Chapter Text
After they’d decimated a bottle of Romulan Ale during their first semester-end celebratory binge at the Academy, Jim had convinced Leonard that teepeeing Commander Greeves’s front lawn would be a good idea. The dimwitted xenobiology professor had failed Leonard’s paper on the Peplonian plague, a topic he’d obsessively researched for months. As the illegal blue liquid had burned through his throat and his common sense, Leonard had become fueled by Jim’s outrage over the red slashing comments befouling his friend’s genius. Jim’s adolescent idea had started to sound like a fitting revenge and an amusing end to a hellish semester of sleepless nights and hair-pulling. When Greeves had threatened to have them expelled after catching the two cadets giggling under his cherry trees, tangled in looping knots of toilet paper, Leonard shouldn’t have been surprised. It was the first time Jim had dragged him into one of his hair-brained schemes, but it wouldn’t be the last.
“Ask Spock for advice,” Jim said after draining his second cup of coffee.
Leonard’s grits turned sour in his mouth.
“I told you to stay away from the purple mushrooms on Vesciea Prime.”
Jim flung a hand across the table, swatting at Leonard’s antagonism as if it were a fly hovering over his breakfast. “Spock dated Uhura for three years. He’ll know about all her pet peeves and favorite things.”
Leonard grimaced. Just his luck he’d fall for the ex-girlfriend of the most aggravating crewmember on this hunk of space junk.
“Three years is a long time. Maybe they're not quite over.”
Jim glanced across the mess where Uhura was eating breakfast with Spock and two other science officers. “Uhura said they both agreed to end their romantic relationship.” He buried his nose in his mug and frowned at the empty contents. The hindered enthusiasm in Jim’s voice didn’t inspire Leonard’s confidence.
“Forget I opened my big fat mouth. The shitty atmosphere on Vesciea scrambled my brains.” Rubbing his eyes, Leonard considered taking a sick day. Chapel could handle Lieutenant Parroco’s hypochondriac complaints for a day.
“Come on, Bones. Don't give up on love so easily.”
Leonard squinted. It was too early for Jim’s sunny-eyed optimism. He should have known better; talking romance with Jim was generally a bad idea. Once the kid got a faint whiff of hope from his wearied friend, he jumped straight into the scuffed and faded pilot’s seat of Leonard’s life, hand hovering way too close to the photon beam’s trigger. Leonard had lost count of how many times Jim had set him up on a blind date with a friend of a friend or pushed him into an ill-fated hook up with some sketchy alien.
“Says the guy who can’t keep a man, woman, or anything in between in his bed for more than twenty-four hours.”
Silencing Leonard’s grumbling protest with a hand against his mouth, Jim’s head lifted, a suspicious sparkle glinting in his eyes.
“Hey, Spock,” Jim yelled, waving a hand over his head. “Come over here for a sec!”
“Damn it, Jim,” Leonard hissed. “Shut your meddling mouth.”
“Do you require assistance, Captain?” Spock asked as he approached. Leonard cringed. His jaw clenched. The last person he needed dating advice from was their resident walking, talking computer.
“Not this time.” Jim nodded at his friend with a vicious grin. “Bones needs your help.”
Spock’s eyebrow practically leapt from his face – the most obvious expression Leonard had seen from the Vulcan since his feverish chuckle in Altamid’s caves. “Is this one of your attempts at humor, Captain?”
“Attempts?” Jim scoffed. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means even a Vulcan knows your jokes are lame.”
Slouching in his chair, Jim crossed his arms with a pout. “Ever since your joyride together across Yorktown, you two have started siding against me.”
Spock glanced at Leonard.
“Considering the dire nature of our mission and the doctor’s inept piloting skills, joy is not an emotion I would ascribe to that particular memory.”
Leonard felt the grits curdling in his stomach. “If you hadn’t been distracting me with your backseat driving the whole time, I could have concentrated on figuring out how to land that cursed contraption.”
“If I had not advised that you maneuver the vessel away from eight different obstructions, both of us would have sustained serious bodily harm.”
“Ok you two, cool your warp cores,” Jim interrupted with a convenient burst of laughter. “Spock. Bones needs dating advice.”
