Tell Me True [NC17] Spock/Kirk/McCoy
Title: Tell Me True
Author: queenklu
Beta by: downhill_tumble
Pairing: Spock/Kirk, Spock/Kirk/McCoy
Rating: NC17
Word Count: 12.5k
Summary: Spock is not a lot of help re: Operation Distract Bones From His Speechlessness By Taking Ruthless Advantage of the Situation. But he is, as always, really fucking awesome at kissing.
A/n: Chapel's backstory ruthlessly borrowed from gyzym's headcanon. Also, candle_beck's fic Speechless was a huge inspiration--it is in all ways a superior fic to this one and I strongly encourage you to read it if wincest is your cup of tea. ALSO also, this was written for tombolguid for the occasion of her birthday...which happened over a week ago. (sorryyy)
Rejected titles: Hips Don't Lie, You Say It Best When You Say Nothing At All, Say What You Need to Say, [Something Yanked From Shakespeare], Angry Keymashing.
It happens off-ship. Away mission, uninhabited planet-Jim pushes aside a large, slightly furry palm frond and asks Bones how much longer until they find what they’re looking for.
Jim trips at the same time, stubbing his toe and nearly careening into Spock, who steadies him with a light touch to his elbow.
“Careful, Captain,” Sulu says, crouching down over the upturned rock. “This ecosystem is very delicate.”
“This ecosystem better look where it’s going,” Jim mutters. He thinks he sees Spock’s mouth curl slightly at the corners; he hasn’t let go, yet, which Jim doesn’t mind, but they are trying to keep this new thing between them on the down-low, as the old Earth saying goes. He pulls away, limping as he calls out, “Bones, you might need to amputate my foot!”
Bones is up ahead, darkly silhouetted against a pinkish sky as one sun ducks down behind the mountains and the other smaller sun creeps over the ridges. He’s facing the landing party, but Jim can’t see with the suns in his eyes-he hobbles up squinting, hand raised against the glare. “Come on,” Jim says, “what’s the deal? Andorian fangworm got your tongue?”
Jim understands that he’s a bad person for hoping it’s a worm and not Bones refusing to talk to him. He hasn’t done anything recently that would earn him the silent treatment…except maybe sleep with Spock.
“Bones?” he says again, and Bones reaches out and grabs him.
His eyes are wide, frightened wide, and he’s red in the face, throat straining and mouth open and silent. Utterly silent.
“Kirk to engineering, beam all away team members directly to sickbay,” Jim says, “Have staff nearby waiting to receive Dr. McCoy.”
“Aye, Cap’n,” Scotty’s voice hails over the sound of Spock and Sulu’s alarm. “Prepare for tractor beam.”
In the few seconds before the world around him starts spiraling, Jim tightens his grip on his friend. “Bones? Hey, Bones, deep breaths, calm down.”
The last thing he sees is Bones’ curled lip, the silent snap of, I am calm, damn it! And they’re back on the Enterprise.
~*~
“I was kidding about the worm, does he really have a worm?” Jim demands.
Bones glares up at him from the bio bed, arms crossed over his chest. Jim tries to convey back to him with his eyebrows that he would gladly stop talking over Bones’ head if he thought Bones was in any way capable of answering Jim’s questions.
“It’s not a worm,” Chapel says. She still can’t look Jim in the eye without laughing, but Jim doesn’t have time to squirm in embarrassment about their disastrous night together that sent her several leagues across the galaxy just so she could avoid having apoplectic fits around a commanding officer. (She swears that wasn't the biggest reason, that the remote outpost was also an excellent career opportunity. But it was a reason.)
She pulls up a diagram of a spikey little ball, addresses Spock, “Grytlx Suthix. Flower pollen. It seems our good doctor inhaled some on the planet.”
“We should’ve inhaled it too,” Jim says, frowning, “The rest of us can still talk.”
“Dr. McCoy is very mildly allergic,” Chapel tells the air above Jim’s head. “It seems to have temporarily paralyzed his vocal chords.”
Temporarily is good. Jim lets out a breath he hadn’t been completely aware of holding. “Okay. Can you un-paralyze them?”
She shakes her head, which is not something he can see without getting flashbacks, but whatever. “The science is too new. We could wind up permanently damaging his vocal chords or setting off a chain reaction in the pollen that might paralyze his lungs. It’s best to wait.”
Jim watches Bones’ silent grumbling for a moment, lost in the way his mouth moves without making any sound.
“Estimated time of recovery?” Spock asks, jarring him out of it.
Chapel elegantly shrugs. “The pollen is rare, but there has been some research done to determine its chemical makeup-the spaceport we’re scheduled to dock at tomorrow may also have more information that’s not in our database. There’s no reason I can find that the paralysis should last more than a few days.”
Bones glares at Jim, expression so clear Jim feels like he can hear his voice ringing in his head: Don’t you fucking dare.
Jim grins, relief making him almost dizzy. He can feel Spock brush against him, a rock wall of solidarity. “Oh,” he says, “I’m sure the time will fly by.”
Spock nudges him. “Perhaps we should let the doctor get some rest.”
“Yeah,” Jim agrees, “I have to go make a list anyway.”
He sees Bones strain up from the bio bed before Chapel shoves him back down, sees the shape of his mouth make the word JIM. But it’s fine. It’s going to be fine. So Jim is going to pretend everything’s okay until it is.
~*~
“So, I know how much you’ve been wanting sickbay to be a little more…” Jim searches for the word. “…vibrant.”
Bones does not look up from his pad. He’s been cleared for duty, mostly-it’s not like he ever had much of a bedside manner to begin with, and now he has a perfect excuse not to talk to his patients, who he’s always claimed are mostly idiots.
“I’m thinking fuchsia,” Jim says, hopping up on the foot of the next occupied bio bed. “Hey Tony.”
“Hey,” Ensign Tony Vasquez says uncertainly, then coughs and adds, “Captain.”
Bones rolls his eyes and shoves his pad into Tony’s hands, jabbing at the image of a body on the screen. “He wants you to point where it hurts,” Jim says around a bite of the best apple he’s ever had replicated. He looks up at the ceiling. “Maybe cerulean.”
“I could just-show him, sir,” Tony says, promptly flinching under the force of Bones’ glare. “You, I mean. I could show you, Dr. McCoy.”
Jim leans way over to get a look at Bones’ face, just to be sure. “Yeah, that’s his ‘My damn ears aren’t broken, goddamn it, grrr’ face.”
“Sorry, Doctor,” Tony stammers.
“And that’s his ‘I don’t need a damn translator’ face,” Jim translates. “Which is clearly a lie.”
Bones picks up his hypospray, still not looking at Jim, and makes casually threatening calculations on the data pad.
