Archive of Our Own

One.

Leonard McCoy had always known that retirement wouldn’t sit well with him. Oh sure, he’d fantasized about it over the years, thinking fondly about all the sleepless nights he’d make up for. Thinking about his retirement was sometimes the only way he could get through a specifically harrowing shift, his feet aching from being on them for hours, his eyes strained and burning from staring too hard at one spot during surgery. 

But Leonard was simply no good at staying still. In reality, the novelty of retirement only lasted a few weeks before restlessness kicked in.

Spock didn’t seem to have any problems, though he always adjusted to change faster than Leonard. Not that Spock had retired yet—he was still working, though he would no longer be stationed on a ship. He taught one class a semester at the Academy and otherwise kept up with his research, reminding Leonard that while he might have surrendered himself to old age, Spock as a Vulcan had no reason to abandon his work while being only middle-aged. This had earned him a firm kick in the shin at the dinner table.

It was Leonard’s brilliant idea for them to try out some new hobbies, though it took weeks of convincing Spock the logic of doing so. “We’d be learning a new skill—what makes more sense than that?” Leonard had said, and Spock had reluctantly agreed.

Surely it wouldn’t be hard to find something they both enjoyed.

Ever the gentleman, Leonard let Spock pick their first activity, which was how Leonard found himself stuck outside on a hot, humid day, watching Spock tear up a square of their front lawn for their new garden.

“Did you have to choose to do this on such a hot day?” Leonard muttered, taking out a handkerchief to wipe at his brow.

Spock paused, looking up at the sky above him before raising a brow at Leonard. “I find this temperature quite pleasant.”

“Of course you do.”

Spock set down his rake, gracefully dropping to his knees. He weeded, shaking soil from the roots of plants he ripped free from the ground before he tossed handfuls into the pile to his left. He was making progress at an impressive rate, and as Leonard watched him work, the thought struck him that he was more in the way than of any use.

Sighing, Leonard knelt down at Spock’s side, his knees protesting loudly. He watched him work in silence as he tugged on a pair of gardening gloves. The skin of his neck already felt hot from the sun beating down on them, and with a pang of regret, Leonard thought of his sunhat, still hanging inside. There was no way he was going to get up and climb back up the front porch steps only to come outside again, not with these old knees. Once he was inside, he was going to stay there.

He began to work at pulling weeds free, creating a pile of his own. Spock seemed content to work in silence, which made the tedious work even more boring. Leonard grabbed a weed by its leaf—it broke off, earning him a disapproving look from Spock.

“Careful, Leonard. If you do not pull the entire root free, it will grow back. Pulling from the part closest to the ground should lessen the chance of breaking the weed off from the roots.”

Leonard huffed. “I know how to weed, Spock.”

Spock didn’t reply, and Leonard knew Spock didn’t believe him. His stomach clenched in anger, and he took a moment to breathe through it before he turned back to the weeds in front of him. He watched Spock work out of the corner of his eye, waiting until he was sure that Spock wasn’t watching him before he tried out Spock’s method, silently cursing when it worked a whole lot better than what he was doing before.

Leonard’s mood didn’t improve; the longer he sat out there next to Spock, the more his frustration grew.

He was more sensitive to the sun nowadays, and he squinted across the yard, wishing Spock had picked a spot underneath the big tree for their garden. At least he’d be sitting in the shade right now. Instead, he was probably going to burn. Stupid Spock with his stupid Vulcan skin that was more adept at handling the sun.

Leonard shifted uncomfortably, growling softly as a mosquito circled overhead. He swatted at it, grimacing when he shifted his weight the wrong way. His joints ached, and his hands were starting to hurt even worse, stiff and sore from use. Why Spock thought he would enjoy an activity that required working with his old, cramping hands was beyond him, and he shot a glare at Spock’s back, hoping that Spock could sense his ire.

Spock stiffened. He turned, giving Leonard a withering look. “If you are unhappy, please say so, Leonard. You are too old to seethe in silence.”

