Chapter Text
It was the perfect storm of bad timing. Normally things were pretty well organised on the Enterprise - organised chaos, perhaps, but nonetheless organised. Today, however, everything that could go wrong had gone wrong.
Firstly, the Enterprise was scheduled to make a diplomatic visit to Zexar II in order to meet with the Zexarian ambassadors as a gesture of goodwill. This would have been a routine stop, had Starfleet not organised an urgent conference which fell at exactly the same time the captain was supposed to be joining ambassadors Nax and Keonix for an official luncheon. Under normal circumstances Kirk would have skipped the meeting, but this particular conference had been classified as critically urgent and therefore if he failed to show up he would be severely reprimanded and reported for dereliction of duty. So, he couldn't get out of it, but he also couldn’t reschedule the luncheon on such short notice - Zexarians were known for their fierce disapproval of postponing pre-planned events; if they scheduled something it was going to happen at the time that had been agreed upon or it would not happen at all. Failing to make the luncheon would surely sour the federation’s relationship with Zexar, so Kirk was forced to take drastic measures to keep all sides happy. He would attend the Starfleet meeting, and in lieu of his own presence he would send all three of his most senior officers - Spock, McCoy and Scotty - to the luncheon in his place, with the hope that Nax and Keonix would be satisfied and no offense would be taken.
That was the initial plan B anyway, but then another spanner got thrown into the works when Scotty detected an imminent ion storm heading towards the ship. It was calculated that if the luncheon went overtime there would be a good chance the ship would have to be moved out of orbit for a few days to let it pass; but Zexarians adhered to such strict schedules that everyone was confident this would not be a problem. What was a problem was that Scotty, as head engineer, would be required to stay on board as a precaution to coordinate the system protocols for ion interference, and to pilot the ship away if such a course of action was needed.
The result of all this was that Spock and McCoy were the only high-ranking officers able to attend the ambassadorial luncheon. Needless to say, the whole thing was an absolute mess and nobody was particularly happy with how they had arrived at this juncture. Still, everybody had a job to do and do it they would - even if they complained about it the entire time.
Between the meeting to finalise their action plan and now, It felt like only a few hours had passed, although it had actually been a week, but either way it was still much too soon for everyone involved.
Spock and McCoy stood in the transporter room facing each other, both fiddling with their dress uniforms. This was the first meeting either of them would be attending without the captain and certainly the first one they would be alone together for. It was clear to anyone who had eyes that the Doctor and First Officer did not see eye-to-eye on much, and there was a thick air of tension between them.
“Damn neck, why does it have to be so tight,” McCoy grumbled, pulling at the collar of his shirt.
Spock raised an eyebrow as he straightened the cuff of his sleeve. “These are standard-issue dress uniforms. The sizing should be adequate.”
McCoy frowned and dropped his arm. “Well they’re not. I don’t know how you aren’t bothered, but I feel like I can barely move!”
“Unless you are planning on doing gymnastics or some other type of activity that requires maximum flexibility, you should survive.” McCoy scrunched his face in annoyance but his reaction was ignored. Spock looked him up and down, appraising his appearance. Once he was satisfied he gave a single nod. “I think we are ready.”
McCoy grit his teeth and marched over to the transporter pads before he could allow himself the satisfaction of nailing Spock with a snide retort. As much as he’d been dreading this luncheon from the moment it had been assigned to them, at the beginning there was some reassurance knowing Scotty was going to be a buffer between himself and the hobgoblin. Now that it was only the two of them, he wasn’t sure how far he’d be able to make it before he snapped.
They were both close with Kirk, but as mutual friends often were, he was really the only thing holding their modicum of a relationship together. When the captain wasn’t with them they rarely spoke outside of professional work-related conversation, and even then they tended to bicker like cat and dog. Some equated the two of them to chalk and cheese, McCoy thought of them as reluctant colleagues brought together out of pure necessity. As far as he was concerned the less time he could spend around Spock, the better, because it was just too damn hard to deal with his condescending, emotionless remarks. For someone as passionate as McCoy being around the Vulcan - someone who valued logic over feelings - rubbed him the wrong way. Everything was objective with Spock, nothing could be read through a lens of care or concern, it was all calculated and considered instead, and that just wasn’t a way of thinking McCoy could endorse. Sometimes he wondered how Jim wasn’t put off by it, but whatever Kirk and Spock had going was their business and McCoy was happy to keep it that way.
