Leonard McCoy does not often participate in the various activities offered to crewmen in the ship's seven recreation rooms, three gymnasiums, and that blasted bowling alley no one except the botany boys ever remember exists. For one thing, the lower decks tend to be more at ease when their highest-ranking officers are not lurking in the room somewhere; and for another, he just flat does not have the time, most of the time.

Even when there's no one requiring his immediate services in Sickbay, there is still a never-ending mountain of work to do, both Medical and Medico-Scientific. So when he does tend to have a few hours at a time to kill, he'd prefer to spend them in a quieter setting than watching a table-tennis tournament or playing poker.

It's no fun playing the latter, anyway, with a human who could bluff his way in and out of a Klingon wedding-dance and a Vulcan who unintentionally counts cards and does not comprehend why the rest of the table does not do the same, as it is the logical and most efficient way to win. McCoy is about 90% certain Jim cheats on occasion too, or else Spock just lets the captain win because he's a sucker like that.

(Needless to say, the rest of the crew hate playing with them, too.)

He's aware that Rec Room Three seems to be the one the two idiots in question seem to frequent most of the time, likely because it is closest to the Science decks, typically several degrees warmer than the rest due to its proximity to Engineering, and supplied with a reliable food/beverage replicator and a mighty fancy, swooping Tri-D chessboard, somehow requisitioned halfway through their first year out because the starry-eyed young fools in Ship's Stores can't tell the captain no.

Tonight, said captain does not appear to have arrived yet, but Spock is there already, setting up the board in question.

"Of course y'all have to hang around in the rec room that's furthest from Sickbay," he grumbles, slouching into the chair opposite the First Officer and setting three data-padds down with a dull thud.

Spock raises an eyebrow, unruffled. "I was unaware we were supposed to be taking your proximity into consideration when choosing a location for the evening, Doctor. You have said on more than one occasion that watching a chess game is not dissimilar to 'watching paint dry'."

McCoy snorts. "Well, it is. Especially the way you two play."

He picks up a white knight and idly examines it, then replaces it, leaving it slightly off-center in the starting square because he knows it annoys Spock, and Spock will think it's too human to be annoyed by it, so he'll just sit there itching to move it back until Jim arrives and chaos ensues anyway.

The doctor takes his entertainment where he can get it, in weeks like this one.

"When you've got a minute, though, I need you to sign off on these," he says, indicating the pile of padds with a commiserating grimace. Spock pauses in setting up the chess pieces, and picks up the first padd, scrolling through it with inhuman rapidity.

"We're well over the monthly limit for some of the medical supplies, so the req needs you or Jim's signature," he adds by way of explanation. "And I need a temporary loan from Sciences for beta-shift in Experimental Micro-Bio, next week. Adams is taking a couple mental health days, but that leaves me short at the tail end of the month. Unless you want to delay the non-humanoid choriomeningitis vaccination simulations for two weeks, we can do that instead."

"That should not be necessary," Spock replies, flicking rapidly through the rest and scrawling his initials in the appropriate locations. "I would suggest Lieutenant Marstead as the most qualified choice, but feel free to transfer whoever you wish."

"Well, that was easy enough." For once, he does not add aloud. He takes the padds back with a nod of thanks.

Spock returns to setting up the game, and when finished with black, turns the board so that those pieces are facing McCoy.

"Giving yourself an advantage?" the doctor asks, genuinely curious.

"Negative. The captain insists upon always playing black, as apparently that means he wins fair and square, on the rare occasion that outcome does occur."

"Sounds about right." He grins. "I'm surprised he's not tryin' to convince you that fizzbin would be a good alternative to poker, tonight."

Amusement flickers across the Vulcan's expression. "I would be sincerely impressed, Doctor, if he could remember the game's rules well enough to do so. And I use the term game in its most generous meaning."

McCoy snorts, leaning easily back in the chair. Spock sets the last white rook in place, moves a pawn into an opening gambit, and then mirrors his position, occasionally glancing at the door in a probably unconscious search for their tardy commanding officer.

"He did have a little too much fun on that Iotia mission, didn't he. It still surprises me that he wasn't a theater kid, the man does love himself a costume."

"I believe Starfleet Command shares your first opinion at least, Doctor."

"They're not givin' him trouble about my missing comm, are they?"

"Not to my knowledge. The contamination was already present, and the Iotian society had stagnated in their industrial age. Some degree of accelerated technical progress was to be expected, and it is not as if we left them a phaser rifle or other easily weaponized power source."

Voices rise suddenly at the other end of the room, and the doctor casts a quick look that direction to make sure it's nothing more than friendly competition. This does seem to be the case, several people cheering on a tabletop basketball tournament, so he glances back across their small corner table.

"But you do have serious reservations about the way we redirected the contamination."

