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Outside of pon farr, Spock never really indicated he was interested in sexual pursuits nor romantic distractions. He confirmed as much in confidence when Kirk made indirect inquiries on the subject; and furthermore, that he was unlikely to change his mind. "Really?" Kirk asked, though he was struggling to picture Spock invested in a romantic entanglement besides their mutual obsession with the Enterprise. Which was somewhat concerning. It didn't bode well for Spock's future (or life) if he didn't take interest in another great romance besides his devotion to scientific discovery.
They were playing chess, which was routine for them. Kirk had other motivations besides the game and it reflected on his playing. He'd been running defensive for the entirety of the round as his mind was at work trying to prod around the subject without crossing over any boundaries of Vulcan propriety.
Spock gave him a look over the board that he couldn't interpret. He moved his knight down a level, swiping Kirk's queen as he did. Kirk cursed quietly under his breath. From Spock's tiny smirk, he'd heard it.
"I am unsure of your meaning," Spock replied after a beat. "Though it may be in your best interests to refocus your attention on the game, instead of my…personal recreational pursuits."
Kirk rolled his eyes. "Forget the game. The whole thing with Vulcan…sometime in the next seven years you're going to need to. Find someone, I mean."
Spock's shoulders remained relaxed. "That is not of particular concern to me."
"It's your life you're talking about," Kirk pressed, sudden insistence crawling up his spine and out his throat. Worry colored his tone. "There's gotta be someone."
The rook rolled between Spock's fingers as he contemplated the board. "It is not an area I confess much interest in."
Kirk blinked quickly. "Romance?"
"I am content with my research, sir," Spock answered demurely. "As you say, I will have…seven years to explore other avenues."
"But you may not have seven years," reminded Jim. "You don't know when…that might come back. I'm just saying, it's a lot to gamble on—you could die."
Spock blinked slowly back at him. "Checkmate." His rook had thoroughly snared Kirk's king. From a glance, he knew there was no winning on this particular board. Kirk sighed as he tipped his king.
When he brought up his professional concern with McCoy, he got an eye roll from his CMO. "Keep your pants on, Jim."
"It's not like that," Kirk assured him. "I'm worried."
"Well, don't," McCoy said curtly.
"It's just—"
"I've got Spock on monthly blood tests now. If his hormones start running amok again, I'll know about it."
"But he doesn't seem to care that he doesn't have a—you know. A plan."
"He has a plan," said McCoy.
"And?" Kirk crossed his arms over his chest, then realized how defensive that appeared, and dropped them back to his sides.
McCoy looked back down at his paperwork like Kirk wasn't even worth his attention anymore. "His plan is to figure it out later. Anyway, it's none of your business. Now, get out—don't you have a ship to run?"
Kirk could take a hint. He scampered out, properly chagrined, and returned to the bridge. His attention was still laser-focused on that justifiable concern, and he only realized he was staring a hole at Spock's back when Spock turned around and granted him a curious eyebrow. Kirk sheepishly returned his gaze to his PADD and got to work on his backlog, like he was supposed to be doing.
Spock inquired over his continued instances of distraction at chess. His eyebrow quirked when Kirk explained. "If it is truly of importance to you," Spock said, "I will…investigate options. If that would reassure you."
"As long as you're taking it seriously," Kirk said. "Consider me reassured." The matter was dropped then. Though Kirk's mind would return to the subject on nights where a thousand other worries clogged up his thoughts and he tossed and turned and wondered how Spock planned to go about securing himself a Vulcan fiancée when he was busy on the Enterprise.
Spock said he'd work on it, though. That would be enough. It had to be.
"So," Kirk started. "How's the search going?"
Spock's hands stilled from where he was jury-rigging the wires to the door hatch. "Sir?"
In fairness to Spock the question came out unprompted. If pressed, Kirk would admit to some amount of boredom, and his brain was circling around in all sorts of unhelpful and unproductive worries. A distraction would be good for both of them. Their cell was low-ranking in terms of cells. Kirk wasn't thrilled about the cold and dampness of it and McCoy hadn't come back from wherever he'd been dragged off to. There was a giant gong that rang every hour that rattled him to his bones, and Spock's face had taken on a pinched set of worry lines that didn't bode well for their escape.
