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strawwritesfic · 2 months

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Kelvin!Spock x Female!Human!Reader: Mr. Right

Summary: When one door closes, another opens—perhaps the door you were meant to enter all along.

Warnings/Tags: Starship Enterprise; post-Star Trek Beyond; friends to lovers; breakup; almost kiss; counselor!reader; Star Trek: The Original Series references; Star Trek: The Next Generation references

Relationships: Spock/Reader; Spock & Nyota Uhura; past!Spock/Nyota Uhura; past!Kevin Riley/Reader

Challenge: “160 Collective Drabbles” challenge by BobaPop on Lunaescence Archives.

Requester: @lovemesomeescapism

Tag List: @imaginesfire

Notes: For once, this is not a repost for this challenge…technically. I did write a response to the prompt "Mr. Right" ages ago, but when I was reposting, I decided that the Now You See Me one shot I wrote really wasn't worth keeping. Someone on Tumblr asked me for a Spock one shot, so I slipped him in as a replacement.

It's been a really long time since I finished something new. I realize that I am rusty. This is actually several drafts into attempts to write this one shot. For the first time ever, I actually cannibalized previous drafts while trying to get the meandering dialogue and point back on track. It still doesn't feel quite "right" to me, but it's probably going to take some time before I get back in the swing of things, and I'm ready to let this one go.

Mr. Right

Throughout Terra's history, human beings had sought the comfort of white noise. Quiet droning sounds proved beneficial for many aspects of mental health in the species. As a counselor on board the U.S.S. Enterprise, you'd recommended listening to white noise to dozens of fellow crewmates and patients alike. The best way to do this in the deep space you'd all been exploring for nearly five years was to turn everything in one's quarters down until the low hum of the ship's warp drive became audible. Many of those crewmates and patients reported back to you with decreased stress levels, improved mood, and a distinct uptick in ability to concentrate. Almost all of them said they got better sleep.

Now you learned that every single one of them had lied to you.

You'd spent the better part of the evening-adjacent hours lying face-down on your sofa, trying and failing to take a nap. The scratchy, standard-issue pillow beneath your face was soaked with tears. Your chest ached. Worst of all, any attempt on your part to get your mind off what upset you just ended with you crying harder. All the while, that awful rumble went on and on and on and on relentlessly, allowing you no respite long enough to drift off and forget your current predicament.

A chime cut through your misery. You paused without so much as lifting your head. As of three hours prior, you were officially off duty for the day. Nothing required you to answer the door unless an order came down from a superior officer, and they would call first. Probably it was only Uhura coming by to check on you. Having been through her own breakup during this voyage, surely she would understand when you didn't let her inside.

The chime sounded again, and with it came a surge of possibilities flooding your mind. What if your visitor was dealing with a crisis? Cases of PTSD had been on the rise since the events on Altamid. You could hardly ignore that in favor of your own small, personal crisis. Off duty or not, your role as a ship's counselor would not allow you to wallow in self-pity when someone might need your help.

As your boots hit the floor, you pressed one sleeve of your rumpled blue uniform to the corner of each eye. The gesture wouldn't do much to disguise what you'd been doing over the course of your time off, but you felt a little steadier afterward. Breathing deeply in and out helped too—until you hiccuped. But you could prepare yourself no more. Squaring your shoulders, you stood, walked over to the door leading to the corridor, and opened it.

Just outside stood the familiar, lanky figure of the ship's science officer. The second you spotted him, you wiped your sleeve across your face with greater urgency.

"You're not one of my patients," you said, "or Uhura."

"A very astute observation, Lieutenant [L Name]," Spock replied.

A long moment elapsed during which the two of you stared at one another. Several fellow crewmates in various uniform colors threw curious looks at his back as they passed by on their ways to wherever they were headed. Your friend, meanwhile, allowed a single dark eyebrow to drift toward his hairline. He clearly had no intention of moving on.

"What are you doing here?" you sighed at last.

The wayward eyebrow rejoined its brother. "Lieutenant Commander Uhura informed me that you left your office this afternoon in distress. I note that her assessment was an accurate one. If anything, you appear to be in more distress now than she described to me then."

You couldn't lie to Spock, not when you looked the way you looked after a crying jag like the one you'd just had. So you didn't bother to try. "Fine. I'm in distress. But really, Spock, it's not the kind of distress you can help with. I'm sure Captain Kirk will need you on a landing party any minute now, so if you'll excuse me—"

"Lieutenant Commander Uhura also informed me of the cause of your distress."

"Of course she did." Sometimes you wished your two friends were a little lighter on the "amicable" part of "amicable exes." "Let me guess: You came by to tell me that you told me so."

"As a Vulcan, I have no reason to rub my correct prediction in your face, if you will forgive the Terra colloquial."

You let out a wet laugh despite yourself. "You're pardoned."

"What I have done is stopped by the mess hall. If I am not much mistaken, ice cream is a traditional consolation food in these types of situations."

He produced from behind his back a number of different colored tapes. So startled were you that you found yourself unable to say anything. Never in a million years would you have imagined Spock of all people standing in front of you and offering you junk food of all things. Your silence went on for so long that he had to prompt you to speak:

"Was I incorrect in my understanding of how to handle Terran breakups?"

"No," you said, then, "I just didn't want you to find out about the breakup until I could pull myself together."

"I surmised as much, given that Lieutenant Commander Uhura found out about your circumstances before I did, although you and I are closer friends. It would have been more logical for you to contact me for assistance than her."

Vulcans as a whole were difficult to read. Even factoring in your education and training, as well as your friendship with Spock that had gone on for several years now, you could only guess his feelings the majority of the time. Not so then. Something about his tone made him sound hurt. Maybe you could chalk that up to projecting your own feelings onto him, but you couldn't risk that assumption.

"It's just that you warned me against dating Kevin," you explained. "As ship's counselor, I should have seen the end coming a kiloparsec away."

"Perhaps. But one might also say that your extensive proximity to the crew's emotions might cause some loss in objectivity on your part."

"So you're not here to make me feel worse?"

"I came for consolation purposes. That is all."

"Well, all right, then."

You stepped away from the doorway. Spock followed you in. He paused only long enough to press the button to close the door before he came to join you in your sitting room. A crate sat on the floor along his path, and he looked at you questioningly as he walked by it.

"Those are Kevin's things," you said.

"Expedient," he observed.

Normally, you might have tried to go for a little more decorum around him, but that day you didn't have the energy to do more than flop back onto your couch. At least you were upright. Spock, on the other hand, claimed a dignified perch at the end of your chair. The two of you certainly made an odd pair.

