Love never dies a natural death. It dies because we don't know how to replenish its source. It dies of blindness and errors and betrayals. It dies of illness and wounds; it dies of weariness, of witherings, of tarnishings.

~ Anais Nin

Love Never Dies a Natural Death

The thing that really irked Jim about the entire situation, of course, was the fact that he had perfect 20/20 hindsight.

No, really, he did.

He could look back at each step that led to this clusterfuck and see with perfect clarity the mistakes that had fucked up his relationship with Spock once and for all, completely destroying any hope that they had of a friendship, let alone something more permanent. It hurt more than he'd expected, like it was a constant open wound that he was plagued with, and each time he revisited the memories it was as though a metaphorical scab was being was once again being torn open.

He wished he could lay the blame solely at Spock's feet. He wished he could blame each and every mistake on Spock and punish him for making Jim like him. He wanted to be able to curse the half-Vulcan with his entire spirit, wanted to be able to hate him in peace, wanted to be able to torture Spock without guilt. He wanted nothing more than to be an unreasonable five year old and give in to his foolish desire to make Spock hurt as much as he himself did in retribution for all the pain that Spock had caused him.

But things are never that easy.

After all, if he was going to be truthful (and Jim liked to think that he was, as a general rule), matters were too convoluted by this point to be successfully straightened out. They were both at fault, for letting angry words and misunderstandings and small, stupid, petty little mistakes disrupt what they had- whatever it was they had.

And perhaps that was another problem, in and of itself, Jim realized. He didn't know when it all started. Well, that wasn't completely true. It had started on Delta Vega really, with that mind meld with Spock the First, or so Jim always privately thought of him, his own Spock being Spock Junior in his most obnoxious moments. On Delta Vega, that mind meld had been like an awakening, to see that steadfast and absolute love lingering underneath every syllable that was spoken into the air between them. Jim had never craved anything so badly in his life since Pike had said to him that he could be out there, in the stars, exploring simply for the sake of seeing what was out there.

That had probably been the first mistake, Jim thought. He'd wanted to be a part of something like that so badly that he'd worked to change the angry tension that had swirled between him and Spock and turned it into sexual tension, charging it with touches and insinuations and inappropriate looks. He knew how to connect with people sexually, even if they thought they disliked him, because he knew how to make them happy, or at least make their bodies happy- and come on, orgasm is a great stress reducer. Spock had responded with the predictable hate-sex encounter, and next thing Jim knew, they were fucking every moment of their spare time, marking each others' bodies with the words they'd never dared to say, the emotions they couldn't let themselves feel.

Was that when everything had spiraled out of control? Was that when they'd begun throwing barbed words and furious glances at one another? No, not yet. They'd been too caught up in themselves in a sense to even realize the other existed at times.

Jim had thought, hoped, wished, perhaps, that there was something more to it than that, but looking back now, it was just a bunch of really great sex. Really great sex. Jim supposed he'd let that blind him to the fact that he had entered into the relationship with his First with the notion that somehow, somewhere, the feelings of the Ambassador would spontaneously appear in his Spock. He treated Spock the way the elder half-Vulcan had been treated by his Jim Kirk, as though Jim truly understood who Spock was in this new, alternate universe. He acted as if the way to treat the one- a man who was comfortable in his own skin, who had lived a lifetime and had seen more than any one person had a right to- was the same was to treat the other- a man who had lost his mother and his world within the span of five minutes and who was still raw with the wounds. And while the sex had relieved tensions between them, sex wasn't a surefire- or even particularly reliable- way to lay the foundations between two people, something that both Jim and Spock hadn't made an effort to remedy, assuming they realized it at all. When Jim looked back now, they hadn't ever discussed their likes or dislikes, hadn't sat down to ask about what their interests were, hadn't comforted each other when the anniversary for Vulcan's loss had passed. They were nothing more than willing vessels for one another. So they took, and took and took all they could.

And they gave nothing back.

They did nothing to nurture the relationship between them, nothing to foster the love that Jim had started out so obsessed with.

So things fell apart.

Jim supposed that it seemed inevitable then, that the next thing Jim knew he and Spock were at each other's throats, Jim screaming accusations while Spock just turned icier and icier until it felt like frost should be coming off his skin, not fire.

