I can smell myself,” Leonard said as he got up to get his boxers from the floor.
“What I mean is, if you keep smoking, eat at least five mints before you kiss me. Or before you go to sickbay.”
Leonard chuckled, feeling like a scolded teen. “Alright, Jimmy.”
“And wear some perfume.”
“I will,” Leonard said, trying to guess if his was strong enough to hide the stench of tobacco. “But don’t complain if I start smelling like I filled the bathtub with cologne and took a dip.”
**********
Leonard paced from one side of the meeting room to the other, arms crossed over his chest. “How long has it been?”
“Five minutes and twenty-three seconds,” Spock replied, gaze following Leonard’s anxious walk.
“What?” Leonard raised an eyebrow. “What are you even answering?”
“Was your question not “how long has it been since I asked you this very same question”?” Spock said.
“You know damn right that’s not what I meant!” Leonard stopped walking. “I was asking about Jim.”
“He has been on the planet for eighty-four more minutes than it was initially planned.”
Leonard rubbed his eyes. Something was wrong with his breathing and he no longer knew if it was because of anxiety or because he needed a cigarette badly; it was probably both.
“I… Dammit. Something’s happened to him,” he said, trying hard not to break.
“Leonard,” Spock called his attention and walked to him. “We sent down a highly capable search party an hour ago.”
“That’s what I mean! An hour, Spock! That’s a lot of time!”
“We have rarely solved complicated missions or missing parties in less than an hour.”
“Right…”
Damn his logic, but Spock was probably right. And he was also bullshitting him -he was probably worrying as much as Leonard, if not more. Just… internally.
“Leonard, may I suggest that you take time off,” Spock said, brushing Leonard’s hand with his.
“You may suggest it, yes,” Leonard replied. “I’m not doing that until Jim’s aboard this ship safe and sound though.”
“There is nothing we can do.”
“I don’t care.”
Spock hummed. “Then take my suggestion as an order, doctor McCoy .”
Unbelievable. It had taken Spock less than four hours in command to use the superior officer card. Too bad two can play this game.
“Well, I believe the fact that you’ve recently been smoking allows me, as CMO of this ship, to confine you to quarters until I can test if you’re capable to perform as captain, Mr. Spock .”
Spock’s eyebrows shot up in indignation. “That is not-”
“Let’s compromise, then,” Leonard said, taking Spock’s hand between his. “Let’s leave command to Scotty and take a short break together. Then we can go back.”
Somewhat hesitantly, Spock agreed. It actually was a good idea, on paper.
After their tenth cigarette, they realized they should’ve planned better. The stress was too consuming for them to stop. During the two minute interval between the first cigarette and the second, Leonard had bit his lips so hard he’d drawn blood and Spock had nail marks on his hands from clenching his fists too hard. They needed the cigarettes to survive this, and it was a sad thought, but what could they do? Until Jim was no longer in danger, they’d have to trick their brains into producing some dopamine.
When they got the announcement that everyone had beamed back safely to the Enterprise, three empty packs of Marlboro lay on Leonard’s table next to an ashtray so covered in ash and cigarette butts that it was hard to tell what its shape and color were.
And when, after twenty minutes or so of debriefing and physical exams, Jim finally allowed them to meet him in his quarters and Leonard and Spock ran there, they almost suffocated on the way.
Jim greeted them with a wide smile that turned to a frown when he saw their state. “Spock! Bones!”
“We’re… Hold on…” Leonard said, panting. “We’re so glad… You’re back.”
“I can see that,” Jim said, approaching them, but not quite reaching where they stood near the door. “Have you been smoking?”
“Yes,” Spock replied. “We were… We did not… We…”
“I know,” Jim said, and Leonard thought that he, too, understood what Spock had failed to say. “Come here.”
It didn’t take them long to react; under a second after Jim finished talking, Leonard and Spock were on him, hugging him tightly, fingers digging into soft skin, glad to find evidence of Jim’s aliveness, afraid to let him go.
Leonard sunk his face on Jim’s neck and pressed a thousand tiny kisses on the same spot. Then, he pulled back and peppered his face with even more kisses, planting a final one on the curved lips.
Jim winced a bit.
“Is something wrong?” Spock asked, lacing his fingers with Jim’s.
“Not really, just…” Jim started, his hazel eyes avoiding the men in front of him. “Would you do me a favor?”
“That depends,” Spock answered, in his dry, Vulcan fashion.
Leonard rolled his eyes. “Anything.”
Jim smiled and finally dared meet Leonard’s and Spock’s eyes. “So, ah… Would you quit smoking?”
Dammit. In hindsight, he should’ve guessed, and maybe he would’ve gone with Spock’s vague answer too if he did. It was too late to take back a promise though, and perhaps more importantly, the favor wouldn’t be for Jim alone, but also for their health and their general well-being.
“Alright,” Leonard grumbled. A displeased agreement, but an agreement nonetheless.
After some consideration, Spock nodded.
“Thank you,” Jim said, beaming at them. “Now, if you’re up to doing me another favor, can we jump in the shower, all of us, and get nice and clean together?”
