Archive of Our Own

Kirk glanced over at the science station. He found Spock immersed in the readings fed to him by his computer station, a slight stiffening to his shoulders that may just be Kirk’s imagination but may just as well be irritation at their current orders.

On the viewscreen, the stars and endless universe gave way to a rapidly approaching planet. A new world, a new civilization, and Kirk really should feel more excited about it. With some effort he tore his eyes from Spock’s back, leaving his first officer to his work for the time being. Of course, Spock would never admit to irritation, or disappointment. Kirk had to feel it in his stead. And he did – their new orders had redirected them from studies of an interesting phenomena which had piqued Spock’s curiosity to the point that both Kirk and McCoy had been graced with lengthy descriptions of its properties and various potential causes.

The admiralty hardly cared for the rare occurrence of Spock becoming excited, whether such excitement was of a logical or scientific or merely human nature. No, the admiralty, as was their privilege and supposed duty, had sent them on their way to solve what an expert team of diplomats had been unable to solve.

Kirk tapped at the arm of his captain’s chair, frowning at the viewscreen.

The end of their five-year-mission loomed on the horizon, and he seemed to miss Spock’s presence in advance. Things were hardly strained between them, but Kirk felt…

Different.

Perhaps that was why their approach to the planet Antaros filled him with a sense of foreboding. The diplomats hadn’t provided much information on their failure, but they had stressed the importance of the replacement team being fully comfortable with each other – close, even.

And they were close, in many ways. He trusted Spock with his life and knew that trust was returned. This, apparently, was where the diplomatic convoy had failed. They were recent colleagues, hand-picked for their experience and knowledge rather than personal rapport. This lack of trust and comfort was cited as the reason given by the Antarians for the negotiations falling apart. He found he had little curiosity for the circumstances. It was clear enough that the Antarians valued negotiation partners with not only negotiation skills, but also possessing the social and cultural aspects of a close-knit society.

For this reason, he’d decided to bring Spock with him. He’d considered Bones as well, but ultimately decided against it. Two officers should be sufficient, and Bones wasn’t particularly fond of diplomacy, anyway. It was merely for his own emotional state’s sake that he had considered it, and such things were – according to past lectures at least – beyond starship captains.

No, it had to be himself and Spock, and whatever uneasiness his stomach communicated would need to be put aside for the time being. It wouldn’t do to bring any personal issues into this.

The Enterprise dropped out of warp and maneuvered gently towards the planet. Kirk considered it distractedly, eyes drinking in the first impression of deep blue oceans and dark green forests. It appeared quite like Earth from this distance, and he shook away a stray thought of home. There was the white of snowcapped poles, clouds racing along wind paths as if chasing daylight, and from the briefing he’d poured over last night there was a desert or two that Spock might have preferred as a landing site.

“Captain, approaching Antaros, approximately three minutes until reaching orbit,” Chekov said, his accented voice breaking through Kirk’s thoughts.

"Very well. Uhura, are we in range for contact?”

The communications officer looked considering for a moment, touching her earpiece.

“In range, sir. Shall I contact them?”

“Go ahead, Lieutenant. We’re a little early, but they should hardly get upset about that.”

She nodded, and Kirk turned back to face the viewscreen. While contact with Antaros had been made a decade or so earlier, there had been little initiative on either side to strengthen the ties. Sometimes diplomats seemed to forget how awe-inspiring the Federation could be to a species who had spent so many lifetimes believing themselves to be alone in the universe.

The planet was relatively strategically positioned, but its dilithium reserves had remained unknown until recently. In fact, the planet itself had very little of it, but one of its sister planets orbiting their star had recently been researched by the Antarians themselves. They had, of course, latched onto the business opportunity. He couldn’t begrudge them the trade agreement, but he was apparently not above a little selfish complaint that the timing could be better.

A silent complaint, of course, and one he hoped the crew wouldn’t pick up on.

“In orbit now, Captain,” Sulu announced. “Ship’s on autopilot.”

The sooner the mission was over, the sooner they could continue researching the phenomenon that had made Spock so unusually talkative. He thought of a few nights ago, with him and Bones gathered around Spock’s lab desk, sharing a knowing little smile over Spock’s entirely logical tangent on the abstract physics of his research. One of those nights to remember…

“Contact established, Captain,” Uhura reported. “Awaiting confirmation on beam-down coordinates.”

“Good.” He swallowed down a sigh. “I’ll call Scotty up here and have him take over while Mr. Spock and I are down planet.”

He did just so, and their chief engineer’s arrival coincided with Uhura’s reception of the correct coordinates. Kirk stood from his chair, eyeing it longingly before facing Scotty, who stood at attention but with an amused twinkle in his eye that told Kirk the glance had not gone unnoticed.

“Alright then, Scotty. You’re in charge until we return. It shouldn’t take more than a couple of days. Keep her in orbit and let me know if anything comes up.”

“Aye, sir. It’ll give me ample time for some repairs.”

“Repairs?” Kirk asked with a frown. “Is the ship damaged?”

“Ach, of course nae, Captain. Just the usual maintenance.”

Scotty looked affronted at the very thought. Reassured, Kirk turned to Spock who had come over to join them.

“Ready, Mr. Spock?”

“Certainly, Captain. The crew is quite capable.”

Smiling, Kirk nodded. Spock always knew how to answer his silent questions. He trusted Spock to prepare the crew for their absence and found no need to double-check.

“Then we’d better be off. Take care of the Enterprise, Mr. Scott. We’ll check in daily or more often if necessary.”

“Good luck, sir.”

A quick look at Spock showed him holding back a comment on the likelihood that luck would play a part in the mission. They headed for the turbolift and made their way over to the transporter room, picking up their light luggage on the way. It was silent, efficient. The sense of foreboding increased… Upon yet another confirmation from Uhura they beamed down, the tingling of the transporter joining the already present butterflies in his stomach.

The lower temperature prickled at his skin as they materialized, the chill and wetness of a damp forest surrounding them. The trees were huge, looming above and all but blocking out the cloudy sky. Below and between thick trunks and branches a city sprawled out, cozy lights twinkling through windows, and only the blocky shapes and slanted roofs prevented the houses from blending into the trees.

“Greetings,” their host said, approaching them.

The small gathering of Antarians appeared humanoid, and rather short. The description they had received of Stiva, the Antarian representative, was apt. She had curly hair that shifted in a rainbow of colors, her eyes dark and wide open as she scrutinized them.

The formal dress of Antarians seemed to be whatever the wearer fancied on that particular day, and Stiva had opted for tight leather breeches over softer, white pants, and a loose buttoned shirt that was only halfway buttoned over her flat chest, leaving her stomach bare. She had a tattoo covering most of her belly instead, an intricate stylized painting of what appeared to be a landscape full of different animals and birds. One of her arms ended at the elbow, and a string of wooden pearls hung from where the shirtsleeve was tied together at the end.

“Greetings,” Kirk parroted back at her, remaining in place for the moment. “We thank you for your hospitality.”

“You were invited,” she dismissed his words. “Hopefully with more success than your predecessors.”

“Yes–“

“Now,” she interrupted him with, “I must ask you some questions to ensure it. We were most disappointed with your predecessors. If we ask for close companionship, if we ask for speaking partners fully open to the sharing of cultures, we expect to receive it.”

Kirk swallowed down his complaints. This was not the time to point out the vague requirements they had been given.

“Of course, Revered Stiva.”

She was emotional, if nothing else. Perhaps he should have brought Bones, after all. He might have enjoyed a little emotionalism. A quick glance at Spock made him believe his first officer had just had a similar thought.

“What’s this?” Stiva asked, jutting her chin out towards them. “You act as if thinking of another.”

Startled, Kirk could only frown back at her. There had been no indication of telepathy, or other sorts of heightened senses.

“Your bodies speak of it,” she clarified, holding her arm out and waving her hand inwards, the meaning lost to Kirk.

“I’m not sure what you mean,” he replied.

“Your companionship,” she snapped, clearly irritated. “If there are three of you, then all three must be present. I demand your missing partner’s presence!”

“Partner… Now wait here just a minute. What sort of companionship are we talking about?”

Spock took a step closer to him, as if urging him to stay calm.

“Perhaps Revered Stiva is referring to Doctor McCoy. The doctor is performing his duties onboard our ship.”

Whatever Spock had realized, Kirk still grappled with.

“The doctor is needed for the ceremony,” Stiva insisted. “No courtship ritual is complete without all partners present.”

Kirk didn’t choke on air, but it was a near thing. Courtship ritual, he thought, sharing a significant look with Spock. His heart skipped a beat as he cleared his throat, Spock’s presence at his side emanating heat in the cool atmosphere.

“If you could explain the ritual–“

“Bring your McCoy. We will meet in one hour. We have been most accommodating to you, and I do not understand this insistence on ignoring our customs and requirements. One hour!”

With this ultimatum she turned around, her fellow Antarians following suit. Kirk worked his jaw, steaming on the inside at the situation they’d been put in.

“If I ever get my hands on those diplomats…” he muttered, then took out his communicator and flipped it open to call the ship. “Two to beam up!”

Once they materialized on the transporter pad, he wasted no time barking out his orders.

“Ensign,” he snapped at Kyle, the transporter technician, “have my yeoman bring all the mission details to McCoy’s office as quickly as she can. Spock, with me.”

He barely waited for Kyle’s acknowledgement before he was stalking down the corridor. Spock kept up pace but remained silent. It was a short walk to Sickbay, and Chapel looked up in alarm from where she was cleaning up around a biobed.

“Captain! Mr. Spock. Are you injured?”

“Not a scratch. Where’s McCoy?”

She pointed towards the door leading to his office. Before he could take another step the door slid open, revealing the doctor.

“Now what’s all this ruckus?” he asked, a steady frown on his face as he came over. “I thought we’d get some peace and quiet around here for the next few days.”

“No such thing when duty calls,” Kirk said, motioning towards the door that had just shut behind him. “I’d prefer to discuss this in your office, Bones.”

Bones raised an eyebrow, his trained eyes scanning both him and Spock for any physical needs that warranted such privacy.

“What could have possibly happened in the short time you were down there?”

“Your office, Doctor.”

“No need to take that tone with me, mister. I’ll be right behind you.”

The three of them crowded into Bones’ office, Jim starting to pace the short length of it while Spock stood at parade rest by the desk.

“You’re starting to worry me, Jim,” Bones said as he sank down in his chair.

There were a couple of PADDs spread out on the desk, as well as a stack of empty petri dishes. Kirk took a few deep breaths, pushing down the continuously churning sensation in his stomach.

“We may have misjudged the parameters of the mission,” he started, coming to a pause next to Spock.

“Captain,” Spock protested mildly. “The information given was too scarce to entertain the interpretation of companionship as anything other than indicating the ability to form lasting work relationships, perhaps friendships.”

“Yes, yes,” Kirk said, waving him off. “But the problem remains. They are expecting a romantic entanglement.”

“Ha!” Bones exclaimed. “Romance? And we sent down Spock!”

The look Spock turned on him was frosty.

“While I admit romance is not among my more notable accomplishments, Doctor, I am hardly unfamiliar with the concept.”

Bones turned red in the face.

“You? Not unfamiliar with the concept of romance? Why, you wouldn’t know romance if it danced the tango across your pointed ears!”

“Gentlemen,” Kirk chided. “This is not the time for arguments.”

There was a timid knock on the door, Rand entering soon after.

“The details you requested, Captain,” she announced, carrying a PADD.

“Thank you, Rand.”

He started reading, expression darkening by the minute. Knowing what he now knew, it was painfully clear to him that the diplomats had skipped several key details in their report.

“Whether we like it or not, the mission must be completed. Stiva spoke of some courtship ritual that we must participate in. I’m sensing now that this is the ceremony that caused our Federation diplomats to fail, not to mention offend our new friends. What I don’t understand is why they chose to omit that very fact from their reports.”

Bones hummed, leaning his chin in one hand.

“Embarrassment? Malice? Who knows, Jim. Now what? You and Spock get cozy and court each other?”

“We, Bones.” Kirk moved his hand in a quick circle, indicating the three of them. “We get cozy and court each other.”

The look on Bones’ face would have been comical if Kirk wasn’t feeling much the same already. He shoved aside the heat travelling up his neck and swallowed down any urges to search for emotion that wouldn’t be there on his two officers’ faces.

“The three of us?” Bones blinked rapidly. “You mean, you, me, and Spock?”

“Exactly, Doctor,” Spock replied in his stead, appearing unbothered by the idea. “The Antarians were rather insistent.”

“They don’t even know I exist!”

“Well, they do now,” Kirk snapped. “Will you two be alright? I could ask the admiralty to reassign the mission, but I doubt they’ll allow it. We’ve already failed once and the Antarians don’t seem to be the patient sort.”

Bones was still seemingly struggling with the concept. His brows were knitted, the hand on his chin now shaped into a fist.

“What you’re saying here, Jim, is that I have to beam down with you and play nice with the Antarians, and go on little dates with you and Spock?”

“We’re not sure what exactly it is they’re expecting us to do.”

“But it will have to be romantic.”

“According to the Antarian tradition, presumably, yes,” Spock said.

Kirk resumed his pacing. It didn’t sit well with him, to force his friends into such a charade. Sure, they had all done their fair share of difficult things for a mission, but this was something else. An overstep of boundaries. Uncharted territory best left alone. He clenched his fists behind his back, bracing himself.

The whole thing was a pointless necessity. If only the diplomats had been clear in their report… A married couple would have been more suitable for a mission such as this. Now it appeared the three of them would have to play at being husbands for several days, and Kirk didn’t like the way his chest constricted every time his brain considered the facts.

“I’m hopeful we can find a way to keep things as non-intimate as possible,” he said, glancing first at Spock, then Bones. “Bones, out of the three of us, you’re the one who’s been previously married.”

“You’ve had some experience too, Jim,” Bones pointed out, not unkindly. “I guess it’ll all depend on what the Antarians require of us.”

His gaze settled on Spock instead. No one mentioned his Vulcan ex-wife.

“Spock. It may well be offensive to your Vulcan privacy.”

“I am prepared to compromise for the sake of the mission, Captain.”

He sounded calm enough. Kirk wouldn’t insult him by questioning the truth of his statement. He was, first and foremost, an exemplary officer. Perhaps too exemplary, Kirk thought, forcing his jaw to relax.

“Then so be it. They gave us an hour. Let us make the most of it.”

☆☆☆

It didn’t take long for McCoy to gather his things and meet Jim and Spock in the transporter room. He’d been frowning since Jim first dropped the news, and he wasn’t sure what to think of this whole thing. Sure, he and Jim could probably get by with some flirting and handholding, but Spock? The Vulcan wasn’t exactly frigid, but there was bound to be some discomfort. Despite all his teasing, McCoy wasn’t keen on making things awkward between them.

He’d have to play it by ear and do whatever he could to pretend he at least wasn’t feeling any embarrassment.

“Ready for our honeymoon, Spock?” he asked as he stepped into the transporter room, grinning at Spock’s deadpan look. “I should warn you, I expect nothing but high-class romance out of you.”

“You will have to instruct me, Doctor.”

The glee got stuck on his face, and for a moment, he almost wondered if Spock had cracked a joke – or worse, made an attempt at flirting.

“We’ll improvise if needed,” Jim said, decisively. “At ease, Bones. I don’t need you arguing during transport.”

McCoy cleared his throat, reigning in the scowl he’d directed at Spock without realizing.

“Married couples banter all the time,” he muttered, wondering if they could convince the Antarians that their usual bickering was romantic in tone. It would simplify things, but… He shook his head. Spock had never shown interest in romance unless influenced by outside forces, and McCoy shouldn’t shake him up by suggesting their normal state of things could be interpreted as romantic in nature.

“Mister Kyle, ready for transport.”

With a loaded glance at McCoy, Jim straightened up. McCoy braced himself for having his atoms scattered once again, an all-too familiar feeling he always dreaded with passion. He found it slightly easier if he refrained from breathing.

The cool air at the beam-down site hit him before the shimmer of the transporter gave way to an old, damp forest. Stiva, their host, looked just as Jim had described her.

“I see you listened to my request. Excellent. If you will follow me.”

She turned abruptly, expecting them to follow. No one appeared at their side to carry their bags, and so McCoy lifted his and trailed after her, Jim in the middle with Spock on the other side. The sky was a cloudy gray, the trees tall and thick stemmed, smelling of wet pine forest. The path they took twisted between the trees and the houses seemingly built around or inside them, the buildings scattered at first and then huddling closer together as they neared the center of the town.

With the ground covered in moss, each step was muffled and soft. Coupled with the faint breeze through the sturdy branches it created an effect of hushed anticipation. McCoy, for his part, anticipated their ship’s captain and first officer to return from this mission with more trauma than a near-death experience usually entailed.

“Your forest is really pretty,” he said, just to break the silence. “I’ve always loved the outdoors, seems to me a bright idea to live with nature like this.”

Stiva turned around to look at him.

“Thank you, McCoy. Your presence is appreciated.”

Once she turned back, Jim sent him a relieved glance. Eventually they reached a larger building centered around an enormous tree, several stories high but hardly reaching halfway up the trunk. He wondered if they built their houses by cutting down trees or only using ones that had already died, and decided it might be better not to ask.

Inside wasn’t much warmer than outside, all the windows open and letting in the damp air. The Antarians would have to be used to lower temperatures than humans, considering most of them were wearing rather thin clothing.

“This is our central hall,” Stiva announced, leading them into a vast, circular room with the tree’s massive trunk in the middle. “The courtship ceremony will have its conclusion in here.”

“And will you tell us about the ceremony?” Jim asked, a slight edge to his tone that Stiva ignored.

“In due time. There is much to prepare, and you arrived ahead of schedule.”

“We merely wish to be properly prepared,” Spock said. “I have found that expectations are easier to meet if they are communicated.”

McCoy bit the inside of his cheek at that. He curiously eyed the deep, complex carvings decorating the walls, picturing landscapes and animals. Stiva made them walk a whole turn around the tree, following the billowing landscape until McCoy realized it must depict some kind of history, then guided them outside through the same heavy door they entered. She kept silent the whole time. He tried not to shiver in the low temperature, glancing at Spock who must be freezing by now. At least they had packed warmly, on Spock’s recommendation.

“I will show you your accommodations,” Stiva finally announced as they left the building behind and headed down a side street. “A guide will bring you refreshments, and you will be expected to join us in the hall by sunset.”

He could tell that Jim was gritting his teeth over the sparse instructions.

“Alright,” Jim said. “We thank you for your hospitality.”

