Archive of Our Own

By the time Jim realizes the colony on Atraxa III has some method of jamming the comm signal, it’s too late. McCoy and his team are already on the surface.

Atraxa III is, according to Starfleet, composed of a group of settlers looking to start afresh in the far reaches of the galaxy. This is a euphemism for “a bunch of idiot farmers and three guys not quite criminal enough for a penal colony”.

Jim really should just remember that, when in doubt, standard Starfleet phrasing means “no one is nice and the comm systems will be down”.

“Statistically speaking,” Spock says from beside him, “that is inaccurate. Approximately 46.3% of our missions involve genuine requests for aid on medical or social issues, and in roughly 63.8% of missions, there is no issue with the comm systems.”

That’s how Jim knows Spock is serious about Bones. He never approximates.

-

“C’mon,” Jim gasped, whined, “c’mon, Bones, I’m waitin’ here.”

He wasn’t, not really, he was kicking his way out of his boots and his pants, squirming on the stupid Academy-supplied twin bed, ignoring its ominous creaking.

“You gotta learn some patience, sweetheart,” Bones drawled, the way he did when he was maybe a sheet and a half to the wind and in the mood to drive Jim a little nuts. He pulled his shirt over his head, and Jim made a little pleased noise at the back of his throat.

That was how this had all started, with Bones pulling his shirt off in their shared quarters, Bones grumbling and flushing adorably red when he noticed Jim staring.

“Bonesy,” Jim had said, “You’re so…gorgeous.”

Bones had muttered something awkward about doctors knowing about the importance of physical fitness, but he’d been pleased enough to not even protest when Jim suggested roommates with benefits was a real existing thing and not a train wreck of an idea. And now, here they were, Jim mostly naked on the bed, gripping his dick and waiting for Bones to blow his mind.

He was warm all over when he joined Jim on the bed, firm and lovely, with his hair doing that stupid floppy thing Jim really liked.

“Hey there, big guy,” Jim said, “you gonna take me for a ride?”

“I dunno,” Bones said, straightening up to straddle Jim. “I kinda thought I’d be the cowboy and you’d be the horse, this time round.”

As it turned out, Jim was surprisingly bad at imitating a horse’s neigh.

By the time Bones recovered from his laughing fit, he had melted against Jim’s side, his eyes had gone all soft and liquid, and he looked so uncomplicatedly happy that Jim didn’t even care they ended up trading lackluster handjobs and going straight to sleep.

-

Writing a Starfleet report is in many ways akin to writing a scientific paper. For one thing, Starfleet is a publicly funded organization. Therefore, they owe the public accountability for their actions, and all reports are made publicly accessible unless deemed classified by the Federation.

Since all actions taken by Starfleet officers have to be understandable and retraceable with the use of their reports, there is an unbelievable amount of technical crap (a scientific term) that needs documenting. To abbreviate this particular issue, there are a series of official papers describing the designs of various models of starship, of biobed, of medical scanner, phaser and really any other technical gadget used by Starfleet. Additionally, there are a few standard works on warp theory, antimatter, nanotechnology etcetera.

The effect of this is a streamlining of report format. In the early days of Starfleet, reports varied wildly: some captains tended toward personal narrative, which led to some very interesting adjectives used in the description of Klingons that were later found to be a little, well, racist. Leonard remembers one afternoon spent in the Academy’s dullest lecture – Reporting Standards and Methods – in which Jim had been presenting his semester’s project: The historical evolution of Starfleet reports, a topic he had chosen specifically so he could read out the words, “the Klingon’s wrinkly brow haunted my nightmares” in front of several hundred cadets.

But there were also Vulcans in early Starfleet, and they had, to Leonard’s grudging respect, immediately adhered to a scientific standard. How was the public to follow a timeline of events involving several hyperspace jumps without a solid introduction to warp theory? Those reports had been several hundred pages long.

So, Starfleet started publishing a series of standard works on various subjects (updated regularly to include progress, of course), so their staff could abbreviate their reports by simply citing the relevant document. As well as introducing a certain standard of writing that did not involve the words “dashing”, “maddening”, “fearsome” and “wrinkly”.

Sadly, there is a slight issue in the case of the Enterprise. She’s the first ship to go on an exploratory mission of quite this scope, and there are a number of particularities that haven’t been standardized as of yet. Chief among these is the idea of temporal relativity. Put simply, time works differently on different planets. Starships conform to Earth Standard time measurement, which is a bit contentious to other Federation planets, but since Starfleet started on Earth, it’s a little late to go changing these things. There are planets that orbit their suns faster, or orbit multiple suns, or planets that don’t actually orbit anything, colonies on terraformed moons, and so on. Time being a construct and all, and space travel being measured both in time and distance, it’s…well, it’s tricky.

Eventually, Chekov got tired of people bribing him with borscht to write a ten-page section of their reports for him. It took three months. If it had been Leonard, it would have been half an hour. Because of this, there is a shared folder on the Enterprise’s servers consisting of a few essays written by the crew for general use. There’s one by Uhura about vowel shifts in several different languages Starfleet doesn’t teach yet, and one by Scotty about how to break the laws of physics. And there’s one by Chekov about temporal relativity.

Leonard has read this essay about four different times after copying and pasting it into his own report with a little footnote citing Pavel Chekov, and still can’t quite wrap his head around it. It really doesn’t help his feeling he’s too old and backwards for this ship.

Spock told him once, when he expressed as much, “You are an empiricist, Doctor. It is an admirable quality in the medical profession.” It left Leonard with a warm feeling in the chest, but nonetheless with a strong sense of inferiority, because Spock could probably do his job, and Chekov’s, and Scotty’s. Just not Jim’s.

Planets that sustain life are luckily pretty similar to Earth, so there are no horror scenarios of beaming down one moment and returning to the Enterprise three years in the future. In essence, it’s just a tricky bit of math to let Starfleet know how long the Enterprise’s experienced time is in relation to the length of time the mission took. Accountability.

On Atraxa III, time passes a little faster than in Federation standard space. Time enough has passed for the original colonists to have children, and for those children to have children fully grown. Leonard’s guesstimate is that it’s been about seventy years here versus the fifty earth years that have passed.

A lot changes in seventy years.

They’ve created a pretty decent agricultural system in that time, for one, and they’ve successfully raised a stock of animals. So, point one for Atraxa III, the food’s alright. Not something that Leonard can say for every planet he’s been on.

And they have horses. Beautiful, beautiful horses like his granddad used to raise, roaming about on pastures, running almost free.

“Feel free to take a ride on any of them,” Belos, the colony’s chief, says when Leonard casts a longing look towards the horses. “They’re good stock, and well broken in.”

Belos appears to be what hasn’t changed in seventy years. Starfleet put a little red flag next to his name, but no explanation, and the colony – which started out as a commune – is now run by him.

“Thank you,” Leonard says, “but I thought I was called here for a medical emergency?” He gestures vaguely to his medical bag, to the team of trained professionals standing behind him.

“Well, yes,” Belos says, “but it’s more of a complex and delicate situation than an emergency.”

Leonard glances at the city gates, wondering if it’s too late to pull out of this. He notices several heavily armed men staring right back at him.

“Ah,” says Leonard, and has the sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach that yet again, this mission will not be straightforward.

-

After Nero, Bones was as careful as he could be with Jim.

He literally picked him up and carried him over the threshold of their tiny shared dorm room when he got back from an eleven hour debrief with Starfleet Command.

“Bones,” Jim protested, croaking weakly because he had nearly been strangled to death twice and then been forced to talk about it for eleven hours. “Bones, this is ridiculous, I can walk.”

“Well, you’re not gonna,” Bones said darkly, and poured Jim into a hot bath, which, honestly, was glorious. Real water, no sonics, scented, relaxing, lovely.

“Oh my god,” Jim said. “Oh my god. I am just going to die here.”

“Don’t you dare,” Bones said.

“Kay.”

Once Jim reemerged from his bath, still looking like a zombie but at least not like an anemic zombie, he was fed on real steak, potatoes hot and crispy from the oven, and kale (“Shut up about the kale already, Jim, at least you’re not allergic to it”).

Finally, Bones set him on the couch and, wearing a ridiculously old-fashioned plaid oven-mitt, plonked a steaming chocolate soufflé in front of Jim.

“Eat,” he said.

“Y’know,” Jim said with his mouth full, “I’m not complaining, but this is the most aggressively someone has ever been nice to me.”

“Yeah well,” Bones said, “Don’t get used to it.”

Jim waved his fork around. “Yeah, yeah. Exacerbating circumstances.” He didn’t mention that Bones had a bad tendency of trying to feed him when he thought Jim looked particularly tragic. They both knew what his medical file looked like.

“So was there a verdict?”

“I’m not even sure it was a trial,” Jim croaked. “They might let me know by next week. Or something.”

Bones snorted.

“Bones,” Jim said, “Bones, I. Please?” He wasn’t even sure what he was asking for, but his body was warm and relaxed for the first time since the damned Kobayashi Maru, and his mind was clamoring to follow but it couldn’t quite get there on its own.

“Yeah, I gotcha, darlin’,” Bones said, and, gently, he pushed Jim back onto the couch cushions.

Before that day, Jim would staunchly claim they had a friends with benefits type deal. And he would know that he was talking straight out of his ass, because he loved Bones, but he would at least have thought Bones didn’t know.

But Bones was so careful, so gentle with him. Before, they’d always been a little wild with each other, banging into furniture, or on furniture, going hard and fast and leaving bruises. That day, Jim was one giant bruise. And Bones was so mindful of it.