Several thoughts flashed through Leonard’s mind in quick succession. He imagined slapping a hand across Jim’s face, knocking him to the ground, forcing a handful of lettuce into the kid’s mouth while he threatened to inoculate him twice-over with every vaccine in Starfleet Medical’s database—anything to stop his loudmouthed friend from revealing another word. Ever since Spock became the best thing to him since replicated coffee, Jim had lost all sense of discretion. When Spock had blamed Leonard’s slow pace during their collection of bacteria samples on Arulus Prime on his addiction to Benazoid candies, Leonard had started filtering his confessions to Jim. Only his ex-wife and his best friend knew Leonard liked to eat a handful of candy before bed, and he would bet ten bars of latinum that Jocelyn and Spock weren’t subspace penpals. But, unfortunately, a few glasses of bourbon always loosened Leonard’s lips and Jim had always been generous with his liquor and his ear.
Spock stared at Leonard coldly for a moment before glancing back at Jim. “I doubt the validity of your statement, Captain.”
“Too right,” Leonard stood, grabbing his half-finished plate. “If you’ll excuse me, I’m due back in sick bay. I have a round of crew physicals to finish off.”
“Bones, wait—”
Without another glance at the two men, Leonard dumped his leftover food in the recycler and hurried out of the mess hall. Uhura smiled at him with a wave as he passed and Leonard proceeded to float down to sick bay on the fantasy of walking hand and hand with the lieutenant on the shores of Risa, the sunset no comparison against the gracious curve of her lips.
With a firm reminder that a smile and a wave meant nothing more than a polite greeting, Leonard grounded himself before walking through the sickbay doors and greeting Lieutenant Parroco’s shaky smile with a determined grimace.
*
Leonard tossed his PADD onto his desk, and opened the bottom drawer, reaching for his bottle of bourbon. After a day cleaning up the self-sacrificing horseshit the Enterprise crew enjoyed rolling in, he needed some of the good stuff to help him unwind. Lieutenant Jones had given even Jim Kirk a run for his money in the medical avoidance department when he attempted, and failed, to convince the CMO that his experiment involving “sensitive” dust from the god-forsaken planet they had recently visited couldn’t wait the thirty minutes Leonard needed to fuse the boy’s knee cap—shattered during a fall on B-deck.
When he turned and discovered Spock standing in front of his desk, the top of his head glowing eerily under the dim overhead lighting, Leonard almost dropped his precious bottle.
“Good God, Spock! You scared the crap out of me.”
“I can wait while you attend to your ablutions and retrieve a clean uniform.”
Collapsing into his chair, Leonard poured a larger glass than he usually indulged in. “What the hell do you want?”
“I desire nothing from the mythological underworld constructed by the Terran catholic religion.”
Leonard wondered if he had suffered a heart attack after his divorce and dropped dead on the floor of his clinic in Georgia. To atone for his sins, he’d been tossed into the heavens to be eternally pestered by the devilish creature from the horror stories his grandmother had told him as a child. Punishment for hiding all the half-dead mice he had rescued from their cat in his closet and using Granny’s crocheted dollies as bandages for their torn fur and tails.
Leonard glared at Spock over the rim of his glass. “I highly doubt you’re here for a chat, so if you’ve got some medical issue you’re embarrassed about, just spit it out so I can deal with it and return to enjoying my nightcap without you hovering over me like a vulture.”
“I am functioning optionally, Doctor. I am not here for medical assistance.”
Leonard frowned as the Vulcan stared intently at the pictures hanging on the wall behind his desk. “Well?”
“You have been acquainted with Captain Kirk for six point three years. You resided together for three years at Starfleet Academy’s student dormitories.”
Christ. Leonard sunk into his chair and gave up on the peaceful evening he’d planned for himself involving the latest issue of Federation Medical, a chocolate bar, and his pillow. Spock’s brain must have been clouded by all those sensitive dust samples in the science labs if he suddenly wanted to engage in small talk.
“Don’t you have some meditation to do? An experiment to run?”
