The title of this chapter is inspired by/taken from Édith Piaf's 1960 song "Non, je ne regrette rien", which translates to "No, I do not regret anything".

The days in the rear were slipping away steadily. One day, they were participating in a friendly football match with some French soldiers that were passing through, having not a care in the world for some precious minutes even though Pavel was terribly put out that he could not join, and the activity earned Spock a bruised knee and Thomas Cooper a bloody nose. Another day, they were notified that they would return to the front soon, and suddenly, all their illusions of peace and their feeble hopes of never having to pick up arms again were blown away and replaced by anticipation and dread.

Still, they tried to make the best of it. The whole group of them spent the eve of their departure in the inn's public room, playing cards, drinking, and telling stories. In short, doing anything to forget the horror they had lived through and the uncertainty of their future for one last precious evening, clinging onto this fragile present.

It was well into the evening that none other than Joséphine incited a tournament of arm wrestling by declaring that the soldier who won would get the last slice of apple pie. It would have been all too easy to just hand it to Franklin as a personal favour, but she seemed to enjoy the spectacle—as did everyone else.

As the soldiers rallied around a table, Spock stayed aside, preferring to wait at the bar rather than join the frolicking. From afar, he watched how McCoy got beaten by Pavel Chekov who continued to win against Elliot Baker and against some other soldier from another section, Bertie by name, judging from the cheers of his friends. After that, Pavel lost against Eli who then lost against yet another soldier from another section who eventually lost against Franklin after thoroughly defeating half the platoon.

At some point, Spock lost interest in the proceedings, having quickly calculated that based on all the facts available, Henry Forester was the most likely winner. But as everyone else at the bar, Marie-Claire and Joséphine that is, seemed fixated on the tournament, he continued to watch as well, even though he was not keeping track anymore but let his attention wander.

At some point, Chris emerged from the throng and joined them, shaking her head in defeat. "I should have known that was no contest," she chuckled, rubbing her hand.

"Against whom did you lose?" Spock asked.

"Thomas Cooper."

"Sure he didn't cheat?" Marie-Claire smirked. "Paul told me some interesting stories about him."

Spock shook his head. "He would not need to, in order to win against Chris."

Christine rolled her eyes. "You have such a high opinion of me."

He raised an eyebrow. "It has nothing to do with my opinion of you. It is a fact that his physical prowess exceeds yours, making your victory unlikely."

"Why don't you try your hand at it, Jack?" Joséphine asked.

Spock pursed his lips. "I am uninterested in exerting energy for a fruitless endeavour such as arm-wrestling."

"Well, technically, it is a very fruitful endeavour. There's an apple pie in it for you, after all." Joséphine grinned widely. "Afraid you'll lose?"

"By no means. I simply find this activity highly illogical."

"You know what I think, Jack Grayson?" He tilted his head, and she answered with an impish smile. "You need to socialise more." Before he could intervene, she had turned to the throng of soldiers in the middle of the room and called out, "Hey, boys! Show Jack the ropes, will you?"

Henry Forester, who had just won against Thomas Cooper and remained the last one standing, true to Spock's estimation, grinned over at them. "Sure. What about it, Jack? Up for the challenge?"

Spock pursed his lips, doing his best to ignore Chris's glee at his sudden misfortune. "I do not think this would be a fair contest."

Henry's smile grew only wider. "Afraid you'll lose, Lance Corporal?"

"Come on," Thomas Cooper added, "you can't let this cocky ne'er-do-well win."

Spock sighed and slowly walked over to the table, taking a seat opposite Henry.

"All right, this is how it works," he began, brushing his dirty-blonde hair out of his eyes, "You put your elbow on the table, like this, and then take my hand."

"I am familiar," Spock said curtly and grasped Henry's hand.

"Oh?" Henry grinned again, his grey eyes sparkling with mirth. "Then I don't need to go easy on you."
Spock raised an eyebrow as they began the arm wrestling. "On the contrary." Henry was the most muscular of all the soldiers. But none of them knew that Spock had three times the strength of an average human.

Henry did his best, pushing against Spock's hand with all his might, cheered on by about half of the soldiers huddled around them. Spock, meanwhile, cheered on by the other half, with the loudest voice being Thomas Cooper's, held against Henry's hand in the middle, immovable as stone, not a quiver passing through his arm. The same could not be said for Henry, who was struggling visibly.

"Agree to a draw, and we will share the pie," Spock said.

Henry shook his head. "Oh no, that's not how I play." The grin still hadn't left his face, though he had acquired a flushing red colour, and the sweat was pooling on his forehead. "Come on," he gasped, "is that all you've got?"

Spock raised an eyebrow, and in place of an answer, increased his efforts and pushed his hand down onto the tabletop in one smooth motion. To Henry's credit, the ease with which Spock had defeated him was only due to his inhuman strength. And if the prime directive had not been in place, Spock could have told him that he had needed still more effort than he would have with most other humans.

But Henry did not seem to be put out about this sudden defeat at all but erupted into cheers simultaneously with the other soldiers. "Not bad," he exclaimed, "for looking like a string bean!" And to Spock's shock, he stood up, bent down and hugged him hard.