He kissed and licked over every bit of unmarked skin, brushed his fingers feather-light over Jim’s neck as Jim shuddered. He kissed Jim’s mouth, for long, hot moments, even after they had both undressed, slow and languid and a bit of a tease, their naked bodies pressed close but not tight enough to hurt.

When Jim was whimpering for more, he found his legs lifted over Bones’ shoulders, Bones’ tongue in his ass.

He shrieked.

“Want me to stop?” Bones asked, except it was more of a husky drawl, and Jim was really not sure why the entirety of Starfleet was not yet riding this man’s dick.

“Please don’t,” he said, pulling Bones tightly to him with his thighs.

Bones was, at heart, the kind of man who gained satisfaction from pleasing his partner thoroughly. He was the kind of man who would go down on you for an hour if that was what it took. Jim was kind of fussy about oral, especially rimming. It was so intimate, so sensitive, it frankly took so long for him to come from it that he didn’t want to subject a partner to it all the time. But Bones…kind of steamrollered through his concern about it being a pain.

Bones fucking loved giving oral. And Jim was tired, tired and wired at the same time, and Bones was licking him steady and slow to start, and then deeper, deeper, headier. He swirled his tongue, and sensitive nerve endings sang out.

“Want my fingers?” Bones asked.

“Please.”

Bones’ fingers were just perfect right then, the inevitable burn of stretching a soft counterpoint to how gentle Bones was being. And Bones, who fucking loved giving oral settled his tongue around them, sloppy and disgusting and Jim felt so comfortable, so full of pleasure.

His left hand migrated to his dick almost without his conscious control, rubbing the joint between head and shaft just so as Bones squirmed his fingers around in the tight, tight space of Jim’s ass, pulling out and pushing in again, not hard but steady.

“Fuck,” Jim said, and “God,” and “More”.

And then he came, slicking up his fist and his belly.

He woke up in bed, not on the couch, in clean boxer shorts. Bones lay next to him, eyes closed, breathing just a touch softer and steadier than it was when he was actually asleep.

-

Leonard is led not to a lab, as he’s expecting, but to a doctor’s office. There is a lab in the back, but it’s pretty basic, just standard urine and blood sample kits, scanners, some broad spectrum antibiotics and some milder medicines. Ten biobeds.

“That’s it?” he asks incredulously, “For so many colonists? No hospital?”

Belos smiles enigmatically. “We’ve not found much need for hospitals thus far.”

Leonard would really like to shake his fist and say, “you will!”, but he knows better. These may be colonists, not natives, but they won’t take kindly to extreme interference either way. Still. Ten beds, five hundred colonists. What if there were an epidemic?

Everything is very clean, though. It’s not as sterile as Medbay, but it has its charm, wood paneling and warm lights. Suitable for a private practice. The sort of place Jocelyn had wanted him to end up at, back when she didn’t understand (when he didn’t understand) that Jim knew Leonard better than he knew himself, even before they knew each other at all: The adrenaline, the search for answers, the stimulation of medicine at the cusp of the unknown. That’s what makes Leonard thrive.

“Our physician passed away recently,” Belos says. “We’ve been lacking any sort of doctor ever since.”

“I see.”

“Yes,” Belos says. “It’s quite tragic. Perhaps…that is, I have a few matters that need attendance today. Perhaps you could take a look around, see how well or poorly stocked we are, and let me know your findings over dinner?”

So, he’s flown across the universe to do a dead man’s inventory.

“Sure,” he says. “Happy to.”

It’s not like he has options.

The “emergency” they were hailed for seems to be little more than an outbreak of the flu in a distant settlement; more worrying is that Belos insisted only Nurse Chapel and the two security officers could go take care of it, while the ship’s CMO was far too important and might be infected. Leonard couldn’t really see the point in needlessly antagonizing either Belos or his armed guard unless it became necessary.

So here he is, going through another man’s office for lack of anything better to do.

It’s really not exciting work. Birth control, birth control, birth control, hormone treatments, implants, vitamins, birth control, birth control…the lab’s stores are pretty darn comprehensive. For a fertility clinic.

Slowly, Leonard sets down a hormone ring, considering. He was only going through the lab’s stores since that seems like what Belos told him to do. But there is a whole office through the door.

He settles at the sleek, shiny desk. Not standard Starfleet white like Leonard’s, real wood. A nice piece of furniture. With drawers. And paper files in those drawers. It’s all very rustic, and very Leonard’s style, but it gives him not a whole lot of time to get through it all.

-

The tentative Enterprise crew got pretty spectacularly hammered the day Starfleet Command gave Jim the Enterprise. Scotty danced on the bar. It wasn’t overly dignified.

Spock was very reserved throughout, but it heartened Jim to see him there, among them, even if he couldn’t get drunk and wouldn’t enjoy it anyway. He and Bones even chatted, together at the table while the rest of the crew made spectacles of themselves. Bones had a private policy of not getting shit-faced on decent alcohol, and he’d been drinking bourbon all night in slow sips.

It made Jim want to lick his throat.

They strolled back to their dorm room together, joking about how ridiculous it was that the flagship’s senior staff was still sharing a dorm room on campus and trying to ignore that they could have their pick of the officer’s housing, if they wanted, given all the freshly empty rooms.

Something about surviving near death had brought out a sex fiend in Bones, and he’d spent the last week or two pressing up against Jim, kissing him and fucking him and holding him so close. Jim loved it. He loved how Bones would make this little growl in the back of his throat when he decided it was time to wreck Jim, he loved that Bones was a ridiculous tease and liked to fuck slow just to piss Jim off and make him beg for it, and he really, really loved how Bones looked when he decided to ride Jim into the mattress.

This evening seemed no different than the others, for Bones. He was giving Jim that heated-up look from the side, allowing for that sweep of his ridiculous eyelashes, and Jim was so tempted.

Tempted enough to let Bones press him up against the door of their room and kiss him stupid, tempted enough to bury his hands in Bones’ hair and muss it up out of his stupid Professional Bonesy style and make him just a bit ragged and messy and Jim’s.

He wasn’t tempted enough to go through with it, though.

“Bones,” he said, pulling away. “Bones, we gotta talk.”

The stupid phrase made Bones freeze up completely, and Jim could have kicked himself for it.

“Yeah?” Bones asked roughly.

“Bones, I’m gonna be the Captain.”

“Yeah,” Bones said slowly. “I know. Kinda thought that’s what we were celebrating here.”

“Yeah, but if I’m Captain, I can’t…there’s, like, forms we’d have to fill out. Official stuff. Otherwise, I. I’m taking advantage.”

“Oh.” Bones said, and that’s it. Instant boner killer. He looked…Jim didn’t even know how he looked. “I guess Captains can’t really do the whole benefits thing.”

“No,” Jim said. “Only, like…real relationships. With crew.”

The ridiculously dumb choice of words hung heavily in the air between them.

“So,” Bones said. “So I guess that’s it.”

“I mean, you’re my best friend,” Jim said, a little desperate.

Bones smiled at him, and it was a terrible, real smile. “That ain’t gonna change.”

Relief and disappointment, in Jim’s experience, felt a lot alike.

-

Dinner is excruciating. Leonard doesn’t dare say anything about the files he found, given that he’s apparently having dinner with every man in power on Atraxa III, being served by pretty, underage girls. The whole situation gives him the creeps so badly he can feel the edges of a panic attack creeping up on him.

“Have you heard from Nurse Chapel and the rest of the away team?” He asks, trying to ascertain if they’re even still alive.

“Yes, yes,” Belos waves a hand. “They’ve been returned to your ship.”

“Ah. Well, if there’s nothing else you need from me, perhaps you could –“ Leonard starts, but is immediately interrupted.

“No, no, out of the question,” Belos says. “You must stay.”

A swarthy man in his mid-forties leans forward and starts telling Leonard about the horses, the breeding stock, how fine they are to ride.

“I’m a Starfleet officer,” Leonard tells the party at large. “I’m afraid I can’t just stay here and look at the pretty horsies. I have duties.”

“Yes, well,” says the horse breeder. “With communication to your ship down, you’re just going to have to.” He smiles in a deeply unpleasant way, and the rest of the evening involves a lot more discussion of horse semen than Leonard wants or feels comfortable with.

Afterwards, he is brought to the old doctor’s house, and locked in for the night.

“It’s nothing personal,” Belos says. “We just don’t want you trying to bolt.”

“Uh huh,” Leonard says. “Tell me, how did you return the crew to the ship with the comms down?”

Belos shuts the door in his face and locks it.

“Okay,” Leonard says to himself. “Okay. Don’t freak out.”

It’s a losing battle, mostly. The best he can hope for is to dissociate enough that he’ll remain functional until this is all over. He’s fairly certain that Jim will send someone down for him; holding a Starfleet officer hostage is an offence to the Federation and Jim will be within his rights to try to intervene. It’s just as likely that Starfleet command will take issue and send a hostage negotiator instead, though, which leaves Leonard stranded here for, well, a while. Especially if the colonists can just beam people back aboard the ship. Adding to which, Leonard has a strong feeling they’re looking to replace their dead doctor.

And it’s not that Starfleet will just leave him here. He knows he’s needed elsewhere. But they’re going to send a doctor, given that it’s a Federation colony. And Leonard has the distinct impression that whoever gets the job in the end will be royally fucked. The files he found in the old doctor’s office may have left him with more questions than answers, but at least he knows what the questions are now.

The next morning, after far too little sleep and a good few hours spent considering if breaking a window and trying to escape from the second story is a stupid idea or the only idea he has, Leonard is taken back to the doctor’s office and apparently expected to give office hours.

At least, that’s the impression he gains from the twelve or so women sitting in the waiting room.