Except for today, that is. Since he was stuck with the walking computer and he had no way out, maybe swallowing the toad and making an effort to get to know Spock would be a good idea - after all, if they had to do this together they were going to have to communicate with more than snarky insults; but knowing the Vulcan, McCoy probably wouldn’t get very far - trying to talk to Spock was often like talking to a brick wall.
Today was going to be a long day.
Spock followed McCoy onto the transporter pads and turned to face the ensign who was manning the beam console. “When you're ready.”
The ensign nodded and readied his hands to press the controls. “Aye, sir. We’ll see you soon.” With that, he pressed the button and both McCoy and Spock felt the warm tingling sensation of their molecules getting separated and sent down to Zexar II to be rearranged back into physical form.
The familiar metal paneling and bland colours of the transporter room faded and a moment later the two men found themselves standing in front of the Zexarian Federation Embassy. The ground beneath them was a deep purple and the plants were reminiscent of lavender coloured terran succulents. The sky was a deep azure, although it was technically midday by the Zexarian clock, which made it feel like the planet was caught in a permanent twilight. Everything around them was luminescent, with the veins of the plants, the star-shaped tree leaves and the spherical fruits hanging from their branches all glowing brilliant shades of electric pink and blue. It was almost as if they had walked into a 21st century club rave, except this place had a much calmer, almost relaxing aura about it.
McCoy’s face softened as he looked up, taking in the hazy pink clouds above them. “This place is beautiful.”
Next to him, Spock glanced around, his face remaining fixed in its usual neutrality. “It is pleasing to the eye, yes.” The aesthetic of the planet didn’t seem to be very important to him, because as soon as he replied to McCoy’s initial statement he changed the topic of their conversation. “Will you be able to sit through this luncheon?”
It was remarkable an audible crack didn’t reverberate around them from the speed with which McCoy swiveled his head. He glared at Spock, narrowing his eyes. “What the hell is that s’posed to mean?”
Spock placed his hands behind his back. “I am simply asking if you will be able to tolerate this meeting under such high levels of stress. As a particularly emotional human, I suspect this whole ordeal may be quite affecting.”
“Are you saying you think I’m going to have a meltdown?” McCoy snapped. Spock could be a self-righteous asshole when he wanted to be.
“I would not use that language, no.”
McCoy rolled his eyes. This is just what he needed, to be told how volatile he was by a sentient machine. Maybe he was the more outspoken and opinionated out of the two of them, but McCoy could hold his own in a professional setting just as Spock could. They’d done it before in different circumstances, and they’d both had the same etiquette training. It seemed demeaning for Spock to question him like this.
“I’ll be fine,” McCoy said, the words short. “So, should we get this over and done with, or are we going to keep standing here?”
Spock didn’t answer but he did begin walking towards the doors of the embassy building. McCoy huffed in annoyance and jogged forward until he and Spock were walking side by side.
The embassy building was shaped like an upside-down cone, silver against the purple landscape. It was decorated with zigzagged neon lines which ran around its circumference in neatly spaced intervals all the way to the top, where a floating atom sculpture with rings that slowly rotated around the nucleus adorned the apex. The doors were made of frosted glass and they automatically opened as Spock and McCoy approached.
Inside was an open-plan hall and within it sat a long table set with plates, cutlery and native flora. Nax and Keonix stood close to the table, mingling with dignitaries and officials who were also attending the event.
Zexarians were an interesting race. They were humanoid, but had purple or blue skin which shimmered in certain lighting. All of them were bald, with long, girthy tendrils of flesh protruding from their heads that cascaded down their backs and draped over their shoulders in place of hair. Their ears were much like Vulcans’, pointed, but angled slightly further outwards; and their eyes were wide and large with dark pupils speckled with white dots, creating the illusion that they held the galaxy in their irises.
