Series: Moments in Time
Characters: Spock, McCoy, some Kirk
Word Count: 2700
Rating: K+
Warnings/Spoilers: Spoilers for Court Martial.
Summary: McCoy and Spock have a celebratory dinner on Starbase Eleven after the successful conclusion of Captain Kirk's court martial, and discuss what might have been.
A/N: Forgot how much I love this episode. It's definitely worth a rewatch, if you haven't seen it in a while.
To his complete and utter shock, Spock actually accepts his only half-serious invitation to beam back down to the 'Base for dinner and a drink, after the formalities are concluded and the captain has unaccountably disappeared with his prosecution, destination unknown.
Then again, it's kind of been a day for miracles, he thinks with a mental shrug as they materialize in Starbase Eleven's primary transporter relay station. It isn't the smoothest transport, and he makes a mental note to send Engineering a memo on the subject asap (and maybe sweet-talk Lieutenant Masters into coming to get them with a shuttle, because he really could do without that stomach-lurching pattern buffer on the return trip). With Scotty still on his way to rendezvous here with them at the 'Base, repairs are taking longer than they normally would under their Chief Engineer's expert direction.
Even Spock looks a little peaked after they step off the platform, though that could just be residual tension after this day from hell – two days from hell, because he's already seen from his med-scanners that their loyal First was up all night long running diagnostics on the Enterprise computers in a desperate attempt to find something, anything, wrong with them.
They blend well enough into the crowd of Starfleet uniforms, and are seated in short order on a small café's patio along an artificial pond, upon which swim what he can only guess are supposed to be robotic replicas of Terran swans. The whole thing is a little cheesy, and he rolls his eyes as he presses the button to open the menu, making sure there are several vegetarian options on it before they get too comfortable.
Spock gives the holographic photos and descriptions a perfunctory scan, unimpressed with the tri-D technology, and then his gaze wanders aimlessly, fingers steepled before him. McCoy glances up in time to see a look of unguarded weariness cross the thin features, and he frowns.
"Y'okay, Spock?" he asks, with genuine concern. Their First's illogical and obviously biased testimony today was basically the Vulcan equivalent of wearing an I heart Jim Kirk t-shirt; McCoy has more kindness (and sense) than to truly poke at him tonight.
Spock seems to come out of whatever thought-trance he is in with a small start, and immediately straightens in his chair. "Quite, doctor," he answers placidly, picking the menu back up and signaling for their server, a six-armed being of a species McCoy isn't entirely familiar with – possibly a hybrid of Fenchurian and something else.
They place their orders, oddly similar salads and, in the doctor's case, a locally-recommended alcoholic beverage, and then return to looking at the scenery around them.
"Y'know, Jim may still be in a sort of euphoric shock, but he's so grateful to you he probably just can't figure out how to say it," he ventures after a moment, fiddling with the ornately carved napkin ring. Its intricate silver carvings are oddly incongruous with the café's casual surroundings.
Spock flicks a glance at him, looking vaguely amused. "I was not concerned with such things, Doctor."
"Yeah, well. He can be an idiot sometimes, runnin' off like that without so much as a thank you," he mumbles, still a little annoyed.
Spock's lips twitch, and he can see the tension lessening slightly in the Vulcan's stiff posture. It's a rare honor, this being witness to just a little more relaxed, a little less full Vulcan, and he doesn't take it lightly, despite the fact that their interactions are legendary among the crew for their…verbal creativity.
"While your anger on my behalf is flattering, Doctor, I assure you it is unnecessary."
"That's as may be. Still…"
Spock's personal data-padd is pushed across the table's expanse toward him – and he sees a brief text-message from the captain on the screen. The scant few lines are obviously rushed, but at least the man had the decency to acknowledge his First's contributions before running off with his prosecuting attorney, old 'friend' or not.
"Hmph." He glances up as their drinks and salads arrive and thanks the server, who gives them a sharp-toothed smile and rushes off to another table, additional glasses remaining in two hands. "I still dunno how you managed to…what the – Spock, what's this?"
He has accidentally clicked the wrong button on the padd and now stares at an official-looking Starfleet document. Seeing exactly which form it is, his eyes widen and he holds up the padd in one hand, gesticulating wildly with the other.
Spock's eyebrow rises over top a forkful of vegetables, but he says nothing.
"Is this…?"
"Really, Doctor. Surely even your tenuous observational skills can draw the obvious conclusion."
He drops the padd back to the table, shaking his head, and picks up his drink with an unsteady hand. "Does Jim know about this?"
Spock looks mighty shifty, especially for him. "I…may have obliquely referenced the possibility."
