Author's Notes: Inspired by "Save Me" by Gotye. Okay, there seems to be at least one fanfic for this couple per author that involves dancing, so I wanted to be discrete with writing it. Empress Ael is from the Rihannsu series by Diane Duane. The Intrepid and Captain Suvuk are from My Enemy, My Ally, specifically, from the Rihannsu series. The Vulcan secession vote is from Spock's World by Diane Duane.

Time waited for no man, as the adage went.

As it stood, time seemed to be slipping away rather quickly. To Captain Kirk, it felt as if the Enterprise had just left dock, meanwhile it was already a month and a half of their remaining three.

Sitting with Spock and McCoy at a table in the Enterprise's recreational room, he tried to make time slow down. The crew was an interesting combination, bearing those of the younger, new stock of crewmates, and those old veterans of the first crew members who were on the original Enterprise.

The parties had been rowdy, when they did spark, with the energy from the Battle of Khitomer still rife within the ship. More so, however, there was the fact that it was all coming to an end for the Enterprise-A.

Fittingly, Kirk sought to return to the past, talking over old times. Spock at first found the occasion frivolous, but McCoy, the alcohol giving him a little more bravery, nudged Spock into an argument. Kirk smiled, watching them over his glass.

"The part of the five-year mission I found least believable was when you short-circuited two gynoids," McCoy commented with a sideways look at Spock. Shaking his head with mock pity, he commented, "It must have been hard for you to spout such illogical nonsense."

"It was not an act I relished, however it was for the good of the crew," Spock replied, "On the other hand, doctor, you seem to make a hobby of it."

"And you seem to have a hobby of studying it, over all this time," McCoy said evenly, "Who's the bigger fool there?"

Kirk held in a smirk. If Spock threw another line, he would step in as a mediator. Some things never did change, though he did prefer that the tone of the bickering had lost its bite, over time.

The argument paused as an ensign rose from a nearby table and made a beeline for Scotty and Uhura's table. The two were currently in the middle of their drinks. "This ought to be interesting," McCoy commented, nudging Kirk.

Giving a short salute to Uhura, who had raised her head at the approach, the ensign declared, "Lieutenant Uhura, on behalf of this crew, I request your singing abilities." The conversation died down, with several other ensigns turning to look at her.

Glancing about, she commented with a playful expression, "It seems less a request, and more an obligation, Ensign Cutler."

The ensign inclined his head. "Forgive me, Lieutenant, but the request was rather substantiated." A short rabble rose, calling out for Uhura to sing. Rather than keeping the troops in line, Chekov merely grinned, and raised his hand, as if indicating the crew wasn't calling out loudly enough.

Uhura waved her hand with a laugh. "All right, all right! Just for tonight!" Rising, she moved to an unoccupied table, and sat upon it.

Cheers rose, and chairs were pushed out. Scotty gestured about to signal someone on the crew to bring out a music instrument. Kirk smirked at Spock. "No lute tonight?"

"Unfortunately, Captain, I lack the ability to produce objects from thin air," Spock replied simply. Kirk grinned at that, while McCoy stifled a snort behind his hand.

A few string and woodwind alien objects were slowly produced. Chekov went over to Uhura and held up a hand to block his words as he spoke in her ear.

"Well, Peter Pan, it seems you've got a crew of Lost Boys," McCoy commented at the visual.

Uhura nodded, and Chekov grinned as she took his request. He made himself scarce, clearing the path for the crewmembers who were rising from their tables. With a kiss on her cheek, Scotty also departed. She began to sing a Russian folk song as the crewmembers began to congregate.

"Want to?" McCoy asked, nodding toward the floor, "It may be one of the last chances we'll get."

Spock glanced over to the dance floor. "Is that the reason you wish to do so?"

McCoy smiled, and shrugged. "Maybe I just want to show you off to the others. That acceptable by your standards?"

"Curious, you typically do not showboat," Spock commented.