As Spock and McCoy walked further into the room, Keonix spotted them from over the way and smiled. Ze politely excused zisself from the officials ze had been in conversation with and approached the two starfleet officers, greeting them with the traditional Zexarian salute which resembled two ‘okay’ gestures, one made with each hand, joined together to form an infinity symbol.
“Greetings and welcome, officers. We are pleased to be hosting you this day,” Keonix said, smiling at zis new guests.
Spock and McCoy returned the salute and then fell into the parade stance.
“We thank you,” Spock replied, perfectly affable as always. “We also extend our humblest apologies that our captain could not be in attendance today.”
“We hope we have not caused you inconvenience,” McCoy added, in his most respectful tone.
Keonix waved zis hand. “It is not of consequence. You are here, and we shall eat and drink. We come together today in solidarity, and Starfleet’s presence, however it may be represented, is appreciated.” Ze motioned for the table. “You are the last to arrive. Now that you are here, we may begin the meal. Please, sit with us.”
Spock and McCoy bowed slightly, thanked Keonix for zis hospitality and made their way over to the table.
As they took their seats McCoy looked over the spread and hummed with curiosity. “I wonder what these dishes will taste like. I’m not sure I trust food that glows.”
Next to him Spock was unfolding his napkin and laying it on his lap. “I’m sure it will be acceptable,” he said. His attentions were on other things besides alien cuisine. Once he was finished with his napkin he looked around the table. Sat around them were a gaggle of nameless faces, all undoubtedly important figures from other organisations but inconsequential to Starfleet or any of their cohort. Spock surmised this to be a good thing - if things didn’t go well the only complaints would be from the ambassadors and not any observing internal personnel.
A group of waiters interrupted his thoughts as they approached the table and started setting down plates of sliced, steaming fruits which smelt of cinnamon and cloves. Spock and McCoy shared a look between each other, then turned to listen to the opening speech Keonix was giving to welcome everybody. It was the usual thank you and political talk that always accompanied these things, and while it bored both officers half to death they listened, nodding in all the right places and laughing softly at the jokes. A few minutes passed of this and then the luncheon finally got underway, with the group starting their meal.
The beginning few courses went down smoothly. McCoy was pleased to find that the food, although a strange sight to behold with its glowing appearance, was quite tasty. Zexarian fruits were very citrusy, with varying levels of sweetness, and evidently they were used in most dishes. If the Doctor had to make any complaints, it would have been the lack of variety in flavours, but that was a minor issue. Spock seemed equally as satisfied, although his reactions were hard to read. He hadn’t refused anything, so that must have been some indication he was at least tolerating what they were being fed. Either way they were both accepting their meal gracefully, which is what mattered most.
Eventually the last course came out, the waiters walking around the table and placing down small bowls of a fluorescent blue soup. McCoy peered at his bowl warily and leaned over to Spock, whispering into his ear. “It looks radioactive.”
Spock turned to look at him with a raised brow. “It is soup.”
McCoy pursed his lips and turned back to the table. Maybe Spock was more accustomed to alien dishes, or maybe he was just acting on his best behaviour, but it wouldn’t have killed him to humour McCoy’s thoughts. Then again, thinking the Zexarians would serve them something radioactive was illogical, so that was the most likely reason Spock was dismissing the idea so quickly.
Nax stood from her seat at the head of the table and opened her arms. “Honoured guests, out of all the food we have shared tonight this dish is our most sacred. It is called Iora Kavas and is a soup made from the Iora leaf mixed with the bone marrow broth of the zottle calf. Here on Zexar we consider this a high delicacy and we hope that you all enjoy it as much as we do.” With that she gestured for everyone to partake of the soup laid before them before resuming her seat at the table.
McCoy’s eyes immediately darted from his bowl to Spock, who was looking down at his own soup. His eyes were narrowed slightly, as if he was locked in a staring contest with the stuff. Throughout the afternoon Spock had been carefully skirting around any meats that had appeared in their dishes, but he couldn’t do that with a broth. What made it even worse was that this particular dish was obviously the centerpiece of the luncheon. He couldn’t refuse it, that would be seen as an insult. Without thinking McCoy sprung into action before Spock had time to verbally express his concerns; It was almost reflexive the way McCoy’s doctoral instincts kicked in. He turned to address Nax who was sitting to his left, already enjoying her Iora Kavas.