"He had so many hair products!" you burst out when the awkward silence turned unbearable. "I should have known we wouldn't work out. Who brings that much hair spray into deep space?"

"Humanity can hardly be expected to iron out all its flaws when you all cling so hard to your baser emotions."

"Do you mean Kevin's desire to look nice, or my need to be in a relationship?"

Spock blinked, then smoothly said, "In this case, I refer to your former beau's preoccupation with personal grooming."

"Right. Either way, I'm about ready to get rid of all my own baser emotions. Not feeling them would be a blessing." You got back to your feet and thrust one hand in Spock's direction. "Ice cream tape, please."

He offered one to you.

"Spock," you said warningly.

"I do not believe that heartbreak is an excuse to overeat. I only brought so many because I was unsure which flavor you would select."

The glare you leveled at him seemed to make him think better of lecturing you on the dangers of gluttony—as well it should have. This was the same glare that you gave Dr. McCoy when you were tired of listening to him. Unlike with Dr. McCoy, you smiled once Spock dropped the rest of the tapes into your outstretched hand.

"Thank you." You headed for your in-quarters food producer, then turned your head to ask over your shoulder, "What flavor do you want?"

"I do not require ice cream."

"Come on, Spock. If you're going to spend the evening commiserating with me, you have to have some ice cream, too. That's a critical part of the Terran breakup process."

One corner of his mouth twitched. "I'll have pistachio, then."

You fed the yellow-green tape into the slot. A quiet beeping noise covered the hum of the warp drive as the computer worked. While you waited, you flipped through the remainder of the flavors until you found the one you wanted.

"I don't think it would be a good idea for you to give up emotions," Spock said.

"Huh?" Frowning at him, you replaced his tape with yours. "Aren't you the guy that's been talking about doing the Kolinahr when we get back to Earth?"

"That's different. I am a Vulcan."

"Half Vulcan."

"Vulcan enough."

A shriller beep put an end to this potentially sticky subject. The ice creams were ready. You dumped the rest of the tapes in a basket next to the food producer, picked up the bowls, and brought them back to the living room. Spock took his with a grateful nod, though he waited until you sat down again before taking a bite.

"Maybe I'd be a better counselor if I didn't have emotions," you mused. "If I wasn't blinded by my own feelings, I could help the crew more with theirs. I shouldn't have the same problems as they do after all the studying I've done."

"While that may indeed make sense, it is hardly realistic. Besides, if you did not have your human emotions, you would no longer be the [Name] that I know, and I believe that I would miss her."

You couldn't help but smile around the spoon in your mouth. Popping that out, you said, "I bet you say that to all the Terrans you like."

"Hardly. In fact, that captain may benefit from an hour or two without his usual emotions."

"I appreciate you saying that, Spock."

"I am only speaking the truth. I have no intention of bolstering your ego artificially, even if doing so is a part of the Terran breakup process."

"I know." You slowly lowered your spoon back to the bowl, staring off into space. Something was dawning on you—something that might have dawned on you sooner had you not been so enthralled with your own feelings. "You know what else I appreciate? You coming here to help me today. Not every first officer would go out of their way for a ship's counselor like that."

Spock fixed you with an unblinking gaze as he said, "You mean a great deal more to me than most ship's counselors mean to their first officers."

"I don't care what Captain Kirk says. You sure know how to make a woman blush."

"I have had some practice with the activity."

"Remind me to thank Uhura later."

"Thank her for what?" Spock asked.

Maybe you were reading the signs wrong. Maybe you were just desperate. If he had to ask, you had to be wrong. But you took a deep breath anyway, and said, "Helping me realize that maybe the guy I've been looking for this whole time has been my best friend all along."

How could it have taken you this long to work it out? No one else spent as much time with you as Spock did, not outside of your office hours. It didn't matter if you were in the mess hall asking for a round of Fizzbin after dinner or you wanted a quiet night in your quarters. He always seemed to be there. You felt comfortable around him. Maybe you didn't always understand Spock; maybe Spock didn't always understand. But you didn't enjoy anyone's company the way you did his. And you had to wonder when your eyes met just then if he felt the same way, and if this coming-to-see-you-with-ice-cream thing was his way of showing you that.

"Well," he moistened his lips before going on, "I certainly feel that our relationship is founded more steadily upon mutual interests and desires than it is upon a passion for hair products."

You leaned forward. "You know, that sort of relationship sounds really appealing right about now."

"It does?" Spock shifted closer to you.

"I think it's about time that I dated someone whose first thought in the morning isn't beating me to the sonic shower, don't you?"

By that time, you both had come so close that it wouldn't have taken much more movement on either of your parts to touch lips. Your heart gave a painful leap inside your chest. Was this too much too fast? Even if you had just realized you'd had a thing for Spock for a while now, you had only just broken up with your last boyfriend that morning. Treating Spock as a rebound was the last thing you wanted to do. He didn't seem to mind, though. His mouth drew closer and closer to yours until you could feel his breath on your face.

The communicator in your room chirped. You jumped. Spock paused before sitting back up in his chair. Then you rose wordlessly, stepped over to the panel, cleared your throat, and pushed the button.

"[L Name]," you said.

"[Name]?" Uhura did not remark on how breathless you sounded, thankfully. "I need to talk to Spock."

"It's for you," you said unnecessarily. Spock had already reset his face into its typical blank mask and made his way to the communicator himself.

"Spock here. What is it, Lieutenant Commander?"

"Captain Kirk needs you on the bridge. We have a situation up here."

"What kind of a situation?"

"There's a former United States President floating outside the ship. He says he needs our help."

"I will be there right away."

A second chirp signaled that communications between your room and the bridge had ceased. Spock turned back to you.

"My presence is needed on the bridge," he said.

"So I heard."

"I apologize. I believe we were in the middle of something."

"It's all right."

He didn't move.

"Spock, go. Don't you want to know why a deceased historical figure has asked for the Enterprise's help?"

"I'd prefer to stay here," Spock said. "But you are correct. I must leave. Will you still be here later tonight?"

"Yeah." You surprised yourself with the eagerness of your answer. "Yeah, I will. I promise I won't run off with any other lieutenants while you're away. I'll save the rest of the ice cream. We can share it when you get back."

There it was: The slight curl to Spock's mouth that told you that you weren't making up the mutual attraction between you both after all. "To use another Terran phrase, it's a date."

