Unexpected Surprises

Title: Unexpected Surprises

Author: Tempest

Series: TOS

Parings: S/Mc

Rating: PG-13

Summary: The Enterprise Officers want to throw McCoy a surprise birthday party. This task proves to be more difficult than first anticipated.

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.

Author’s Notes: Warning: The actions taken by Spock to ensure that the surprise party remains uncompromised are the result of extreme logic which runs contrary to general consensus of human ethics. Thus, they should not be attempted by anyone.


Unexpected Surprises

By Tempest

September 2, 2006



A surprise birthday party. Considering many of the random and ill-conceived plans Captain Kirk had suggested over the years, this one had been one of the most palatable. The senior staff was excited about it. The medical staff certainly thought it was more than deserved. Spock agreed to it since he had been given what had seemed like a simple and appealing job: Keep McCoy distracted.


How wrong he was.


Everything had started out well enough. The bridge crew held some “late night meetings” which they explained were unrelated to medical matters and thus there was no reason for McCoy to attend. To keep Spock from needing to lie, every meeting would begin with a fifteen-minute discussion between him and Scott regarding quantum mechanics. When he returned to the quarters he shared with McCoy, he would begin to summarize the discussion, and McCoy would grow promptly bored or irritated. Both were equally distracting.


      However, Spock had neglected to take into account just how easy it was for his husband, on a ship roughly the size of the Eiffel Tower, with a crew of 430 personnel, to discover their carefully construed plans.


      The first time it had happened, it was a simple mistake. A careless one on behalf of Nurse Chapel, but a simple one nonetheless. He had come down to take the doctor to dinner. He had been finishing up medical inventory in the back room, out of ear shot. And taking the opportunity, she reported that the guest list was almost complete. Unfortunately, she specifically said “For Doctor McCoy’s party.” More unfortunate still, McCoy had been walking back to the main area of sickbay and had overheard her.


      “I’m getting a party?” He asked, somewhat confused. The delight in his voice, however, went not unnoticed by Spock.


      The Vulcan gave Chapel a disapproving gaze, the likes of which was usually reserved for Chekov when he fiddled with the science console. She lowered her head in resignation and left before McCoy could ask more questions, causing her to incriminate herself further.


      McCoy’s eyes continued to remain lit up in a way Spock had not seen since the revelation that he had once played with a “teddy bear.” The sheer delight and childishness made the blue iris more pronounced and the grin on his face was what could only be described as tickled pink. “A party for me?”


      Deciding that the mission had already been compromised, Spock nodded his head in assent, quickly maneuvering the doctor through the sickbay doors and down the hall, hoping to get him to their cabin before somebody else overheard.


      “This’ll be great!” McCoy exclaimed, as he was half-led, half-pushed into their quarters. “But I’ll pretend to be surprised when it happens.” He moved towards the private collection of bottles, to pour them both a drink before supper.


      Spock studied him carefully. The goal of the party had been the surprise. The mission was compromised with McCoy’s knowledge. McCoy and he were bonded. Under Vulcan law, that granted him sizable authority. McCoy promised to pretend, but pretending was lying and lying was shameful, according to Surak. With the actions he considered, he would do a good deed for all, save the mission, and save shame from falling upon their Household. It would be legal, of course, under Vulcan law, and thus ethically correct.


      However, should McCoy find out what he did, he would most likely be very angry, and say things that would only hurt both of them long term. All the more reason to carry out his plan, as the likelihood of being caught was slim.


      Coming to a decision, Spock moved closer to the human. He encouraged him to place the decanter down and then wrapped his arm around him. He pressed their lips together in a carefully calculated kiss. One arm clasped the doctor’s backside, the other spread itself along his temple. As he slipped his tongue inside the doctor’s mouth, his mind entered through their bond, traveling quickly, he found the problematic memories, close to the surface, as they were recent.


      Keeping McCoy distracted, he quickly removed the memories, altering his perception to that of a normal end of duty. When Spock released him from the kiss, McCoy was panting slightly, seemingly suffering no ill-effects. “If not meeting for lunch does that to you, we might need to be busy more often.”