-

There was an outbreak of Andorian mud fleas on the Enterprise, toward the beginning of the five-year mission. And by outbreak, Leonard means that one Andorian crewmember brought them in from shore leave and came straight to sickbay.

Leonard responded by shutting him into quarantine immediately.

“This is Chief Medical Officer McCoy to First Officer Spock,” he said, his heart already inexplicably in his throat.

“Spock here.”

“Spock, I am recommending you retire to quarters immediately and set them under quarantine.”

“Doctor, there are only two hours remaining in beta shift. Perhaps this quarantine can—”

“Damn it, Spock, make that recommendation an order, and don’t make me use my override.”

There was a pause, a distant clearing of the throat (not Spock, he would never do anything so vulnerable on the comms, but someone else on the bridge clearly felt uncomfortable).

“Very well. Mr. Sulu, you have the bridge.”

“Aye, sir.”

Preetna, the poor quarantined Andorian security officer, had been subjected to the worst decontamination program Leonard had on file: Sonic showers on maximum, flea shampoo, twenty minutes in a sauna and twenty in an ice bath to get the suckers. Every crewmember Preetna had been in contact with received the same treatment, including Leonard himself, and Leonard blocked the computer for about two hours scanning the ship for any leftover fleas.

He stopped by Spock’s in person that evening, when he was sure the threat was gone.

“I’m sorry to have been,” Leonard paused. “Um. Unprofessional on the comms. Andorian mud fleas.”

Spock’s expression remained the same. “I see. I thank you for your caution.”

Caution, indeed. Leonard wanted to shake Spock. Andorian mud fleas were a pest for Andorians, humans and most other mammalian animals, they nested in the hair or fur and laid eggs in the skin that itched like crazy, but they were pretty easily treatable. No worse than a seven-year-old coming home from school with lice.

But while humans and Andorians were relatively thin-skinned and therefore somehow unattractive in that regard, Vulcans had two extra layers of skin, protection in the desert climate. Mud fleas burrowed in between the outer layers, made their homes there, laid their eggs, and caused an intensely unpleasant immune reaction in Vulcans that caused their temperature to rise alarmingly within only a few hours, ending ultimately in delirium and death.

It was a horrifying sight, and there were not a lot of ways to get the damn things out from inside someone’s skin.

“I…” Leonard ran his hand through his hair. “I take the safety of this crew very seriously.”

“I am aware.”

“And I take your safety very seriously.”

Spock inclined his head minimally.

“I just want you to know, I wouldn’t shout down the comms for a minor issue.”

“Leonard,” Spock said, and Leonard’s breath caught. He had always been Doctor McCoy, before then. “I am fully aware of your professional competence. I should not have asked to stay on the bridge. It was…”

Spock paused minutely, just for a split second, and Leonard was acutely aware that on a human, that almost imperceptible wrinkle to the nose would be a grimace. “It was a stupid question.”

A startled laugh caught in Leonard’s throat. “Well, there’s a first for everything.”

“Indeed.”

“I—” They both started at the same time, then stopped.

Leonard rubbed the back of his neck.

“I shall endeavor to not repeat the incident,” Spock said.

“Yeah,” Leonard said. “Me too.”

“Can I offer you anything? Tea?” Spock asked.

Leonard was momentarily floored. They did hang out in their downtime some, but only in the rec room or when Jim had asked them both.

“I would,” he said, “But I still owe Jim a report on today.”

“Of course,” Spock said.

“Another time?”

Spock inclined his head less than a fraction of an inch.

-

By midafternoon, Leonard is incredulous. He’s seen thirty patients, all women. All pregnant.

He has an assistant, at least, a young woman with skin tinged just slightly blue enough to reveal some Andorian ancestry. She’s…well, she’s not the worst assistant Leonard’s ever had, but she doesn’t exactly talk much, and all she does is input urine samples and hand out prescriptions.

She knocks on his door around two P.M. Atraxan time, and at this point, Leonard is pretty shaken up. He’s been rooting through the files a lot more freely all day, given that he needs to see medical history for his patients. He may be here against his will, but that is no excuse for being a bad doctor.

He’s just seen a tiny little woman, a wisp of a thing, pale and clearly pretty skinny, normally, carrying her fifth child in four and a half years. She was suffering from intense morning sickness, only partially alleviated by the vitamins in stock, and, due to her thyroid condition, Leonard could already tell that any halfway competent physician would put her on bedrest months before she was due – which she absolutely refused, saying there was no one else to care for her other children.

Carefully, as respectfully as he was able, Leonard suggested looking into birth control options after this child was born, and suddenly he found himself in an empty office, the sound of a slamming door echoing oddly.

“If you please, Doctor,” his assistant says just after that. “Your afternoon patients are here.”

“Is that so, Adina,” Leonard says, unpleasantly. She had emphasized ‘afternoon’ strangely, implying he should really know what that means, and he definitely doesn’t.

She’s apparently impervious to his bad temper, which raises her up a notch in comparison to other assistants.

And then she opens the door to his afternoon patients.

They aren’t sitting comfortably in the waiting room like the women this morning were, they’re just a long line of people right out the door, waiting on him with what looks like actual physical paper passports in their hands.

Adina must see the shock on his face, because she says, “Don’t worry, they’re just refilling prescriptions.”

Leonard takes about five patients to catch on, at which point he beckons Adina into the lab.

“They don’t just breed horses here, right?”

She shakes her head mutely.

“Right,” Leonard says. “Well. I’m not doing it. I’m not a breeder, I’m a doctor.”

“You have to,” she says.

“I do not,” he says, with slightly more calm than he feels. “That last lady, this morning, she’s going to die if she keeps having kids at that rate. And heck, half the races out there, the hormone supplements we have are gonna make them sick.”

“That lady,” Adina says, and Leonard can hear very clearly how angry she is, “knows she is privileged to give birth to the next generation of Atraxans.”

“Oh?” Leonard asks. “And those folks out there, they’re taking birth control that makes them sick just for the heck of it?”

“They can’t leave if you don’t fill their prescriptions.”

“What.”

“If you don’t stamp their passports,” Adina says through clenched teeth, “They will be stuck in town and will not be allowed to return to their home camps.”

Leonard thinks he might throw up.

-

There was a dullness to deep space exploration that Leonard never fully appreciated back when he was too busy being terrified of it. In a way, he found it comforting to be bored up there among the stars, it reminded him that while there was nothing but metal between him and the vastness of the universe, that metal was pretty safe and the people flying it were pretty talented.

Not that he would tell them that.

In relation to the Enterprise’s average, it was also experiencing an all-time low of dumbass injuries and illnesses, mostly because they were cruising through uncharted stars, charting them. Even Jim couldn’t get himself shot in any vital organs doing that.

It was a productive space of time for Leonard. He caught up on current medical journals, inventoried sick bay completely with the help of his staff, and let Scotty perform a series of upgrades on the biobeds.

He was so bored.

“You’ve ruined me,” he sniped at Jim in the rec room, sipping synthethol and pretending it was anything like real whiskey. “You’ve ruined me forever. I used to like peace and quiet, and now I’m just hanging about, waiting for the next adrenaline fix.”

“You big old liar,” Jim said cheerfully. “You were always like this.” He was playing 3-D chess with Spock, once again, and Leonard had absolutely no idea how it kept them this entertained.

“It is unlikely,” Spock agreed, “for an individual to change that extremely simply due to prolonged exposure to another.”

Leonard did the only logical thing and stuck his tongue out at Spock. “You always take his side.”

“He is my captain.”

“Hm,” Jim said, shifting a pawn from one level to the next. “I remember some weird incidents of insubordination. And choking.”

Spock, while still an emotionless computer, could look very prim when he wanted to. “There were exacerbating circumstances.”

“Aw,” Leonard said, feeling inexplicably guilty. “We’re just teasing.”

When Spock met his eyes, Leonard was almost entirely certain there was a smile somewhere in there, if not on his lips then in that gargantuan brain. “I am aware, Leonard.”

-

Jim has a minor, internal breakdown when Christine Chapel is beamed up with both security officers, all intact and well, if confused, and very much without one Dr. Leonard Horatio McCoy. They have a little politely worded message from the colony’s leader, claiming that McCoy’s services are required for the foreseeable future and the Enterprise should just toddle off and leave him there.

By “internal breakdown”, Jim means that he yells at Spock on the bridge and then retreats into his ready-room in embarrassment.

Spock follows him only minutes later, because of course he does.

“Captain,” he says, with his hands folded neatly behind his back.

“Mr. Spock,” Jim sighs. “I apologize for my outburst. I realize it is conduct unbecoming, and you’re welcome to submit a complaint, although I would suggest waiting until after we have solved this particular issue.”

“I believe we are both emotionally compromised in this situation,” Spock says.

Jim chokes on air. So Spock knew, all along. Knew, and proceeded to romance Bones right in front of his face. But that’s not important now.

“What do you suggest?” He asks.

“That we beam down with a minimal security detail at a safe distance from the settlement and conduct reconnaissance.”

Jim nods, sharply. “That sounds like the logical course of action,” he says, and both of them ignore that this eminently illogical course of action places all three chief members of staff in direct danger.

-

If Jim were to describe Spock and Bones’ relationship, he would call it affably antagonistic. They disagreed on any number of things, primarily the relativity of moral decisions, but they did still respect each other and their respective roles in the running of the Enterprise. Most of the time.

So it was a bit of a mystery to Jim how ethical questions as baseline as the trolley problem could consistently rile them both up so much they couldn’t stand to be in the same room.

