Archive of Our Own ^beta

“I did not think it was necessary—”

“Well clearly you were wrong!”

Spock glared. “Had I known that this would be required, Doctor, I would not have agreed.”

McCoy kept his hands clenched behind his back. It wouldn’t do to smack Spock in front of a delegation of delicate ambassadors.

“On that, Mr. Spock, you will have no argument from me,” he hissed, putting as much distance between them as he could manage without seeming overtly hostile.

They had drawn attention to themselves. Two of the surrounding members of the Syronian council were staring at them, the rest had turned a blind eye at the first sign of conflict. He didn’t blame them. At the very least, the clinking and ringing of decorative metal dangling from their clothing was enough to drown out the words of their hushed argument. He felt a tap on the side of his formal uniform.

“Leonard,” Uhura said, looking beautiful with glitter in her hair and a flower behind her ear. He felt his ire sap away.

“Well don’t you look just darling,” he said, smiling and adjusting the pink hairpiece that Chapel had chosen for her.

She linked their arms. “You can thank the Syrions for that,” she whispered in his ear. “They like making pretty things prettier, it seems. They just love Jim’s hair.” she said, glancing toward where Jim was being given a flower and looking somewhat abashed. Leonard and Spock had been largely ignored.

“I knew it,” McCoy said, “they don’t like the ears.”

Spock barely bothered to conceal his displeasure. “I would have thought it was due to your abrasive personality.”

“Actually,” Nyota said, dragging Leonard forward and putting her other arm through Spock's, “the Captain asked that I inform the both of you that you aren’t doing a very good job.”

Leonard bristled. “And what did he expect? Throwing us together and telling us to look intimate.”

Nyota sighed, her hands dropping to her sides to play with a silvery chain that adorned her waist. “I know, and he’s sorry. Leonard?”

“What?”

“It means exactly what you think it means. I think Jim hoped that you would…you know. Show Spock what to do.” She nudged him in the side for emphasis and made a tepid attempt to hide a teasing smile.

He sighed in displeasure. He should have never told Jim. Never. And he hadn’t said a word to Uhura, but he supposed she was a communications officer for a reason.

A member of the local council headed toward them. They were an interesting species, skin a deep blue that bordered on navy with obsidian eyes that did very little to hide emotion. They were incredibly near sighted, an evolutionary trait that intrigued him, even if it got a bit awkward when they invaded his personal bubble to compliment his eyes. Evidently they also had a peculiar fondness for brightly colored things and shiny metal. The councilwoman narrowed her eyes at him, got very, very close, and handed him a flower. She kissed him on the cheek and moved on to do the same to Uhura, who chuckled and complimented the woman in her native tongue. Spock, who stood apart from them, was completely missed.  

“I told you it was the ears,” he stage-whispered at her.

She rolled her eyes. “No, it’s because you’re with me. And they like me.”

They stared at each other. Leonard was doing his best to project “please don’t make me” vibes. Nyota was having none of it. Looking around, he could see her point. There were a few lonely characters in the crowd and they were being entirely disregarded: a security officer, a science officer, and the native equivalent of both. They didn’t seem as interested in Jim as they did a few moments ago when Nyota was next to him. Jim hadn’t explained much to him, but he assumed it was a tendency toward paired persons. And since Nyota was doing her best not to give him a descriptive answer, the clearest path seemed to be acting romantic with Spock. Still, Jim and Uhura were doing fine being playing at “extremely close friends” and they were well enough received, so it was possible that the romantic suggestion was all Jim’s meddling. He didn’t really have a choice, it looked like, because he had no idea how to pull off the platonic affection guise with Spock. He didn’t have that sort of talent.

“Well,” he sighed to her, “I’m sure we can manage fine on our end. You go on and rescue your date.”

She smiled gratefully and patted him on the arm. “Thank you,” she mouthed, and glided away.