The thing is, Jim might actually believe his threats if he hadn’t perked up when Jim arrived in sickbay. All of the medical staff are tiptoeing around Bones like he’s a ghost, avoiding conversations with him like he’s incapable of responding. He can respond, the typed out instructions on his pad for Jim to GO AWAY make that abundantly clear.
So yeah, he doesn’t need Jim-to translate. But he might need Jim to be an annoying little shit so he doesn’t start throwing things at his staff. Or all of this could be in Jim’s head. He’s got nothing better to do.
Bones takes his pad, now, shoves it in Tony’s face.
“Yes, I, uh, it’s here,” Tony says, lifting up his shirt to reveal spectacular bruising along his ribs. Bones starts poking around the edges with a tricorder. “Fell off a ladder in Engineering.”
“What’d ya do that for,” Jim says in a precise imitation of a Georgian drawl. “Damn legs not workin’ too? How ‘bout your brain? Dammit, Ensign, this is just the sort of carelessness that costs lives! Don’t you got a pinch of sense in that damn fool head of yours? The whole sky could come crashing ‘round our ears at any minute but thank god we got you manning the ladders.”
Tony-bless his heart-actually tries to laugh, nervously. Which turns abruptly into a yelp when Bones’ fingers push in at his side.
Bones just stares his patient down, kind of crazy-eyed, ignoring Jim past the point of toleration.
“Don’t say anything if you agree with me about the fuchsia,” Jim whispers, and hops off the bed when Bones takes a swing with the hypo. “I knew you loved it!”
~*~
Spock is not a lot of help re: Operation Distract Bones From His Speechlessness By Taking Ruthless Advantage of the Situation. But he is, as always, really fucking awesome at kissing.
“Thank you,” Spock murmurs against his mouth. Jim makes a small noise of protest and pulls back, even though it sucks.
“Sorry, I just-it’s going to take a bit to get used to you reading my mind like that.” He does his best not to squirm; there are going to be times when his head isn’t the best place to be, and he needs to…tell Spock that. Brace him for it.
“I have shielded myself so that I am unable to read direct thoughts,” Spock says, and it probably sounds very prim on paper but Kirk grins at how breathless it is in reality. “Feelings, however.” He pauses to kiss Jim gently, slightly off-center. “I could feel your admiration and extrapolated that you were appreciating certain of my skills. I can also tell you are distracted. Concerned.”
“For Bones?” Jim scoffs, then realizes he’s given himself away there. “Uh.”
“I share your concern for the doctor,” Spock says.
Jim believes him, mostly, but-“You guys aren’t really friends though, right? You’re always snapping at each other.”
Spock gets his thinking face on, so Jim settles back on Spock’s lap to give him some room. Spock’s hands settle on his hips, though, not letting him move too far off.
“My feelings for Leonard are…complicated.”
Leonard, Jim repeats in his head, hopefully not showing it on his face; it’s always weird to hear Bones’ real name. “Complicated how?”
If Spock were all-human, he’d be sighing and running a hand through his hair. “I am reminded of our recent expedition to Phoenix V.”
“When the locals made me and Bones get married?” Jim prompts when Spock seems to stall, not sure what else there was to remember about that trip. “Good times. They braided flowers in my hair.”
Other than that, as far as fake marriages go it’d been fine. Bones got happy drunk on something blue and Jim had to all-but carry him to their honeymoon suite, but they’d nailed the treaty the next day. It seemed like it took Bones days to get over that hangover, though.
Spock nods, eyes trailing up as if he’s remembering Jim’s floral crown. “Do you remember what they called him?”
“Juala,” Jim says. “My heart.” It finally, finally sinks in. “Shit, Spock, are you jealous?”
Spock shakes his head so firmly Jim-Jim has to believe him. “No. However, the metaphor seemed surprisingly apt. If he is your heart, then I am your head.”
Jim looks at him, trying not to get mad. “I do just fine with my own head and heart, thanks.”
“Jim-“
Nope, it’s a lost cause. “I’m going to go check on Bones.” He tries standing, but Spock’s hands are still on his hips. “Let go, please, so I can go check on Bones.”
Spock does let go, and follows Jim to his feet as soon as Jim clambers off his lap. “Do you want me to accompany you?”
“Don’t worry about it,” Jim shrugs, “You weren’t big on distracting him anyway, so.”
Uhura is the best at reading Spock’s body language, though that hadn’t saved their relationship in the end. Even Bones is picking up on it-a few weeks ago he noticed Spock was pissed about a non-vegetarian additive in his soup before Jim even knew something was wrong. Jim is working on it, and he’s usually better than the rest of the crew; it doesn’t take a genius now to know Spock’s shoulders aren’t drooping because he’s happy.
Deep breath. “Spock, it’s okay. I just need a quick mental break.” He reaches out and touches Spock’s hand. “See you at dinner?”
Spock curls his fingers to brush the tips against Jim’s. “Yes.”
Vulcan kissing never fails to make Jim all warm and tingly; despite his best efforts, he marches off to sickbay feeling marginally better.
~*~
“Bones?”
Bones doesn’t answer, which is not unexpected at this point. But he doesn’t even glance Jim’s way, which is…okay, also not unexpected, but kind of gives Jim the heebie-jeebies.
He’s sitting on the floor in the observation deck, back propped up against one of those little couch things, looking out at the stars whizzing by in a way that would have made him sick six years ago, back at the academy in one of those stale little practice rooms. Jim took him up on spot checks every few days for two months until Bones got tired of vomiting on him and actually started keeping his meals down. He still clutched at Jim’s hand and arm the whole time, and the first few trips he made solo Jim felt the ache like Bones was still holding onto him.
It’s a weird thing to remember now, maybe; it’s definitely weird that he can feel the phantom ache building in his wrist, rubs at it while he takes a seat next to Bones on the floor.
“Hey,” he says.
Bones looks sideways at him. It’s a start.
“I hope you know that…I know this isn’t fun for you,” Jim says, hand at the back of his own neck as he ducks his head down, tilting his face towards his friend.
Bones gives him a deeply unimpressed look.
“I mean, I tease because I care.” He nudges Bones’ shoulder, then stops, struck with a sudden thought. “If anyone else is giving you a hard time-“
Bones sighs, rolling his eyes. Jim reads him clear as a bell: No, just you, jackass.
Jim grins, ignoring the tight feeling in his throat. “But you’re okay, right? You’d tell me if you weren’t okay.”
Mouth twisting in something like a smile, Bones gives him a thumbs up. It looks sarcastic. Before Jim can question him further, Bones starts tapping at the pad in his lap; he shows it to Jim once he’s finished.
IT’S ONLY A FEW DAYS, KID.