There was quite the rant waiting to unleash underneath the surface, McCoy suspected. Sure enough, as soon as Stiva had left them in a cozy, if somewhat chilly apartment, Jim dropped his bag on the floor and glared at the open windows.

“I should hope this place doesn’t get colder at night.”

Spock walked over to the nearest window, inspecting it. He pressed some sort of invisible button, and a transparent energy field shimmered into place.

“Well now,” McCoy said, joining him. “That’s helpful.”

“It is logical to put some mechanism in place to protect the inside of the living spaces against harsher weather.”

“Less logical to keep it damp indoors,” Jim muttered.

McCoy turned to him, raising an eyebrow.

“What’s bothering you, Jim? You’re not usually this testy because of a little damp weather.”

Crossing his arms over his golden uniform, Jim shook his head slowly.

“Just one room, and a shared bed. I’m afraid we’ll have little privacy between the three of us.”

Spock went along the outer wall, closing all the windows. Everything was slightly curved, the bedding snugly fit inside a built-in wooden frame. The headboard curved as well, and the rest of the bed was rounded, creating a horse-shoe shape. It was wide enough to fit the three of them but not wide enough to sprawl out.

“We shall adapt, Captain,” Spock said.

They had poured over the scant mission information on the ship, but only sketched out the details around their supposed relationship. McCoy sank onto a bench, scrubbing at his face. The room wasn’t much larger than Jim’s quarters, with the bed in the center along the inner wall, two benches with a table between them on the side by the front door, and a low cabinet stretching along the outer wall beneath the windows for storage. There was another door presumably leading to a bathroom, and all the wood had intricate, decorative carvings.

“It’s a bit bare, but the carvings are nice,” he said, tracing a swirling pattern in the wall behind the bench he sat on. “At least there’s a mattress and sheets. We’ve slept in worse conditions.”

Once finished with the windows, Spock started on the cabinet. He opened each one, bending down to peer inside. McCoy and Jim merely watched him.

“Pillows for the bench,” Spock commented somewhere around the middle, throwing one over to McCoy.

He caught it, surprised. It was neatly woven in a striped pattern and stuffed with something soft.

“There are also additional blankets,” Spock continued. “I do not believe we will freeze.”

“Fine,” Jim huffed. “Let’s hammer out some details before our guide arrives.”

He grabbed another pillow from the cabinet and settled opposite of McCoy. Spock joined them a moment later. Silence fell, and McCoy considered fetching a blanket. Even with the windows closed the room felt chilly and damp.

“Well, nothing to it,” Jim said. “We’ll have to pretend we’re married. Suggestions?”

“Do they know anything about human marriage traditions?” McCoy asked, settling more comfortably on the bench. “If not, we could probably get away with a little less romance.”

“A logical suggestion,” Spock replied, though before McCoy could so much as open his mouth to retort, Spock continued. “However, it is probable that they are more interested in us performing a relationship according to Antarian standards.”

McCoy blew air out of his nose.  

“Then there’s not much to discuss, is there? We don’t know anything about their traditions.”

“Not yet,” Jim said. “Assuming they’ll enlighten us this evening, it might be more productive to speak of boundaries.”

Aiming for nonchalant, McCoy shrugged.

“You know us, Jim. We’re devoted Starfleet officers. Wouldn’t dream of letting some boundaries get in the way of completing a mission. A little unwanted smoochin’ never killed anyone.”

Jim gave him a chiding look. There had been unwanted smooching on the mission. Not between the three of them, however.

“Be serious, Bones. I don’t want to make either of you uncomfortable.”

“It’s romance, Jim, not torture. We’ve done way worse.”

Giving him up as a lost cause, Jim turned to Spock instead, eyeing him expectantly. Spock, for his part, returned the look with a raised eyebrow.

“Captain, there is not much to discuss before we know the Antarians’ expectations on us.”

Heaving a sigh, Jim got up again.

“Well, I’ll go explore the facilities in that case,” he announced.

They heard him mutter under his breath on the way over, but if Spock could discern the words, he didn’t show it outwardly. As Jim disappeared into the bathroom, McCoy licked his lips and considered their Vulcan first officer.

“You alright there, Spock?”

“As I told the captain, there is not much discomfort to consider before knowing the perimeters of our needed disguise.”

McCoy rolled his eyes.

“I meant if you’re cold, but sure.”

Spock paused for a minute, watching him.

“I am adequate.”

“In a pig’s eye you are. Even I’m freezing, and I’m not the one who has to wear special thermal shirts on the ship.”

When Spock merely tilted his head at him, McCoy decided he’d tried hard enough. Leaning his head back against the wall, he closed his eyes and tried to think of nothing. With Spock’s eyes on him, it was easier said than done.

☆☆☆

Kirk felt not a small amount of relief when their guide arrived soon after.

Introducing himself as Tares, he brought a large flask of something warm and honeyed that had Bones smack his lips in appreciation.

“Now this I could get used to,” Bones said, and Kirk spared him an amused smile before turning his focus onto their guide.

“What can you tell us about Antaros?” he asked, wondering if the similarity to the planet’s name indicated there was anything special about him, or if it was merely a traditional name.

“Our forests are vast,” Tares began, a little unsure. “Most people live as one with the trees, but some live in open areas. We do not travel often.”

While Antaros was warp-capable, they seemed to have little interest in exploring space and focused their scientific research on their own solar system. Thus the discovery of the dilithium reserves of their sister planet. 

“And you devote much time to studying nature?” Kirk pushed.

They were seated on the benches again, Tares turning his head back and forth between them as if unsure where to rest his gaze.

“Yes,” Tares said. “Nature allows us to live, and we must understand it. And you… The Federation. It studies space?”

“Indeed,” Spock answered smoothly. “Although, space is full of planets such as yours, and there is much in the form of alien nature to study as well.”

Tares seemed to brighten up at that.

“I haven’t traveled farther than our mirror-city,” he said. The translator gave no indication what mirror-city meant. “My sister was part of the scientific team studying the planets in our system, and I hope to go myself someday.”

Kirk nodded, smiling encouragingly.

“A worthy goal. The discoveries, the unknown… Most species are driven by the urge to learn more about the universe.”

Tares shook his shoulders, and Jim interpreted it as agreement. At least this young man was reminiscent of himself in his youth.

They spent some time talking to him, but there was nothing he would tell them of the courtship rituals they were expected to take part in.

“My apologies,” Tares said eventually, when Kirk swallowed down his frustration and leaned back in his seat to force himself to calm down. “The rituals must be explained in the proper place… If you require nothing more I will take my leave of you.”

He left. Bones hummed as the door closed behind him, chin resting in the palm of his hand.

“Charming young man,” he commented. “Good to know they’re not all as demanding as that Stiva.”

“Command sometimes requires less tact,” Spock said, immediately making Bones smile with glee at the subtle jab at Kirk.

“I’ll remember that,” Kirk muttered.

Bones patted his arm.

“There, there. You’re certainly charming when you want to be.”

“And I have a feeling it will be required during the mission. Thoughts?”

“A people concerned with tradition,” Spock said. “Once we receive our instructions it should be simple enough to follow them.”

“And just think, Jim,” Bones added, mock innocence in his eyes. “We can finally settle something between us.”

Kirk glanced at him in silent question.

“With Spock as a completely neutral and objective party, we’ll see just which one of us is the better charmer!”

“Bones,” Kirk groaned, even as the good doctor chuckled at his own joke.

He ignored the unease swirling in his stomach. Spock, for his part, seemed unruffled by the joke.

“Doctor,” Spock said. “The captain’s prowess with the female sex is well documented. A settlement such as you speak of would only indicate the charming of other males.”

“And I’ll bet you I’m better at it,” Bones snorted. “Come now, Jim! It’s not the end of the world, so wipe that depressed face off. Personally I’m quite happy with a mission where we won’t have to risk anyone’s lives.”

Kirk thought to himself that lives were easier risked than hearts, but said nothing.

“As we have yet to find out the circumstances of the rituals–“

He tuned them both out as they started bickering over the potential risks to courting. They would manage this mission, too, just like past ones. Their friendship would survive it.

But at what cost? a small voice in the back of his head asked.

He tuned that out, too.

☆☆☆

The hall was full of Antarians when they arrived that evening. McCoy grimaced, then quickly hid it. If he had to force a relationship it was better to do it with Jim and Spock rather than some poor ensign or one of his medical staff. But only just. He kept close to Jim as they were herded into the front, as much as there could be a front in a circular room. Spock, too, kept close to Jim on his other side.

“Greetings all,” Stiva began. The translators did their job fairly well, only a slight echo that McCoy had gotten used to by now. “Antaros has offered trade to the Federation, and the Federation has answered. The representatives have finally agreed to participate in our courtship ritual, to prove the equal exchange of cultures and respect for Antarian culture.”

McCoy tuned her out as she continued to speak for her fellow Antarians’ benefit. Instead he studied the ones present, from small children to the elderly. Brown seemed to be the favored color of clothing, and if not brown then dark green or orange. The colors of fall, he thought. They’d arrived at the end of summer, and the seasons were soon to turn in the area. At least the colors were similar to Earth – except the current hairstyle seemed to be a mishmash of colors in patterns or stripes, turning the somberly clad Antarians into something resembling a brightly flowering garden.

What struck him most was how close the Antarian families seemed to be. Always touching, fussing over each other. Braiding hair, fiddling with decorations on clothes, swinging children back and forth. It was all done hushed enough that Stiva’s voice was easily heard in the room, but it hinted somewhat at the expectations that would be placed on the three of them.

Stiva stood alone, but there were two Antarians nearby that watched her fondly, and she met their eyes often. Clearly, close relationships were highly important to them, and integral to their culture.

He glanced at Spock, wondering what the Vulcan’s reaction would be if McCoy started touching him like that. Jim’s concern wasn’t unfounded… But of course Spock’s expression betrayed nothing.

“We have collected rituals from all over Antaros,” Stiva continued, holding up a thick paper in front of her. “The general council has elected a choice few to be completed. With success, trade negotiations will be concluded.”

She turned towards the three of them, dark eyes narrowed.

“You will show Antaros respect. Our history is unified by these rituals, and so Antaros and the Federation will be unified, too. In the old days, failure was severely punished. To break trust is to bring your family to ruin. I have high hopes for you, Captain Kirk.”

“We will do as instructed,” Jim assured her. “The Federation respects all cultures and we are prepared to prove it.”

“Your willingness is noted.”

Directing her words towards the gathered crowd again, she started reading from the paper.

“The trials are as follows. Captain Kirk, Commander Spock, Doctor McCoy, you will follow the traditions and prove to Antaros your unification of heart, soul, and body.” Her voice took on a different tone, more official, as if reciting something very old. “Your opposite-partners from Antaros will be Anda and Antos, two of our finest citizens.”

Two Antarians stepped up from the crowd, both of them women. McCoy wondered if it was to counterbalance them as men, or if it was simply decided beforehand.

“They, too, are willing to make the traditional promises and enter into unification.”

The couple went to stand beside Stiva on her other side. McCoy swallowed down his nerves, bouncing once on his feet. If he didn’t know better, it sounded like they were about to enter into a real marriage – at least according to an alien tradition. He hoped it wasn’t as violent as Vulcan rituals. At least Spock had calculated the risk of violence to a mere zero point three two percent.

“Three trials,” she said, and the crowd stirred in approval. “First, the trial of the search. On the continent of Anteres, two brave Antarians left their families to search for a place where they could be one, rejecting tradition to create new peace, and future.”

McCoy saw an elderly couple at the front touch hands, one folded over the other. The history seemed familiar to everyone who listened.

“The second, from the continent of Teras. Young Tose swayed his family, and their families, and all who listened to accept unity with words spun by sunlight and moss, and so the second trial is that of the promise.”

There were fond looks shared between some of the listeners, and at least it gave McCoy hope that it really would be as non-violent as Spock had predicted. It did, however, also sound like it was going to be extremely mushy and embarrassing.

“Third, the demonstration of commitment.”

There was no anecdote for that one. Noises of approval and excitement filled the room even so, and Stiva afforded herself a quick smile.

“Let us be the judge of our brave participants, and may they unite wholly and forever.”

From somewhere hidden under clothing, bells were produced, a tinkering, silvery noise filling the room as the speech ended. It sounded much sweeter than applause, McCoy thought.

As if on cue, the room burst into sound, people turning towards each other in discussion, children being let loose to play. Stiva faced the three of them, flanked by Anda and Antos.

“Introductions,” she said, tucking a thin braid behind one ear. “Success depends on each of you conveying the appropriate devotion. Learn of each other well.”

She left. Anda smiled at them, her hair dark and waist-long with shimmering strands of silver in it. It seemed dyed rather than a sign of age, as her appearance otherwise was youthful.

“Well met,” she said, deep green eyes glittering. “We had hoped to participate in a memorable ritual, and if you forgive me for saying it, the exchange of Federation representatives suits us personally.”

“Indeed,” Antos agreed, short and built like a wrestler in comparison to the taller and lither Anda. Her hair was a brilliant yellow. “Come, drinks have been prepared.”

The two women led them out of the ceremonial hall, and up a winding staircase. At the top, a terrace overlooked the city, filled with various plants like a lush, elevated garden. Fairy lights were placed strategically and a break in the clouds gave room for a sliver of reddened sun peeking up over the tree crowns. They sat at a circular table, the chairs draped with wool blankets and soft pillows. A server appeared silently, carrying a large tray with more of the honeyed drink, this time in large, wooden tankards.

“Your predecessors were immensely uncomfortable,” Anda said, as if picking up a thread of conversation. “You seem only marginally less so.”

Embarrassed at being caught out, McCoy coughed into his tankard as Jim managed to keep his poker face more or less intact.

“Merely uninformed, Anda. Our predecessors allowed their discomfort to… let’s say they skirted around some of the information we might have needed to prepare.”

“How interesting.”

She leaned her head in one hand, tilting her head towards Spock. Up close, one could see that her plainly colored clothes were embroidered intricately, in threads a shade darker. A deceivingly simple dress. McCoy pulled his jacket closer around himself to ward off the chill in the air.

“You are not a human,” she said, after a moment’s silence.

“Vulcan,” Spock confirmed. “Though my mother was human.”

Both of the Antarians widened their eyes at this.  

“Then you are well-versed already in the sharing of culture. We will inform Stiva. Now, please. Tradition compels us to share the stories of how we came to desire our close companionships. It is important that the foundation is strong enough to endure the challenges.”

“Tradition, of course,” Antos added, “being somewhat more based on survival of the family rather than current need. Some companions see no need for tradition anymore, though versions of it are quite popular with the younger population at the moment."

Jim nodded in thought. He didn’t seem to hear the alarm bells ringing in McCoy’s ears.

“May I ask, then, who we must convince of our – devotion?”

“Each other.” Anda’s eyes crinkled with laughter. “The audience. Revered Stiva will be your biggest hurdle. It is her duty to represent the voices of old that refused unification.”

“Ah,” Jim said. “Of course.”

“And?” Anda leaned closer over the table. “How did you meet? How did you choose each other?”

“How did we–?” Jim coughed, sending a desperate look towards McCoy.

Clearing his throat, McCoy cursed on the inside. They should have covered this in their preparations, he thought. But no, of course not. Why prepare when you can simply make things up as you go along?

“Well, Jim and I met a long time ago,” he started, trying to ignore Jim’s relieved face. “We became good friends, but it wasn’t until later, on the ship, that we got together properly.”

Maybe half the truth was better than complete lies, he thought. Anda frowned at him, though.

“I don’t think the translator works,” she said. “You say you became companions, but then it wasn’t until later that you became companions?”

Oh. Maybe they really didn’t have concepts for friendship and romance the way humans (and perhaps Vulcans) had.

“What the doctor meant to say is that while they knew each other, they did not choose each other until later.”

It seemed to do the trick, because Anda nodded excitedly. At least Spock had his back – Jim kept gnawing on his lips, offering no help whatsoever.

“Sure. It wasn’t until I joined the Enterprise, our ship up there, that I met Spock. And…” He trailed off, unsure what to say. “I guess when I joined Jim and Spock on the ship, things just fell together sort of.”

Jim opened his mouth, then forced a smile.

“A natural conclusion,” he said, but McCoy could see him wringing his hands under the table despite the humor in his voice.

“Oh, yes, once you meet you simply cannot keep apart,” Anda agreed, touching Antos’ cheek reverently. “How reassuring that it was easy for you!”

McCoy looked away, wondering why that remark felt odd. Easy? No. Not at all. But it might hurt their chances to sign the treaty if he said so. And it’s not like they were together, so what did he know?  

They spent some time talking, and drinking, and after a while McCoy found himself both drowsy and hungry. He had barely made up his mind to ask about food when it arrived – along with a burst of other dinner guests. Soon the restaurant garden filled with life, the lights brightened, and music appeared from some corner. A lively little song, that filled him to the brim with the sudden urge to dance.

“I must ask,” Anda blurted out during a lull in the music. “You are not touching. Here it is a sign of discontent… of the breaking of the companionship.”

She touched her cheek, perhaps a sign of nervousness. McCoy lowered the sweet, sponge-cake piece of what he guessed was bread from his mouth. It tasted faintly of mushrooms.

“Not for us,” he said, glancing at Jim. “Touching is considered more intimate, and varies between people. Vulcans, for example, rarely touch in front of others at all.”

The doubt was clear on Anda’s face.

“Perhaps so, but it will be noted. Already they are watching us…”

“We hear you,” Jim said. He reached out and laid a hand on McCoy’s arm, warm in the chilly air. “Perhaps you can tell us what is expected?”

The sight of Jim’s hand touching him seemed to relieve both the Antarians. A tension he hadn’t noticed seemed to leave the conversation.

“Stand close,” she said, excitement returning as she explained. “Watch each other, meet eyes, speak without words. Touching the face, the hands, the hair. It is much similar for family as for companions, but more…”

“Romantic?” Jim suggested.

Anda frowned at the word.

“There’s no translation for what you said,” she said slowly. “We received translators, but…”

“What I meant was, the intimacy between companions who are not related by blood. Between chosen companions.”

“All are chosen.” She hesitated. “Maybe there are some differences here we do not know of.”

“You know, Jim, even on Earth romance isn’t necessary for a relationship,” McCoy pointed out.

While Jim looked concerned, Spock set his soupspoon down and took over.

“What the captain is trying to say is that there must be some difference between the relation of parent and child, or siblings, as to the relation between those who enter into a companionship in accordance with the courtship ritual.”