Spock stepped forward and leaned toward the photo Gaila had took of Leonard and Jim in their cadet reds. Leonard was frowning over his PADD in the picture, studying for a xenophysiology exam—if he was remembering correctly—while Jim was grinning from ear to ear, probably laughing at some vile comment his Orion girlfriend had made. Jim had dated a lot of people during his years at the Academy, mostly tentative flings that barely lasted a few weeks, but he and Gaila had stayed together for three whole months. “She makes me laugh,” Jim had insisted when Leonard had commented on the abnormal permanence of their relationship, “and she re-programmed our synthesizer to make coffee that actually tastes like coffee.”
“Considering the intimate nature of human friendships based on the verbal exchange of emotional experiences for commiseration and evaluation, I have extrapolated a ninety-two point eight percent likelihood that you are familiar with the details of the captain’s past romantic relationships and his preferences in prospective suitors.”
Leonard snorted. Jim’s serial dating had eased since the commencement of their five-year mission, but three years rooming with Jim at the Academy had given Leonard enough details about his friend’s love life to last him a life time. Jim liked to share, even when Leonard didn’t feel like listening. Like at three in the morning when Jim had returned from a date with a fellow cadet, or an officer temporarily posted at Starfleet headquarters, or someone who had caught his eye at the air train stop that morning.
“If you’re after some juicy gossip about the captain, ask him yourself. The kid loves to brag.”
Spock continued to stare at the photo, a crease forming between his eyebrows. “At this juncture in my research, a secondary source would be preferable.”
Leonard massaged his temples to ease the headache beginning to thrum against his skull. “What’s this all about, Spock?”
“I am here to offer my assistance in your romantic endeavors with Lieutenant Uhura.”
Leonard gulped down the last of his drink and dropped the glass on his desk. “Jim wheedled you into this, didn’t he?”
“Although Captain Kirk was adamant in his request, my assistance is offered of my own volition.”
“Well, do me a favor and forget everything he told you.”
“Was the captain speaking an untruth when he described your admiration for Lieutenant Uhura?”
As his cheeks burned, Leonard convinced himself it was the bourbon.
“Was he lying when he expressed a desire for you to share your overabundance of emotional energy on a deserving individual and to witness your eventual happiness with a mate who would appreciate your attributes? Eight minutes and twenty-four seconds of the captain’s morning leisure time was spent listing these attributes and reasons why you are deserving of Nyota’s attentions, despite my insistence that his time would be more valuably spent consuming a nutritional substance other than his usual caffeinated beverage before alpha shift.”
Leonard glanced out the viewport.
“It is not in Jim’s nature to spread untruths about those close to him that could lead to disruptive misunderstandings,” Spock murmured. His chin rose as if he were quoting one of his treasured Surakian rules of logic.
Leonard lifted his bottle of bourbon. “You want some?”
“I do not consume alcohol.”
Snorting, Leonard poured another glass for himself. “Well, that explains a lot.” He waved a hand at the chair in front of his desk. “Sit down.”
Spock blinked. “I prefer to stand.”
“Suit yourself.” He took a sip from his glass. “Jim’s a good friend. Tends to stick his nose where it doesn’t belong, but he means well, I suppose.”
“The captain has said the same of you on a number of occasions.”
Leonard brushed a hand across his mouth, hiding a grin. “So, you think I have a chance with Uhura?”
“I cannot confirm with absolute certainty. However, she has always spoken of you with regard and has stated that you are, and I quote, a real gentleman.”
Gaping, Leonard leaned forward in his chair, the legs dropping with a clang onto the floor. “She said that?”
“Indeed.”
Leonard grinned. “Maybe I do have a chance at winning the lovely lady’s heart after all.”
Spock’s lips tightened. “I am in agreement that your chances of gaining Nyota’s affections are above zero percent.”
Closing his eyes with a sigh, Leonard shook his head. From Spock, that was practically encouragement. “So, you’ll really help me out? Maybe tell me her favorite flower? What sort of food she likes?”
“If you believe these trivial facts will assist you, I can provide them.” Spock shifted, as if he were about to take a step forward but had decided against it. “However, I request your assistance in return.”
“You want my help?” Bones guffawed. “If you’re in as perfect health as you say, how could I possibly help you?”
Spock’s eyes fell to the floor. “My quandary, I am loathe to admit, strays into similar emotional territory as your own.”