“All right, I’m unhappy!” Leonard snapped. “Just because you can kneel without complaint doesn’t mean I can!”

“If you meditated with me more regularly, you would have an easier time sitting—”

“Oh, go to hell!” Leonard spat. He tore off the gloves and dropped them at his side, then placed his hands on the ground to boost himself up. It wasn’t enough force, and he struggled to stand before Spock took pity on him and stood, offering Leonard a hand up.

Despite his anger, he accepted Spock’s help. Once he was standing, Spock started to pull his hand away, but Leonard tightened his grip. “No. I need you to help me inside; my knees are too stiff.”

Spock frowned. “But we have not finished with the garden.”

“You can continue all you want. I’m getting out of the sun before I cook.”

Spock’s lips thinned but he didn’t argue further. He helped Leonard up the front porch steps into the house, setting him down at the kitchen table at Leonard’s request. Spock slipped into the kitchen, returning a moment later with a glass of water for him. He sat down in a chair across from Leonard.

“You were the one to suggest I find a leisurely activity for us to participate in together—”

“In what world is this leisurely? You had me working my ass off out there.” He sipped from his glass, the water cool and refreshing. “We’ll just have to find something else. Something fun. Satisfying. Something that isn’t going to make me wake up tomorrow in pain, something enjoyable.”

“I was enjoying myself,” Spock said, and Leonard sighed.

“Something we both enjoy, then.” Leonard gulped down the rest of his glass. He was feeling better now that he had cooled off, no longer agitated. His head had the sort of cottony heaviness that came with too much time in the sun without enough water, but that could be fixed with another glass and nap on the couch.

Spock looked disappointed, so Leonard reached out and patted him on the hand. “I’m not gonna stop you from working on the garden if you’re enjoying yourself. Just don’t expect to see me out there with a trowel.”

“I had thought you liked the outdoors.”

“I do, when it’s relaxing.”

Spock considered this for a while, and the conversation came to a close. Spock eventually returned to the garden, leaving Leonard to ponder what would be a good activity for them to try next. Clearly Spock liked the outdoors; Spock would probably enjoy canoeing or rowing, but Leonard’s arms weren’t up for something that strenuous anymore.

“That’s it,” Leonard said with a snap. He carefully rose from the table, making sure his knees weren’t going to lock up on him before he made his way down the hall towards the garage. He was pretty sure they had his old tackle box in there somewhere.

- - -

Two.

“See, now this is how you enjoy the outdoors.”

Leonard had found them a nice spot, up on the shore overlooking a large lake. He was dressed for the sun this time, in a sunhat and a pair of sunglasses, and he took a long pull from a can of beer that was still frosty from the cooler. Spock had gone with sparkling water instead, leaning back in his own chair to the left of Leonard.

He looked at Leonard now, his brows furrowing. “I fail to see how this differs from gardening. We are still in the sun. We still have a task to complete.”

Leonard snorted. “It’s completely different. In what world does fishing require the same amount of effort as pulling weeds? I mean, hell, we might not even get a bite, depending on our luck. We could just be sitting out here for a couple hours.”

“Then why are we here, Leonard?”

Leonard gestured to his beer can, grinning wide. Spock blinked back at him, his expression unchanging.

“Just enjoy the good weather, Spock. You can take a nap, if you’d like.”

Leonard set his beer on the ground, adjusting the pole that was resting between his knees, and he sank back into his chair, closing his eyes just for a moment as he focused on the sound of birdsong in the distance.

Leonard must have taken his own advice, because his eyes snapped open, suddenly aware of the sound of Spock, alarmed, calling out, “Leonard!”

“What, what?” Leonard scrubbed at his eyes, and it took a moment for him to realize that something was pulling at Spock’s line. “You got something, Spock! Reel it in!”

Leonard leapt up from his chair, placing his hands over Spock’s. They just needed to remain calm. With a little patience, the fish could be worn out; acting too suddenly would only result in them losing Spock’s catch.