“Oh, yes!” Anda looked relieved. “But not so much in the touching. “The kissing, of course, for those who participate. But it is merely the…”

“Feeling behind it?” Antos suggested, glancing at Anda with an amused, soft look.

She sighed.

“I don’t know how to explain to an out-worlder…”

“I’d say we understand well enough,” Jim said. “It seems we will need to count on you two to tell us if we aren’t touching in the correct way. Some cultural difference is to be expected.”

“We’ll do what we can,” Antos said, seemingly unbothered.

McCoy, for his part, couldn’t help but wonder over the kissing… It gnawed at him, that they had no more information on the challenges than what Stiva had said at the meeting. Finishing his food he tried to put it out of his mind, reaching out instead to run a few fingers through Jim’s hair. Jim stiffened for a moment, then relaxed as he continued listening to Antos describe their agricultural system.

Anda smiled at him, shaking her shoulders the same way Tares had done earlier. A sweeping glance at the other guests confirmed what he’d seen at the meeting – everyone touched each other between mouthfuls of food, eating slowly. Children sat on laps or ran around freely, sometimes piggy-backed by older ones when they weren’t busy playing some kind of game involving pinecones and rocks and finely carved figurines.

It was rather nice, actually, to play with Jim’s hair. It was soft, the light brown color glinting pale in the soft glow of the fairy lights. Normally, he doubted Jim would have accepted such an affectionate display. Here he had no choice.

With a rather impish smile, McCoy trailed his fingertips down Jim’s neck, dipping into the collar of his thick, Starfleet-issued thermal jacket. He’d left it open at the front, always running a little hot. Under his touch, Jim trembled just slightly, a small twitch to his jaw as McCoy combed his fingers back up into Jim’s hair again. Something caught his eyes – Spock, watching him coolly.

He dropped his hand and left his arm around the back of Jim’s chair instead, in a more platonic gesture. He was only following the mission requirements – so what if his cheeks heated up a bit at being caught by Spock!

They were old friends, and old friends could touch each other without making it weird. He was sure that, faced with the prospect of kissing Jim, he’d feel comfortable enough. If they had to kiss. He turned his focus back towards Anda and Antos, their hands linked on the table as they spoke.

“There’s something I’ve been wondering,” he started the moment he sensed a break in the conversation topic. “Stiva never said what the so called declaration of commitment was supposed to involve.”

Licking his lips, he watched the way Anda’s gaze turned sly as she shared a look with Antos.

“I guess it’s self-explanatory for us,” Anda said. She leaned forwards, lowering her voice. “An intimacy you wouldn’t show outside the bedroom.”

He mouth split in a grin at the way the three of them reacted.

“Ha!” she said. “You are embarrassed. This was what your predecessors refused… I understand, since they were not committed to each other. You can keep your clothes on, if you wish…”

She trailed off, and Antos sighed at her.

“She exaggerates to frighten you. Perhaps a kiss – as you can see, it is not normally done in the presence of others. It is the most common choice.”

“Of course, when in history the most sensational kiss was shared in public between Darses and Ros–“

Anda’s glee was contained by the hand Antos held over her mouth.

“You are impossible,” Antos said. “But correct. Quite the uproar… But the commitment is very popular as part of the ritual.”

“And an alternative to kissing?”

It was Jim who asked, certainly for Spock’s benefit.

“Oh,” Anda said. “Your predecessors already explained that kissing is commonplace for many species of the Federation. We expect it.”

“But surely–“

“Indeed, Captain,” Spock interrupted. “It is quite commonplace. Some dislike it for personal reasons.”

“Yes, and–“

“I assume the audience will be disappointed should we not participate in such a declaration of commitment?” Spock continued, ignoring Jim.

Again, Anda’s eyes sparkled as she leaned even further across the table.

“Very,” she confirmed. “I’m excited to see it myself!”

Jim’s shoulders tensed under McCoy’s arm. He almost regretted asking. Almost, but not quite.

“Well, you’re lucky,” he said, with mock innocence. “Jim here is somewhat of an expert in the act.”

Two sets of widened eyes turned to the captain, whose mouth stiffened into a dangerous smile.

“Why, thank you, Doctor McCoy,” he said. “That will be enough.”

McCoy drank some more, and hid his smile in the tankard.

☆☆☆

Spock shut the door behind them, stepping into their temporary living quarters. The evening had been revealing, if somewhat tense. Now, he eyed McCoy as he sat down on the edge of the bed, the doctor giving Jim a challenging look.

“Well, Captain?” McCoy asked. “What are your orders for the sleeping arrangements?”

“Knock it off, Bones.”

Jim ran a hand over his face, stood in the middle of the room and facing the bed. He had, once during the dinner, laid a brief hand on Spock’s shoulder. Less touching than usual. It was evident that Jim was uncomfortable by the situation at hand.

“Meditation will suffice for me,” Spock said.

Predictably, McCoy turned to him, face stubbornly set.

“I think not, Spock.”

“All the same, I prefer it.”

If Jim was uncomfortable by his presence it was better not to share the bed. The cause was yet unknown. They had shared far more cramped spaces in their time aboard the Enterprise. They had not, he supposed, shared them under such implications as made by the Antarians.

“Nonsense,” McCoy insisted. “We’ll share the bed. They expect it.”

Jim winced. Spock clasped his hands behind his back, prepared to argue.

“Both of you,” Jim told them off, sounding crisp. “We can lay out spare blankets as a buffer between us. We’ll be here for some time, no point being sleep-deprived.”

Nodding in acquiescence, Spock went for the cupboards to retrieve the blankets. McCoy stayed on the bed, leaning back on his palms, eyes on Jim again.

“Better hope they don’t practice surprise inspections,” McCoy said with a snort. “Now, Jim, what about the elephant in the room?”

Spock refrained from commenting on the lack of members of Earth’s Elephantidae family within their quarters. He dropped his pile of blankets on the bed beside McCoy, and stepped back to observe Jim.

“We have to talk about it,” McCoy prodded.

“I’m well aware, Bones. Such orders won’t come naturally to me.”

“Then don’t make them orders.”

McCoy shrugged, as well as he could where he sat. He seemed unperturbed by the prospect of their pretense relationship, though Spock had seen some evidence of self-consciousness during the evening.

“In that case, Bones, I’m open to suggestion.”

The irritability made McCoy’s eyes narrow. He straightened up, watching Jim with suspicion.

“I suggest you drop the irritation, Jim,” he said. “It’s not exactly intimate.”

For a few seconds, Jim remained tense. Then he sighed, rather explosively, and crossed his arms.

“Sorry, Bones. It’s not you I’m annoyed with.”

“I know.” The doctor licked his lips, and Spock just barely averted his eyes from the sight in time to watch Jim’s expression shift into unease. “But I think we need to take what Anda said into some serious consideration. She and Antos will be our best allies – or our worst enemies.”

“Hardly enemies, Doctor.”

McCoy glanced at Spock, then focused back on Jim.

“It’s fine, Jim. It’s just touching, and a kiss or two. Nothing special about it. Frankly I don’t know what’s making you tenser than a horse entering the Kentucky derby.”

“Yes,” Jim said, looking sullen. “You’re quite right, Bones.”

He went over to his bag, pulled out sleeping clothes and disappeared into the bathroom. Frowning after him, McCoy soon turned to Spock for an explanation. Raising an eyebrow, Spock tilted his head in a half-shrug.

“Too many missions turned sideways if you ask me,” McCoy muttered. “I guess there’s nothing to do but try and catch some sleep.”

They took turns in the bathroom. By some unspoken agreement, McCoy opted to sleep in the middle. Soon enough the lights were lowered, McCoy offering a gravelly goodnight that received no answer.

Deep in thought, Spock considered the day’s events. The explanation for Jim’s behavior would reveal itself eventually. It was likely that his position as captain, as well as their friend, made him reluctant to force them into a situation that might have emotional ramifications. That one touch had implied to Spock a certain worry for the future, slipping through his shields and suggesting that Jim expected the mission to have consequences affecting the end of their journey through space. There had been instances where the crew had been subject to torture of a more emotional, psychological kind. Pain could be easily forgotten. Shame, not so much. Certainly not for Spock.

But it was not shame he predicted for this mission. It would cause him no harm to engage in acts of intimacy with the captain, nor with the doctor. In itself, this was something of a problem.

The further they had come into their five-year mission the lower his barriers had become. He found himself reaching for their touch rather than recoil from it. The walls he had erected around his human part had been carefully chipped at, until smiles came easier, unbidden, and his heart prepared for vulnerability.

There were times, when exhaustion or distraction lowered his control, that impulse reigned free. He cared for Jim as his captain, his superior officer. As his friend, yes. And sometimes–

He swallowed, remembering Jim’s clear reluctance to take part in their current mission once the parameters had been set. These were thoughts best left alone. Thoughts which would not be welcomed if voiced out loud. Indeed, Jim was correct to worry for the future, though perhaps for the wrong reasons.

The doctor did not seem particularly concerned with what Jim thought of his actions. He seemed rather amused by it. Not so with Spock. This may well be caused by their often-clashing personalities, and the doctor’s voiced disbelief in his ability to relate to other more emotional beings.

Those were surface things, however. At first glance, no one would know of the care and respect that simmered underneath. They themselves rarely allowed it to show. Sometimes it did, despite their best efforts. Sometimes even deliberately.

He would feel more comfortable with McCoy in the middle, he decided. His emotional awareness would act as a guide, and the likelihood of him being weighed down by such thoughts as now spun through Spock’s head was negligible. Indeed, Jim might suggest it himself. Of the three of them, McCoy was more naturally inclined to show his care for other people. As a doctor, one could count on his discretion, his calming bedside manner, his surprising insightfulness.

Yes, Spock decided. It would be logical to allow the doctor to steer them through this unfortunate situation.

Behind him, the doctor’s calm, even breathing made for an easy background noise as he sank deeper into meditation. He had much reinforcement of his mental shields to prepare.

☆☆☆

McCoy stared at Spock the next morning. He stood by a window, observing the light rain pattering against the leaves and pines outside, the city shrouded in mist. Jim was off negotiating, hopefully doing a fine job of acting the diplomat despite not having the natural patience for it. With the weather, he and Spock had been given the day off, giving them some time to prepare for their upcoming trials – as much as they could with the sparse information they had.

He folded his arms over the low table, wishing he had some more of that honeyed drink. Spock seemed in a pensive mood, though he was sure Vulcans didn’t brood. He’d probably insist he was running some logical thought processes in that big brain of his. McCoy, for his part, had nothing better to do than watch him.

It was better than contemplating their predicament. Still, the longer he looked at Spock, the more pressing the problem became.

They would have to kiss, mouth on mouth, and they’d have to be convincing about it, too. Jim would have no trouble. He kissed aliens right and left, all in the line of duty. Or off duty, for that matter. McCoy had only the problem of being a little rusty. As for Spock…

As if reading his mind, Spock turned to him, eyebrow raised. He had that look where he just knew McCoy was having illogical thoughts, expecting an emotional outburst any second.

“What?” he asked defensively, frowning at the Vulcan.

“You were staring.”

“Oh, so you finally noticed.”

Spock did that little sigh that wasn’t a sigh, and turned more fully away from the window. He was at least wearing a thicker shirt to ward off the chill in the air, forgoing the uniform behind closed doors.

“Your thinking is very loud sometimes, Doctor.”

“So you were reading my mind!”

“Not as such.” Spock folded his hands behind his back, but kept the eyebrow up just because he knew it annoyed him. “Even humans can sense intent under certain circumstances.”

McCoy twitched. He could swear there was amusement in Spock’s eyes.

“Oh, get off your high horse, Spock. You were brooding, and don’t deny it. Care to share with the class?"

"I see no class to share my thoughts with.”

“Then share them with me, I get nervous when your shoulders go all stiff like that.”

Spock tilted his head, second eyebrow coming up to join the first. For a supposed unemotional Vulcan he sure knew how to use facial expressions to convey meaning. To McCoy’s surprise he ambled over to the table, found a seat on a pillow opposite of McCoy. The pillows were too thin for his taste, and the bench underneath unyielding. McCoy sat on two, but even that wasn’t enough to avoid some discomfort.

“I was merely considering our mission,” Spock said.

“I knew that. What about the mission, Spock?”

Spock thinned his lips, hands folded in his lap.

“The captain appears somewhat concerned for our chances at success.”

“He’s been under pressure lately. I think he’s forgotten how to relax. I’d suggest shore leave, but we’re only a few months off the end of our mission…”

“And what are your plans then, Doctor?”

He blinked at Spock.

“Huh? My plans? What’s that got to do with the mission?”

Spock shook his head lightly.

“Perhaps nothing. But I sensed in Jim some concern for the effects of this mission on our future.”

“That’s…” McCoy trailed off, licking his lips. Jim had seemed overly tense over their pretended arrangement. “Well. You’d have to ask him, not me.”

“Indeed.”

They sat in silence for a moment. McCoy shivered, as if a cold draft came through the wall behind him. Our future, Spock had said.

“Are you cold, Doctor?”

“Are you?”

He had the quick thought that they could always practice by sharing some body heat. He dismissed it.

“I will acquire a blanket for you.”

There were several on the bed, and he handed one over to McCoy without waiting for a reply. Reluctantly, McCoy pulled it around his shoulders. As nice as it was of Spock to care, he could never figure out if he did it because first officers had a responsibility to ensure the wellbeing of the crew, or if he actually had a bleeding soft heart underneath that Vulcan mask.

Still, the blanket was warm, and McCoy relaxed somewhat.

“I don’t envy Jim all those negotiations,” he said, if only to avoid additional silence.

“Part of his orders from Starfleet.”

“’Course. But he and Stiva don’t seem to get along too well.”

“She seems more accepting of your romantic and emotional personality, Doctor.”

“Romantic!” He felt an involuntary blush on his cheeks. “What do you know of romance, Spock. So far you’ve gotten off easy, but soon enough we’ll have to kiss, and–“

Abruptly, he snapped his mouth shut. This was exactly what he’d avoided thinking about. Spock regarded him with some curiosity.

“I’ll admit, Doctor, that my experience in that area is limited.”

“Well.” McCoy hugged the blanket closer around himself. “What you gotta do is relax, Spock. That’s got to be a universal sign for comfort and partnership. Probably why Stiva is so annoyed with Jim…”

“I am relaxed, Doctor.”

McCoy eyed him with suspicion. He sat straight, back like a stiff plank and hands once again folded in his lap. There were times he’d been more relaxed for sure. On the bridge. Playing chess with Jim. Having dinner in the mess, arguing over research journals.

“Funny,” he said. “You don’t look it.

“I’ll accept suggestions.”

“You will?”

McCoy couldn’t hide his surprise, but Spock only pursed his lips. Searching his brain for ideas, McCoy dismissed several and told himself it wasn’t an invitation to get more cozy.

“Psychologically speaking,” he started slowly, “physical closeness will make people more relaxed around each other. The more closeness, the more relaxed you can be.”

“Quite basic, Doctor.”

“Oh, shush.”

He fiddled with the edges of the blanket, feeling the thick, woolly material with his fingers. It was colored a light gray, or perhaps that was the fabric’s natural color. Desperately, he willed his cheeks to stop heating up. This was Spock, for god’s sake. There was nothing to be embarrassed about – they’d seen each other at much worse, and there were some memorable occasions where they had even been gentle with each other. But calling up those memories was embarrassing, to say the least.

“If you are suggesting practice, Doctor, I am amenable.”

McCoy looked up, eyes widening at Spock’s suggestion.

“What?”

“I said–“

“I heard what you said.” He grinded his teeth together, crossed and uncrossed his legs. “I’m wondering why you said it.”

They stared at each other for a long moment. Spock placed his elbows on the table, steepling his fingers in front of his face.

“As I said earlier, Doctor, I have been considering the mission. Antaros is an important planet for the Federation, and we cannot allow ourselves to fail. Any personal discomfort must be set aside in order to ensure we show the proper and expected respect for their culture.”

“And so you think we should – practice?”

“I am open to suggestion. As things stand, you seem to have adapted more easily to our circumstances than I.”

He let out a slow breath, tightening his hold around the blanket. It felt like the only protection he had against Spock’s considering gaze. Underneath it, his heart pounded in his chest, the blood pumping through his body warming him up despite the chilly air. If Jim were here… But he wasn’t.

“I guess we could…”

He trailed off, wetting his lips. It was probably logical, he thought. They needed to win the Antarians over, and the only way to do so was to show them how close-knit their trio was. As close as they were, they hadn’t needed to get intimate with each other before. He wasn’t sure why the prospect worried him all of a sudden. He’d joked about it, but now… maybe because it was Spock.

Hiding his nerves under bristling irritation, he got up from his seat and made his way over to Spock’s side of the table. He glared at the Vulcan as he sat down, forgetting to bring his pillows and too occupied with the potential contents of their practicing to care. It left him shorter than usual compared to Spock, and as he scooted closer he had to tilt his head up just a bit to meet his eyes.

“Well?” he huffed, waving a hand still holding the blanket towards Spock.

“Doctor, perhaps you are the one in need of relaxing.”

“I’m perfectly relaxed!”

Spock gave him the usual, annoyed look that told him just how illogical and human he was behaving.

“If the Antarians were present at the moment, I believe we would need to be seated closer to each other. It was clear last night that Anda and Antos were not wholly satisfied with our performance. Perhaps if we shared the blanket, Doctor?”

They’d shared a blanket before. For survival. Hesitantly, McCoy unfolded his little cocoon and offered Spock one end, allowing him to pull it around his own shoulders. It forced McCoy to move closer, until his arm touched Spock’s. He didn’t feel as warm as he should. Stubborn Vulcan, he thought. In a moment of madness, he put his arm around Spock’s back and leaned his cheek against the edge of his shoulder, making himself comfortable.

His hand fit against Spock’s waist quite nicely, he thought, immediately cursing himself for it.

He wasn’t sure what to do now. The blanket wasn’t large enough to cover them, a gap at the front showing their thighs and knees as he looked down. Spock’s free hand rested on his lap, fingers as elegant as ever. What would they have done if they were being romantic? Putting aside the ridiculousness of it, would this be convincing enough for the Antarians? Should Spock be touching him?

Should they be… holding hands?

Footsteps in the corridor alerted them to Jim’s return, and he shot away from Spock as if burned. The blanket fell from his shoulders, but he was too worked up to notice. Jim came in through the door, and he felt like when he was a teenager and his mother caught him and the neighbor girl behind the barn.

“The weather could be better,” Jim greeted them with, raking fingers through his wet hair.

He was overthinking this, he told himself sternly, getting up to find Jim a dry shirt.