She left him standing awkwardly in the open, a whole six feet from his assigned partner with nothing to occupy his hands. Leonard felt a bit out of place in his uniform. Uhura, of course, was donned as fashionably expected for a lady of her taste, space-bound or no. Jim, too, had pulled something from the recesses of his closet that looked perfectly pressed. Spock had unveiled Vulcan robes for the occasion and the rest of the landing party had done likewise with their own garments, but not McCoy. He didn’t really have anything formal. Maybe that was another reason they were being avoided.

He sighed and approached a suspicious-looking Spock.

“Look, Spock,” he said, “they gave me a flower.” He tucked the pink blossom behind the other man’s ear and enjoyed how Spock's eyes grew big for a moment before he composed himself.

“Please remove the foliage,” Spock said, leaning away from McCoy’s hand like it was contaminated.

“No can do,” he said, invading his personal space yet again. “I assume you heard what Uhura was telling me?”

“I did,” Spock confirmed with an accompanying expression that said the implication otherwise was irrational.

He took Spock by the arm. “You’re his first officer and I’m his CMO. We have to mingle.”

“I was aware of that,” Spock said with a frown.

McCoy sighed. “Do I really have to teach you how to do this?” he said, he palms feeling rather hot. It was almost too cold to sweat—he was sure Spock was freezing.

He took a leap and placed his hand at the small of Spock's back and guided him forward.

“Doctor,” he said, “what—”

“It’s basic, Spock. People who are intimate—friends or otherwise—touch each other.”

Spock blinked. “I see,” he said, stepping closer to McCoy’s side.

“Are you cold?” he asked.

“Quite,” Spock admitted.

Ignoring the blush that was working its way up the sides of his neck, Leonard slid his hand around Spock's waist and pulled him closer. Call him blind, but he could have sworn Spock hid an amused look behind his glass of swirling pale liquid.

“What is that?” he asked, motioning to the concoction.

“I am unaware of its contents,” Spock said with an eyebrow lift. “Are you asking to try it?”

“If I could.”

Spock handed him the glass. It smelled decidedly alien. He took a sip and handed it back hurriedly. Strange and metallic, like most of what was offered. Spock took it from him wordlessly. They sat like that for a few minutes, huddled together. Uhura kept glancing over at him with a little grin that he returned with a glare. They had talked not a month ago about how she had, like many members of the crew, male, female or otherwise, held a torch for Spock at the beginning of their mission. Even though he had been very careful to be secretive, she now apparently found it very amusing to meddle in Leonard’s love life.

“It’s not working,” he said.

“You may be correct,” Spock agreed, surveying the crowd. His attempts at greetings had all failed. “And yet I believe we have done as the captain asked.”

“Maybe it’s because you look like you’ve never touched me in your life,” he mumbled.

“Indeed, but would that be less than the truth?”

“I don’t know. How about that time with Gem? I vaguely recall—and correct me if I’m wrong, I was dying after all, but I vaguely recall you stroking my hair.” He grinned at the way Spock leaned away like he wanted nothing more than to escape.

“I was initiating a light meld,” Spock explained, “attempting to hold your consciousness to your physical body for longer.”

“A meld?” Leonard asked, mock-surprised. “Isn’t that far more intimate than this?”

“Doctor, you may not be as intelligent as I, but feigning stupidity does not suit you.”

“Then, dammit, act like you want to be here!”

Spock's pupils were dilated and his jaw was set. It was much easier to see the way McCoy punched through his guards from up close, but it also made him look far more kissable, and for a moment he regretted their proximity. Spock leaned closer and his lips brushed Leonard’s ear, sending electric chills down to his toes. He felt his heart quite literally stutter.

“Understood, Doctor,” Spock whispered against his skin, and dammit, Leonard was going to kill Jim.

Hell, he thought aggressively, unconscious of the telling way his hand gripped Spock even closer. He glared. Two could play a game, even if one of them had to stand on his tiptoes to do so.