Soon enough, he found himself in the middle of the soldiers, the promised pie thrust into his hand. He tried to refuse again, more out of concern due to the sucrose it undoubtedly contained that was known to render Vulcans inebriated, but he was so strongly encouraged that he found no way around it.

Though the group of soldiers had quickly dispersed after the arm wrestling, most of what was left of Jim's section still rallied around him. McCoy, Chris, and Pavel, who until shortly before had mingled with the soldiers, seemed to have left him to his fate and were nowhere to be seen. Instead, he was flanked by Thomas Cooper and Eli Jones, Henry Forester having resumed his seat opposite, together with Elliot.

When he had finished the piece of pie, Eli slammed a tumbler of whisky on the table and pushed a glass, filled to the brim towards him.

"Do you think this wise?" Spock asked.

"Not at all," Eli returned. "But you deserve to misbehave."

Spock raised his eyebrow. "Lieutenant Thompson would say otherwise. I imagine he would not look too kindly on further transgressions."
"Further transgressions?" Henry's eyes narrowed. "What'd you do?"

Spock sighed, and seeing as all his comrades' eyes were fixed on him, took a sip of whisky and told them about his hearing loss and his short conflict with Thompson that had resulted from it.

But much to his chagrin, telling this story had an unintended effect, as he immediately became somewhat of an antihero for the younger soldiers when they discovered he had actively withheld the information on his partial hearing loss from his superior officer.

"And you managed to keep something like that to yourself?" Elliot asked, wide-eyed. "How?"

"Trying to outdo Thomas's insolence, are you?" Henry said, with the others—who were well aware of Cooper's rebellious nature—and Thomas himself joining him in laughter.

"I am not sure that you are aware of the severity of my offence," Spock said.
"Oh, we are." Thomas Cooper clapped him on the back and laughed. "It's bordering on insubordination. I'm proud of you."

Spock opened his mouth to object when Henry Forester leaned over to him.

"Relax, Jack," he grumbled, "we're not trying to get you in trouble again. We're just joking around because we'd never dare to lie to Thompson."

"I never lied," Spock protested, "I merely did not tell the truth."

Eli laughed. "I bet Thompson really loves the briefings with you."

Spock nodded gravely. "He has expressed a certain frustration with me."

"Frustration?" Thomas burst out. "You're pulling my leg. You're Edwin Thompson's golden boy, Jack!"

"Doesn't mean he can't be frustrated with him," Henry chuckled.

Spock nodded again and emptied his glass of whisky. "He did say I was lucky he liked me."

This was met with even more laughter by the others. Spock did not fully understand what was so funny, either because the intricacies of human humour were eluding him or because of another reason that he was missing but that had something to do with the empty plate in front of him. What he did understand, though, was that their laughter not only was without malice but stemmed from their affection for him, and he could not help but smile himself at such a display of innocence. It did occur to him that he was behaving slightly differently than usual but found he did not care and did not spare it much thought.

When Eli challenged him to a game of cards, he said he would rather play chess, and to his amazement, Eli vanished into the back room only to reappear with a chess set. It was a quaint, two-dimensional version of course, not what Spock was used to, but it would do.

While watching chess seemed to be beyond Henry and Elliot's interests who quickly excused themselves, saying they had something important to take care of, Franklin remained, and even Thomas Cooper seemed curious enough to stay.

At the beginning of the game, Franklin still supplied Spock with advice on how to play but quickly realised that he was more than a match for Eli.

Poor Eli sure did try, and he did not even do a bad job, once or twice almost gaining the upper hand due to some blunder Spock did. But Spock did win in the end, cornering Eli's king with a knight and a bishop.

"Well, Eli, you chose the wrong guy for that," Thomas mumbled scrunching up his pointy nose as he stared down at the board. He had rooted for Eli but could not hide his amazement. "You're a clever boy, Jack!"

Spock quirked his eyebrows at him. "Why, thank you, Thomas. Do you want to have a go?"

Cooper laughed. "Oh no, I've seen what you are capable of."

"Say, are you even better without the whisky?" Eli grinned. "We'll have to play again when you're sober."

"Sober?" Spock tilted his head. "I did not drink much."

"Sure, Jack," Thomas grumbled, "and my grandfather's the King."

Spock blinked twice, getting a faint notion of missing some crucial information. "Your grandfather is King George V?"

Thomas and Eli burst into laughter, so suddenly that Eli almost fell off his chair. And when they had recovered and Thomas looked back at Spock and met his earnest gaze, he began to laugh again, rendering him incapable of answering.

Spock turned to Franklin. "I do not understand."
Franklin chuckled softly. Though he had been immune to the outburst of the two others, he had watched in amusement. "It was sarcasm, Jack," he said gently.

"Ah." He nodded gravely. "I will try to do better in the future."

"Oh no, never change!" Eli burst out, shaking his head and almost sending his cap flying.

"That's right! We like you how you are, Jacky!" Thomas readily agreed, perhaps more eagerly than he would have if he had been sober. He leaned forward on the table and waved an outstretched finger in front of his face. "From the tips of your toes to the tips of your ears."

