Disclaimer: I have officially purchased the rights from Paramount! MWAHAHAH—What do you mean my check bounced?! Fine, so I don't own them, but one day they will be mine!!!
A/N: The story here is written by Traycon3. However, Fishey Me has already drawn a comic of it, which is the basis for my story. It's also sort of a sequel to "Shoes", my other one-shot, but you don't have to have read it to understand this story.
Though it'd be nice if you did. And reviewed both my stories. Please?
Fine. I'll get on with the story. (Sighs) No one likes me.
Closet Beatles Fan
With that hair, in a show produced in the 60's, how could Spock not be a closet Beatles fan:D—FisheyMe
Part 1:
The ten-year-old Spock walked along with his mother, wondering why "on earth" he was forced to come along with her to…shop. He hated shopping. It was so boring, mostly because he always seemed to be stuck in a dressing room trying on clothes just to please her. It wasn't logical. He didn't quite know why, but his father always refused to go shopping, so obviously it must be most illogical.
Nodding to himself, he glanced in a window, wondering if he could find anything to distract his human mother from the clothes. He was about to give up when something caught his eye. It was a brightly colored large wooden box; it was playing strange, but interesting music. Spock tugged on his mother's shirt.
"Mother, what is that music?"
Amanda smiled at her young son. "That's the Beatles, Spock," she told him. "My great-grandfather was a huge fan of them."
"Fascinating," Spock replied, smiling. He quickly hid it, though, since it wasn't "logical".
"I can show you some of the records he had, Spock." She paused and thought about it, "In fact, my father transferred some of the records he had to the computer, if you want to hear more."
"That would be…acceptable."
"You sound more and more like your father every day." Spock smiled inwardly as he walked off with his mother, humming the song the jukebox had been playing.
Part 2:
Spock stood at the controls, attempting to ignore the doctor. "C'mon on Spock, whadda ya want?"
Perhaps if I ignore him, he will quit bothering me, the Vulcan hoped, knowing it wouldn't work.
"You've gotta want somethin' for your birthday, Spock."
Spock did not bother looking up from his controls when he spoke. "Vulcans do not celebrate the date of their birth." He did not admit that he had celebrated it until after his sixteenth birthday, when the other Vulcans had scolded him for enjoying his newest recording of "Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds"—a known birthday present from his mother—, saying it wasn't logical to sing and dance along. He sighed inwardly as the doctor walked off—thankful he had given up on his approach.
But the human was determined to get Spock something.
McCoy walked off, feeling as if he had accomplished nothing. Argh…this is so frustrating. I want to show that damn Vulcan that I don't hate him. But what should I get him then? As the doors of the turbo lift closed, a smile spread across his face.
"Lady Amanda, how are you?" McCoy inquired politely. The woman on the screen smiled at the doctor who had saved her husband's life. McCoy smiled back, thankful that he had finally managed to reach the Ambassador's wife through the Vulcan embassy after two hours of trying, arguing, and nearly begging.
"Dr. McCoy, what can I do for you?"
The doctor told her of his dilemma, and as she offered a suggestion, a grin spread across his face. He tried not to laugh, mostly because he hadn't expected Spock liked that sort of thing.
"Thanks so much, Lady Amanda!" He turned off the consol and started down the hall…
Spock blinked at the purple bow thrust under his nose. He had been walking down the hall, attempting to avoid everyone's gaze. Had Jim not heard him when the Vulcan clearly said he did not want the crew knowing about his birthday? He blinked at the doctor, taking the large, flat, square package from him and looking down. "What is…?" His voice trailed off as he lifted the bow from the package and read the title Abbey Road. It was a genuine old-fashioned record and it was in excellent condition. McCoy was glad he had remembered that his uncle had odd knick-knacks up in his attic, some dating back to the mid-twentieth century. In the Vulcan's elation at receiving one of the few records which had eluded him, he grabbed the human and leaned in to kiss McCoy on the mouth, but stopped himself just in time and though he could not stop his momentum, instead he aimed for the doctor's left cheek. He quickly pulled away and after an awkward moment of silence, the Vulcan finally said, "Ahem…I am…sorry about that, Doctor. I…thank you for my present."
"It's…uh…no problem Spock. Erm…Happy Birthday," McCoy replied, looking flushed himself. It would be fodder for many arguments in the years to come…
Part 3:
McCoy rolled out of bed as the pre-set alarm went off. Spock was already out of bed, as expected. The retired doctor sat up and pulled on his brown cowboy boots, not bothering to change from his pajamas—aka his boxers.
Walking into the kitchen, he heard a familiar music fill the air. He smiled to himself, watching Spock half-sing along with the song "Come Together" by the Beatles.
"I will never understand you, Spock," McCoy said, taking a seat by the Vulcan at the table. The retired doctor pulled his left foot across his right knee.
"Nor I you," Spock replied, noting with mild amusement that the doctor still wore the brown boots. McCoy rolled his blue eyes up to the ceiling for a moment and then drew the Vulcan's chin up to him with a finger, turning up the music with his unoccupied hand.
"Come on. I'm cold and need a bit of…warming up." He slid his hand into Spock's and led him into the bedroom…
"Come together, right now…Over me."
A/N: Hm…what are they going to do? I'll never tell…
Anyway, unlike my co-writer's pic, Spock kissed McCoy on the cheek, not the ear. XP
On a more serious note, check out Fisheyme's website, which can be found on our profile. It has all Fisheyme's comics. All comics and pictures are rated G and the standard disclaimers apply. Tootles!