McCoy hadn't really dated since the divorce.
Which was two years ago.
Jim had tried setting him up several times but they never worked out. All the girls and guys were lovely but they were never… right. At McCoy's age, he wanted a serious relationship and he couldn't have one with someone who had separate political views, or a habit he didn't like, or had nothing in common with him. After one divorce, he didn't want to "make things work" any longer. He didn't want to make compromises or ignore anything when there could be someone else who was, in essence, perfect for him.
Jim called him crazy. McCoy claimed it was practical enough.
When Friday night came, and McCoy was expecting to go out drinking with Jim, there was a sudden change of plans.
"Give him a chance, Bones! You'll love Spock!"
McCoy didn't want to give anymore of Jim's friends a chance but the whining persisted and he had to agree.
That Saturday, he couldn't wait to pry Spock's phone number away from Jim.
Jim watched excitedly as McCoy paced from the table to the counter and back again. He was practically burning a hole in Jim's kitchen floor. Finally, after McCoy gripped the back of his hair tightly for a long minute, he walked back to the table with a blush forming on his cheeks and a goodbye exiting his mouth.
"Think he's the one?" Jim teased.
McCoy hung up his phone, a smile resting faintly on his lips. Jim, realizing he had not been heard, smacked him lightly on the arm.
"What?" McCoy asked, the well-known scowl finding its home again on his face.
"You have a date, Bones! An actual date!" Jim cooed.
"Yeah, and I don't want you to be involved in it in anyway."
"What?" Jim raised a hand to his heart. "Bones, I'm hurt. You and Spock are both my friends and I just want you two to be happy together."
"You're the only person that is comfortable third wheeling."
"I just like looking out for my friends."
"Well, you're staying away Saturday night. I'm not sure if I'm going to be at the hospital or not."
"You know," Jim said, leaning forward in his chair. "I think you want to be called in this weekend."
"What do you mean?"
"You're nervous. It's been a while since you've been on a date and you really like Spock… you're getting cold feet."
"I am not. I'm worried about my patients. If they need me -"
"What are the chances they'll need you for two specific hours on Saturday night?"
"It's happened before."
"Really?"
"Yes! Now shut up about this!"
Jim smirked victoriously, feeling as though he had won a battle for no particular reason.
Spock scrutinized over his appearance. He stood in front of his mirror, staring distastefully at the extra weight on his hips. His hips were his biggest concern. They were cumbersome and thick and made him pear-shaped. All of the weight he gained always went there first and never came back off.
The time caught his attention and Spock quickly got dressed, pulling a thick sweater on over his shirt. He sat patiently on his sofa, caught in the suspense of his book. When he heard a rough knock on the door right as the protagonist was in the middle of her monologue, he jumped straight to his feet. The book laid forgotten on the couch.
Spock remembered to be calm, erasing the enthusiasm present on his face. He opened the door. The excitement inside him vanished.
Jim smiled apologetically.
"Bones is sorry."
Spock looked down. "I am sure he is."
"There was an emergency at the hospital," Jim explained. "But he bought you this."
Jim held up a bottle of wine, smiling as it seemed to peaked Spock's interest.
"What kind is it?"
"Um… red*."
Spock raised an eyebrow. "You may have it."
Jim shrugged. Honestly, McCoy was in such a rush to get to the hospital, he didn't even have time to call Spock, let alone buy a bottle of wine. He pushed Jim out of his apartment and told him to pass the message on to Spock. Jim owed McCoy 40 dollars from a few weeks ago and figured the bottle would make up for the debt.
Spock turned around, headed back to the sofa. Jim followed him in. He sat down next to Spock and pulled the cork off the bottle.
"Do you require a glass?" Spock asked.
"No," Jim said, taking a swig straight from the bottle. "He really is sorry, though."
"I do not doubt you." Spock opened his book.
Jim watched him curl up almost defensively.
"Are you alright?"
"Why would I not be?" The way Spock said it sounded clipped and he did not look up. It reminded Jim of getting in trouble with his mother when he was younger - well, and now, too. Passive-aggression always hit the hardest.
"'Cause your date cancelled your plans and didn't even call you himself."
"Doctor McCoy is very busy. He made it clear that there was no guarantee for tonight."
"Still could have called you," Jim mumbled, bringing the bottle back up to his lips.
Spock tried returning his attention back to his book. He could hear the swishing of wine in the bottle and Jim's insistent tapping on the arm of the couch. How one man could be so annoying and yet attract so many people into a friendship, Spock never knew.
Even ignoring Jim did not help him focus on the book, though. Thoughts and questions of self-hatred ran through his mind. One right after the other. He knew that McCoy really had been busy that night and the excuse was legitimate. However, another part of Spock believed it all to be a lie. Perhaps he really did not like Spock. Perhaps he found him repulsive and promised him the date only out of pity before ultimately deciding that there was no way he could go through with spending the evening with him.
Spock attempted to push those thoughts down and focus on the page he had been staring at for 20 minutes. Jim continued tapping and the wine continued swishing.
"Ok," Jim said after half an hour. "But are you really alright?"
"Jim, I have already said I have no reason not to be."
"No, no." Spock held back a sigh. Jim was already on his way to becoming drunk. "Are you alright? Like… alright alright?"
"I fail to understand."
"Just in general - if something were wrong, would you tell me?"
Jim's eyes were pleading. The blue seemed to leak sorrow and pity. Spock was stunned, feeling his heart drop.
"Yes."
"Give me your word."
"I give you my word."
"Good."
Spock watched him for a minute more, growing uncomfortable the longer Jim sat there. "I will call you a cab," he offered.
"I can do it," Jim said, setting the wine down on the endtable. "Enjoy your night."
Spock waited to hear footsteps descending the stairs in the apartment's hallway before rushing to the bathroom. He rummaged through his cabinets until he found the hidden laxatives in the very back, holding deceitful promise.
*Red wine slows the metabolism and is believed to be more fattening.