Still, it surprised Leonard when they managed to reel it in, so sure that even with his help Spock wouldn’t catch it. It was a bluegill that wasn’t much bigger than the length of his hand, thrashing to get free as Leonard removed the hook from its mouth. He handed it to Spock who, startled, nearly dropped it back into the water.

“Hang on, Spock, I gotta find my PADD so I can take a photo of this. Your first fish! Bet Scotty’ll love to see this!”

Spock humored him only long enough for a single photo. “Now what, Leonard?” he asked, staring down as the fish made a valiant effort to slip out of his grasp.

“Well, usually we catch some more. Then we gut them and eat them.” Leonard paused. “Well. I’ll eat them,” he corrected.

Spock stared at Leonard, then looked down at the fish. It was still flopping, smacking Spock’s hands with its tail.

Briefly, Spock’s eyes met Leonard’s once more, shooting him an affronted look as he swiftly returned the bluegill to the water, ignoring Leonard’s incensed sputtering that he was throwing out a perfectly good supper.

- - -

Three.

Spock got to pick the next hobby for them to try. Leonard didn’t fight him on that; he still felt bad for taking Spock fishing. Their friends weren’t letting it go either—more than once, Scotty had asked him, Doctor McCoy, what did you think would happen? Did you hit your head that morning?

So, when Spock informed him that he would like to try photography next, Leonard didn’t complain. Sure, Spock made them get up at sunrise, and yes, he insisted on them taking a long hike to a scenic outlook in the woods, but the temperature was pleasant, even a little chilly despite them being in the middle of summer, and after all their time in the hot sun, it was nice to be somewhere cool.

The part that Leonard despised was actually working the camera. Try as he might, he couldn’t get a clear photo of anything. He could snap a picture with the camera on his PADD just fine, but the moment he was handed something more complicated than a screen, he was screwed. There were too many buttons, too many modes, and Spock wasn’t always the best teacher when it came to things he was able to pick up quickly.

“I sent you the user manual,” he had said, “and if you had studied it sufficiently, you would know the answer to your question.”

Spock knew the answer, too, but Leonard suspected that this was Spock’s way of getting back at him for the fishing fiasco, which was why he was now stuck on a trail watching Spock take a hundred photos of the same tree, his patience thinning as Spock flicked through the photos he’d taken before raising the camera up to snap a few more.

“Oh for christ’s sake, Spock, none of those turned out right?”

“I believe I can take a clearer photograph.”

“It’s tree bark. What use could you have for a picture of bark?” Spock ignored him, the sound of the camera shutter making Leonard’s stomach churn in irritation. “No, you’re right, I’m sure when I look back on this day, I’ll think to myself, ‘god, if only Spock got just one more photo of that tree.’”

“You do not have to stay by my side, Leonard,” Spock replied with the camera still raised to his eye, not looking back at him. “You are free to explore on your own and make use of your own camera, since you seem to have forgotten it existed.”

Leonard muttered some choice words under his breath as he stormed off, the camera around his neck thumping painfully against his chest, as if it, too, was reminding him that it had been forgotten about.

He could head back down the trail and lock himself inside the car. Turn the air on, take a long nap, maybe even strand Spock here in search of something for lunch other than the granola he had in his bag.

Even in his agitated state, that thought left Leonard feeling guilty. No, he wouldn’t abandon Spock. Spock was just enjoying himself, and Leonard was chipping away at that joy. 

Leonard sighed, slowing his pace down. He should take a moment to calm down, then go back and apologize; he was acting irrationally, picking fights just because he wasn’t immediately good at this.

He was only a few hundred feet from Spock, though the curve of the trail and the trees blocked Spock from view. He filled his lungs with forest air, releasing his breath slowly before he decided he was ready to return.

But then something caught his eye. Up ahead, on a low branch, was a hawk, studying him.

Leonard moved slowly, not wanting to startle it, though nothing about the hawk’s body language suggested that it was scared by Leonard’s presence. He moved the camera up to his eye, realizing he was holding his breath only after he snapped a picture. He pulled the camera back and looked at the photo.