Clearly it was time to bother Spock to keep both their minds off it.
"The wife search," Kirk clarified. "Y'know. Like you said you'd be doing. Have you found anyone…you like?" Spock stared at him for a beat before turning his attention back to the wires. "I know you can hear me, mister."
Spock turned back to give him another incredulous eyebrow. "...Do you believe this is the appropriate time to discuss such matters?" Unfortunately for him, Kirk knew his evasive tactics; and he was not impressed by that non-answer.
Kirk leaned his head against the stone wall. "Just making conversation." He let Spock get comfortable in the silence and resume working on the wires before he tried again. "Have you even tried looking?"
"It has not…" Spock replied tersely as he ripped one of the wires apart with his bare hands, "...been a matter of high priority."
"Seems like it probably should be," Kirk mused. "If you're not going to do it, then I'll have to start matchmaking. For your own good. Anything in particular I should avoid?"
Spock's pupils touched his upper lid briefly; that was the least subtle eye roll Kirk had seen from him. "Do you like…tall? Short?" Kirk suggested. Spock decided to focus on the wires again and completely ignored him. Fair enough. Kirk swung his legs on the short stone bench their captors provided and left Spock alone. If they wanted out anytime soon, he was better off letting his first officer work in uninterrupted silence.
McCoy returned about ten minutes later soaking wet and bleeding from his nose. His leg caught on the lower entry as he was shoved inside. Spock was closest to the hatch (who hurriedly shoved his work back into the panel) and caught the doctor by the shoulders and gently lowered him to the ground while McCoy groaned.
Spock wiped the blood away with his thumb while Kirk kneeled down beside him. "Bones," he said, but he wasn't sure what he was even asking for. His stomach was tight.
McCoy's eyes fluttered closed. "S'all right. Jim. Hey. Where's…Spock."
"I am here, doctor."
Kirk reached for his hand and squeezed; McCoy weakly returned it. Meanwhile, Spock pulled back McCoy's eyelids to check his pupils and wiped more blood as it collected above the doctor's lip. He caught McCoy's head in his hands and tilted it from side to side to check for injury. Worryingly, McCoy was quiet through Spock's inspections. No blustering or bluffing. He blinked up slowly at them, squinting at the lights, without so much as a glimmer of recognition to their surroundings.
He squeezed McCoy's hand again, reassuring. McCoy lazily focused his gaze on him, half-lidded and exhausted. One of his pupils was a thin pinprick in the center of blue. The other was huge and dilated, reflecting little moons from the light swinging above their heads. Ah. No wonder Spock was worried.
Spock watched as Kirk realized the severity of McCoy's injuries. "He has a serious concussion," Spock murmured softly to Kirk. "I also believe they used the device with telepathic properties they attempted to use on me when we were separated." That would explain why they'd carried Spock off after their initial capture, and he came back looking no worse for wear besides some bruising. McCoy's nose bled steadily as Spock explained, "The doctor is unfortunately…very sensitive to psionic intrusions."
"Bones," Kirk said again, helplessly.
"It is very likely," Spock continued, "you will be taken next. They are seeking information. As I have sufficient mental shields the device is not as effective on myself."
Kirk grimaced. Squeezed McCoy's hand again. "How long until you can get through that door?"
In lieu of answering, Spock looked down at the doctor. McCoy weakly raised his hand and patted around until he'd found Spock's arm, and croaked out his name. "Several hours if I follow standard safety precautions," Spock said at last. Concern bled out of him like an open wound. "In the doctor's condition…" He trailed off. Then, firmer: "I will have it open within the hour."
It was a big ask. Kirk offered, "Can I help? Maybe speed things up a bit with an extra set of hands?"
"No," Spock said after a beat. "You should remain with the doctor and entertain him so he remains conscious."
"...Entertain him," Kirk repeated.
"You have a keen imagination, Captain. I am sure you will manage."
"Thanks," Kirk said dryly. "How long until our friends decide to retrieve me?"
"Based on their earlier patterns, I estimate no more than an hour." Kirk let out a groan of dismay. Spock spoke quickly as he sat cross-legged in front of the panel and pried it back open with his fingernails. "It is therefore prudent I complete my work removing the security programming on the hatch." The good news was they were all still (mostly) alive; but sheer optimism wasn't enough for a successful jailbreak.