“Right,” Jim says, fighting a smile at that last word. Like Jim’s the one needing reassurance, here. He gives Bones’ shoulder another friendly bump. “I’m going to make sure those days fly by.”
Bones groans-silently, but Jim recognizes the look.
“There’s no need to use up all my best stuff right now, though,” Jim says, stretching his arms out. “Ugh, tiring work talking for two.”
FEEL FREE TO STOP, Bones’ pad says when he pokes it at Jim again.
Jim scoffs. “What would you do without me?”
Bones doesn’t say anything, and it feels a little pointed this time, but when Jim looks over Bones’ face is just tired, and kind of amused.
~*~
True to his word, the next night Jim brings out the big guns.
“Are you certain about this?” Spock asks.
Jim takes a minute to take in his-boyfriend (the word sounds insubstantial) lover? (ugh that one makes him gag) special someone (no, just no)-his Spock, his First, his Chief Science Officer, his…yeah. He looks at Spock, and then he fucking hugs him, because he hasn’t seen Spock most of the day and he missed the pointy eared bastard.
Spock gives a quiet little, “Oof,” and then his arms slide around Jim’s waist, and it’s not like Jim gets much in the way of telepathic feedback with them both fully clothed, but he thinks Spock is giving off vibes of being pleased.
“You should come hang out with me and Bones tomorrow,” Jim says, half into Spock’s shoulder. “He missed you.”
He did, too. Actually asked about him on his pad: WHERE IS THAT GREEN-BLOODED HOBGOBLIN, and when Jim kind of shrugged, HE’S USUALLY GLUED TO YOUR ASS. Which, seeing as Bones doesn’t know about them yet, had been slightly awkward and Jim had feigned a bathroom break.
Spock goes still for a moment after Jim speaks, but Jim doesn’t notice until after it’s gone. “I would like that.”
For all the people who call Jim a genius (usually followed by ‘repeat offender’) there are times like this when he wants to take his brain out and shake it. “Shit,” he says as he pulls back to look Spock in the eye, “were you keeping your distance because of me? Because of what I said about you two not being friends? That’s not my call to make, and you guys do get along-”
“Jim,” Spock says, catching him before he moves further away; he runs his thumbs over the boring round shell of Jim’s ears. “I would very much like to spend time with you and Dr. McCoy.”
Jim starts to frown. “You can hang out with him on your own, too, if you want. I didn’t mean to imply yesterday-“
Spock kisses him on the forehead, which would make Jim’s eyes roll so hard if it wasn’t Spock, if Jim didn’t know down to his toes that Spock means to say he is cherished, not being patronized. Jim lets his eyes fall shut instead, sighs out a little of his tension.
“I consider Leonard to be my friend,” Spock says, “I believe he considers me a friend as well.”
That shouldn’t make him feel as relieved as it does-the kicker is that he knew that, he knows it, anyone with eyes can see the way Spock and Bones snipe at each other shows real caring, so why did he try to turn it into a fight? Fuck, emotions are hard.
It’s kind of funny (except mostly not) that he used to be slightly jealous that Spock didn’t have to deal with shit like this. Before he knew better.
“Come on,” he says, raising his head to rally. “We’re docked for the night, I heard somewhere this spaceport has some of the best dancers in the galaxy, and we are going to make Bones forget he ever had a voice box to begin with.”
Spock doesn’t look convinced. But Spock rarely looks convinced when it comes to one of Jim’s plans.
~*~
They weren’t kidding about the dancers.
“Oh wow, I had no idea there was a species that could bend that way,” tumbles out of Jim’s mouth as he stops to stare. Bones elbows him in the back to get him moving, then grabs him by the shirt when Jim can’t tear his eyes away. “What do you call that? Quadruple jointed?”
Spock clears his throat. “I believe the Fenn’k term translates to something more akin to sextuple jointed.”
“Yeah,” Jim says, faintly, “Yeah I can see that.”
Bones smacks him upside the head. When Jim squawks he levels a finger at his face. “I wasn’t gonna,” Jim starts to protest, but Bones snorts and Jim remembers-right, Bones doesn’t know Jim isn’t single. “Not feeling it tonight,” he lies, accidentally brushing all over Spock (and Bones, but for real accidentally) as he wiggles past them to the table that just opened up.
The rest of the team follows him over, Chekov sticking close to Sulu in a way that might not be crowd jitters, but hey, good for them if they finally worked stuff out. Uhura flicks her hair at Scotty and he laughs, goes to order them a round while her eyes flick between Jim, Spock, and Bones.
She knows already, of course she does, but Spock said it was Jim’s call to tell the rest of the crew and he’s thinking tonight might be the night-what better way to keep Bones’ mind off of things than throw this curveball at him?
The light here is strange but beautiful, seems to appear at random around the room in vibrant colors instead of coming from one source; the glow moves with the music and the sway of the dancers, and whatever Scotty comes back with is purple and potent, and it comes with tiny spikey fruit balanced on the rim.
It’s almost too loud to talk, which should be great for Bones, he’s not missing out. Jim keeps catching himself watching his friend, alcohol not helping with keeping his eyes to himself. He keeps waiting for Bones to call him on it, snap, Take a hologram, it’ll last longer, or smack him again, but he doesn’t-just raises his eyebrows like he’s waiting for Jim to say something.
All day in sickbay Jim expected some kind of volcanic eruption from his friend-all that rage bottled up and nowhere for it to go. But Bones…Bones seems to have found a sort of angry zen about the whole thing. Like he’s plotting revenge.
“You know, of all the people who could stand to learn from not talking for a few days,” Uhura starts, leaning pointedly over Scotty to give Jim a look.
He’s lost the thread of their conversation, doesn’t know if this is as out of the blue as it feels, but an offended, “Hey!” seems like the right call.
Uhura ignores him, turns her attention on Bones. “Plenty of species get by just fine without speaking. Deaf and mute humans, too. You should learn sign language.” Her head rolls toward her shoulder-Jim knows the feeling, thinks he might be leaning too heavily into Spock. Whatever’s in these drinks packs a hell of a punch.
Bones makes quacky duck fingers and then mimes trying to slice someone open while still quacking. It’s hilarious. Jim thinks it’s hilarious.
Uhura scowls.
“My grandma was deaf,” Sulu volunteers. “And she was a top chef at a five star restaurant in New New York for fifty years.” He shrugs. “You train people to look for visual cues instead of verbal ones, make it work for you.”
Bones looks indignant, probably at the thought of modern medicine not being able to fix simple deafness, but he gets a look at Sulu’s face and shuts his mouth. Not that he could’ve said anything anyway.
That stupid ache in Jim’s arm has worked its way into his chest. Jim takes another gulp trying to burn it away.