And now…Jim strode to the small porthole that served as his window out into the stars. Captain's privilege, he'd thought it once, but not it just another thing keeping him on this ship. He loved the Enterprise, of course, don't get him wrong, it was just…not the same. He'd withdrawn somehow lately, not only from the burgeoning friendships he'd started with Chekov and Sulu and Scotty, but from Bones, too. He felt trapped here, unable to escape.

And wasn't that a ridiculous idea. A captain, sick of being on a starship. He'd hadn't thought it possible, and then he managed to fuck everything in his personal life up before an entire year had passed. Jim leaned forward, head knocking gently against the reinforced glass of the window. He needed to get out of here, now, before rehashing events once more sent him to an early grave. Well- an earlier one, at any rate.

"But the thing of it is," Jim ranted despite his best intentions as he downed another sip of the bourbon that Bones had poured for him, "The damndest thing of all is that I tried to make it work! I tried, I really did. And what does he do, the asshole? He blows me off. He blows me off, Bones! I tell you, what am I supposed to do with that?" Jim threw his hands up into the air.

Bones opened his mouth and then shut it again. It was on the tip of his tongue to tell Jim that enough was enough, that he didn't want to hear it, that he could practically recite the speech by heart himself. He took a sip of his liquor to keep the words from escaping and throwing Jim off the proverbial emotional cliff. It wasn't his place to say anything, not now, not when he could still hear the raw anguish in Jim's voice that made Bones feel like a little of his heart was breaking along with Jim's, for all he'd believed that Jocelyn had successfully torn it to pieces and but the remains through a blender. Apparently he still had the ability to feel emotional agony- just what he wanted.

The rawness in Jim's voice hit a little too close to home. He could remember thinking these same words. He'd wanted it to work, he really had, and Joce had blown him off, especially towards the end.

"Bones?" Jim asked. He'd caught that faraway look in Bones eye, and mentally went over his speech, wincing when he realized how it must have sounded. Abashed, Jim knew that there was a red flush spreading high over his cheekbones. He didn't have the right to complain to Bones about unsupportive partners, he thought, not when Spock has simply pulled away cleanly, when he knew Bones's ex had put him through hell and high water before ripping everything out from under his feet. "Look, Bones, we can stop this. It's been two months. I should just give it up, shouldn't I?" The last bit sounded suspiciously like a quavering question.

Bones swallowed another mouthful of bourbon to keep himself from saying anything foolish. In a way, he felt that he was the only one that Jim would let comfort him. Jim had been there at the beginning too- he'd gotten on that shuttle for the Academy a mere week after his divorce had been finalized, and everything that had occurred for the last year had still been a tangible wound on his psyche.

Before he could get a single word out, however, Jim collapsed on the bed, arms resting over his eyes. "I don't know what to do anymore. But Bones- I don't think I can deal with another four years of this, with Spock acting as if no one but Uhura exists. He nearly snapped at Chekov, for God's sake. Chekov, who is about as harmless as a puppy. I thought the kid was going to start crying right there on the bridge and beg Spock's forgiveness all over again. And I can't say anything, because I'm sure the cold-hearted bastard will just write it off to me being an illogical human and…" Jim trailed off, a hitching little breath that Bones had heard perhaps a handful of times in his life, most recently when Jim had come to him with the news that he and Spock were done.

Bones sighed, sitting down his glass and coming over to the bed, his heart going out to his friend. He wanted to say something caustic, something that Jim could laugh of as being a "Bonesian thing to say", but nothing came to mind. So he just rested a warm hand on Jim's forearm, feeling it tremble ever so slightly under his hand.

Jim listened to Bones take another sip of bourbon, and thought of his own cup that was sitting on the table, but he was a captain now, and he couldn't get drunk off his ass when he had alpha shift in the morning. He'd been doing the 'responsible captain' thing for a year now, and he found he liked it a lot more than the inappropriate jackass that had spoken to Pike so long ago. He breathed deeply for a moment, trying to quash his urge to cry, even if Bones couldn't actually see his face.

When he'd gotten himself under control, he exhaled one long, slow breath. Jim was thankful for Bones's silence. He didn't think that he could have dealt with so much as a single unkind word at that moment, too exposed by everything that had happened. "Does it get better, Bones?" he asked, and he hated his voice for cracking in the middle of the query.