“Any progress?” he asked, hoping his voice didn’t sound as shaky as he felt.

“It’s all polite small talk for now.” Jim sighed, accepting the shirt with a grateful look. He pulled the wet one off, patted down the undershirt to check for wet spots, then shrugged and pulled that off, too. “They seem to have steps for negotiation that match with our trials. Short sessions, for now.”

“Logical, if this is the procedure used in their historical past to unify the planet.”

Jim made a wry face, then sat down on the pillows McCoy had used before his unexpected cuddling with Spock, tugging down the front of his clean shirt.

“And I still don’t know anything else about the trials, except that they will be explained to us just before each one starts.”

“Not much time to prepare, then,” McCoy muttered, weighing on his heels as he debated what to do now. “Have you–“

“Captain, I have a suggestion.”

He turned to Spock, snapping his mouth shut. Jim did the same, one elbow on the table as he waited for Spock to continue.

“Considering the information we do have, and the reactions as well as advice we received from Anda and Antos, I believe it is of significant importance that our pretend relationship is not discovered for the pretense it is.”

“Yes,” Jim said, frowning a little. “That much is clear.”

“Considering, also, that Doctor McCoy seems to be more comfortable with the circumstances, doubtless due to his emotional nature–“

“Now wait just a minute–“

“Doctor McCoy, you have often shown considerable ability to overcome cultural differences with those species which are run primarily by emotion, rather than logic. Your analytical nature in regard to this would make you the obvious judge of our necessary actions to ensure Starfleet’s desired outcome."

McCoy stared at him, mouth open.

"Did you just..." He shared a look with Jim. "Did you just say that I'm the one who should decide the, that is, the level of…”

He couldn’t say it.

“I see what you mean,” Jim said, humming in thought. “Bones would more easily pick up on the social cues. He’d know if our touching was regarded as platonic or not.”

“But–“

“Indeed, Captain. The doctor could make the necessary judgment calls to benefit the mission.”

“But I–“

“Bones,” Jim said, cutting off his spluttering. “You’ve got charm enough when you want to. I’m giving you free rein to use it – and make it convincing.”

“And what about the two of you!” McCoy huffed, starting to feel worked up and not sure if it was embarrassment or something else entirely.

“We’ll flirt back, of course, Bones. But Spock hit the nail on the head, I think. As Captain, it will be difficult for me to separate myself from the chain of command, and Spock is Vulcan. Hardly a romantic species as you pointed out yourself just yesterday.”

McCoy scowled at him, starting to pace the length of the room. What a position to put him in!

“It’ll be easier, Bones, if you initiate.”

Was it just him, or did Jim sound just slightly pleading?

“As there are three of us,” Spock continued, “it may not be seen as strange if one should be the focus of the other two. It does seem to be the case regarding Stiva and her companions.”

“Focus,” McCoy spat. He was working himself into a right strop, and neither of the other two seemed inclined to stop him. “You’ll have to at least pretend to be interested in each other, too!”

A sliver of unease passed Jim’s features. McCoy almost called it out, but before he could, Jim’s expression set into one of determination.

“You’d better start working on a battle plan, Bones. Spock and I will accept whatever you throw at us, prior warning or not.”

“Spock, you’re really fine with that?”

Spock nodded, having moved to stand in his usual parade rest by the windows. The sky was still a murky gray outside, with raindrops running down the windowpanes.

“Subterfuge is easier managed if one person does the managing. The captain and I will be guided by your insight.”

“That’s too many compliments to make me comfortable,” he muttered, pausing near the door. “Jim’s never had trouble dazzling alien ladies to escape on missions.”

“Alien ladies, yes,” Jim said, glancing quickly at Spock before fixing his gaze out the windows. “Quite different from my first officer and CMO.”

“What, doubting your charm offensive’s effectiveness on people who know you for more than your pretty looks?”

Jim didn’t take the bait. He shrugged, giving McCoy a wan smile that must have hidden a multitude of thoughts he wouldn’t easily share.

“I trust you to keep us out of trouble, Bones. Meanwhile, let’s see if we can find something to eat around here.”

Finding himself completely ignored, McCoy stood with fingers digging into his arms, trying to calm himself down. It made no damn sense! They were ganging up on him, and he had no idea why…

Well, he thought to himself, rather sourly. If it’s romance they want…

“I’m going for a walk,” he announced. “And don’t follow me.”

Only sparing the time to grab his jacket from a hook by the door, he soon jogged down the corridors of their treehouse. A plan was only as good as the research it was based on – and research he would do!

☆☆☆

McCoy’s research continued the following day. He hadn’t managed much more than getting himself drenched the previous evening, but at least he’d found a few places to begin. Now, in the midst of lunch time, he found himself in a cozy little restaurant seated next to Spock, who seemed to take in their surroundings with much more calm than McCoy felt.

Jim had snapped at him when he got back, wet and miserable and not the least bit remorseful. Don’t run off alone again! he’d finished with, and McCoy hadn’t been able to shake off Spock as he decided to venture outside for a bit of food.

With Jim stuck in another day of diplomacy, he supposed it would be unkind to leave Spock behind in their temporary apartment. Didn’t mean he had to like it – except he had to, seeing as they were supposed to be deeply in love, after all.

“They are watching us,” Spock announced under his breath, lips barely moving.

His long fingers held the menu in a loose grip, the line of his shoulders tense as McCoy leaned against him to read the menu better. It also brought him close enough to whisper a reply, though why they kept their voices low when they could just as easily turn off the translators was beyond him.

“I guess we’d better act the part, then.”

Spock glanced at him from the corner of his eye, and for a moment their shared suffering felt like a palpable connection in the air between them. He tried to muster up some of his initial glee at the prospect of Spock turning into a romantic, besotted fool, but only managed a small sigh as he rested his chin against the bony curve of Spock’s shoulder and tried to make sense of the alien language written on the menu.

“You think they have a daily special?”

The heat of Spock’s body was not unwelcome in the open-air restaurant. Spindly trees had been planted in a circle, their crowns tied together to form a live ceiling. The trunks were a pale gray, with dark green leaves that reflected almost black in the low lighting from the lamps hanging from the branches. There was no fire or other heating arrangements, though they did sit on thick furs that at least kept his ass from freezing into ice.

Spock gently shut the menu and placed it on the table. Slowly, as if considering the action from all possible angles first, Spock moved his arm so that he could trail a light finger along McCoy’s cheekbone. It made his face tingle, in a strange but not unpleasant way.

The nearest Antarian couple seemed satisfied at least, returning to their meal and previous conversation. McCoy shut down an embarrassed blush. He shifted, feeling a slight tick in his neck from trying to lean on Spock without actually leaning on him.

“It would appear so.”

The Antarian waitress returned with two steaming bowls of stew, and a pitcher of water which she efficiently deposited from a blocky wooden tray.

“Enjoy,” she said pleasantly, then left them to their own.

McCoy watched her caress the arm of her colleague, a short man with lively eyes who weaved around tables with impressive balance, considering the number of dirty dishes loaded in his arms. There was a sense of unhurried contentment around the place, at odds with Stiva’s irritation at their presence. Though, maybe the three of them were the only interruption to an otherwise simple life. If the others shared her irritation they at least didn’t show it, and McCoy tasted the stew with a gurgling stomach and his elbow bumping into Spock’s.

“It’s good,” he said, with a modicum of surprise.

Spock was inspecting the bowl’s contents with a frown.

“Oh. You think they forgot to make it vegetarian for you?”

“The scent is similar to a Vulcan root-vegetable.”

McCoy stared at him, then felt a grin take over his face.

“Aha! So even Vulcans have vegetables they don’t like, hm? Is it like broccoli for human children?”

“There is no similarity to broccoli,” Spock announced, then took a hesitant spoonful into his mouth.

“Oh, just wait ‘til Jim finds out about this.”

Spock pursed his lips as he swallowed, clearly unimpressed with McCoy’s newfound happiness.

“I fail to see the cause for amusement.”

“And I thought Vulcans don’t have likes and dislikes.”

To further amuse himself, McCoy linked their feet together and stole a spoonful of Spock’s stew. He chewed it thoughtfully, mouth twitching from a suppressed smile at Spock’s raised eyebrow.

“Tastes the same as mine,” he concluded, letting the smile turn into something resembling innocence.

“Evidently, as they served us the same dish. Furthermore, it is not a dislike, Doctor. My tastebuds are merely averse to this particular flavor, and considering my current age this has little to do with children, human or not.”

Had this been a real date – a real relationship – this might have been when McCoy leaned in to kiss that frown away. As it was, he merely balked at the random thought and took a hurried sip of water.

The atmosphere must be getting to him, he thought, not to mention the strange dreams he’d had of eloping with Spock while Sarek and Amanda chased them. Jim had been waiting for them on the Enterprise, but the transporters were malfunctioning of course and–

He shook the dream away, drawing in a slow breath. This mission was clearly starting to get to him, what with the pressure Jim had put on his shoulders. Battle plan, indeed! he thought. All they had to do was forget about personal space.

What could possibly go wrong?

He and Spock ate in silence after that, making sure to brush their arms together now and then, adding in some eye contact. The other guests had lost interest in them, but McCoy studied them intently in reverse. Most of them seemed of middle age, though there was a couple or two with toddlers, and an elderly trio engaged in a heated discussion full of laughter and gestures. If there were differences between platonic and romantic, they were too subtle for him to pick up on.

They ambled outside after finishing their meal, starting a wide loop around the center of the town. With gritted teeth he looped his arm with Spock’s, though after a while it stopped being weird and new and he held onto the fabric of Spock’s coat as he pointed at things with his free hand.

“All those open windows,” he grumbled, waving at a wide, low building that could have been a school or an office or anything, really. “You’d think it was summer!”

“Considering the average temperature and seasons at our present location, you are somewhat correct.”

“Somewhat!” He poked Spock in the chest. “Must feel like frigid winter for you.”

Spock didn’t sigh, but the slight relaxing of his features was as good as, anyway.

“Vulcans are equipped to regulate our body heat to a greater degree than humans.”

“Bullshit. You’re freezing under that thin coat. I’ll tell Jim to have them beam down something warmer for you.”

“Your consideration is noted but unnecessary.”

McCoy glared at him, as usual unsure of Spock’s meaning. Was it a thinly veiled compliment, or yet another snarky comment meant to annoy him? Either way, Spock’s hand was too cold when he wrapped his own hand around it.

Spock snatched it back as if burned.

“Doctor,” he said, voice taking on a rather pained note. “The Antarians were rather clear on the subject of certain intimate acts, which should not be expressed in public.”

Pausing, McCoy felt his eyes widen.

“What? Just grabbing your hand isn’t–“

Spock silenced him with an arched brow, conveying just enough doubt of his knowledge of Vulcan customs that McCoy snapped his mouth shut.

“Ordinarily, the touching of hands is not in and of itself an intimate act when necessity calls for it. However, between bonded couples, it does carry a connotation of the sharing of minds, and thus may be interpreted – or misinterpreted – as intimate.”

The street they stood on was deserted, a narrow side path between three-storied houses. Ivy-like plants grew along the walls of them, delicate-looking yellow flowers spreading a sweet scent that tickled at McCoy’s nose in the faint breeze. The flowers didn’t look robust enough for the cold climate, but McCoy had to reluctantly force his eyes away from them to meet Spock’s inscrutable gaze.

“The Antarians wouldn’t know that.”

“I assume we will be asked to explain our romantic habits.”

It sounded so clinical when Spock said it.

“All touching of hands?” he asked, fingers twitching at the memory of several instances on which their hands had touched.

Some born of necessity, some perhaps not.

“Depending on context, yes. I have not yet determined whether or not the Antarians will find it as intimate as their version of a kiss.”

At this, McCoy knitted his brows together in thought.

“You think they kiss differently than humans or Vulcans?”

Tilting his head curiously, Spock folded his hands behind his back. In his Starfleet-issued overcoat his silhouette looked more angular than usual. McCoy resisted the urge to reach up and adjust his slightly lopsided collar for him.

“We should not assume, Doctor.”

McCoy searched his brain for ideas on what might constitute kissing to a species that appeared so human-like. Perhaps his imagination was lacking, since he could think of no other convenient way other than using mouth or hands.

“Alright,” he sighed. “I’ll keep my hands to myself. Anything in particular I should be avoiding? Some Vulcan romantic expression you’d rather have me avoid?”

“Avoidance seems counterproductive to our mission,” Spock said.

He held his hand out, thumb folded into his palm together with the ring finger and little finger. The pointer and index finger were raised, and McCoy recognized the gesture from Spock’s parents visiting. Hesitantly, he mimicked it, though with less grace.

“Doctor, I merely–“ Spock paused, seemingly pondering their position. “Perhaps a demonstration will provide a clearer understanding.”

It hadn’t been McCoy’s intention, not really. He’d been curious, an automatic response. Now, he found himself frozen in place as Spock’s hand touched his, faint at first, a gentle brush that made him shiver in the cold air.

Applying firmer pressure, Spock allowed the pads of their fingers to touch, McCoy pressing back until they held steady against each other. It felt like touching something warm, despite the fact that Spock’s hand had felt cold moments before. As if their skin heated up in reaction to the touch. It didn’t feel like much aside from fingers touching fingers – and then Spock eased up on some shield or two and McCoy gasped as electricity sparked between them.

“What?” He felt his whole arm twitch in reaction to it. “What kind of Vulcan voodoo…”

“The connection of two minds can be a powerful thing,” Spock said, eyeing their hands with something akin to fascination. “We appear somewhat compatible.”

McCoy snatched his hand back, rubbing at the heel of his palm with a mix of confusion and embarrassment.

“Can’t believe your parents walked around the whole ship like that,” he muttered, feeling the urge to spin on his heels and walk very fast in the opposite direction.

“With a mating bond in place the experience would be commonplace.”

He decided not to comment on that. Instead he licked his lips, bouncing on his toes as he glanced surreptitiously around them in search of any witnesses. When none appeared, he forced himself to relax.

“Warn a guy before connecting to his mind, will you?” he complained, pretending his fingertips weren’t still tingling. “We’d better keep walking before someone comes along and accuses us of public indecency.”

The latter part was only a half-joke. He’d been thrown in enough alien dungeons to have a healthy dose of fear for ending up in another one, though of course the Antarians didn’t seem particularly inclined to mistreat people.

“As you wish, Doctor.”

☆☆☆

Spock meditated on the ozh’esta, the kiss he’d shared with McCoy. He considered it from several angles, concluding ultimately that while it was logical to practice acts of intimacy in order to ensure their disguise held up, it had been somewhat illogical to perform such an act in public where it might have been frowned up by the Antarians.

There was, in particular, the lowering of his shields to consider.

McCoy’s mind had called to him, loud and so very human. There was a spark which Spock had not experienced previously. Granted, his experiences were limited in both amount and nature, and perhaps curiosity had driven him to share an ozh’esta truer to Vulcan custom than strictly necessary.

A pretend relationship did not necessitate the sharing of minds. In particular, the Antarians would not be capable of discerning the difference between a simple touch and a mental connection. However, the doctor’s reaction had been a genuine one – surprise, interest, disbelief. McCoy had been curious, too, before reacting strongly with emotion as he released the touch.

The reaction had not been negative in nature, but without a proper meld or bond, Spock was unable to parse through the layers and interpret it in more detail. Considering the doctor’s empathic nature, it was likely that any new insight into Vulcan culture would bring about some positive emotion regardless of his fondness for dismissing their logical nature as computer-like and cold. As such, there was no cause to interpret it as any form of personal interest in Spock.

The hour had grown late as Spock rose from his meditation; his limbs stiffened from sitting on the thin pillow directly on the floor. He made a quick visit to the bathroom, eyeing the water shower with some distaste before deciding it was best left for the morning. In their shared bed, McCoy was sprawled out over Spock’s side, with Jim having rolled further towards the middle.

Logic dictated that Spock took the side next to Jim with more space, but he was unsure of Jim’s reaction upon waking to find them in positions not pre-negotiated. Jim had appeared rather unwilling to go out in public with the two of them unless required, and so they had opted for an evening spent in quiet conversation, with Tares bringing them a light evening meal and more of that warm drink McCoy seemed fond of. With one day left before their first trial, Spock wondered at their chances for success.

As he stared down at the sleeping form of McCoy, Spock’s thoughts strayed yet again to the touch they had shared. McCoy’s mind had brushed against his in a familiar way, alluring in its promise of an easy combination which should have been at odds with the doctor’s prickly personality. Spock knew better than to take McCoy’s outward grumbling to heart. Still, the few times he’d come close enough to McCoy’s mind to feel the depths of emotion, empathy, intuition… An orderly whirlwind so very human that it was at once alien and comforting.

Spock should not be contemplating melding with the doctor.

With slow, deliberate movements he arranged McCoy’s limbs until he was near the captain rather than the edge of the bed, and gingerly eased himself into the narrow space and under the warm covers.

McCoy grunted in his sleep, turning on his side with a twist of the sheets, face pressed flush against Spock’s arm. He stiffened, but the doctor did not wake. His meditation was sufficient enough to shield against the barrage of McCoy’s sleeping mind, just a thin layer of fabric between them. Once again he gently pushed at the doctor, one hand gripping his upper arm, steering him towards Jim instead.

It worked, insofar as McCoy turned on his other side. His face pressed against Jim’s shoulder instead, as if seeking warmth. In the low lighting from a corner lamp he appeared untroubled, as did Jim. Humans had such expressive faces, and yet they could be very difficult to interpret.

Spock laid down fully again, clasping his hands over his stomach. McCoy’s foot bumped against his shin. He quelled the urge to push it away – and the subsequent urge to pull it closer – and closed his eyes in preparation for sleep.

☆☆☆

The forest city hadn’t really inspired thoughts of mountain hiking, but the view was breathtaking. They had taken a small freighter plane to the mountain base, about an hour’s flight away. Bones had grumbled about tin cans held together by tape and prayers, but low enough that the Antarians hadn’t heard. Jim, for his part, had thoroughly enjoyed the aerial view of the continent.

The mountains themselves weren’t the tall, jagged peaks he’d expected, but rather more like rolling hills that grew steadily steeper. Trees and bushes gave way to sparser vegetation; gnarled root systems with flat pine needles that rose above ground, and thick underbrush resembling heather that lined the winding path. It was quiet save for chirping birds and the gentle buzzing of insects, and a slight breeze playing with their clothes and hair.

“At least it’s not moist and wet anymore,” Bones said, squinting at the rock breaking out of the underbrush here and there.