Not too bad. He could tell what kind of bird it was, at least. 

Leonard held it up to his eye again and adjusted the focus. He didn’t think he was having much success with it, so he stepped forward, camera still held up to his eye. That seemed better, so he stepped closer again, feeling the crunch of dead leaves underneath his feet as he stepped off the trail and—

Leonard stumbled as his foot sank into a hole, his stomach swooping with terror seconds before his ankle erupted in pain. Leonard dropped the camera, letting it swing around his neck as he fell, his hands catching his fall. His eyes immediately filled with tears, and his voice was raw as he yelled out, “Spock! Help!”

Spock’s footsteps beat into the ground as he rushed to Leonard’s side. From above, Leonard heard the hawk take off, and he felt a twinge of disappointment that Spock hadn’t had the chance to take a photo of it before his ankle distracted him once more. He grit his teeth, squeezing his eyes shut.

“How badly are you hurt?” Spock asked. Leonard didn’t miss how troubled Spock sounded.

“I think I twisted my ankle. I’ll be fine, but you’ll have to help me back to the car.” 

Spock offered his hand and Leonard took it, allowing Spock to lift him. He didn’t try to test his ankle; there was no way it could hold his weight.

He wrapped his arm around Spock’s shoulders, and slowly, Spock walked him down the path. They hobbled in silence for a stretch before Leonard huffed, angry with himself. “Lordy, what a mess. Sorry about this, Spock. I didn’t mean to interrupt your fun. I swear this wasn’t on purpose.”

“I wouldn’t assume it was. It would be somewhat of an overreaction for you to injure yourself intentionally,” Spock said, and Leonard chuckled.

It was too long of a walk with Leonard hopping around, so Leonard allowed Spock to carry him the rest of the way with only some minor complaints about his dignity. When they arrived back at their car, Spock carefully deposited Leonard into the passenger seat, despite his insistence that he could get in on his own. Spock removed the camera from around his neck and set it carefully in the backseat, placing his own there as well.

Leonard shut his eyes, raising a hand to rub at his temple. “I think,” he said tiredly, “that next time you should go without me.”

- - -

Four.

Leonard didn’t figure himself to be much of a singer or an actor, but when he saw flyers go up at his favorite coffeeshop for a production of The Baker’s Wife at a local playhouse, he figured why not? and took it home to Spock. Spock sang, Spock enjoyed theatre. It certainly seemed like a fine enough way to spend their Thursday nights, rehearsing for a performance. He liked the structure of it, having something to do once a week. The lack of routine in retirement was getting to him more than anything else, and there was the added benefit of getting to meet some new people.

It surprised Leonard though when, following auditions, Spock was cast in a leading role. Sure, the baker was supposed to be a middle-aged man, but despite Spock’s arguments that he was, for a Vulcan, he certainly didn’t look it to humans. It wasn’t until they got to the first rehearsal and Leonard had learned how few men had auditioned that he understood the director’s casting decision.

Leonard himself landed a minor character, which meant that most rehearsals so far had been him clumsily stomping about on stage attempting to learn the choreography to a dance with the rest of the ensemble while Spock was off to the side running lines with his leading lady. He really felt his age while dancing alongside a hoard of nineteen-year-old girls. They could pick things up so quickly, throwing themselves about without hesitation, while Leonard, fearing for the safety of his knees, kept falling behind, scared that one poorly executed spin would put him in the hospital.

Today was especially hard on him—the sequence they were currently learning wanted him to squat for an extended period of time. He had to take a break, so he stepped away from the group to take a long drink from his water bottle. His eyes scanned the room as he drank, glancing over to where Spock and his co-star Molly were running lines. She had to be in her early-twenties, and from the prattling he’d overheard from the ensemble, she was getting her BFA in Performance at a local university and was, according to the girls who’d taken classes with her, a bitch.

Leonard, of course, didn’t involve himself in gossip.

