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When Jim insisted on asking Sarek and Amanda’s permission for their son’s hand in marriage, Spock bristled.

“Illogical. You are marrying me, Jim. Not my parents. Their consent is not required for this endeavor.”

As Spock continued to refute his explanation of tradition, Jim watched from his lazy position across the couch, chin against palm, until Spock’s mouth dried up from an overabundance of logic.

“It’s not fair, you know,” Jim pouted. Spock had been allowed to meet Jim’s mom when she visited San Francisco during her last shore leave. He had endured her blunt questions about their sex life, his eating habits, comprehensive descriptions of childhood bedwetting for Spock’s analyzation, and her warning against letting Jim eat too many apples because they made him a little gassy. Now, it was time Jim was afforded the same entertainment at Spock’s expense. Two years of dating, one marriage proposal, and Jim was still waiting to meet the parents. Even if Sarek and Amanda lived all the way on Vulcan, it seemed weird to wait until the wedding before jumping into their lives like a poorly planned surprise party.

Surprise! I’m the illogical human marrying your precious son! Nice to meet you!

“They may not be on planet at this time,” Spock balked. “If so, they will be unable to answer a video transmission.”

“Come here,” Jim smiled sweetly, stretching his arm out to wiggle a few seductive fingers. 

After some underhanded physical cajoling, Jim finally convinced Spock to concede, and he dialed a subspace call to his parents’ home on Vulcan. Despite Spock’s doubts, his mom answered on the second ring with a delighted exclamation when she saw Jim and Spock’s faces on her vidscreen.

“Finally,” she replied to Jim’s introduction. “I’ve been desperate to meet you, Jim. Spock talks about you all the time.”

“Really?” Jim glanced at his boyfriend’s stern profile. “Not all complaints, I hope.”

“On the contrary,” she smiled. “I’m so glad Spock finally gathered the courage to propose.”

Oh my God, Jim thought to himself. Spock had talked to his mom before popping the question—maybe even asked her advice. Since they were the Vulcan equivalent of royalty, Jim had worried whether Spock’s refined parents would stick their noses up at his peasant fiancé. But, Amanda must have thought well enough of Spock’s descriptions of Jim not to interfere.

As they continued their conversation, Jim learned the origin of Spock’s remarkable personality. Amanda was kind, pleasant, and poised, and excitedly discussed “her boys’” wedding plans. Unfortunately, Spock’s dad was away on a diplomatic trip to Andoria, so he was unable to join the call. When Amanda had informed them of this with an apology, Jim could feel the relief oozing from Spock’s non-existent pores. Jim wasn’t sure whether to take it personally or not.

“What’s that look for?” Jim asked, after they ended the transmission, getting up in Spock’s face before he could get all stoic and mysterious.

“As my eyes are open, I can hardly prevent myself from observing what is before me.” His eyes shifted to Jim’s lips: a blatant distraction strategy.

Poking Spock in the chest, Jim flicked his finger upward, lifting Spock’s chin. “I meant the expression on your face when Amanda said your dad wasn’t home.”

Spock blinked. “I do not know which expression you are referring to.”

Jim rolled his eyes. “Fess up. You know I’ll be a bother until you do.”

Spock sighed. Not heavily, more like an extended release of breath that registered on the tip of Jim’s nose rather than his eardrums. It was something Spock had started doing more frequently. A habit picked up from his exposure to emotionally expressive humans during his time on Earth.

“My father and I have a,” Spock paused, his eyes drifting to the left while his lips drew into a firm line, “strained relationship.”

“Why?” Jim asked.

After some Vulcan style reticence that involved staring at his hands and a weak attempt to change the subject with small talk about the unchangeable weather, Spock finally coughed up, with some gentle needling from Jim, the details about his rocky past with Sarek. He explained the pressure put upon him to attend the Vulcan Science Academy; the disapproval and eventual silence when he had abandoned the carefully laid plans for his future on Vulcan to join Starfleet.

It pained Jim, to hear about the fissure between Spock and Sarek. Losing his father before knowing him had left a void in Jim, a lost familial connection that he fantasized about as a child, grasping onto every drop of information about George Kirk that his brother occasionally spilled during moments of bereaved reflection. What a waste for Sarek to distance himself from his beautiful, intelligent son.

Jim wondered if there was a way to repair Spock and Sarek’s father-son bond. What better way to bring family together than a wedding? Even though Jim was constantly at odds with his brother, Sam’s wedding last year had been a hell of a party. All Jim’s former grudges against Sam had been temporarily tossed to the wind after a good meal, a few sessions at the open bar, and seeing the stupid grin on his brother’s face when Aurelan walked down the aisle.

As he considered his wedding in three months with glowing optimism, images began filling Jim’s head of Spock and Sarek embracing before a dramatic sunset.

At that moment, Jim decided to plan the best wedding ever.

*

“Make up your damn mind,” Bones complained, holding up colour samples. “Is it the ivory,” he waved a white card in Jim’s face, “or the seashell?”

“They look the same,” Jim lifted his hands skyward, pressure building in his gut. His first major wedding decision, and he was already balking under the stress. Over tablecloths of all things. The stellar cartography maps he had been studying earlier still clouded his brain, now overlaid with spastic swatches of white every few seconds. What was the spatial anomaly in the Toriga star system he kept forgetting? It was guaranteed to be on his cartography exam; Professor Xzan had been posted there for a gazillion years, and had published just as many papers about every speck of space dust in the region. He had forced his students to purchase all of the books and out of publication articles he had published, and continued to give anecdotes about Toriga in the middle of unrelated lectures like it was the only system in the whole damn galaxy.

Shit, he wished Spock was here, and not stuck in a xenolingusitics seminar. Even if ordering tablecloths and cutlery rentals was one of Jim’s assigned wedding tasks on the to-do list compiled by his efficient boyfriend and obsessive best man, Spock’s eyes were probably more discerning when it came to the specific attributes of the color white.

“Tablecloths, Jim! Focus on the tablecloths,” Bones erupted in his face.

“Gods!” Jim jumped, rubbing the spittle from his cheeks. “Please, remind me why I made you my best man.”

“Because I’m your only responsible friend in a gang of flighty children. Not to mention I’ve done this whole wedding thing before.”

“Ok, Mr. Know-it-all. Which color screams elegance and charm?

Bones shrugged, glancing at the samples. “Search me. They’re both white.”

“Fine.” Sighing, Jim held up a finger and commenced with his back up decision making emergency scheme. “Eeny meeny miny moe…”

*  

“You’re a terrible son,” his mom complained when Jim answered his communicator after five minutes of repeated whistling. Shoving his astrophysics notes off his desk, Jim banged his head against the tabletop, rubbing sleep from his eyes.

“What did I do now?” he mumbled into the receiver.

There’s a huff and Jim can practically feel his mom sulking seventeen light years away. “You let me know you’re getting married through a text! A text, Jim!”

Leaning his neck against the seat, Jim groaned his exasperation at the ceiling.

“I didn’t want to wake you with a subspace transmission.” A dusty web was collecting against the corner of the ceiling, and in the middle a huge black spider shifted, spindling its trap around a house fly. With a shiver, Jim leaped from the chair to his bed on the other side of the room. He watched the spider, imagining it scrambling down the wall and nesting in his hair when he passed out on his PADD after another hard core cram session tonight. As his mom continued her vocal assault, Jim glanced at the clock on his comm. Spock would be asleep for his morning class tomorrow. But did Bones have a late shift tonight? Where were his pest control officers when he needed them?

“I suppose I’ll let you off for attempting to be considerate.”

“That’s very noble of you,” Jim whispered, lest he raise the spider’s attention.

“Too right. So, you boys set a date?”

“September seventh.”

“Next year?”

“No, this year.”

Jim pulled the comm from his ear, his mother’s belligerence deafening him from subspace. “Jesus, Jim! That’s barely three months away.”

“Really? Had no idea.”

“Don’t get sassy with me. Why the rush? You got something you need to tell me?” Her voice rose. “You’re not on death’s door, are you?”

“God, mom, no! I’m fine. We just don’t want to wait around. Carpe diem and all that.”

There was a pause filled with heavy breathing.

“Mom?”

She sniffed loudly. “My little boy’s getting married. Never thought I’d see the day.”

Pressing his palm against the building pressure in his forehead, Jim rolled his eyes. He regretted sharing all his teenage breakups and romantic woes with his mother. Too young to realize how this sensitive information could be used against him one day.

“Can you get shore leave on such short notice?”

“The warp core on this old tanker might collapse without me,” Winona hummed, “but I’ll make it happen. I know I’ve missed a lot of important life moments as you were growing up, but no way am I missing this.”

“Thanks,” Jim replied, suddenly feeling awkward.

“Do I get to walk you down the aisle?”

“Uhh,” Jim panicked. “Spock and I haven’t really talked specifics, yet.”

Winona’s booming laughter echoed across the line. “I’m messing with you, Jimmy. How are you paying for the wedding though? You can’t be making enough part timing at that sleazy bar. Weddings are expensive. I can help out.”

Jim tensed. No, way. His mom had already paid for most of Sam and Aurelan’s huge wedding last year. And with all the credits dumped into recent renovations on their old rickety farmhouse back in Iowa, Winona unable to give the place up even though she was working in the void three quarters of the year as chief engineer of a science vessel, Jim knew another big spend was beyond her modest fleet wage.

“No, it’s okay,” he hurriedly replied, clambering for a lie his discerning mother would accept. “Um, Spock’s parents offered to pay for the whole thing. Practically demanded, actually. Vulcan tradition, or something.”

“Are you sure?” Winona sounded skeptical. “Doesn’t seem fair to let them take all the burden.”

“We’re having a really small wedding. Just close family. They’re happy to do it.”

“Well, if you’re sure,” his mother wavered. “You let me know if you need help though.”

“Of course. But I’ll be fine.”

“Somehow, you always are, Jim. But you don’t make it easy for yourself. That’s why I worry about you.”

“Well, stop.”

“Can’t. It’s a mom’s job.”

Jim sighed.

“Don’t forget to invite, Sam,” Winona blurted out.

“Sure, ok.” Jim rolled his eyes. “The idiot is invited. And only because I want to see Aurelan. She’s way too good for him.”

“Don’t call your brother an idiot.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

“Hey, Jimmy.”

“Uh huh.”

“I’m proud of you, kid. Pike’s shining star at the Academy, and now fiancé to a well-mannered Vulcan. You’ve done well.”

Pausing for a moment, afraid his voice might betray too much, Jim swallowed. “Thanks, mom.”

And he was planning to continue the trend, if he could help it.

*

Jim stared at the horde of potted plants Hikaru had arranged on his kitchen table.

“Where are you growing all these?” Bones balked.

Spritzing the plants with a spray bottle, Hikaru fussed around his babies and plucked at browning leaves. “Oh, in the living room and the kitchen, and all over the balcony.”

“And in my room,” Pasha grumped from the corner where he was bent over his physics notes.

“Yeah, this isn’t even all of them. We can check out the succulents in Pasha’s room though they’d be unconventional for a boutonniere.”

“Be careful. They are always stabbing me. I can barely move, they are all over the floor. It is terrible.”

Karu rolled his eyes. “You’re the one who asked me to help brighten up your room with some plants.”

“Yes brighten,” Pasha nodded furiously, “not turn into a dessert landscape. I am from Russia not the Gobi Desert.”

“It’s okay,” Jim butted in, holding his hands up between the two roommates, “this is more than enough for me to choose from. Any suggestions?” he asked, running his fingers along a bright red flower. “Botany isn’t really my expertise. Nor is flower arranging.”

“Well,” Karu rested his chin in his hand as he contemplated the array of pots. “People usually get a boutonniere to match the color of their partner’s outfit. What’s Spock wearing?”

Jim sighed. “I don’t know. He’s been reading up on North American wedding customs, and gotten it into his head that he shouldn’t tell me what he’s wearing to our wedding. He thinks it’ll be bad luck.”

“Blue,” Bones said, glancing up from his PADD. His fingers had been continuously tapping against the screen since they arrived in Hikaru and Pasha’s dorm to get advice on boutonnieres for their wedding suits. Probably adding more items to their ever growing to-do list. If Bones ever got sick of patching people up, wedding planning could be his alternate career path.

“How the hell do you know that?” Jim gaped.

“Uhura told me. She went shopping with Spock for wedding clothes last week. He’s wearing some Vulcan robe type thing. Black with blue trimming.”

Jim watched Bones’ face. “You two are getting awfully chummy.”

“Nyota is anything but awful,” Bones smiled stupidly.

“Nyota?” Jim gasped. Since when were they on a first name basis?

“How about,” Hikaru was walking around the table, picking up various pots, and holding the blooms to Jim’s face, “a delphinium. It’ll bring out your eyes. With a sweetheart rose for that hint of wedding white. I’ve got a rose bush in bloom on the porch.

Jim sneezed as a puff of pollen tickled his nose.

“Jesus, how has dorm maintenance not shut you down?” Bones asked.

“I bribe them with bouquets,” Karu winked.

Bones took the pot of delphinium and held it against Jim’s chest, where the flower would be pinned, eyes pivoting from the flower to Jim’s eyes. “Yeah, looks good.”

“Well, if it’s Bones’ approved.” Jim shrugged. “I think it sounds nice. Can you do one for Spock too?”

“No problem,” Hikaru smiled, as he took the plant from Bones, settling it gently on the table. “So, do you know what you’re doing for venue flowers? Did you get a florist yet?”

“Huh?” Jim mumbled.

“Did you hire a florist, yet? To decorate your wedding venue, arrange table centerpieces, that sort of thing.”

“Uhhh,” Jim panicked. “No. Am I supposed to do that?”

“Well,” Hikaru stared at him, pity washing through every feature. “It’s up to you. Flowers aren’t necessary to get married. They’re just for decoration, really.”

Shit, Jim realized. His wedding was going to look really cheap if he didn’t have flowers. Why hadn’t Bones said anything? Why hadn’t Spock? Did Vulcans use flowers in their logical bonding ceremonies? Or maybe, Vulcan being a desert planet, they decorated with cacti like Pasha’s room.

“Did I stick my foot in it? You must have a lot on your plate already, what with exams and now a wedding to plan.”

“No, no!” Jim smiled, waving his hands. “I appreciate you mentioning it. I never even thought of flowers. Other than the ones we’re wearing.

“Look,” Sulu grinned. “I’m slogging through Academy life too. I get it. Flowers aren’t cheap. But, I could get you some great discounts at the greenhouse I work at, and then do the flower arranging for you as a wedding gift.”

Jim gawked at his friend, heat suddenly welling behind his eyes. “Really? Are you sure?”

“Great, now you’ve set off the water works,” Bones half grumbled, half grinned as he pulled a hanky from his pocket and shoved it in Jim’s face.

“Yeah, no problem,” Hikaru laughed, slinging an arm around Jim’s shoulder. “I love a chance to show off my botany skills.”

“But, you must be busy with studying too. Stellar cartography is an ass.” Jim dabbed at his eyes.

Karu shrugged. “Planning arrangements will help me relax during study breaks. Besides, I’m getting a better grade in SC than you are.”

Jim grimaced. “For now.”

“I can help,” Pasha piped up from behind them, making Jim jump. The kid was so quiet; Jim had forgotten he was there. “I will stop Karu from putting the spiky plants into your centerpieces lest everyone bump into them and draw blood after too much drinking.”

Jim beamed as the roommates began arguing about their differing opinions on succulents again.

*

Spock’s eyebrows drifted downward he scanned his communicator.

Tossing an arm around Spock’s neck, Jim peered over his shoulder. “What’s up?”

Spock’s eyes rose skyward, squinting against the sun.