The topic veers without Bones to keep it on track, and Jim opens his mouth to say-something, he doesn’t know, but Bones stands up and points at the sign in the back for the bathroom, slips away into the crowd before seeing if anyone saw what he was going to do.
“That’s not-“ safe, Jim starts to say, but the word gets lost somewhere.
Sulu seems to hear it anyway. “He’s a grown man,” he tells Jim, like Jim doesn’t know, “and this isn’t his first time at an intergalactic space bar.”
“Yeah,” Jim says, but he’s tense, hyper aware of where Bones is in the crowd, even when Spock smooths a hand down his back. He tries to relax into Spock’s touch-it’s just, Bones can’t call for help if he needs it.
“Soooo,” Sulu says, raising one very well-maintained eyebrow (and this coming from the guy who sometimes stares at Spock’s forehead in wonderment). “You two? This is a thing?” he says, gesturing between them with his drink.
Oops. And shit, because he can’t exactly put it off. “Well, Bones was supposed to be here for the big announcement,” Jim says, rubbing the back of his neck. Spock’s arm goes around his waist, and it is a little easier to sink into him, Spock’s warmth seeping into his skin. “But yeah,” Jim says, tilting his head back. He finds a smile for Spock, and it isn’t even hard to come by. “Yup, we’re a thing.”
“Congratulations!” Chekov cheers, lifting his glass in a toast. “I win pool!” Scotty and Sulu groan.
“What pool?”
“Are you truly surprised?” Spock asks, voice rumbling all down Jim’s back.
Jim thinks about it. “Okay, no.”
“Wait, wait, wait,” Uhura says, “Hold up. Are we going by the date they announced their big gay romance or the day they actually got together?”
“Announce!” Chekov insists, banging his hand on the table.
“Nyota, you…?” Spock starts quietly, and Jim’s hand finds his knee before Uhura can even shake her head.
“No,” she says, reaching over to give Spock’s hand a squeeze. Her smile is real, and kind of sad, but Jim can’t find any hurt or jealousy there. “I didn’t place a bet.”
“I’ve got to find Bones and tell him, okay?” Jim says, reluctantly pulling away from Spock to get his unsteady feet on the floor. Sometimes he forgets how warm Spock is until he’s left shivering and feeling kind of…bereft. “Be right back.”
“One moment please,” Chekov insists in his slowly thickening accent, raising his glass even higher, “Is bad luck to leave table without toasting new relationship!”
“Perfect timing,” Scotty says, waving over a waitress with beautiful blue antennae and a tray full of viscous-looking shots. “Slàinte!”
The shot slithers down his throat like acid, and Jim knows he checked before sending his people down in shifts that the bar doesn’t sell anything that would be lethal for his crew, but this makes him wonder. Spock, who never makes faces at an alcoholic burn, delicately coughs. Scotty and Chekov sneeze. Sulu looks like he’s in the same sputtering boat as Jim-Uhura is smugly sipping at her shot and showing her teeth-so Jim claps his helmsman on the back as he leaves.
The buzz, though. The buzz is pretty fantastic. Happiness fizzles from his core down to the tips of his fingers, sparking as he bumps into people in the crowd. They’re happy too. Everyone is happy. This is the happiest bar Jim has ever fucking been to.
Bones is the one dark cloud in the room full of…other, happy clouds. Jim doesn’t understand how anyone could be that scowly with such a gorgeous woman on his lap, with her head tilted back laughing like she just pulled him down into her seat.
“Bones!” Jim hears himself say the word after he says it, confused by how he can talk while he’s grinning so hard.
Bones looks up, wide-eyed and flustered, the way he always is around women when they start petting his hair. He opens his mouth, shuts it, pointedly glowers.
“Is this your friend?” another beautiful lady says, appearing on Bones’ right. Jim isn’t sure if she’s always been there, but there seem to be more of her-of her friends, including the blonde in Bones’ lap.
“He won’t tell us his name,” the blonde pouts, drawing her finger over the rough five o’clock shadow on Bones’ chin. Jim has to be imagining that he can hear the scrape of it. “Is he shy?”
Jim, Bones says, but doesn’t say, because he can’t. Jim still knows the shape of his own name.
“You have no idea,” Jim says, trying to lean on a chair and almost missing his grip on the back. It’s so strange-he doesn’t feel drunk anymore, his head is clear like an empty bowl. “Traumatic event,” he shrugs, cool as a peach, “He’s gonna take a lot of coaxing, ladies.”
I AM GOING TO MURDER YOU, Bones mouths, obvious enough that Jim can almost hear him in his head.
“Ladies,” Jim says, “you are looking at the Doctor Leonard McCoy.” He stresses the Doctor a bit too, why the hell not. “Chief Medical Officer of the Starship Enterprise. He once saved thirteen thousand Tulusian babies by smuggling them inside serum containers for a deadly vaccine. He singlehandedly invented the cure for pancreatic epilepsy in insectoid life forms. And-“ Jim pauses for effect, because this is the fucking big one: “He once brought a grown man back from the dead. It’s true, it’s true,” he promises to their gasps of disbelief. “I am living proof that this man-“ He points at Bones’ red face. “-can perform miracles.”
Bones is staring at him. Jim only knows thanks to blurred peripheral vision; he can’t make himself look at Bones directly. He doesn’t think Bones is smiling.
“Enjoy!” Jim tells them, and he can’t look at the women either, fuck, looking at things is kind of hard.
Which is probably why he walks directly into Spock. He thinks he took a lot of steps away from Bones and the ladies, but he isn’t sure how many-he lifts his head to as Spock about it but Spock is unsteady on his feet, green flush along his cheeks.
“Whoa,” Jim says, reaching up to touch-his skin is almost hot, leaves Jim’s fingertips pink. “You okay?”
Spock takes his hand and…nuzzles it, there is no other word. Jim feels the heat swoop down into his belly, feels dizzy from it. “Holy shit,” Jim breathes.
“I am well,” Spock murmurs against his knuckles, before pressing a kiss to the middle one, where it’s scarred from the bar fight that lead him here, to space. “Did you speak with Leonard?”
“So weird hearing you call him that,” Jim whispers, distracted by how close Spock is. Then he shakes himself. “Uh, yeah. I think it went pretty good. I probably got him laid.” He grins up at Spock, at his lifted eyebrow, which suddenly dips down into a frown.
“He does not looked pleased,” Spock says.
“Hmm?” Jim turns, because it feels great moving with Spock’s hands on his hips, and maybe they can dance.
This fishbowl clarity means he’ll remember everything later in excruciating detail-the red fury on Bones’ face draining to shocked pallor, his lips parting silently out of genuine speechlessness; the way he gently disentangles himself from the women and leaves, without looking back, all while Jim sways to some imaginary tune in Spock’s arms, too drunk to remember why Bones would look at him like that, like Jim just slapped him in the face.