However, he did make sure to check with Spock after he’d first heard this information to see if he’d had a similar experience with her so far.

Spock had been annoyingly tight-lipped about it, but as Leonard now watched them from across the room, he got the impression that they were getting on each other’s nerves. Spock’s spine was rigid, his hands holding tightly to his script, and Molly was glowering at him, gesturing at him with her index finger. She stepped closer, crowding in on Spock’s personal space, and Spock must have said something that upset her, because her mouth fell open. She stood motionless for a beat before she turned on her heel, storming off in the direction of the director.

Spock had the good sense to follow after her. Leonard could only catch half of what Molly was saying, communicating with the director in a hushed tone. Leonard watched as the director’s shoulders sagged.

“Mister Spock, we’ve talked about this.”

“We did,” Spock agreed. “I have made the decision to incorporate your previous feedback as I see fit.”

“Well, it seems like you haven’t incorporated it at all.”

Spock said nothing, and Leonard bit his lip to keep himself from laughing. Spock glanced his direction, and Leonard stiffened, caught eavesdropping, but Spock didn’t draw any attention to him. Maybe Spock wanted him to listen in.

“Look,” the director sighed, “you need to emote more. You’re acting; you have to convince the audience what your character is feeling. I know Vulcans don’t… do emotions, or whatever, but surely you understand that exceptions need to be made when performing a role.”

“I suppose…” Spock said. It was hard to get a read on Spock from this distance. Was he angry, or just exasperated?

“Molly’s right. Your character is supposed to be merry! And to be completely honest, we haven’t gotten that from you so far.”

Spock’s lips thinned. “I do not believe I am capable of this.

“Try,” the director said firmly. He gestured to Spock’s script. “Run through the scene the two of you have been working on. I’ll give you notes.”

Reluctantly, Spock opened up his script, turning to his left to face Molly. 

Leonard watched, grimacing as it progressed. Spock’s performance was flat, compared to Molly’s, but he was certainly trying. There was a strange expression on his face as he tried to follow the director’s instructions, but he didn’t sound particularly friendly or jolly.

Glancing at the director, he didn’t seem too jolly either.

“Again,” he said, cutting Spock off. “Try harder.”

Leonard didn’t like his tone. He watched Spock’s lips twitch, his throat bob as he swallowed thickly before he dropped his eyes back down to the script. He spoke again, his words stiff, even less emotive than before. He was frustrated, and in an attempt to stop himself from lashing out at the director, he was making things worse by appearing to not try at all.

“Where am I losing you?” the director asked impatiently. “What are you struggling with? Why don’t you understand?”

“I find that your suggestions are unclear. Perhaps if you gave better feedback, I would be able to improve.”

“Okay, fine. Think about the happiest day of your life. Really sit in that feeling. Are you doing that?”

Spock glanced again at Leonard, his eyes softening, just briefly. The look made Leonard’s stomach flip. “Yes,” Spock said.

“All right. Good. Use those feelings. Try to run through the lines again, but really utilize those memories to sell me on the happiness you’re feeling. Got it?”

Spock read through the lines again. It wasn’t any better.

“I can’t work like this!” Molly exclaimed, throwing her hands up. “He can’t act; why would you even cast him in this role?”

“He’s a fine singer. I thought with some practice—”

“He’s been practicing. You’ve been trying to teach him for fifteen minutes!”

“Perhaps,” Spock interrupted icily, “he is not a very good teacher.”

Leonard rushed over before things could escalate any further. “Okay! I think it’s time we all take a break.”

The director was glowering. “I think you’re right. Before any of us say anything else we might regret.”

“I do not regret what I just said,” Spock replied, and Leonard sighed, watching as the director’s eyes widened.

“Yeah, buddy, well maybe Vulcans just make shit students.”

Spock eyes burned. “I assure you—”

“We’re leaving,” Leonard said quickly, not letting Spock finish that thought. “Come on, Spock, get your things.”

