Keep Good Company

Title: Keep Good Company

Author: Tempest

Series: TOS

Paring: S/Mc, K/Sc

Rating: PG

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 of Paramount 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

By Tempest

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 yet?”


      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 just teasing.”


      “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.


       By 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.



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