Kirk rubbed his forehead wearily. "Great."
McCoy regained some sense of clarity about half an hour after his arrival. With that clarity unfortunately came a wave of unrelenting illness. He swore at Kirk, their captors, and the universe while Kirk massaged his back.
"You're in good spirits," Kirk joked lightly. "Alright—just breathe, doctor."
"I hate you," was all McCoy said, after he'd finished dry heaving. "I hate Starfleet. I quit."
"Starship CMOs need at least a six month notice approved by their superior officer," Kirk told him. "Looks like you're stuck with us, Bones."
"Stick it in your ear," McCoy groused. He blinked and looked around unsteadily. "Where'd Spock go. I thought I heard him in here."
Kirk was going to ignore the spike of concern that shot through him at the implications of that question. Spock was only ten feet away, and McCoy should've seen him. His vision probably wasn't all in working order if he missed that blue tunic. "He's working on getting us out of here. Can you stand?"
McCoy shut his eyes and moaned unhappily. "If I must."
"I'll hold you to it." He got a grumpy groan of acknowledgement from McCoy. Then returned to the matter of keeping McCoy from dozing off, with banter (he didn't have the knack for it like Spock's repertoire with the doctor) and even threats.
"Just let me sleep," McCoy snapped at him.
"Nope. Isn't there some topic you want to…talk about?"
"No."
"Alright," Kirk said. "How about we talk about how we're going to find Spock a wife."
McCoy's eyes moved under his lids. "Now what kind of stupid fool idea is that," he said flatly.
"I'm going to start taking applications after we get out of here. Spock said he's not taking it seriously—" there was a muted murmur of disagreement from his first officer "—so it's up to us."
An eye cracked open to glare at Kirk. "I don't remember agreeing to that."
"Well," Kirk said thoughtfully, "you do have a concussion."
Both of them jumped at the sizzle of electronics behind them—McCoy jolted like he'd actually been shocked. Spock's heaving breathing followed, and after a moment the sound of metal scraping picked up. Presumably, Spock was still wire-stripping.
"Whazzat?" McCoy slurred.
"Nothing," Kirk lied. "This place makes all sorts of noises." Kirk kept his eyes trained on McCoy and ignored the faint burning smell; Spock had said he was ignoring safety in favor of speed, and he'd accidentally shocked himself twice already. That was the third.
"When we get out of here," Kirk promised him, "I'm getting us some shore leave. Where do you want to go?"
He knew McCoy wasn't in any state to really think about prospective vacation, let alone remember any planet name besides Earth. Entertaining him would keep McCoy awake, even if the answers weren't impressive or all that coherent.
"Maybe Risa?" Kirk suggested, at McCoy's silence. "Hey, no sleeping." He patted McCoy's cheek firmly. "What about Risa?"
"Home, Jim," McCoy muttered. "I just want…to go home."
Spock had been so quiet at the door that Kirk jumped again when another electric shock zipped through the air. Spock's voice said, "Jim," low and urgent, and Kirk pulled McCoy to his feet.
"I'll get you home, Bones," he said. "Come on, let's take a stroll."
The blur between escaping and breaking into one of the control rooms to hail the ship was maybe hours. Or days. Kirk wasn't sure. He'd hit his head at some point after disabling the gravity generator. Memories and details got frantic and blurry after that.
Spock set off to disable the shields by himself after logically arguing that McCoy was better off in Kirk's care. He came back limping and then (un)helpfully collapsed after sealing the control room hatch before their furious captors found the three of them.
He hadn't stirred when Kirk ordered him to, nor any gentle face slaps, or not-so gentle slapping. McCoy tugged his arm away and said, "Lemme look at 'im," and pushed Kirk over to the desk to work on the transmitter.
The Enterprise found them, as Kirk knew she would. She was a little battered and bruised too, so their escape hadn't been a clean run on either side.
"Severe concussion," M'Benga pronounced as he pointed at McCoy, then Kirk. "Moderate to severe concussion." Kirk grinned sheepishly. The doctor paused at the final bed. "And you—I'm appalled."