“I recommend that you and your husband practice his lines for next week’s rehearsal,” the director hissed. “Or I might need to find a new leading man.”

Leonard scoffed. “We’re not practicing shit. You’re never seeing us again—better start looking for a new addition to your ensemble, too.”

Leonard was already moving before the director or Molly could figure out a reply, tuning his ears out as he gathered his things. He made his way down the hallway towards the building’s exit, trusting that Spock would follow after him.

“Assholes, the both of them,” Leonard muttered as they stepped outside.

“You did not have to do that, Leonard,” Spock said softly. “If you wish to remain in the production—”

“It’s all right, Spock. I don’t think my old joints could have handled all that dancing, anyway.” Leonard paused. “I guess I spoke for you. If you want to stay involved, I could go in and clear things up. Apologize.”

Spock shook his head. Of all things, he looked amused. “I think neither of us were enjoying this as much as we thought we might.”

Leonard’s lips twitched into a smile. “Y’know, Spock, I think we’re more alike than either of us want to admit.” He offered his hand to Spock, and Spock took it, giving it a squeeze. They walked in silence for a few steps before a thought popped into Leonard’s head. “What did you think about when he asked you to picture your happiest day, anyway?”

Spock allowed himself a small smile. “Our wedding,” he said, voice warm with affection.

“Oh! Well!” Leonard was at a loss for words, so he leaned in and kissed Spock’s cheek.

‘Vulcans don’t do emotions’ my ass, Leonard thought.

- - -

Five.

Spock’s next hobby came as a surprise.

So far, Leonard had some involvement in their activities; either he found something for them to do himself or Spock had picked and told him where to go and what to do.

Leonard was having a perfectly fine Sunday morning when he stumbled upon Spock’s newest interest hiding in what had previously been the china cabinet.

“What in the world…” Leonard murmured, squatting down to get a better look at the shelves. Each one was lined with glass jars, and as Leonard pulled one free from the bottom shelf and held it up to the light, he found that it was full of peppers. He returned it to its place, leaning back to squint at the shelf, and found that all of them were peppers. Were these all from Spock’s garden? It would explain where all the veggies he’d harvested had gone off to.

He glanced up at the other shelves, spotting cucumbers and green beans in place of his dishes. He ran his hand over the jars, saying to himself, “Since when did he get into pickling?”

“There you are,” Spock said from behind him, and startled, Leonard spun around, almost falling over. He righted himself, face hot.

“Don’t scare me like that!” he huffed. “I could’ve knocked this entire cabinet over, and all of these would have shattered.”

“You exaggerate,” Spock replied. His eyes glanced at the jars. “I am afraid that they will not be ready for weeks. You may try them at that time.”

“How—? I mean, I know how, but when did you manage to do this without me noticing?”

“The other evening. You were gone for most of the night at a bar.”

Right. Leonard had gone out with Sulu and Chekov. But Leonard had thought Spock would use that time to catch up on some work, not to pickle enough food for them to survive a major catastrophe.

“We’re two people, Spock. What are we gonna do with all of these?”

Spock considered this. “Perhaps they will make suitable gifts come the winter holiday season.”

Leonard snorted. He held out a hand to Spock. “Help me up, would you?”

Spock took his hand and righted him. Once standing, Leonard placed his hands on his hips, giving Spock a scolding look. “Where the hell did you put my grandmother’s china? You gotta ask before moving that sort of thing around.”

“They have been moved into one of the kitchen cabinets. I thought, because of the size of the shelves, that the cabinet that had held the china would be better suited for the jars. You will find that the new organization of our dishware is much more logical than before.”

Leonard’s eye twitched. “The new organization, huh? That must be why I thought I was losing my mind when I went to get a plate this morning and found my mixing bowls in that spot instead.”

“You will adjust in time.”

Leonard turned, marching towards the kitchen as he cursed Spock under his breath. “Where?” he asked.

“Next to the stove,” Spock replied, and Leonard pulled the upper cabinet door open. “No, not that shelf—”

Leonard stared. In the place where Leonard’s roast pans used to be on the highest shelf sat a large plastic tub with a lid locked firmly in place.