He hesitated another moment longer before he quickly exited your quarter. You grinned as the door slid shut behind him and the white noise returned full force. As you sunk into your couch and pillow this time, you found you didn't mind the hum as much. In fact, the sound did exactly what it was supposed to do: Relax you. Kevin and his excuses from that morning felt farther away than your own home planet. Maybe you owed him a thank you, too, because if you were still with him, you wouldn't have slept as well as you did that night knowing that Spock would be back soon.

#fan fic #straw writes #reader insert #second person pov #star trek #star trek beyond #challenge response #request #spock #spock x reader #spock x you #spock x y/n #star trek x reader #star trek x y/n #star trek you #kelvin universe

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alienantichrist · 23 days

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okay but does anyone else ever get lost in Spock's eyes when watching tos?

#literally kirk posting #pov jim kirk #mr spock #star trek #star trek tos #james t kirk

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spirk-trek · 5 months

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I always love when spock has to ask mccoy to help him understand his feelings for jim

now on ao3!

i'm so sorry to this anon who waited so long for me to finish this prompt *cries* i have never written anything from mccoy's pov and wanted to challenge myself... and oh boy, was it a challenge. i feel like it turned out kind of (very) boring and maybe not so good but i tried my best with something new!

~*~*~*~

Spock had cultivated an arsenal of excuses to get himself into sick bay when he didn’t really need to be. Some were more convincing than others, but over the years Doctor McCoy had come to consider himself a damn near expert at identifying them. At least, he eventually identified them. Once he managed to stop being annoyed.

“What in the blazes- Spock! Get your hands off my equipment!”

“Doctor,” he greeted, raising a brow and pausing whatever the hell he was doing with several panels removed from the wall. McCoy stared at him, swelling with rage.

“I leave this room for one damn minute-!”

“Actually, you were absent for nine minutes, eighteen-”

“Dammit Spock,” McCoy gritted his teeth and begged whatever gods might be listening for strength. “ You have eighteen seconds to tell me what you’re doing before I tranquilize you.”

Spock’s mouth closed with a well-then expression, eyes widening just enough that McCoy might’ve felt accomplished if he didn’t have a six patient backup in the transporter room. He watched as Spock deposited the components onto an empty biobed- the only one remaining, mind you- and placed both arms behind his back to face the doctor squarely.

“I am here to calibrate your newly installed biofilters to include the latest blood-type data sets.”

McCoy blinked, then helplessly gestured to the chaos surrounding them. “I'm a little busy here, if you hadn't noticed. Can it wait?”

“Hardly.”

He crossed his arms over his chest and squinted. Two can play at that game.

“Medical equipment, eh? Since when are you our go-to guy for that?”

Both Vulcan brows eased their tension, rising to meet the dark curve of his bangs. “I am not. However, considering the fact you are currently treating Lieutenant Macsen, as an experienced science officer I am the most qualified individual to-”

McCoy groaned and uncrossed his arms to toss them at Spock impatiently. “Yeah, yeah, alright but-” he jabbed a finger at him. “But you're acting Captain now, aren’t you? Shouldn’t you be on the bridge? ”

Spock’s eyes slipped away. It was only for a moment, but that was enough. Gotcha.

“The danger has passed,” Spock eventually answered, careful mask back in place. “I can be of assistance here.”

“You sure?” A smug grin was spreading over McCoy’s features. Spock tilted his head in consideration of him, likely knowing he was in trouble. Damn right. “So this ain’t just an excuse to check up on Jim, then?”

As if he had forgotten his excuse, Spock gathered several of the discarded components back in his hands, answering only once his back was turned. “I assure you, doctor, my only concern is the efficiency with which your facilities are capable of treating the biologically unique individuals awaiting care.” He paused, both his speech and his hands, which were simultaneously reconnecting a tangle of wires. His chin tipped back over his shoulder just enough for McCoy to see downcast eyes stuck to the floor. “It is a logical endeavor. There is no need to question it.”

McCoy set down his medical tricorder with a thud and glared at the back of Spock’s head. “Uh-huh,” he muttered, chewing the corner of his mouth. “Well, if you're not here to bother me, carry on with your ‘logical endeavor.’ Just make it snappy. I got patients to heal.”

He left the goddamned hole in his wall to do a lap around the med bay, asking after patient conditions and giving orders where needed. When he got back around to where he started, he was pleased to find the wall panels more or less back in place. He was even more pleased to catch Spock peering down the line of beds, even craning his neck to do so. Gotcha again.

He knew already, of course, which bed was the subject of Spock’s nosiness. Nurse Chapel was there, standing over an unconscious, battered, and idiotic (in McCoy's professional opinion) Captain James T. Kirk. The man looked downright pitiful with his uniform torn and bloodied, neck supported on either side by braces.

I’ll be damned if I’m gonna say anything. He wants to know? He’s gonna have to ask.

Spock never asked, though. He suffered in silence, like a damn ascetic. The doctor sighed, knowing already he didn’t have this particular fight in him. Not now. Not today.

“He’s gonna be alright, Spock. He’s had worse.”

At being addressed, Spock hastily resumed what appeared to be the last of his tinkering. McCoy watched him quietly, trying- unsuccessfully, as always- to read the unyielding Vulcan façade he so effortlessly constructed moment by moment.

“I acknowledge that the Captain's injuries are not likely to be fatal.”

“More n’ not likely. He’s gonna live, and he’s gonna thank me for it.”

Spock said nothing, simply pressing the final strip of wall back into place. He slid his hand over the seam to ensure there was no protrusion before ultimately turning around to face McCoy again.

“Once more, my concern lies with the efficiency of the ship's functions. The Captain's well-being is, logically, a crucial component of that efficiency. Is that not correct, doctor?”

McCoy scowled, not buying a damn word. He knew Spock wanted him to agree. To hand him his own excuse back on a silver platter. Not gonna happen.

“Well, if you were worried about him,” he cajoled, bouncing on the balls of his feet, "you might have a point. He took quite the beating down there.”

Spock shifted, and another bolt of triumph shot through McCoy’s core.

“It has been my experience that the Captain possesses a remarkable ability to defy all odds.”

Leonard barely resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Sap.

“Still. Haven’t you people ever heard of hand phasers? They have a couple hundred meter range, you know, but no. You just have to get up close n’ personal.”

Spock’s gaze hardened. McCoy knew that meant his bluff had been called.

“Doctor. You have already indicated that the Captain’s injuries are not of long term concern. Are you rescinding that assessment?”