      Spock was relieved that it had worked, and that he had saved their mission. He nodded his head slightly in assent, “Perhaps if you did not visit the bridge so often, the same goal would be accomplished, without the sacrifice of a shared meal.”


      McCoy nearly replied. Nearly. But Spock had leaned over to capture his mouth a second time, and the next minute, the two left their quarters, McCoy urging Spock to hold his hand.



      The second time it happened was sheer stupidity on behalf of Ensign Chekov. Everybody knew the ensign was green, but this was just dumb. McCoy was a medical genius and a psychiatrist as well. There was no way that when posed the question “If you had a surprise party, what kind of cake would you want?” he would be unable to see through the thin farce to the true meaning. Spock had been tempted to lecture him on the spot, but McCoy needed tending to.


      Ignoring Chekov’s obvious surprise as to how his subterfuge had failed, Spock took hold of McCoy’s arm and led him to the turbolift. Once the doors closed, he pulled the doctor into a close embrace from behind, and while nibbling on his ear in a mimic of how McCoy enjoyed doing to him, found the memories of the surprise party once more. It was easier this time, as there was no ethical question involved. After a moment of memory shifting, it was done. He allowed himself another few moments of pleasant contact with his husband in the turbolift, before encouraging him to return to sickbay.


      Once they were alone, Spock spent the next twenty-two point eight three minutes lecturing Chekov on effective, and more importantly, subtle questioning technique, culminating on the assignment of a paper on the topic due the next Alpha shift.


      McCoy was none the wiser. Spock was pleased. Not for the first time, Chekov wished he had gone into the family business, or at least had turned down the assignment to the Enterprise.



      The third time had been the fault of none other than Captain James T. Kirk himself. Upon reflection, Spock should have expected it. It is rather difficult to hide a large, papier-mâché skull filled with prophylactics that say “Happy Birthday Bones” in the volume of Starfleet-issue quarters.


      While the three of them had sat in Kirk’s quarters, Spock and Kirk engaged in chess, Kirk and McCoy in friendly discussion, and Spock and McCoy in their own peculiar mixture of criticism and flirtation, it had fallen from the overhead storage compartment. The shell had been poorly sealed and several of the condoms had scattered.


      McCoy had 20/20 vision and swift reflexes. And before either Kirk or Spock could say a word of explanation, he had picked one up, and after reading, his mouth taking on a lascivious curve.


      Kirk’s glance at Spock was one of quiet desperation. ‘Fix it,’ the look implied, and Spock nodded, rising from the desk. “Clean this up, Jim,” he said quietly, before taking McCoy’s arm, and gently plucking the item from McCoy’s hand, led him to Kirk’s private head.


      Kirk paused for a moment, wondering if Spock would really have the audacity to have sex with McCoy in his private washroom with him outside waiting. Deciding that the answer was a “probably not” with an absolutely certain “Besides, he wouldn’t ever admit to it,” Kirk began scooping up the condoms and finding a better hiding spot.


      Inside the head, Spock pushed McCoy up against the sink; his thoughts split between his appointed task and curiosity over Kirk’s taste in party-favors.


      McCoy had a smile on his face from the condoms. This was going to be a great party, he thought to himself. Finding Spock suddenly in the mood, he backed further against the sink, reaching out to take Spock’s hand. “It’s a little rude to run out on Jim for this. But if you really want to, I’m sure he wouldn’t mind if we borrowed one of the party favors. They’re mine after all.”


      Spock nodded his head in acquiescence. With McCoy so willing, it would make his task all the easier. Placing one hand over McCoy’s chest, rubbing suggestively, he surreptitiously touched his right hand to McCoy’s temple, initiating a mind meld. He removed the memories of the accidental revelation, leaving McCoy completely unaware, once more.


      When they arrived back in Kirk’s quarters to finish their drinks, Kirk had found a better hiding place for the skull. And he reached a silent agreement with Spock to not ask what he had done, as part of simply not mentioning the incident again.