Spock opened his mouth and closed it again, at a loss for words. Turning to Franklin, he shot him another questioning look.

Franklin shrugged. "Not the words I would have used, but he's right. You're a great guy, Jack." He smiled and added, "Don't say no one's ever told you before."

"Certainly not like that," Spock said and raised an eyebrow at the two others. "But I do appreciate the compliment."

He continued to enjoy their company for a while longer, sometimes taking part in the conversation, sometimes merely observing, until they each went to look for distraction elsewhere one after the other.

When Spock got up from the table after Franklin and Eli had left him, he turned around to find Joséphine waiting at the bar, alone. Doctor McCoy and Chris Chapel were sitting at another table by now, talking to Henry and Elliot. Marie-Claire was nowhere to be seen, and when he asked Joséphine about her whereabouts, she answered that she had left a while ago, with Paul Chapel.

"Was it so hard?" she asked suddenly and added, at Spock's bemused look, "The socialising."

Spock shrugged. "It was interesting. The cake was good."

"Chris told me you're leaving early in the morning," Joséphine said after a pause.

"Hm, yes," he answered absentmindedly. "We are going back to the trenches."

"Take care," Joséphine said and slipped her hand in his to get his attention. He turned towards her, and she smiled. "Especially of Franklin. He's my favourite."

Spock looked down at his hand in hers and raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"

"Now, don't say you're jealous."

"Never." Spock shook his head. "I thought you were not up for romance, however."

"Well, that may be, to a degree. But I never said anything about being against love, did I?" She smirked, and Spock noticed that at that moment she did look a lot like her sister, dimples and all. Perhaps it was her service as a nurse that had instilled a more serious and straightforward attitude in her.

He nodded. "I will do my best to return him unharmed."

"And please take care of yourself, too," Joséphine added. "I don't want to meet you again in a field hospital." She stood on tip-toes to kiss him on the cheek. "And when it becomes too much," she whispered in his ear, "run the other way before this war takes either your life or your sanity."

Spock raised an eyebrow. "But that is insubordination. I cannot do that."

Joséphine sighed. "I know, Jack. I know."

Spock was kept from asking what part of his answer she was referring to by Chris and Leonard coming over.

"He hasn't been talking your ear off, has he?" McCoy asked.

"Oh no." Joséphine smiled. "You know that Jack's a perfect gentleman."

"That's one word for it." McCoy grinned up at Spock whose smug expression faltered somewhat.

"I bet this perfect gentleman of ours hasn't asked you to dance, though," Christine said, holding out her hand to Joséphine. "Marie-Claire is just setting up the gramophone. Do you want to?"

"You know what, Chris? I do." Joséphine smirked up at Spock and took Chris's hand, following her towards the other end of the room.

"Well, you missed a chance there," McCoy grumbled and leant against the bar next to Spock.

"You imply there was a chance I had wanted to take."

"You're right." McCoy took a sip of the whisky he had brought with him. "I forgot who I'm talking to."

Spock did not deign to answer but turned his eyes to the makeshift dance floor where Joséphine was dancing with Chris, the tunes of a new record, 'If You Were the Only Girl in the World',streaming from the gramophone that her sister had just finished setting up. Christine was doing a fairly good job at leading, though Joséphine did not seem to mind either way, so engrossed in conversation were they.

"What a woman, eh?" McCoy asked after a while.

"Hm, indeed," answered Spock without taking his eyes off the dancers.

"She's special, that one," the doctor continued. "I hope life treats her well."

"I have a request, Leonard." Spock didn't quite know himself why he was saying this.

"What is it?" McCoy asked, some confusion at Spock using his first name shining through.

Spock swallowed once and said, "Should I ever appear to take her presence for granted, please remind me of how invaluable she was to me here."

McCoy wasn't watching the dance floor anymore but Spock. "Sure, why not?"

"Thank you," Spock said simply, still very much watching the dance floor.

Leonard smirked. "I wasn't talking about Chris, though."

"Oh." Spock turned around, his lips pressed together tightly. "Then I ask you to ignore what I just said."

McCoy shook his head. "Nope, never." His grin turned into a simple smile, and he added, "But don't worry, I'll keep my silence."

He returned to watching Chris and Joséphine as well. By this time, they had been joined by Marie-Claire and Pavel. "Pity we have to go back tonight," he said.

Spock nodded. "It is fairly enjoyable here."

McCoy whisked around. "Enjoyable? Where's that coming from?"

"Perhaps the pie," Spock said. There was something about the pie, but he couldn't remember, and he had a feeling the reason he could not remember was the pie itself.

McCoy seemed likewise confused. "The pie?" he asked. "Was it that good?"

"It was sweet."

"Well, at least you're happy." McCoy shook his head at this unfamiliar behaviour. "And why not? We needed this, all of us. I think my cough even got better. And your hearing isn't as bad when you're not in the trenches."

Spock raised an eyebrow. "What did you say?"

