Chapter Text
A moment of silence passed before the door pinged and slid open to reveal the good doctor hunched over his PADD. He did not look up in greeting. “Yeah, whaddya want.”
Spock stepped forward to stand at rest in front of the desk. “Good evening, Doctor. I trust you are aware that all Starfleet office furniture is ergonomically designed to prevent prolonged periods of subpar posture.” Perhaps it was not wholly logical to antagonize someone he needed a favor from, but then again, it would be strange if he had refrained, as such interactions had come to be considered normal between them.
McCoy blinked up at him and scowled. “What?”
“I said that I trust you –“
More scowling, now accompanied with a dismissive wave. “No, no, I heard ya the first time. I meant, why in blazes did you come all the way to my office just to give me health advice. I’m the doctor, dammit, which means I only listen to my own medical suggestions. Just ask Chapel.”
After successfully suppressing a smirk, Spock raised a brow. “I do not believe a second opinion, while certainly conforming to the standards of scientific rigor, is necessary in this instance.” McCoy narrowed his eyes and seemed both tempted to protest and unsure whether or not he’d just been insulted, but Spock forged ahead. “However, giving you medical counsel was not the purpose of my visit. In fact, I was hoping to seek your input on a matter of personal importance.”
The desk chair creaked as McCoy leaned back and crossed his arms, brows high on his forehead. “Now wait a minute. Are you sayin’ you’ve come to me, an illogical human, for advice? Is this some sort of trick? Did Jim put you up to this?”
Spock expressed his exasperation by blinking at him. “Vulcans do not play ‘tricks,’ even at the request of their commanding officers.” And no matter how they may be tempted to comply. “It is on a human matter, which makes you an ideal source of knowledge. You are, after all, extremely…human.”
“I honestly can’t tell if you’re insulting humanity or me or both.” He paused, but since Spock was not about to answer that it was the second, McCoy harrumphed and continued. “Well, if it’s not medical, which I’m guessing it isn’t, why don’t you just ask Nyota? Unless…” He squinted at Spock, who merely twitched a brow at him and hoped McCoy wasn’t straining himself. “This is about Jim, isn’t it?”
It would seem even the doctor was capable of reaching a logical conclusion on occasion. Spock inclined his head. “You are, surprisingly, correct, Doctor –“
“Hey!”
“—you were the preferable option, given your longer standing history with the Captain, though I would have asked Nyota had you refused.” This was not a complete truth. In fact, in the first microseconds of realizing he needed a human opinion, his thoughts had turned, as they always had…before, to his mother.
McCoy grumbled under his breath that he hadn’t not refused, but Spock opted to let the interruption and the double negative slide.
“It has come to my attention that it would be beneficial to the working relationship I have with the Captain to extend a reciprocal gesture of goodwill. Since you know him best, I was hoping you had some insights as to what might be suitable.”
While he’d been speaking, McCoy’s signature scowl had slowly been replaced by poorly concealed mirth, which made Spock tense. He was unsure what he had said that the doctor could find so amusing. For a moment, he was reminded of his early academy days when he was frequently on the outside of or, even more frequently, the subject of a Terran joke, though he quickly suppressed the memory and his reaction. McCoy was not, despite Spock’s constant suggestion to the contrary, an ignorant cadet.
The grin McCoy had been “hiding” now broke free. “Spock, I know you’ll correct me if I’m wrong, but I think you just asked me what kind of friendship present you should get Jim.”
Spock’s jaw tightened before he forcibly relaxed it. “You are indeed incorrect. The gesture does not need to be materialistic in nature. The captain…” His eyes fixed on a point past McCoy’s head as he took a breath. “Jim took it upon himself to learn Vulcan, ostensibly for my sake. It would be negligent of me not to do something in return, to express my gratitude for his effort.” He refused to meet the doctor’s gaze but could see peripherally that his features had softened upon hearing this explanation.
“Yeah that sounds like Jim. Didn’t even tell me he was doin’ it so I’m guessin’ he wanted it to be a surprise. Kid’s always had a knack for…well just about everything if I’m honest – though don’t you dare tell him I said that – so I doubt it was that difficult for him.”