“If you keep taking what’s up literally, even when you know the meaning in Terran slang, the soundtrack of our marriage is going to be my exasperated sighs.”

Head tilting to the side, Spock’s gaze returned to Jim. “If you continue to use expressions with such divergent meanings from their dictionary form, your exasperated sighs will be drowned out by my own.” He straightened. “If Vulcan’s did sigh, that is.”

“I don’t know about other Vulcans,” Jim nudged Spock’s hip, “but the one sharing my bed last night was all sighs.”

“You must be confusing a dream with reality.” Spock’s attention returned to his comm.

“Uh huh,” Jim muttered, as he pulled Spock away from colliding with a group of cadets passing beside them as they strolled down the sidewalk, “keep telling yourself you’re a silent lover. But if you really believe that, your ears need testing.”

Spock ignored him as he continued to analyze whatever fascinating thing covered his communicator.

“Ok.” Jim tugged Spock to a halt. “Something must be up if it’s distracting you from getting the last word in.” He leaned in closer to read Spock’s comm. It was covered in Vulcan script.

“I have received a communication from my father,” Spock replied.

Jim stiffened. Spock’s voice had turned as bland a shade as the viscous oatmeal served in the Academy’s cafeteria this morning. “It’s not bad news, is it?”

“It depends on what your definition of bad news is.”

“You’re killing me here, Spock.”

Spock raised an eyebrow, eyes moving critically up and down Jim’s body like Bones’ tricorder scanning for allergens. “You appear to be in good health.”

“Don’t you know it,” Jim grinned, preening under Spock’s scrutiny before his drawn features knocked him back into reality.

“What’s the message say?”

“My father has requested details on our bonding ceremony. It is of no consequence.” Spock closed his comm and slipped it into his pocket.

“Tell that to your face.”

They continued walking in silence for a moment, Jim carefully watching Spock until his lips parted.

“My father is acting illogically.”

“It’s about me, isn’t it? That you’re marrying me.”

Spock’s head shook slowly. “His comments are inconsequential.”

They continued on their path as Jim’s mind worked itself into a knot. Since that first call to Amanda, Sarek had been pointedly absent every time Jim and Spock called with wedding updates. Amanda had begged Jim to nudge Spock into calling home more often, and he’d been true to his word, scheduling a call every Saturday night before their date nights. Sure, Sarek was a busy guy, but being away every Saturday at seventeen oh hundred seemed suspicious.

“How about we add some Vulcan customs into our wedding? That might make your dad feel better about you marrying some mysterious human.”

“My father is a difficult individual to please. Even if we attempt to include Vulcan rituals, I predict a one hundred percent probability of him finding fault with the ceremony, no matter how minor the infraction. You are wasting time that would be better pursued elsewhere, such as planning a wedding that conforms to our own desires.”

Jim shrugged with a smile. “Sure. But, I don’t mind changing a few things. This is a human-Vulcan wedding after all. And you’ve been pretty closed mouthed about the planning decisions. It’s all, ‘what do you like best, Jim,’ and, ‘your choice of color schemes is my preference, Jim.’ I’m worried this party is going to end up human-centric.”

Shortly after their engagement, Spock had informed Jim he only required a human marriage at this time. An actual Vulcan bonding, a ceremony that would create a mental link between them, would be compulsory when Spock went through his pon farr – an explanation that had been shared with painful awkwardness as if Spock were pulling his own teeth and expecting Jim to kick him in the mouth for it. Although Jim was looking forward to a sex-a-thon on the burning sands of Vulcan when the time came, he still felt a little guilty that their actual marriage, the one all their family and friends would be attending, was wholly Terran.

“I am half-human,” Spock stated.

“Yeah, and half-Vulcan.”

“The specific aspects of our wedding are of little consequence to my assured enjoyment of the day, which will be centered on legally becoming your mate.”

Jim rolled his eyes. “Now you’re just sucking up.”

“Is that another one of your sexual innuendoes?”

“Surprisingly, no,” Jim grinned, as they entered the bakery to the sound of Janice’s cheery hello.

“Hey, guys! You’re just in time for some samples.” She waved a plate of cake slices dangerously close to Spock’s nose. His eyes brightened, eyes following the pastries, body tipping dangerously forward.

Watching Spock, a grin split across Jim’s face. “I’m alright, Janice. Got to watch my figure or I won’t fit into my suit for the wedding.” He patted his stomach with a sigh. “Spock can have my share.”

Frowning as he bit into the cake slice he had instantly grabbed off the platter, Spock’s eyes drifted to Jim’s midsection. “I observe no fault with your figure.” His gaze dropped lower, resting for a second before returning in a slow survey upward.

Although he denied it, Spock was the most shameless flirt Jim had ever met.

“You have to say that.” Jim gripped Spock’s shoulder briefly. “You’re my boyfriend.”

“I assuredly do not have to say anything I do not desire to, nor any remark I do not deem to be an absolute fact.” He took another slice of cake.

Warmth curled along Jim’s lips and lifted his hands until they pressed against the slim line of Spock’s waist.

“You two are the cutest,” Janice beamed.

“Now that’s an absolute fact if I’ve ever heard one.” Jim winked

Spock mumbled something indiscernible as he chewed around the mass of butterscotch gluing his teeth together.

“We’ve come to finalize our cake order,” Jim said as he watched Spock lick icing from his fingers.

“Excellent,” Janice cheered, setting the pastry plate down on the counter. Picking up a PADD, she tapped at the screen for a few seconds before handing it to Jim. “Here’s the order form for you to fill out.” There was a ding from the door as a couple wandered into the store. “Let me know if you have any questions,” Janice smiled, nodding at Spock who was still bent over the platter, “or if you need any more samples.”

“Will do.” Jim began to fill out the order, as Janice left to help her new customers.

“The quality of the Tiramisu has not deteriorated since our last sampling,” Spock provided, sniffing at the creamy square.

Jim snickered. “Good to know.” He could watch Spock eat cake all day. Slipping a slice of Tiramisu into Spock’s mouth when they performed the cake cutting ritual Jim had insisted upon was going to be the highlight of their wedding. He just hoped Sarek would be in the bathroom when it happened. Watching Jim use his tongue to wipe Spock’s mouth clean was probably not on his father-in-law’s list of permitted entertainment.

Browsing through the order form, Jim considered the list of optional additions available—extra icing, fancy toppings, a larger size, detailed decorations. Ignoring the price, Jim checked them all off. The extra shifts he had worked at the bar over the past few months would cover it. If anything, their wedding cake needed to be perfect. For Spock.

Reveling in thoughts of Spock’s cool mouth pressed against his, sweetness coating his tongue, Jim scrolled through the cake flavors listed on the form. Vision blurring for a moment, text morphing into a jumble of words, Jim swiped at his eyes, blinking away sleep. Damn, the cram session for his tactical exam this morning had really taken a toll. After a full night of work the night before, Jim had only had the early hours of the morning left over to double check his memorization.

Focus, Jim, he berated to himself, focus.

He finished typing information into the form quickly around successive yawns and scanned his credit chip.

“All done,” Jim called over to Janice, leaving his order for their Tiramisu wedding cake on the counter. Wrapping an arm around Spock’s waist, Jim tugged him away from the cake samples as Spock snatched a final slice. Janice sent them off with a wave.

“Oh, hey.” With one hand, Jim steadied Spock’s wandering sugar drunk hands. With the other, he pulled out his whistling communicator. Spock was such a lightweight, no matter how often he indulged. He glance at the comm screen. “Wow. Your dad just sent me a message.”

“Jim,” Spock huffed. “You are disturbing the vibrations caused by my overindulgence in sucrose by returning our conversation to that of my father.”

“Your buzz can wait, babe. It’s a good sign that he’s actually communicating with me. Maybe I can figure out what his issue is and we can finally be friends.”

“That would be a foolhardy endeavour with a high percentage of failure.”

“He dislikes me that much, huh?”

“My father does not like many people.”

“He must like your mom though. And she’s human.”

Spock’s mouth tensed. “Their marriage was one of logic. My father is ambassador to Earth. Therefore, it was a rational decision to marry a Terran.”

“It has to be more than that. Your mom seems pretty awesome. I doubt she’d marry someone who was indifferent toward her.”

Frowning, Spock slipped Jim’s comm from his hand, shut the case, and placed it into his pocket, hand lingering on Jim’s backside for longer than necessary. “You should be preparing for your final examinations, not worrying about pleasing my unpleasable father.”

Jim sighed, the small thrill from Spock’s promiscuous behavior dashed. “Don’t remind me,” he groaned. He had another exam tomorrow afternoon and had barely glanced at his Interspecies Ethics notes for weeks. “I want to try and win him over though. He’s going to be my father-in-law after all.”

Spock closed his eyes briefly, his body pressing closer. “It would please me if you would desist in attempting to garner my father’s favour. I have been attempting to satisfy him since I was a small child, and have rarely succeeded in my twenty eight years of existence.”

Jim’s teeth clenched. Although he knew Spock’s relationship with his dad was tense, hearing proof of it always sparked a mixture of anger and sadness within Jim. He didn’t understand how a father could fail to be proud of a son like Spock—he was practically perfect. Forget winning approval from his almost father-in-law; maybe by acting like an upstanding citizen for a few hours, and planning an elegant wedding, Jim could foster some well-deserved fatherly pride for Spock.

“Your warnings have been noted.” Jim snuggled closer, resting a hand on the comfortable dip of Spock’s lower back. “But, I’m nothing if not persistent.”

“And excessively stubborn,” Spock replied softly, leaning into Jim’s grasp as it trailed lower.

*

Ok. So Spock’s dad already hated him.

Well, maybe hate was a strong word. Vulcan’s do not hate, Spock’s voice flitted through Jim’s head reassuringly. Disapprove though, condemn, and object, that was something a Vulcan could do. Always a glutton for punishment, Jim read through Sarek’s message again, judgement oozing from every severely scripted word.

Mr. James Kirk,

I have been informed by my son, Spock that he plans to legally bind himself to you in a Terran wedding ceremony. Although I have professed my concerns about Spock’s decision to choose a mate with such haste before he has entered the pinnacle of his career, and before it is necessary for him to proceed with a full Vulcan bonding, I understand that my opinion is no longer considered in my son’s professional and personal life choices. Therefore, I offer my financial assistance in the planning of your nuptials as I have been informed, even at the age of twenty-five human years, that you are still a student who derives economic means from a part time occupation that involves pouring and serving intoxicating beverages. And my son, although he has succeeded in obtaining a coveted position as teacher’s assistant while perusing the high demands of his science degree, lives a life of modest means, and refuses to accept monetary support from his father in an irrational desire to live “independently.” My son has assured me that financial aid is not required for the proper arrangement of your nuptials. However, Spock displays a distinct stubbornness that prevents him from seeking assistance, even when it is logical to do so, out of a pride that likely stems from his human biology. Therefore, I entreat you, Mr. Kirk, to accept my support, and forward any bills pertaining to your marriage to my office.

I will also note, that Spock, as the son of an ancient Vulcan family, and the son to the ambassador of Earth, requires a wedding befitting his position. Spock has stated that you two prefer to host a small event with an attendance of no more than fifteen individuals. This size will not accommodate the invitation of my distinguished colleagues who would prove to be vital connections able to assist in the development of my son’s career aspirations.

Sarek

Spock was probably right. Winning Sarek’s approval was going to be near impossible, especially if he already though his son’s choice of a mate, even before meeting him, was a poor human with no prospects. But Jim didn’t believe in no win scenarios. If there was any chance of chipping Sarek’s icy demeanour, and easing his tense relationship with Spock, Jim had to try.

Jim spent the two hours he had reserved that night for exam prep, writing, editing, scrapping, and rewriting a response to Sarek’s message in which Jim attempted to sound confident yet gracious in his rejection of Sarek’s “kind offer.” Maybe he was just some student slinging drinks for a living, but if Jim couldn’t handle a little wedding planning, he needed to reconsider his command track application. Taking handouts would just prove Sarek’s assumptions right, that Jim had no right standing beside Spock at the alter.

*

Jim banged on Uhura’s door.

“What?” Uhura yelled with a whisper, cracking open the door and peering out. “Ugh, not you again!”

Jim shoved his foot between the door frame just as she moved to close it.

“Help me.”

“How many times do I have to tell you? The electrician will be in to fix the heating next week. Spock can either suck it up until then, or stop slumming it in the Academy dorms. Go sleep at his place.” Although Uhura was a capable resident advisor for Dorm L, her bedside manner needed some work.

“No, it’s not that. I have a linguistics problem.”

“Huh? You’re not in any communications classes.” She opened the door wider.

“Exactly, that’s why I need your help,” Jim pleaded, crossing his hands before her and bowing his head as if he were praying to a vexed deity. “It’s a wedding emergency.”

Uhura watched him for a moment, summing up his desperation. “Ok, give me a minute. I’ll meet you at your place.”

Jim eyes widened as he tried to peek through the slim crack in the door. “Sorry, did I interrupt a booty call? Never mind, come see me when you’re done. It’s not that much of a rush.”

Uhura’s face turned a becoming shade of red. “You didn’t interrupt anything that didn’t already happen. He’s sleeping and I don’t want your gabby voice waking him.”

“Aww, you like him.” Jim grinned. “Who is it? What’s he’s like? Is he hot? Is he good in bed?”

“Shush,” Uhura flapped a hand at him. “I’ll be right over.” She quietly clicked the door shut in Jim’s face.

“So, who it is?” Jim asked, the instant Uhura stepped through Jim’s door.

“I thought this was a wedding emergency, not a midnight gossip session?”

“It can be both. Tell me.”

“Nope, don’t want you jinxing it.”

“Since when am I relationship jinx?” Jim scoffed. “I’m getting married to an awesome guy in two months.”

“Yeah,” Uhura crossed her arms. “But, pretty much all of Dorm L was an audience to your hellish dating scene before Spock came along.”

Jim grimaced, wishing he could forget that piece of his past. When Jim was a freshman at the Academy, he had still been biting at the bit after a felonious youth in Iowa and the structured rules of Starfleet had been a shock to his system. Whenever he needed to unwind after a day slogging through the fast track program he had stupidly thrown himself into, Jim had practically jumped into bed with the first being who succumbed to his drunken wooing at McCaul’s.

“Fine. We live in the same dorm. I’ll figure it out eventually.” He waved at his sparse living quarters. “Have a seat and don’t worry about keeping it down. Bones is enjoying his night off somewhere, and I wasn’t invited.”

Flopping onto their torn couch, Uhura rolled her eyes, a twitch flickering on her lips. “You’re like a sad mutt biting at Len’s heals. I don’t know how he stays sane living with you.”

“Beats me. Good thing you’ve been around to bring him down from his wedding planning high. Spock couldn’t have chosen a better best woman. You’ve been a lot of help.”

“Not worried I’m going to tell Spock he’s making a terrible mistake?”

Jim laughed. “If it didn’t work the first hundred times you warned him off when we started dating, I assume I’m safe now.” Jim handed her his PADD. “Can you translate this wedding invitation into Vulcan?”

Uhura scanned the text. “Sure. But, why not ask Spock?”

Jim glanced at the ceiling. “I’m inviting more Vulcan relations than we agreed on. It’s a surprise.”

Dropping the PADD in her lap, she turned to Jim. “Spock hates surprises.”

“Spock loves surprises,” Jim huffed. “I surprised him just last night in bed. He loved it.”

“Gross.” Uhura stuck out her tongue.

“That’s not what he said.”

She ignored him. “I thought you two were having a small wedding. This is going to cost you a lot more for catering.”