He heard Bones inhale once, quick and sharp as a knife, and it was answer enough.

"Of course, kid," Bones said, and Jim couldn't hate him for the lie.

Sometimes, Spock had spectacularly bad timing.

It was so spectacularly bad that Jim wondered if he practiced, if he lurked around corners just so he could step out at the single most inopportune moment possible. As it was, Jim didn't think things could be any worse, since he was leaving his CMO's quarters at 05:43 in the morning, disheveled and most definitely still in yesterday's uniform.

"Captain," Spock acknowledged him with a brief and glacial nod. Something flickered in his eyes, too quickly for Jim to be able to figure out what it was. Without another word, Spock continued on his way, careful to keep plenty of distance between him and Jim.

If you want to get over him so badly, Jim thought bleakly as the events of the last year swirled through his mind, why did you just wish he'd touch you right then?

The thought cut like a knife.

Spock liked to imagine that he was simply keeping the proper distance between himself and his Captain- the proper Vulcan distance, where emotions weren't involved, where the distance didn't burn like a brand to the skin. Even as he passed the Captain, the startled look that the other man had worn when he'd realized that Spock had seen him leaving Doctor McCoy's quarters was like a physical blow, and Spock hated that even now Captain Kirk had such an effect on him. He'd tried so many times to purge the other man from his system, but nothing had worked. Even now Kirk had the ability to squirm under his skin with a look, a glance, a half-smile that inexplicably warmed Spock even as his mind warned against it, reminding him of each and every transgression that Kirk had committed against him.

He slowed and then stopped as he turned the corner, having to go so far as physically clutch at the wall to prevent himself from turning back. Their relationship now was everything Spock could have dreamed, professionally speaking. Kirk was calm and courteous to him, respecting his opinion, even if more often than not it was still overruled by Kirk's illogical leaps of brilliance that nonetheless always seemed to work out exactly as the man desired.

Outside of their shifts, however, it was as though Spock didn't exist. No, that wasn't precisely true. It was more that he was a persona non grata as far as his Captain was concerned. Kirk's gaze would slide over him strangely whenever they met outside of the professional realm, as though there was a Spock-shaped hole there that was beneath Kirk's notice.

It hurt.

That very fact made every inch of Spock rebel. The side of him that the rest of his mind considered 'human' whispered that if Kirk was going to ignore him, well two could play at that game. Spock didn't have to acknowledge J-Kirk's existence either, didn't have to look at him outside of work if he didn't desire to. He was Vulcan; it was how they were supposed to behave anyways, calm and still as stone, their emotions deep within their centers and so firmly secured that there could be no possibility of their escaping. So if his ignoring Kirk happened to look like proper Vulcan behavior, that voice whispered traitorously, then it is twice advantageous, and you should use every tool at your disposal to distance yourself from him as he has distanced himself from you.

So Spock did.

And it worked, even, for a short while.

Spock had never wished that it would be possible for him to somehow shut his brain off, to just stop thinking for five seconds. He'd never before regretted being able to process things with such speed or accuracy before. Kirk had a way of turning things that Spock had previously seen as good things on their head. After all, it was surely Kirk's fault that Spock couldn't stop thinking about what had transpired between them, for all he had assured himself that he would move past it and continue to ignore his Captain outside of their shifts.

Oddly, the things that stuck to Spock most profoundly were the physical things, more than the words that were said, especially in the last hellish month. With skin against skin, there were no lies, no accusations, no guilt to build between them. There was only the cool press of Jim's mouth against his shoulder, the shudder of his body when Spock scraped his teeth over a nipple that was already taut, the comparative coolness of Jim around him. In those pure and crystalline moments, Spock could find brief respite from being Vulcan, yes, but also from being Human. There was just skin on skin until the sublime rush of pleasure left Spock sated and warm.

But whatever had been between Kirk and Spock had been more than just those moments of skin on skin, more than the slow and intimate press of bodies against one another. Spock hadn't known how to reach out to Kirk, hadn't known what he wanted, what he was thinking, what he was feeling. Spock was afraid to know, and that was in its own right a wedge between them. Spock didn't dare reach out, caught between Vulcan and Human instincts, and the war between them had left him at a complete loss for words. And perhaps he hadn't wanted to reach out in the first place, not truly. Perhaps if he'd really wanted to make something more of whatever had been between them, he could have found a way to resolve the issue, to force his two halves to come to a consensus that every iota of his body, mind, and soul could agree with.