"Meaning no, he doesn't really, but he overheard you tryin' to blackmail someone on the Board?"
Spock's ears turn a weird shade of jade, and he promptly fills his mouth with salad.
McCoy grins, shoving the padd back across the table, and returns to his own meal. "He would not be happy, Mr. Spock."
"His opinion was not a consideration, Doctor. Nor is yours."
"Don't you sass me, I'm on your side here. Pass the pepper, would you?"
Spock does so in stony silence, and for a moment he lets the proverbial dust settle. Then, venturing slowly back into the fray, he reaches across the table and pokes the bear – literally, with an unused spoon.
"Hey. I think you should tell him now, though – might make him feel better about the whole thing to know he had solidarity at least."
Spock spares him a withering look, and removes the spoon from his hand, depositing it out of reach on his own side of the table. Killjoy. "I see no reason to do so, Doctor. The matter is now moot."
"Uh-huh. Well don't look now, Spock, but apparently his date fizzled out, so you have to tell him something," he says, pointing over Spock's shoulder to where the man himself has just entered the café. Kirk is alone, and not in uniform – obviously, trying tonight to not attract the attention he has been gathering of late due to the media storm and the Starfleet rumor mill. Both of these will be in his favor now that the hearing has concluded, but neither will be any more welcome than before.
Like a homing beacon, however, the captain seems to zero in on the two of them despite not knowing they were previously in the café, for his eyes fall on them within seconds and his face lights up in hopeful question. McCoy gestures easily with his fork to the unused chair at their table – somehow, Fate seems to always guide them toward groupings of three, a fact he tries not to think about too much – and Kirk quickly winds his way through the crowd, ducking his head once or twice to avoid being recognized.
"Spock. Bones." The captain drops into the chair with a sigh of relief, tugging absently at the simple black tunic he is wearing: McCoy recognizes the Starfleet special ops uniform, void of any distinguishing insignia. "How's your evening going, gentlemen?"
"Fine, just fine," McCoy drawls, passing him an open menu-padd, which springs into colorful life at a retinal scan. "I take it yours, not quite so smoothly?"
Kirk's cheeks turn the color of the simulated sun, now setting on the 'Base horizon. "Ariel has a client meeting, we were just going for a walk. Not that kind of walk, Bones," he clarifies, swatting the physician good-naturedly. "I came back and you two were gone, so I figured I'd come down and have a non-reconstituted meal, then head back to the ship to try and sort out the paperwork from this mess, not to mention the backlog from the ion storm repairs. Lucky I found you. I haven't had a chance to thank you yet, Spock."
Spock looks up almost guiltily from his salad, glance darting briefly toward McCoy. "That is unnecessary, Captain."
"But it is, Spock. I was sunk, and we all know it. If you hadn't had that brainstorm with the chess programming…" Kirk's hands clench around the menu, and the tension lines around his eyes tighten. "I'd be packing my things right now, gentlemen."
"You wouldn't be the only one," McCoy mutters, not at all quietly, and yelps aloud when a heavy boot-toe makes direct contact with his shin under the table – the pointy-eared devil actually, honest-to-god just kicked him!
"Uh…everything all right, gentlemen?"
"Peachy," the doctor growls, glaring at the impassive figure across the table.
"Perfectly fine, Captain."
"…Oookay?"
They are prevented from further dialogue by their server, who returns to take Kirk's order, professionally unfazed by the late addition of a third to their party. After ordering a sandwich and coffee, the captain sits back in his chair with a poorly-concealed yawn.
"Did you sleep at all last night, Jim?"
"Not really," Kirk admits, rubbing his eyes. He ends up foregoing politeness and rests his chin in one hand, elbow on the table. "I was too busy trying to figure out what to do if they ended up finding me guilty. You, Spock?"
"I was otherwise engaged, sir." An innocent crunch of lettuce.
Kirk smiles briefly. "Of course you were."
"Y'think they really would have forced you to a ground posting?"
"That would have been the best case scenario," Kirk replies darkly.
"Indeed," Spock adds, eyebrow-frowning. "The worst of consequences could have included being completely stripped of rank and dismissed from the service entirely."
"Well aren't you a pointy-eared bundle of joy."
"I state facts, Doctor."
"Mm, I seem to recall you pretty clearly stating opinions, actually," McCoy replies with a touch of evil glee. "Facts were pretty damning, you didn't seem to care too much about them."
Spock's glare nearly peels the polyform finish off their table.
The captain hides his smile behind his hand. "Bones, play nice," he warns.
"Who, me?"
"Yes, you."