“You’re an asshole,” he breathed, letting his lips press against the pointed tip of Spock's ear, and then he blew into it. Had he not been holding on, he thought Spock might have squirmed right out of his grip. The place where he had kissed was flushed bright green. He had rarely seen anything more satisfying. Spock's scowl made him smile even wider.

“Your control a little bit slack?” he asked, “‘cause you look like you’re gonna blow steam from your ears.”

He felt Spock's hand trail across his ribs to sit on his hip and draw him closer. His thoughts, against his will, begged him to close the distance. He stilled to worry if the delegates would be offended by a make out session in the middle of the floor, and then shook his head in shame that he had indeed just pictured it and with no small amount of desire.

“Might I remind you,” Spock said, voice low, “that I am a touch telepath?”

Leonard felt embarrassment light up his entire body. He tried for a moment to pry himself from Spock's arms but was ultimately unsuccessful. That damned Vulcan strength.

“What is it, doctor?” he asked, voice bright. “Is there a problem?”

McCoy projected all of his irritation and overwhelming embarrassment, emotions so aggressively human that he knew the other man would flinch back, and he dragged the first two fingers on his free hand down Spock’s cheek. He grinned as his victim jerked back like he had been burned. Yes, Amanda had told him how to Vulcan kiss in case he ever needed it, perceptive woman. It was his trump card, and he wasn’t about to let it go to waste.

Leonard was about to repeat the gesture when another flower made its presence known in front of his nose. Spock looked at it and sneezed.

“Why thank you,” he said to the giver, a young girl with big brown eyes. “Who might you be?”

“Your eyes are pretty,” she said in lieu of her name.

“This is Dariim,” said a larger figure who wore a huge smile. “She is our youngest. Did you want to give a flower to Mr. Spock, too?” She nodded but seemed frightened by the prospect of approaching a creature so tall. Her parent lifted her and she presented Spock with a similar blossom. He accepted it.

“Much appreciated, Miss Dariim,” he said, and looked at Leonard questioningly.

“Here,” he said, now overly aware of their telepathic transference and trying in vain to squash the affection that rose from seeing Spock take the flower so sincerely from the little girl. He stuck it in a pulled thread on the front of Spock's robes. He had to remove his hand from Spock's back to do so; it was a pity.

“My name is Atol,” they said in an odd staccato. “Your captain pointed me your way. I am a medical professional in my town—it was a promise of the Federation to give us their knowledge and technology. If possible, I would like to see what that entails. When I don’t have my Dariim with me, would you consider letting my partner and I see your medical laboratory?”

Leonard brightened. “Of course. That’s why we’re here, after all.”

“I am pleased! Tomorrow?”

Spock nodded. “Tomorrow is acceptable. Doctor?”

“Works for me,” he said.

Atoll moved away, thin pieces of metal on the end of their robes jingling slightly. Their daughter trailed after with a wave, her own glistening garments ringing as she walked. Leonard turned his attention back to Spock.

“I think it’s working,” he said.

“You appear to be correct.”

“It might not last if you let go,” he pointed out, overly conscious of the green flush still coloring Spock's nose and ears.

“I had no intention of doing so,” he said.

The closer they got, the more people stopped to talk to them, allowing full conversations instead of clipped compliments. Soon, Leonard had collected as many tiny flowers as Jim, although Spock had pawned most of his off onto the other members of the crew. A teenage boy and his younger sibling tossed a handful of something at them as they walked by. Leonard rubbed it away from his eyes and peered at his hands.

“We got glittered, Spock! Look!”

“I am aware,” he said, not sounding happy at all. McCoy felt a pressure around the area of his pocket.

“This appears to be organic material,” Spock noted. “I believe it may originate from a local aquatic plant. Fascinating.”

“Did you just take my tricorder to do that?”

“Yes.”

“You have your own!”

“Your pocket was closer. I was more concerned with efficiency.”

“Efficiency my ass!”

“Actually, doctor, your—“

“Don’t say it.” He thought for a moment. Sea organism. “Shit, give me that.”