“Excuse me, Ambassador Nax?” McCoy said politely, lifting his hand slightly to get her attention.
Nax looked up from her bowl, her speckled eyes twinkling with delight. “Yes, Dr. McCoy, is everything to your satisfaction?”
McCoy couldn’t see Spock but he could feel the gaze boring into the back of his head. Undoubtedly Spock wanted to know what the Doctor was up to, and he would find out soon enough. McCoy flashed Nax with a smile and nodded. “Everything has been wonderful, and I thank you for your hospitality. As a doctor however, I feel it is my obligation to inform you that my colleague Mr. Spock does not eat meat or any meat products - doing so does not sit well with his physiology. We do not wish to disrespect you, and would hate to waste your culinary efforts, so if it is acceptable I would like to take his serve for him.”
It was barely perceptible but behind him Spock’s eyes widened in shock. McCoy didn’t have to do this - eating one bowl of soup was not going to kill Spock, even if it did make him feel unwell for a short period of time. He would have taken one for the team, but a part of him was grateful McCoy had stepped in - he really preferred to not eat bone marrow.
Nax paused for a moment, absorbing what McCoy had told her. She flicked her eyes from the doctor to Spock and back again, before finally answering. “That is fine, Doctor, I see no reason to question your medical expertise. It is just a shame that Mr. Spock will be missing out on our most cherished meal.”
“I too am sorry I cannot partake of your dish,” Spock finally cut in. He graced Nax with an inclination of his head before turning to McCoy. “Are you sure you will be able to eat both serves?”
McCoy shrugged. By now Nax had returned to her meal and was no longer focusing on them. “I should be fine, I just couldn’t let you eat it.”
Spock’s eyes softened. “Thank you.”
“Hey, don’t go thinking I did this for you. I didn’t want to get stuck giving you a stomach pump once we’re back on the ship.” McCoy side-eyed Spock and picked up his spoon.
In response Spock smirked and turned to engage in conversation with one of the other guests, leaving McCoy to eat their combined last course. As McCoy scooped some of the concoction out of the bowl, he noted the viscous texture of it, and when it hit his tongue it was the consistency of a thick milkshake. It was spiced and tasted bittersweet. If this was a delicacy, McCoy wondered what the standard home cooking on this planet was like. He tried not to think too hard about what he was doing, and began inhaling the broth as fast as he could get it down his esophagus. After a while his pace slowed, but by that stage he had almost finished. When he got to the last spoonful Spock looked over at him, a seeming air of approval radiating off his being.
McCoy lifted the spoon to his lips and with one more push of willpower shoved it into his mouth. A wave of relief washed over him when he realised it was over. When he was done he put the spoon down and pressed a serviette to his mouth, inconspicuously letting out a soft burp into it. “Well, that was interesting.”
The edges of Spock’s lips tilted upwards. “I’m sure.”
Like at the beginning, there were a few closing speeches and then a formal farewell from Nax and Keonix before the luncheon finally wrapped. The table was cleared and guests began filtering out of the building. As McCoy and Spock made to walk outside, Keonix waved at them from beside the doors.
“Thank you for coming, my friends. We hope to host Starfleet again soon,” ze said with a smile.
“Thank you for inviting us,” Spock answered, once again flashing Keonix with the Zexarian salute. McCoy followed, Keonix reciprocated, and the two officers departed, continuing out into the gardens towards the rendezvous point.
To McCoy’s surprise, Spock dropped his parade stance and let his shoulders relax somewhat. He seemed almost relieved that the ordeal was over. “I think the afternoon went well.”
McCoy was about to reply but a sudden bout of light-headedness made him stop in his tracks. Spock looked over at him curiously, stopping a few steps ahead.
“Are you okay, Doctor?”
A warm, bubbly feeling began emanating through McCoy’s body. It felt like liquid calm was flowing from his belly up to his head and out towards his extremities. The world around him seemed to come into hyperfocus, everything somehow more vibrant than a minute prior. He felt light, airy even, and then, out in the distance beyond the embassy gardens, amongst the lush Zexarian canopy, he saw it.
“Spock, is that a TRICORDER WITH WINGS?”