Part Two
Author: queenklu
Beta by: downhill_tumble
Pairing: Spock/Kirk, Spock/Kirk/McCoy
Rating: NC17
Word Count: 12.5k
Summary: Spock is not a lot of help re: Operation Distract Bones From His Speechlessness By Taking Ruthless Advantage of the Situation. But he is, as always, really fucking awesome at kissing.
A/n: Chapel's backstory ruthlessly borrowed from gyzym's headcanon. Also, candle_beck's fic Speechless was a huge inspiration--it is in all ways a superior fic to this one and I strongly encourage you to read it if wincest is your cup of tea. ALSO also, this was written for tombolguid for the occasion of her birthday...which happened over a week ago. (sorryyy)
Rejected titles: Hips Don't Lie, You Say It Best When You Say Nothing At All, Say What You Need to Say, [Something Yanked From Shakespeare], Angry Keymashing.
It happens off-ship. Away mission, uninhabited planet-Jim pushes aside a large, slightly furry palm frond and asks Bones how much longer until they find what they’re looking for.
Jim trips at the same time, stubbing his toe and nearly careening into Spock, who steadies him with a light touch to his elbow.
“Careful, Captain,” Sulu says, crouching down over the upturned rock. “This ecosystem is very delicate.”
“This ecosystem better look where it’s going,” Jim mutters. He thinks he sees Spock’s mouth curl slightly at the corners; he hasn’t let go, yet, which Jim doesn’t mind, but they are trying to keep this new thing between them on the down-low, as the old Earth saying goes. He pulls away, limping as he calls out, “Bones, you might need to amputate my foot!”
Bones is up ahead, darkly silhouetted against a pinkish sky as one sun ducks down behind the mountains and the other smaller sun creeps over the ridges. He’s facing the landing party, but Jim can’t see with the suns in his eyes-he hobbles up squinting, hand raised against the glare. “Come on,” Jim says, “what’s the deal? Andorian fangworm got your tongue?”
Jim understands that he’s a bad person for hoping it’s a worm and not Bones refusing to talk to him. He hasn’t done anything recently that would earn him the silent treatment…except maybe sleep with Spock.
“Bones?” he says again, and Bones reaches out and grabs him.
His eyes are wide, frightened wide, and he’s red in the face, throat straining and mouth open and silent. Utterly silent.
“Kirk to engineering, beam all away team members directly to sickbay,” Jim says, “Have staff nearby waiting to receive Dr. McCoy.”
“Aye, Cap’n,” Scotty’s voice hails over the sound of Spock and Sulu’s alarm. “Prepare for tractor beam.”
In the few seconds before the world around him starts spiraling, Jim tightens his grip on his friend. “Bones? Hey, Bones, deep breaths, calm down.”
The last thing he sees is Bones’ curled lip, the silent snap of, I am calm, damn it! And they’re back on the Enterprise.
~*~
“I was kidding about the worm, does he really have a worm?” Jim demands.
Bones glares up at him from the bio bed, arms crossed over his chest. Jim tries to convey back to him with his eyebrows that he would gladly stop talking over Bones’ head if he thought Bones was in any way capable of answering Jim’s questions.
“It’s not a worm,” Chapel says. She still can’t look Jim in the eye without laughing, but Jim doesn’t have time to squirm in embarrassment about their disastrous night together that sent her several leagues across the galaxy just so she could avoid having apoplectic fits around a commanding officer. (She swears that wasn't the biggest reason, that the remote outpost was also an excellent career opportunity. But it was a reason.)
She pulls up a diagram of a spikey little ball, addresses Spock, “Grytlx Suthix. Flower pollen. It seems our good doctor inhaled some on the planet.”
“We should’ve inhaled it too,” Jim says, frowning, “The rest of us can still talk.”
“Dr. McCoy is very mildly allergic,” Chapel tells the air above Jim’s head. “It seems to have temporarily paralyzed his vocal chords.”
Temporarily is good. Jim lets out a breath he hadn’t been completely aware of holding. “Okay. Can you un-paralyze them?”
She shakes her head, which is not something he can see without getting flashbacks, but whatever. “The science is too new. We could wind up permanently damaging his vocal chords or setting off a chain reaction in the pollen that might paralyze his lungs. It’s best to wait.”
Jim watches Bones’ silent grumbling for a moment, lost in the way his mouth moves without making any sound.
“Estimated time of recovery?” Spock asks, jarring him out of it.
Chapel elegantly shrugs. “The pollen is rare, but there has been some research done to determine its chemical makeup-the spaceport we’re scheduled to dock at tomorrow may also have more information that’s not in our database. There’s no reason I can find that the paralysis should last more than a few days.”
Bones glares at Jim, expression so clear Jim feels like he can hear his voice ringing in his head: Don’t you fucking dare.
Jim grins, relief making him almost dizzy. He can feel Spock brush against him, a rock wall of solidarity. “Oh,” he says, “I’m sure the time will fly by.”
Spock nudges him. “Perhaps we should let the doctor get some rest.”
“Yeah,” Jim agrees, “I have to go make a list anyway.”
He sees Bones strain up from the bio bed before Chapel shoves him back down, sees the shape of his mouth make the word JIM. But it’s fine. It’s going to be fine. So Jim is going to pretend everything’s okay until it is.
~*~
“So, I know how much you’ve been wanting sickbay to be a little more…” Jim searches for the word. “…vibrant.”
Bones does not look up from his pad. He’s been cleared for duty, mostly-it’s not like he ever had much of a bedside manner to begin with, and now he has a perfect excuse not to talk to his patients, who he’s always claimed are mostly idiots.
“I’m thinking fuchsia,” Jim says, hopping up on the foot of the next occupied bio bed. “Hey Tony.”
“Hey,” Ensign Tony Vasquez says uncertainly, then coughs and adds, “Captain.”
Bones rolls his eyes and shoves his pad into Tony’s hands, jabbing at the image of a body on the screen. “He wants you to point where it hurts,” Jim says around a bite of the best apple he’s ever had replicated. He looks up at the ceiling. “Maybe cerulean.”
“I could just-show him, sir,” Tony says, promptly flinching under the force of Bones’ glare. “You, I mean. I could show you, Dr. McCoy.”
Jim leans way over to get a look at Bones’ face, just to be sure. “Yeah, that’s his ‘My damn ears aren’t broken, goddamn it, grrr’ face.”
“Sorry, Doctor,” Tony stammers.
“And that’s his ‘I don’t need a damn translator’ face,” Jim translates. “Which is clearly a lie.”
Bones picks up his hypospray, still not looking at Jim, and makes casually threatening calculations on the data pad.