Spock handed him the tricorder without much protest.

“C’mon,” he said. “We need to find Jim.”

“Doctor?”

“He’s got his fair share of allergies, Spock, and on that list is a pretty common seaweed found on earth. I’m just hoping it won’t have the same effects.”

He caught a glimpse of golden hair above a sea of dark blue and silver and all but dashed toward it, leaving Spock looking very confused. Jim was laughing. Uhura was leaning her head against his arm and they were giggling together at something the gleeful looking man in front of them must have said. Jim’s skin was almost entirely coated in a fine sheen of golden dust, Uhura’s was silver. They looked like an amusing pair.

“Jim,” he said as he approached, tricorder ready.

“Bones? What’s up?”

“Just making sure you aren’t allergic,” he explained, fiddling with the settings. Spock finally weaved his way through a chattering group of women and stood next to him. The tricorder chirped and they both looked down. “Thank god.”

“I’m safe?” Jim asked, waving an apology to the person that Leonard had interrupted to get his scans.

He nodded. “Yeah, you’re—”

There was a sneeze. It was tiny but shocking, considering who it came from.

He blinked. “Apparently you’re not the one I should have been worried about.”

Jim raised both of his eyebrows, grinning. “Spock? Was that you?”

Leonard grabbed him by the arm. “Yes, it was.”

“I’m fine, Doctor,” Spock protested, rubbing his nose lightly. His eyes seemed a bit watery and a hint of his secondary eyelid was visible.

“You are not fine. C’mon, we need to get this stuff off of you.”

He didn’t relinquish his grasp as they made their way to the balcony. The doors were huge and intricate—it took both of their strength to open them, even with Spock sneezing all the while. They were assaulted by a particularly chilly gust as he shoved the Vulcan out ahead of him. Leonard gave him another once-over with the tricorder.

“Isn’t that funny?” he said into the wind. “You of all people.”

“It was an organism that originated in the ocean,” Spock said, “making it by definition difficult for my people to…process.”

His quick analysis came back: mild allergy. He brushed some off of the top layer of Spock's robes. A trail of glittering dust fell away on the wind. Thank god it didn’t stick to skin.

“Damn, this stuff is everywhere. You’re probably gonna have to take this off, Spock,” McCoy said, watching as his friend began shivering as another puff of wind ruffled his hair.

He obliged, draping the first and thickest layer of his robes against a railing. He leaned down and began brushing off his hair. A few flowers floated away. Leonard assisted, patting the back of his neck and shoulders to rid him of the offending powder.

“I’m gonna give you a quick antihistamine hypospray,” he said, reaching in his ever-present medical satchel for the proper formula. Spock didn’t jerk like Jim did as he pressed it against his neck. Granted, Leonard was somewhat less aggressive about it.

“You do feel any nausea or dizziness? Loss of eyesight or coordination?”

“I do not,” Spock said.

“Let’s give it a minute, then, and we should be safe to go on in,” he said, almost regretful to leave the fresh air, however cold it was. “Shake out your coat and you should be fine.”

Spock acquiesced, letting a cloud of dust into the air with a shake of the thick embroidery. “Perhaps you also should absolve yourself of the substance. If, that is, you still prefer us to be in close contact.”

“Right,” he said, blushing. He bent over and brushed his fingers through his hair. He was equally coated, or so it seemed. A wall of silver fell from his head.

It was difficult to tell that there was anything at all on the bright satin of his uniform, but every touch brought off a thick sheen of what had once been seaweed. He wasn’t immodest enough to take off the dress coat, not during an event like this, so he settled for brushing at his clothes. Hands found their way to the back of his neck where his collar meant his skin and his breath hitched.

“You shouldn’t be in contact with it if you don’t have to be.” The touch moved higher, threading through his hair and back down to his shoulders. Spock's hands were cold. He grabbed one and warmed it with his own hand. “You’re going to get frostbite,” he said softly.