“Please,” Leonard said. “I feel as dirty as a pig after rolling in the mud.”
“I, as well,” Spock said. “Although perhaps it would be wise if we returned to Leonard’s quarters first to throw away the tobacco reserve.”
“Spock, you know I trust you implicitly…” Jim said, then lifted his hand and kissed it.
“But?” Leonard asked.
“But I can’t trust you with that. I’ll send a yeoman to pick it up and destroy it.”
Spock opened his eyes, offended. “You believe this is a ploy to continue smoking.”
“I do, sorry,” Jim said, stepping away.
“Have some faith in us, Jim, we’re not driven only by instinct, we-”
Ironically, Leonard’s speech got cut off when Jim took off his shirt and threw it on the floor as he walked to the bathroom. He watched him disappear behind the door, and then he looked at Spock, who looked back with cool, dark eyes.
Without saying a word, they conveyed their thoughts about all this to one another: yes, it sucks, yes, I miss cigarettes already too, yes, it’s the right thing to do, yes, Jim’s in that bathroom, naked, and we should definitely join him.
So they allowed themselves to exhale a woeful, dramatic -and weirdly coordinated- sigh and then they followed Jim, like they always had, like they always would.
**********
“That bad?” Jim asked amusedly.
It wasn’t amusing, though, was it? Leonard having to ask for a glass of water silently because his throat was so sore he didn't even know if any sound would come out when he spoke was not funny. Jim seemed to be having the time of his life, however, walking to the replicator with a huge smile and returning with a glass almost the size of a bucket in his hands.
Leonard cleared his throat. “Screw you,” he said, voice raspy and deep. The pain those two words caused was worth it, though, because the laugh it got out of Jim warmed Leonard’s heart. “Gimme that.”
The big glass was given to Leonard, who drank about half of it and didn’t feel, not in the slightest, the soreness in his throat soothed. He felt a hand tapping his arm and saw Spock, eyes not even fully open, pointing at the glass. Well… At least he wasn’t alone in this. He helped the Vulcan sit up and passed him the water. Spock gulped it down quickly and, once he was done and the empty glass returned to a very entertained Jim, he raised an eyebrow.
“Not working,” he said, his voice somehow hoarser than Leonard’s.
Jim and Leonard burst out laughing, although it didn’t take long for the latter to settle down for just smiling. Turns out, laughing takes a toll; his throat throbbed painfully.
“Gentlemen, I believe this is a clear case of “you reap what you sow”,” Jim said, placing the glass in the recycling tray of the replicator. He punched a code and the glass disappeared, then two steaming mugs materialized in its place. “You’re lucky I’m an expert in remedies for a sore throat.”
He walked back to the bed and sat down on Leonard’s side, with his legs hanging off. Leonard grabbed the mugs and gave Spock one of them. The drink was surely too hot to drink, so he blew on it, raising a draft of steam that, when it reached his nose, Leonard thought familiar.
“What is it?” He said, smelling the herbal drink more intently.
“Thyme infusion with orange blossom honey,” Jim replied. “Every time I got a cold, my father would make this for me. And apart from being delicious, it’s infallible.”
Spock took a sip and hummed. “Good,” he said, and Jim laughed at his inability to say full sentences.
“Thanks, Jim,” Leonard said. “I hope you’re right about the “infallible” part.”
“Me too. If this doesn’t work, I don’t know what will.”
“I do,” Leonard replied, a playful smile on his lips. “It’s gonna sound weird, but I think if we smoked anoth-”
“No,” Jim said dryly.
“I’m serious, Jim, a cigarette would fix us.”
“And I’m serious too, Bones. No.”
Fair. Leonard didn’t even pretend to be annoyed. And he didn’t answer. A promise is a promise. He took a sip of the still-too-hot infusion and swallowed it slowly, focusing on how the liquid made its way down his throat, sweet and comforting and -thank god- soothing.
Jim sighed. “The next time we find cargo I’m not allowing either of you to get anywhere near it.”
“You can’t do that. We’re the chief medical officer and the science officer,” Leonard complained. “We have to test the cargo.”
Jim gave him the stink eye, so he didn’t defend his argument further. Because if there was an ideal time to shut up, it was then. For one, because Jim was worried and trying to take care of them, and the last thing he wanted was to anger him, of course. But also because his throat was sore.
Mostly that, actually.
“I have to say though…” Jim said then, his eyes moving between Spock and Leonard. “I appreciate that you got so worried about me that you smoked twenty cigarettes each in less than an hour.”
“Thirty-two,” Spock corrected him.
“Thirty-five,” Leonard announced his personal count.
“Well, I’m flattered,” Jim said, wearing an honest smile. “But if you do that again, I’ll kill you before whatever’s in a cigarette can.”
“Yes, sir,” Leonard said.
He smiled despite the fact that he, once again, was feeling that weird, sharp stab in his lungs from the lack of smoke. Whatever… thousands of humans had gotten over their nicotine addictions; he could too. He had Jim. He had Spock.
And he had a delicious warm cup of thyme infusion with orange blossom honey to soothe his sore throat.