He tried asking Bones about it, several times, but each time ended in Jim being drawn into a debate about the same philosophical issue Bones had just yelled at Spock over. Strangely, talking to Jim, Bones’ perspective gained a depth and well-roundedness it always lacked when he talks to Spock.

Spock stonewalled less smoothly than Bones and just straight-up refused to talk about it, beyond reminding Jim that the needs of the many outweighed the needs of the few.

Jim admitted he was not ideally suited to this particular debate; in his personal philosophy, the only correct answer to the trolley problem was to stop the damn thing before it killed anyone at all. But what he understood least of all was how between one crisis that ended in Spock and McCoy giving each other hell in front of the entire bridge crew and the next morning, somehow, the entire issue was solved.

In contrast, it had taken Jim several months to get Spock to unbend about the choking incident. He wished he knew how Bones did it.

It never occurred to him that it was Spock doing it until he caught his first officer.

“Caught” was then again perhaps the wrong word; it wasn’t as if it was anything to be ashamed of. It also wasn’t as if Jim had been intentionally spying.

He just happened to be sharing a shitty, not-really-alcoholic-drink with Bones, watching a shittier holovid, the evening after a particularly vicious spat. Bones was taciturn and broody, sure, but that was one of his natural states, so Jim wasn’t all that worried.

The door chimed well into what was, by Jim’s counting, act seven of a three-act movie.

“No, don’t bother pausing,” Bones said when Jim reached for the remote. “I’m sure all I’ll miss is a minor explosion.”

Later, Jim would wonder if Bones had been trying to stop Jim from overhearing him and Spock at the door. He could only just see the shine of Spock’s hair and the shoulder of his uniform from his position sprawled out over half the couch.

They were talking quietly, but intently. Jim could only make out snatched phrases from Bones, and nothing at all from Spock.

He did see Bones reach out, and he knew Bones’ body language well enough to know he was going to clasp Spock’s shoulder in that way he did, steady, comforting. He stopped at the last second, as if he had almost forgotten Spock was a Vulcan.

Or as if he had forgotten Jim was there.

Jim wasn’t sure which option horrified him more.

“I asked if he wanted to join us,” Bones said after Spock had left, settling back onto the couch to watch more poorly executed special effects. “Apparently, he’s not all that into mindless entertainment.”

“Huh,” Jim said, and then, like a child picking at a scab, “So that’s it? You guys are fine again now?”

“Jim,” Bones said, and his voice was raw and honest and Jim just couldn’t do it.

“Never mind. I should be calling it a night, too, actually, been a long day.”

-

Leonard gives out batches upon batches of medically inadvisable birth control and stamps passports – different colors for different alien races, he notes with disgust – that afternoon, and once he’s done, he decides to storm Belos’ office in a hissy fit. After all, they aren’t likely to harm the only doctor in residence.

He’s worked himself up into a major tantrum that starts with him saying, “If you think I am going to sit here supporting your genocide, you’ve got another thing coming,” but he’s once again cut off abruptly.

“Don’t be ridiculous, no one is committing genocide.” Belos is staring out his window, not even looking at Leonard. “There are plenty of Klingons and Vulcans and Andorians out there in space, and as far as I’m concerned, they can stay there.”

“You just want an all-human colony.”

Belos steeples his fingers, watching those damn horses again. “If we let people procreate left and right with whomever they want, where do we end? No humans at all in a human colony, that’s where. Suddenly we’re a dwindling minority, and our grandchildren are blue. That’s not what this colony was meant to be.”

“So what you’re saying,” Leonard says, “is that you think a half human child is not human at all.”

“What I’m saying,” Belos responds, “Is that I will not let my people be driven out of their own homes by aliens. We were chosen to be here, and we’re going to be here.”

“Well, I want no part of it. You must know Starfleet won’t stand for this.”

Belos sneers. “They’re going to have to.”

With a sinking feeling, Leonard remembers that this man apparently has the tech to jumble the Enterprise’s comms. He probably does have a plan, and Leonard’s rashness just now probably ruined his chances of getting out of here.

“I’ve got a sample of Andorian mud fleas headed straight for New Vulcan,” Belos says, “And I’m gonna land it there and see those damn sand lizards burn to death if you don’t stay right where you are and keep things just how they are.”

-

Spock was not as at one with the Vulcan way as would be convenient. While he was convinced his dual nature had more benefits than drawbacks, his lack of temperance in some things was certainly a drawback.

The pounding of his heart when he walked to Leonard’s room, for instance, was very inconvenient. He would like to be able to meditate briefly, to regulate his breathing and his heart rate, but it was not to be. The instant he raised his hand to the chime, his heart would pound, and there was nothing he could do.

In fact, it would be ideal if he could quell the urge to go to Leonard’s quarters in the first place. There was no real need to apologize. They had these disputes often, and every time, Spock found himself here, hours later. He would return to his quarters, he would utilize the sonic shower, and then he would put his uniform back on, needing, irrationally, illogically, to prove to himself that Leonard had not crossed the border from irascibility to outright dislike this time.

And every time, Leonard would open the door, smile at him, and tell him, “Aw, it’s alright, Spock. I’m sorry, too.” Sometimes he would offer Spock a cup of tea, or a glass of synthethol, and Spock would battle through his desires and say no.

Sometimes, Jim would be sitting on Leonard’s sofa, his arm slung casually over the back of it, his hair mussed, his glasses on. And Leonard, hushed, so Jim wouldn’t hear, would still ask Spock to stay, as if they didn’t both know he’d be intruding. As if it wouldn’t complicate an already awful situation. And Spock would say no.

His mother used to lecture him that choosing logic-based decision-making was no reason to live in ignorance of your own emotions; in fact, it was more of a drawback. Spock was very aware of his own emotions. Far too aware, walking back from Leonard’s quarters, and thinking on how very much he wanted to go in. To accept the invitation. To be a part of them.

-

As it turns out, sneaking into the main Atraxan settlement is not actually that easy. They have a wall, and guarded entry points, and the guards have pretty massive phasers.

“I suggest,” Jim says between clenched teeth, after they’ve scouted out the entire circumference of the damned town, “That we make camp here for the night.”

The two security officers, Pindit and Lakshmi, just nod. They’ve been sufficiently cowed by both Jim’s and Spock’s incredibly bad tempers.

Huddled under two Starfleet issue blankets – tiny and thin, but surprisingly warm – Jim stares moodily at the stupid settlement, fully aware he is breaking at least four regulations by being here in the first place. He should have probably called in a hostage negotiator or something, but he just couldn’t. Bones could be dead by the time Starfleet gets someone out here.

Jim is not used to flying this blind, though. Under normal circumstances, he’d just storm in and take his CMO back, but he has no idea what’s going on, and he’s leery of interacting with those heavily armed guards without at least slightly more of a clue. He’s trying to make rational decisions after having made that first unbelievable, irrational decision with Spock.

Spock has been as impassive as usual, and while normally, Jim appreciates his implacability professionally, right now, it’s setting his teeth on edge.

“So, emotionally compromised, huh,” he needles, while Security’s scouting the vicinity of their campsite, because he’s an asshole and a masochist.

Spock meets his eye. He has really very expressive eyes for a guy who’s all about controlling his emotions. “I fail to see the purpose in this line of conversation.”

“Humor me.”

“Yes. I have found myself…” Spock swallows. “Emotionally compromised. By Doctor McCoy. For some time.”

Some time, huh. “Altamid?” Jim asks.

“I was aware of it prior to the events on Altamid.”

“Hm,” Jim says. “I always thought you two didn’t really get along.”

“Yes,” Spock says.

“So how’s that work out, then? Lots of makeup sex?”

“Captain,” Spock says, and Jim is…look, Jim is fully aware he just crossed a line, but he’s anxious and tense and pissed off and lonely.

“Sorry,” Jim mutters.

“Captain, the doctor and I are not engaged in…” Spock clears his throat. “Any sort of mutual relationship. The, the emotional compromise is entirely on my part.”

Jim feels his stomach drop what feels like fifty feet. “Oh.”

“In fact, I was under the impression that you and the Doctor were engaged in a relationship.”

“No,” Jim says hoarsely, not that he really needs to now. “No, we’re not.”

“I am sorry,” Spock says.

“Yeah,” Jim says. “Me too.”

He doesn’t ask what Spock is sorry for, but it’s the first time he’s said it that way in Jim’s hearing, not his stilted, formal, “I apologize”, and Jim is sure it means something very different.

He’s about to say something else, anything else to defuse the awful tension in the air, when Pindit and Lakshmi return, flanking an unfamiliar young woman.

“My name is Adina,” she tells Jim, “And I’ve brought a message from the Doctor.”

-

After his stunt as God, with Jim alive and healthy and chatting the nurses up happily, Leonard went to the supply closet and had himself a little panic attack.

Spock found him there about half an hour into trying to control his breathing.

He knocked very politely, and if Leonard were in any shape for it, he would have said something about it being a communal supply closet. It was the knock that gave him away through the door, pristine and precise, like he had learned a specific pressure and rhythm to use. Leonard supposed he probably had, given that he would have been fully capable of denting the door otherwise.

He opened the door, trying to look like he wasn’t freaking out. Spock was not even a little fooled.

“Leonard,” he said, “May I assist you?”

Leonard laughed nervously. “I don’t really know what you could do. I’m just…a little overwhelmed.”

“You’ve accomplished an impressive feat.”

“I’ve broken the rules, Spock.”

Leonard leaned back into his closet, staring at the ceiling, and when Spock stepped inside and closed the door, standing comfortably near Leonard, not quite touching, he found himself talking.

He’d only ever told Jim about his father before, and that only very, very drunk, but Spock’s silence was somehow comforting enough for Bones to spill out the whole story in sloppy, disjointed sentences. His crushing guilt, his self-administered punishment, and now this.