The thing is, Jim might actually believe his threats if he hadn’t perked up when Jim arrived in sickbay. All of the medical staff are tiptoeing around Bones like he’s a ghost, avoiding conversations with him like he’s incapable of responding. He can respond, the typed out instructions on his pad for Jim to GO AWAY make that abundantly clear.
So yeah, he doesn’t need Jim-to translate. But he might need Jim to be an annoying little shit so he doesn’t start throwing things at his staff. Or all of this could be in Jim’s head. He’s got nothing better to do.
Bones takes his pad, now, shoves it in Tony’s face.
“Yes, I, uh, it’s here,” Tony says, lifting up his shirt to reveal spectacular bruising along his ribs. Bones starts poking around the edges with a tricorder. “Fell off a ladder in Engineering.”
“What’d ya do that for,” Jim says in a precise imitation of a Georgian drawl. “Damn legs not workin’ too? How ‘bout your brain? Dammit, Ensign, this is just the sort of carelessness that costs lives! Don’t you got a pinch of sense in that damn fool head of yours? The whole sky could come crashing ‘round our ears at any minute but thank god we got you manning the ladders.”
Tony-bless his heart-actually tries to laugh, nervously. Which turns abruptly into a yelp when Bones’ fingers push in at his side.
Bones just stares his patient down, kind of crazy-eyed, ignoring Jim past the point of toleration.
“Don’t say anything if you agree with me about the fuchsia,” Jim whispers, and hops off the bed when Bones takes a swing with the hypo. “I knew you loved it!”
~*~
Spock is not a lot of help re: Operation Distract Bones From His Speechlessness By Taking Ruthless Advantage of the Situation. But he is, as always, really fucking awesome at kissing.
“Thank you,” Spock murmurs against his mouth. Jim makes a small noise of protest and pulls back, even though it sucks.
“Sorry, I just-it’s going to take a bit to get used to you reading my mind like that.” He does his best not to squirm; there are going to be times when his head isn’t the best place to be, and he needs to…tell Spock that. Brace him for it.
“I have shielded myself so that I am unable to read direct thoughts,” Spock says, and it probably sounds very prim on paper but Kirk grins at how breathless it is in reality. “Feelings, however.” He pauses to kiss Jim gently, slightly off-center. “I could feel your admiration and extrapolated that you were appreciating certain of my skills. I can also tell you are distracted. Concerned.”
“For Bones?” Jim scoffs, then realizes he’s given himself away there. “Uh.”
“I share your concern for the doctor,” Spock says.
Jim believes him, mostly, but-“You guys aren’t really friends though, right? You’re always snapping at each other.”
Spock gets his thinking face on, so Jim settles back on Spock’s lap to give him some room. Spock’s hands settle on his hips, though, not letting him move too far off.
“My feelings for Leonard are…complicated.”
Leonard, Jim repeats in his head, hopefully not showing it on his face; it’s always weird to hear Bones’ real name. “Complicated how?”
If Spock were all-human, he’d be sighing and running a hand through his hair. “I am reminded of our recent expedition to Phoenix V.”
“When the locals made me and Bones get married?” Jim prompts when Spock seems to stall, not sure what else there was to remember about that trip. “Good times. They braided flowers in my hair.”
Other than that, as far as fake marriages go it’d been fine. Bones got happy drunk on something blue and Jim had to all-but carry him to their honeymoon suite, but they’d nailed the treaty the next day. It seemed like it took Bones days to get over that hangover, though.
Spock nods, eyes trailing up as if he’s remembering Jim’s floral crown. “Do you remember what they called him?”
“Juala,” Jim says. “My heart.” It finally, finally sinks in. “Shit, Spock, are you jealous?”
Spock shakes his head so firmly Jim-Jim has to believe him. “No. However, the metaphor seemed surprisingly apt. If he is your heart, then I am your head.”
Jim looks at him, trying not to get mad. “I do just fine with my own head and heart, thanks.”
“Jim-“
Nope, it’s a lost cause. “I’m going to go check on Bones.” He tries standing, but Spock’s hands are still on his hips. “Let go, please, so I can go check on Bones.”
Spock does let go, and follows Jim to his feet as soon as Jim clambers off his lap. “Do you want me to accompany you?”
“Don’t worry about it,” Jim shrugs, “You weren’t big on distracting him anyway, so.”
Uhura is the best at reading Spock’s body language, though that hadn’t saved their relationship in the end. Even Bones is picking up on it-a few weeks ago he noticed Spock was pissed about a non-vegetarian additive in his soup before Jim even knew something was wrong. Jim is working on it, and he’s usually better than the rest of the crew; it doesn’t take a genius now to know Spock’s shoulders aren’t drooping because he’s happy.
Deep breath. “Spock, it’s okay. I just need a quick mental break.” He reaches out and touches Spock’s hand. “See you at dinner?”
Spock curls his fingers to brush the tips against Jim’s. “Yes.”
Vulcan kissing never fails to make Jim all warm and tingly; despite his best efforts, he marches off to sickbay feeling marginally better.
~*~
“Bones?”
Bones doesn’t answer, which is not unexpected at this point. But he doesn’t even glance Jim’s way, which is…okay, also not unexpected, but kind of gives Jim the heebie-jeebies.
He’s sitting on the floor in the observation deck, back propped up against one of those little couch things, looking out at the stars whizzing by in a way that would have made him sick six years ago, back at the academy in one of those stale little practice rooms. Jim took him up on spot checks every few days for two months until Bones got tired of vomiting on him and actually started keeping his meals down. He still clutched at Jim’s hand and arm the whole time, and the first few trips he made solo Jim felt the ache like Bones was still holding onto him.
It’s a weird thing to remember now, maybe; it’s definitely weird that he can feel the phantom ache building in his wrist, rubs at it while he takes a seat next to Bones on the floor.
“Hey,” he says.
Bones looks sideways at him. It’s a start.
“I hope you know that…I know this isn’t fun for you,” Jim says, hand at the back of his own neck as he ducks his head down, tilting his face towards his friend.
Bones gives him a deeply unimpressed look.
“I mean, I tease because I care.” He nudges Bones’ shoulder, then stops, struck with a sudden thought. “If anyone else is giving you a hard time-“
Bones sighs, rolling his eyes. Jim reads him clear as a bell: No, just you, jackass.
Jim grins, ignoring the tight feeling in his throat. “But you’re okay, right? You’d tell me if you weren’t okay.”
Mouth twisting in something like a smile, Bones gives him a thumbs up. It looks sarcastic. Before Jim can question him further, Bones starts tapping at the pad in his lap; he shows it to Jim once he’s finished.
IT’S ONLY A FEW DAYS, KID.
“Right,” Jim says, fighting a smile at that last word. Like Jim’s the one needing reassurance, here. He gives Bones’ shoulder another friendly bump. “I’m going to make sure those days fly by.”