The three of them walked close, mimicking Anda and Antos. Now and then Spock reached out to help either of them cross a stretch of crushed stone, or up a short climb. Kirk tried his best not to think about Vulcan hands.

His quick heartbeat had nothing to do with the hike, and a lot more to do with what might await them at their destination. It was clear enough that the hike was supposed to show cooperation, as well as represent something a little more religious in type. Oh, he was sure that the Antarian couple of the myth had shown great courage and valor as they tackled the mountainside to prove their devotion and love, but personally he would have preferred something a little less time consuming.

“Doctor, the roots are quite loose up ahead.”

Bones rolled his eyes but played along – perhaps with a little more sarcasm than warranted.

“Well, why don’t you carry me over them, then?”

Spock took it for instruction. Under Bones’ heavy protests he lifted him into his arms, a non-plussed expression on his face as Kirk stared after them. Spock treaded carefully despite Bones’ initial thrashing, and only the watchful eyes of Stiva silenced him. He could see Bones hissing into Spock’s ear though, no doubt calling him all sorts of ungrateful things. Sighing, Kirk followed.

The roots were hardly a challenge, but Spock turned back with a frown as if admonishing him for venturing ahead without assistance.

He still held Bones in his arms.

“Why does Jim get to walk on his own?” Bones muttered, looking rather put-out but not out of place against Spock’s chest. “I’m not that old!”

“I was merely offering my assistance,” Spock said.

He received a glare for it, and Kirk had to suppress a small smile at the sight. Reaching them, and mindful of their audience, he lifted a hand to place it on Bones’ shoulder.

“Face it, Bones, we just like taking care of you.”

It could have been a comment like any other between them. Kirk wasn’t above voicing such feelings under certain circumstances. Perhaps it was the fact that Bones still dangled in Spock’s arms, or the fact that they were meant to sound romantic, but Kirk almost sucked in a breath too sharp when Bones’ cheeks darkened defiantly.

“Who’s the doctor here, I’d just like to know…!”

It was a good thing that kissing was saved for closed doors, because Kirk had the passing thought that Spock was considering it. He eyed the doctor with a fond look he never would have permitted himself on the ship, and Kirk squeezed Bones’ shoulder before dropping it. It wouldn’t do to look as if the closeness between his two supposed companions bothered him.

“I think you can let him down, Spock,” he said, forcing his voice to stay light and teasing. “Pride is a fickle thing, Bones.”

“Says you!”

Spock let him down, with all his metaphorical spikes pointed outwards. Touching him now might result in puncture wounds, Kirk thought with some amusement.

The rest of the hike passed without further incidents. They paused briefly by a happily gurgling brook for some food, the water clear and refreshingly cold when he splashed it onto his face. As they neared their destination the air thinned a bit, Spock eyeing the both of them with some concern. It was almost disconcerting to have his first officer’s emotions displayed so openly outside of a crisis. He knew it was for the benefit of the mission, but he hated to think that Spock suffered for it.

During what Stiva announced was their last break before they reached the camping site, he leaned close to Spock and lowered his voice.

“Are you sure you’re comfortable, Spock? I know we said we’d rely on Bones to dictate the strategy, but it must be hard for you to show so much emotion so openly.”

Spock’s eyebrow rose.

“Captain, it is no less comfortable for me to display it than it is for you.”

Kirk bit the inside of his cheek.

“I’m not uncomfortable, Spock,” he clipped, and a second eyebrow climbed to join the first.

“Indeed, Captain.”

There was nothing he could say to that. He caught Bones’ pointed look, and linked his arm with Spock’s. It wasn’t the touching in itself that bothered him… It was the lack of choice, and the cheap theatre-like quality of it.

While Bones spoke with the Antarians, he stood with Spock and tried not to think about how the touch of his arm burned into him, and how much he wished he could lean closer with a good conscience.

☆☆☆

McCoy swallowed down a sigh and shook the twisted blanket out. You’d think that sleeping under the stars sounded like a great idea when one was shut inside a tin can every day, but all that open sky above just reminded him how far away the safety of his Sickbay was. He could have been up there, minding his business and catching up on reports, while Jim and Spock played pretend down here.

No such luck, he thought to himself as he spread the blanket on a relatively smooth patch of ground. And to think I found it funny at first.

He patted the blanket, stalling for time. He’d made some sort of plan for the evening, some make-believe romance that might convince their carefully watching guide. Spock sweeping him into his arms had been an improvisation. For a second he’d even thought… He shook his head, pulling a second blanket out of his rucksack. Just because they’d shared some kind of hand-kiss didn’t mean his mouth was some free-for-all, whenever-you-please kind of deal.

And Spock of all people shouldn’t be such a good actor. It was unnerving.

He glanced up as Jim wandered over, hands in the pockets of his jacket. It had grown colder as they reached higher altitudes, and McCoy was glad for the thermo-wear underneath his sturdier terrain outfit. The boots were chafing at his heels, though.

“Need any help?” Jim asked, eyeing the spread blanket and the reluctant look on McCoy’s face.

McCoy stood, rolling onto his toes and back.

“I’m fine with just some company,” he said.

They could just about make out the voices of Spock conversing with Stiva, and he wasn’t sure how good her ears were. He held out his hand, and Jim extricated his left one from its hiding place and took it.

“A stroll at sunset,” he mused, following McCoy towards the edge of the hill they were on. “Good idea.”

Calling it a hill was maybe stretching it. Three sides were a sheer drop some ten meters down, jagged rock promising an unpleasant landing. The view was spectacular, though. A vast forest spread out in the valley below, and the hills around them stood out against the deep blue sky. The previous rains had drifted past them, and the reddish glow of the sun as it lowered behind the horizon made him think of lazy summer nights.

They stood side by side for a moment, taking in the view. Despite his complaints it wasn’t so bad, as missions went. He glanced towards Jim, felt the stiff fingers wrapped around his own, and bit at his lower lip.

“Say, Jim,” he started, considering how best to approach. “You still don’t seem too happy about this mission…”

Jim thinned his lips, squinting out at the sun. Tension was apparent in his upper body, and McCoy held a suspicion that Jim had another one of those headaches he liked to pretend he could handle on his own.

“I don’t need to be happy about it, Bones,” Jim replied, keeping his voice low.

“Well, sure, but it’s just us, Jim.” When Jim gave him a questioning look he shrugged. “If you stood here with a fair lady I’m sure you’d be busy trying to butter her up. I won’t bite if you try the same on me.”

The way Jim’s eyes widened appeared almost scandalized.

“Bones, you’re not a fair lady. No offense, of course.”

“I could be lady-like,” McCoy snorted. “But you’re missing my point. Even Spock’s trying, as unnerving as it is to watch. You’re coming off as reserved to these touchy-feely aliens.”

Jim pursed his lips at that, turning his head back towards the view. It wasn’t as if McCoy felt any particular need to cozy it up with Jim – and he wasn’t some sweet little lady wishing to be wooed. It still irked him somehow that Jim didn’t feel comfortable enough with him. Didn’t their years of friendship, the dangers they’d faced together, mean anything to him?

“Permission to speak freely, Captain.”

Head twisting towards him in surprise, Jim hesitated for a moment before nodding, waving a hand to give him the go-ahead.

“Alright. I know you have your captaincy ‘n all to think about, but if there’s anything making you uncomfortable, just spit it out, Jim. I can take whatever it is. We’ve been friends long enough that hardly anything will bother me at this point.”

Jim gave him a wan smile, then took a small step to bring them more face to face.

“You’re right, Bones. I am being reserved. It’s nothing to do with you, though.”

McCoy raised an eyebrow, but lowered it just as quickly again.

“I’ll keep speaking freely then and call bullshit, Jim. And if not me, then Spock.”

At this, Jim’s poker face couldn’t hold up. He swallowed, shot a quick look behind them towards the camp where Spock was just out of sight. McCoy felt his heart sink in a way he hadn’t expected, and quickly dismissed. Of course Jim was worried about Spock’s Vulcan sensibility – but then again, Spock had somewhat easily suggested practice. And, he remembered with a frown, somewhat insistently suggested McCoy stand in the middle to direct them like a theater play.

“What’s going on between you and Spock?”

“Nothing, Bones.”

The answer came too fast, too denying. Jim must have realized it, too, because he grimaced and ran a hand through his hair, avoiding McCoy’s gaze.

“It’s just awkward to put him in this kind of position, Bones. That’s all. I’m not handling it well, am I?”

“Not particularly, no. But I don’t think he’s as uncomfortable as you seem to think he is.”

Jim sighed.

“No, he said as much.”

From the corner of his eye, McCoy could see Stiva appear around a bend in the rock, Spock a step behind. He bit the inside of his cheek in momentary indecision before lifting his free hand, cupping Jim’s cheek and holding his face in a gentle cradle. It would be amusing how startled Jim looked, if it hadn’t also been so embarrassing.

“They’re watching us,” he mumbled, and Jim was well-trained enough not to turn his head and see for himself. “C’mon, Jim, try and relax for me?”

With his gaze firmly settled on Jim’s hazel eyes, McCoy slowly brushed his thumb over Jim’s cheek, then moved his hand to hold Jim’s neck instead as if going for a kiss. His heartbeat sped up inexplicably, perhaps from knowing the scrutiny they were under. Jim stared up at him with just a hint of trepidation, shoulders lowering minutely with each breath until he looked less like a Greek statue and more like a man sharing a private moment with his lover.

“Now, if I were a fair lady…” he joked, giving Jim a lopsided little grin that at least brought forth some amusement in those searching eyes. “D’you think Stiva over there would mind some smoochin’?”

“Bones,” Jim warned, though he seemed as caught in the moment as McCoy was.

Something about the setting sun, and the sudden closeness, the shared breath. Something about Spock watching them, making McCoy wonder if he should really feel so electric making eye contact with either of his fellow officers.

“No wonder the ladies fall all over their feet for you,” McCoy mumbled under his breath, drinking in the sight of Jim’s soft face bathed in the evening sun.

There was a magnetism about him, one that had always been there, drawing people in. Making people trust him, give their lives for him. McCoy was no exception. He’d go where Jim told him to go, with complaint but not hesitation. His first and foremost priority was to keep his captain alive and well, and second to that was to keep his friend in good spirits.

If he thought it was what Jim wanted, he’d kiss him, no questions asked.

Instead he smiled, stepping back to acknowledge their company, ignoring the burn in his chest as he let go of Jim. With a stiff nod, Stiva greeted them but turned her back rather than join them. Only Spock stayed, caught in indecision.

“Oh, get over here, Spock,” McCoy grumbled, making a come-hither motion at him. “It’s not like we’re about to actually swap saliva.”

Jim cleared his throat, sticking his hands in his jacket and making a face at McCoy as if blaming him for everything. Spock walked slowly, hands clasped behind his back. As he neared them, his eyes quickly flicked between their faces, then settled for McCoy as he came to a stop beside them.

“Stiva questioned me on Jim’s aversion to touch,” he said, making McCoy raise a quick eyebrow at Jim in a told you so move. “I believe your performance convinced her that he is simply a very private person, although such a concept in regard to mere physical touch is rather alien to her.”

“Looks like you’re off the hook,” McCoy said.

“For now.” Jim hunched his shoulders again, tense now that the moment had passed. “Let’s get back before the sun sets, I’d rather not fumble around in the dark.”

They made their way back to the camp, preparing for sleep in silence. McCoy had picked a spot at random, not too far from the still smoking fireplace. He sat down on his blankets with crossed legs and leaned his elbow on a bent knee, watching Jim and Spock shake out their blankets and try their best not to appear indecisive about sleeping arrangements. They’re like schoolboys around the prettiest girl in class, he thought with some amusement, though he wasn’t so sure how he felt about being the one they hovered around.

He caught Spock’s eye and pointed at a spot next to him. Surprisingly, the Vulcan acquiesced without comment, positioning himself close enough to reach out and touch, but far enough they didn’t need to. McCoy glanced over to the other side of the campfire where Anda and Antos had already laid down in a heap, unbothered by anyone seeing them cuddled together with barely any space to breathe.

With a sigh, he reached out and pulled Spock’s blankets closer to himself, then gave Jim a pointed look. Even though Jim clearly caught on, he still took his time, patting out wrinkles in the blanket before sitting down. Stiva had opted to lie down near the footpath, far enough away that it was clear she wasn’t part of their units.

McCoy had to wonder how uncomfortable it was for her to accompany them alone.

Of more pressing concern was the chill seeping through the blanket and into his behind, meaning Spock would find the night difficult. He’d settled into a position for meditation, and McCoy reached out to pinch at his knee.

“Spock, I think we’d better sleep,” he whispered, nodding his head towards the Antarians.

In the fading light, the shadows on Spock’s face made him look regal, like a frozen image of the collected Vulcan pride. His eyes, when they opened, were much warmer.

“As you wish, Doctor.”

They settled under their blankets, and McCoy cursed at the bulky shoes he had to sleep in. He wasn’t really outdoorsy in the sense that he enjoyed the cold, hard ground, or could amuse himself with staring up at the starry sky. He worried for Jim’s headache, and Spock’s insistence that the cold would not bother him.

After a long while spent restless, he swallowed down a huff and grabbed blindly for Jim. It took several tugs before the man gave in and rolled over, taking his blankets with him. On his other side, Spock followed at the first tug. It was a relief to feel them against him, knowing they could share some warmth – and if he were truly honest, all that open sky unnerved him.

Despite the uneven ground underneath him he felt his limbs relax as he listened to their slow breaths, felt their presence surround him. It had only been a few days, but he found he didn’t mind escaping his own empty bed for a while. There was no harm in enjoying it while it lasted, was there?

Pushing his cold hands up against Jim’s warm back, he drifted off to sleep.

☆☆☆

Kirk dragged his feet up the stairs, one at a time. Exhaustion tugged at his limbs, the lack of sleep finally catching up to him. He’d managed to snatch a few precious hours during their hike, but last night it had eluded him completely.

He was unsure of how he was feeling, underneath the fatigue. Asking Bones to be the middleman had been the wise thing to do, but now he wondered… Was it really so easy for his old friend to pull them close like that? He seemed to grumble and complain as usual, seemed almost disturbed by Kirk’s own hesitation.

More than that, he wondered if Bones knew, or at least suspected, the cause for it. The doctor could be uncannily perceptive, and knew him all too well. Considering he’d asked upfront if there was anything going on between him and Spock–

And what was he afraid of, anyway? That Bones would lend a sympathetic ear over a shared drink? That he’d be teased?

No, it wasn’t just that, but he couldn’t figure out what else it was that made him feel so uncomfortable at the thought of Bones confronting him about his secret. He’d been tongue-tied up on that hill, the breath caught in his throat.

The doctor had a good bedside manner…

Absently, Kirk ran a finger over a cheekbone, tracing Bones’ touch. It had seemed natural, almost. Kirk wasn’t the type to shy away from physical touch, but they wouldn’t normally involve his best friend and cupped cheeks and heavy, meaningful eye contact. While Bones was modest, he had a way to charm the ladies. Less direct. It was those rare occasions when he let the curmudgeonly old country doctor act drop and showed his softer, more caring side. Instant hit with the ladies.

Kirk realized he’d paused, still rubbing at his cheek. He snatched his hand away, shaking his head at himself. It was all pretend, he reminded himself. Even Spock.

He took the last part of the stairs hurriedly, placing a hand on the door handle before stilling, eyes widening. Loud voices drifted through the wood, unmistakable, and impossible to misunderstand.

“What do you mean we should practice more?” came Bones’ voice through the door, clearly irritated. “Wasn’t it enough that we did that thing in the alley?”

“If you are referring to the ozh’esta–“

“Whatever you’re calling it,” Bones snorted. “You can’t seriously tell me you’ve never kissed someone before. I’ve personally witnessed you kiss someone before, and frankly I wouldn’t be surprised if there was a lot more than kissing involved in that–“

“If you will allow me to finish, Doctor.” Spock sounded as irritated as Bones, which wasn’t rare between the two of them. “The recent few instances where I have found myself engaged in such intimacy have each been influenced by outside forces which were not within my control, as well as–“

“A kiss is a kiss, Spock. You’re a smart guy, you know how it’s done.”

There was a brief silence, and Kirk found he held his breath. His knuckles had whitened over the handle, and he slowly moved his fingers to try and ease some of the tension, though he didn’t let go.

“Doctor McCoy,” Spock said, forced patience evident in his deep voice. “The three of us are expected to kiss with the passion of devoted lovers. We will hardly succeed if you insist on acting as if my mouth is particularly unpleasant to you.”

“I’m not–“

Another pause, or rather, a muffled noise that washed over Jim like a cold wave. Despite his mind screaming at him, he slowly pushed the handle down and eased the door open a notch. Through the gap he found a red-faced Bones clinging to Spock, whose hands were firmly laced around the back of Bones’ head to keep him in place. Their lips were locked together, eyes closed and limbs tense.

It didn’t look very romantic, and Kirk was just about to call out when Bones’ shoulders sagged, his fists pulling Spock closer instead of pushing him away. When Bones opened his mouth to accept the kiss, Spock didn’t hesitate to deepen it, tilting his head and taking a step forward to bring their chests into contact.

For a long minute, Kirk stood frozen in the doorway, mind blank as he watched his two friends kiss each other with increasing familiarity. A burning emotion seized him, threatening to spill out of his chest. He closed the door, and pulled in a deep, desperate breath. His jaw ached from how hard he was gritting his teeth.

Practice, he thought, scrubbing both hands over his face as if hoping to erase the image from memory. It made sense that Spock would practice with Bones. He had suggested it, that Bones take the lead, but Spock had sounded so insistent just now… For a logical reason, surely.

Their mission had to succeed.

Kirk shouldn’t feel as if there was a gaping hole in his chest. It wasn’t appropriate. It wasn’t right. He should be proud of a crew so dedicated to their jobs. Still, the way Bones had melted into Spock’s arms seemed excessive. Too intimate. Like Kirk had walked into something he had no business being part of.

If even he could be fooled, then at least they should have nothing to worry about.

He pressed the heel of his palm against his breastbone, breathing slowly, until he felt in control again. He’d take a few steps back down, make sure the noise of his footsteps carried through the door to give them warning. If there had been a suspicious lack of noise from inside during the past few minutes, well. He could ignore that.

Chin held high, he reminded himself that he was James T. Kirk, captain of the Enterprise, and catching two of his senior officers going above and beyond duty for his sake wasn’t going to rattle him.

It simply wasn’t.