Jim tapped his foot against the coffee table, a whisper of uncertainty surging in his stomach, disturbing the stack of blueberry pancakes Bones had whipped up on his hot plate for dinner. Jim had shovelled them down; it was rare for his friend to be in a good enough mood to cook after a day of medical labs, and Jim had taken full advantage. Someone must be getting laid tonight.

“It’s ok, I can handle it,” Jim said.

“You really should tell Spock about this.”

“He’ll say no.”

“And why do you suddenly want to surprise Spock with a big wedding?”

Sighing in exasperation, Jim flung his head back against the couch. Uhura was a master at information extraction. Something about her told him to scream all of his secrets.

“Don’t tell Spock because he’ll worry. But Sarek sent me a message hinting that I should invite more of his people to the wedding.”

“Jim,” Uhura leaned forward, crossing her legs as if settling in for the long run. “You’re heading down a dangerous path. Forget about trying to please Sarek. It’s a lost cause.”

“That’s why I’m not telling Spock. He told me the exact same thing.”

“And he’s right.”

“Am I the only one who thinks this wedding could help mend Spock’s relationship with his dad?”

“Your optimism is endearing.” Uhura patted his knee. “Ok, I’ll translate this for you. But for the record, I still think you’re wasting your time and money. Spock and Sarek’s issues need a bigger Band-Aid than a submissive son-in-law and a huge wedding can provide.”

“Well, at least it’s a start,” Jim sniffed.

*

“I wondered when you’d come knocking on my door,” Scotty drawled, leaning against his door frame.

Jim rolled his eyes. “Come on, Scotty, everyone knows you throw the best parties in the dorm. Who else would I ask?”

Preening over the compliment, Scotty brushed an oil covered hand under his nose. “Well, lad, not to toot my own horn, but I recently rigged some new speakers with an upgrade in audio frequency technology. The sound that comes out of those babies,” he pressed his fingers against his lips, “heavenly.”

“And what better place to try them out then at a wedding?” Jim threw an arm around his friend’s shoulder, shaking him eagerly. “Scotty, buddy old pal.”

He gave Jim a skeptical eye. “Oh yeah. And how much ye gonna pay me?”

“Uhh about that…”

“The whole Dorm L crew knows you’re broke. Or else you wouldn’t be begging at everyone’s heels for favours.”

“Help a poor man out. Please?” Jim pleaded. “This wedding will be a bore without some tunes. And you know how Spock loves to get his groove on.” Most people, Jim assumed, would be surprised to discover Spock was a good dancer. Jim certainly was, when, after a few drinks at the bar on their third date, Spock had invited Jim onto the dance floor. For over an hour, Spock had delighted his new paramour with several dance moves Jim had never seen before. Even though Jim tended bar during busy weekend nights at McCaul’s which, being the Academy local, generally gathered a galactically varied clientele. Maybe it was all those jam sessions he had with Uhura on his lyre that gave him a musical talent that extended to the movements of his body. Or maybe it was the fluid grace of his limbs that Jim never got sick of worshiping. Jim probably fell in love with Spock that very night. Or, at the very least, ascended to a higher plane of lust if Jim’s wayward hands during the cab ride home were proof of anything.

“It would be a shame to miss out on that Vulcan shimmy of his.” Considering him, hand stroking his stubbly chin, Scotty hemmed and hawed for moment. “Ok. How about a trade?”

“What kind of trade?”

“My amazing D.J. skills for a bit of hard labour from that sturdy body of yours.”

“Hell no.” Jim shook his head, vehemently. “You’ll get me blown up again.” The last time Jim had been roped into tinkering on one of Scotty’s engineering projects, he had ended up with scorched eyebrows, and second degree burns all over his hands.

“Take it or leave it.”

The things Jim did for love and an awesome party. “Fine,” he held out a hand, which Scotty shook excitedly, “we have a deal.”

*

“Crap.” Jim tugged at his dress pants. “Damnit.” Sucking in a deep breath, he jumped up and down and wiggled his hips. The pants slipped upward a few centimeters, the flesh around his ass puddling like a flat tire above the waistband. He huffed and pulled harder, cloth straining, muscles complaining, lungs burning with baited breath as he imagined his ass as a small handful in an attempt to shift the impossible into reality with sheer force of will. But, despite Jim’s struggles, the pants refused to move past his budging butt. A thousand different obscenities flitted through his head and converged in a loud exclamation of,

“Shit!”

Bones poked his head into Jim’s room and instantly groaned. “Good God, man! What did I tell you about open doors and naked asses?”

“Never mind your ass phobia, this is an emergency!” Jim sobbed, as he kicked off his pants, flinging them at the mirror. “My pants don’t fit. And the wedding’s in two weeks!”

Muttering at the ceiling as Jim paced around the room, Bones crossed his arms. “I told you to lay off on the wedding cake. Was it really necessary to try samples at ten different bakeries? In the end, you ended up ordering a cake from the first bakery you visited. A whole lot of dilly dallying nonsense, if you ask me.”

Jim wasn’t asking Bones. Not that his opinion ever stopped his friend from voicing his own. He grabbed some sweatpants from his closet, the cloth filled with holes and ketchup stains because he was too broke to buy a new pair and too busy juggling a wedding and exams to deal with sewing needles and stain removers. At least they covered his privates, which was all that prudes like Bones cared about.

“I’m going for a ten hour jog.”

“You can’t burn off that much fat in a few weeks, Jim,” Bones argued, his eyes still averted.

“I don’t believe in can’t. Can’t is for wimps.” He pulled on the sweatpants, and thank god they stretched around his fat, even if that hole along his left thigh was looking a little strained. “You can pull your eyes off the ceiling now. I’m presentable.”

Bones looked back down. “Barely. Those sweats are about to fall to pieces.”

“They’re fine. Grunge is back in.”

Glaring, Bones sighed. “Look, Jim. I’ll lend you some credits to buy a new pair of dress pants. I don’t want you running yourself into the ground to fit into some old slacks. I’m sure fainting at your wedding will really impress Spock’s old man.”

Flushing, Jim fidgeted with the frayed ties of his sweats, knotting them into a loose bow as he tried not to think about Sarek’s impending judgement.

Shaking his head, Jim swatted Bones on the leg. “I appreciate the offer, but I’m not taking your money. You’ve got med school to pay for and a growing daughter. Use that money to buy her some cool clothes.”

“Jim, I can aff—”

He held up his hands, warding off Bones’ never ending generosity. “No, I won’t hear it.”

“Listen, I’m your best man, I wo—”

As he dashed past, Jim turned to face Bones, jogging in place to warm up. “Don’t worry, I’ll make it work somehow.”

*

Jim flicked through the racks at Second Hand Savings. He’d found a hot piece of leather from this store a year ago, not to mention five pairs of pants, two pairs of shoes, and ten or so shirts, including the I hate everything t-shirt he’d given Bones’ for his last birthday. If anyone could save him from his broke ass dilemma, it was his favorite thrift shop.

An image of his butt eclipsing the moon flickered through his mind and that’s when he saw it. An A K. Higbee designer suit. Jim nearly pissed himself with joy. The three piece suit glimmered on the rack like—

He flicked the price tag from the collar. New, this work of art would have cost the north end of two thousand credits. Second hand, it was priced at fifty bucks. Running a hand across the ornate hem, the neatly stitched seams, and the soft length of fabric, Jim felt his luck rising like sunlight clearing the morning fog across San Francisco Bay. There had to be a catch. A marring rip along the knee that couldn’t be repaired without leaving an obvious blemish. A hole in the crotch. A wine stain on the gray pinstriped vest.

Nothing. It was perfection incarnate.

Swiping the suit off the rack, Jim glanced to his left and right, then dashed into a changing room before one of the other poor students browsing the store could rip the golden needle he’d discovered in the haystack from his greedy fingers.

Pulling the curtain across the change room, Jim tugged off his punctured sweatpants, runners, and sweat stained tank, tossing them with a scowl onto the corner stool. He removed the suit reverently from its hanger.

“Please fit. Please fit,” he chanted under his breath as he stepped into the legs, slipping the pants up anxiously.

Jim exhaled. “No.” He inhaled again, stomach pressing flat against his abs. The pants were constricting the flesh around his hips.

With a gasp, the button glided through the buttonhole. After a few furious tugs, the fly zipper followed.

Jim fist pumped the air in silent celebration. Turning his back to the mirror, Jim admired his previously troublesome appendage over his shoulder. Holy shit, his ass looked like a framed work of art in these pants.

Tossing on the vest and blazer, Jim turned back and forth, inspecting himself from various vantage points. Sure, the way the waist band dug into his stomach, the fabric beautifully taught around his butt, meant the suit was a little uncomfortable. But seeing how the blazer lay gently across his front, knocking the cake weight from his body as if his afternoon agonizing in front of the mirror had been a horrible nightmare, Jim knew he could suck it up. When Spock’s jaw metaphorically dropped at the sight of Jim’s curves, it would all be worth it.

Changing back into his rags, Jim gathered the suit and placed it on the cashier’s counter. As the clerk scanned his credit chip, Jim drifted on a daydream. He imaged Spock on their wedding night overcome by desire, tearing the expensive fabric from Jim’s body and flipping him on to the bed.

*

“You just missed your boyfriend,” Bones called from the couch, his voice drowning under the blare of an action film on the vidscreen.

“Damn, I could’ve done with some afternoon delight,” Jim sighed, stretching his arms above his head. He needed something to distract him from thinking about how badly he bombed his stellar cartography exam.

Muffled disgust echoed from the couch. “Thank God you missed him then. He came to see me anyway.”

Dumping his bag on the kitchen chair, Jim bounded onto the couch. Yelping, Bones tucked his legs out of the way before Jim could crush them under his ass.

“It’s nice that you guys are friends now. Did he come over for tea so you could bicker about seating arrangements for the wedding?”

“In a pig’s eye,” Bones barked, grabbing a small black box from the coffee table. “He came to give me this.”

“What is it?” Jim asked, reaching forward. Tucking it behind his back, Bones shook his head.

“Your wedding ring, dumbass.”

Jim pounced. Yelling his rage underneath him, Bones struggled as Jim tugged furiously at the arm locking his ring within its grasp.

“Lemme see!” Jim demanded.

“No!” Bones growled. With his hand trapped underneath the weight of two bodies, Bones resorted to kneeing Jim in the stomach. “I know you, Jim,” he squirmed with a coughing grunt as Jim began poking at Bones’ ribs where he knew his friend was ticklish. “If I let you touch it for more than a second, you’ll immediately lose it. Remember my—”

As Jim tickled Bones’ sides, his suppressed coughs turned in grumbling giggles low in his belly, caught somewhere between his esophagus and his uncrackable stubbornness. “Show,” he whacked Bones chest, “me!”

“I’m your best man,” Bones laughed underneath Jim’s devilish fingers. “I have to protect the ring. It’s for your own good and mine. If anything happens to it, I’ll be the one fending off the logical wrath of your hobgoblin boyfriend.” Pushing Jim off of him with a fierce yell, Bones leapt from the couch and dashed across the room.

“Hell, no!” Jim bellowed, running after him. He shoved half his body in between the bathroom door before Bones could slam it closed and turn the lock.

“Jesus Christ,” Bones grunted, pushing against Jim’s weight. “You really did put on some weight.”

“Ass,” Jim huffed, shoving his butt against the door, “hole!” With extreme effort, Jim overpowered his friend who tumbled to the floor as the door flew open. With a clumsy dive, Jim swiped the little black box as it skipped out of Bones’ fingers and clattered onto the tiles.

“You’re a madman!” Bones roared, rubbing at his back. “This is no way to treat your elder.”

Reaching down, Jim held out his arm to give Bones a hand up. “Sorry I damaged your old bones, Bones,” Jim grinned, “I know they’re all you’ve got left.”

“Yeah, because it’s not like I have any dignity after being holed up with you for three years.” He heaved on Jim’s arm, pulling himself upright.

“Dignity’s overrated,” Jim singsonged, slowly lifting the ring box to peer inside.

“I swear to God, Jim. Don’t do anything stupid.”

Laughing, Jim slipped the ring from its cushion and held it up to the light. His heart suffused with joy and pounded erratically against his chest. The gold band glinted, even under the dim lighting, two shining ropes twisting together in a graceful pattern. It was simply unadorned but elegant—just like Spock.

“It’s a ring, Bones. Not a glass slipper.”

“It might as well be in your gawky fingers.”

Leaning against the sink to catch the bright lights strung above the mirror, Jim ran a thumb along the grooves and curves lining the entwined cords of gold. “It’s beautiful,” he murmured.

“And I’m sure it cost Spock thousands of credits, which is why you shouldn’t be messing with it before your big day.”

Jim stuck his tongue out. “I can handle a little peek without snapping it in two.”

Slowly sliding the ring onto his finger, Jim savored the press of cool metal against his skin.

“I’ve got a bad feeling about this.”

“Relax, everything’s f—”

Jim started as his communicator whistled from his pocket, echoing along the bathroom walls. The ring slipped from his grasp, landing with a clatter into the sink.

“Shit!” Jim yelled.

“Fuck!” Bones hollered.

Jim swiped empty air as the ring twirled a figure eight around the sink bowl and spun down the drain.

“No!” Jim cried out, slamming his hands against the counter.

“Dammit, Jim! I told you not to touch it!” Bones elbowed Jim hard. “Spock is going to strangle me! I promised to look after it.”

“You?” Jim yelled, wide eyed, thrusting a finger down the drain in a vain hope the ring might have caught on a gunky wade of hair clogging the pipe. “I’m the one that’s going to get kicked straight into the dog house. When Spock finds out I can’t take care of a wedding ring for a few seconds, he’s going to know I’m an irresponsible idiot!”

Shoving Jim out the way, Bones knelt below the sink, opened the cupboard and stuck his head inside to peer at the pipes. “You’re delusional if you think that green blooded sap is going to pin this on anyone but me. The only time he doesn’t act like a robot with a stick up his parts is when you’re draped all over him.” Grunting, Bones shifted onto his stomach, hands fiddling.

“No, Spock’s not an idiot. It’s all my fault and he’ll know it. This is a sign.” Jim shook his head vehemently, voice rising.

“I’m the best man,” Bones’ peered out from under the sink to glare at Jim, “like I said, it’s my responsibility to keep the ring safe. I should have known better than to let your buttery fingers all over it.”

“I’ll tell Spock everything. I’ll beg him to spare you. I’m so sorry, Bones. Oh Gods, that beautiful ring stuck in our disgusting drain. How will Spock ever forgive me?”

“Stop whining and help me. Maybe it’s sitting in one of these pipes if we can get this thing off.”

Sinking to the floor, Jim stuck his head in the cupboard. “Unless you’ve got some genetic modifications you haven’t told me about, you’re going to need a wrench.”

“Do I look like a plumber? I’m just an ordinary guy trying to fix my idiot friend’s screw-up and save myself from a hundred years of Vulcan death glares.”

“You honestly can’t make me feel any worse.” Jim scrubbed a hand across his lip, sweat beading across his skin as he imagined the horror to come when he told Spock what happened to his amazing, Gods-know-how-much-it-cost, ring.

He stood. “I’ll get my tool kit from engineering class.”

“Grab my bottle of bourbon while you’re up,” Bones shouted at Jim’s back. “I’m getting smashed before Spock breaks my neck.”

Grabbing his kit and swiping Bones’ bottle, Jim took a swig before heading back to the bathroom and plopping it in Bones’ lap.

“I’ll fix this,” Jim assured himself.

“Somehow, your incurable optimism is not making me believe in miracles,” Bones mumbled around the lip of the bottle, shuffling out of the way as Jim crawled under the sink.