"And you don't often feel the need to do so," McCoy pointed out, cognizant of Spock's anticipation. The Vulcan was already calculating dance moves that would be properly executed, whilst avoiding other dancers on the floor. He also took the fact that the doctor was slightly tipsy into account, seeing it as an added challenge to meet. Offering his hand, he said, "Just don't let me fall, darling."

Spock grasped it, his tight grip being his answer.

"Have fun," Kirk indicated with a wave.

Clapping and a few wolf whistles greeted them as McCoy led his mate to the floor. "Yeah, yeah, quit the fanfare. I don't see what's so entertaining about watching a couple of old codgers trying to dance."

Uhura grinned at them before taking another breath.

The dancing was somewhat clunky, and disjointed, partially due to McCoy's alcohol intake, combined with the healing injuries from Rura Penthe. Spock, however, was not annoyed by this, rather he was careful in guiding him about. McCoy's hand tightened upon his shoulder, and Spock allowed his sentiments to transmit to his mate through their bond. McCoy gave a slight smile at them.

Younger couples swung by, their movements more elaborate. Spock kept McCoy away from the quicker paced movements. McCoy smirked up at him, knowing that his husband was liking the role of protector. Spock was somewhat deliberate, moving them away from the center of the dance floor, and the dancers that were cutting in. McCoy figured, however, that if any one out of the two of them was to be cut, it would likely be himself, given how his age had tarnished his appearance.

"That is untrue, doctor," Spock nudged in a slightly tired voice. He found his mate's self-deprecation, especially over his physical features, illogical. He had aged well, in Spock's opinion, and regardless, the opinions of others did not matter. While he, at times, was concerned for how thin his mate was becoming, he felt that the doctor had a sense of elegance to his frame. Had they been dancing in private, Spock would have allowed his mate to rest his head against his shoulder as they swayed.

"Right," McCoy replied sarcastically, given the irony of Spock trying to reassure him on that point.

Glancing away from Spock, he saw Kirk raising a glass at them.

"You saved my life, and Jim's," McCoy commented quietly.

"You both saved mine," he replied.

McCoy smiled, and allowed himself to be caught in the moment as Spock guided him out into a short spin. Catching him, Spock drew him back in, and held him close against a stumble step.

"Sorry," he muttered, with a chuckle.

"It does not have to be perfect," Spock reassured.

McCoy glanced about, and Spock inquired, "Who are you looking for?"

"Oh, just my husband. I must say I like this imitation of him," McCoy joked. He grinned as he felt Spock's amusement.

Uhura continued to sing as the dancers moved over the floor.

Kirk drained was left of his glass and rose to get another from the replicator. Chekov and Scotty were also on the dance floor at this point, Scotty playfully allowing an Andorian woman to guide him along, and Chekov dancing with an Efrosian man.

Kirk's smile slowly fell, as if he felt removed from the scene. The world seemed to be moving on without him, and a melancholy fell over him. He chided himself. His crew had earned this peace, as did he. The universe remained large, with more to seek for future generations.

And yet, he it felt as if his own book was closing. He pushed it all back and took another sip. There would always be another ship. Lowering the glass to the table, he wondered when he would stop lying to himself.

XXXXXX

The lights were low in Spock's quarters, the happenings of the recreational area far off. The ship hummed and moaned, while stars shone in the distance.

McCoy sat on Spock's bed, his uniform jacket unbuttoned. The wine he had taken with him from the room sat on a nearby table. Bracing his hands on the bed to regain his equilibrium, he slowly cracked his neck. Spock stood a short distance from him and took a sip from his glass. The doctor grinned at him before glancing over at his own drink. The grin slowly slipped, and he asked, "You sure you don't want me to go with you to Vulcan?"

"You wish to continue your medical research, don't you?" Spock inquired.

"Yes, but I can do that just as well on Vulcan. Besides," he folded his arms, "I think I've done enough gallivanting around space. I'm getting too old for this."

"You have said that more than once, in the past," Spock pointed out, placing his own drink beside McCoy's before walking over to join him on his bed, "Yet the medical field continues to interest you."