"I said your hearing isn't as bad when you're not in the trenches." He frowned suddenly. "Hey, you did understand!"

He could have sworn he saw Spock smirk. "A little joke," the Vulcan said. "You are amusing when you are cross with me."

But Leonard couldn't be cross with him at that moment. "You sure you're all right?" he asked.

Spock shrugged. "Oh, yes. Then again, we are at war."

"The pie," McCoy said, something just having occurred to him. "You said it was sweet."

"Very much so," Spock replied unbothered. "I have no doubt it contained sucrose."

"Sucrose." McCoy nodded. "Of course." He frowned up at Spock. "You do know sucrose makes Vulcans drunk, right?"

Spock stared back at him for a moment, only now piecing it together again what the matter with the pie was. "Naturally," he replied as if he hadn't forgotten until now. "I am part Vulcan, you know?"

"Really?" McCoy grumbled. "Wouldn't have guessed."

"I would say the ears are unmistakable."

"I've noticed them, yes." McCoy smiled, then rolled his eyes when he noticed Spock was serious. "It was sarcasm, Spock. Of course, I know you're part Vulcan." He looked around the room. Thankfully, they were standing somewhat apart from the others. "Just be quiet, will you?" he hissed.

Spock only raised an eyebrow again and nodded silently.

"Why'd you eat the pie, anyway? Didn't you think it was a bit of a bad idea, huh?"

Spock shrugged.

"You don't know?"

Spock shrugged again.

Suddenly realising what was going on, McCoy rolled his eyes. "Oh, for God's sake!" he burst out. "I meant you should be quiet about you being Vulcan, not in general."

"You could have specified," Spock retorted.

"You could have known what I meant." Leonard resisted the urge to cross his arms. That'd only tell Spock he was winning. "It's called conversational conventions. You might want to look it up."

"Are you arguing?" a voice piped up from behind.

They wheeled around to find themselves confronted by Eli and Thomas, Eli with crossed arms, Thomas Cooper looking only mildly interested.

"Yes," Leonard said, shooting Spock a last glare, hoping the two hadn't heard them talk about Vulcans.

"No," Spock said.

"Having fun, then?" Cooper asked, a smile spreading on his face.

McCoy shook his head. "No."

Spock raised an eyebrow. "Yes."

"Come, Jack," Eli said, laughing softly and taking Spock by the arm. "Why don't you leave Leonard be and come with me, instead? I've heard you have yet to make good on a promise."

Spock tilted his head. "Do I?"

"Oh yes. You told a certain pair of sisters you'd play the piano."

"I suppose I did." Spock nodded and accompanied Eli a little more willingly than he would have under normal circumstances.

Thomas Cooper turned to McCoy, shaking his head. "You're a funny guy, Leonard," he murmured, the smile having morphed into a cheeky grin.

"Why?" Leonard frowned. "What did I do now?"

But Thomas only laughed and left, following Eli and Spock.

"Damn imbeciles," Leonard grumbled.

Soon, the sound of the piano attracted not only the Delacroix sisters but the bulk of their platoon as Spock fulfilled his promise.

"Didn't know you know 'It's a Long Way to Tipperary', you phoney," McCoy grumbled to himself and drained his glass of whisky, silently praying that Spock wasn't going to play a song that was yet to be invented or commit some other faux pas in his state. But judging from how many of the soldiers were singing along, they were safe for now. How typical of him, to shun socialising—'frolicking' as he called it—and draw an audience once he didn't.

McCoy wasn't the only one who had noticed Spock was behaving differently.

"Whisky?" Edwin Thompson asked as he joined him at the bar, filling his glass as soon as McCoy nodded.

"Say, Leonard," he said and nodded over to the group around the piano, "how much did he have?"

McCoy knew Spock's inebriation was because of the sucrose and probably not the whisky. Though perhaps there might be an additive effect when mixing the two substances. It would be worth some research at a later point. But he couldn't tell Thompson all of this. "Enough," he said instead. "Do you want me to intervene?"

Thompson watched as Spock finished the song, and the soldiers around him immediately begged him to play another one. "Hm, no," he said at last. "Leave him be. It might do him well to make merry for once." He set his empty glass on the bar and clapped McCoy on the shoulder. "Well, I'm going up. Keep an eye on Jack. You're the most sensible of the lot."
"Sure, will do. Good night, Lieutenant." McCoy frowned over at Spock as Edwin Thompson left. Oh, what he would have given for him to have been witness to Thompson's compliment! But seeing how he seemed to enjoy himself, he could not begrudge him anything. Of course, Spock quickly relented to the pleas and continued playing, changing to a slower tune this time, 'Keep the Home Fires Burning', if Leonard's guess was correct.

He was not in the mood to mingle, or, rather, he had enough of it for the day, so he just stood and watched, finishing his drink sip by sip. He looked around for Chris and Pavel once but finding them quite preoccupied, accepted the role he had been thrust into willingly. It was only right, seeing as he was, after all, the sensible one. And even if he wasn't, he was too transfixed to interrupt. This was a Spock he seldom saw, more human than ever, though clearly Spock. His musical prowess and how he revelled in the appreciation was nothing new, though maybe his expression was more open, and he displayed such a carefree attitude as he would be loath to even consider under normal circumstances.