Spock inclined his head. “That is what he told me. However, that does not mitigate the gravity of the gesture, especially considering the many duties of a starship captain and the limited practical use the language now serves.”
The doctor’s expression turned solemn. “True enough.” There were a few seconds of silence before McCoy seemed to return to the matter at hand, thankfully letting the subject of Vulcan drop. “So, you want to do something nice in return huh? And apparently something outta human culture. Let me think….”
Though he stood there waiting patiently, the mirth that had returned to the corners of McCoy’s eyes left Spock feeling somewhat wary.
After only a few moments, McCoy smiled with something like triumph. “I got it. It’s a pretty old custom, but still used sometimes today as a token of respect and admiration between close friends. I take it that’s what you’re going for?”
Spock straightened imperceptibly with interest. “That does sound suitable.” He would have requested an explanation had he not been able to tell that McCoy was purposely attempting to build up suspense. There was no need to encourage him.
McCoy grinned. “Great. So, the custom entailed the giving party making an item of jewelry, usually a bracelet, for themselves and the other person. It’s important that they’re hand-made, not bought, and that they match somehow. Then you just give him his. And be sure to wear yours when you do so he understands the significance, since it’s not all that common nowadays.”
For a moment, Spock considered the logistics involved, then nodded. “I see. Fascinating. And you are certain that this is something that Jim will appreciate?”
“Oh, he’ll definitely appreciate it, don’t you worry.”
Spock raised a brow at him. “I assure you, I am not worried.”
“Yeah, yeah,” he said, waving a hand. “Did you need anything else or can I get back to my paperwork?”
“You may. Thank you, Dr. McCoy, for your assistance.” Without waiting for a reply, he turned to leave. Before the door slid shut behind him, though, he heard McCoy grumble something about not being “a damn marriage counselor,” but dismissed this as further human illogic.
<><><><><><><>
Six hours earlier
The room was quiet except for the insistent, nervous tapping of a black knight against the edge of the chessboard. Jim ran a hand over his face and hunched further forward over the table he sat at, trying to take some slow, calming breaths. God, this was stupid, he should not be freaking out about this; he was a starship captain, dammit. He’d faced down meetings with admirals and Klingon armadas and a vid call from his mother without breaking a sweat. Mostly. Besides, Uhura had proudly declared him fluent last night after putting him through his paces one more time. And coming from Uhura, that probably meant he spoke it better than some actual Vulcans.
Blowing out his breath, he forced himself to put down the poor knight before he cracked it, and sat back. It was going to be fine. Even if he fucked this up somehow, Spock wasn’t actually an asshole, even if he could be a snarky bastard sometimes. The most he’d do was correct him, maybe make some smart-ass comment, and they’d go on with their evening. No big deal. Jim had done this for Spock, not to earn points with him.
...Okay, he’d done it primarily for Spock.
A ping at the door jarred him from his thoughts. Taking one last calming breath and forcing his muscles to relax into the chair, he called for the computer to grant entry.
His First Officer stepped inside at attention, but as soon as the doors closed behind him, it was his friend that inclined his head in greeting. “Good evening, Jim.”
Jim grinned. It hadn’t been as difficult as he’d expected to get Spock to drop formalities in private. “Hey, Spock. Right on time.”
Spock raised a brow, a not-smile hiding at the corner of his mouth that did funny things to Jim’s insides. “As I have been for 98% of our previous engagements, and yet you still feign surprise.” Instead of coming over to take a seat, Spock walked to the replicator, making Jim belatedly realize that he'd been so worked up, he'd forgotten to get their drinks. Great. “Will the usual suffice?”
“Yeah, that’s fine. Thanks.” His nervousness from earlier was coming back full-force, and he struggled to keep it from spilling out into his twitching fingers, bouncing knee, and racing pulse, with minimal success. He could do this. He just had to start talking in Vulcan. To a Vulcan. A perfect Vulcan who was good at everything. No problem.