“Turn off the god damn waterworks, Jim!” Bones shrieked ten minutes later, dropping his half empty bottle in his haste to escape the torrent of water submerging the bathroom floors. The glass shattered and drifting along the rivulets streaming between the cracks in the tiles.

“Fugh!” Jim gurgled around a blast of water issuing from the pipes and blasting him in the face, hand pressing uselessly against the torrent. “I’m trying!”

Apparently, despite all his blustering confidence, Jim wasn’t a plumber either. Turning off the water might have been a good idea before he started unscrewing the pipes. He grabbed and grasped, trying to find the switch.

“What the hell are they teaching you in engineering?” Bones badgered. “How to break things?”

“Shut up, Bones!” Jim coughed around a mouthful of water. “Trying,” he grabbed something and pulled, “to concentrate!” More water suddenly streamed out of another office, obstructing Jim’s vision and knocking him off his feet.

“God only knows how you got that A you wouldn’t stop bragging about last semester.”

“I’m a little distracted right now,” Jim garbled, trying to duck under the liquid blast.

“If you want to be a starship captain, you better shape up, kid. Can’t be distracted by a little flood when the red alerts are blaring.” Bones sighed. “A perfectly good bottle of bourbon, wasted on these revolting tiles. Did you even clean them yesterday? They look a little sludgy.”

“Really, Bones? Really? Can you complain about housework when I’m not drowning, please?” His hand latching onto a nob, Jim twisted, praying he was turning the water down and not up. As the water dissipated and Jim could finally take a breath of air without coughing up a river, he exhaled, flopping onto the tiles in exhaustion.

“Ow, fuck!” Jim cried as something sharp pierced his hand.

“Nice one, Jimbo! Now I’ve got a wound to stich on top of this mess to clean up.”

Groaning, Jim tugged the piece of glass from his palm, twirling a damp round of toilet paper to staunch the blood. “Great. Now I’m maimed, fat, and ringless.”

“It’s alright, Jim,” Bones carefully raised himself and grabbed a mop from the cupboard. “Spock will still have you. He has unconventional tastes.”

As blood dripped from his hand, Jim contemplated the possibility of liquefying on their grimy bathroom floor to become one with the mouldy cracks in the tiles.

“Hey.” Bones poked Jim’s stomach with the mop handle. “Chin up, kid. We’ll fix this. Now, go grab my med kit before you stain these shitty dorm tiles red.”

All Jim wanted to do at that moment was drown under the ocean of his disaster, but the staunch optimism Bones forced onto his face was enough to push Jim out the door to track wet footprints in his friend’s spotless room. He grabbed the worn leather bag from Bones’ bedside table.

Jim almost dropped it when there was a loud thump on their front door, followed by several successive slams that increased in volume and were accompanied by hollering in an angry Scottish brogue.

“Open up, Perfect Hair! Ya sly weasel!”

Cringing, Jim considered locking himself in the bathroom with his sorrows and Bones’ demanding glare.

*

“Maybe you forgot that two hard working engineers live underneath you. The whole bloody ceiling is leaking all over my precious transwarp prototype!”

“I’m so sorry, Scotty,” Jim pleaded. “I had a little accident.”

“An accident, God help you.” Scotty crossed his arms with a glare. “A pretty command cadet might have time to drown the whole dorms while washing his golden locks, but some of us grunt guys have real work to do.”

“Washing my hair,” Jim laughed hysterically. “I’m on the Academy fast track and I’m planning a high society wedding. I can’t remember the last time I had time to wash my hair.”

Stepping closer, Scotty peered up at him. “Then why are you sopping wet?”

Jim gritted his teeth. “I was involved in a plumbing mishap.”

“That’s what you get for overworking the dorm’s hundred year old pipes. They can’t handle your hair regime, lad.”

“For God’s sake, Scotty! Just because you’re losing your hair doesn’t mean you can take it out on me.”

Scotty placed a defensive hand over his scalp while Jim stewed with guilt, immediately regretting his outburst. Scotty’s insecurity over his hair was well known in Dorm L. Two out of three times his conversation included a reminiscence about the highland winds of his childhood home blowing through his wayward locks during the “good old days.”

“That was a low blow, Jim.”

Jim hung his head. “Sorry. I’m a little stressed at the moment.”

“Having trouble getting your fringe to curl the way Mr. Spock likes it?”

He rolled his eyes. “And how is transporting a grapefruit to the other side of the galaxy working out for you?”

Scotty’s face turned beat red. Only two things whipped Scotty up in a frenzy, comments about his receding hairline, and offhand remarks about the transwarp beaming device he’d been working on for years. A jumble of wires and tubes covered every surface of the dorm room he shared downstairs with his engendering buddy-in-crime, Keenser.

“Just dandy, until you waterlogged all my equipment with bathwater.”

“It wasn’t bathwater! It was sink water!”

“I don’t give a damn where you stick your empty head, as long as your idiocy doesn’t flood my workspace!”

“Sounds like you needed a fresh start anyway,” Jim jibed, flinging his hands about. “I probably did you a favour. You’ve been trying to get that rusty thing working for way too long.”

“It just needs some fine tuning!”

“Tell that to Archer’s beagle. Have you told the Admiral what really happened while you were dog sitting?”

Scotty practically vibrated. “Is that a threat? Are you threating me, Perfect Hair?”

“What in tarnation is all that hollering about?” Bones stormed out of the bathroom, waving the sopping mop over his head.

Taking a step back at the sight of a soaked, slightly drunk, definitely infuriated Leonard McCoy, Scotty regrouped by widening his stance and placing his hands firmly on his hips. “Your young friend here has ruined my transwarp beaming device with his excessive hair washing.”

Bones’ eyes widened as his lips distorted. Jim wasn’t sure whether his friend was about to scream or kill someone until a loud guffaw burst from his mouth.

“I wish! Would be nice to take a deep calming breath in my own home without passing out from Jim’s stench.”

Jim pinched his nose, holding back a grin. “You’re not helping Bones, you’re not helping at all.”

“Really?” Bones shoved the mop against Jim’s chest where it proceeded to drip all over his socks. “‘Cause looks to me like I’m cleaning up your mess, as usual.”

Scotty nodded, stepping back into the room, his posture easing as he realized Bones wasn’t a threat. “I see we’re both the injured parties here.”

So much for friends, Jim thought.

When Scotty placed a hand on his shoulder, Bones shook him off with a glare. “Don’t think you can get all buddy buddy with me, Scott. I’m still not over the nights of bumping and clattering that have kept me up for the past month.” Scotty jumped as Bones’ voice rose. “I could have the dean on your ass for keeping hard working cadets from their beauty sleep. I’m a doctor. If I don’t get my eight hours, I might leave a scalpel is someone’s gut. How would that make you feel, Scott? The next time you blow yourself up during one of your experiments, huh?” Stumbling slightly, Bones shoved at Scotty’s chest. “Jim here was trying to rescue his wedding ring after he dropped it down the sink. His heart was in the right place, even if his head wasn’t.”

Coughing nervously, Scotty crossed his arms. “Look, Len. No need to get dramatic. I suppose I can forgive the damage to my babies if it was all in the name of love. But the RA is gonna serve your head on a platter when she sees the water damage on my ceiling. Say goodbye to your damage deposit.”

Jim’s stomach plummeted. Shit.

“What did I hear about ceiling damage?” Uhura asked as her lithe form strode past.

Double shit.

*

“How about this one?” Bones asked, pointing to a gold band decorated around the edge with glittering diamonds.

“That’s not even close,” Jim sighed. “Did you even see the ring?”

“I was too busy keeping it from your perilous hands.” Bones whacked Jim’s shoulder before moving on to the next display.

“This one’s gorgeous,” Uhura piped up, tapping a finger on the glass to Jim’s right.

“No, no,” Scotty shook his head. “Can’t see a Vulcan buying something flashy like that. What’d you say it was, Jim? Just a gold band, right?”

Leaning a hand against his chin, Jim sighed over his predicament. After fleecing him for his damage deposit and the meager stash of credits hidden under his mattress for ceiling repairs, Uhura had insisted on helping Jim find a replacement ring after Bones had blabbed, in great embarrassing detail, about Jim’s ridiculous mishap. Uhura had shaken her head sadly and appeared surprisingly sympathetic throughout the explanation. And when Scotty had heard Uhura’s plan, he had invited himself along for the joy ride to the jeweler’s, confessing a need for sunlight and adventure.

“Not just a gold band. It was like two twisted together. But no decorations. And definitely no diamonds.” Jim side-eyed Bones who shrugged.

“Well, there’s this one, but it costs a fortune.” Jim looked over Bones’ shoulder at the price tag glaring offensively under the display case lights.

Jim closed his eyes. Triple shit.

It wasn’t exactly the same. But close enough that even Spock’s sharp eyes might overlook the differences if Jim remembered not to wave his hand in Spock’s face. And to only use his right hand to hold Spock’s for the rest of his life.

“Do you have a payment plan,” Jim asked the shop clerk, putting on his most pitiful stare.

As Jim stumbled out of the jeweller’s clutching his empty wallet and a ring box that made his hands burn with the shame, his friends giving him sympathetic looks, Jim suddenly remembered the communicator whistle that had set off this whole disastrous episode. He flipped open his comm as they all filed onto the hover bus back to Starfleet Academy.

Dear Jim,

Only one more week! Are you excited? Maybe a little nervous? He probably doesn’t say it out loud, but know that Spock loves you very much—a mother can tell! It’s been years since I’ve seen him so visibly happy and I know it’s all thanks to you. Knowing Spock has someone to care and watch out for him while I’m light years away on Vulcan fills me with joy. I’m so looking forward to meeting you in person and welcoming you into our family.

Much love,

Amanda

“Trying to catch flies, Jim?” Uhura tweaked his falling chin before it hit the bus floor.

I’m sorry, Jim thought, his hand sweating around the ring box. I’m not good enough for your son.

*

Bones was drunk before he stumbled into the bar stool.

“I would like to remember my wedding day, you know.” Jim swallowed down his surging nausea as Bones waved down the bartender to order a round of shots. His friend had insisted on emptying the remaining half of his graduation bourbon before they headed downtown to McCaul’s for Jim’s bachelor party. After a few glasses, Bones was force feeding Jim an expired jar of pickles while berating him about his eating habits over the past few months, insisting Jim would need a hell of a lot of stamina to say I do when he was faced with the inevitability of being cheek to cheek with a Vulcan for the rest of his life.

Jim had drunk the bourbon, and eaten the pickles, which was followed by a crushed bag of stale pretzels, and a few wilting carrots. And finally the can of chicken noodle soup Bones had heated on the stove when Jim said he felt ill. Bones got really adamant and overprotective when he was drunk, and Jim always had trouble saying no when faced with his friend’s adorably smashed face. But to be honest, to Jim, the food and drink were a simple distraction from the pre-wedding jitters crashing along the walls of his stomach. A queasiness that had nothing to do with the mixture of vinegar and alcohol blending in his digestive system.

“That’s the point of a bachelor party,” Bones drawled, smiling at the bartender who splashed an extra shot of whiskey into his glass. “To get so drunk, you forget the horrible mistake you’re making,”

Jim turned his nose up at the shot Bones pushed his way. “Uh uh. No way am I letting you knock me out until Sunday morning. The thought of Spock ripping me out of my new suit is the only thing keeping me sane right now.”

“Disgusting,” Bones smirked before downing his drink. “You should’ve gotten hitched at the courthouse. No need for all this fanfare.”

On second thought, Jim grabbed the shot Bones kept inching toward him and floored it in one choking gulp. “Because then Spock’s family would think I’m some broke farmboy who doesn’t appreciate how amazing he is.”

“A big wedding doesn’t validate your love, Jim-boy. You’d think a couple of stone cold logical Vulcans could figure that out.” Bones slapped a hand against Jim’s back, rubbing it roughly with clumsy hands until Jim’s skin burned under his shirt. “Jocelyn and I did the whole shebang. One hundred people, a cake that cost an arm and a leg, and a honeymoon to Paris. But look at what a shit storm my marriage turned into.” Frowning, Bones grabbed his third shot.

“How do you even know a hundred people? Did you hire them?”

Bones shoved an elbow into Jim’s side.

“Enjoying your last night of freedom?” Hikaru dropped into an empty seat as Pasha bounced up all wide grins and floppy curls.

“How did you get in here?” Jim asked. He looked like a kid in a candy store.

“Fake ID,” Chekov beamed.

“Don’t flash it around,” Karu hissed, tugged at his roommate’s arm. “And easy on the vodka shots this time. You’ll get us kicked out again.”

“Ahh, but Karu. It is unlucky to celebrate a friend’s wedding sober,” Pasha replied, gesturing to the bartender.

“Hell, yeah! We’re gonna give poor Jimmy here an ol’ fashioned good time,” Bones slurred, his drawl thickening with each drink he prescribed himself. “This is his last moment of fun until death do him and his stuck-up Vulcan part.”

“I’m trying to figure out whether you actually dislike Spock, or you’re just pretending to,” Jim scowled.

“Someone has to strike the fear of God into that green-blooded kid. If he breaks your heart and goes running from his illogical human marriage to his boring logical hills, he knows someone is gonna kick his ass into another dimension.” Bones thrusted a thumb against his chest. “Meaning me.”

Jim doubted Spock harboured any fear toward Bones. But, gripping his friend’s arm warmly, Jim wasn’t about to break Bones’ noble veneer.

“Evening lads!” Scotty boomed, the washed out grin spread across his face an obvious sign he’d been pre-drinking as heavily as Bones. Uhura followed, looking surprisingly steady for a woman who had probably been roped into joining the engineer for a taste of the dubious moonshine he kept stashed in his closest. The woman possessed the tolerance of a Klingon. 

“What are you doing here?” Bones shoved an accusatory finger at Uhura’s chest, and missed, thankfully, bumping her shoulder instead. The movement almost sent him stumbling off his stool until Jim propped him back up. “You’re breaching enemy lines, Ms. Best Woman to the other groom.”

“Hey, I’m Jim’s friend, too.” Uhura crossed her arms, looking Bones up and down with a discerning eye. “Though how that happened, your guess is as good as mine.”

Jim blew a kiss in her direction. “My overwhelming charisma, obviously.” She stuck her tongue out in response.

“Spock isn’t having a bachelor party?” Hikaru asked.

Bones snorted on a sip of his mint julep. Jim took a double take, impressed this shitty student bar even served those. “Yeah right. If a bachelor party means going to bed at twenty hundred and waking up when the rooster crows.”

“Spock has a rooster?” Pasha asked with wide eyes. “Zat is wery surprising.”

“No, honey,” Uhura ruffled Pasha’s curls, “Len’s just drunk as a skunk, so he’s imagining things.”

“I am not thinking it is normal for skunks to get drunk.”

“Spock knows how to have a good time,” Jim argued. “Just in a more subtle way. For example, he had me over for an intimate wine and cheese night last week.”

His friends stared at him blankly.

“You sound like an old married couple already,” Pasha said, lips turning downward.

“You need another drink, Jim.” Uhura ordered two Cardassian Sunrises.

“My wedding is tomorrow. I need to stay sober.”

Lifting an eyebrow, Uhura placed the glass forcefully in front of Jim. “You’re holding your bachelor party the night before your wedding.”

“Blame it on Bones. He organized this get together.” Sighing, Jim took a tentative sip of his cocktail until the combined peer pressure glaring from his friends’ eyes required him, for survival’s sake, to take a deeper gulp.

“Damn right, I did. And you’ll be thanking me tomorrow.”

The way the alcohol was already blurring Bones’ face, Jim doubted it.

“I’ll say one good thing about Spock though,” Bones blurted.