After a while of watching, though, he decided, admittedly with some regret, to put a stop to his enjoyment, remembering Thompson's words and fearing for their disguise. He pushed through the crowd until he reached Spock just as he was playing the last few notes of the song.

He turned his head and looked up at McCoy as he came to stand beside him. His hair was ruffled from God knew what, Christine's attempt at a haircut making it even more apparent how out of sorts he was.

"Let's go," McCoy grumbled. "You need to go to bed."
Spock raised an eyebrow and blinked up at him. "I do?"

Leonard nodded and took him by the arm. "I hate to interrupt your hedonistic excesses," he said, "but you're way too cheerful."

Thankfully, Spock followed without complaint, albeit not without struggle. They climbed up the stairs, McCoy walking ahead, and when he had just reached the upper landing, he heard a startled grunt from behind, and Spock stumbled past him, landing face-first in the hallway.

"Goodness gracious, Spock. How much pie did you eat?" He held out both hands to help him up, trying his best not to laugh. For all his concern at this new development, it was pretty damn funny.

Spock took his hands and pulled himself up. "Only one piece," he said.

"One piece that was how big?"

Spock shrugged as he followed him into their room. "Between one-eighth and a quarter of the original pie."

Leonard rolled his eyes. "First you don't eat enough, then you do this. Did you purposefully overindulge like that?" He did not need to know how much sucrose was needed for the average Vulcan to be affected to know that even an eighth of the pie around here contained more than enough. Even a smaller piece would have sufficed to make Spock slightly tipsy, but having consumed such a large portion, it was no wonder he was struggling with the stairs.

"By no means. I merely underestimated the effect it would have on me," he replied, entirely unbothered.

"Yeah, I can see that." Leonard frowned back at Spock, wondering what to do with him now. For lack of a better idea, he then ordered him to go to bed. If only it worked like this on the Enterprise. Well, at least Spock tried. But he fumbled with his buttons for so long that Leonard took off his tunic for him. Leaving him to do the rest alone, he left for the bathroom to get ready for bed himself.

When he returned after a quarter of an hour, he half expected Spock to be asleep already. What he did not expect was him sitting on the floor, leaning against his bedframe, his legs stretched into the room. He seemed ready for bed, his uniform even lay neatly folded on one chair, but he was very obviously not in bed.

"Why are you not in bed?" Leonard asked, crossing his arms and towering over him.

Spock shrugged. "I don't want to."

"Don't want to?" He did not know whether he should be amused or exasperated at this petulant behaviour.

Spock shook his head. "No. I'm gonna stay here."

Leonard sighed. "Well, suit yourself, then," he grumbled and proceeded to put his uniform away. He turned to slip into bed and stumbled when Spock grabbed his ankle.

"I'm bored," he said. "Talk to me."

McCoy frowned down at him, ready to decline and get some well-deserved sleep and leave the Vulcan sitting on the floor.

"Please," Spock added. He even had the cheek to make puppy eyes at him.

"Oh, stop it." Leonard freed his ankle with a firm tug but knew he had lost already.

He sat down opposite Spock, leaning against his own bed. A funny picture this must be, he thought, both in underwear and their legs lined up against one another's. Looking at the sole of Spock's foot between his thighs, Leonard mused that this might be the day to find out if Spock was ticklish. But he couldn't bring himself to try.

"So, anything specific on your mind?"

Spock shook his head. "Nothing specific. I was thinking of indulging in small talk."

"Well, I'll be damned," Leonard grumbled, smirking. If Vulcans got a hangover from sucrose, this one had a rude awakening to look forward to, considering his current state.

"What are your plans for when we are back home?" Spock asked.

McCoy sighed and rested his elbows on the bedframe. "When we come back home," he muttered, "I'm gonna go against my own advice and have a big barbecue. This food around here just isn't cutting it for me. I could eat a dozen plates of buffalo wings."

"Buffalo wings?" Spock tilted his head. "I do not understand."

McCoy shrugged. "It's just chicken. They're named after the place they're from, I think. Not that you'd care much for Southern cuisine."

"I like your beans."

"You do, huh?" Leonard blinked a couple of times, slightly taken aback, both at the compliment and at Spock's placid look. "Well, I might make them for you, if you ask nicely." The smirk that was Spock's answer was not any less unnerving than getting such a well-meant compliment. "Of course, looking forward to my beans doesn't solve our problem at hand," he grunted. "You have any crazy ideas on how to actually get home?"

Spock raised an eyebrow and nodded. "At this point, I only have crazy ones."

Interested in what he would come up with while under the influence, McCoy nodded. "Indulge me."

Spock took a deep breath, foreshadowing a monologue that, Leonard was sure, would make him regret he asked. "I am statistically predestined to outlive you all," Spock stated cheerfully. "It is possible, even probable, given I survive this war and those to come, that I survive until the year 1986. You might remember that we will be in San Francisco at that time. I would have to find the Bird-of-Prey which we had parked in Golden Gate Park and hitch a ride."