"Negative, Doctor. I believe the captain's solution, while certainly unorthodox, was the only sensible course of action within the constraints of an already-discarded Prime Directive that would not have resulted in escalating violence and bloodshed, or at the least, continued stagnation. I have reservations about the viability of calling it That Gangster Planet, as Ensign Chekov suggested, but none about the solutions implemented for the society's continued survival."

McCoy's gaze narrows across the small table. "That's not what you said yesterday."

"No, it is not." Spock merely raises an eyebrow in a minute shrug.

"So why did…no. Really?" He leans forward with one hand on the table, disbelieving smile spreading across his face. "You're yanking his chain as revenge for making you dress up and run around playing cops and mobsters down there, aren't you."

"Really, Doctor."

"That's not a no," he points out, still grinning.

The Vulcan's lips twitch suspiciously. "I did not say it was."

"Spock, he's been pouting about your precious disapproval for over a day now, that's awful!" His laughter is cut off by the entrance of the man in question, and he hastily schools his expression, hiding a final grin in one of the data-padds.

"Sorry, sorry, I got held up in Engineering. Bones! Did you come to get in on a game?" The captain greets him cheerfully, moving to pull up an additional chair but stopping when McCoy waves him off.

"I'm leaving in just a minute. I have exactly zero interest in a piece of this action, Jim," he drawls, gesturing at the board with the hand not holding his padds.

"Don't remind me," Kirk mutters, and shoves a black knight into the fray with the same petulant energy. "Your move, Spock. If you approve of my opening gambit, of course."

Spock silently moves the white pawn down a tier with a look of complete innocence.

Kirk hrmph of annoyance is lost in the hubbub of the busy room and a decisive thwack as he plops a black bishop down literally in the middle of Spock's primary playing field.

"The Dorovan gambit's a little aggressive for you to open with, isn't it Jim?" McCoy remarks absently, scrolling down the padd to send the requisition forms now rather than waiting for tomorrow morning's packet. Knowing this ship, he'll need those additional hypospray cartridges sooner rather than later…

Dead silence alerts him to the fact that both of his COs are staring at him like a couple of primary-colored gargoyles.

"What?"

"Doctor, I was unaware you were so well-versed in the game," Spock initially ventures, with typical diplomatic tact.

"He means why on earth did we not know this until now?" Kirk demands, with typical lack of said tact.

"Because y'all never asked if I wanted to play," the doctor retorts. "Only if I wanted to watch."

Spock looks genuinely shocked, and Jim genuinely upset, at the realization, which wasn't really his intention.

"And frankly, I would rather do a C-section on a pregnant Gorn than sit here and watch you two look at each other through the board while you drag a ten-minute game out for two hours," he adds pointedly. "Nobody likes a third wheel, Jim."

He can see a crimson flush creeping up under the captain's collar, and Spock no longer looks shocked, only annoyed.

That's better.

"Bones." The captain shifts slightly in his chair, glances across the table and receives a small nod, and then back again. "You're completely right. I'm sorry, that was…insulting, to say the least."

"Not really offended, Jim, because the game's not my cup of tea. But apology accepted."

Kirk smiles at him, warm and sunny. "And you are not a third wheel, Bones."

"Mm, well, from what I hear you do seem to be the expert on wheeled vehicles, aren't you Jim."

The captain's attention skates across the polished second tier in an icy glare, to which Spock demurely moves his queen back one space.

"Are you still complaining about that?"

"About what, sir."

"My driving skills!"

"In his defense, Jim, he had to explain for the medical log last night why he was asking for motion sickness remedies on a Constitution-class starship."

Kirk's expression turns from annoyed to worried. "Three hours after the fact? It was that bad?"

"Yes," Spock says, dead-pan.

"I do not understand how it could be that much harder than flying a shuttlecraft," Kirk mutters, somewhat gracelessly. McCoy blinks in slight confusion as the captain literally picks up a black piece without looking at it and drops it on the bottom tier, seemingly completely at random.

Spock's bishop patiently takes the poor lonely rook. "Check. Mate in twelve."

A black knight lands beside the white bishop, blocking the check.

Spock raises an eyebrow, but takes the knight as well. "Check again. Mate in four."

"You sure about that?"

"Negative, but reasonably confident."

Kirk chuckles, but leans back in a more relaxed position. "Bones, seriously, pull that chair over. What would you do with this mess?"

"I'd flip the board and turn my attention to a glass of bourbon in my office," he says dryly.

Kirk's lips twitch. "Well…that is certainly an option."

"It is an option if you wish to forfeit, sir."

"I don't need this smug tone from you, mister. How good is that bourbon, Bones?"

"Mighty fine stuff, Jim. And I'm willing to share." McCoy leans over and castles the remaining black rook from the top tier, blocking the white king up against his own pieces clustered on the bottom. Jim's eyes widen, and he sits up straight in the chair.

Spock raises an eyebrow at the board, clearly too impressed to be annoyed. "Fascinating."

"You gonna drag that out two more moves, Spock, or concede now? I got things to do."