"I would have given it up, if you wanted me to," McCoy replied quietly, "I could do a private practice like my old man did."

"Your work is important to you, as are your grandchildren."

McCoy rolled his eyes before correcting him. "Our grandchildren."

"They hardly know me. Nevertheless, I am not good with children," he pointed out.

"You're good with the cadets," McCoy argued.

"They are not children. They are young people," he corrected, "I was raised as a Vulcan. I would not be able to give them the time and attention that a human child would need."

McCoy frowned at that. "You certainly seem to give me that attention."

Spock held up a hand. "But you are grown. You understand. They are young, still. It would not seem fair to them."

"All right, I guess I'll take that excuse, then, since you're so adamant about it," McCoy allowed. His unhappiness, however, continued to filter through the bond.

Spock attempted to quash another illogical line of thought that his mate was broadcasting. "This was never about you."

"Yet, I could speak when half of Vulcan was considering seceding from the Federation," McCoy pushed, leaning forward, "Why not about this?"

"That matter concerned the Federation itself. This concerns Vulcan and Romulus. It is an issue of race," Spock clarified.

At McCoy's less than convinced expression, Spock continued, "You remember what became of the Intrepid, in the incident involving Empress Ael, those many years ago." McCoy nodded, deciding that Spock, most likely, was referring to the torture the vessel's crew, and especially Captain Suvuk, had endured.

Before Spock could continue his point, however, McCoy stopped him. "You mean well when you say that, Spock, but don't underestimate me."

Spock, after a pause, slowly inclined his head. "That was out of line."

"Forget it," he dismissed curtly.

Reaching out, Spock gently pressed against McCoy's chest. The doctor allowed him to push him gently down, resting against the pillow. McCoy raised a hand and ran his fingers over the wrinkles on Spock's face. "Anything else?"

Spock placed his hand over his, stopping his motion. "This undertaking would not be conducted on fully ethical grounds. I do not wish to make you go against the oath you uphold as a doctor."

McCoy was silent, his eyes slowly widening. He placed his other hand against the surface of the bed, as if to push himself to sit up. Spock covered his hand with his own and held it fast. Finding his voice again, the doctor questioned, "I thought ethics were important to Vulcans."

Spock raised an eyebrow. "I am not fully Vulcan."

McCoy's hand on Spock's face wobbled, and Spock allowed him to drop it back to the surface of the bed. Bending his knee, Leonard commented in a bitter tone, "You only acknowledge your human half when it suits you. Seems like you haven't learned anything."

"Leonard, enough," Spock stopped him in a firm tone, "I do not wish to fight on this. You have belabored the point over the years. If," his hand rested on McCoy's knee, "I took such a low view of humanity, I would not have married you." McCoy said nothing, and Spock bent forward to kiss his mate's knee.

"So, what, then, martyr yourself again?" Leonard muttered disapprovingly.

"I would prefer for that not to happen," Spock replied.

"Oh good, glad we can agree on that," he replied cynically. Spock raised his hand off McCoy's, allowing the doctor to turn his own hand over, and catch Spock's to squeeze fiercely.

Spock slowly let go and raised his hand to his husband's psi-points. McCoy closed his eyes and sighed. He felt sadness and regret fall over him, as well as a profound sense of loneliness. It was not the same personal loneliness he had felt, when he first bonded with Spock, but of a greater sense. McCoy slowly realized that it was the agony felt by Vulcan society itself, telepathically passed, one to another. The there was such misery over lost family, and anguish over how different Romulan society was from Vulcan to the point of a near lack of compatibility. He felt compelled, for a moment, to fall into the sorrow of the millions that he had not known, but Spock tugged him backward from it.

Spock lowered his hand from McCoy's psi-points and wiped away the tears that had fallen from the doctor's eyes with his thumb. McCoy breathed heavily to steady himself. He'd felt a shade of this sadness, years before, on Sahndara. Before being forced to sit and watch his crewmates humiliate themselves in a sick parody of a play, he had been subjected to his own personal torture. Brought to his knees by Parmen's telepathy, his arms were dragged, like a puppet's on strings upward, his hands clasped behind his head while Philana tugged as hard as she could at McCoy's bond with Spock. Dionyd and Eraclitus had pointed and laughed at the doctor while he tried to appeal to the better part of the married couple's natures.