“I can’t do it,” he found himself saying. “I can’t let nature be when it’s someone I love. I just. I have to stick my fingers in and do things I shouldn’t.” He wraps his arms around himself. “Why d’you think I fight you so hard? About the needs of the many and the few and all that? I know what I’m like when I decide on life and death, and I hate it, and I can’t. I shouldn’t. No one should get to make these decisions.”

Spock caught Leonard’s elbow in his hand, and the shock, the heat of his hand through Leonard’s scrubs brought him to stillness.

“It is to your credit,” Spock said, apparently with some difficulty, “That you have these concerns. That you consider it thusly. That is why your input is so valuable on the Enterprise.”

Leonard stared at Spock.

“I greatly value your perspective. I may not…express myself thusly. But the standard you hold yourself to is one we should always strive for. It is your…idealism that allows our ship to complete our missions.”

Leonard couldn’t help himself, he laughed. “No way,” he said. “I just get in the way.”

“Vulcan tenets are pragmatic,” Spock said. Insisted, really. “You ignore pragmatism in favor of what you think is right. It is with both our input that Jim can find it in his crew to…split the difference, so to speak.”

“You think we balance out.”

“I do.”

Leonard tipped his head forward, till he was resting his forehead to Spock’s. “I really hope you’re right.

They stood still, for a moment, foreheads pressed together, Spock’s hand on Leonard’s elbow, till Leonard remembered.

“Shit, sorry,” he said, pulling back. “I forgot. Can you believe I just forgot? About touching?”

“It’s quite alright,” Spock said. “Your mental touch is not at all unpleasant.”

“Well, thanks.”

“Perhaps we should rejoin the Captain.”

“Yeah, who knows what trouble he’ll get himself into without us.”

“Indeed.”

-

It takes Jim the better part of two days to get a message back to Leonard. Pindit is the only one of the away team who can get past the guards, because he’s Orion, and apparently that makes him identical to all other Orions on the planet, which is disturbing to say the least.

He makes it into Leonard’s practice late on the second day, carrying a handwritten letter that Jim and Spock obviously worked out together, because the first sentence is “what the fuck you absolute numbnuts” in Jim’s chicken scratch, followed by some very lovely handwriting expressing a similar sentiment in nicer words.

Pindit shrugs apologetically when Leonard raises his eyebrows. “They had a hard time working out what to say. But no one is willing to leave you here, Doctor.”

“We don’t have an alternative,” Leonard says wearily. “I told Adina to tell them about that.”

“The mud fleas,” Pindit agrees. “Yeah. Well, Lakshmi and I were wondering if there’s some communication center around here. I mean, they have to be controlling that shuttle from somewhere, and scrambling the comm signal.”

Leonard nods in agreement. “That’s what I figure, too, but no one’s talking to me. I played my hand too early with Belos.” He grimaces. “And the people who will talk to me don’t know where it is either.”

“Right,” Pindit says, “But maybe we can locate the source of the interference in our comm signals. We’d need an engineer, though, and we can’t get in touch with the Enterprise.”

“Try asking Jim,” Leonard says, “He’s a dab hand at that sort of thing.”

He then considers for a second, and adds, “What exactly are Jim and Spock doing down here? Surely it’s against protocol for the entire command team to head down to unknown…” he gestures his hand vaguely to indicate ‘racist population control policies’.

Pindit shrugs, looking incredibly awkward. “It is, but honestly I think pointing that out is way above my paygrade. The Captain and the First Officer gave the order and they didn’t really accept any comments.”

“Fine,” Leonard snaps. “This mission has been a disaster from start to finish for Starfleet protocol, why start trying now? I’ll try to do some recon here, you see if you can locate a command center from your campsite. Don’t let the Captain or Spock anywhere near this town. It’s not just our own crew we’ll be jeopardizing.”

“Understood,” Pindit says. Leonard stamps his fake passport, and he’s about to leave, but he turns around again and says, “Sir, I know it’s not in my job description or anything but, uh, don’t be too harsh on them. I think they’re really worried.”

-

Spock was vaguely, distastefully aware of the level of speculation that existed about Vulcan sex. Most of which consisted of an utterly misinformed stance that Vulcans deemed enjoying sex illogical. As most Vulcans would have easily told you, when asked, since procreation was a biological drive, enjoying it was eminently logical and purposeful. And even beyond procreational purposes, sex was an eminently efficient method of relieving stress and keeping one’s body satisfied. While meditation fulfilled similar purposes, it was a very different method and was not always enough. Finally, sex was an intrinsic element of many pair bonds and served to strengthen them.

But no one had ever asked Spock. He believed it was because humans saw questions about sex as impolite, which he found far more illogical than simply enjoying it.

Spock did not have a vivid imagination. He did, however, have an excellent memory and an ability to extrapolate. Currently, his memory was focused on Leonard McCoy’s fingers drumming against the back of the captain’s chair during a particularly tense moment. Spock considered the breadth of those fingers, the dexterity, considered how they would tangle with his own, and then soundly chastised himself for not only fantasizing about a coworker, but fantasizing about something so trivial as a kiss.

The sonic shower was Spock’s designated space for unprofessional thoughts, chiefly because even he couldn’t ignore them forever, and there they could be put to productive use.

Vulcan anatomy was not as humanoid as could be assumed based merely on the arrangement of limbs and torso. Vital organs were in very different locations, and Vulcan kidneys were configurated in a vastly different manner than human kidneys, so much so that to call them ‘kidneys’ could be (and had been, by Leonard) termed misleading.

Furthermore, Vulcan genitalia was constructed quite differently. With their lower body temperatures and the higher ambient temperature of their home planet, Vulcans had no need of external heat regulation for their testicles, and as such carried their genitalia internally except when aroused, at which point the penis or clitoris began to swell and release from its sheath.

As it happened, the sonic showers had a setting that, when aimed towards Spock’s sheath at a specific angle, did quite a lot to aid that process.

Likewise, his thoughts – memories, fantasies – about Leonard’s hands were a source of stimulation. Would he know about Vulcan biology? Would he know to run his thumb just around the edge of the sheath to make Spock squirm? Spock liked to think so.

Unbidden, unintended, a second thought crossed Spock’s mind – Jim’s hands, narrower, calloused, sliding against Leonard’s, the two of them as strong together in that way as in any other. He considered the possibilities of both their hands – on him. His time in the sonic shower was unusually pleasant. It was simply the rest of the evening that followed that was not.

-

Spock is very aware that Leonard has made a correct decision by insisting he ought to stay on Atraxa III, at least for the time being. He finds this decision unacceptable, certainly, but he is also aware that there are no acceptable alternatives. With communication to the ship down, there is no way to inform Starfleet of the sample of Andorian mud fleas, therefor it would be unwise to provoke Belos into action.

However, Spock is also keenly aware of how Leonard would react to a situation in which he is forced to conduct ill-advised medical practice, and it makes Spock ache. This situation is untenable, particularly as Belos has made clear he will resort to violence when forced. Leonard’s missive that he intends to perform reconnaissance has Spock very concerned.

Jim is no better. He threw himself into the project of rewiring the scanner to find the signal disturbance several hours ago, but he has made little to no progress, lacking a few critical parts, and it has made him frustrated and ornery. The third time he snaps at Lakshmi, who has been nothing but patient with this mission, Spock quietly sends her and Pindit on an entirely useless reconnaissance mission to allow them some respite.

“Jim,” he says, “If you would allow it, I believe I could be of some assistance.”

“Fine,” Jim snarls.

Tinkering with wires and cables soothes some of Spock’s own anxiety, but Jim is practically vibrating with it beside him. Spock is aware that he has yet to assimilate the information that Jim and Leonard are not, as he had presumed, a couple. Nonetheless, he feels an intense need to soothe Jim.

“Leonard is a very capable officer,” he says, in lieu of something that would actually alleviate Jim’s concern.

“Leonard is a very capable doctor,” Jim says. “He can’t sneak around for shit.”

“He will be returned to us,” Spock says, unsure where his conviction stems from.

“Yeah,” Jim says.

Spock tinkers.

“Look, Spock, I wanna apologize. It was…crude of me, before. To force the issue. About Bones.”

“That is unnecessary,” Spock says, frowning in concentration as he attempts to locate the correct words. “I fully understand your distress.”

“No, but…” Jim rubs a hand through his hair. He’s grown stubble in the two days since they’ve been on the planet, and Spock finds it oddly appealing. “I don’t think you understand. I had my chance with Bones; I blew it. He…It’s you he wants.”

For an instant, Spock is blindsided by the thought of Jim and Leonard together, dark hair against light, kissing they way humans do, clutching at each other. For a moment, he pictures himself between them.

It is not an ideal situation to develop an imagination.

“I believe that is a too simplistic view of the situation,” Spock says roughly. He is saved from having to say more by the sudden beeping of the device in his hands.

*

It turns out Belos is pretty dumb, because he lets Andorian cleaning crews staff his secret bunker with all the weapons tech hidden inside. Apparently, in addition to the breeding program, there’s an employment program as well, and Leonard really hopes the high security prison Starfleet puts Belos in when this is all over will make him do the same shitty work he’s made every non-human on Atraxa III do.

Leonard, however, is also not exactly overladen with intelligence, because he’s barely made it inside said bunker when Belos’ security guards have him by the throat, phasers pointed straight to his heart.

“I should have known,” Belos says mournfully. “Brainwashed by Starfleet. It’s a shame, really, your credentials were quite impressive.”

As much as Leonard would really enjoy a frank discussion with this man about brainwashing, the firm grip at his throat impedes any response.