He never knew what Kirk wanted from him. Sex was simpler, in a sense, was easier, because there wasn't time for second guesses and worries and pain and fears to crop up and result in Spock and Kirk doing battle yet again over stupid, selfish, ridiculous little subjects that had been hashed and rehashed and really didn't need to be addressed for a ninth time. Spock had known it, Kirk had known it, and still they'd fought until it was just easier to kiss their fury away than actually speak about it.

Even as Spock hated it, he'd cherished it.

He wondered, sometimes, if even now he truly hated Kirk beneath the ironclad will of his Vulcan heritage that told him that hate was an emotion and thus something to be dismissed. If he didn't…Spock shook his head, unable to get beyond that point. Instead, he wondered what it would be like to just talk, to just sit in companionable silence as he had seen his mother and father do too many nights for him to count during his childhood. He wandered what it would be like to take simple pleasure from the knowledge that Jim's body was next to his as they slept, or that Jim would smile at him just because he could, just because Spock was pleasing to him in a way that Jim had not yet experienced.

Then Spock dismissed his thoughts as being outright foolish. Instead, he tried to believe that it had been best for them both that Spock had pulled away at the end, ignoring Jim- no, Kirk's- pleas that they could make this work, they just needed to take a step back and look at things with a fresh perspective. He tried to make himself believe that it had been because the Enterprise could not go on, not with the Captain and First Officer at each other's throats more often than not over the simplest and silliest of imagined offenses.

Besides, that voice whispered in the back of his mind, all that really matters is that you got out before you were hurt any more.

Nyota lost count of the beat as she realized that, yet again, Spock had stopped playing in the middle of a song. She finished holding out the last note, letting it reverberate in the air before turning to Spock, gently lifting his hands away from his harp. He started a little at the touch, but Nyota was careful to touch only the area covered by the Starfleet uniform. She drew the harp away from his lap and pulled it into her own.

The very fact that Spock did not protest was troubling in and of itself; beyond his initial surprise at the fact that she was taking the instrument out of his lap, he had not said so much as a word in his defense, had not said so much as a word about why he was so distracted, though she could take a guess. Nyota hesitated for a moment, and then let out a long slow breath. She began her improvised instrumental opening to Beyond Antares, the love song that her father had once used to woo her mother, and, making her voice as rich as cream and twice as smooth, she began to sing, watching carefully for Spock's reactions.

He simply closed his eyes, patiently listening to her, something about his jaw easing as he let the music flow over him. It had been he that had taught her to play the Vulcan lyre. It was how they'd met, as a matter of fact; Spock had been persuaded to accompany the Academy choir for their holiday festival, for which Nyota had been singing a solo piece. They'd practiced privately, and when she had expressed an interest in learning how to play for herself, he'd gladly taught it to her, and the memory of the everlasting patience he'd displayed as he taught her warmed her even now.

She stopped playing towards the end, finishing the last verse a cappella, letting her voice fill her room with sweet notes and soft words. Once she finished she stood, and told Spock the same thing that he had once told her when he had taught her: "If you are going to play, play. Your must invest the whole of your concentration on the sound, on making sure each note has perfect tone." Nyota smiled a little, making sure that when he looked at her, he didn't see her sorrow or regret or worry for what he was going through.

Instead, she began the process of putting the lyre away in its case, carefully making sure that neither the body not the strings of the instrument were in any way damaged. It was not, perhaps, the most impressive of Vulcan harps, though it was of fine quality, but the instrument had been a gift from Spock's mother, and that was reason enough to treat it as though it was the most precious thing in Nyota's life, if only for a few moments.

Spock stirred then, as he watched her put the instrument away. "You are right, Nyota. I should not have come here to play if I could not dedicate myself to it." His hands, held limply in his lap, clenched hard, and his jaw worked for a few seconds.