Philana had ultimately stopped with a shrug before completely fraying the bond. Turning to glance at Parmen, she explained, "I am not having fun. He is too easy."

"Ah, my dear," he replied with a slight smile, "I must rectify that for you. Will the performance be sufficient, today?"

"What?" McCoy managed to gasp out.

Ignoring him, Philana replied, "I will be the judge of that."

Parmen shoved McCoy back. He landed, sprawled on the floor, with a cry. "Doctor do clean yourself up. You will be serving us, after all."

McCoy, humiliated, gritted his teeth. "Never."

With an annoyed sigh, Parmen dragged him to his feet. "Come, then. It's almost time for the show."

Philana and the others departed, with her giving a passing comment to Parmen, "We must do something about his behavior, if he is to stay with us."

"Agreed, my dear," he replied, glancing back at McCoy, "It would not be a difficult venture."

McCoy felt the cold fingers of fear on his back at that, but found he was powerless to do anything as Parmen forced him to walk after his entourage.

The night after escaping the Platonians, Spock had crushed McCoy to himself, possessively holding him on his lap as he repaired the sheer damage their bond had sustained. McCoy found it difficult to breathe, given the strength with which Spock was holding him, but found he didn't much care. He instead soothed and helped his mate untangle the bundle of emotions that the Platonians had wrapped him in.

For a moment, a violent thought had flickered through the bond, regarding Parmen and Philana, and McCoy was quick to stop it. "No, none of that. It's over."

Spock's embraced had loosened, and a pair of dark eyes had glanced up in a nervous expression at him, as if he had been caught in a compromising position. McCoy kissed his forehead. Spock lowered his face, hugging McCoy more gently as he buried his face in the doctor's shoulder. McCoy counted himself lucky that Spock disciplined himself so thoroughly.

But that was a mere shadow of the sheer loneliness that the Vulcans felt, their bonds ruptured and torn for thousands of years. The voices had fallen silent or spoke past each other. He realized why it meant so much to Spock, a child of two worlds, but a resident of neither, for the Vulcans and Romulans to speak to one another again. And furthermore, he realized why, unless Spock gave him permission, he could speak to no one about this, not even Jim.

Leonard reached up, gripped the back of Spock's head, and pulled him down for a kiss. Spock rose slightly and wrapped one leg about his mate's. The kisses slowly deepened, their tongues playing with each other. Spock drew out, moving the back of his wrist across his mouth, and allowing McCoy free movement of his hands.

Brushing gray hair away from his forehead, Leonard asked, "You think you can live with it?"

Spock said nothing, and a quiet pause followed as he glanced down. Finally, he replied, "I will have much time to think on this, in training to become an ambassador."

"Okay," McCoy replied carefully, feeling Spock mentally grappling with himself, "but if you do want to step back from it, my door's always open."

Visibly swallowing, Spock commented, "When I made the Captain forget about Rayna's death, you threatened to leave me."

McCoy felt the considerable hurt, years old now, aching again within Spock. Reaching out, he grasped his hands. "Because that was different. It was Jim. And to be point blank with you, as I was before, you had no right to alter his memory without his consent. This is different. I don't fully understand it, so it isn't my place to speak on it." Squeezing his hands, he added, "Whether you like it or not, you're stuck with me."

Spock's eyes flicked to their hands, and he took in a breath. Slowly, a warm smile formed on his face.

"That being said," McCoy continued, in an attempt to change the subject, "I'd better not hear that you were chasing tail on Vulcan!"

Rather than responding to his humor, he replied, "I would not think of it. Regardless, we have a month and a half remaining. It is not logical, to allow for the future to overshadow the present."

McCoy grinned, letting go of one hand to fasten his arm around his husband's shoulder, and draw him in. "Well, then, let's make the most of it."