“Well, come along,” Belos beckons to the guard. “Let’s take him to the others.”

Leonard’s heart sinks.

At the heart of the bunker, in what looks like a control room, they find Jim and Spock, surrounded by four armed men, and Leonard can already tell that Starfleet will not be pleased.

“The human race,” Belos begins, pacing back and forth in front of a Vulcan in what might be the stupidest move of the year as he begins to pontificate on the resilience and all-around superiority of humanity.

Spock is entirely impassive, his hands clasped behind his back as is his norm when he is maintaining a façade. Jim decides, however, that this is the ideal time to launch into a pro-Starfleet counter-rant, and Leonard is once again struck by the fine line between courage and stupidity.

He misses, as do the guards, when Pindit, in the standard Atraxan janitor’s uniform, begins hastily jabbing buttons on the control panel just around the corner from where Jim is drawing all attention on himself.

Belos is not quite as easily fooled; it only takes him a moment to spot Pindit activating the remote self-destruct on his little shuttle of Andorian mud fleas, at which point he jams his phaser tightly to Leonard’s ribs and says, “Input that command and the Doctor dies.”

For a hazy, drawn-out moment, Leonard is confused as to why he’s still alive, before he sees how Jim and Spock have both frozen, how Pindit is staring, his hand hovering above the input button.

Spock stares straight at Leonard, as he says, hoarsely, “I order you to input the command, Mr. Pindit.”

Even as Leonard nods tightly to Spock in congratulations for making the first correct decision any of them have made since the Atraxans first made contact, he feels the bright pinprick of hurt that Spock just does not feel that way.

And then he feels the bright starburst of hurt against his ribs as the phaser pressed to them backfires magnificently, shooting Belos in the chest.

Spock removes his hands from behind his back, revealing a mess of wiring in the console he was standing in front of. “It was the best I could do,” he says. “I will of course submit to disciplinary action for causing undue loss of life.”

-

Jim takes the time to shower and submit a bare-bones, just-the-facts brief to Starfleet, requesting immediate aid be sent to Atraxa III, and recommending strongly the colony be either broken up entirely or comprehensively reeducated before he calls Bones and Spock into his ready-room. They’re still orbiting the godforsaken wasteland of a colony, because it’s their godforsaken duty, but Jim has put Sulu and Uhura in charge for now. His hands won’t stop shaking. He’s in no fit state to command this vessel.

“Gentlemen,” he says when they arrive. “We need to discuss this disaster of a mission.”

Bones looks exhausted. He has bags under his eyes, Jim is sure he barely slept on the surface. He hasn’t even showered yet; Jim is sure he’s been briefing his medical staff thoroughly, both about the situation on the planet as well as the comprehensive stock of antibiotics and nanotechnology-based medicine they had found stashed in Belos’ bunker that was apparently only for his own private use. It certainly explains why a man well over a hundred and ten was still hale and hearty and fascist. A heavily armed team has already beamed down to start the first round of treatment for the local Andorians, who are suffering most from improper hormone intake.

Spock looks precisely as he always does, and it kills Jim a bit, because he knows that Spock is hurting and he wishes he could help. As is, he’s already commended Spock for his quick thinking; he hadn’t even considered that the phaser control panel would also have to be in the bunker.

“As I stated previously,” Spock says, “I will submit to any disciplinary action you deem necessary.”

“Spock,” Jim says, as kindly as he can, “If I were going to discipline you, I would have to discipline myself, too, and Lakshmi and Pindit, and I think they’ve suffered enough.”

Bones snorts.

“And you,” Jim says indignantly to Bones, “What the hell were you thinking, getting separated from the away team ten minutes in? You’re not an ensign, this isn’t your first go-round.”

“Me?” Bones huffs. “At least I didn’t decide beaming down the whole command crew with no way of getting back was a good call.”

“I’m aware it was a bad decision,” Jim says through gritted teeth. “What I don’t get is why it was necessary.”

“I perceived a threat very early on,” Bones says, using the euphemistic Starfleet-speak he hates. “I deemed it a necessary precaution to concede the colonists’ wishes to enable a minimum loss of life until I could establish a more comprehensive view of the situation.”

“While your judgment is not at fault in that regard, you could certainly have kept at least part of the security team with you,” Spock says. “Your life is very valuable. To Starfleet.”

“I didn’t think of it at the time,” Bones says.

“How could you not think of protecting yourself? Or this crew?” Jim bursts out. “We need you here.”

“How could you not think of protecting this crew when you both went haring off after me? This is the goddamn flagship, not a pirate ship. They need their captain.”

Jim and Spock look at each other and then at Bones.

“I admit the decision was taken rashly,” Spock says. “I…neither of us responded well to the thought of your absence.”

“The thought of my absence?” Bones repeats incredulously. His hair is flopping over his forehead, which stopped Jim from noticing the set of his eyebrows, pulling lower and lower over his eyes till an outburst is inevitable. “Well that sure didn’t bother you when you were going to take that post on New Vulcan. Or you when you applied for that Vice-Admiralship. Why the fuck would it stop you from doing your damn jobs?”

Spock is staring at his own hands. “I was unaware you knew of that.”

“Yeah, well.” Bones says. “You think I liked the thought of flying around in this tin can without either of you? Cause I didn’t. But since neither of you even saw fit to tell me about it, well. Forgive me for jumping to the conclusion this here was a professional, working relationship.”

“It’s not like you were interested in the alternative,” Jim bursts out, the old hurt he’s let scab over time and time again only to scratch it back open.

Spock goes very still.

“What alternative?” Bones asks, still in rage mode.

“I asked you to be with me, for real, as my partner, and you said no.”

Bones snorts. “I think I’d remember that.”

“Well, apparently, you don’t. It’s fine, whatever, it’s been six years and you’ve got Mr. Spock here waiting on you to pull your head out of your ass.”

Spock’s ears flush, just a little. It’s adorable.

“Captain,” he says stiffly, “It is not your place to –“

“Well you aren’t gonna do it,” Jim says.

“What the everloving fuck,” Bones says, and whoops, they’ve done it, Bones looks about as pissed off as Jim has ever seen him. “You never fucking asked me for anything, Captain, you told me we couldn’t be screwing on the side with you as captain. Excuse me for not realizing there was more on the table after three years of not so much as kissing in public. And you.” He rounds on Spock, who does nothing but stare back, wide-eyed. “How many times exactly have I asked you in for a cup of tea? For a holo? For a fucking game of fucking chess, which I hate? And how many times have you said no?”

No one responds.

“I find it,” Bones grits out, “very fucking hard to believe that either of you are harboring any sort of romantic feeling for me, given that you both nearly left me here, alone. And even if you had, against all odds, been pining away for me, why in the name of all that’s holy would the two most intelligent men in Starfleet not think to say something about it with your dumbass mouths?”

Jim opens his dumbass mouth, but Bones forestalls him.

“I’m leaving now,” he says. “I’m gonna take a shower and change out of this uniform I’ve been wearing for five days, and if either of you miraculously comes up with something intelligent to say, you know where I live.”

It’s not exactly easy to storm out of a room with an automatic door, but Bones can do it.

-

Spock is silent for a while after Leonard has left, thinking. So is Jim.

“Captain,” he says after a while. “Jim. I believe we have both hurt Leonard in a way I had not anticipated.”

“Yeah,” Jim says. He’s looking at Spock steadily, with an air of assessment he usually saves for diplomatic situations. “Maybe you should.” He swallows. “Maybe you should go after him. I don’t think he. I mean.”

“Jim,” Spock repeats, and using a courage he was unaware he possessed, he takes Jim’s hand between his own. “I believe we should go to Leonard together.”

“What do you…I mean.” Jim halts, flustered. He shields well, for a human, but Spock can distantly sense his confusion, his hurt, the little thread of joy at Spock’s touch. Spock can sense his heartbeat as well, low and steady.

Spock takes a steadying breath, then says, “I find it difficult to express my emotions, as you are aware. I fear in this instance, that has led to both you and Leonard being…unaware of them, and hurt by my actions. For this I apologize. I would wish to – that is, I believed you and Leonard to be in a relationship of some sort, and I turned down his offers of companionship because I wanted to receive them from both of you, not just him.”

“Spock,” Jim says breathlessly. His hand rotates between Spock’s, his index and middle finger stroke against Spock’s own, and Spock’s eyes slide shut in pleasure.

When he opens them, Jim is smiling at him, just enough to make his eyes sparkle, just enough to convince Spock there is hope for them yet.

Leonard has completed his shower by the time they arrive at his quarters, but he has not completed dressing. He is clad in sweatpants and loose vest, the sash of which has not yet been tied. Spock finds the sight alarmingly distracting.

They are allowed in wordlessly, but Spock can tell that Leonard is no less displeased than when he left them in the ready room.

Jim gropes for Spock’s hand and begins speaking, so low and fast Spock struggles to keep up.

“Bones,” he says, “I’m sorry. You’re absolutely right, it was dumb of me to assume we’d…meant the same things that night, that you didn’t feel the same way about me when we had never even talked about it. It doesn’t – I did feel about you that way, then, though. I mean, I still do. I want to be with you. Properly.” Both of you is a sentiment so strong Spock can feel it in Jim’s pulse, but he wisely refrains from verbalizing it before Leonard is ready.

Leonard is, in opposition to his earlier outburst, almost preternaturally calm when he asks, “And the Vice Admiral position?”

“I may have been dumb about it, but I spent those years thinking you didn’t want me.” Jim’s voice cracks. “It’s been. I’ve been lonely. I love this ship, I love this crew. I love the work we do here, but it can be hard to face it alone. I died, Bones. I died and you didn’t love me.”