☆☆☆

Kirk spluttered as he surfaced, wiping water out of his eyes and gritting his teeth against the cold. Beside him, Bones and Spock were in similar positions, though Spock was clinging to the rickety little boat that hadn’t cared much to keep their balance.

“Sweet Jesus, that’s cold,” Bones swore, both of them struggling to make their way over to Spock. “I don’t think that thing was made for grand declarations of love.”

Grimacing, Kirk checked Spock over to make sure he wasn’t at risk of going under due to the water’s temperature. From the other boat next to them, pealing laughter could be heard as Anda succumbed to whatever humor she found in the situation.

“I may have misjudged the center of balance,” Kirk conceded, immediately suffering a pointed glare from Bones.

“Ya think?” he said, starting to push with his legs to get closer to shore.

Kirk sighed, mimicking him. He hadn’t meant to rock the boat, and especially hadn’t meant to tip them over. He’d moved to the front to read his poem – a rather simple challenge, all things considered. While he’d stared down at his feet to gather his thoughts and recall the lines, Bones and Spock had moved closer together on the narrow bench.

He frowned with effort as he pushed against the river stream, breaths labored as he struggled to acknowledge the reaction that had made him sidestep and lose his balance in such a fatal way.

It might have been the way Bones seemed to melt into Spock’s side, or the light touch of fingertips by Spock onto Bones’ hand. They made it look so simple, so right. He coughed as he dragged himself up onto the riverbank, turning back to give Bones a helping hand. They were all soaked, coats heavy on their shoulders and shoes sloshing as they abandoned the boat for dry land.

“You think they’ll fail us for this?” Bones muttered, pressing water out of his hair as he squinted at the river, where their boat now drifted upside down to seek new, passenger-less adventures.

On the other side of the river was Stiva and a small entourage, staring at them from the inside of flat-looking hover cars. A moment later one of the cars started moving, gliding across the water with a low hum. Kirk’s heart fell as he saw the look on Stiva’s face when she reached them.

“You are not used to moving waters,” she commented drily, climbing out of the car. “I have sent for supplies.”

Further down the river, Anda and Antos had steered their boat against the shore as well, Anda still faintly laughing as they got out, seemingly intent on walking back to join them.

“Thank you,” Kirk said, a little stiffly. His teeth were starting to chatter, which meant Spock must be even worse off. “And even less used to the cold weather.”

Luckily Antos had thought to bring the furs they’d been given to sit on.

“I don’t care that Vulcans can regulate their body heat,” Bones argued heatedly as Spock made to refuse the offered fur in favor of letting Bones keep it instead. "You put that on or so help me I’ll make you regret it!”

Spock sent a long-suffering look towards Kirk, who had to tamp down a smile and return it with a stern look of his own. He took the second fur that Anda had pushed at him and threw it over Spock’s shoulders as well, rubbing at his arms while Bones shivered beside them.

“We might have to huddle together a bit,” Kirk said, holding an arm out for Bones who reluctantly latched onto Spock’s back, keeping him between the two of them.

At least their Starfleet gear was designed to retain heat when wet, though it could only do so much against freezing water.

“I assure you I will not come to permanent harm,” Spock insisted through tense lips, which only made Bones tighten his hold around his stomach as Jim stepped closer.

“But what if you do?” Anda asked, eyes wide in mock innocence. “Surely you need them to hug you a little closer just in case, yes?”

“Anda…”

Despite her partner’s warning tone, Anda pressed her palms to her own cheeks and wiggled back and forth.

“Oh, the look on your faces when you went down! Is Jim’s poetry-reading really so bad that you had to throw him in the river?”

“Hey now–“ Kirk started to protest, trying not to think about his chest pressed to Spock’s, his back freezing in the wind.

"You could always recite it now,” Bones said, a twinkle in his eye. “We’ve got nothing better to do while we wait, do we?”

“A logical suggestion,” Spock agreed, despite never agreeing with Bones. “Although I find it puzzling that you insist on me wearing the furs between our bodies rather than wrapping them around the three of us.”

He’d barely finished before Anda gleefully started to assist, rearranging the thick furs and pushing the three of them closer in the process. Like a watchful judge, Stiva contemplated them from a secure distance. Her mouth twitched when Anda declared them logically arranged. If he hadn’t been so cold, Kirk would have saved his dignity first and refused to be the source of amusement.

Spock felt cold against him, though his breaths were warmer as they caressed Kirk’s face. On the other side of Spock, Bones hooked his chin over Spock’s shoulder and pushed his cheek against Spock’s neck.

“Which poem did you pick, anyway?” Bones asked, ignoring the way Anda tried to convince Antos that they should join in to donate some body heat.

“One of the classics,” Kirk sighed, clearing his throat and staring at the edge of Spock’s chin to avoid eye contact. “How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.”

“Ah,” Bones said. “Definitely a classic. You really learned it by heart?”

I already knew it by heart, Kirk thought.

“It’s not that long.”

“I shall but love thee better after death,” Bones quoted the final line of the poem. “A little depressing, I always thought.”

“It’s meant to be romantic, Bones.”

“Especially if you deliver it while soaked in river water, I assume.”

Bones shivered, jostling Spock with the movement. Kirk felt Spock’s hand twitch against his shoulder blade, holding both him and the piece of fur close. His lips were thinned into a line, paler than they should be. It was unfortunate – or perhaps lucky – that the Antarians frowned on kissing in public, because it was the only thing Kirk could think of to warm him back up.

“Quite unfortunate,” Spock said, and for a moment Kirk worried he’d read his mind.

Of course, if he’d had, those might not have been the words Spock would choose in reply.

“Do we have to get back in the boats after this?” Bones asked in a pained tone, directing the question towards the silent Stiva.

“Yes,” she said, relentless.

“Thought you might say that,” he mumbled, sounding forlorn.

“Cheer up,” Anda told him. “This is just like in legend when Sortos and Alel were caught in a storm at sea and shouted their passion over the sound of breaking waves–“

Antos placed a firm hand over Anda’s mouth, face torn between laughter and despair.

“You’ve read too many legends,” she sighed. “Give them a chance at least to dry up before you tease them.”

As Anda squirmed delightedly within Antos’ hold, Kirk shivered as a cool droplet of water ran down his neck.

Let me count the ways, he thought to himself, feeling Spock’s presence against him like a physical ache.

Let me count the ways.

☆☆☆

The night before the third challenge, Kirk couldn’t sleep.

He stood with his back towards the bed, staring out a window into the dark night. Here and there were twinkles of light, like lone ships at sea. He could see his own reflection, too, lit up by the soft orange light of a corner lamp. Pulling the blanket he held closer around himself, he almost regretted getting out of bed.

Bones had thrown an arm around his chest, warm and solid against him. Their final night forced to share. It was strange, how quickly one could get used to things. He’d come back late from another talk with Stiva, though at least she seemed to be warming up to him now. Spock had been meditating, while Bones was already fast asleep.

They hadn’t stirred when he left them to contemplate the cause of his own insomnia. Nights like these were hardly unusual for him, but it was unusual to fret over such a thing as a kiss…

Would they expect him to take charge? To kiss with the firm passion of a long-time lover? He had the experience, and yet he feared it. Running a finger over his mouth, he wondered if Spock had it right about emotions. Maybe those human feelings really got in the way.

He’d never quite found out how to make relationships last, after all.

To tread into the unknown with someone like Spock, whose presence he couldn’t imagine going without… If he screwed up he’d lose not only the best officer in the fleet, but also one of his closest friends – the kind of friendship that was once in a lifetime.

And then there was Bones, too. For all that he liked to pretend to be at odds with Spock, Kirk wasn’t so sure that Bones would take his own side if things went to hell.

He might lose both his best friends, and for what? A shot in the dark at romance? Surely it was better to keep them, and if it had to be at arm’s length… Well. Jim was only too acquainted with long, lonely nights in space.

Someone stirred on the bed, and Kirk held his breath as he heard Spock ease out from underneath the covers, gentle footsteps in an unmistakable rhythm. He paused beside Kirk, a hesitant silence filling the space between them.

“Captain,” Spock said in his deep, steady voice. “Doctor McCoy will not be pleased if you avoid sleep tonight as well.”

He’d been caught, hadn’t he? Too much yawning, he supposed.

“It’s sleep that’s avoiding me, Spock.”

Spock considered him, gaze burning into the side of Kirk’s face. He always saw right through him, didn’t he? All of a sudden, the urge to tell him rose to the surface. Surely Spock would understand, even if he didn’t reciprocate. Perhaps he knew a logical solution to Kirk’s dilemma, or–

A snuffling noise broke through his thoughts, Bones moving around in bed. He listened, but as there were no complaints forthcoming, he concluded that Bones must still be asleep. Drawing in a deep breath, Kirk remembered the kiss he’d witnessed. If there was ever a good reason not to pour his heart out, Bones was it.

He rubbed tiredly at his face, blanket slipping down his shoulders.

“Don’t mind me, Spock. There’s going to be quite a few angry messages from the admiralty waiting for me on the ship, asking me what took so damn long, and I’m sure our next mission orders will be just as vague and hurried.”

“These things will not be solved by your lack of sleep, Jim.”

“Don’t I know it, Spock.” He sighed, dropping the hand from his face. “Are you going to be alright tomorrow?”

“Yes.”

Spock only said the one word, and a glance showed him with his hands folded behind his back, a slight frown between his brows.

“Why do I sense a ‘but’ there?”

“It is of no consequence, Captain.”

Biting his cheek, Kirk contemplated how best to push him. The reversal back to his title was a sure sign that Spock was holding back, trying to hide within that Vulcan shell. Kirk reached out to place a hand over his elbow, a light touch to show support more than anything.

“You know I don’t like surprises, Spock,” he said, trying to keep his tone light. “Why don’t you try me?”

Their eyes met, Kirk turning slightly towards Spock as he fiddled with the corners of the blanket where he held it closed in front of his chest. Knowing Spock, it could be anything. 

“Doctor McCoy and I found it logical to… practice,” Spock started, the sentence coming out haltingly. “In consideration of the mission parameters, it seemed beneficial to ensure we would not react adversely to the required intimacy.”

“You kissed,” Jim translated, a lump forming in his throat.

He knew that already, but it was different to hear Spock say it. He felt a bitter smile form on his lips and forced it down.

“I believe it eased the doctor’s concerns.”

Kirk blinked up at him, mouth opening, then closing again. There was something in the way Spock looked at him, and if Kirk didn’t know better he’d think it was nerves.

“Well, I’m glad to hear it,” he said, the lie sitting heavy on his tongue.

“It occurred to me that you might benefit from the same, Captain.”

Kirk’s brain whited out. He stared at Spock, slack-jawed, unable to believe his own ears. Was Spock truly offering to kiss him? His throat burned at the thought once his brain caught up. It felt like taking advantage, but at the same time, Spock must have his reasons for suggesting it.

He glanced over towards the bed, where Bones happily slept. What would he think, if he woke up? Kirk didn’t want to hurt him.

“Are you sure?” he asked Spock, hand tense where it rested over Spock’s elbow. “I don’t expect you to accommodate me, Spock. We’ll make it work tomorrow.”

“Captain,” Spock said. “Jim.”

When Spock’s head tilted towards him, Kirk held his breath. He’d never expected Spock to initiate, to agree even for the sake of a mission. Even a mediocre kiss must be enough to convince the Antarians, Kirk thought.

Their mouths connected, softly, gently. Kirk tightened his hold on Spock’s elbow for balance, feeling himself unmoored as his lips warmed from the touch. He tried, desperately, to rein in the overwhelming longing that crashed over him, the strain in his entire body to hold back, to not grab Spock and make him see.

Kirk wanted, and it was a thing buried deep inside, surfacing more and more as the days passed on this planet so intent on making his resolve crumble. How could he possibly deny his feelings with Spock’s mouth on his? With Spock’s hand brushing against his own?

He wanted, and he wondered if he’d ever stop.

They separated, as slowly as it had started, each of them hesitant to step back. There’s no logic to this, Kirk thought. There’s only emotion…

He leaned back in. Just one more. One more kiss, and they’d run out of excuses – Kirk paused with his heart in his throat, breaths falling heavy from his open mouth. Spock had stayed in place, waiting, watching. His brown eyes were a deeper shade in the semi-dark, like bottomless wells that made Kirk shiver.

“It’ll be alright,” Kirk whispered, unsure of what it really was, and unwilling to consider it further.

A sharp nod from Spock, and the moment was broken. Kirk turned towards the view again, wiping at his mouth discreetly. His lips still tingled, and his chest ached, a bittersweet pain as Spock remained at his side. A silent, steady presence that gave as much comfort as it did trouble.

What am I doing? Kirk asked himself. And what should I be doing?

The night offered no answers.

☆☆☆

“Excited?” Anda asked, eyes shining as she skipped backwards ahead of them.

Her arm was linked with Antos’, whose expression was one of fond exasperation. McCoy couldn’t help but smile despite the churning in his gut.

“Sure,” he said, nudging Jim who walked beside him. “Can’t wait to smooch in front of hundreds of people.”

The joke fell flat as Jim pursed his lips in discomfort. Anda’s gaze flickered towards him in concern, then settled back on McCoy.

“You can’t back out now,” she said, sounding worried. “Stiva will never forgive us…”

“It’ll be fine,” Jim told her, mustering up a smile of his own. “It’s just nerves.”

Convinced, Anda turned at Antos’ gentle pull on her arm. They pressed tightly together, Anda rubbing her cheek over the top of Antos’ head and whispering something in her ear that the translator didn’t pick up. McCoy felt his hand sweat in Jim’s loose hold.

On his other side, Spock walked silently with his usual dignity. McCoy had hooked his arm over Spock’s elbow, trying not to think too much about what awaited them.

The street they followed was lined with Antarians watching them, ringing their silvery bells and calling out their names. McCoy wondered if they should be waving, but Anda and Antos seemed content to simply walk at a steady pace, focused on each other as if the audience didn’t exist. The closer they came to the central hall, the more massive the crowd. Along the way he saw holo screens being set up, something cold running down his spine at the thought of being recorded.

“Forget a hundred,” he mumbled, “the whole planet might be watching!”

“Logical, considering the vote on signing the treaty will encompass the entire population.”

McCoy winced.

“At least they didn’t film us before.”

“They may have.”

Twisting his head towards Spock, McCoy felt himself pale. Jim squeezed his hand, hard.

“They what?” McCoy hissed, enraged that Spock looked as calm as ever about the concept. “Why didn’t you tell us if you knew that?”

Spock didn’t sigh, but he did that thing where his shoulders lowered minutely, and his facial muscles relaxed for a second.

“Would it have changed anything, Doctor? I suggest you focus on the present challenge.”

“I’m getting a little tired of your suggestions,” McCoy snapped back, but he did it quietly enough that the Antarians wouldn’t hear him.

Predictably, Spock wasn’t bothered.

“Bones, there’s nothing we can do about it,” Jim said, squeezing his hand again.

He was right, of course, but that didn’t mean McCoy had to be happy about it. Soon enough they were greeted by Stiva at the entrance to the hall. To honor the occasion she wore a low-cut, layered tunic with ruffled arms embroidered with a delicate tree, and a long skirt lined with fur. Her hair was unbraided, framing her face and dark eyes as she watched them critically.

Jim had forced them to put on their dress uniforms, much to McCoy’s chagrin. The shiny, colored fabric seemed to stand out among the muted brown and beige of their audience.

“You have appeared before us to declare your commitment to each other,” Stiva announced, her voice loud and clear as the crowd fell silent. “Come. We will consider you in the traditional place.”

She turned on her heels and entered the building. Anda and Antos followed after, and with a slight struggle, McCoy, Jim, and Spock followed without letting go of each other. The hall was as crowded as it had been on their first evening, though the lighting had been changed. The part that served as stage was lit up brightly while the rest of the room circling the giant tree was lit only by muted, circular lightbulbs placed in even intervals along the bottom of the wall.

McCoy swallowed, resisting the urge to pull at his collar. He hadn’t been this nervous at his actual marriage ceremony. Somehow, he felt simultaneously concerned with looking too much and too little like he was head over heels for his two friends. Was there a baseline for fake declarations of love? Did he even know how to fake it?

Helplessly, his eyes met Jim’s. His own nerves were mirrored in Jim’s expression, that handsome face tense, like when he battled Romulans in the neutral zone or stood before impossible odds.

Jim always won, didn’t he? Not without casualties, but he always won.

McCoy pushed forth a smile, brushed his thumb over Jim’s until the tension simmered down a bit. Stiva held up an old-looking bell, the metal scratched and worn but polished to a shine. It gave off a deep sound as she jiggled it back and forth, a melody that at first appeared random before repeating three times.

It reverberated through the hall’s hushed silence, all the Antarians watching the stage with intent focus.

“Three trials,” Stiva announced. “The first, a sign of cooperation, of new beginnings, of respect for the nature around us that gives life and takes it as we find our place in harmony with all things. The second, a verbal confirmation, a dedication, a chance to formalize the unity that has taken root in our souls.”

She paused, and her two partners came to stand beside her, each with a hand on her back.

“Third, the commitment. This is where we judge. This is where we consider the path behind and the path ahead, the braiding of souls into one single entity.”

McCoy hoped she meant it figuratively. Stiva bowed her head forward, and her two partners opened their hands, palm up, to reveal white flowers.

“On this day, we merge not only cultures, or continents, or families. We merge peoples between the stars, separated only by time and distance. We are all travelers on the path of life and we meet here, in the hall of our ancestors, in unity and peace, to show that we are not so different, after all.”

Five children entered the stage, each solemnly carrying a white flower. McCoy accepted his with a bowed head, cradling it gently in his left palm. Whatever symbolism it carried, it at least had a pleasant fragrance.

As the children ran back to their families, Anda and Antos stepped forward. Their faces shone in happiness, their gazes full of love and longing as they turned towards each other.

“We meet here,” Antos said, “to declare ourselves.”

“We are as one,” Anda replied.

They circled each other, right arms around each other’s necks, left hands held out with the flowers balanced on their palms. With their skin-tight, leather-like clothing and dark ink swirling down their arms in intricate patterns they looked like graceful panthers, locked in a dance of love.

With a sudden stop, Anda jumped up to circle her legs around Antos’ waist, Antos’ arm coming down to brace her weight. Their foreheads connected, mouths softening into precious smiles as they bumped their noses together.

“Anda, the wind in my hair,” said Antos.

“Antos, the sun on my face,” said Anda.

When they kissed, McCoy almost couldn’t bear to watch. How were they supposed to match that? It was as if the sun had broken through the clouds and shone for the two of them, and if he’d been more religious he might have heard some angel choirs in the background. His eyes almost hurt from it – his heart certainly did.