McCoy sighed, any remaining sense of accomplishment fleeing him. He was just about to damn his attempt at getting a proper rise out of Spock when he saw him turn a glance toward Jim’s vital signs, checking them. Not very Vulcan of you, he thought, even as a pang of pity won out over the desire to dig his thumbs in and yank.

“I, uh…” He sighed deeply and ran a hand through his hair, rubbing awkwardly at the back of his neck. “Listen, Spock. Since you’re here, I’ve been waiting what feels like a century to get my tricorders synced with the medical catalog we integrated from Nomalis III.” He looked at Spock pointedly before jerking his head in the direction of the storage cabinets. “Think you have time to get to them, too?”

He nodded once. “Certainly. I will assess their status presently.”

And if he noticed a stroke of gratitude in Spock’s immediate acceptance, he wasn’t about to claim responsibility for it.

* * * * *

Sometimes, the visits were shorter.

Leonard glanced up from his screen, raising a brow at Spock's unexpected presence on the other side of his automatic doors.

“Spock,” he greeted warily, one eyebrow raised. “You finally taking me up on that open nurse position?”

With a look he’d no doubt deny was annoyance, and a breath he’d definitely deny was a sigh, Spock placed his hands at the small of his back. “Negative, doctor. I require a medical examination for a minor injury sustained during our most recent expenditure.”

“You? Injured?” He set his PADD down and pushed it away, leaning over his desk toward the other. “I find that hard to believe.”

“It is a minor contusion,” Spock explained promptly. “I deemed it necessary to ensure my optimal functionality.”

The Vulcan presented his hand between them, fingers outstretched, a thin line of green wrapping around the palm and over his first knuckle. With a frown, McCoy stood and gestured for Spock to take a seat on the nearest biobed, coming to stand beside him as he snapped on a pair of gloves. He pulled the marked hand into the light, turning it at different angles. It was half healed at best, shallow at worst.

“You know, Spock,” McCoy murmured as he looked, “I don’t tolerate malingering.”

“Proof of my injury is visible, doctor. Or did your medical training not prepare you for superficial wounds?

“Ha ha,” McCoy deadpanned, noticeably less gentle as he flipped the hand back over and dropped it. “It’s already started healing, so I can’t use a stitcher. A treatment bandage overnight should do it, with that Vulcan metabolism of yours.”

He busied himself with a nearby drawer, pulling the right type of bandage from its depths. Once he had Spock’s hand back in his, he cleared his throat and began wrapping it.

“You didn't come all the way down here for a papercut, did you?”

Steely blue eyes flashed upward, but Spock wasn’t looking down to meet them. McCoy rolled them instead, annoyance mounting.

“I discharged him twenty minutes ago, y'know.”

He refused to look up again when Spock’s posture went rigid, his fingers flexing unconsciously against his newly coiled bandage. To McCoy's shock, he didn’t even bother denying that’s what he was really after.

“The venom was of an unidentified variety.”

“I identified it.”

“And his symptoms? They were-”

“Severe, yes. Keyword there being were .” He smirked, but Spock was still looking straight ahead. It quickly curled into a frown. “I healed him. That's what doctors do.”

Spock said nothing in response, though a crease appeared between his brows as he watched McCoy seal his bandage with a whirr of instrumentation.

“Anyway,” he turned in his chair, wheeling to a shelf to pull out a bottle of pain capsules he knew Spock would refuse. “I confined him to quarters until morning, if that's what- hey!” The doors were swishing as he turned back around, and despite knowing he wouldn’t hear it, he still called after Spock bitterly.

“You’re welcome!”

* * * * *

Sometimes, the excuses weren’t really excuses at all.

“Doctor,” Spock greeted upon being let into McCoy's office. He blinked in surprise at the vision before him; Spock was pacing, hands clasped tightly behind his back, gaze down on the floor. He watched him take two trips from wall to wall before clearing his throat.

“Why yes, Spock?” he asked sweetly, batting his eyelashes to no effect.

“I have come to report increased stress levels, resulting in loss of sleep.”

McCoy’s eyebrows shot up. He placed his resequencer aside, immediately forgetting whatever he’d been doing with it. It’d still be there later, but this. This, he had to hear.

“Stress, Spock? That doesn’t sound like you one bit.”

“Stress is a natural reaction to disturbed mental equilibrium.”

“Would you please stand still?”

The Vulcan froze in his tacks, looking down at himself as if he hadn’t even realized he was in motion until that moment.

“That’s better. Now, what is going on with you?”

Spock, for a moment, looked explicitly uncomfortable. The lines of Leonard's face ironed out in shock. That level of transparency was, in Vulcan terms, something like an outright confession. He might as well be singing Shakespeare from rooftops.

“I’m waiting,” he eventually probed when Spock didn’t answer, crossing his arms and leaning back in his chair.

Spock shut his eyes. “Captain Kirk has recently… developed a closer association with a civilian on board.”

Oh. McCoy couldn’t help but smile, thinking of the pretty copper-haired thing he’d seen hanging off Jim’s arm that morning. And the morning before that. And the morning before that.

“Kaylia, right?”

“My concern ,” Spock continued as if McCoy hadn’t spoken, his eyes meeting some spot beyond them both, “stems from the potential risk such emotional entanglements pose to our current endeavor.”

McCoy’s smile curved into something dangerous.

“I see, I see… So, the Captain’s love life. That’s what’s stressing you out, is it?”

Spock’s jaw worked from side to side. “I fail to see the relevance of his personal relationships to my emotional state.”

And damn him, Leonard actually believed that. He leaned in, fixing Spock with an intense stare.

“Look, Spock. I'm a doctor, not a counselor, but I've seen the way you look at Jim.” He raised a hand when Spock opened his mouth, no doubt to deny it or try to explain the accusation away. “This ain’t just about the ship, or your current endeavor, or whatever the hell we’re calling it today.” When Spock didn’t answer, McCoy’s harshness receded slightly. He could feel it shrink within him, going from hot to cold in an instant.

“There's something more there,” he continued earnestly. They were well past it being a question. It was a damn fact as far as he was concerned, and he was sick and tired of pretending it wasn’t. “Way I see it is, you may be a Vulcan, you may have even fooled yourself, but you're not fooling anyone else.”

In the end, that got Spock’s attention. The dark eyes that swiveled down to meet his had a dangerous flicker to them. An ember he couldn’t help but stoke.

“I've known Jim a lot longer ‘n you have, and this? This ain’t about a single thing except you being jealous .”

Spock's mask wavered, another current of vulnerability passing over him like a spectre. When he finally broke his silence, he spoke with a voice that was measured and low.