Said perfect Vulcan came to sit down now carrying two cups of tea, white for himself and chamomile for Jim. He’d been trying to cut back on coffee and caffeine in general since becoming Captain. His insomnia was bad enough as it was, and he needed to be well-rested on the bridge. Plus, in times of crisis when he needed that caffeine boost, he wouldn’t be trying to overcome such a high tolerance.
After taking a careful sip of his tea, hoping it would help soothe his nerves, Jim looked up to find Spock studying him, head slightly tilted. “Uhh… Problem, Spock?”
The barest of furrows formed between Spock’s brows. “Your heart-rate is elevated 14.8% above normal, and your breathing pattern is also irregular. Is there something the matter, Jim?”
Fuck. He should’ve known Spock would notice. Well. He wouldn’t get a better opportunity than this, so he swallowed and put on his best smirk. “Nash-veh muhl. Vesht vokaya-tor du eshan nel-dath t’nashveh ha?”
I’m fine. You’ve memorized my breathing patterns?
Silence. Spock had gone so still, his cup of tea still held up in front of him, that his usual reserve looked downright expressive in comparison, and he was just staring at Jim. Who’d also gone very still, despite his heart-rate jumping with nerves, while he fought with his craving for Spock’s approval.
They remained in this limbo for several agonizing moments before Spock finally blinked and set his tea back down without taking his eyes off Jim. “You have learned Vulcan…” he breathed, switching to it as well, which Jim kept going.
Jim felt his face turning red, and looked down to fiddle with his mug. “Uh…yeah. I, um, started teaching myself a couple months into the mission and roped Uhura into helping me with pronunciation and context. I guess I wanted to…” He stopped short of saying ‘surprise you,’ which might come off as...weird. “…help keep your language alive? And I figured it would be nice for you to have more than just a couple people to speak your native tongue with. I dunno.” He shrugged, and risked a sheepish glance up at Spock, who was, yeah, still staring. “I mean, I’ve never had much trouble picking up alien languages, so it’s not like it was that big a deal. It only took me this long because, you know, starship captain,” he said, pointing vaguely at himself and trying unsuccessfully to effect a cocky smirk.
Now Spock’s expression finally shifted, forming his version of a severe frown (as in, the furrow between his brows was actually noticeable). “You should not belittle your own accomplishments in such a manner. It takes most humans years of study to gain fluency, let alone correct pronunciation.” His features softened as he searched Jim’s eyes; for what, Jim didn’t know. “What you have done, Jim… Nar-vah neruk klem t’nash-veh,” voice softer than Jim had ever heard it. Accept my humble gratitude.
Jim jerked his head up to meet Spock’s gaze more fully, shocked to hear him use such emotional speech, and in Vulcan no less. His throat had gone tight, and he swallowed to clear it so he could speak, the simple reply coming out as a reflex. “Malating.” No problem. But no, he didn’t want Spock to think he was dismissing such meaningful thanks. He frowned. “I mean… Itaren n’oklem.” Thank you for your honorable gratitude.
Spock swallowed and inclined his head, only to keep it bowed as he stared at his tea. His jaw was clenched, like he was trying to control himself, so Jim let the quiet rest for a moment. He’d known that this might dredge up memories of Vulcan for Spock, and suddenly felt guilty for putting him in such a vulnerable position, like he was purposely intruding. So he averted his gaze to give him a semblance of privacy, wanting to apologize without being sure how or for what exactly. And then hating the quiet part of himself that wished he could be someone who was allowed to see Spock like this, to offer comfort. Hold him.
He wasn’t sure how much time passed (likely less than half a minute) before Spock raised his head. He not-smiled at Jim, eyes still somehow softer than usual without actually looking all that different. “Dungi-palikau etek ha,” he asked, setting aside his half-drunk tea. Shall we begin?
Jim let out a breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding and grinned. “Ha. Ri-skil-tor du.” Yes. You will not win.
With a twitch of his brow, Spock moved one of his pawns forward. “Talal’fai-tor etek.” We shall see.