"Why, I'm an absolute joy to have around!" he sniffs, with put-upon dramatic flair. "Y'know you two would miss me something awful if they actually had booted you, Jim."
Kirk rolls his eyes, then pauses as the wording registers. Whoops. The captain's gaze narrows, and he turns to fix his First with a look that makes Spock shrink back just a fraction in his chair before he can fully abort the motion.
"Spock?"
"Yes, sir?"
"Don't play innocent with me, what is he talking about?"
"I am certain I have no idea, sir. The doctor is quite prone to the over-dramatic, as you well know."
McCoy snorts. "Please. Check your official outbox, Jim, his resignation letter to Starfleet's still drafted in there, effective immediately if they found you guilty today."
"Doctor!"
"What?"
"Is this true, Spock?"
"Is what, sir."
"You do not do the stupid act very well, Commander. If I open the Enterprise's outbox am I going to find a drafted resignation form from you?"
Spock shifts slightly in his chair. "The...more preferable scenario would be for you to simply not open the outbox at all, or at least not until much later this evening. Sir."
"Why in the name of all that's sensible would you do something like that!"
"Uh, Jim. How 'bout we wait until we're not in the middle of a public restaurant?"
"Stay out of this, Doctor. Spock?"
Flatware carefully placed on the table, Spock pushes his plate away and faces his angry captain with the bored-looking calm which always so infuriates McCoy when it's directed at him. On Jim, it usually serves to either cool his temper instantly or else push him straight over the edge to crash and burn.
"As I informed Doctor McCoy earlier, Captain: your approval was not a consideration in the decision."
Crash and burn it is. He winces, and tosses back the rest of his glass, signaling for another. Par for the course, after they get the crap scared out of them they go at it like a divorcing couple. There is not enough legal alcohol in this sector, to deal with this.
"The 'Fleet taking down one man's career would have been enough – why would you allow it to take out two of them? The Enterprise would have needed you!"
Spock's eyes flash briefly. "The Enterprise, needs her captain. That captain, is James T. Kirk and no other. Removing that variable would change all others in the equation."
Kirk runs a hand through his hair in a clear gesture of helplessness, ignoring the poor server who dodges the gesture to set down his drink and sandwich and then scurries away. "While the sentiment is appreciated, Mr. Spock, that is not a sufficient reason for such a rash decision."
"Sentiment, as you call it, has nothing to do with the decision, Captain. I have no desire to serve in an organization which would condemn an innocent man for an offense he is incapable of committing, supposed photographic evidence or not."
"And if that photographic evidence had been against any other man, Mr. Spock?" McCoy interjects shrewdly. "Would you have still been so certain?"
"Negative." Spock favors him with a look of tolerant disdain, a far more familiar dance now than the weird camaraderie they'd fallen into earlier. "I have found, Doctor, that there are certain incontrovertible truths in the universe. One, is as I testified earlier: the captain is incapable of panicking under crisis. Another, is that after a certain amount of time, I inevitably weary of your company."
Kirk inhales a lungful of fruit juice and begins coughing.
"Same to you, sunshine," he drawls, grinning across the table at Spock's ridiculously smug features. He toasts the Vulcan with his water glass, and gives their choking captain a firm thump on the back. "You gonna live, Jim?"
Kirk nods with a thumbs-up as he roughly clears his throat.
"Good. Now I don't wanna hear another word out of either of you about the ship or anything else for the rest of the meal," he warns, poking at a bizarre pink vegetable he doesn't recognize in his salad. "I get enough shop talk as it is aboard the Enterprise, don't need it down here along with y'all's drama."
His two superiors exchange a look which is one of those creepy conversations-without-words they like to have – but at least they're communicating again. Small victories.
"Why, exactly, did you agree to have dinner with him, again?"
Spock gives a longsuffering sigh. "Your species can engender compassion from even the least emotional of beings, Captain, by virtue of their unfortunate need for constant attention."
Kirk nods solemnly. "A most unfortunate shortcoming of the species, Mr. Spock."
"Indeed."
He blinks. "Hey!"
But they are already leaning toward each other, heads bent close and poring over some document on Spock's padd, discussing something in low tones, Spock occasionally sketching figures in the corner of the screen and crossing out others, shaking his head in response to an inquiry here and there. Ship repair status, he'd bet their next shore leave.
Well, he did say he didn't want to hear another word, so technically they're doing what the doctor ordered. He shakes his head with a small smile, and signals their server to bring him another drink; he isn't on duty again until the day after next.
And if they're both so engaged in their discussion they never notice him deleting not just one resignation notice from the draft outbox, but two – well. Neither ever really need to know, do they?