Hikaru grasped at his chest. “We have just entered the twilight zone.”

Kicking at Karu’s leg, Bones missed and half sprawled out of his chair. Trying not to laugh, Jim hauled at his arm, steadying him while he regained his seat with a few mumbled curses.

“What were you saying about Spock being good?” Jim grinned.

“The one and only good thing about Spock is the pointy-eared bastard has style.”

Jim gaped. “Style?

“Len does have a point,” Uhura nodded, patting one of Bones’ grin splitting cheeks. “Spock showed us his wedding robes yesterday. I think he was a little nervous about how he looked and wanted a human opinion. You’ll like them, Jim.”

“Makes him look like a prince,” Bones agreed. “Suits the way he acts, always so high and mighty, nose in the air.”

Jim’s stomach dropped. Spock was wearing royal robes while, although designer, Jim was wearing a possibly too small second hand suit.

Laughing loudly, Jim took a larger sip of his cocktail. “Spock would look like a prince in rags.” He winked at Uhura. “Even when wearing nothing.”

“Here we go,” Bones grumbled, swearing under his breath as Uhura rolled her eyes.

“Shut your trap, Jim. A child is present.” Hikaru covered Pasha’s ears.

“I’m sewenteen,” he complained, tugging Hikaru’s hands away. “Jim and Mr. Spock are in love. Of course, I know they are having sex.”

“God, kid, don’t remind me! I’m the one that has to hear them going at it like rabbits. The walls in our shitty dorms are basically cardboard.”

“What can I say, Spock’s very vocal,” Jim grinned.

“That’s an understatement.”

Uhura sighed, placing a reassuring hand on Bones’ shoulder. “I’m buying you another drink, Len. Sounds like you need it.”

“You’re one in a million, darlin’,” Bones smiled at her with an appreciative look. These two were getting awfully chummy, Jim thought as he watched their intimate movements, and it wasn’t just the comradery formed between two suffering best friends of the grooms.

When Bones received his glass, he raised it in the air, a quarter of it spilling onto Jim’s shirt as he threw an exuberant arm around his friend. “Lady,” he nodded at Uhura, and she bent with a fake curtsy, “and gentlemen.” Gesturing at the gathered men with his drink, Bones splashed another generous portion across the bar. “I propose a toast.”

“Don’t know how ye gonna do that, lad,” Scotty guffawed. “You’ve wasted most of the drink your lovely lass bought on the floor.”

Bones shushed Scotty loudly. “Quiet, boy! A man is speaking.”

Jim almost choked on a burst of laughter. “He’s older than you!”

Bones gave him a dirty look.

“I propose a toast,” Bones continued, leaning heavily against Jim. “To this idiot.” He slammed an awkward elbow in Jim’s stomach.

“Here, here!” Uhura and Hikaru yelled as they raised their glasses.

“To the worst plumber I’ve ever met!” Scotty added before downing his whiskey.

“To love,” Pasha contributed, and Jim thanked the Gods at least one of his friends had the decency not to insult him during a heartfelt moment.

As his friends’ wallets opened, and the drinks kept flowing, the pressure of tomorrow and Jim’s looming fear that months of preparation was fated to crumble under an epic wedding disaster, faded on the warm swell of intoxication and companionship. Soon, he found himself repeatedly embracing his friends over pints of beer and plates of wings, their voices combining in a ecstatic commotion. When the DJ stepped up to the stage an hour later, the crew rushed onto the dance floor.

As his friends took turns whirling him around the dance floor, Jim’s mood had ascended to such a dizzying height that he was knocked breathless when it suddenly plummeted with the impact of his ex-boyfriend’s intrusion.

“Fuck off, Gary,” he heard Bones hiss behind him.

Typical. Jim’s last night of freedom was about to be crowned by one of the worst mistakes of his bachelor life. During his first year at the Academy, Jim’s one constant had been a make out session with his on-again-off-again friend-with-benefits against the dumpster behind the bar after two many cheap beers at the end of another stressful school week. The setting for their sojourns had ended up being a metaphor for the utter trash heap that became their relationship.

“So, it’s true,” Gary laughed harshly. “You’re marrying the Vulcan.”

“Yeah,” Jim slurred, grabbing onto Bones’ unstable shoulder. “What’s it to you?”

“Just making sure you know what you’re doing. Never figured shacking up with a Vulcan would be your style.”

“Better a hobgoblin than your infected ass,” Bones spit out. “I saw you scratching yourself in the Academy medical waiting room last week.”

Gary’s face turned an uncomely shade of red. “I could get you written up for breach of doctor-patient confidentiality.”

“You don’t have a pot to piss in, Gary. I’m not your doctor. Confidentiality doesn’t apply. Especially when you’re wearing Denublian flee rashes as clear as day.”  

“Fuck you, McCoy,” Gary hissed as Bones took a wobbling step between Jim and his ex.

“Not happening,” Bones laughed. “Catching extra-terrestrial crabs doesn’t sound like a good time to me.”

“Alright, Gar?” Just as Gary’s face looked ready to explode, Finnegan stepped up behind him, throwing an arm across his shoulder. Jim cringed. His bachelor party was turning into a reunion of all his Academy foes.

“And looky here. It’s pretty little Jimmy! Now I see what’s caught your attention, Gar.” He gave Jim a once over. “Haven’t seen you around these parts lately.”

“Not much for me here with you two hanging around.”

“Oo,” Finnegan clutched a hand to his heart. “Me heart is breaking. But, word around the dorms is you’ve been getting busy with Starfleet’s token Vulcan. That a boy, Jimmy. Got a kink for green dick, have ya?”

“Come on, Jim,” Bones pushed at his friend’s tense shoulders as Jim’s fists clenched. “Help me get to the bar. I need another drink.”

“The only kink I’ve got is for slamming my fist in your face, Finnegan.”

Gary doubled over in a fit of laughter. “Sounds like someone’s up for a little excitement. How about one last ride in the back alley for old time’s sake before you saddle yourself to missionary for life?”

Bones tugged harder at Jim’s shoulder as he yelled into Gary’s stupid smug face, “Spock’s ten times better in bed than you ever were!”

“Jesus Christ,” Bones muttered. “Here we go.”

Gary’s stream of insults about Spock continued, his words jarring, filling Jim’s ears with a deafening hum.

Bones practically snarled at Gary while he pulled Jim back, muttering soothing words in his ear. “He’s not worth in Jim, come on. Let’s find the others. Forget this asshole. Let’s get another drink.” But Gary wouldn’t shut the fuck up about Spock and Jim couldn’t let it lie, even though he knew he should take the higher ground like Bones would do, like Spock would do. The alcohol was numbing, and Gary’s words were wood tossed against Jim’s fiery impulses. Jim had promised himself he was done with bloody noses and bar fights after Pike recruited him like some military angel beamed down from a Starship, but there was no way he was letting this asshole diss his boyfriend.

Jim’s fist slammed into Gary’s mouth, silencing him mid-insult.

In response, Finnegan’s arm came zooming in on Jim’s left. Until a dash of blond curls whizzed by, colliding full force into Finnegan’s side, bashing him into a nearby table.

“Jim, you must be careful of these hooligans,” Pasha gasped, hands on hips as he peered down at Finnegan’s groaning body.

While Jim was busy gaping at Pasha, wondering where all that strength was kept in his slight body, Gary’s knee came out of nowhere and knocked him breathless.

“Dammit, Jim!” Bones roared, grabbing onto Jim’s sinking body with one hand, the other flying free into Gary’s stomach.

“Fight!” Scotty yelled from somewhere behind him, as a pint of beer was splashed in Jim’s face.

Even Uhura’s fists were cracked and bleeding as the bouncer kicked them out of the bar several bleeding noses, three black eyes, and two broken tables later. Both of which went onto a bar tab Jim would probably be paying off for the next couple of years.

“This is all your fault, Jim,” she said, patting him on the back. “But I’m proud of you. You stood up for your man.” With Uhura’s rare praise, and the memory of Gary and Finnegan’s bloody faces while his friends had surrounded him, Jim felt like a million bucks even if his wallet was bone dry.

“It was a wery good fight,” Pasha said, nodding excitedly. Magically, he and Uhura were the only ones who escaped the skirmish with unblemished faces after Gary’s friends joined the fray, outmatching Jim’s group six to eight.

“No kidding,” Hikaru yelled, tossing an arm around both Pasha and Jim’s shoulders. Jim winced at the contact. One of Gary’s buddies had whacked a chair across his back and the bruise blooming underneath his shirt was beginning to smart. “We whooped those assholes straight to Qo’noS.”

“I like you, Jim,” Scotty grinned, “you’re an exciting guy. I know a wee bar not far from here. Next round is on me.”

“Right on,” Jim laughed, following the engineer’s lead until a firm hand latched onto his shoulder, holding him in place.

“No,” Bones frowned.

“Come on, Len,” Uhura thwacked his arm. “We all deserve another drink.”

Bones’ face leaned in, eyes narrowing as he peered into Jim’s face. Jim struggled under his friend’s grasp as a mix of bourbon and terror seeped from his captor’s breath.

“You look like a raccoon.”

“Huh?” Jim faltered.

“Your face. Two black eyes, a broken nose, and your lips look like popped balloons.”

His friends all crowded in to stare.

“Oh, shit,” Sulu gasped.

“This is wery bad,” Pasha sobbed.

Scotty laughed. “It’s gonna hurt like hell when you kiss the groom tomorrow.”

Uhura simply crossed her arms, pity slashed across her perfect face.

Jim’s stomach plummeted from its momentary high. Fuck, he couldn’t walk down the aisle looking like an angry backstreet drunk. What would Spock think? What would his parents think? They would probably toss their son onto the next transport to Vulcan.

“Can you fix it?” Jim asked, grabbing onto Bones’ arm desperately as the ground shifted beneath him.

The melancholy in Bones’ sigh was less than promising.

*

Jim was afraid to look in the mirror the next morning.

“Does it look as bad as it feels?”

Glancing at him from his looming presence over the eggs and bacon frying on their hotplate, a large glass of water in one hand, a slice of toast in the other, Bones quickly turned his head to stare at the wall, stuffing his mouth with toast. “‘S okay,” he mumbled.

Bones was a worse liar than Spock.

Although Bones had run a dermal generator along the cuts on Jim’s face, the small tool did little for the bruises patching his face, or the wheeze coming from below the bandage Bones had plastered on Jim’s nose is a quick ditch attempt to straighten it.

“I’m an idiot.”

“Tell me something I don’t know,” Bones said, his hangover grunts less scathing than usual. He shoved a plateful of breakfast into Jim’s hands. “Eat up, kid.”

“Spock’s going to ditch me at the alter when he sees my ugly face.”

Pushing Jim toward their rickety table and down into a seat, Bones rolled his eyes. “Don’t be so dramatic. The bruises will fade. Eventually. Now, eat.”

Although the smell of Bones’ creative hotplate meals usually caused his mouth to water, Jim’s stomach rolled as two perfectly round egg yolks glared up at him.

“I feel like shit and I look like shit.” Jim pushed the plate away.

Bones pushed it back. “You’ll feel worse if you face Spock with an empty stomach. I’m not letting you pass out on your wedding day like a debutante who’s strung his corset too tight. Eat.”

“You’re a hell of a best man, Bones.”

“That’s why you hired me,” Bones replied, placing a bottle of ibuprofen and a glass of water beside Jim’s breakfast.

“Ow,” Jim hissed, as Bones strung the tie around Jim’s neck, the sudden gentleness in his hands worrying Jim. Bones only eased up on the pain and judgement when he felt truly sorry for his friend.

Bones tapped Jim’s wrist, pushing it out of the way. “Stop fighting, darlin’. You’re making me nervous and I’m not even the one getting hitched.”

Great, now he was restoring to the comforting sound of pet names. Jim really must look like shit.

“Can’t help it,” Jim mumbled, fingers drumming against his thigh, eyes darting from Bones’ grim face to the door, and down to Bones’ right pocket. The one that held the sham ring.

“Am I doing the right thing?”

Stepping back, Bones stared, eyes narrowed.

“No one but you knows the answer to that one, Jim.”

Jim tugged at his shirt collar, lungs suddenly feeling over full. “Spock’s going to be there, right? At the alter?”

His forcefulness returned, Bones slapped at Jim’s hand, darting in to straighten Jim’s collar. “That’s a stupid question. Thought you were a genius, not just some dumbass hick.” Stepping back to admire his handiwork, Bones shook his head once. “I’m going to need help with this one.”

After a harried conversation over his communicator, a photo snapped of Jim’s face, and twenty minutes of Bones keeping the groom away from the stash of bourbon under his bed, Uhura appeared at their door with a bag of makeup and a go-getter optimistic attitude.

“Never fear, your savior is here.” Ushering Jim into a seat, Uhura began setting up the bottles of creams and powders she had purchased at the drugstore.

“You’re covering up a few bruises, not painting a mural.” Bones picked up a few containers, eyeing them incredulously. “Did you buy out the whole makeup department?”

“Len,” Uhura glared at him, snatching the jar of foundation from his hand while daubing Jim’s nose with a fluffy brush, “this is more than a few bruises.”

“Just put a bag over my head!” Jim cried, the pressure in his lungs expanding.

Grumbling, Uhura snatched Jim’s chin. “Don’t move.”

Bones disappeared and returned with a decanter and two glasses. He poured a generous portion for himself and Uhura, his fingers lingering on her waist for a moment as they clinked their glasses.

Jim was given a stingy quarter to, “settle his nerves.”

“He almost looks ok now,” Uhura shrugged half an hour later. Jim groaned.

Smiling with obvious pity, she patted his hand gently. “You could always walk down the aisle backward. Your suit really accentuates your assets.” She winked.

“I love you,” Jim breathed, the distress in his lungs easing with Uhura’s gentle smile. “You’re the best friend ever.”

“Hey!” Bones yelled, pushing himself into their space. “Who’s been keeping you from sinking into a pre-wedding meltdown for the past three months?”

Throwing his arms around his grumbling friend, Jim squeezed him tightly. “I love you too, Bones.”

Bones patted his back roughly. “Well, no need to get all touchy feely.”

“Come on,” Uhura grinned, poking Jim’s single, unbruised cheek. “Let’s get out of here before you start bawling and ruin my masterpiece.”

As he pulled away, Bones gave him a bashful grin, tugging at his blazer. “You look good, Jim.”

“Thanks, Bones,” Jim smiled, forcing cheer through the nervous swirl in his stomach, heart-warming over the effort his friends had taken to make him look decent. Uhura even refused to claim recompense for all the fancy makeup she’d bought to clean up his face. He didn’t know what he’d done to deserve such awesome friends.

*

They piled into the cab, Uhura taking Jim’s comm from his shaking hands to text a questioning Spock that they were on the way. All Jim’s fingers had managed to type were in he esu, which Spock had replied to with an understandable question mark, and a probing, Are you well, Jim?

“I think I’m gonna be sick,” he mumbled.

Bones shoved a plastic bag under his face. Always so damn prepared, Jim thought, leaning his head against his knees and taking deep breaths just as Bones had coached him. His friend’s hand was a steadying press against his back.

“It’s not a wedding if the groom doesn’t puke,” Uhura chimed in, turning up the radio as Jim dry heaved into the bag.

Jim remembered little else until Bones dragged his shaking body from the cab as Uhura dashed away to accompany Spock down the aisle. When his turn came, Jim thanked every deity he knew that Bones was beside him because his feet felt numb, his head swimming like that buzz he got just before his molecules scattered under a transporter beam. During the year long walk down the aisle, Jim pressed against Bones’ side who grunted a “I’m not your fucking cane,” in Jim’s ear, reminding him that people, faces blurring around the edges of his tunneling vision, were watching and Spock was waiting, and he still had two legs and a working brain. Straightening, reminding himself to breath, Jim arrived at Spock’s side without collapsing. As he looked into Spock’s stern features and warm eyes, Jim’s stomach finally settled, his vision cleared, and his hands stopped trembling.