Leonard’s gaze softens, and he almost reaches out, but he looks to Spock first. “And you?”

Spock reaches for the well of courage he had held previously. “I believed you and Jim to be romantically involved,” he says. “I wished to be part of that, not…” he trails off, lacking the words.

“Not my bit on the side,” Leonard says with some humor.

“Indeed. As for my interest in going to New Vulcan, it was ill thought out. I had a more difficult time processing my grief for what was lost on Vulcan than I knew myself, and I felt adrift.”

“Lonely,” Jim says.

“Indeed.”

“So,” Leonard says. “You both made a few hasty assumptions, and I did too, and now we’re here and you’re suggesting?”

Jim is silent, so Spock speaks. “For my part, I am suggesting that all three of us engage in a romantic relationship. I would also suggest a more thorough reliance on the chain of command in cases such as this mission to avoid irrational decision-making, regardless of whether or not we enter such a relationship. Should the two of you prefer I leave—”

Jim grasps Spock’s hand tightly and looks to Leonard. It appears he has nothing to add.

“I think you’re right as always, Mr. Spock,” Leonard says gently. “And I should apologize as well.”

Jim makes to cut him off, but Leonard shakes his head. “I should have told you how I felt six years ago, darlin’,” he says. He moves toward Jim at last, cups Jim’s face in his hand. “I was scared, and I didn’t want to lose you, and I guess you felt the same. But I’ve always been here, and I’m not leaving. I raised you from the dead, Jim, of course I love you.”

Jim makes a noise in his throat that sounds like both a laugh and a sob as he leans into Leonard’s touch.

Leonard kisses him gently, mouth to mouth as humans do, and it is just as beautiful as Spock imagined.

He faces Spock when he pulls away. “I’m sorry to you, too, Spock,” he says. “We would have made this all a lot easier if we’d just talked to each other earlier. I should have told you both how I felt after Yorktown. And I should be a lot more careful on away missions.”

“It is in the past,” Spock says, aware he sounds more calm than he feels. “Are you positive that you—”

“That I want to be with both of you?” Leonard asks. “I should be asking you that.”

“If we stand around here all day asking each other, we’ll never get anywhere,” Jim says.

“Shut up,” Leonard says pleasantly. He steps closer to Spock, tangles their index and middle fingers together. “Am I doing this right?”

Even as Spock strokes down Leonard’s fingers with his own, showing him how to kiss a Vulcan properly, he leans in to Leonard and presses their lips together.

The hand not currently occupied kissing Spock grasps the base of his skull gently, tilts his head to the side, and allows Leonard’s lips to slot against Spock’s in a pleasing fashion; he finds himself opening his mouth just slightly as Leonard does the same, finds a depth to the human kiss he was unaware of. Leonard’s soothed hurt and banked anger are melting away at Spock’s fingertips, he can feel Leonard becoming happy as they kiss, becoming pleased and hopeful.

“You’re beautiful,” Jim says, and he steps closer to envelop them both in his arms. He kisses Spock in turn, allowing a hint of his heat and eagerness to slip into it, and Spock is once again aware of how guarded Jim’s emotions are.

“I think,” Leonard says, very wisely indeed, “we should all sit down.”

-

Leonard is more than a little surprised at the three different about-face turns this day has taken. Five hours ago, he was ready to die. Two hours ago, he was ready to kill Jim Kirk. Now? Well, now he’s got an inkling he’s about to get luckier than any man has a right to be.

He’s got Jim on one side, a familiar weight despite the years it’s been since he’s gotten to kiss that infuriating mouth, gotten to run his hands up and down Jim’s sides, gotten to hold him close. And he’s got Spock on the other side, who is in all honesty a goddamn revelation. He’s magnificently responsive. Not in the ways a human lover would be, certainly, but that’s not what Leonard was looking for from him anyway. He’s all tight indrawn breaths, gentle strokes of his fingers down Leonard’s and Jim’s hands, almost imperceptible shudders. It’s glorious.

Leonard kisses Jim deeply, and whispers in his ear.

Jim grins.

“What did you say?” Spock asks.

“Oh, nothing,” Leonard says. “We were just strategizing.”

He lifts Spock’s hand to his mouth and delicately licks all the way up his index finger.

Spock’s mouth falls open and his eyes close; Jim uses the distraction to slide in behind Spock, leaning against the headboard, to take the tip of Spock’s ear in his mouth. Spock gasps soundlessly.

“Strategizing?” He asks.

“Mm,” Leonard agrees, taking two fingers in his mouth and sucking briefly, intently. “About how we’d really like to make you come.”

“I believe I would be amenable to that,” Spock says, and if he weren’t quite so breathless he could almost pass for unruffled.

Jim’s arm snakes around Spock’s waist, under his uniform shirt. “Can we undress you?” he asks lowly in Spock’s ear.

Spock stretches, sinuous and cat-like, pressing a maximum of his body against Jim. “Affirmative.”

Jim rewards him by pulling his shirt up high enough to skim both hands across his nipples, and Spock arches his back.

“Vulcans,” Leonard tells Jim as he removes Spock’s pants, “Have somewhat different genitalia than us humans.” Spock is wearing Starfleet issue black boxer briefs, and he’s already begun leaking just a bit into them. “See, they have these sheaths,” he says, stroking slowly over Spock’s sheath, tucked tight in his lower abdomen. “And no external testicles,” Leonard adds. He runs his hands under Spock’s ass, massages his lower back. “But I think you’ll find,” he says, “there’s a little dip right here, where you can basically stroke them through the skin.”

He takes Jim’s hand in his, places it at the base of Spock’s back, where a human might have back dimples. “I think I feel it,” Jim says.

Spock shakes between them.

Leonard slides his fingers over Jim’s, forgetting that Jim doesn’t usually kiss that way for an instant, but it’s alright, because Jim’s fingers kiss back tenderly before returning to Spock.

Leonard returns to Spock’s front, pulling his boxer briefs down and off. His own vest and sweatpants were discarded when they moved to bed a while ago.

Spock’s penis is still sheathed, but only barely. Leonard can see the head peaking from the sheath, can feel how aroused Spock is through the thin skin. “Is this alright, darlin’?” He asks, running his fingers around the sheath’s opening.

Spock jerks like a livewire in Jim’s arms. “Perfectly acceptable,” he says breathily. “Please continue.”

“Well, if you’re gonna ask all polite-like,” Leonard says, at least partially because it revs Jim’s engines when he uses a bit of Georgia drawl.

Taking Spock’s hand in his again, kissing him as well as he can – Leonard wonders if he kisses like a Vulcan teenager, all sloppy and inexperienced – he lowers his head to Spock’s entrance and proceeds to lick all around the head of his penis, peeking out shyly. He licks up the sheathed shaft, and Spock sighs. He wriggles his tongue into the narrow space between the sheath opening and Spock’s dick, presses wet, sloppy kisses anywhere he can, starts tracing patters with his tongue around the opening.

Slowly, Spock begins to rock towards him.

It’s maybe the hottest moment of Leonard’s life when he realizes that Spock is fractionally inching his pelvis towards Leonard, that he’s beginning to grind back into Jim’s touch and forward into Leonard’s mouth, that the clean, musky taste on Leonard’s tongue is Spock’s natural lubrication. He moans into Spock’s skin, overwhelmed.

“Yeah,” says from behind Spock, muffled like he’s whispering against Spock’s skin. “Bones really loves giving head. Gets him going like nothing else, making you squirm. He once went down on me for an hour. I came twice.”

Leonard shudders at the memory, which he had kept locked away from conscious contemplation for quite a long time now, but now that Jim mentions it? That had been ridiculously hot, Jim whimpering and whining under him, shuddering with overstimulation and begging for more.

“And he’s so good at it, too, isn’t he?” Jim asks.

“Indeed,” Spock says.

He sounds wrecked.

Leonard has never been so smug and so unbearably turned on in his entire life.

“Yeah,” Jim says. “You know, Bones likes to make it easy to forget how clever he is, but you know he studied his Vulcan anatomy.”

Leonard takes this opportunity to tongue the psi point under the head of Spock’s penis, and feels Spock’s legs twitch on either side of him.

“And he’s pretty good at putting all that knowledge to use. I’ve never had anyone fuck me like Bones, because once he knows your hotspots, he never forgets.”

“Would you care to elaborate?” Spock asks, and Leonard is pretty sure he and Jim are sharing a moment of shock that Spock, their Spock, is basically begging for dirty talk.

“I love it when he fingers me,” Jim says, “he’s got such big hands, I know you noticed that, and he knows how to use them, he liked to drive me nuts with it, just teasing and teasing my ass until he finally slipped them in. He’d massage my prostate from the outside and the inside sometimes, too, and god.”

Leonard realizes Jim must have started grinding into Spock as Spock grinds into Leonard, and he’s almost certain all three of them are going to spontaneously combust.

He pulls back from Spock’s penis, now fully emerged from its sheath.

“Spock,” he says, “We.” He swallows. “Jim and I are maybe forgetting that we’ve had a lot of sex with each other, but never with you.” With an effort he would characterize as heroic, he sits back on his haunches. “We can always pause to draw boundaries, y’know. If there’s anything you’re uncomfortable with.”

“I am very comfortable, Leonard,” Spock says. “Thank you for asking.”

His pupils are blown wide as he meets Leonard’s eyes, erect cock drawn obscenely tight to his abdomen.

Leonard swallows with a dry click. “How do you feel about anal play?”

“I feel,” Spock says, and tilts his head back, momentarily distracted by Jim’s lips on his throat. “I feel like I would very much like you to engage in it with me.”