“It is far from the temperature required to cause me anything more than physical discomfort,” Spock told him, and Leonard felt a hesitant breath ghost against the back of his hair. “Although I find that you are quite warm.”

Leonard didn’t turn around. He kept his hold on the hand that he had captured and pressed his lips to the first knuckle, smiling as Spock gasped behind him. Spock, in turn kissed the side of his neck where one would administer a hypospray. He shivered from the chill.

“Your heartrate is elevated,” Spock said. “Perhaps you should check yourself with the tricorder.”

Despite how exhilarating it was to feel the vibration of his voice against his back, McCoy spun around, releasing the hand and glaring at Spock. He looked displeased at the sudden lack of warmth. He realized again, rather suddenly, that Spock was a touch telepath. There was no room to misunderstand humans when he was tapping into the mind of one. Leonard stepped forward, wrapping his arms around Spock's neck and ignoring the almost worrisome pulse of his heart. It made his hands shake.

“Did I tell you that you were an asshole?” he asked.

“At least once a day,” Spock affirmed.

“Good,” he said, and finally kissed him, pressing their bodies together.

Spock sighed into the contact, dislodging the tucked undershirt so he could slip his hands under the warm fabric of McCoy’s uniform, and as cold as he was, the contact was more than welcome. McCoy hummed. Vulcan, he thought, would have been much more enjoyable if he had Spock to keep him cool. He let his fingers explore as they had always wanted to, over the sharp line of Spock's jaw and the delicate point of his ear (which resulted in a strangled gasp, much to his amusement). His hands buried themselves in fine black hair and pulled him closer yet, and he smiled into Spock's lips as he tangled their fingers together with his free hand.  
Spock pulled away, running the pads of his fingers across Leonard’s knuckles and paused to allow him to do the same.

He chuckled and rested his head on Spock's shoulder, one arm looped around Spock's neck. The right to mess up those pristinely pressed Vulcan clothes and the control that went with them was highly enjoyable. He thought of Jim and loathed the smug expression that he was sure to see when he told him of this development. He was going to enjoy every second of this welcoming ceremony, being able to run his fingertips just under the fabric of Spock's sleeves and whisper in his ear without getting a second glance. It was unlikely that they would be left alone for long. Maybe if he fed Jim another drink and didn’t provide a hangover hypo, it would be enough preemptive revenge to satisfy him.

“It will not be,” Spock said.

He grinned. “I think you might be right,” he said, brushing his hand over the tip of his friend’s ear. “Have anything in mind?”

“Perhaps,” he sighed distractedly. “But I do not believe that Jim is deserving of revenge for hastening this.”

“Mmm. You’re gonna tell him, aren’t you?”

He could feel more than see Spock raising an eyebrow. “Of course.”

“You never know what you’d forget about,” he said, “If you were sufficiently distracted.”

“Vulcans have eidetic memories. Humans, in fact, are much more prone to distraction.”

“Are they now?” he said, grinning.

“Quite,” Spock replied.

“I suppose we are. I, for one, can’t wait to get my hands on some of the pictures Miss Rand took tonight. I’m sure a lovely portrait of the first officer with flowers in his hair would complement the science labs quite nicely, wouldn’t it?”

Spock's eyes flashed at the challenge. “I think you will find them rather difficult to procure,” he said.

Jim grinned out the window. Atol shifted their weight next to him, metal beads clinking together. They cast another fond glance at the captain’s companion who was carrying a squealing Dariim on her shoulders. Jim, though, still focused his attention elsewhere.

Atol peered over the captain’s shoulder, eyes settling on the strange pair he had met earlier. They were arguing. And kissing. And arguing some more.

“Is this what constitutes human intimacy?” they asked, genuinely concerned.

Jim laughed, a melodic note that drew the attention of several others. “Yes,” he said, “quite frequently. Although these two show it a little differently than most.”

“I see.” They didn’t, but they prepared another set of flowers anyway. Hopefully these would not make the pointed one sneeze.