Bones groans-silently, but Jim recognizes the look.
“There’s no need to use up all my best stuff right now, though,” Jim says, stretching his arms out. “Ugh, tiring work talking for two.”
FEEL FREE TO STOP, Bones’ pad says when he pokes it at Jim again.
Jim scoffs. “What would you do without me?”
Bones doesn’t say anything, and it feels a little pointed this time, but when Jim looks over Bones’ face is just tired, and kind of amused.
~*~
True to his word, the next night Jim brings out the big guns.
“Are you certain about this?” Spock asks.
Jim takes a minute to take in his-boyfriend (the word sounds insubstantial) lover? (ugh that one makes him gag) special someone (no, just no)-his Spock, his First, his Chief Science Officer, his…yeah. He looks at Spock, and then he fucking hugs him, because he hasn’t seen Spock most of the day and he missed the pointy eared bastard.
Spock gives a quiet little, “Oof,” and then his arms slide around Jim’s waist, and it’s not like Jim gets much in the way of telepathic feedback with them both fully clothed, but he thinks Spock is giving off vibes of being pleased.
“You should come hang out with me and Bones tomorrow,” Jim says, half into Spock’s shoulder. “He missed you.”
He did, too. Actually asked about him on his pad: WHERE IS THAT GREEN-BLOODED HOBGOBLIN, and when Jim kind of shrugged, HE’S USUALLY GLUED TO YOUR ASS. Which, seeing as Bones doesn’t know about them yet, had been slightly awkward and Jim had feigned a bathroom break.
Spock goes still for a moment after Jim speaks, but Jim doesn’t notice until after it’s gone. “I would like that.”
For all the people who call Jim a genius (usually followed by ‘repeat offender’) there are times like this when he wants to take his brain out and shake it. “Shit,” he says as he pulls back to look Spock in the eye, “were you keeping your distance because of me? Because of what I said about you two not being friends? That’s not my call to make, and you guys do get along-”
“Jim,” Spock says, catching him before he moves further away; he runs his thumbs over the boring round shell of Jim’s ears. “I would very much like to spend time with you and Dr. McCoy.”
Jim starts to frown. “You can hang out with him on your own, too, if you want. I didn’t mean to imply yesterday-“
Spock kisses him on the forehead, which would make Jim’s eyes roll so hard if it wasn’t Spock, if Jim didn’t know down to his toes that Spock means to say he is cherished, not being patronized. Jim lets his eyes fall shut instead, sighs out a little of his tension.
“I consider Leonard to be my friend,” Spock says, “I believe he considers me a friend as well.”
That shouldn’t make him feel as relieved as it does-the kicker is that he knew that, he knows it, anyone with eyes can see the way Spock and Bones snipe at each other shows real caring, so why did he try to turn it into a fight? Fuck, emotions are hard.
It’s kind of funny (except mostly not) that he used to be slightly jealous that Spock didn’t have to deal with shit like this. Before he knew better.
“Come on,” he says, raising his head to rally. “We’re docked for the night, I heard somewhere this spaceport has some of the best dancers in the galaxy, and we are going to make Bones forget he ever had a voice box to begin with.”
Spock doesn’t look convinced. But Spock rarely looks convinced when it comes to one of Jim’s plans.
~*~
They weren’t kidding about the dancers.
“Oh wow, I had no idea there was a species that could bend that way,” tumbles out of Jim’s mouth as he stops to stare. Bones elbows him in the back to get him moving, then grabs him by the shirt when Jim can’t tear his eyes away. “What do you call that? Quadruple jointed?”
Spock clears his throat. “I believe the Fenn’k term translates to something more akin to sextuple jointed.”
“Yeah,” Jim says, faintly, “Yeah I can see that.”
Bones smacks him upside the head. When Jim squawks he levels a finger at his face. “I wasn’t gonna,” Jim starts to protest, but Bones snorts and Jim remembers-right, Bones doesn’t know Jim isn’t single. “Not feeling it tonight,” he lies, accidentally brushing all over Spock (and Bones, but for real accidentally) as he wiggles past them to the table that just opened up.
The rest of the team follows him over, Chekov sticking close to Sulu in a way that might not be crowd jitters, but hey, good for them if they finally worked stuff out. Uhura flicks her hair at Scotty and he laughs, goes to order them a round while her eyes flick between Jim, Spock, and Bones.
She knows already, of course she does, but Spock said it was Jim’s call to tell the rest of the crew and he’s thinking tonight might be the night-what better way to keep Bones’ mind off of things than throw this curveball at him?
The light here is strange but beautiful, seems to appear at random around the room in vibrant colors instead of coming from one source; the glow moves with the music and the sway of the dancers, and whatever Scotty comes back with is purple and potent, and it comes with tiny spikey fruit balanced on the rim.
It’s almost too loud to talk, which should be great for Bones, he’s not missing out. Jim keeps catching himself watching his friend, alcohol not helping with keeping his eyes to himself. He keeps waiting for Bones to call him on it, snap, Take a hologram, it’ll last longer, or smack him again, but he doesn’t-just raises his eyebrows like he’s waiting for Jim to say something.
All day in sickbay Jim expected some kind of volcanic eruption from his friend-all that rage bottled up and nowhere for it to go. But Bones…Bones seems to have found a sort of angry zen about the whole thing. Like he’s plotting revenge.
“You know, of all the people who could stand to learn from not talking for a few days,” Uhura starts, leaning pointedly over Scotty to give Jim a look.
He’s lost the thread of their conversation, doesn’t know if this is as out of the blue as it feels, but an offended, “Hey!” seems like the right call.
Uhura ignores him, turns her attention on Bones. “Plenty of species get by just fine without speaking. Deaf and mute humans, too. You should learn sign language.” Her head rolls toward her shoulder-Jim knows the feeling, thinks he might be leaning too heavily into Spock. Whatever’s in these drinks packs a hell of a punch.
Bones makes quacky duck fingers and then mimes trying to slice someone open while still quacking. It’s hilarious. Jim thinks it’s hilarious.
Uhura scowls.
“My grandma was deaf,” Sulu volunteers. “And she was a top chef at a five star restaurant in New New York for fifty years.” He shrugs. “You train people to look for visual cues instead of verbal ones, make it work for you.”
Bones looks indignant, probably at the thought of modern medicine not being able to fix simple deafness, but he gets a look at Sulu’s face and shuts his mouth. Not that he could’ve said anything anyway.
That stupid ache in Jim’s arm has worked its way into his chest. Jim takes another gulp trying to burn it away.
The topic veers without Bones to keep it on track, and Jim opens his mouth to say-something, he doesn’t know, but Bones stands up and points at the sign in the back for the bathroom, slips away into the crowd before seeing if anyone saw what he was going to do.