“Oh?” Leonard leaned his elbows on the desk. This was turning into a more interesting evening than even Federation Medical could provide. When Spock experienced emotions, his hands generally ended up wrapped around someone’s throat.
“In colloquial Standard terminology, it is a matter of the heart.”
Leonard gaped. “You’re in love?”
“Affirmative,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.
“The tinman actually grew a heart.” Leonard grabbed another glass from the cupboard and filled it with a splash of bourbon. “Here.” He placed the drink firmly on the other end of the table where Spock was cowering like an over-cooked string bean. “Sounds like you need it.”
Spock stared at the glass. After a moment in which Leonard waited for a wordy description about the illogical attributes of alcohol, Spock picked up the glass, drained its contents, coughed, pressing a hand to his lips, and then sat primly in the chair he had previously rejected.
“Who is it?” Leonard demanded, gently.
“Captain Kirk.”
“What!” Leonard choked on a mouthful of bourbon. “Jim?”
“Is there another Captain Kirk you are acquainted with?” Spock snapped.
“Holy. Wow.” It was like Spock had picked up the bottle of bourbon and smashed it over Leonard’s head. Jim and Spock. Spock and Jim. The Vulcan couldn’t have chosen a more unlikely crush. “Does Jim know?”
“He does not.” Spock replied. “This is where your assistance is required.”
“So, you want me to help you win over Jim?”
“I believe a human phrase that would appropriately describe our current predicament would be, if I scratch your back, you will scratch mine.”
“You’ve gotta be kidding me.”
“Is that not the correct saying?”
“No, it’s right. I just can’t believe I’m hearing you say it.”
Spock raised an eyebrow. “As eighty point three percent of your verbal interaction is riddled with figurative speech, I assumed communicating similarly would be the most effective approach to convey my intentions.”
Leonard bit his tongue against a retort. It must have taken every ounce of Spock’s courage to admit his feelings out loud.
“You do know I’m divorced, right? I’m definitely no expert when it comes to romance. I couldn’t even convince my wife to stay with me.”
“As I stated previously, you are the captain’s closest confidant. And you have, even if the marriage did not last, succeeded in convincing a human, despite your flaws, to engage in matrimony with you.”
“Funny how that happens.” Leonard frowned, drifting into reminiscence. “One minute you’re madly in love, the next you’re arguing for days about who left a dirty cup in the sink.”
“Doctor,” Spock quietly urged. “Will you assist me?”
“Jim, huh?” Leonard refilled his glass, picked it up, then reconsidered at his thoughts caught on a bramble. Spock and Jim. Spock with Jim. Jim with Spock? It sounded like an emotional train wreck waiting to happen.
“You’re right. Jim’s my best friend and I know him pretty well. I’ve seen him through both the good times and the bad. And I get it. He’s attractive, he’s charismatic. Sometimes he’s endearing when he’s not quoting Shakespeare in the middle of the night, or setting your room on fire after trying to make a birthday cake on a hot plate.”
“Fascinating,” Spock muttered to himself, quietly.
“But, his romantic track record,” Leonard continued, “how should I put it—it’s been a rocky road filled with more mishaps than I can count on two hands.”
Spock straightened. “Perhaps he has not found a mate that can sufficiently address his needs.”
Leonard covered his laugher by clearing his throat loudly. “And you think you’re the man to do the job?”
“I possess a sufficient amount of determination.”
“I feel like I’ve stepped into the twilight zone.”
“Once again, your meaning is lost on me.”
“You’re going to get your heart broken.”
“The Vulcan heart is not so feeble that it malfunctions under emotional distress.”
Leonard assessed the stoic figure before him. “And what if you succeed? You might break his heart.” The last thing Leonard wanted to put Jim through was another shotgun romance. Jim had wasted enough sleepless nights and quarts of ice cream over assholes, idiots, and weirdos during his days as a naïve cadet. He might be too emotional, too physical, and too erratic to handle a Vulcan boyfriend.
“Harm upon Captain Kirk’s cardiovascular system is an outcome I intend to avoid. Indeed, I would rather inflict injury upon my own body than his.”