“What’s that?”

“A plastic—”

Leonard groaned. “What’s in there, Spock?”

“Sauerkraut. It will be ready in four weeks.”

Leonard opened his mouth, then closed it. He stared at Spock, but Spock did not further explain. “Please tell me that I’m not going to find any other pickled things around this house.”

Spock shifted uncomfortably. At length, he said, “There are pickled onions in the back of our closet.”

Leonard closed his eyes, frustration building, and he breathed in a steady, calming breath before he spoke again. “Okay. New rule. No pickling in the bedroom, Spock. Got it?”

“Yes, Leonard.”

- - -

Six.

Leonard finished pulling up his swim trunks, shoving the rest of his clothes into one of the open lockers. It’d been a while since he’d gone swimming, especially in a public pool, and he found himself feeling oddly nostalgic for it, remembering swim lessons he had as a boy. There wasn’t time for reminiscing, though. They were running late for their class, so Leonard spun around to check on Spock.

He took a moment to appreciate Spock’s physique. Spock wore a black pair of swim briefs, his towel draped over his shoulder, and despite his age, he still had decent muscle definition, though much of it was hidden by the thick, curly hairs covering his chest. 

Spock caught him staring and raised one of his brows in amusement. 

“What, I’m not allowed to find my husband handsome?”

Spock’s mouth twitched, a hint of a smile. “We should join the others,” he said, leading Leonard out towards the pool without another word.

It was busier than Leonard had expected. He’d never taken a water aerobics class, but he always pictured smaller groups, ten or so people, all older, mostly women. 

This was something else. They were using up the entire pool, rows and rows and rows of people of all ages, each holding a pool noodle. Leonard had to squint to look for a space for them. He finally found a spot in the middle of the pool towards the back, so they started that way, stopping only to retrieve their own noodles from the bin.

Spock didn’t look particularly thrilled as he bent the noodle in his hands. “It is made of foam.”

“Yeah, they float. You use them for resistance exercises.”

Spock studied his, then looked out at the pool. “They look…”

Spock trailed off, but Leonard felt from Spock a prickle of apprehension at joining the others in the pool. Spock didn’t want to look foolish, and Leonard realized too late that he didn’t either. 

What are we doing here? Leonard thought as he slipped into the pool. He couldn’t avoid looking a little stupid, not while holding a hot-pink noodle. He liked to swim, but this was something else entirely. He watched as a group of women near the front formed a cluster to speak to each other, and a jolt of anxiety shot through him. Could water aerobics classes have cliques? He hadn’t felt this way since starting a new school when he was a sophomore.

At least Spock looked stupid, too. He didn’t seem to understand the point of the noodle, eyeing it dubiously as it floated in front of him.

They warmed up, and then the instructor had them start with the noodles, holding it up over her head to show them the shape she wanted them to make with it. Leonard followed her instruction, bending the noodle—

—before it burst free of hands, flying several feet in the air before it hit the side of Spock’s head.

Spock snapped around, eyes wide with fury before he saw that Leonard was to blame.

“Oops,” Leonard said, his face burning. He could feel the eyes of other people on him as he collected his noodle, and feeling deeply mortified, he glued his eyes on the instructor as if deeply invested in her technique.

He was so focused for the next few minutes, in fact, that he didn’t notice he’d drifted into someone else’s space until a woman hissed into his ear, “Stay in your spot!”

He jumped back, mouthing an apology, but her glare only seemed to worsen.

Sheesh.

Leonard looked back at Spock. He seemed to be doing well, all things considered. Leonard doubted he was having any fun, but he was taking the exercises seriously, his face expressionless as he did an exercise the instructor referred to as ‘jump rope’. He was always so somber; humored, Leonard flicked some water in his direction.

Spock glanced his way, shooting him a chastising look. Leonard chuckled and did it again, flicking the water hard to make sure Spock got properly splashed.