“You want him to fuck you, huh,” Jim says. “Well, I can’t blame you. His cock’s amazing. He does this thing where he doesn’t even fuck you, he just gets himself seated nice and deep and grinds it up against all the right places.”

“Christ,” Leonard mutters. “You’re making me blush.” He grips Jim’s hair, pulls him into a deep kiss.

Jim’s eyes go hazy when he pulls back. “You taste like Spock,” he says. “I don’t think I can survive this.”

Privately, Leonard agrees, even as he pulls the lube out of the drawer of his night table. Spock allows himself to slide lower against Jim’s back, till Jim’s chin is resting against his scalp. He spreads his legs, lifts them up, allows Leonard access.

“You’re gorgeous,” Leonard tells him hoarsely, as if Spock doesn’t know he feels that way from the sheer amount of skin touching skin, from the telepathic feedback he must be getting from both of them at this point on how absolutely fantastically attractive he is.

“Leonard,” Spock says, murmurs really. “I am. I find myself – overwhelmed. I am unsure I can continue to shield myself.”

Leonard pauses, his fingers halfway slicked up. “Do you need a mindmeld?” He asks, concerned. There’s a whole other level to telepathic sex he’s not quite sure he’s ready for.

Spock smiles. “Another time, I would greatly enjoy that. Once we are more accustomed to each other. I just…” Jim’s fingers tweak his nipple and Leonard feels a surge of pleasure not quite his own everywhere he’s touching Spock. “I cannot hold it back entirely,” Spock says. “If you continue, you will feel my reactions to you as I feel yours.”

“That actually sounds pretty convenient,” Leonard says. “Lets me know if I’m getting it right.” He slides a finger into Spock, almost casually, like it’s not the most monumental thing that’s ever happened to him. It’s weird, at first, to feel Spock’s surprise, his pleasure echoing against his skin, but it’s not unpleasant.

“I’m kind of pissed at myself that I never thought to fantasize about this,” Jim says. “This is the hottest thing that’s ever happened to me and I’m not even getting fucked.”

“Just wait,” Leonard says pleasantly, and all three of them shudder at the thought. “Spock, darlin’, how are you feeling?” He asks, even though he knows.

“Impatient.”

Jim laughs, just a little, as Leonard ups his game, starts fingering Spock in earnest. Spock isn’t writhing under him the way Jim does, he’s just making these minute little twitches with his hips, and Leonard is aware Spock is dangerously close to taking over control of this encounter if he doesn’t get on with it.

“I think you’re ready,” he says, more for Jim’s benefit than Spock’s.

“You should fuck him on your side,” Jim says. “Then I can blow him.”

Leonard is A-OK with that plan, so he settles behind Spock on their sides as Jim slides south, lifts Spock leg a little and angles himself inside. He hasn’t actually touched his own cock this entire time, and it’s a bit of a shock to see how engorged he is, how the head is almost purple, how desperately he needs it.

“Please,” Spock says, and Jim moans around his mouthful.

Spock is hot and tight inside, despite his somewhat lower core body temperature. Leonard had expected as much, but the pleasure is still shocking in its intensity. He can’t move, at first, he’s so turned on. So, he uses the trick he used to use on Jim, when he was being a brat: He holds himself deep inside Spock, circling his hips around and around till he finds just the right place to grind against.

If Spock’s breathing didn’t give it away, the sharp ricochet of shared pleasure between them would.

It’s incredibly overwhelming, actually, to feel how acutely Spock is enjoying this through his skin. Leonard grips his hips as he starts thrusting, and his hands tingle with it. Jim is moaning and groaning around Spock’s penis – no matter how much he talked about Leonard’s proclivity of giving head, Jim gets into it just as much sometimes.

“Leonard,” Spock says, “You could exert more pressure.”

“Yeah, Bones,” Jim says, letting go of Spock for an instant. “Fuck him harder.”

It’s not like he has a lot of leverage in this position, pleasant as it is to be plastered against Spock so entirely, but Leonard does like to follow orders on occasion. “Aye, sir,” he says, and actually feels a ripple of amusement from Jim through Spock.

He fucks Spock as well as he knows how, deep and hard and slow, and Spock lets out these little puffs of air when he gets it just right. He starts his slow shifting of the hips again when his control starts to unravel, forwards into Jim’s mouth, backwards into Leonard’s dick.

“That’s it, darlin’,” Leonard murmurs against his neck, holding on by little more than a thread himself, “Take what you need. We’ll make it so good for you, I promise.”

Spock’s head slide back to rest against Leonard’s shoulder, his hand slides up towards Leonard’s mouth and Leonard takes the not very subtle hint to suck his fingers.

He speeds up his hips as he sucks on Spock’s fingers, and suddenly Spock is shuddering violently in his arms. Starbursts of intense pleasure on every point of contact he has to Spock bowl Leonard over and he lets out a hoarse cry, fucking himself as deep as he can go before he comes spectacularly, the shared feeling ricocheting back and forth between him and Spock for what feels like ages until he starts to come down.

His heart is racing. His balls feel turned inside out. He’s unbelievably satisfied.

He pulls back, just a bit, to turn and lie flat on the bed, panting, just for a moment.

Jim straightens up to his knees, cock still jutting out obscenely, and Leonard makes an effort to push through the intense hormone drop-off after orgasm.

“That was incredible,” Jim says. “I think I just came dry, feeling that.”

Spock growls.

They both turn to look at him. He’s…well, he’s still gorgeous, is what he is, and while Leonard is slowly beginning to relax and soften, he’s looking at Jim like he wants to eat him alive.

“Oh yeah,” Leonard snickers. “There’s a few more biological differences between Vulcans and humans.”

“Tell me more,” Jim leers.

Leonard presses the lube into Spock’s hand. “Maybe Spock should explain this one,” he says.

“Vulcans,” Spock says, and god damn, his voice is so rough and hoarse. “Do not conclude sexual arousal after an orgasm.”

“Convenient,” Jim says, and gets on his hands and knees, head facing Leonard, ass facing Spock.

“Indeed. Rather, we reach a plateau in which arousal remains heightened until a second series of climaxes concludes.”

“Series?”

Leonard has been kind of distracted stroking through Jim’s hair, petting Jims arms (so sue him, he gets pretty cuddly after sex). When he notices Spock isn’t going to answer, he picks up the thread Spock has apparently lost while sliding his fingers into Jim. And Leonard categorically does not blame him, if he had hands that sensitive, fingering someone would probably make him go pre-verbal too.

“Basically, Vulcans get like a four-for-one deal on orgasms. Before he came, Spock here could have just sheathed up again and walked away anytime.”

Spock growls in disapproval.

“After, he’s stuck being this aroused until he comes again, except biologically, he comes about three times in a row. Maximizes the chances of procreation in a sexual encounter.”

Jim whines, high and throaty, as Spock adds a second finger. “Sounds very logical.”

“Yeah,” Leonard says distractedly. He’s gotten himself upright by now, so he can hold Jim steady while Spock gets going, and it’s really been a long time since he’s gotten to hold Jim. “Makes refractory periods between sexual encounters longer, but the encounters themselves are…more thorough. Plus, it makes Vulcan partners of different sexes a lot more sexually compatible than humans.”

“Mm. Bones?”

“Yeah?”

“I love when you talk science to me, but please just kiss me.”

He crushes his lips to Jim’s just as Spock slides inside.

On a purely biological level, Leonard’s not going to be ready for another go for a while, but as he kisses Jim and kisses Jim and kisses Jim for all he’s worth, he can feel the reverberations of burning hot arousal and knife-sharp pleasure running through him like little electric shocks, little second-hand telepathic burns. His body may not be getting there, but his brain sure is.

“Spock,” Jim gasps, “Bones, please, someone, touch me .”

Jim, Bones realizes, hasn’t gotten a whole lot of direct stimulation yet tonight.

“You’ve been so patient for us,” he murmurs against Jim’s lips, hand sliding down grasp his cock. “You’ve been waiting so long.”

“Yes,” Jim gasps.

“So good,” Leonard tells him, pulling steadily and rubbing his thumb across the joint of head and shaft. “That’s it.”

He meets Spock’s eyes over Jim’s shoulder, and Spock releases one of Jim’s hips to grasp at Leonard’s arm, and when he starts to come, they all lose it.

Leonard starts to realize what Jim meant by coming dry; his whole body is on fire as the intensity rumbles through Spock into Jim and back from Jim into Spock again and again, as Jim screams for all he’s worth and comes all over Leonard’s sheets. But it’s not the kind of orgasm he’s used to, no tension in his balls, a few twitches from his already-spent penis just to alleviate the tension coursing through his body. He gasps with it, lets himself soar. He lets himself hold Jim through his shudders, neither of them coming down for long, long minutes, Jim still drooling come against Leonard’s fingers.

When it’s all over, none of them can move for quite a while. Jim’s kind of fallen to lie across Leonard’s arms, held close and tight. Leonard’s arm is going to fall asleep soon, but he’ll worry about that then. Spock is curled around Jim’s other side, stroking his hair, holding Leonard’s hand. Where Spock’s words are not expressive, his body is.

“We should probably shower,” he mutters eventually.

“Mm,” Jim says. “We might hate ourselves if we don’t.”

“Do you propose to spend the night together?” Spock asks. It’s said matter-of-factly, but Leonard is absolutely sure Spock is hesitant and nervous.

“I sure do,” Leonard says, smiling at him. “Tell you what, let’s all go get cleaned up, and then we can replicate some clean sheets.”

“You have the best ideas,” says one sleepy voice beside Leonard.

“That would be most acceptable,” says the other.