“That is a highly illogical hypothesis, doctor. I am not capable of experiencing jealousy, and even if such were the case-”

“Oh, cut the crap, Spock. I've known you long enough, too. You've got feelings, and they're more n' just friendly when it comes to Jim.”

Spock raised a brow, the barest hint of a frown crossing his features.

“It is not… ‘crap.’”

“It is crap,” McCoy snapped, smacking an open palm against his desk. Spock stared at it stiffly. “Admit it, Spock! Seeing him with someone else is tearing you up inside." He narrowed his eyes, baring his teeth in a not-quite grin. Struck a nerve, did I? "How many days has it been since you slept, anyway? Have you gotten a wink since she walked onto this ship?”

“Your analysis is flawed," Spock spoke quickly, his speech pressured in a way the doctor hadn't heard before. "I am merely concerned with the Captain's ability to remain impartial. These matters often do not work out favorably.”

McCoy shook his head. “So, what? You’re worried she’ll break his heart?”

Spock didn’t react other than to pull his lips into a thin line.

“Ah, no. You're worried she won't.”

Spock was speaking again before McCoy had even finished accusing him, and if he had to give it a name he'd say he sounded downright irritated. Yeah, well, join the club.

“I am not governed by emotions. I am not worried, nor am I jealous-”

“Yes you are.”

“Furthermore, my feelings would be irrelevant regardless of-”

“Irrelevant my foot .”

A pause. “That doesn’t-”

“All’s I’m sayin’, Spock,” McCoy raised his hand and his voice to cut the other off, eyes screwing shut in his frustration. “You might want to face those feelings head-on before they gut you.”

They held each other's gaze for a prolonged moment, McCoy’s silent office beginning to feel heavier and darker than before.

“As you have already pointed out, doctor,” Spock spoke quietly now, the tide of irritation ebbing away. “You are not a counselor. I am here to seek a simple sleep aid, if one is available.”

After several more seconds, Leonard finally broke their eye contact to slam a drawer open. He tossed the bottle of pills at Spock, who caught them with cat-like reflexes that annoyed him more than it should have. Spock held the bottle low and looked down at the capsules, watching them fall over each other as he twisted the bottle side to side. McCoy bit his tongue, waiting... and what’ll you know? It paid off for once.

“Suppose your hypothesis is correct,” the Vulcan eventually murmured without looking up. “What is the solution?”

McCoy blinked. “Spock.”

Only then did their eyes meet again. McCoy sighed.

“Emotions don’t have solutions. Alright?” A ripple of impatience pushed itself into a frown on Spock’s lips. “But,” he continued, “they do have causes. Usually, anyway. Is that- Does that make any kinda sense to you?” Spock nodded once, straightening his spine. McCoy considered for a moment, his lips pursed. “Jealousy, for example, is usually caused by…” He leveled a careful look at the other man. “Well, I don’t have to tell you. It’s biblical.” Seeing the bewildered expression beginning to take shape, he rushed to clarify. “A tale as old as time. You want to be in her place.”

Spock averted his gaze again, then shook his head once. “I do not.”

“I don’t mean you want to be a diplomat, or a pretty redhead, or on the mind of every man aboard this ship.” He let out a short huff of breath. “Just the one man, right? And he’s currently off on some observation deck somewhere…” McCoy trailed off when he noticed Spock’s hands flex around the bottle, taking a moment to send some irritated thoughts Jim's way. Blind, stupid idiot.

“Am I getting anything right, here?”

Spock rolled his shoulders. “This is… not my area of expertise.”

“I know,” he said in a way he hoped was kind. He meant it to be kind, anyway. “Like I said, there ain’t a solution to feelings, but... In this situation, there are a few outcomes. And outcomes are sorta like solutions, right?”

Spock opened his mouth as if to disagree, then shut it again and gave a curt nod.

“Right. Okay. So,” he held one hand up as a visual representation, “one outcome is, you keep doing what you’ve been doing. Hope it goes away, hope each beautiful woman that comes along never stays too long. Hope you can keep ignoring it forever, and hell, sometimes that’s what it takes.” He took a deep breath, allowing his lungs to fully empty again before pressing on. “Sometimes, though,” he raised his other hand, looked at it as if he was actually holding something suspended in the air, “it never goes away. It just becomes… different. Sometimes better, sometimes worse.”

He fixed Spock with a severe look before dropping both hands back to his desk.

“And since you can’t know, there’s no way to know- well, that’s why us humans decide to do something about it to find out.”

Spock remained perfectly still until he swallowed, throat bobbing with what looked like effort.

“‘Something’ is vague terminology,” he pointed out, deadpan. “Clarify.”

McCoy flipped his restless hands skyward. “Well, we talk. Ask questions we don’t know the answer to.” A gradual smile broke across his lips. “Kiss each other, maybe, if the moment’s right.”

Spock looked more uncomfortable than McCoy had ever seen him, but he couldn’t even enjoy the blotches of subtle green that bloomed over both cheeks because of the pit of worry weighing down his stomach. Damn.

“You are saying," Spock began to summarize slowly, "that my options are to continue attempting to suppress my emotions… or to inform Jim of them.” The green in his face darkened as McCoy nodded. “I admit, I do not favor either prospect.”

The doctor chuckled, but it sounded hollow. “Yeah. One of the scariest things in the world, tellin’ someone who’s important to you that…” He looked Spock up and down. “Well. That they’re important.”

The Vulcan remained silent, finally opening the pill bottle and rolling two tan colored capsules into his palm before looking up at McCoy again.

“Thank you, doctor,” he said simply, and the words held a tightness to them so poignant McCoy couldn’t think of a single thing to say as he watched Spock take his leave.

The next time he or Jim tried walking into his office to worry about the other one, he was gonna lock them in a conference room somewhere, even if it meant crashing the whole damn ship. And he was gonna demand a drink first.