“I do,” Jim breathed, knowing with absolute certainty that this was the one perfect decision he’d made in a life of bad choices and mishaps.

Bones handed over the ring and Spock’s fingers slid against Jim’s, the cool weight of gold sending a shiver up his spine. For a moment, Jim remembered his deception. And then, an instant later, forgot as Spock squeezed his hands, reciting his vows with a small tilt of his lips. Jim grinned back at him.

*

“We did it, we’re married,” Jim whispered elatedly, linking his arm with Spock’s as they headed to the dining tables set out under the warm San Francisco sunlight for the catered buffet dinner.

“Yes, Jim,” Spock replied, a noticeable lightness in his tone. “As I was present at our nuptials, and the signing of our marriage certificate, I am aware of this fact.”

“You sas—” Jim began before two well-muscled arms wrapped around his throat.

“Jimmy!” his mom cheered, pressing a wet kiss to his cheek. “Look at you all dolled up! The handsomest man here. Besides, Spock that is.” She winked at her new son-in-law.

“I must respectfully disagree with your statement, Ms. Kirk.”

“Nope,” Winona held up a hand, “none of that formal hoo-ha. Call me Winona.”

Spock dipped his head in acknowledgement. “I must respectfully disagree with your statement, Winona,” he continued. “Jim is the most aesthetically pleasing male present at this venue.”

With a laugh, Winona slapped a hand against Spock’s shoulder. “This one’s a keeper.” She glanced at Jim. “Glad you finally smartened up and married a nice boy instead of one of those losers you used to hang around with.”

“Mom,” Jim groaned.

“I am also grateful for this fortuitous revelation.” Spock raised an eyebrow at Jim, who prayed their wedding night wouldn’t be filled with insistent queries from his curious husband about Jim’s promiscuous youth thanks to his mom’s big mouth.

She nudged Jim in the side. “Got big plans for tonight?”

“Okay, this was a great conversation,” Jim butted in, “but, Mom, can I have a word with you for a moment? Be right back, Spock,” Jim said, directing his mom away from Spock and into an empty corner of the yard where no Vulcans were within hearing distance.

“James T. Kirk.” Winona’s hand shifted to her hip as she glared at him. “Not an hour married and already abandoning your husband?”

Jim rolled his eyes. “Hardly.

“I like him,” she smiled, patting Jim’s cheek.

“I know you do,” Jim couldn’t help returning her grin.

“Seems to take after his mom more than his dad. Sarek’s a real stuck up so and so.”

Jim grimaced. “Oh Gods, you didn’t talk to him, did you?”

“Of course. Though I wish I hadn’t.” She made a face.

“What happened?” Jim asked, hurriedly.

“Oh, calm down, Jim.” Winona rubbed his back like he was five years old again and throwing a tantrum. “I didn’t show him photos of you running around the farm in your birthday suit as a toddler. Or give him a copy of your first arrest report. What kind of mother do you think I am?’

“You showed Spock all of those things when you visited last summer, and more,” Jim deadpanned.

“Oh, that’s nothing. It’s not like he hasn’t seen you naked before. And I doubt your criminal record was a surprise to him.”

“Mom!” Jim cried out twenty-five years of pent up frustration.

She shrugged. “I barely said hello and introduced myself before he started questioning me about your personality and relationship history.”

Jim’s eyes widened. “What did you tell him?”

Winona’s eyes narrowed. “I told him the truth. That you’re intelligent, hardworking, and a good son. And that I’d never seen you so infatuated with anyone as you are with Spock.”

Jim gaped at her, then frowned. “Really? That’s actually what you told him.”

Shaking her head, she patted Jim’s cheek gently. “Of course. I’m your mom, what else would I say?”

Sniffling loudly, he reached in to give her a hug. “Thanks.” 

Her arms tightened around him. “I wouldn’t worry about keeping your lawless past a secret. A Vulcan ambassador—he’ll have access to all sorts of databases.” She rubbed his back heartily. “My poor foolhardy son.”

“Shit,” Jim muttered.

She pushed him away. “Clean that mouth.”

“Where do you think I got my dirty mouth from?” he grinned.

“Kids these days,” Winona sighed, “no respect for their elders. Keep your tongue in check around your father-in-law. You might be a charmer, but good luck winning that bastard over.” She shook her head, glancing over her shoulder at the offending Vulcan. “At least Spock’s mother is a treasure. Nicest person I ever met—guess she’d have to be to put up with a husband like that.”

Jim watched his in-laws over Winona’s shoulder where Spock had joined them. His body was stiff as he greeted his father with the ta’al, but the tension from his shoulders eased as his mother stepped forward with a smile and damp eyes to press a kiss to his cheek. If Amanda had married the ambassador, and stayed with him despite their differences in culture and behaviour, Jim doubted Sarek was as completely unfeeling toward his son as he appeared. After all, Jim had also married a Vulcan, and he knew there was more to Spock’s emotional intelligence than met the eye.

Winona shoved Jim, jolting him from his reverie. “Before you go back to making heart eyes with your new hubby, don’t forget to give your brother a hug.” She pointed to where Sam was filling two plates with food.

Jim groaned. Speaking of familial problems.

“Don’t be a little shit, Jimmy. I swear, if you two are still fighting over the turkey incident last Christmas, I’ll knock you both into next December.”

Spock caught Jim’s eye as he was dragged across the lawn. Jim didn’t know what was worse, bearing the possibility that Sam would criticize his meat carving skills for the millionth time, or escaping only to be forced to finally make small talk with his new father-in-law.

He let his mother push him toward his brother, dodging around a group of conversing Vulcans. “I thought this was supposed to be a small wedding?” She stared pointedly at Jim. “Looks like the whole Vulcan embassy is here.”

Jim chose not to answer.

*

Jim sneezed. Three times in a row. For the tenth time.

“Jim. The flowers are causing you to experience an allergic reaction.”

“I'm fine,” Jim sniffed.

“I am curious as to why you chose to decorate the venue with flowers despite your allergy to pollen.” Spock watched Jim carefully, handing him a napkin on his eleventh sneeze.

“It's a wedding, we had to have flowers.” Jim turned to blow his nose as quietly as possible.

“Although flowers are often associated with Terran weddings, they are hardly necessary.”

Dabbing around his watering eyes, Jim shrugged. “They look pretty though.”

“And your sclera are becoming an unhealthy shade of red,” Spock frowned.

“Good thing, I came prepared,” Bones reappeared. He had dashed off after Jim’s first sneeze, and was now wielding a hypo.

“I’m fine, really!” Jim cried, holding up his hands. Bones ignored him, dodging around Jim’s weak barrier to stab him in the neck.

“Can’t have you looking bloodshot for the wedding photos.”

Jim rubbed at his neck with a scowl as his sinuses began to clear.

There was a furious whine from the speakers. “Sorry folks,” Scotty practically sweat into the mic. “Just a bit of technical difficulties. I’ll get it sorted in a jiffy.”

“Tell me again why you hired our resident mad scientist to D.J. for the most important day of your life,” Bones asked, whacking Jim on the back of his head.

He shoved Bones away. “Because he’s usually awesome with this stuff. And because he was all I could afford,” he hissed under his breath.

“Mr. Scott is hardly mad, Leonard. He appears to be handling the situation with his usual joviality.”

“We’ll see who’s mad once his rigged speakers burst into flame,” Bones threatened with a fanciful wave of his wine glass. A few red drops splattered onto the tablecloth.

“Watch it,” Jim warned, grabbing Bones’ wrist. His friend was going to cost him the rent deposit on the fancy seashell tablecloths he’d so carefully picked out.

“Do you believe this to be an actual possibility?” Spock asked. “Perhaps we should forgo the musical entertainment in favor of safety.”

“It’s fine, it’s fine,” Jim laughed, rubbing Spock’s shoulder gently. “I personally tested the speakers at Scotty’s and nothing blew up in our faces.” A rare occurrence in the engineer’s dorm, Jim avoided mentioning. “He’s probably just got a loose connection.”

There was a scream from one of the front tables as bright red flames erupted from the sound system.

“Shit!” Jim yelled, jumping up and dashing to Scotty’s aide.

“What did I tell you?” Bones yelled behind him.

*

Shit shit shit! Jim chanted to himself, a mantra of self-loathing as Janice left on a litany of apologies.

It wasn’t her fault. Jim had written the wrong damn flavour on the cake order form. Of all the things Jim was determined to get right for their wedding, it was the cake. Cake was one of Spock’s favorite things. Not to mention Spock had proposed right outside the bakery which had just delivered an elaborately decorated chocolate cake.

Jim felt his stomach sink as he watched the corners of Spock’s lips twitch downward. Blinking once, he turned to Jim. “Did we not order a Tiramisu cake?”

“Uh,” Jim stammered. “I thought I did.”

Spock’s eyes returned to the darkly sculpted mass before him. “This is a chocolate cake.”

“Apparently, it is.” Jim swallowed. “I’m so sorry, Spock.” He touched his husband’s waist lightly. “I accidentally put chocolate on the order form. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

Resting his hands behind his back, Spock shook his head gently. “An apology is not required. I am not adverse to chocolate cake.”

Yeah, but you like Tiramisu more, Jim finished for him.

Lifting the handle of the knife, Spock poised it over the cake. “Shall we?” He raised an eyebrow at Jim.

“Yeah, ok.” Jim placed his hand over Spock’s, pressing the knife down neatly into the sticky fudge icing, and through the spongy interior, once and then twice to create a perfect triangle.

Placing the slice delicately on a plate, Spock tilted his chin. “As cake feeding is a custom associated with human matrimony, I propose that you initiate the process.”

Jim’s lips pressed together as he glanced at the crowd. Although he was desperate to get his fingers all up in Spock’s mouth, Jim knew he needed to keep this PG, especially with Spock’s dad watching his every move. He was still recovering from the degrading, vaguely shocking, and overly emotional best man speech Bones had given after dinner. Jim had required a glass of wine to get through the humiliating descriptions of his living habits, and another to stop him from breaking down when Bones had gotten teary eyed over a declaration of affection for his dumb friend.

With a deep breath to steady his intoxicated nerves, Jim lifted the slice to his husband’s mouth, his face practically burning under that sultry yet compossed look Spock was giving him.

When Spock’s lips wrapped firmly around Jim’s fingers, tongue flicking against his skin, Jim briefly forgot his cake ordering blunder. He shivered, despite the San Francisco heat beating against his neck, as Spock’s tongue stroked the bottom of his finger pads, underneath the crescents of his fingernails, and circled over his cuticles, before pulling away with a small sucking sound. When Jim glanced down at his fingers, they were clean and pink, not a speck of chocolate remaining.

Well, Jim thought with a grin, all propriety abandoned as Spock raised the leftover slice to his mouth in turn, I can do better than that. He watched Spock’s cheeks turn a crisp green as Jim accepted his challenge.   

“Kiss, kiss, kiss!” Pasha called from the crowd after Jim had thoroughly demolished Spock’s virtue in public. A chorus of voices and glass clinking joined in the chant. Bones and Hikaru were bashing their glasses with a set of knives overzealously, an empty bottle of red tipped between them. Jim prayed they wouldn’t smash anything.

“Another ritual during human marriage ceremonies is to engage in signs of physical affection when requested by a couple’s guests, is it not?”

“You’ve done your research,” Jim said, fingers still tingling.

“Naturally,” Spock sniffed, holding up two fingers. Jim mimicked him, pressing his own digits against his husband’s and stroking downward. When he leaned forward to graze his lips chastely against the corner of Spock’s mouth for a multicultural exchange of physical affection, human and Vulcan, the firm line of Sarek’s mouth, a pronounced crease forming between his cold stare, caught Jim’s attention from the corner of his eye. Just as Spock’s lips parted in a request, Jim stepped back quickly. Spock’s eyebrows danced northward, and Jim shrugged with a laugh, wiping the sweat beading on the back of his neck.  

*

Spock’s hands drifted lower an hour or so later when the music started, after Scotty, in perfect form, miraculously fixed his temperamental sound system, the smell of burning plastic issuing from the speakers with each thrum of the bass. Jim had dragged an unresisting Spock onto the dance floor for their first dance. Now, Spock’s lips pressed insistently to Jim’s neck, left hand descending fully to land on his husband’s ass.

From over Spock’s shoulder, Sarek gave Jim the stink eye from his seat beside a chattering colleague. As Jim began to pull away, Spock’s grip tightened, a huff of frustrated air tickling Jim’s neck.

“Get a room!” Sulu and Bones laughed from where they were doing a weird hybrid of the robot and the chicken dance while Uhura cheered them on. A trio of Vulcan’s were watching with raised eyebrows as if recording every awkward human gyration for a study on Terran idiocy.

“We intend to in approx—” Spock paused, eyebrows creasing in thought. He looked up again with a blink and patted Jim’s ass. “In approximately three point five hours.”

“Ahh, but can Jim last zat long?” Pasha sauntered up with a round of vodka shots.

“Maybe if he concentrates really really hard,” Sulu piped up, darting around Pasha to grab a glass.

“If that was a thinly veiled reference,” Spock lifted his chin, “to Jim’s longevity before ejaculation when engaged in intercourse, I assure you, his stamina in the bedroom is an adequate replacement for his inability to control the onset of orgasmic release.”

Bones’ mouth fell open as a choking sound gurgled from his throat. A Vulcan cousin dodging around the swarm of twirling human bodies on the dance floor was startled as the rest of the crew burst into laughter.

“That a boy, Jim,” Karu cheered, slapping him on the back.

Jim squeezed Spock’s shoulder. “I regret confusing the cake order now. You’re impossible when you’re drunk.”

“As I am currently in your presence, I assure you that I am not an impossibility,” Spock stated, head cocking to the left. “Would you like me to prove it to you?” He leaned in closer.

A resounding roar of encouragement echoed from his friends’ mouths.

Spock’s lips tugged at Jim’s as if they were one of his favorite pastries.

“James T. Kirk,” his mom’s voice yelled from somewhere too close for comfort. “Stop defiling Spock’s virtue!”

Jim groaned under Spock’s relentless lips. So much for keeping a respectable image among the in-laws. As he tried to back away, Spock’s lips followed.

“Looks like it’s the hobgoblin doing all the defiling to me,” Bones yelled back.

“Oh well, that’s all right, then!” Winona replied. “Jim’s virtue hasn’t been intact for years.”

Jim tried to ignore Sarek’s stares.

“Hey,” Jim murmured, as Spock rubbed up against him after another slice of cake. Uhura had handed it to him, and Jim was still deciding whether to curse or bless her well-meaning heart. “Let’s lay off on the handsy stuff.” He pulled Spock’s hand away from his ass. Again.

“Impossible,” Spock replied, grasping fingers returning. “Your gluteus maximus is too aesthetically pleasing in your form fitting suit for me to ignore. I find my hand has a desire to evaluate its curves.”

“You can explore my curves as much as you want when we’re alone tonight. But your dad’s been giving me a disapproving look for hours. So, take it easy for now.”

Snorting lightly, Spock’s lips twitched. Okay, yeah, he’d definitely had too much chocolate if he was starting to crack up.

“I assure you, Jim. There is a greater likelihood that my father’s disapproval is being directed at me, and not you.”

“No, I mean it. I keep catching his eye. The look is obviously for me.”