As determined devotion flooded Spock’s features, Leonard re-imagined every moment he had witnessed between Spock and Jim over their years aboard the Enterprise. The subtle expressions on Spock’s face when Jim grazed his arm, or made a bad joke, or laughed, or stuffed his face full of French fries. Looks Leonard may have wondered about but disregarded as mere signs of tolerance. The devastation Scotty had seen Spock express after Jim’s almost fatal adventure in the warp core, and the quiet joy Leonard had witnessed when Jim had taken his first unaided breath after being injected with Khan’s superhuman blood. The determination when Spock pulled Jim from the grips of the void after his clash with Edison aboard Yorktown. The fear when Jim had told Spock he couldn’t be without him. After their mission on Altamid, Leonard had expected Spock to carry through with his decision to leave Starfleet and start a life on New Vulcan. When he stepped aboard the Enterprise-A after her refurbishment, despite the rumors and eventual confirmation of his separation from Uhura, Leonard had been surprised, and maybe a little pleased considering a ship run by a unhinged adventure-seeking Captain sans disapproving Vulcan first officer was a death trap waiting to snap. But when Leonard stopped to think about all of Spock’s little glances, stares, and emotional leaks over the years, he realized Spock never could have left the Enterprise.
“You really are in love with him.”
Spock was silent.
“I don’t think Jim’s ever dated anything resembling a Vulcan before.”
“You believe my cause is hopeless.”
Maybe not hopeless. Jim was obviously a fan of Spock’s. He never got sick of telling Leonard how great the Enterprise’s first officer was: how he’d solved another abstract physics equation, or almost made a joke that had sent Jim into a fit of hysterics on the bridge, or saved his life for the gazillionth time.
“I’d say your chances are above zero percent.”
Spock’s lips twitched and Leonard had the grace to not point it out.
“I know we haven’t always seen eye to eye and frankly, you drive me up the wall on a daily basis. But, I’ll admit, you’ve been a good influence on Jim over the years. And you’re a hell of a lot more sensible than Jim’s past romantic conquests.”
“You approve?” Spock droned.
“Not that you care about my opinion, but yeah. Can’t believe I’m saying it, but I think you have a bigger heart than you let on. Especially when it comes to Jim.”
Spock pressed a hand to his side. “The captain’s presence has had a notable effect on the regulation of my cardiovascular system.”
“All right, that does it.” Leonard stood and reached a hand across the desk. “We have a deal.”
Spock stared down at Leonard’s hand, eyebrow once again lifted.
“A handshake.” Leonard waved his hand up and down. “It’s how my people seal a deal and agree to work together.”
“Vulcans do not generally participate in superfluous acts of physical contact.”
Leonard snorted, his hand starting to droop with the weight of holding it so long. “And here’s your first teaching moment. You’ll have to get over your skin phobia if you want to get anywhere with Jim.”
Spock exhaled. “Very well.” After a moment, he loosely took Leonard’s outstretched hand. “I verbally agree to impart my expertise about Lieutenant Uhura’s likes and dislikes in exchange for similar information pertaining to Captain Kirk’s romantic inclinations.”
Leonard burst into laughter as Spock retreated a second later, his hands once again tucked neatly behind his back. “I better not regret this,” he said as his stomach flitted into his throat. Jim’s voice echoed in his skull—take Spock’s advice! When Leonard stopped to consider why he kept jumping over every bridge his wayward friend led him over, he remembered what happened after the teepying incident and Commander Greeve’s threats. Jim had taken the full brunt of the blame, and had petitioned the academic board, in some miracle of persuasion, to not only erase Leonard’s misdemeanor from his permanent record, but to also reevaluate his paper on the Peplonian plague. Leonard had gotten off with a light reprimand and an A+ in xenobiology. Jim had accepted the permanent stain on his Starfleet record with a shrug and a laugh, explaining that it would give his future command applications more pizazz than a blindingly clean slate. Even if his crazy schemes led Leonard down a perilous route, Jim was always the one to step forward and take every scrape and bruise from the thorns that crossed their path. Spock, Leonard had noted, had the same tendency to follow Jim’s lead. But at least he could use his handy Vulcan strength to pull Jim out of harm’s way.