#idk this got sad for NO reason????#i do not ship spones but something happened while i was writing this and i feel like it's there #if you squint #spirk #fanfic #request #prompts #my writing #dr mccoy #bones #spock #jim kirk #captain kirk #bones pov #fanfiction

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palpunte · 1 month

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kirk: *gets court martialed* spock: he couldn't have done it! mccoy: he couldn't have done it! spock: *does something that will get him court martialed* mccoy: he couldn't have done it! kirk: yeah he totally did it

#will never stop being funny #another thing that will never stop being funny: in stardate order kirk and spock get court martialed ONE RIGHT AFTER THE OTHER #can you imagine being a crewman on that ship #that ship is a mess #what this tells me is that kirk is way more objective and chill about spock than mccoy could ever be #and spock also knows this i think and considers kirk the only real obstacle to him attaining his goal #very interesting from a characterization pov #the menagerie #court martial #star trek #the original series #i'm endlessly obsessing over these mid-s1 episodes but i need to move on with my rewatch if i'm ever to finish...#just to clarify i'm not saying any of this in an effort to justify one ship over the other it's not about ships #i'm saying the friendship between kirk and spock (to me) has a clear element of kirk understanding spock in a way not many do #kirk sees right through him

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celestialvoyeur · 10 days

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📝 NEW POEM 📝

I wrote a new poem for a prompt given by the wonderful @android-and-ale. They wanted something written about Kirk and Spock's shared bathroom, which comes up so often in fics that it's practically its own character! So here's a poem from the bathrooms POV as it rejoices in the evolution of Jim and Spock's relationship 😂

#Spirk's shared bathroom #Bathroom's POV #because why not #just for fun #poetry #star trek #spirk #spock #james t kirk #k/s #kirk/spock

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lenievi · 1 year

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The Captain's mind was too inflexible, too disciplined, but the Doctor was sentimental, soft.

Spock's meld with McCoy in Mirror, Mirror. [Spock's POV]

Ever since seeing Mirror!Sarek’s meld with Michael, I wanted to use “seemingly impossible depth of human compassion” in a Mirror!Spock/McCoy meld fic. Three years later, it’s finally here~

#spones #Leonard McCoy #spock #star trek tos #mirror universe #my writing #it's probably different from what you're used to but this is what i wanted to write~#there's some blink and you miss it mckirk... i guess... it's all from spock's pov he makes assumptions lol #you can make your own #wonder if the kudos will be similar to my last niche fics or if they're gonna be a bit higher even though it's once again a niche thing :D

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spirkme915 · 1 year

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No Way in Hell

idk what this is, but here it is! @remusmoonshinezine posted a super sad fic a few days ago and i needed a massive dose of fluff, so i ended up writing this. it's pretty much spirk fluff & crack (from bones' pov) and i have so many regrets, but, apparently, not much shame. Edit: Now cross-posted to ao3

Leonard doesn’t have to look up from his padd to understand that the only question he needs to ask is, “Do I want to know?”

Jim is hovering outside his office door - shifting from foot to foot, indecisive - and, really, that’s indication enough that something has gone horribly wrong. Not life-threatening wrong, no - Jim is eerily calm when that particular dam is breached. And if it was something Jim could fix on his own then he would be holed up somewhere licking his wounds. God knows Jim doesn’t willingly visit sickbay unless it’s for a drink and a semi-tolerant ear as the captain moons over his untouchable first officer.

So, whatever happened, it’s somewhere in that mushy middle ground between death and pining.

“You probably should know, but…”

Leonard sighs, looks up. He’s on his feet - hypo in hand - before he’s thought to move. “Good god, man. What did you do? Stick a hornet in your eye?”

“Something like that.”

The hypo hisses as Leonard injects an antihistamine, then he’s poking at prodding at Jim’s eye, making sure that it’s only the lid and surrounding tissue that’s swollen up like a goddamn helium balloon and not the eye itself. Jim doesn’t protest the intrusion and that, more than anything, sets off Leonard’s internal Red Alert.

He steps back and targets Jim with his best time-to-‘fess-up glare. “There’s nothing in your eye and there aren’t any marks.”

“There, uh, wouldn’t be.” Jim blinks as the swelling begins to recede. “Am I good to go?”

“Am I going to get any answers out of you?”

Jim swivels on his heel, heading for door. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

“And I’ll take that as a no,” he grumbles under his breath as Jim hightails it out of sickbay. He presses the comm button. “Sickbay to Spock.”

“Spock here.”

“I just gave the captain a heavy dose of antihistamines. He’ll be out for the night and should be good to go for Alpha tomorrow, but here’s your heads up in case you need to take the conn.”

A pause. “Understood, Doctor.”

Leonard rolls his eyes to the heavens. Jim waxing poetic about Vulcan agility and strength he can take; Spock’s brand of pining makes his head hurt.

“He’s fine. If you want to check on him later, though, go for it.”

“I will do so, Doctor.”

Leonard clicks off the comm before he mutters, “Of course you will.”

Goddamn idiots in charge of the ship. He isn’t paid enough for this.

---

He’s battling the computer over requisition forms the next time Jim shows up at his door. This time, his erstwhile captain is looking guiltier than the groom at a shotgun wedding.

Leonard surveys where Jim has his shirt-sleeves hiked up - skin on both arms spotted with hives. He glances at the garbled supply forms on his screen and briefly envies the tech department - their patients aren’t sentient.

He gives in to his fate and shuts off his screen. “Let me guess. Arm-wrestling with a cactus?”

“I haven’t been in the botany lab today.”

“Then you were ritually bathing your arms in Caitian milk.”

“What? I don’t know where I’d even get that -“

“The source is literally in the name, Jim.”

“- and anyway, isn’t that supposed to be beneficial for Human skin?”

“Not yours.” Leonard gets up from his chair, waving at Jim to come closer. “When did it start?”

“My apologies, Doctor,” Spock says as he suddenly appears in the doorway like a damn wraith. “I was notified that you are having difficulties with your terminal.”

“And tech sent you?”

“You are not known for your ‘bedside manner,’ particularly when you are experiencing frustration. To employ one of your colloquialisms, you ‘scare the pants off them’ in such circumstances.”

That’s actually…fair.

Leonard waves in Spock then refocuses on Jim. “You. Talk.”

“It started about thirty minutes ago. It was just one hive on my right hand and I ignored it, then…”

Despite the lingering nature of that sentence, Leonard is well aware Jim ain’t gonna finish it. Especially since his crush is leaned over a desk only footsteps away. Quite frankly, it’s a miracle he has Jim’s attention at all.

He sighs.

“Look, Jimmy boy. You gotta give me something to work with here.”

“Do I?”

Leonard has a hypo to Jim’s neck faster than Jim can rethink his shit-eating grin.

“Ow, Bones!”

“Serves you right. Get out of my sickbay.”

He doesn’t bother to tell Jim not to come back unless he’s willing to talk. It’s a threat with no teeth and Jim knows it. Even though he may question his life choices on an hourly basis - sometimes minute-by-minute - hitching his horse to Jim’s wagon is one of the best decisions he ever made. He’ll never tell Jim that outright, but he supposes that keeping the golden boy of Starfleet alive, despite his shenanigans, is proof enough.