McCoy furrowed his brow. "Hitch a ride?" he asked, surprised by such an expression coming from Spock.

"Yes, hitch a ride," Spock answered calmly, completely missing the actual reason behind the question. "Or thumb a ride or hitchhike. It means to solicit a free ride."

Leonard grinned at the Vulcan. "If you solicit me in San Francisco, for a free ride of all things, this story might turn out a bit different."

Spock tilted his head again and blinked confused.

"Forget it," Leonard said quickly. "Go on, please."
"I would solicit a ride from our counterparts in 1986, San Francisco," Spock continued, ignoring the small chuckle that came from McCoy as he did so. "Ideally as a stowaway. Once in the future, I would go into hiding until the library has sent us into the past. At that point, I could reveal everything to Starfleet Command and mount a rescue mission. A specially assigned vessel would travel back in time, retrieve everyone but me, and return you to our present."

"Hold up." Leonard pinched the bridge of his nose. "Why everyone but you?"

"Otherwise, there might be two of me in the future," Spock answered matter-of-factly. "One my younger self, meaning my present self, and one my older self that had undertaken the rescue mission. It is possible, of course, that my older self would cease to exist because by rescuing myself from an earlier point in time I would prevent myself from staying until 1986. And therein lies the problem. If I did not stay, I could not meet ourselves in San Francisco and return to the future to mount the rescue mission. So, naturally, I would have to stay behind."

"So at the time we'd meet again, you'd be almost old." Leonard smiled to himself, trying to imagine Spock with grey hair. "You'd be seventy years older than now, and we others wouldn't have aged a day."

"We would grow old together, then," Spock answered. A soft smile spread over his face. It would have been sweet if it wasn't so unnerving.

"What are the chances of such an attempt actually working?" Spock opened his mouth to reply, but Leonard held up his hand to stop him. "No, don't say it. I already have a headache."

They fell silent, but despite his refusal to hear the odds, Leonard could not let go of Spock's idea. And then, something else occurred to him. "Wait, you wouldn't have to wait until 1986."

Spock raised an eyebrow, and McCoy did not know whether it was to show interest or amusement, so he launched into an explanation before Spock could comment on him having broached the topic again. "We're already here in the sixties," he said, "when we pick up Captain Christopher. You, Sulu, and Jim will be at a military base, after destroying the evidence of us being here."

"At a secure military base," Spock said dryly. "Filled with, you know, security. And the military."

There was no doubt whatsoever that this time, he was mocking him, with his eyebrow reaching a record high and his lips curling into a smirk. Of course that Vulcan's goddamn logic still worked, even now, although he had a funny way of expressing it.

"Well, you'd find a way in."

"If I'd find a way in, and was discovered, do you know what the ramifications on history could be? If I am discovered," Spock lamented, "I might turn out to be the reason for the alien craze of the 60s. They might even make a television show about me. Not to mention, dissect me."

Leonard shrugged. "I have a hard time figuring out which of those you think is worse." He ignored Spock's reproachful look and went on, "Anyways, assuming all worked out fine so far, would it actually work?"

"It wouldn't make a difference." Spock sighed. "I would just have to wait longer in the future. I could not mount a rescue with our past versions. The moment I would reveal to them that they will get stuck here, the mission would have failed."

"Why? They could keep a secret." Leonard frowned. "That is, we could. They'd just need to get themselves stuck here on purpose, just as it happened to us originally but accidentally. And then we'd wait for rescue. We'd know if it worked because we'd remember talking to future you." He frowned again and bit his lip. "Or would we? I'm not an expert in temporal physics, Spock."

Spock sighed deeply, and for the first time this evening, he looked uncomfortable. "Could you look Jim in the eye and tell him he will die here? Could you look me in the eye and tell me Jim will die?" He pursed his lips and to Leonard's chagrin began wringing his hands in his lap. "It changes too much. For instance, telling our younger selves we will get stuck here means they will know of my resurrection after the encounter with Khan. Or, rather, they will assume I will survive once the battle with him commences. Now, just imagine I would not sacrifice myself, because I assumed I would have to survive. We'd all die."

"Your younger self would know that and still sacrifice himself," Leonard muttered.

Spock made a noncommittal sound and shrugged. "It does not matter. I can and would do it again, even knowing the pain it entailed, but I cannot face Jim and tell him that…" He faltered and shook his head. "And before you say it," he continued steadily again, "telling ourselves not to be sent into the past in the first place creates an irresolvable time loop just as any other version of this so-called solution."

"Right, this is the moment you take the fun out of it and tell me it's not possible." Leonard rolled his eyes, thinking it was typical for Spock to be able to understand temporal physics at an expert level even when drunk. What a spoilsport. But he was secretly eager to talk about anything else.

The smug expression reappeared on the Vulcan's face. "Precisely."

"We might just be rescued by the others," Leonard mumbled, trying to change to a more optimistic outlook. "Who knows, Scotty's probably burning the midnight oil to get us home at this moment." He shook his head. "What's keeping them so long? All they have to do is slingshot around the sun and pick us up."