If he’d felt half of that for his ex-wife he might have still been married. It wasn’t Jocelyn he thought of, though, when wondering who he might kiss like that.

He sucked in a breath, felt his heart pound as bells started ringing amongst the audience, announcing their approval. The presence of Jim and Spock beside him felt like being surrounded by fire all of a sudden. If they needed to kiss like them… There was something deep in his chest that burned too hot, threatening to scorch his throat.

Belatedly he realized Stiva was speaking again, his ears not registering the words as Jim and Spock pulled him into the center of the stage. The lights were bright in his eyes here, his skin prickling with discomfort under his restricting clothes. When he lifted his gaze, he found Spock.

There was an unexpected calm in Spock’s expression that shouldn’t have surprised him but still did.

When Spock’s hand rose, he raised his own automatically to meet it. The three of them stood facing each other, Jim’s fingertips touching theirs a second later. A three-way Vulcan kiss, another of Spock’s suggestions. With a shiver, McCoy allowed the spark between their minds to settle in his hand, his eyelids fluttering shut as Spock’s steady calm and Jim’s steely reserve washed over him.

“We meet here, to declare ourselves,” Jim started, sounding steady as he recited the Antarian traditional words.

“We are as one,” McCoy answered, mouth dry.

“Parted from me, yet never parted,” Spock said, adding Vulcan words in his deep voice.

“Never and always, touching and touched,” McCoy and Jim followed in unison, completing the words they’d heard him and T’Pring say, words that Spock had shared with them the previous night with only a slight hesitation.

A mix of tradition to please their hosts, but McCoy felt each word on his tongue like a brand seared into his skin. He wished it was real. He wished he’d stayed on the Enterprise. He wished…

Spock’s lips touched his with a gentle brush, hot and dry and more familiar than it should be. It was easy to kiss him, easy to let his heart pound against his ribs as he opened up and entwined his soul with Spock’s like the flower he held in his hand.

It felt like the kiss lasted an eternity.

When they parted, his lips trembled, tingled, burned… Jim’s mouth replacing Spock’s did nothing to soothe it. He tasted Jim on his tongue and tried not to think, or feel, or remember that it would be the last time. If he allowed himself to feel – and wasn’t it ironic that he was always on Spock’s case about expressing emotion, when all he wanted to do right now was purge every single one and forget it ever happened.

He licked his lips when Jim retreated, lashes fluttering as his eyes opened to a sight that did exactly what he’d asked for.

He’d stepped into an ice age before, had felt the biting cold wash over his limbs and stiffen them between one breath and the next. This was like that. This was Jim’s expression going slack for a moment, then building back up with a surge of longing so intense that McCoy almost recoiled from it.

This was Spock, hungry, echoing Jim’s thoughts through their three-way touch.

Oh, McCoy thought, a brittle smile forming through the realization. They love each other. Of course.

He held on through the long minute their mouths declared devotion, the hot burn of tears settling in the back of his throat. The flower in his hand almost flattened as he closed his fist, remembering it at the last second, the delicate petals tickling his fingers.

God, they were perfect together…

When the bells rang, he closed his eyes and told himself that no one truly died of heartbreak.

☆☆☆

Spock stretched his fingers out over the rough wooden bench. It scratched against his fingertips, grounding him. Around the bonfire, Antarians were laughing and dancing, and in their midst somewhere was Jim.

McCoy had complained over the lack of alcohol, but there was a faint smile on his face where he sat next to Spock, listening to the cacophony of singing and shouting over the rapid beat of drums. He was hunched forwards, elbows on his knees and drink held loosely in one hand, firelight glittering in his eyes.

While Jim had been impatient to beam back up to the ship, McCoy had held him back with a pointed look and a drawled suggestion for one last huzzah. It was logical to share in the celebrations considering the work that had been done before the vote was finalized and Stiva had signed the treaty. Jim had spent two days shut inside the negotiation room, easing into bed late last night and leaving before McCoy woke up in the morning. He hadn’t said much to Spock, but it had been a different kind of silence.

Spock knew that considering the implications of their shared silence was neither logical nor recommended, and yet he’d shared a look with Jim after the signing that seemed more filled with longing than regret.

“I guess it’s back to business tomorrow,” McCoy mumbled, expression turning somber. “Who knows what disasters they’ll have us solve before the end... If we make it back to Earth in one piece I’ll consider it a miracle.”

“Quite pessimistic, Doctor.”

“It’s realism, Spock. I’d have thought you’d appreciate it.”

Glancing down, Spock’s gaze caught on the fingers wrapped around McCoy's glass. McCoy held it steady, the amber liquid like gold in the flickering light from the fire. Aware of the intimacy between the Antarians surrounding them, and perhaps curious as to the doctor’s reaction, Spock lifted his own hand and brushed the back of his fingers against McCoy’s.

He received a sharp look for it, but only the slight movement of liquid in the glass betrayed McCoy’s surprise to any outsider watching closely.

“You have a tendency to see the worst in positives, and the best in negatives, Doctor.”

“And you speak in riddles like always.”

McCoy took a sip of his drink, then set it down. There was very little space between them on account of local custom, and Spock felt the faintest touch against his thigh. His chest filled with the lingering urge to lean in and taste the liquid on McCoy’s lips for himself. Their kiss had been pleasant. It was likely that the doctor found him adequate in this area at least, though it was clear that he found Spock lacking in others.

Jim had kissed them both with a surety and passion that stood at odds with his standoffish behavior during the past weeks. He had kissed McCoy with the familiarity of old friends, perhaps even that of previous lovers who return after some time, in accordance with the human saying that absence makes the heart grow fonder.

Spock had often wondered at the phrasing. He considered now that the lack of certain things could make you desire them more. Having may not be so pleasing a thing as wanting… Words he’d uttered to T’Pring, words he’d convinced himself were true.

He felt the heat of McCoy as he slumped against him, head pillowed on Spock’s shoulder. Wondered if the doctor had felt their minds touch and if his thoughts were filled with the memory of it.

“It’s not so bad, though, is it?” McCoy muttered under his breath. “A romantic little getaway for the small price of a signed treaty…”

Frowning, Spock opened his mouth. As if reading his mind, McCoy elbowed him in the side.

“I know it’s the other way around, no need to be pedantic. Starfleet never lets us have shore leave, always something interrupting. I won’t miss the lack of downtime, that’s for sure.”

“Interesting. You often decline shore leave when offered.”

“Not often.”

“In the previous six months, you have neglected to–“

“If it wouldn’t offend the Antarians, I might just shut you up with my mouth.”

McCoy’s lips tightened around the last word, as if only now realizing where the start of his sentence had led. Before he could take them back, Jim appeared out of the crowd, face flushed and hair in disarray as he slumped down on Spock’s other side.

“A lively people,” he commented airily, combing a hand through his hair, only succeeding in messing it up further.

Spock eyed the flickers of bonfire light washing over his face, a sensation like understanding settling inside him. Soft lips, hazel eyes, a questioning look in them as they glanced his way. The question turned into something else as Jim’s gaze lingered. The taste of their kiss touched Spock’s lips like a solid memory, a phantom feeling that seemed mirrored in Jim’s expression.

“I’ll go see if they’re lively enough to keep anything stronger than honey-juice somewhere,” McCoy muttered, the warmth of his body leaving Spock’s side.

He was too quick for Spock, who only managed to catch the sight of McCoy’s receding back as he disappeared into the midst of dancing Antarians. Unsure of the cause for his sudden departure, Spock kept searching for him in the crowd until Jim cleared his throat.

“You could go after him,” Jim suggested.

Raising an eyebrow, Spock considered Jim’s carefully neutral expression.

“I assume he will return after his search.”

Jim didn’t look reassured. He glanced down at Spock’s hands, both of them empty of drink. Spock folded them across his lap instead.

“He might want you to follow,” Jim continued, stressing the words in a way that Spock didn’t understand.

“Logically, the three of us should not separate.”

While Jim looked troubled, he didn’t disagree. Slowly, his hand reached out to wrap around Spock’s wrist. For the benefit of the Antarians, surely, just as Spock had reached out to McCoy earlier. Through his shields, a trickle of emotion seeped through.

Want.

Whether that want was for himself of for McCoy, Spock couldn’t tell.

“Things will be back to normal tomorrow,” Jim said.

“Doctor McCoy expressed the same sentiment.”

A quirk of lips, the shadows dancing on Jim’s face keeping Spock focused on him.

“I’m sure he’ll complain as usual.”

With a nod, Spock agreed.

“The doctor does have a tendency to verbally announce his displeasure with the admiralty as well as the parameters of any mission completed.”

“Yes.” Jim sighed. The hand slipped away from Spock’s wrist. “I’ll go see if I can find him.”

He stood, but Spock did the same.

“As I previously stated, it is logical for the three of us to remain together.”

Jim blinked at him, gaze far away for a moment. He seemed to catch himself, shaking his head with a wry smile.

“Wouldn’t want to offend our hosts,” he remarked, then turned to follow McCoy through the mass of celebrations.

Spock found himself wondering if that was what he had meant. He did not expect a continuation once they returned to the ship, nor did he expect things to change. Even so, his mind calculated odds, considered scenarios. It continued to do so until the sight of McCoy huddled over a flask at the edge of the crowd made them come to an abrupt halt.

“Bones,” Jim breathed, elbowing his way through a few uncoordinated Antarians until he reached the doctor.

Spock observed them for a moment, the way Jim laid his hand over McCoy’s shoulder, immediately arguing with him. A familiar sight…

He joined them, McCoy acknowledging him with a sour glance and not much else.

“Can’t a man sneak a drink in peace,” he griped, releasing his hold on the small flask reluctantly as Jim grabbed it to take a sip.

“Oh, that’s potent,” Jim coughed, McCoy rolling his eyes.

“Local moonshine,” he said, swiping the flask back and tilting his head as he drained what must have been half of it in one go. “Barely stings.”

“Barely stings?” Jim looked offended, pulling both the flask and McCoy’s hand towards himself. “Don’t blame me if we have to drag you back to the ship.”

As if to challenge McCoy, he drank down what remained of the drink. He made a valiant effort to hide the grimace on his face, with McCoy looking unimpressed beside him. Behind the two, an Antarian couple sneaked past while giggling over some shared joke. They were soon enveloped by the shadows of the surrounding trees.

“Great,” McCoy said. “Now I’ll have to find another Antarian who’ll trade with me.”

“Trade what?”

McCoy shrugged, weighing back on his heels and almost succeeding in tripping backwards. Perhaps the drink was as potent as Jim had suggested.

“None of your business.”

“Bones, what did you trade them?”

Jim waved a hand towards the crowd, traces of newfound lack of coordination in the movement.

“Perhaps we should return to the ship,” Spock suggested.

His suggestion went ignored. Jim had rounded on McCoy, hands clasping McCoy’s forearms to keep him in place. McCoy’s jaw was set in a stubborn expression, his hands lifting to fold over Jim’s. Spock forced down his own interest in the display – especially when their fingers laced together loosely.

“Relax, Jim. I wasn’t exactly giving away trade secrets.”

“Then what did you give away?”

They both seemed to sway towards the left, making a joint effort to correct their balance. Spock wished for a tricorder to ascertain the alcohol content of their blood. McCoy slanted an eyebrow in challenge, and Spock reached for the communicator nestled into a pocket.

“Nothing so special,” McCoy drawled. “There’s a nice little tree a ways over there, all hollow on the inside, and turns out the Antarians aren’t so private after all–“

Jim surged forward, planting his lips over McCoy’s in a kiss sudden enough that it seemed to surprise them both. Only for a moment, though. McCoy’s arms wound around Jim’s back, lips parting to show a hint of tongue. Spock stared at them, fingers tight around the communicator. They seemed to have forgotten him entirely, lost in a world of their own as they pulled at each other.

He sucked in a breath, considering leaving them to it. Hands started to wander as the kiss deepened, fumbling with the stiff uniforms Jim had insisted on for the celebrations. A few seconds later they both toppled over, limbs tangling in a heap that looked decidedly unromantic and certainly ungraceful.

“God, my head’s killing me,” Jim moaned, rolling onto his back.

“I think I’m gonna be sick,” McCoy complained in a similar tone, holding his stomach.

Spock flipped the communicator open.

☆☆☆

Sickbay looked the same as he left it.

Chapel knew better than to mess with the order of things, and to be fair much of the order was hers, anyway. Still, McCoy wandered around, picking things up and putting them back down. In his mind he could still hear the low beat of the drums they played last evening, celebrating the signed treaty. He floated between biobeds and lab stations like a restless ghost, rubbing his fingertips where they still seemed to tingle.

Who would have thought that a Vulcan could be so good at playing pretend?

He scoffed at himself, dragging a hand over his mouth and neck. Pathetic, really, to be so hung up on a mission where not a single thing had gone sideways. No one had died, or gotten hurt, or even been in danger. One of those missions where a doctor’s skills went unneeded – the best kind of mission, really.

Jim hadn’t shown up for breakfast. McCoy had bumped into Spock rather awkwardly, tray rattling, Spock reaching out to save his coffee from spilling. He’d blushed something fierce and run off to hide amongst Scotty and his redshirts.

Yes, pathetic was the word for it.

The worst part was that he couldn’t make any sense of what he felt, or why. Was it the years of bitter loneliness after his divorce? The knowledge that had their affections been real, nothing could come of it? The yearning for that happiness he’d believed could be found in another person, that time and age had mostly robbed him of?

He sank into a lab chair, leaning back to stare up at the ship’s hull. One leg lifted to hang off the arm of the chair, the other stretched out to bump into the desk. There was work to catch up on, but no one had come in for an emergency visit yet, and Chapel was giving him space.

Maybe he’d eaten something that didn’t sit well with his stomach, because the heartburn was starting to reach concerning levels. It couldn’t be the Antarian moonshine – he’d stuffed himself full of enough anti-nausea hypos to last a week. He’d sent Chapel to the bridge with the ones for Jim, though.

At lunchtime, Jim came to find him anyway. He swept into McCoy’s office like a coiled spring, tension lining his body as he crossed his arms and leaned against the wall next to the door that had just barely closed behind him.

“Bones,” he started, fists curling against his ribs.

“Jim,” he greeted back, when nothing else seemed to come forth.

They stared at each other for a moment.

As if a higher power had heard him, McCoy suddenly knew what he needed to do. It was clear enough that Jim held feelings for Spock. Maybe he’d come for advice, maybe just to escape the bridge for a bit. Either way, McCoy decided to make Jim’s life easier and bring the topic up himself.

“I think you should tell Spock,” he said.

Jim’s eyes widened, his arms falling out of their tense hold. He seemed ready to take a step forward, but ultimately slumped back against the wall. The fight seemed drained out of him, just like that.

“I’d hoped you hadn’t figured it out.”

“Jim,” McCoy sighed. “I’d have to be blind and a fool not to see what’s right in front of me. That wasn’t some perfunctory kiss between colleagues.”

The smile Jim sent him was weak, but at least it was a smile.

“I can’t stop thinking about it,” he confessed. “Every time I turn towards him on the bridge… I knew this mission was a bad idea.”

“No worse than others.” While Jim gave him a look, he only shrugged. It was easy to pretend it didn’t hurt when Jim had a chance at being happy. That it was only Jim who’d kissed beyond the limits of platonic affection. “And I’d say once and for all that I’ve got my proof that Vulcans aren’t as cold-hearted as I accuse them of being.”

“You’ve never truly thought of Spock as cold-hearted.”

Drawing back, it was McCoy’s turn to cross his arms.

“Well, he sure wants us to think it. All that logic can’t be healthy,” he muttered, letting his gaze slip from Jim towards his computer terminal.

He was in the middle of organizing requests for using the electro-massage kit, and considered if he should put Jim on the list and bump him up to first place. Though, if things went well he might have Spock for tension relief soon instead…

Even as he thought it, he desperately tried to erase the idea from his mind. It was hard to imagine Spock offering Jim a back massage, but it was equally hard to stop imagining it. McCoy had given Jim his fair share of muscle kneading, as it was sometimes a much better alternative than shoving him full of painkillers for those tension headaches. He’d never seen it as anything more than his duty, using his learned skills to give their captain (and his friend) some relief.

He wondered if the mission on Antaros would forever change his perspective of their friendship. He’d never kissed Jim before, never really considered it, either. Not outside of some general curiosity, knowing how much Jim affected the women around him.

Their captain was a handsome man, but all he’d felt down on the planet must have been the heat of the moment, the play-pretend messing with him. The burn of a hot drink mistaken for something else…

“Jim?” he asked, realizing that Jim had been quiet for some time.

The expression on Jim’s face was almost melancholic, thoughtful.

“Bones, are you sure…”

Jim trailed off as the intercom whistled. McCoy punched the button to receive the call.

“Sickbay here.”

“Is the captain present? He’s needed on the bridge.”

It was Uhura, her melodic voice as calm as ever.

“I’ll be right up,” Jim said, “Kirk out.”

McCoy turned the intercom off. Rather than leave immediately, Jim watched him for a few seconds, hazel eyes considering.

“Won’t you want to talk to Spock as well?” he asked, the implication almost making McCoy choke on air.

“What?” he forced out, coughing into a fist. “Jim, don’t be ridiculous. Why would I–“

He shook his head, getting out of his chair to usher Jim out of his office. The door snicked open but Jim paused in the doorway, feet planted firmly on the ground as he grabbed McCoy’s shoulder with a searching look. His hand felt too warm, his face too close. Swallowing, McCoy took a step back, and the hand fell away.

“Bones…”

“Don’t you start, Jim. I’ll admit Spock’s been growin’ on me during this never-ending mission, but he’s hardly more than a constant thorn in my side that I got used to. I’m a much better actor than you are.”

Jim opened his mouth to argue, but McCoy resolutely pushed him out the door.

“Bridge, Captain,” he reminded Jim, whose lips curved into a frown before the door cut them off from each other.

His heart was beating a mile a minute, and he stumbled back to lean against the desk with legs that shouldn’t feel so weak. What the hell had Jim been on about… He and Spock? No. Never. He felt no more desire to kiss Spock than he felt for Jim–

He shook his head, squeezing his eyes shut.

Out, he told the thoughts invading his poor brain. Out, and don’t come back!

☆☆☆

Later that evening, after another crisis averted, Kirk found himself in the arboretum.