He watches Jim saunter out - rubbing at his neck as he goes - then turns around. “Verdict, Mr. Spock?”

“I believe the captain will recover just as well as he did the last time. However, I have shared with him that it would be prudent to uncover the underlying cause for his reactions. It appears he has…rejected my advice.”

Leonard narrows his eyes. “I was talking about the computer.”

Spock freezes. Blinks. “Ah yes. I have found the error and rectified it.”

“Great. Now, tell me again why the first officer of the flagship is fixing my computer instead of a cadet?”

“My work is now complete, therefore the question is immaterial. Good evening, Doctor.”

As if it weren’t already ratcheted sky-high, the haughtiness factor flies off the charts when Spock stands, hands clasped behind his back. Even the door seems to swish shut more dramatically than usual.

Leonard isn’t fooled.

Spock came here to check up on Jim, and whatever Spock thinks Jim’s doing - or, hell, knows Jim’s doing - it’s something he doesn’t approve of. Add in the fact that Jim must know that Spock knows, because loverboy didn’t give the object of his obsession even a hint of a glance, and it all adds up to trouble. Possibly heartbreak. Definitely cattiness.

“Nope,” Leonard says out loud. He pops open his liquor cabinet, grabs a bottle, then props his feet up on his desk. “There is no way in hell I’m getting involved in that.”

---

God. Fucking. Dammit.

He’s going to have to get involved.

Jim is standing by the replicators, tray in hand, leaning in as he talks with a visiting Vulcan scientist. On the surface it would seem like any of the hundreds of professional encounters Jim has every day, but Jim’s lips are swollen. Which they definitely weren’t an hour ago, when Leonard just happened to catch Jim waltzing into the labs to greet said visiting Vulcan scientist.

It’s possible it’s another allergic reaction - one minor enough that Jim didn’t seek out Leonard’s help - but the cacophonous silence and phaser beam glare of his table mate tell him otherwise.

Spock hasn’t looked away from Jim and the Vulcan scientist since they walked in together.

Has he mentioned that the visiting Vulcan scientist - who spent the last hour alone with Jim in the lab and now Jim has swollen lips - is a Vulcan?

“So,” he says. “How about that Surak guy, huh? He really put that can-do attitude into Vulcan.”

Not even a hint of a disdainful twitch.

Leonard heaves a sigh.

And he thought suffocating, vaporized blood, and death were the worst things that could happen to him in space.

He’s going to have to get involved.

---

Despite being the emotionless one, it’s clear to Leonard what Spock’s thinking. It’s Jim he can’t get a handle on.

He has even less of a grasp when he walks into Jim’s quarters to find that the captain’s lips have morphed into grapefruits. He has his tricorder in one hand and his hypo in the other in two steps. Thankfully, he doesn’t need an additional appendage in order to deploy his righteous indignation.

“Can you breathe?”

Jim nods. “It’s just my lips not my tongue or throat.”

“Good. Then you’re not in immediate danger.”

He unleashes a flurry of hyposprays on Jim’s neck until Jim is swatting him away. “What the hell, Bones?”

“Me?” Leonard yells. “What the hell are you doing?”

Jim blinks. His lips flap. “What?”

Leonard grits his teeth. He’s surrounded by beings with the emotional intelligence of a turnip. “I thought that your lips were swollen from kissing one certain Vulcan, but this…” He reviews the tricorder readings again, frowns. “This doesn’t make any sense.”

“Wait. You knew?”

He scoffs. “You made it pretty damn obvious.”

“You can’t tell Spock.”

“You think Spock doesn’t know?”

“Shit. That’s why -“ Jim shakes his head. “I was trying to be discreet.”

Discreet my ass, is what he wants to say. But the hangdog expression on Jim’s face tells him that Jim is already chasing his tail. If Jim thinks he’s going to lure Spock in with jealousy, then he’s got another thing coming to him.

“Look. I know you think you know what you’re doing here -“ Jim opens his mouth to protest that and Leonard glares at him until those flappy lips close. “But you have a reputation that you and I both know isn’t accurate or deserved - relationships mean something to you. And as far as I can tell, it’s the same way for Vulcans. Hell, maybe even more so. So you better be damn sure what you’re doing.”

Jim deflates just as fast as his lips. “I know.”

“Do you?”

“Yes.”

“Good.”

“So you don’t think this“ - Jim circles a finger around his lips - “is connected to…that.”

“No.” Leonard refrains from rolling his eyes clear out of his sockets and focuses on the tricorder again. Jim’s reactions started days ago and the visiting scientist just came on board - of course they’re not connected. “But we have to figure out what is causing it. Anything else you need to confess to, Don Juan?”

“I really don’t know what it could be, Bones.”

No, he really doesn’t. Leonard sees the frustration in the set of Jim’s jaw.

“I won’t make you take a trip to sickbay, but I’m going to need some of your blood to analyze. And if it happens again then come see me immediately so I can take readings while the reaction is happening.”

“Got it.”

The slump in Jim’s shoulders softens something in Leonard too. He stows away his righteous indignation - for now.

“Get some sleep, Jim. I’ll talk to Spock.”

Jim shakes his head, emphatic. “No. I need to do it myself.”

Not a turnip then. Maybe more like…a potato. At least Jim has eyes on the situation now.

Leonard takes some of Jim’s blood, takes his leave, and - of fucking course - runs right into Spock as soon as Jim’s door closes behind him.

He has half a mind to facetiously ask Spock if he’s taken on maintenance work now and is checking the bulkheads outside of the captain’s quarters for hull breaches, but everything about Spock is…droopy. Oh, he’s still all harsh angles and coiled muscle, but if Spock had whiskers or a tail then they’d be dragging on the ground. Seems fitting since Jim’s gone full wounded puppy and it’s likely the two of them are about to go at it like cats and -

Leonard’s eyes widen, the readings from his tricorder suddenly making sense.

“Wasn’t your last landing party with Jim on that planet with the emerald tigers?”

Spock inclines a brow. “That is...functionally correct. However, the Ji’ial call them klonukto, which in their language means -”

Leonard waves that away with a mumbled close enough and is halfway to the turbolift before Spock calls out, “May I ask if this is significant to the captain’s health, Doctor?”

Leonard stops, sighs, then turns around. Of course Spock is still concerned about Jim despite what he witnessed today - there isn’t anything logical about the way Spock feels about Jim.