His aim was off. He watched in horror as water droplets fell on a man in front of them. To his relief, the man didn’t seem to notice.

But the woman from before did. She leaned into his space, her voice louder than necessary as she said, “Behave yourself! Some of us are here to exercise, not mess around!”

“Sorry,” he muttered, though he didn’t feel it. Weren’t they all messing around? They were playing with pool noodles, for god’s sake.

Leonard’s mood didn’t improve after that. He found the exercises exhausting, and he couldn’t get out of the pool fast enough when the class was finally done, stuck in a long line of people trying to climb up the pool stairs. He was freezing by the time they were toweling off, and he didn’t look forward to the drive home stinking up the car with chlorine, but no way was he going to wait around for a shower to open up here in the meantime.

He wrapped his towel around his waist, watching as Spock tilted his head to the side, trying to rid his ear of water.

“That sucked.”

“You chose this activity.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t think I’d immediately make an enemy.”

“I highly doubt—”

Spock stopped suddenly, his eyes looking past Leonard’s shoulder. Leonard followed Spock’s gaze, deflating when he saw the woman from before, a scowl contorting her face. Leonard grimaced, watching as she turned with a huff and gathered her things.

“See what I mean? I’m her enemy.”

Leonard looked back at Spock; Spock seemed impressed.

“That only took you half an hour. It must be your new record.”

“Not even close,” Leonard sighed. “You should’ve seen me in med school.”

- - -

And One.

It took months, but finally they found it: a hobby they both enjoyed.

It was kind of nice, sitting across from Spock at the table, an album playing softly in the background to break up the quiet, a bowl full of nuts or some of Spock’s pickles to snack on, two steaming mugs of tea sitting off to the side. It was relaxing. Cozy. 

The first time Leonard suggested they do a jigsaw puzzle was after he found a box that had been buried in their hall closet for who knew how long. He asked if Spock would help him put it together, and Spock had humored him and agreed, only for them to blink back to awareness four hours later, the puzzle completed and their backs aching from sitting in the same position for too long. It had clicked, then—they’d both enjoyed themselves. They were at the store the next day, buying as many puzzles as they could hold.

It was the perfect activity, as far as Leonard was concerned. He liked spending time with Spock. They didn’t even need to talk; sharing space with each other was enough.

Of course, that didn’t stop them from bickering. They’d argue about the music they wanted to listen to, about the size of the puzzle they wanted to work on, about each other’s technique. They would argue until Leonard was flustered and Spock’s eyes sparkled, the corner of his lips pulling up into a smile. Without fail, Spock would reach across the table, making a peace offering of two fingers facing up, and always, Leonard would seal the kiss with his own, the tips of their fingers perfectly overlapping.

A perfect fit.

That was how they sat now, bent over a half-finished puzzle with their fingers pressed together, a look of affection on Spock’s face that he made no attempt to obscure.

“We should finish this,” Leonard murmured. Spock’s fingers were running up and down the length of Leonard’s own as he held his gaze.

“It will wait,” Spock replied.

He drew his hand away, rising from his chair and rounding the table. He crouched down next to Leonard, reaching out to cup his face, and he pulled Leonard in close, gently pressing their mouths together. Leonard was tickled to find that Spock’s mouth was hot from the tea, tasting like the chai blend Spock was particularly fond of. Spock’s fingertips pressed against his temple, and Leonard nodded, pressing his face into Spock’s touch as Spock initiated a meld. Leonard gasped softly as Spock opened himself up to Leonard, a slow, steady trickling as he poured himself into Leonard’s mind, a cup overfilling. It was the strength of Spock’s feelings, the intensity, that Leonard always found so overwhelming, the raw, indisputable, undeniable devotion Spock felt for him.

Seconds, minutes, maybe hours later, Spock drew back. Leonard covered his hand over Spock’s, bringing it down to his mouth to kiss Spock’s palm. “It will wait,” Leonard agreed, then led Spock, hand-in-hand, towards their bedroom.