“That’s not-“ safe, Jim starts to say, but the word gets lost somewhere.
Sulu seems to hear it anyway. “He’s a grown man,” he tells Jim, like Jim doesn’t know, “and this isn’t his first time at an intergalactic space bar.”
“Yeah,” Jim says, but he’s tense, hyper aware of where Bones is in the crowd, even when Spock smooths a hand down his back. He tries to relax into Spock’s touch-it’s just, Bones can’t call for help if he needs it.
“Soooo,” Sulu says, raising one very well-maintained eyebrow (and this coming from the guy who sometimes stares at Spock’s forehead in wonderment). “You two? This is a thing?” he says, gesturing between them with his drink.
Oops. And shit, because he can’t exactly put it off. “Well, Bones was supposed to be here for the big announcement,” Jim says, rubbing the back of his neck. Spock’s arm goes around his waist, and it is a little easier to sink into him, Spock’s warmth seeping into his skin. “But yeah,” Jim says, tilting his head back. He finds a smile for Spock, and it isn’t even hard to come by. “Yup, we’re a thing.”
“Congratulations!” Chekov cheers, lifting his glass in a toast. “I win pool!” Scotty and Sulu groan.
“What pool?”
“Are you truly surprised?” Spock asks, voice rumbling all down Jim’s back.
Jim thinks about it. “Okay, no.”
“Wait, wait, wait,” Uhura says, “Hold up. Are we going by the date they announced their big gay romance or the day they actually got together?”
“Announce!” Chekov insists, banging his hand on the table.
“Nyota, you…?” Spock starts quietly, and Jim’s hand finds his knee before Uhura can even shake her head.
“No,” she says, reaching over to give Spock’s hand a squeeze. Her smile is real, and kind of sad, but Jim can’t find any hurt or jealousy there. “I didn’t place a bet.”
“I’ve got to find Bones and tell him, okay?” Jim says, reluctantly pulling away from Spock to get his unsteady feet on the floor. Sometimes he forgets how warm Spock is until he’s left shivering and feeling kind of…bereft. “Be right back.”
“One moment please,” Chekov insists in his slowly thickening accent, raising his glass even higher, “Is bad luck to leave table without toasting new relationship!”
“Perfect timing,” Scotty says, waving over a waitress with beautiful blue antennae and a tray full of viscous-looking shots. “Slàinte!”
The shot slithers down his throat like acid, and Jim knows he checked before sending his people down in shifts that the bar doesn’t sell anything that would be lethal for his crew, but this makes him wonder. Spock, who never makes faces at an alcoholic burn, delicately coughs. Scotty and Chekov sneeze. Sulu looks like he’s in the same sputtering boat as Jim-Uhura is smugly sipping at her shot and showing her teeth-so Jim claps his helmsman on the back as he leaves.
The buzz, though. The buzz is pretty fantastic. Happiness fizzles from his core down to the tips of his fingers, sparking as he bumps into people in the crowd. They’re happy too. Everyone is happy. This is the happiest bar Jim has ever fucking been to.
Bones is the one dark cloud in the room full of…other, happy clouds. Jim doesn’t understand how anyone could be that scowly with such a gorgeous woman on his lap, with her head tilted back laughing like she just pulled him down into her seat.
“Bones!” Jim hears himself say the word after he says it, confused by how he can talk while he’s grinning so hard.
Bones looks up, wide-eyed and flustered, the way he always is around women when they start petting his hair. He opens his mouth, shuts it, pointedly glowers.
“Is this your friend?” another beautiful lady says, appearing on Bones’ right. Jim isn’t sure if she’s always been there, but there seem to be more of her-of her friends, including the blonde in Bones’ lap.
“He won’t tell us his name,” the blonde pouts, drawing her finger over the rough five o’clock shadow on Bones’ chin. Jim has to be imagining that he can hear the scrape of it. “Is he shy?”
Jim, Bones says, but doesn’t say, because he can’t. Jim still knows the shape of his own name.
“You have no idea,” Jim says, trying to lean on a chair and almost missing his grip on the back. It’s so strange-he doesn’t feel drunk anymore, his head is clear like an empty bowl. “Traumatic event,” he shrugs, cool as a peach, “He’s gonna take a lot of coaxing, ladies.”
I AM GOING TO MURDER YOU, Bones mouths, obvious enough that Jim can almost hear him in his head.
“Ladies,” Jim says, “you are looking at the Doctor Leonard McCoy.” He stresses the Doctor a bit too, why the hell not. “Chief Medical Officer of the Starship Enterprise. He once saved thirteen thousand Tulusian babies by smuggling them inside serum containers for a deadly vaccine. He singlehandedly invented the cure for pancreatic epilepsy in insectoid life forms. And-“ Jim pauses for effect, because this is the fucking big one: “He once brought a grown man back from the dead. It’s true, it’s true,” he promises to their gasps of disbelief. “I am living proof that this man-“ He points at Bones’ red face. “-can perform miracles.”
Bones is staring at him. Jim only knows thanks to blurred peripheral vision; he can’t make himself look at Bones directly. He doesn’t think Bones is smiling.
“Enjoy!” Jim tells them, and he can’t look at the women either, fuck, looking at things is kind of hard.
Which is probably why he walks directly into Spock. He thinks he took a lot of steps away from Bones and the ladies, but he isn’t sure how many-he lifts his head to as Spock about it but Spock is unsteady on his feet, green flush along his cheeks.
“Whoa,” Jim says, reaching up to touch-his skin is almost hot, leaves Jim’s fingertips pink. “You okay?”
Spock takes his hand and…nuzzles it, there is no other word. Jim feels the heat swoop down into his belly, feels dizzy from it. “Holy shit,” Jim breathes.
“I am well,” Spock murmurs against his knuckles, before pressing a kiss to the middle one, where it’s scarred from the bar fight that lead him here, to space. “Did you speak with Leonard?”
“So weird hearing you call him that,” Jim whispers, distracted by how close Spock is. Then he shakes himself. “Uh, yeah. I think it went pretty good. I probably got him laid.” He grins up at Spock, at his lifted eyebrow, which suddenly dips down into a frown.
“He does not looked pleased,” Spock says.
“Hmm?” Jim turns, because it feels great moving with Spock’s hands on his hips, and maybe they can dance.
This fishbowl clarity means he’ll remember everything later in excruciating detail-the red fury on Bones’ face draining to shocked pallor, his lips parting silently out of genuine speechlessness; the way he gently disentangles himself from the women and leaves, without looking back, all while Jim sways to some imaginary tune in Spock’s arms, too drunk to remember why Bones would look at him like that, like Jim just slapped him in the face.
Part Two