“I think I may know what’s causing Jim’s reactions.”

“You believe it was initiated by our interaction with the Ji’ial.”

Sort of.

Maybe.

“It’s the strongest possibility right now,” he hedges. “I need to go run some tests.”

“I am gratified you have a new hypothesis to pursue.”

Instead of drooping, Spock…eases. That it’s a tangible shift says a whole hell of a lot - Spock is desperately relieved for Jim. Leonard’s guilt immediately takes over and, really? Why is he feeling guilty about Jim kissing someone else in order to make a Vulcan jealous? Not his monkeys, not his circus.

Of course, the words are tumbling out of his mouth before his I-don’t-give-a-shit kicks in. “If you’re going to see Jim, I don’t think you’re going to like what he has to say.”

“I am quite sure you are incorrect, Doctor.”

And, with that, Spock enters Jim’s quarters.

Leonard wants to smash his head against the bulkhead, but…whatever. Spock is gonna Spock and Jim is gonna Jim and never the twain shall meet.

“Not your monkeys, not your circus,” he reminds himself.

He has other mammals to think about.

---

Leonard stations his elbows on the lab table, drops his head into his hands, grips his hair in his fists, and pulls. If he’s also internally screaming, then, well, that’s his own business.

It’s not Ji’ial. Not Caitian.

He even requested a ship-wide scan to ensure they didn’t have a warm-blooded stowaway that accidentally got caught up in a transport beam or some ensign brought onboard to make the Enterprise more homey. No such luck.

Absolutely none of Jim’s readings make sense if there isn’t -

“Spock to Dr. McCoy.”

Leonard may just let a bit of that internal scream slip. He doesn’t have the patience for will-they-won’t-they drama right now.

He hits the comm button because, well, he always does. “What’s up, Spock?”

“You are needed in Jim’s quarters immediately.”

Leonard’s relatively sure that if Jim was on death’s doorstep then Spock would have some kind of inflection in his voice. The lack of it tells him Jim’s knee-deep in that mushy middle ground again.

“I’ll be right there.”

His hypos are locked and loaded when he steps into Jim’s room, all of them clattering to the deck when he takes in the plague-reminiscent tableau in front of him.

Spock stands - spine rebar straight - in a black robe, hands clasped behind his back. His hair is disheveled as if he just removed one of those pointy-nosed masks. He hovers next to Jim’s bed where the captain is laying naked, hives covering him head to feet, skin reddening and swelling. Even though Jim has the sheet draped over his delicate bits, Leonard is relatively sure that they continue all the way -

He winces. That’s gotta hurt.

Or, well, itch.

Or maybe both.

Yikes.

Spock tilts his head. “I believe your hypothesis that my biology is not causing Jim’s reactions is incorrect.”

Leonard’s tricorder drops to the deck too.

“Your what?!”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Jim says. “Whoa. You said you knew. That it was obvious.”

“Obviously it wasn’t!” He stabs a finger at Spock. “What does he mean his biology?”

“You said I was kissing a Vulcan!”

“Yes. The visiting Vulcan science officer!”

“What? Why would I be kissing a Vulcan who’s not Spock?”

“That’s what I wanted to know!”

“Doctor,” Spock cuts in. “I believe you may want to attend to Jim’s breathing before it becomes more labored.”

Shit.

Spock’s right. Jim’s still able to yell but that’s not gonna last long.

He scoops up his supplies and crosses the room. Jim sags into the bed when the first wave of anaphylaxis meds hit his bloodstream, his respiration begins to even out. Leonard grits his teeth and holds his silence until he’s sure that Jim is easing back from the precipice.

It’s in that quiet that it hits him. He groans. “It’s likely that Vulcans evolved from felines.”

“That is the predominate theory, Doctor.”

He glares up at Spock. “And it never occurred to you that Jim is allergic to cats?”

Spock inclines a brow and opens his mouth, but it’s Jim who speaks first. “Go easy on him, Bones - it’s my fault. He thought it was the most likely scenario and wanted me to tell you, but I was trying to be discreet.”

“When have you ever been discreet, Jim?”

Jim shrugs. “It’s Spock.”

Leonard supposes that explains it all.

Relationships mean something to Jim. They may mean even more to Vulcans. And, well, this relationship has all the hallmarks of “legendary” stamped across it.

Goddamn legendary idiots.

He pushes another hypo into Jim’s neck, sighs. “And there’s the cure for your allergy.”

“That’s it?!” Jim’s eyes widen. “Why didn’t you give me that years ago?”

“Not a lot of Terran cats around these parts, so it should’ve been an unnecessary shot. But I suppose this ones hybrid physiology was tailor-made to set you off.”

Jim smirks.

Spock clears his throat.

Leonard wants to die.

Since there’s zero chance of him gracefully exiting this conversation, Leonard decides…fuck it.

“Congratulations on the sex,” he says. Jim turns a magnificent shade of red, but at least this time Leonard knows that reaction doesn’t need a hypo. Spock looks like he’s in physical pain. Leonard is gleeful. “But really? No more of it for at least twenty-four hours.”

Jim’s Yes, Bones comes through the sheet that Jim’s dragged up his chest to hide behind.

Knowing full well that the timer is already ticking down, Leonard looks up at Spock. “If I don’t hear from you twenty-four hours and five minutes from now, then I’m going to assume the shot worked.”

Spock’s lip twitches. “Understood, Doctor.”

---

Twenty-four hours and thirty-seven minutes later, Leonard is just about to close his eyes and crash when his comm beeps.

He swears into the silence of his quarters then hits the button to play the audio message from Jim.

“Uh, Bones? Question that may or may not be related to…yesterday. Spock doesn’t make this sound when he’s in a healing trance, does he?”

Leonard’s adrenaline spikes. A healing trance? What the hell have they been doing that Jim would even think -

Then he hears it.

Spock is purring.

He thinks about Jim’s swollen eye, his hands and arms, his lips, his entire body covered in hives, then how Leonard’s still not entirely sure what actions caused those particular reactions, and…

Nope.

No way in hell.

Leonard flips his comm closed, turns over, and screams into his pillow. Those lovesick fools are just gonna have to figure out their differing biology on their own.

There is no way in hell he’s getting involved in that.

#spirk #spirk fanfiction #k/s #jim kirk #spock #bones mccoy #bones pov #no way in hell #my fic #fluff and crack #idk if i'll post this to ao3 #but yeah #i do prose and this #whatever this is #tos spirk #aos spirk #i'm not really sure which is more applicable #guess it could be either

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