"You're here now, though," Nyota commented, and she pulled her chair forward so she was seated next to him, just out of range for her to be able to touch him easily. Though Nyota itched to hug him, to kiss his forehead and to soothe his troubled brow, it wasn't her place to touch him like that anymore. Or rather- Spock would only accept such touches from someone he was in a relationship with, as per Vulcan custom. With their current status as friends, and because of her relationship with him in the past, she didn't feel as comfortable touching him, Vulcan or not. "Would you like to talk to me about anything?"

Spock swallowed, once, and Nyota edged forward in her chair, wondering what could have put her friend so on edge that he would show a visible sign of his nervousness, slight though it was. "Perhaps it is not my place," Spock began, "And it is possible that you may not feel comfortable discussing the subject, but at what moment did you realize that you and I could be friends once more?"

Nyota looked away then, the memory of the one time she'd caught Spock and Kirk kissing flaring up in her mind. It seemed that it was the worst kept secret sometimes, though Nyota knew that in reality, it was probably only Kirk and Spock's friends that realized what had gone on between them. Nyota thought for a moment and then said, "For me, it was when I realized that I missed the little things, like these practices we have together. There came a time when spending time with you, getting to know you again was worth more than staying away from you. That's when I knew I would be able to be your friend."

And then it was time for the lines that Nyota had so carefully drawn between them to be damned, and she drew Spock into the briefest of hugs, still careful not to press their bodies too close together or to touch too much skin.

Spock didn't lean into the touch, but that was alright. For now, it was just enough that he hadn't pulled out of Nyota's loose embrace.

Spock wished sometimes that Kirk didn't draw so much attention to himself. Perhaps it wasn't fair, but the man was truly charismatic, truly alight with laughter and love despite the angry, despondent man that Spock had glimpsed when they were both still at the Academy. Spock told himself that it was his duty to pay attention to the Captain, because it was only by looking that he would be able to ascertain if there were any issues that the Captain was suffering from; it was a First's duty to ensure not only the mental and physical wellbeing of his Captain, but also the emotional.

But there was a part of Spock that just liked to see Jim smile.

"Keep the drinks coming."

"I think that's the first time I've ever heard that phrase come out of your mouth. I wonder how many languages you can say it in."

"Keep it up, smartass, as long as the drinks are coming too." Uhura put her forehead down on the table and sighed heavily, dark hair falling over her face and hiding her expression. McCoy perused his drinks for a moment, and then set a neat vodka before Uhura.

She drained it in a single movement, though she made a little face at the taste. "Another," she commanded, past the point of caring what was going to get her drunk, so long as she was drunk.

McCoy held back. "I reserve the right to cut off anyone using my alcohol," he warned, and the set of his brows informed Uhura quite clearly that it was non-negotiable. "And I also reserve the right to question anyone using my alcohol to get drunk about their motives."

Though the first statement barely made Uhura twitch, the second made let out a tiny little sigh that nonetheless informed the entire world exactly how displeased she was with the current state of affairs. McCoy had to approve; it sounded delicate, but packed a wallop in very little space, much like the Communications Officer herself.

"Come on," McCoy cajoled, "Spill, or you're not getting another."

"Make it a Cardassian Sunrise, and you'll get my life's story."

"It may require some improvisation."

"You lived with Kirk for three years and have been a doctor for ten. I think you can handle a little improvisation."

"Far be it for me to doubt my own skills at mixing drinks, but you haven't suddenly gone crazy, by any chance, have you? I've never seen you like this before, Uhura, and Jim put you through your paces on the mild-annoyance-to-get-the-fuck-out-of-my-face-before-I-take-you-down scale. What's going on?"

Uhura lifted her head to sip at the Cardassian Sunrise, which McCoy was relieved to see. It was one thing to down a single shot, but a Cardassian Sunrise had the equivalent of four shots in it, a mix of Cardassian seval liquor, seltzer water and raspberry flavoring, which would sink to the bottom to create a deep blue to deep pink shading scheme that McCoy wouldn't touch in a million years, but was a favorite of every woman he'd ever met. In his opinion, it was one step above a Cosmopolitan, but if knowing how to mix one made the female contingent of the ship less likely to kill him when they eventually overthrew male-dominated command team and took over the ship, well, all the better. For Uhura's drink, he'd substituted the raspberry syrup with strawberry, and the seltzer water with plain water, but Uhura didn't seem too displeased, so he counted it as a win.