It wasn’t often that he visited, not as often as he liked. A muted scent of greenery filled his nose as he strolled the paths between plants. Some were in their own pots, others in larger flowerbeds. There was something calming about the colorful mix of Earth flowers and alien samples that he hadn’t been able to find in his quarters or the observation deck

His quarters felt too empty after nights spent sharing the bed with his two friends, and the view of space only reminded him that their journey was about to end.

He hadn’t allowed himself to consider that he might spend the time waiting for another five-year mission in any sort of romantic capacity. He’d considered the thinly veiled promises – threats – to put him up for a promotion. The possibility of being granted another round as captain of the Enterprise. The work he might do in the meantime.

A sweetly perfumed bush with lily-like purple flowers grew where the path curved towards the right, and he paused to observe it. The nameplate informed him of what planet they’d picked it up on, three years prior.

He knew that he was lucky enough just to make it through to the end of the mission, all things considered. That both Spock and Bones and made it through with him. It felt odd to go their separate ways, but such was the nature of things, and he’d accepted it.

Or so he thought.

Would Spock truly accept, if he dared ask? Was he merely a good actor, such as Bones claimed to be? Or was it as Kirk suspected, with a heavy heart, that Spock might not outright dismiss him but held someone else in higher regard, someone who underneath all that grumpiness hid a soft heart that deserved love more than most?

The flowers reminded him of the ceremony, the way they’d kissed, the way he’d gently cradled white petals in one hand, trying desperately not to crush them as he lost himself to sensation. He hadn’t known what to do with it once they were whisked away for the party. He must have lost it somewhere in the general excitement.

Kirk allowed himself a sigh, but quickly straightened up as he heard the approaching sound of footsteps behind him.

“Captain,” Spock acknowledged him, nodding politely.

“Spock…”

The silence settled into something mildly awkward between them. Bones had been right about the kiss – on Kirk’s part it was hardly a mere necessity for the sake of the mission. Spock was much more difficult to read. He’d thought that Spock’s eyes softened for Bones, but now, face to face, they seemed to watch Kirk just as softly.

Encouraged, Kirk took a small step forward. Spock stood with his hands behind his back, gaze steady. Kirk opened his mouth, closed it again, breathing out through his nose. It was harder than he’d thought, to try and voice what he felt.

Clearing his throat, he sent a quick glance around to ensure they were alone.

“I spoke with Bones earlier,” he started, biting his cheek at the way Spock’s eyebrow lifted in interest. “He suggested that… he suggested that I tell you something.”

“’Something’, Captain?”

Kirk fiddled with his hands, then realized he was doing it and pushed them behind his back instead, mimicking Spock.

“How I feel,” he forced out, voice a little hoarse all of a sudden. “Spock, I’ve mentioned before how important you are, what an asset to Starfleet, this ship, to me as a captain. But you’re more than that… Much more.”

Spock waited, patiently. He seemed neither encouraging nor uncomfortable. It gave Jim the final push he needed.

“Our latest mission forced me to confront some things I had tried to keep buried, and I find that pushing them back down is now near impossible. Spock…”

He lifted his face towards the Vulcan, helpless and stripped bare, ready for whatever reaction Spock deemed him worthy of.

“My feelings for you go beyond friendship, beyond the trust necessary between captain and first officer. I find that I selfishly want more of you… If it’s more than you’re willing to give, I will respect it of course. You’re an exemplary officer and a close friend, and I’d hate to lose you over, well, over anything.”

He paused, swallowed down the lump in his throat. Spock tilted his head curiously, though his deep brown eyes showed only understanding.

“Then what you are saying, Jim, is that your feelings for me are romantic in nature?”

“Yes,” Kirk breathed out in relief. “Yes, that’s exactly what I’m saying.”

Spock nodded.

“And Doctor McCoy?”

Blinking once, twice, Kirk hesitated.

“I… I suppose you’ll have to speak with him yourself,” he said, flustered.

“Ah.” Spock sounded as if he knew exactly what that meant. “No need, if you have already spoken with him. Jim, I accept.”

Bewildered, Jim stared at Spock. Had Bones rejected him? Or was it something else? Only when Spock closed the distance between them did it register that Spock had accepted his feelings.

“You mean that?” he asked, a little breathless as he reached out and felt Spock clasp his hands.

“Yes, Jim. I, too, believe we are compatible romantically. I wish to pursue this together with you.”

“Oh…”

He pulled Spock close, parted his lips and felt the electric shock as Spock’s mouth met his. Surrounded by flowers in gentle bloom, it was as if all his dreams had come true…

☆☆☆

The chess game was half-hearted.

Kirk rolled the pieces between forefinger and thumb, taking his time with each move. Not to counter Spock’s strategy, but rather searching for answers. The emotions were there between the two of them, certainly, and the mutual will to enter into a relationship.

And yet, he was sure that Spock, too, felt something missing.

Eventually he sighed, tipping over his king. Spock had not reached checkmate yet, but it was an inevitable conclusion to the game.

“Spock,” he said, staring down at the king. “What are we doing wrong?”

As Spock did not immediately ask him to clarify, Kirk’s certainty that Spock felt the same grew.

“Jim,” he started, hesitant. “I am not discontent with our relationship.”

“Well, neither am I.” All the same, Kirk picked up the fallen piece and scrutinized it. Exquisitely carved, though with the white paint scuffed here and there. “But it’s strange…”

Spock waited, patiently. Their romance so far had been limited. Chess games as usual, shared meals. A few Vulcan kisses, shy affairs each time. It seemed they were both waiting for some invisible cue.

Before he could shape his loose thoughts into words, the intercom whistled. It was almost a relief to head over to the panel and press the button to answer.

“Kirk here.”

“It’s McCoy. If you can tear yourself away from Spock for a second, I’ve got the test results for you.”

“We will be with you presently,” Spock said.

Kirk raised an eyebrow, found it mirrored by Spock.

“You heard him. Kirk out.”

They walked to Sickbay side by side, and Kirk picked up his lost train of thought only to dismiss it again. If there was something missing it would turn up eventually. He wouldn’t allow their relationship to fall apart.

It was quiet in Sickbay, this late in the evening. Bones was working overtime, but he must have sent the rest of his staff to dinner or bed. He stood in the lab, bent over a microscope, the slump of his shoulders betraying his fatigue.

“Bones,” Kirk said, keeping his voice soft. “What have you got for us?”

Bones glanced back at them, then turned to his microscope again.

“Just a second, Jim. I had another idea, but…” He straightened, shaking his head. “No, it’s like I thought.”

“Well?”

Crossing his arms, Bones leaned against the desk. There were dark circles under his eyes that shouldn’t be there from just one night of extra hours. Bones overworked himself constantly, but this looked like a few sleepless nights too many.

He searched his brain for the last time he’d seen Bones one on one since his and Spock’s relationship started three weeks ago, and came up blank.

“It’s a toxin, Jim. Seems to come from the mucus coating the seeds. Gill must have picked some up through an old papercut when he handled the sample.”

“Status?”

“Stable for now. What I’d like to know is why he wasn’t wearing gloves when working on something clearly labeled toxic.”

Kirk rubbed a hand over his face, nodding.

“We’ll find out when he wakes up.”

“If he wakes up.”

Bones looked pessimistic. There was something strained about his appearance, and he actually winced when Kirk reached out and laid a hand on his arm.

“I’ve got faith in you, Bones. You’ve pulled through with worse odds.”

He let go, allowing his hand to fall with some reluctance. Despite his best efforts the mission on Antaros had gotten him somewhat used to Bones’ presence beside him. His eyes caught Bones’ hand, the way it curled into a fist before relaxing again. The phantom warmth of Bones’ fingers linked with his passed over his palm…

And all of a sudden it was clear as day.

The missing thing… it wasn’t a thing at all.

“Bones–“ he started, then fell silent.

What was there to say? A lump formed in his throat, and he cleared it in vain. He felt Spock’s eyes on him and wondered what he thought of Kirk’s sudden hesitance. He forced a reassuring smile on his face.

“Get some sleep, Bones. You’re looking a little worse for wear.”

There was no wince this time, but Bones looked uncomfortable.

“I’m fine, Jim. No need to mother-hen me.”

An awkward silence fell between them, one that had no business being there.

“Right,” Kirk said, nodding. “We’ll leave you to it.”

He kept his silence all the way back to his quarters, but once the door closed behind Spock he twirled around to face his first officer.

“Spock,” he said. “I think I know what it is.”

He searched Spock’s face for any recognition, or perhaps rejection. He’d thought Spock held feelings for Bones… Did he? Did he still?

“Jim?”

Swallowing down his nerves, Kirk gathered up his resolve. Knowing what he now knew, he had to act. Even if it meant losing Spock. He couldn’t… wouldn’t keep his silence when it was clear that Bones was suffering just like they were.

“Spock,” he repeated. “Don’t you get it? What we’re missing is Bones.”

There was no surprise on his first officer’s face.

“Indeed,” Spock said. “I had considered the fact that Doctor McCoy was a driving force in our pretended relationship, a force which we now lack between the two of us.”

Kirk gaped at him.

“But why didn’t you say anything?”

“I estimated the likelihood that the doctor returns my feelings to be miniscule. I was unsure of your own interest in his person at first – you did not seem particularly pleased about our circumstances during the majority of the mission.”

“Miniscule,” Kirk repeated in a mumble. “You sure about that?”

“I believe it much more likely that Doctor McCoy holds romantic interest in you, Jim. Should you wish to pursue a relationship with him I will not be opposed. In fact, I erroneously believed you had already shared your feelings with him and that the two of you had come to an understanding much the same as ours.”

Kirk sat, rather heavily, on the chair he’d previously occupied. It had occurred to him that the best solution was often the simplest one, but there were unknown variables. Only, his estimates seemed to be the opposite of Spock’s.

“Strangely enough, Spock, I believed it was the other way around. Bones did a good job of convincing me not to stick my nose where it doesn’t belong, though.”

Spock frowned, head tilted.

“Setting Bones’ feelings aside for the moment, are we in agreement that he is the missing piece for our relationship to work?”

“Presumably we can find a way around it, Jim.”

“I’d rather have him here…”

Kirk trailed off, staring down at the chessboard. Chess only had two players, yet how often was Bones there, looking over their shoulders, with suggestions and commentary? And how easy had it felt, to sleep beside him, with Spock on the other side? At the time he had thought him a buffer between himself and his feelings for Spock… But he wasn’t a buffer. Rather, he was something akin to a bridge, closing the gap where he and Spock stood at either side without the courage to step forwards. More than that, Kirk wanted him…

“I’m an idiot,” he groaned, pinching his nose. “Bones practically convinced me to tell you how I feel. I shouldn’t have let him get away with pretending it wasn’t affecting him. Clearly he thought he no longer has a place beside us – he’s been avoiding us!”

“It would appear so, Jim. Though I believed it was only my own person he avoided. I see now that I was incorrect.”

Fuming, Kirk stomped over to the comm panel and hit it.

“Kirk to Sickbay,” he ordered.

It took a moment, then Bones’ voice came through.

“McCoy here.”

“My quarters, Bones. On the double.”

“I thought you ordered me to bed, Captain.”

Bones sounded tired, and Jim bit back a snappish yes, to mine!

He hadn’t. But he might consider it for the future, when next their resident doctor decided to forgo sleep. He had an inkling that the insomnia was caused by him, and he was going to fix it.

“This is more important,” he said, trying not to sound as impatient as he felt.

“Alright. I’ll be with you in a minute. McCoy out.”

He found Spock watching him, when he forced his scowl off the panel.

“Any objections?”

One eyebrow rose, chastising him.

“Captain, you may wish to approach this subject more delicately,” Spock suggested, further succeeding in poking holes to Kirk’s ire. “The doctor is likely to argue, regardless of his true feelings.”

“Yes.” Jim rubbed at his eyes again, then pulled off his uniform shirt. “Uniform off, Spock. And no more ‘captains’ from you.”

They greeted Bones wearing their black undershirts, Spock requisitioning some tea for them as Jim waved Bones inside.

“Am I interrupting something?” Bones asked, eyeing their finished chess game with suspicion.

“I asked you to join us, remember?”

Bones’ unease was evident as he sat down in Jim’s chair, busying himself with righting the pieces on the board. Spock returned from the replicator with three steaming mugs, setting one down delicately in front of Bones and handing another to Kirk who set it down on his desk before walking over to join Bones.

“Bones,” Kirk started, then hesitated much like he’d done in the lab. “There’s something we’d like to talk to you about.”

Already he could tell that Bones was starting to fold into himself, figuratively pushing his spikes out. He turned to Spock for help, finding him seated opposite of Bones. Rather than say anything, Spock plucked a chess piece from where Bones had placed it and moved it as if starting a new game. Confused, Bones squinted at him, then tentatively moved a black piece up a level.

"Doubt you invited me for chess," he mumbled, but his shoulders had lowered and his mouth had lost some tension.

Stood in the middle of the room, Kirk felt an ache behind his ribs. This was what he wanted. Both of them, in his quarters, winding down after a long day. It had happened before. It was different now. Would, hopefully, be different once again after Kirk had said his piece.

“We want you to join our relationship.”

Bones dropped the piece he held between two fingertips, and it clattered loudly onto the floor. He seemed frozen for a moment, staring at Spock with eyes widened in shock. Slowly, he turned to Kirk. For a moment there was fear in his eyes – a fear which Kirk meant to wipe out permanently.

“Jim, you really don’t need to…”

He trailed off. Spock leaned down to pick up the fallen chess piece, and set it down on the board with a faint click.

“Doctor,” he said. “You are most welcome to join us. However, we understand if you decline, or accept only one of us. We will accommodate according to your wishes.”

Something flared in Bones’ eyes then, not fear, not anger… indignation?

“You’ll accommodate me?”

Kirk bit the inside of his cheek. Delicately indeed, he thought.

“What Spock is trying to say,” he hurried to intervene, “is that we want to know how you feel. And whatever you feel, we’ll accept. But do tell us, Bones.”

Shifting uncomfortably in his seat, Bones fidgeted with his hands, clasping them tensely.

“How I feel,” he repeated softly. “Damned if I know.”

“If you need some time…”

Bones shook his head, lips shaping a wry smile.

“I’ve been thinkin’ enough about it already.”

He paused, and Kirk held his breath as he waited. It wouldn’t do any good to rush him, but his skin prickled with the urge.

“I didn’t expect it, that’s for sure,” he continued, keeping his voice just as soft as before. “One could say it snuck up on me. By the time I realized how the two of you felt about each other I was pretty damn confused.”

“If it helps,” Kirk said, “it was confusing for me, too.”

Nodding, Bones let out a huff of breath. His expression had turned somewhat wistful, and he stared unseeingly down at the floor.

“It was only after you told me about your relationship that I… Well.” One corner of his mouth lifted in a lop-sided smile, and his gaze rose to meet Jim’s. “I wasn’t sure I could handle seeing the two of you happy together and I wasn’t going to be a very good friend about it.”

Easing the breath out of his lungs, Kirk attempted a smile. It came out wobbly, but it hardly mattered. He felt something like hope bloom in his chest.

“Then you’ll consider it?”

Bones squinted at him.

“You sure you want me like that, Jim? I don’t expect it to be as easy as that.”

“Forget expectations, Bones.”

Kirk moved closer, only stopping when he stood just before Bones, close enough to rest a hand on the side of Bones’ neck as he leaned back to keep their eye contact. He’d always been a tactile person, and commanding a starship had the cruel side effect that one couldn’t touch one’s fellow officers carelessly.

There was nothing careless about the way he touched Bones now.

“We’re not complete without you,” he confessed, letting the words hang between them for a long moment. “Bones… we need you.”

It felt good to say it out loud. Like a weight off his chest. He allowed his thumb to brush the side of Bones’ neck, felt the thrum of his rapid pulse underneath it. With slow, hesitant movements, Bones stood from the chair to face him.

“Jim,” he said, sounding a little hoarse, a little unsure.

Spock stood as well. He rounded the table to reach them, and touched his fingers to the back of Bones’ hand. It was no longer indecision which kept Kirk from going further, but rather the need to settle the idea in his mind, to anchor himself to it.

“Bones,” he murmured. “I’d like to kiss you.”

Bones glanced at Spock, then back to Kirk. Swallowing down his nerves he gave a short nod, and Kirk felt his heart pound in his chest as he leaned in.

Kissing Bones in his quarters was just as good as it had been down on Antaros. Better. The only audience here was Spock, the only person to convince was Bones. He moved his lips gently, sucking on Bones’ lower lip until a small noise betrayed his pleasure. By his side, he could feel Spock radiate impatience, touching not only Bones now but also Kirk, light fingers brushing the fine hairs at the back of his neck.

He drew back, gave Bones an impish smile and jerked his head towards Spock. Red color filled Bones’ cheeks as Kirk dropped the hand on his neck and placed the other at his waist instead.

“It’s like you’re ganging up on me,” Bones mumbled, but he grabbed the edge of Spock’s shirt and pulled him in, their lips meeting with a sweetness that had Kirk licking his own to trace the lingering taste on them.

The kiss deepened, but rather than the jealousy he’d felt when catching them unawares through the gap of a door, he now felt only the familiar tendrils of arousal seeping through his body. He was as much part of their pleasure, as they were part of his.

“Well now,” Bones said as they separated at last. “A man could get used to that, if given the chance.”

Then he smiled, that toothy little grin that made his eyes glitter and Kirk’s chest feel lighter.

“You two better help me play catch up. I seem to have missed a few weeks’ worth of courting.”

Kirk returned his grin with one of his own.

“No courtship rituals here, Bones,” he said, slightly embarrassed. “And I don’t think there’s much catching up to do, or what do you think, Spock?”

Spock, who still kept Bones close to his chest, arched an eyebrow.

“I believe we received a passing grade in regard to the rituals, Jim,” Spock replied. “Perhaps now we may move onto more private matters?”

Pressing his lips together, Kirk refrained from pointing out that they could have moved on to such private matters weeks ago. Spock must have been waiting for the other shoe to drop… And it had dropped, and now stood between them in the shape of his chief medical officer, still with that grin on his face that made him look pleased as punch.

“Anything specific in mind, Spock?”

“Perhaps the doctor has some suggestions.”

Bones rolled his eyes, poking Spock in the chest.

“Should have known you two would be useless without directions,” he said. “Now, how about you kiss me again… and we’ll see if we let Jim join in on the fun.”

The offended look on Kirk’s face went ignored, but not for long. It was soon wiped off to be replaced with more pleasurable expressions, a feeling of rightness blooming in his chest. Perhaps the mission truly had been dangerous for his heart…

Looking at his two closest companions, Kirk finally knew.

Even in danger, he was never alone.