"Tell them. Perhaps a strongly worded letter will do it."

"And how would it reach them? Huh?"

"You would need to make a time capsule, to be opened by the Enterprise crew in the future, of course."

"Doesn't that create a time loop as well?"

"Improbable." Spock crossed his arms and smiled impishly. "It is too trivial for that. I am sure Mr Scott would appreciate your advice, however."

"Now, listen here, you snarky elf, this is not the moment to develop a like for sarcasm."

"You just say that because I have used it against you successfully."

"Huh, do I?" It was the doctor's turn to cross his arms.

Spock only nodded.

"Do it again," Leonard growled playfully, "and you'll regret it."

"Oh?" There it was again, that blasted eyebrow. "What punishment is it you plan to employ?"

"I'm gonna tickle you." He gave the Vulcan's feet a pointed look.

Spock swallowed heavily. "I am not ticklish."

"We'll see, Spock. We'll see." Leonard nodded and sighed contentedly, pleased with the newly achieved balance of power.

The Vulcan's gaze grew slightly concerned. Now, this was a definite advantage of his current state. Normally, Leonard would not have had the satisfaction of actually getting to Spock with such a silly threat. He almost hoped he would try his sarcasm on him again so he could make good on it. For now, the consequences seemed very much on his mind, though, and he did not say anything, perhaps to be on the safe side, and just looked at McCoy expectantly.

Not one to pass up the opportunity to control the conversation, he decided to indulge in some hypotheticals. "If you'd leave your future self a time capsule, what'd you tell yourself?" He asked. "With future self, I mean our past selves, too, of course. Our past selves in the future."

For a moment, Spock appeared taken aback. He blinked twice, then cleared his throat. "I would tell my future past self," he answered softly, "to have fun."

Leonard leaned forward, looking at him askance. "Spock? Are you all right?"

"I am inebriated." He quirked an eyebrow at him. "Disregard anything I say."

"Can I get that last part in writing?" Leonard asked and grinned, earning a stern look from Spock. Then, he shrugged. "Well, you wouldn't be allowed anyway. Just imagine creating a time loop by telling yourself to have fun. How embarrassing."

Spock seemed immune to his teasing this time. "It would not create a loop."

"Why's that? The laws of temporal physics don't apply to Vulcans?"

"No." Spock shook his head and said, "It would not create a loop because I would not listen to myself anyway."

"Damn, that's depressing." Leonard frowned. There he was, trying to have a friendly chat, and this guy managed to make it sad again. "Why say it, then?"

"I am sure my future past self would wonder that, too."

Leonard stared back at him, and then his face lit up. "So you'd say it to give yourself some mental exercise. You'd say it to have some fun with yourself!"

Spock smirked. "Maybe."

"Believe me," Leonard mumbled, smiling back, "there are easier ways."

Spock gave him a scandalised look, but the smirk stayed.

"Ways that are way more handy," Leonard added.

"I get the idea."

A knock on the door saved Spock from additional human double entendres, and Christine entered. She had left Pavel downstairs, in his process of making out with Marie-Claire.

She held up Spock's uniform cap. "You left this lying at the bar," she said and tossed it at him. Then, she looked back and forth between the two, just now realising how out of the ordinary the situation seemed. "You doing all right?" she asked Spock.

He raised an eyebrow. "I am left-handed." He looked at Leonard. "Aren't I?"

"Sure," he muttered. "I think so."

Spock turned back to Chris. "Then, strictly speaking, it is more likely for me to do all left than all right."

"Are you quite well?" she reiterated, not knowing whether to be annoyed or worried.

Spock nodded and to her shock, smiled at her. "Mighty fine as our dear doctor would say."

Leonard cringed at the impression of him. "Our Vulcan is drunk," he explained.

Christine frowned. "Drunk?" She looked back at Spock, and then her eyes widened. "The pie. Sucrose."

"I am not, technically, drunk," he protested. "The sucrose merely has an effect on Vulcans that is similar to that of alcohol on humans."

"Well, excuse the failings of the English language, then." Leonard sighed. Only a Vulcan would be able to debate his diagnosis while in this state. Or perhaps just this Vulcan. "I don't have a better term right now, and I don't care enough to think about it."

"As a scientist, you should care about the proper terminology."

"But I'm not doing scientific research on you. I was only telling Chris that you're under the influence of a substance that renders you drunk-like." He scoffed. "Happy?"

"Hm. No." Spock shook his head and actually pouted.

"God, I don't know if you're obnoxious on purpose or if that's the sugar talking." He gave Christine a pleading look. "Chris, help me out here."

"You're inebriated," she supplied, addressing Spock. "How's that?"

He seemed to think for a moment, then shrugged slowly. "Acceptable."

"Well, then, good night, boys. And don't argue." Christine seemed on the verge of leaving, then turned back around, took a few more steps into the room and crouched down to Spock's level. "Are you sure you're not riling him up on purpose?" she whispered in his ear.

She straightened up just in time to meet his astonished look.

"Most certainly not."