“You speak of my father’s eyes as if they were Terran flies buzzing around your head,” Spock whispered, spinning them around in a movement as sensually fluid as an over-cooked noodle. Jim stumbled against him.

“You suck at dancing drunk.”

“I beg to differ.” Spock twirled them again, leaving Jim breathless in a rush of dizzy glee.

Sarek’s cold gaze swirling past, stealing the laughter from Jim’s lips. Noticing Jim’s struck look, Spock’s head moved to glance over his shoulder.

“No, don’t look,” Jim hissed.

“Why?”

The green streaked across your cheeks, and the emotion flooding your eyes, that’s why. With the increased intensity of Sarek’s stares, Jim began to worry about setting off a family feud in the middle of the dance floor. Albeit, a more reserved Vulcan version.

“Because.” Jim pulled Spock behind their group of friends.

He blinked slowly. “Your idle reasoning and sudden detour to a more crowded area of the dance floor leaves me to believe that you are attempting to escape my father’s scrutiny.”

Jim chuckled nervously as Spock moved Jim into a complicated shimmy and dip that prompted catcalling from his family who were milling around the bar.

“Your relatives appear to enjoy our dancing.”

“Yeah, don’t look at them either. You’ll just encourage them.”

“In an attempt to garner your relation’s approval, perhaps we should give them, what is the phrase, more of a show?”

“Oh gods, no,” Jim grinned. “You don’t know what you’re getting yourself into.”

Spock spun Jim around him in a loop, his mother’s cheers reverberating from the sidelines.

“Show off,” Jim smirked.

“Lift him in the air!” Winona demanded.

“Dip!” Sam and Aurelan shouted at the same time.

“Kick him to the curb!” Uhura yelled.

“No one cares about your opinions!” Jim called to their audience, Spock settling for a tasteful dip. When he was pulled back up, Jim stumbled slightly as Spock dragged him into a sudden twirl.

“Whoops,” Jim laughed with an accompanying ripping sound. The smile froze on his face.

“Shit,” he muttered.

“Jim?” Spock questioned.

“My pants,” he hissed.

“Yes, your pants,” Spock hummed, his hand wandering lower again.

“No,” Jim panicked, “That’s not what I meant.”

Spock’s eyebrow rose. “It appears that the seam on your trousers has spilt down the midline of your back side.”

Jim’s face burned. “I knew they were tight. But not that tight!”

“Incorrect. Your pants are not too tight. In fact, they are not tight enough.” Both of Spock’s hands had moved to grasp Jim’s exposure.

“That’s really nice. Thanks Spock.” Jim paused to grin up at his sweetly drunk husband, turning them until his back faced the dark lawn behind him. “But, the thing is, I don’t really feel like mooning your parents. Or Scotty and my mom for that matter. They’d never let me live this down. Or Karu and Pasha. Or Sam. Or anyone really.”

Spock’s hands were getting a little exploratory. “You are wearing no undergarments.”

“Jesus, Spock!” Jim spluttered as Spock’s fingers slipped through the rip. “Are you trying to give me a boner?” That was the last think Jim needed right now. He’d already managed to intoxicate Spock, flaunt their physicality all over the dance floor, and now bare his buttocks for all to see. How lower could Jim fall in his father-in-law’s eyes than revealing his insatiable lust?

“Affirmative,” Spock replied.

“Well, stop it!” Jim swatted at Spock’s wrist. “No, wait. Don’t move your hands. They’re the only think keeping me decent. Just stop with the prodding.”

“Very well,” Spock sighed, and his hands stilled.

“Ok, I need your help.”

“You have it.” Spock pulled him closer, knocking their crotches into alignment. Definitely not helping the boner situation.

“Ok,” Jim cleared his throat. “We need to shuffle off the dance floor and over to the bathrooms while keeping my back to everyone. But without looking too obvious that we’re trying to hide something.”

Spock nodded.

“Once we’re within seclusion, find Bones, and drag him over to me. He’s probably smashed by this point, so he might resist. Use whatever force is necessary.” Noticing the determined look is Spock’s eyes, Jim shook his head. “Never mind. Don’t use actual force. I don’t want to start another fight, especially in front of your folks.”

Spock blinked. “Another fight, Jim?”

“Forget it, slip of the tongue.” He coughed loudly. “Just, tell Bones I need his help and to bring his Best Man Kit. He brought everything except the kitchen sink in case the apocalypse happened during our wedding and he needed to stop it.”

“The doctor’s trust in his abilities is vaguely hyperbolic,” Spock murmured,

“Yeah yeah,” Jim rolled his eyes at yet another example of the sass feud between his husband and best friend. “All I care is that he’s probably got a sewing needle and thread in there somewhere.”

“Yes, Captain.”

Jim snorted. Well, if he could manage an unrelenting onslaught of wedding disasters with the help of his trusty crew, being a Starfleet captain one day might be a piece of cake.

*

“Good God, man!” Bones yelled, when he saw the state of Jim’s pants, and then immediately flipped over Jim’s pale stretch of skin. “Why the hell are you commando? Can’t you be respectable for a few god damn hours?”

“It’s my wedding night!” Jim argued as he began pulling off his pants. Bones turned away with an expletive while Spock blatantly stared. “I wanted Spock to have a surprise when he tore my pants off.”

Spock made a sound. “Your consideration is appreciated.”

“Jesus H.” Bones mumble as Jim tossed his torn trousers at his friend’s head. “Here.” After rummaging around is his suitcase sized Best Man’s Kit, Bones pulled out a towel and tossed it over his shoulder. “Cover yourself up or I’m not patching up another one of your problems.”

“Since you are a medical student who must be familiar with human anatomy, I am surprised you find Jim’s naked flesh so distasteful.”

“Bones may be a sensualist,” Jim said, tying the towel loosely around his hips, “but even he can’t handle too much of a good thing.”

Raising an eyebrow, Spock tore his eyes from Jim to speculate Bones who was threading a needle he had fished out from his kit. “Although I am aware of the doctor’s rather, unconventional tastes—”

“What the hell does that mean?” Bones yelled, stabbing the needle in Spock’s direction as if it were one of his ever present hyposprays.

“However, considering his complaints whenever he finds us in a state of compromise on your couch—”

“My couch,” Bones mumbled over his furious stitches.

“I never considered Leonard to be an individual governed by matters of a sensual nature.”

“I’m right here, you green blooded—” the rest of his words were garbled as he paused to curse at the shredded fabric, “—talking about me in the third person like I’m non-existent. You God damn robot.”

Laughing, Jim threw an arm around Bones’ shoulder, shaking his friend warmly. “If you actually joined us for a meal when Bones is cooking you might change your mind. He can make anything on a hot plate. Even cake.”

“Fascinating.”

Bones rolled his eyes over the long pull of his thread.

“I’m surprised Uhura hasn’t mentioned anything to you, Spock. I saw her enjoying Bones’ sensualism behind the trees earlier.”

Spock’s eyebrows disappeared under his bangs.

“Nyota and the doctor are in a romantic relationship?”

Bones uttered a wordless moan of fury. “For God’s sake—can’t keep your pants on, and can’t keep your mouth shut!”

“They sure are,” Jim smiled from ear to ear, ruffling Bones’ hair. “This guy thinks he’s being discreet, but I’ve seen Uhura sneaking out of his room more than once.”

“You little spy,” Bones hissed.

Spock hummed, hands resting behind his back. “That would explain some remarks Nyota has made recently.”

Bones’ head popped up, his hands freezing. “What remarks?”

“About how,” Spock paused, his face creasing, “charming she believes your personality to be. Despite my continued objections to the contrary.”

Bones blinked once, before his face broke out into a smile from ear to ear. “Well, I’ll be damned.”

“You have us to thank,” Jim said, tapping his foot against Bones’ shin. “Being best man and best lady for our wedding brought you two together.”

“Being your best servants for three months, you mean.”

“Careful, Bones. You’re gonna get blood all over my fancy pants.”

Glancing down, Bones sucked at his pricked thumb and then resumed his handiwork, a glow lighting his grim features.

“Hey Spock, better keep your good robes pressed.” Jim nudged Spock’s side. “Might be our turn to be best men next.”

Bones stuttered. “Don’t start counting your chicks before they’ve hatched, kid.”

“I’m hearing wedding bells already,” Jim sighed.

Tying the thread into a knot, Bones ripped the end off with his teeth. “Stop your busy bodying, and get dressed.”

“Thanks, Bones,” Jim grinned, inspecting his friend’s even stitches. “What would I do without your legendary hands?”

“Humiliate yourself in front of your family and friends,” Bones exhaled, packing away his sewing kit. “And don’t ever forget it.”

“Don’t worry, I know you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.” Spock lifted an eyebrow. “Other than Spock.”

“That’s a matter of opinion— Jesus!” Bones threw up his hands, as Jim whipped off his towel.

As he bent to tug on his pants, Jim stumbled slightly, the wine, vague arousal caused by Spock’s wandering eyes, and his bubbling laughter from Bones’ aggravation, obviously gone to his head. Stepping forward swiftly, Spock grabbed Jim’s hand, steadying him.

“Thanks,” Jim looked up, his grin sinking at the rapid fire movement of Spock’s eyelids. His thumb ran over the gold band decorating Jim’s hand.

“Strange,” Spock murmured. “I do not remember an extra braid decorating your ring when I purchased it from the jeweler’s. I specifically requested two to represent the number of years we had courted before our betrothal.”

Jim blanched, his stomach falling. “Wow. That’s really romantic of you, Spock.” From the corner of his eye, Bones turned to nosily rummage through his suitcase.

“Indeed,” Spock stated, lifting Jim’s hand closer to his face. “As an individual with quixotic inclinations, I believed you would appreciate the sentiment.”

“Oh, I do,” Jim nodded furiously, as Spock scrutinized the ring, twirling it around Jim’s finger.

“I should have inspected the ring more closely before delivering it to Leonard. I regret missing an obvious flaw in the design. If you are willing to part with it for a time, I will return it for modifications.”

“No. No, not necessary!” Jim tugged at his hand gripped firmly in Spock’s clasp. “It’s fine the way it is, honestly. It’s a great ring—I can’t take it off.” He laughed loudly.

Spock stared. “It is illogical to allow such faults to go unreported. Is this a human custom I was unaware of? The inability to remove one’s wedding ring? Would returning the ring invalidate our marriage?”

“Uh, well, no. I just—” Jim glanced away, anywhere but at Spock’s earnest face, hoping for a flash of linguistic inspiration to get him out of lying to Spock without telling the truth. Bones was watching them and giving Jim a look that stated, ‘you’re fucked, Jim,’ in giant block letters.

“You just?” Spock tilted his head to the left, resting one hand on his husband’s cheek. “What is wrong, Jim? You appear distressed.” He glanced down, releasing Jim’s hand. “Perhaps my failure to inscribe a romantic element within you ring’s construction has disappointed you?”

Shoving his hand behind his back, as if out of sight out of mind could help him at this point, Jim gaped and spluttered a string on nonsense syllables, until he couldn’t hold the truth back any longer.

“I’m sorry, Spock.”

“No, Jim. I am the one who should apologize for allowing a grievous error to mar the symbol of our bonding.”

Bones was sneaking out of the building, back toward the thumping music of the dance floor, and Jim didn’t blame him. This was about to get an awful amount of awkward.

“It’s not your fault the ring is screwed up. It’s mine.”

An eyebrow lifted. “I do not understand.”

“Maybe you never realized because you’re so sweet and understanding. But, I’m an idiot.”

“Jim—”

“I dropped your symbol of our bonding down the bathroom sink.”

Spock’s lips parted then closed again.

“It was an accident. When Bones’ told me he had your ring, I was desperate to see it. You know how impatient I am. Anyway, long story short, I ended up in the bathroom, admiring the ring, and it slipped and fell down the drain.” Rubbing a hand roughly along the back of his neck, Jim burst into a nervous fit of laughter.

“Then the ring on your hand?” Spock asked, quietly.

“A replacement I bought.”

Spock’s brow drew inward. “Why did you not tell me of this accident? I could have acquired an exact replica.”

“Well,” Jim paused, baffled at Spock’s focus on the cover-up rather than the irresponsibility and blatant clumsiness. “I guess I didn’t want to admit how stupid I was.”

“Jim,” Spock blinked, his features retracting, his posture straightening, voice sobering, “we were engaged to be married. We are now married. Although I am aware of the intricacies of your personality, some of which may not be perfectly logical in their formation, I desired to be your mate both despite and because of them. It was not a decision I considered lightly.”

“Yeah,” Jim breathed, “I get that.”

“What you do not seem to get, however, is that my desire for you is not negated by you dropping an object down a drain, no matter its financial or sentimental value.”

Jim gaped. “Well, yeah, I know that, too.”

“Do you?” Spock glared. “Your behavior following the incident you have described proves otherwise.”

“Shit. Spock. You’re right. I’m sorry I lied to you.” His left hand darted out from hiding to grab at his husband’s arm.

Spock stepped away from Jim’s touch. “It is not so much the lie itself that troubles me, but the belief that my affection for you was not strong enough to withstand a small misdemeanor. I cannot help but wonder why you desired to marry someone you believed would abandon you over such a trifling episode.”

“I know, I’m an idiot, Spock. Please, I’m sorry,” Jim cried, his voice filling with desperation.

Pacing further away, Spock shook his head. “No, Jim. You are not an idiot. And I believed you knew me better.” He glanced over his shoulder. “I require a moment’s contemplation to steady my emotional shields. I will attend to our guests.” He left.

For half a second, Jim thought of letting him go, allowing Spock to stew until Jim could figure out how to solve yet another one of his wedding disasters.

“Spock, wait!” Jim yelled, running after him.

It had started raining. Of course it was raining in the middle of a San Francisco heatwave. This was his wedding day, after all. Wiping a hand roughly across his eyes to clear them, Jim grabbed at Spock’s shoulder.

“Look, you’re right. I messed up. I know you love me, faults and all,” be babbled. “I don’t know what I was thinking. I panicked. I’m really sorry, please don’t hate me. I must have gone wedding mad, turned into some kind of groomzilla.”

Spock grabbed Jim’s chin, and leaned closer, droplets of rain falling from his bangs, and sliding down Jim’s cheeks. For a glorious moment, Jim thought he had gotten away with the quickest apology in marriage history and was about to be rewarded with a big wet kiss. Until Spock’s lips drew into a fierce line instead of parting with lust.

“What has happened to your face?”

“Shit,” Jim cringed. So much for waterproof makeup. 

*

“Although I am aware of your illogical need to insinuate yourself into dangerous situations, it is distressing that you could not abstain from inviting physical harm upon yourself while becoming intoxicated the night before our nuptials.” They were sitting under the canopies with towels from Bones’ kit draped around their shoulders. Some of the Vulcans had raised their eyebrows at the disgruntled couple while the human guests had laughed off Jim’s appearance, calling out retorts that they hoped “he gave as good as he got.”

Jim closed his eyes. He was desperate to reach out to Spock and somehow prevent the inevitable backlash of regret that would fall from Spock’s lips at any moment, followed by an immediate desire to annul their marriage. “I screwed up. I’m so sorry, Spock,” he repeated, as if apologizing just one more time might make the difference between forgiveness and resentment.

Uhura placed a cautious hand on Spock’s shoulder. “Listen, it wasn’t Jim’s fault.”

Spock audibly sighed, soft lines forming between his brows. Jim didn’t think he’d ever seen him this pissed before.

“I am not interested in who instigated the brawl. No matter who delivered the first sign of aggression, it was not necessary for Jim to perpetrate the fight after it had begun. As I have been informed by Captain Pike, and Jim’s family members, this is not the first time he has been involved in brawls at disreputable establishments.”