"Uhura?" McCoy prompted when he got no response.

Uhura sighed as if steeling herself, took an enormous swallow of the drink that had McCoy practically lifting his eyebrows off of his face, and faced McCoy properly for the first time since she'd come into his rooms. "Can we lock them in a room? Please? It won't be for that long, really, it won't, but if they continue this ridiculous half-assed dance, I may be forced to commit a crime which I'll regret later."

McCoy's smile shrank with each word that came out of her mouth. Still he attempted some levity as he said, "I'd rather just fire the pair of them out an airlock without suits."

He hadn't been fast enough to hide what he'd been thinking, however, before Uhura had gotten a glimpse of his true feelings. "You don't agree with me?" Uhura said with a frown, focusing on McCoy and setting her drink down. She tucked a piece of hair behind her ears, pinning him with that dark gaze. "Come on, Doctor, surely you can see that there's something wrong with all of the dancing around they've been doing with each other. If they were normal exes, they would've switched shifts, they'd be arguing a lot more, they'd be…I don't know, exes. They don't even speak to each other outside of shift, though I know they think we- or at least the crew- haven't realized it yet. Whatever they're going through, it's not a breakup."

McCoy sighed. "Listen, Uhura, I've probably gone through more than my fair share of breakups. Some are worse than others. Before my marriage, I dated a doctor that I was interning with. We broke up during that summer, and while it was messy, she and I acted the same way. We got along together during working hours, and avoided each other like the plague everywhere else. Not everyone has a huge argument every time they see their ex."

Uhura's frown deepened. "No, but this is Kirk and Spock. Professional or not, neither of the are the type to just keep things as tense and awkward as they are now. I've known Kirk for four years now, and Spock for five, and I think that I would know a little bit about how they break up by now- after all, I've seen Kirk end it a variety of ways with a variety of species, and Spock…well." Uhura gave a self-depreciating smile. "That one I learned the hard way. If this was just a fling, like I'm sure Kirk's been telling you- and, well, Spock hasn't exactly said much, but the fact that he's been phenomenally close-lipped, even to me, says something in and of itself, though you might not believe me- then they wouldn't be going over and over the situation. I've seen how Kirk operates. He's a live and let live sort of guy when it comes to casual little things. This is something more."

McCoy's instincts were to argue, to proclaim that there was no way that Kirk was still interested in Spock, but the situation spoke for itself. McCoy had thought the same damn thing as Uhura more than once. "So?" he finally settled on saying gruffly. Then he sobered, leaning forward and making sure Uhura met his eyes. "So they might be interested in each other. I'm not going to get dragged into some matchmaking scheme, Uhura, and if I find out that you're planning one, I'm going to tell Jim and Spock exactly what's going on. Matchmaking is the one thing I will not stand for. A person on the outside can never see everything that's going on. Advice, nudging, sure, I'll do that, but I ain't going to do anything that might force them together."

"Why are you so set against it?" Uhura complained after a moment of hard staring. She'd glanced away first, which McCoy took as a victory, though he promised himself he'd keep a closer eye on her in the coming weeks to make sure that she didn't do something sneaky.

"Because my ex and I were set up on a blind date by my best friend. It was that same friend that I caught Joce sleeping with about three years later."

Uhura looked away at that, crimson blush rising in her cheeks and staining them dark enough to be seen even through the rich cocoa color of her skin. McCoy found himself oddly attracted to it, and then put the thought out of his head as ridiculous.

"I'm sorry," Uhura whispered, heart going out to the doctor who seemed to be able to save everyone but himself. If it was one thing that she hated, it was people who cheated in relationships. It had never happened to her personally, but she'd seen the effect it had on others, on her best friend in particular, and made it damn clear from day one to any prospective boyfriends what they could and could not do.

"It's not your fault," McCoy returned with a wave of his hand. "It happened before I even knew you."

"I'm sorry all the same."

"You don't have to be, really, look-" McCoy heaved a sigh. "Uhura-"

"Nyota."

"What?"

"If you're hard of hearing, doctor-"

"Len."

That startled a chuckle out of Uhura. "Fair enough. No matchmaking, I promise. But I reserve the right to nudge them in a positive direction."

"Duly noted."

