Title: Keep Good Company
Paring: S/Mc, K/Sc
Summary: The day before the launching of the U.S.S. Enterprise-B, Spock and McCoy have their two best
friends over for dinner.
Disclaimer: I don't own TOS. I never have, and I never will. Star Trek and all of its relations are property
and Viacom. I only own this story. Anybody who has a problem with the thought of men in homosexual relationships with each
other, please stay away. Flames and feedback are welcome. Please ask before putting this anywhere.
Keep Good Company
September 1, 2007
McCoy was heavily
absorbed in the task of brewing tea and coffee. Rather, he told himself he was heavily absorbed in the task of brewing tea
and coffee, and that helped him ignore the loud, erratic sounds emanating from the parlor. Logical as they were, Vulcans seemed
to have an obsession with their own version of Feng Shui.
They had spent the better part of
last evening and then this part of the morning trying to clean their home to the best of their ability. In the past few months
of retirement, they had allowed the upkeep of the rooms to slide. Not that this was the result of anything bad, the opposite;
with the newfound time for them to simply be together, they had found that neatness took a backseat to enjoyment. They were
paying for that philosophy, since company was upon them.
McCoy had been cooking since he
awoke. Not quite, he smiled to himself as he finished making the coffee. He had managed to wake up Spock and have a thoroughly
enjoyable shower before dressing and cooking. Dinner was now in the oven making itself ready for later, coffee and tea were
brewing, appetizers were on the kitchen table waiting to be taken outside, and dessert, not that anybody needed it, McCoy
knew, dessert was in the refrigeration unit. It had been a while since they had entertained at their house, but McCoy was
fairly certain they would be fine, especially considering the company.
A loud thump broke him from his
thoughts of food, and the human rushed into the parlor to see what happened. Spock lay on his back on the coffee table, his
foot somehow tangled around the back of a chair that had fallen on its side. Yes, it was true, even Spock had his moments
where he was less than graceful. "See Spock, even though you're not on active duty anymore, you can still take a chair in
a fair fight."
Since the fal-tor-pan, Spock had
become more expressive emotionally, especially in McCoy's presence. And he favored his bondmate with a look of irritation.
"Lift the chair, Leonard."
McCoy grinned back at him, bouncing
on the balls of his feet. "You didn't say the magic word."
Not for the first time, Spock wondered
what would have happened if they had decided to move to Vulcan after retirement. "Please lift the chair."
"Wrong magic word."
"Lift the chair, Leonard, or one
of us will sleep on the sofa tonight."
"Then I'll tuck you in down here
and let you keep your pillow."
Spock simply gave up trying. He
had learned that when unable to cut through McCoy's illogic with words, he simply needed to wait him out. He fell silent.
McCoy shook his head at him and
left the room to take the kettle off the stove. A few moments went by and he finally reappeared. With a smile on his face,
he crouched down beside Spock, lifting the chair up and putting it in its proper place, thus freeing the Vulcan. "You can
punish me later."
Spock stretched himself and rose
to his feet, returning immediately to his work. "I shall remember that."
McCoy shook his head again and went
out to the garden. He trimmed a few of the more exotic flowers, including a few that had come from Vulcan and took them back
inside, where he promptly washed the stems and placed them in a vase filled with cold water. He placed them on the dining
table, taking care to stay out of Spock's path of organization. He took the appetizers and placed them on the coffee table,
after Spock gave him the signal that the living room was finally in an acceptable order.
The door chime rang, not a moment
too soon. McCoy and Spock exchanged a glance, and as Spock dusted off his shirt to make certain he was presentable, McCoy
walked to the front door, opening it.
"Bones!" Kirk took a step forward
to give his old friend a hearty clasp on the shoulder. "It's good to see you. Where's Spock?"
McCoy jerked his thumb behind him,
where Spock was slowly making his way to the door. "Come in. What happened to Scotty?"
Kirk waved his hand back towards
the driveway, as he came in and removed his coat, trying to find a place to hang it. Spock took it from him with a nod of
greeting and placed it on the coat rack. "He didn't like the sound the air car was making, so he's just checking the engine."
Kirk shook his head as he spoke. "I told him we could take care of it tomorrow evening, but you know him." Kirk turned back
around to Spock. "How're you doing, Spock? Bones remembering to feed you?"
Spock nodded, long since used to
this running joke between the four of them, about how thin he and Len remained and how...not Kirk and Scotty had become. "You
shall see for yourself come the time for supper."
McCoy brushed past them, giving
them the personal time to catch up on each other’s lives, while he went around the back towards the garage to check
on Scotty. Sure enough, the Scotsman was on his back under the aircar, a toolkit twice the size of the one McCoy kept in their
house beneath him. Knowing Scotty, that was his travel-sized one.
“Scotty, you planning on coming
inside, or are you just going to stay out here all day?”
The Scotsman placed a large wrench
down and picked up a smaller one. “In a minute, Len. We have the whole evening, don’t we?”