"Hm, sure," she answered before she leaned in again. "Make an effort, then," she added quietly. "You know how to push his buttons. Apply your knowledge. Give him hell." She stood up and, leaving at last, winked at him.

And, not one to disregard a direct order, Spock did give him hell. Admittedly, he did not have to make much of an effort, his lowered inhibitions doing much of the job.

"What was that about?" McCoy asked when the door had closed behind Christine.

Spock pursed his lips. "I do not think I am at liberty to tell you something she entrusted to me, specifically."

"Because it was about me, right?"

"Doctor, not everything has to do with you."

"I know, but this does!" He jabbed his finger at him. "You were making fun of me."

With a smug expression, Spock crossed his arms. "Such infantile behaviour is below me."

"But not below her." Leonard pointed at the door. "I know Chris. She's a real tease if she wants to be. And she can curse and gossip with the best of us." He nodded and smirked over at Spock. "That woman's a bad influence on you, and you like it!"

Spock's eyebrow shot up. "You are reducing her to a caricature. There is more to her than that."

"Oh, I never said anything to the contrary," Leonard drawled. "But still, you feel the need to defend her. What's that about?" He nudged his leg with his. "Caught feelings?"

"Impossible." Spock shook his head.

Leonard slid down the bedframe a bit further, genuinely enjoying having the upper hand. "Now you're the one insulting her," he returned.

"By no means. It is impossible for me to 'catch feelings' simply because I have none." He mirrored the doctor's position, leaning against his bed very leisurely now. "Is that not what you always say?" Even inebriated, Spock was very much aware that this was more about him than Chris.

"Don't twist my words," Leonard hissed. "I always say you could show more feelings, not that you don't have any."

"As a psychologist, should you not know better than to police other people's self-expression?"

McCoy answered the Vulcan's smirk with one of his own. "Not if it's more of a repression."

Spock huffed and straightened up. "I see no relevance to my example."

Leonard actually laughed. "You're lying like a rug, trying to keep up your persona."

"Lying like a rug?" Spock frowned. "I cannot see how a carpet could be dishonest."

"It's a figure of speech," Leonard grumbled, not in the mood to explain idioms.

"Ah, yes." Spock nodded, but there was a flicker in his eyes that told Leonard that he was becoming the butt of the joke, and Spock had probably even understood the idiom. "I am amazed at this quaint phenomenon of your language," the Vulcan continued, "that you use to transport ideas vaguely and ambiguously instead of simply being straightforward." He raised an eyebrow and said the magic words. "How illogical."

Fighting hard not to pitch a fit, Leonard clenched his jaw. "But you did understand I called you a liar," he hissed.

"Why, yes." Spock shrugged. "I do have some understanding of the baser forms of communication."

"I will let you know," Leonard growled slowly, "that idioms, figures of speech, are a central part of human self-expression."

Spock nodded gravely. But his smirk, that damn smirk, betrayed his intentions. "So much is obvious," he said. "As a Vulcan, of course, I am entirely unaffected by contaminating influences such as the ones you mentioned and continuously demonstrate."

"Hush your mouth, you uppity scallywag!" Leonard kicked Spock's leg and for a moment wished he would have aimed higher.

Spock only gave him a smug raise of an eyebrow. "Fascinating."

"What?" Leonard snapped. He was already somewhat regretting shouting at Spock. Somewhat, not entirely.

"The more frustrated with me you get, the more Southern you sound."

"I am Southern!" Leonard returned, hitting his fist on his thigh in frustration.

"Really?" Spock widened his eyes in a masquerade of innocence. "I wouldn't have guessed."

Leonard chuckled. "You could drive a preacher to drink," he mumbled fondly. As much as this man could rile him up, it would have been a lie to say he didn't like him. He stopped laughing abruptly and narrowed his eyes at him.

Spock realised what was happening but a moment too late. He tried to get away, but Leonard McCoy lunged at him with all the strength that he could muster, causing both of them to tumble to the ground. Leonard, with the advantage of the surprise, dug his fingers into the Vulcan's sides. Why try the foot if there was a full Vulcan to tickle?

And Spock, to Leonard's immense satisfaction, made a very un-Vulcan sound and writhed beneath him, answering his earlier question.

He could have kept this on, but it was Thompson who saved Spock by throwing the door open, staring down at them in disbelief, and telling them in no uncertain terms that they should please keep it down, that it was bad enough that the ones next door were being loud, and he had thought Leonard was the sensible one.

"Well, that was embarrassing," Leonard mumbled as the Lieutenant had left, scrambling down from Spock.

"Hm, indeed." Spock sat up, his hair a mess, his shirt ruffled, but his face was very composed again, neither a smirk nor a frown, just his usual calm countenance.

"You starting to sober up, huh?" Leonard asked.

"Starting to, yes." Spock pursed his lips and shot him a small indignant glare. "I do not know whether I shall ever recover from this."

He picked himself up from the floor, and after straightening out his shirt, trying to flatten his hair and failing at it, and sighing once more, he went to bed without another word, leaving Leonard McCoy to wonder what the hell had just happened.