"I noticed you didn't say what you thought of Kirk and Spock." Uhura said after several long moments of silence where she sipped placidly at her Cardassian Sunrise. "That whole conversation, and you barely mentioned what you feel about the entire matter."

McCoy, who had been nursing two finger's worth of whiskey, nearly choked. A flush rose in the doctor's own cheeks, the deep scarlet red covering his whole face. "W-what?"

"Are we going to play this game again, Len?" Uhura teased, but there was a hint of steel in her voice. "Come on, for the entire year, more or less, you've kept completely silent about what you thought of this relationship-gone-FUBAR. You're the most opinionated person on this ship, so don't give me any nonsense about you not particularly caring either way."

The doctor was silent, for one, five, then nearly ten minutes. Uhura was starting to sweat, worrying that she'd well and truly offended him. They'd been casual acquaintances throughout the Academy, since Kirk insisted on following her around every so often, and McCoy had always been around to reign in the worst of the advances, sending her apologetic looks for every minute of his attention she'd had to endure. Uhura was just thankful that McCoy was around to keep the irritation to a minimum; no force on Earth could stop Jim Kirk when he had his mind set to something, so she was happy enough with just the tempering force of McCoy present. They'd grown closer on the ship, especially after her break-up with Spock, when she hadn't known many others, and none of them well enough to pour out her troubles over a tumbler of something strong. Somehow, they'd just clicked, or so Uhura had thought; they had the same dry sense of humor, the same talent for sarcasm and wit (though it was mostly McCoy that chose to take advantage of the former), even the same stubbornness when they were dead set against something. This though- perhaps this was crossing a line into something that shouldn't be touched.

"I'm sorry," Uhura finally apologized. "You don't have to answer that. I just thought…" words failed her, and she stared at the dregs of her drink. "It's probably best if we just blame it on the alcohol, and let me get out of here before I say anything more embarrassing."

"They hurt you."

Uhura stopped dead in her tracks, collapsing back into her chair, face carefully blank. "What do you mean?"

"Now, I'm not making excuses for Jim, and don't think I am. I just happen to know that his childhood wasn't exactly conducive to making him understand the needs of people other than himself. When he went after Spock to start this great-friendship-come-epic-fuck, he wasn't thinking of what it would do to you, I guarantee it. Sure, I can see that they might be great for each other- if they got their heads out of their asses first, and stopped trying to go from mortal enemies to soul mates in the span of twenty four hours- but I don't know if I can really condone it. You're the kind of ex-girlfriend any man would kill for. You're supportive, you're sweet, you seemed to have moved on past your previous relationship and you're clearly not hung up over Spock. But neither Jim- or Spock, for that matter- have never been deeply emotionally invested in their relationships the way I, and I daresay, you, are. You got hurt real bad through all this, but still you manage to keep going, smiling and laughing and singing with Spock as if there's nothing wrong. Hell, you're even supporting this crazy venture to get Spock and Jim back together after the pair of them pretty neatly ripped out your heart-" McCoy cut himself off, closing his eyes when he saw Uhura start to cry.

"No, look, I'm sorry, I was the one out of line," he began, but Uhura shook her head once, firmly.

"Thank you," Nyota whispered. "I…that's the first time anyone has said something like that." Tears continued to fall down her face, but she met McCoy's eyes squarely. "I…I guess that because there was nothing I could do about it, I figured it was best to just live and let live." Her voice trembled as she said, "But it did hurt!" and the pain in her voice was like a razorblade against McCoy's skin. He itched to hug her, but Uhura wasn't done yet. "But I still love Spock, even if I'm not in love with him, and I want him to be happy. I'd guess you feel the same about Kirk."

"You'd've guessed right."

Uhura nodded. "Then, someday, when they finally do see what's right in front of them, we get to help them become the happy couple, tell them we told them so, and then we reap the favors they'll owe us for the rest of our lives."

"You're just gonna make it that simple?"

A thousand answers leapt to Uhura's lips, but as she looked McCoy over, the one that escaped was, "Yeah, Len, I'm going to make it that simple."

McCoy just smiled at her again, that soft, open smile that made her insides melt a little, and raised his glass to her. "Well then, Nyota, I guess that makes you a wiser person than me."

Uhura laughed, and it was a free sound. Holding up her own empty glass, she said, "I'll drink to that."

TBC