McCoy rolled his eyes but relented
to Scott’s point. The engineer could worse than Spock about his work. He knew Jim only let it slide because he was as
bad as Scott was. Settling in for what could be a long detour, McCoy carefully sat down beside the car. He was too old to
plop down as he used to. “How was the trip besides whatever made you drop everything to fix the car?”
Scott tightened a bolt and set the
wrench aside, grabbing a plasma coil. “It was fine, Len. An easy drive. Wee Mary just started makin’ noises halfway
in and I did nae want to let the problem get worse.”
McCoy nodded in understanding. An
ounce of prevention was worth a pound of cure; how well he knew that. He asked, “Can I help?”
“Do ye remember the difference
between the Dyson conductor and the plasma conduit?” Scott asked, without moving from his position.
“No,” McCoy admitted.
Not that he had ever known the difference in the first place. Those days of helping the Scotsman in crises had never been
learning experiences so much as necessary for their continued survival.
“Then don’t touch anything,”
Scott said, tone teasing. He was nearly finished as it was. McCoy would not argue with him. He could think of a thousand things
more interesting to him than fixing an air car that wasn’t even broken in the first place. He watched the Scotsman work
for some time, before starting in on the usual questions. Best to get them out of the way while Kirk and Spock caught up.
“How are you enjoying retirement?”
“I took a job training the
engineers, and ye Len?”
“I’m working part-time
at the hospital up the road. I don’t miss Starfleet, though.”
“Do even a wee bit?”
The Scotsman asked, as he tightened a coil.
“I can’t say I do. I
miss the people, but not the danger and definitely not the bureaucracy.”
“Ah,” was Scott’s
reply; that failed to surprise him. McCoy had quit more times than any of them. But he came back, with the rest of them, always.
A moment passed and the Scotsman
put down a bolt. “How is Spock getting on?”
“He’s good. He’s
keeping himself busy with a million little things and his stint with diplomacy can get maddening. I’m not cut out to
be a diplomat’s spouse.”
“Ye mean that you’re
too ornery?” The question was teasing.
“Damn right. I’m too
old to sit and smile through asininities,” McCoy said gruffly. His tone softened. “How’s Jim?”
“Jim is Jim.” The answer simple yet the only description for the man.
McCoy nodded. He knew better than
to even ask how the other man had been dealing with retirement. Jim Kirk belonged in the stars.
A moment passed, and the Scotsman
put down his tools. As he emerged from beneath the air car, he asked the question. “It is time for the seven year itch
McCoy gave the other man a look.
That question was downright inappropriate. In fact...“Jim’s rubbing off on you.”
Because Scott was not Kirk, he ignored
the double entendre and put away his tools before standing up and clasping McCoy on the shoulder. “Ye know I’m
“I know,” McCoy replied
with mock gruffness. He pulled the Scotsman close for a light embrace. “How about we go stop them before they start
playing chess and forget about dinner?”
“Agreed,” Scott said,
as he followed the doctor into the house.
They arrived just in time to stop Spock from setting the chess board. McCoy ushered
Spock into the kitchen to help him finish setting for dinner, while their guests took a look around the house.
Dinner was served, chicken for the
humans and a Vulcan dish for Spock. The conversation fell into the usual patterns. Reliving the glory days. All four men were
natural story-tellers, even Spock with his own reserved mannerisms.
the time coffee, tea, and cake were on the table, they had reached the later years of their adventures, but by no means the
end. Scott had a cup of coffee in his hand as he finished his part, “And I don’t think I’d ever seen a bonnier
sight than when they christened the Enterprise-A and turned
her over to us.”
Spock, as always, was the one to
bring the conversation back to the present. “But it is time for the new generation of officers to take command.”
“Aye,” Scott agreed,
then asked the question regarding the next day’s plans. “Are ye both sure ye can’t come to the dedication
ceremony? Jim might need the company.”
“Need I remind you, gentlemen,
that I’m not that fragile, *and* I’m sitting right here?” Kirk interjected. Despite the defensive comment,
Scott was right. He would not, could not miss a christening of an Enterprise,
but that did not mean he did not want to be in her Captain’s Chair, rather than in the viewing deck. Having his closest
friends there, as well as his lover, would make it easier.
“Sorry to say, Scotty, but
we can’t. Spock promised a meeting with the Vulcan entourage, and I’ve got surgery scheduled. But Pavel will be
there, won’t he?”
“Aye, and that’ll help,”
Scott agreed, while Kirk nodded. Having Chekov there would be nice, but it would hardly make up for his friends’ absences.
“Besides,” Kirk decided
to be cheerful, when internally he was anything but, “it’s not like there won’t be other opportunities.”
“True,” Spock agreed.
“We have the annual banquet to look forward to in a month.”
McCoy groaned audibly. The Starfleet
dress uniforms had only gotten worse as time went by, and he didn’t want to wear them.
On that note, the conversation drifted
away from serious matters, back to the glory days and adventures with Mudd and tribbles. All four men unaware that this would
be their last conversation together.