And not the last, Jim finished Spock’s unspoken sentence.

“You green blooded—” Bones huffed, “insufferable, judgemental—” his fists clenched as he stepped up to Jim’s side, “hobgoblin!”

“Bones—” the hand clasped around his elbow was instantly shoved away.

“Shut up, Jim! Your husband needs a good talking to.” Bones stepped into Spock’s space. “If I wasn’t a peace loving man, I’d give him a shiner to match your own.”

“Bones, leave it!” Jim yelled.”

“Hell, no!” Bones shouted back.

Spock’s eyebrows drew closer together. “Considering your blatant disregard for Jim’s safety despite your position as his best man, I believe it was wrong of me to trust you with such a valuable object containing my symbolic affection for Jim.”

Jim cringed. “It was my fault I lost the ring, not Bones’.”

Spock ignored him. “Since you escorted Jim to the establishment where he was harmed, perhaps I should be unsurprised that an emotional scene occurred.”

“An emotional scene,” Bones boomed, jabbing a finger into Spock’s chest. “You bet there was an emotional scene. Because your husband, who’s a human, in case you didn’t notice after two years together—you know—the one that loves you, though I can’t begin to understand why, was defending,” another jab, “you when some asshole insulted,” jab,  “you too his face.”

Uhura tugged Bones back, pressing a firm hand against his furiously rising chest. “Len’s right,” she said, turning to Spock. “Minus the colourful insults.” As she glared at Bones, his harsh breathing quieted. “Throwing punches was an overreaction, but Jim was doing it to defend you. Not just for the fun of it.”

“Not that breaking Gary’s nose wasn’t fun.”

Uhura elbowed Jim in the gut, mouthing at him to shut up.

Spock’s eyebrows had risen during the explanation, his scrutiny focused on Jim. “I see,” he said, softly.

Jim swallowed. “I should have kept my cool.”

“Perhaps,” Spock murmured. “But under the same circumstances, I do not know if I would have been able to do so.” Spock dipped his head for a moment, lips twitching. “I may have overreacted. However the sight of your bruising along with our disagreement about the ring appears to have affected my emotional stability. ”

“Spock,” Jim murmured. “I’ve been a terrible husband.”

“You have been under stress. Insisting that we marry so soon after our betrothal and before the completion of your studies was selfish of me. It is no wonder your mental faculties faltered and prompted you to make impulsive decisions. There was too much for you to handle at once, even for a Terran of your superior skills,” Spock argued. “It is I who was not an admirable mate during a taxing moment in our relationship.”

“I showed up to our wedding beat up and with a fake ring. You underreacted. I’m the one who should be begging for forgiveness.”

Spock took Jim’s hands in his own, thumbs rubbing his knuckles. “No, it is I who should be doing so.”

“You two deserve each other,” Bones muttered as Uhura shushed and dragged him away.

*

“I supposed this was the first of many,” Jim sighed as Spock broke their kiss for air.

“That was hardly our first kiss, Jim.”

“No,” Jim laughed, delighting in the sensation of Spock’s fingers exploring the trail of veins below his wrist. Affection and humor tickled along his senses, a foreign yet comfortable companion to his own emotions. Although they wouldn’t be officially bonded in a Vulcan marriage until his pon farr, Spock had begun, after their engagement, to build a link between their minds in order to explore a new territory of sensation and intimacy together.

“The first of many fights as an old married couple,” he finished, resting his forehead against Spock’s.

“Hmm,” Spock mumbled, scraping his fingernails along Jim’s palm. His eyelids fell shut as Jim sucked at his husband’s bottom lip. “Disagreements are inevitable in a relationship consisting of differing personalities. However, if future disputes are solved as pleasantly as this one was, I am not adverse to the expression of frustration with one another on occasion. That is, if you agree to remember that my affection for you will be unwavering, despite any displeasure I may display.”

Jim laughed, grabbed at Spock’s wandering fingers and trapping them between his own. “Deal.” As Jim leaned forward for a kiss, Spock suddenly stiffened.

“My son. I wish to speak with you.”

Jim’s body snapped against the chair back. When he shifted, fingers slipping away from their entanglement, Spock squeezed his hands, holding them firmly.

“I am currently preoccupied, father.”

Jim’s glance shifted between father and son. “I don’t mind making myself scarce if you two need a moment.”

“That would be advisable,” Sarek said without looking at him.

“No,” Spock rushed out, fingers crushing his own. “Whatever you wish to say, can be spoken in front of my husband.”

“Such information should not be shared with off-worlders.”

Spock grimaced. “By law, Jim is now a citizen of Vulcan through marriage. And need I remind you, father, that you bonded with an off-worlder yourself. A human woman who bore you a half-human child.”

“Your mother and I had been associated for seven years before we bonded. A length of time that allowed her to become acquainted with the intricacies of Vulcan culture. However,” Sarek’s chin turned vaguely in Jim’s direction, “the man you have chosen to debase yourself with appears to know nothing of emotional restraint. There is a distinct possibility his mind will overwhelm yours when you must bond.”

Spock’s cheeks had turned a disturbing shade of green. “I informed Jim of Vulcan biology and bonding practices shortly after our courtship commenced. I request that you do not speak of my husband as if he were not worthy of my attention.”

Sarek’s eyes expanded for a moment. “This is highly illogical. You disclosed our culture’s most sacred rituals when your relationship with this man was in its infancy?”

“That is what I said. Did you not hear me state as much? Perhaps in your extended age, your auditory systems are deteriorating.”

“Spock,” Jim whispered. “Relax.”

“If my father would discontinue his offensive tirade against you,” Spock huffed, “perhaps I could return to the state of peace that should be my rite after successfully acquiring a suitable mate.”

Sarek stared. “Spock. Are you experiencing pon farr?”

Freezing, Spock’s lips parted. “Negative,” he replied.

“As this is your first instance of pon farr, it is possible you are in a state of denial.”

“I believe I would know better than you, father, as it would be my body experiencing the effects, and not yours.”

Sarek lifted an eyebrow. “You are displaying obvious symptoms. For one, an overtly physical, not to mention embarrassing display of arousal.”

“Uh, that’s was my fault, sir,” Jim piped in with an awkward lift of his hand as if he were still in elementary school and requesting permission to speak from Ms. Smith. “I accidentally ordered a chocolate cake. Spock gets handsy when he’s drunk.”

Sarek snubbed him, again, continuing his lecture. “It would explain your insistence on a hasty marriage to a human who has displayed an overt inability to act in a dignified and rational manner that contrasts disastrously with your own nature.”

“I have been courting Jim for two years, as I have already informed you. My request for marriage was not necessitated by need, but a desire to share my life with Jim. He possesses a vibrant mind and a passionate spirit that I find both pleasing and intellectually stimulating.”

Jim blushed.

“Yet, you gave yourself three months to plan a wedding. Is that not a prime example of haste?”

“No,” Spock stated, his voice low. “It is an example of Jim’s value to me as a partner that it would have been illogical to delay our nuptials.”

“However, the need you describe can be an indication of impending pon farr. You may have, and may still, be suffering the beginning symptoms of this affliction, even if the full effects have not yet completely surpassed your lucidity.”

“I do not understand why you insist that I am in pon farr when I have repeatedly told you I am not. You are the one acting illogically, father.”

“He’s worried about you,” Jim added after silently watching Spock and his father sling arguments at each other. The unease in Sarek’s tone, although much more steadied, reminded Jim of his mother’s voice when he’d done something dangerous as a kid. “That I’m going to make your life a living hell.”

“You will not make my life a living hell, Jim,” Spock said vehemently.

“Yeah, ok, but your dad doesn’t know that.”

Spock looked vaguely baffled. Sarek rested his hands behind his back, throwing his shoulders back in a pose that looked so Spock-like, Jim had to force himself not to laugh in delight, or horror, at the resemblance.

“The human has had a surprising moment of rationality.”

‘The human has a name. And it is Jim,” Spock almost growled.

“Spock,” Jim squeezed his hand. His husband was beginning to look dangerous, a furious cloud looming over his mind.

“I am aware,” Sarek answered, stoic as ever. “Yet, that is not the focal point of this conversation. I wish to ascertain whether you have made a decision that will impede your ability to live a prosperous life. Using logic to choose a mate is advisable rather than allowing sexual desires to dictate your choice. Lust is an emotion that will fade with the dissipation of the blood fever.”

“See,” Jim patted Spock’s shoulder, the pressure in his muscles building like a volcano about to burst. “He’s just looking out for you.”

“All I can establish from my father’s remarks is an insatiable desire to insult my mate, the state of my mind, and my ability to make important and logical life choices for myself.”

“Anger and a desire to protect one’s mate from insult is another symptom of pon farr.”

Spock stood, the chair rattling underneath him. “Once again, reasoning with you is impossible.”

“Spock, calm down. I’m sure we can work this out,” Jim said, joining Spock’s side.

“Unlikely. This is a day of celebration, not of misguided judgement. Let us resume enjoying of our nuptials.” Spock turned, pulling Jim behind him. As they left, Jim glanced over his shoulder. The look on Sarek’s face softened for a moment as he watched his son’s retreat, before he too strode off.

*

“You should make up with your dad.”

“Let us discontinue this subject of conversation,” Spock demanded, shoving another forkful of cake into his mouth. “It is most unpleasant.” He had retrieved a third helping for himself, and a second for Jim. Jim picked at his, not sure his pants could survive another expansion.

“I understand Sarek’s mistrust of me though. To him, I’m just some kid stealing his prodigal son away.”

Spock sighed. “He has no desire to know you. Or accept my decision to marry you. He believes I am irrational, and therefore, could not reasonably choose an adequate mate, or else he would not mistake my logic for pon farr.”

“Okay sure, he’s definitely a little stuck up and judgy.”

“That is an understatement.” Spock took a sip from the glass of wine Uhura had poured after seeing Spock’s face, leaving it on the table beside him before rejoining Bones on the dance floor. Pursing his lips, he set the drink aside.

“But I can’t judge him for it. Or I’d have to hate the same protective feelings I have for you. He wants the best for you. Just like I want the best for you. Even if that emotion ends up backfiring and I do stupid things like trying to plan an over the top wedding during exams, beating up some assholes, and coming up with an elaborate cover-up for dropping a ring down the sink.”

Spock stared at him.

“If you won’t make up with your dad for you, do it for me.” Fluttering his eyelashes, Jim patted his husband’s knee.

Sighing, Spock swallowed, licking icing from his lips. “I will consider your request. However, I believe it would be wise to keep our distance for now, lest one of us do something or say something while in an agitated state that we regret later.”

So much for weddings being the magical heal-all for family feuds. As he watched Spock’s features tense with each mention of his father, Jim realized he might be rushing. Maybe he could eventually wear Spock down into having a civil conversation with his dad, but for now, Jim realized their issues wouldn’t be an easy fix.

“I’m being impatient again.” Jim smiled, wiping at a stray smudge of icing from Spock’s cheek.

“Yes,” Spock agreed. Taking Jim’s hand, he pressing his lips to his palm. “My father does not deserve such a stalwart defender. He has not been kind to you.”

“He hasn’t warmed up to me yet, that’s all.”

“Despite inviting the whole Vulcan embassy and my extended family upon, what I can only assume, was my father’s request?”

“Uhh,” Jim rubbed at his chin, sheepishly, “you noticed that, huh?”

“How could I not?” Spock glanced behind him at where his regal grandmother was seated before several stern faced cousins. “Your persistence in gaining may father’s favor despite his continued ambivalence is admirable, if not foolhardy.” He scraped the remaining icing from his plate, licking the fork clean.

Jim laughed. “You done satisfying your sweet tooth, babe? Because Uhura and Bones are trying to outshine us judging by the crowd they’re gathering on the dance floor.”

“That will not to.” Spock stood, wrapping an arm around his husband’s waist. “We must not allow them to achieve their goal.”

“That’s the spirit,” Jim cheered, leading the way.

*

Amanda smiled, waving from where she stood, arm linked with Sarek’s. Sarek’s face was stoic as he watched the couple leave beneath a bombardment of rice, eyebrow persistently raised. Whether it had been Amanda’s insistence, or his stubborn nature, Jim thought it as a positive sign that Sarek had remained to see them off. Jim considered his mother-in-law, her understanding nature and calming presence, and how, in his way, Sarek had spoken of Amanda with fondness. Perhaps, with Amanda’s help, Jim could help facilitate a treaty between Spock and his dad.

Hands raised in defense as their drunk friends whipped handfuls of rice a little too enthusiastically, the married couple stepped up to where Jim’s hoverbike was parked, decked out in steamers and a Just-Married sign, colorfully decorated by Uhura and Bones for their ride back to the dorms for their first night together as a married couple.

“It’s no fancy limo, but I know how much you like hover bike rides,” Jim smiled.

Lips twitching, Spock watched Jim straddle the seat carefully. He prayed Bones’ stitch work would hold out until they got behind closed doors.

“They do offer a uniquely logical excuse to embrace you in public.” Spock settled into place behind Jim, and proceeded to wrap his arms tightly around Jim’s waist. As Spock’s chin rested on his shoulder, Jim caught a whiff of chocolate as teeth tugged at his earlobe.

“Your dad’s watching,” Jim laughed.

“Then I suggest you depart immediately.” Spock’s hands slipped downward, as Jim started the engine.

*

Jim had felt guilty that he couldn’t plan a honeymoon with his lack of credits and time. However, Spock had not been disappointed when Jim suggested they stay in San Francisco for their wedding night. In a few months, he had explained, they would be exploring the galaxy together on their first Starfleet postings. Nor did he appear displeased with the lack of glamour as he groped Jim in the clunky dorm elevator, and then pressed him against the hallway door for a lustful make out session as Jim fumbled and failed to key the sensor lock for five minutes. When they stumbled through the door, tripping over each other’s bodies and onto the floor, Bones’ neat stitch work finally failed, the pieces scattering across them in eventual post coital bliss. Eyes focusing through the blur of orgasm, Jim took in his familiar, but slightly altered surroundings.

“Nice of the dream team to strew rose petals on the ground, as well as on the bed,” Jim chuckled. Bones and Uhura must have snuck in during the wedding to clean up the place and add some romantic ambiance. Electric candles flicked on every surface.

“Their hindsight was impeccable,” Spock murmured against Jim’s collarbone.

“Wanna mess up the sheets?”

“A tantalizing prospect.” Spock stood swiftly, holding his hand out for Jim.

After messing up the bedsheets, and then knocking over a tableful of candles after a short nap, Jim found himself in the bathroom, grinning at himself in the mirror while Spock snored lightly beyond the door. He washed his hands in the freshly repaired sink, and patted down his mussed up hair, poking at the already forming hickies along his neckline. Gods, did Spock get gloriously creative with his tongue after too much chocolate.

As he turned to leave the bathroom, a glint caught Jim’s attention from the corner of his eye. On the floor in between a crack in the tiles sat a gold ring.

“Holy shit!” Jim yelled, cringing and covering his mouth an instant later. He poked his head out the door. Spock was still passed out.

Picking up the ring, Jim held it in front of his eyes. Looked like his luck was finally returning now that all the wedding madness was over. As he pulled off the fake ring, and slipped on Spock’s, Jim wondered how long it had been hiding in that crack, washed out of the pipes during his plumbing adventures, and catching in the recess. It must have been sitting there for a week, right under his nose as he cleared his bowels and emptied his bladder.

Turning up the thermostat to suit Spock’s sensitive body temperature, Jim tucked the sheets more closely around his husband before curling up beside him. Throwing his newly ringed hand around Spock’s waist, Jim fell asleep to Spock’s heavy breathing. A sound he looked forward to hearing every night for ever after.

***