      By the morning of McCoy’s birthday party, Spock had been very close to ruining the surprise himself. After the close call with Captain Kirk, he had gone to every officer’s room who held in their possession an item for the party. Outranking them all, he had ordered them to place the items in the back room of the Security Office, one of the places McCoy was least-likely to encounter. Captain Kirk had gone along with it eagerly, still feeling guilty over his own mishap.


      Then Spock had the involved crewmembers attend an orientation presentation on the proper way to handle a surprise endeavor, complete with a “do and don’t” list to guide speech. The medical staff had feigned difficulty with a procedure that McCoy needed to see them through. Thus providing an appropriate diversion. When he had finished the task, he was exhausted. It seemed as though he was the only person who had managed to live up to his appointed job regarding the birthday party; or the only one who had managed to do so without incident. And although he knew that their hearts were in the right place, as both his mother and McCoy would say, that meant precious little when applied to a situation with consequences.


      All he had to do was keep McCoy distracted for the remainder of his duty shift. Then after a shower, they would adjourn to the observation lounge to meet the Captain and Scotty for drinks. There, the party would commence. And if his lecture had taken hold, the necessary surprise would ensue.


      However simple this itinerary appeared, it was complicated by McCoy’s eagerness to watch a passing binary system during his lunch break. Thankfully, he had invited Spock to accompany him, alerting the Vulcan to the situation. Having no time to think of a more refined diversion, Spock took the only logical course of action. He threw himself down a Jefferies tube. This resulted in a broken rib and a minor concussion. However, it also required that McCoy return to sickbay to tend to the Vulcan’s injuries, giving him the opportunity to lecture his lover on the necessity of looking before one leaps, quite literally.


      Spock considered his course of actions to be successful, despite the session with the bone knitter and the lecture. The party had not been compromised. But he mentally resolved that after the birthday had ended, he would speak to Captain Kirk, imploring him to never attempt another surprise party for McCoy again. There had to be better ways of spending the Doctor’s birthday.


      Finally, shift change had come and gone. McCoy had showered and changed into his father’s smoking jacket. And Spock had put on a slightly nicer uniform. McCoy searched the quarters for the bottle of Saurian brandy he kept, while Spock glanced at the chronometer. “I am certain that the Captain and Mister Scott have quite enough alcoholic beverages for all of us to consume.”


      McCoy ceased his search, turning towards the Vulcan. “Do you have Altair water for yourself?”


      “I thought I would try a bit of what you drink this evening. And to answer your question, the Captain set aside a bottle for me during alpha shift.” Spock rose from the bed, moving towards the door. “We do not want to be late.”


      McCoy rolled his eyes but followed the Vulcan out of his quarters. “I don’t see what the rush is. Considering the amount of grief those two put me through on a weekly basis, the least they could do is wait a few minutes.”


      “Be that as it may, propriety dictates we arrive at the agreed time,” Spock ended the conversation. The two rode the turbolift to the lounge in silence. When the doors opened, they found themselves facing a darkened room.


      Before McCoy could question the lack of automated lights, or make a suggestion to call for maintenance, the lights flickered on, revealing a decorated room meant to resemble a plantation in Georgia. Dozens of officers jumped out from behind furniture, all shouting “Surprise!”


      McCoy stared at them for several seconds, not reacting. Then...he fainted. Spock managed to catch him before he hit the floor.


      As the Vulcan lay him down gently, one hand went to the human’s temples, searching carefully. He began to fear that his unorthodox method of maintaining the surprise had led to damage. He found that McCoy’s brain had been conditioned to repress hints of the surprise party. Faced with the party itself, and unable to repress in the presence of hard fact, his mind had simply shut itself off until it had a chance to reclassify the data. The Vulcan let his hand slip from McCoy’s temple.


      Several officers, including Kirk, had run to McCoy’s side, confusion and concern in their faces. Captain Kirk looked at the Vulcan, reaching out a hand. “Spock, what happened? Is there anything I can do?”


      As sheepishly as a Vulcan could, Spock spoke softly beneath his breath, “Could we reschedule?”



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