Spock wisely kept his mouth shut. M'Benga was rarely outwardly furious. "Spock, if your skull were any thinner, we wouldn't even be having this conversation."
Solemnly, Spock murmured, "It is fortunate my Vulcan constitution—"
"Can it," M'Benga snapped. Even Spock looked taken aback. Kirk sometimes forgot M'Benga was as stern of a doctor as McCoy when he wanted to be. He was the CMO prior to McCoy's tenure, after all. "I want all three of you to stay overnight for observation. We'll reassess in the morning."
"All of us?" McCoy demanded. "Listen, Geoff, there's no way I can sleep here if those two knuckleheads are snoring next to me."
M'Benga's brow raised. "As you should be aware, concussion protocols mean none of you are getting any sleep. Chapel and Evans will be checking in on you every ten minutes. I've hooked you up on some light stimulants so you shouldn't be in danger of dozing off."
McCoy groaned. "What about getting rid of this nausea?"
"The stronger antiemetics have sedating properties. Too risky for you right now."
"But what about—"
"Leonard, unless that question is about getting more pillows so you can prop yourself up better, the answer is going to be a firm no. Rest—but no sleeping. And no screen time for any of you. I'll check in tomorrow."
"From one jailer to another," Kirk said aloud after M'Benga left the room.
"Shush," McCoy told him from the other bed. "'M trying to sleep."
"You're not supposed to be sleeping."
"I'm trying to not-sleep, then. Quiet down."
Kirk huffed and looked up at the ceiling. "What are we supposed to do if we can't sleep? Or look at screens." He side-eyed Spock, who guiltily shoved the portable monitor he'd hijacked from the wall back in place.
"Sleep," McCoy insisted.
"We may instead," Kirk offered, "talk to one another?"
"That would be an agreeable course of action," came Spock's reply. Though his eyes slid back to the monitor.
Kirk sat up. "Sounds good to me. So, Spock, about finding you a wife—"
"Oh God not again, Jim—you absolute numbskull," McCoy groaned, at the same time Spock said, "I would prefer to find other avenues of conversation—"
"Kidding," Kirk promised. "I'm kidding. We'll save that for when we're out of Sickbay."
"How about never," McCoy grumbled. On the other side, Spock nodded solemnly and added: "I am in rare agreement with Dr. McCoy."
Kirk sighed. "You're both killing me here." Predictably, his complaints went ignored. Spock started fiddling with the monitor again. McCoy grumbled to himself as he rearranged his pillows and tried to get comfortable. He was looking green again, and Kirk closed his eyes while McCoy made use of his bedpan.
Chapel came in for their first check-in and scolded Spock for playing with the monitors. Chastened, he sat back in his bed and closed his eyes, probably to meditate. She also cleaned McCoy's bedpan. Light threats about staying awake and not getting into trouble followed.
The silence lasted about a minute before Kirk was bored enough to cry. "Seriously. Anything? Don't you two have anything to talk about? You won't let me talk about matchmaking—"
"I could go for some chocolate nuts," McCoy mused.
Kirk stopped. "That's not what I meant."
"Almonds," McCoy continued. "Maybe some cashews. Peanuts?" He nodded to himself. "I could go for chocolate peanuts."
"How can you even think about eating like this," Kirk marveled. "You were just throwing up like…ten minutes ago."
McCoy shrugged. "And now I want chocolate peanuts."
On the other side of Kirk, Spock perked up in his biobed. "There is a replicator in the patient bay."
"Yeah, but that thing's been on the fritz for years." McCoy waved him off. "I'm just as likely to get a pile of inedible goo."
"I would be pleased to fix it for you, doctor." Spock was already sliding out of his bed and headed for the back of the bay, where the nurse's station and replicator were tucked into the wall.
"Hold on," Kirk said. "No screen time." Spock ignored him. "Or hacking. Hey—"
McCoy popped up and grinned. "With your brain, Mr. Spock, I'm certain you can." He stumbled a bit upon standing up, but otherwise made after Spock with an even, steady gait. Jailbreaking twice in one day. New record for them, maybe.
It was never a good sign when Kirk was left to be the voice of reason against letting two heavily concussed patients try and hack into sophisticated starship systems. He'd just have to appeal to their subconscious sensibilities…even if they were, for the moment, deeply subconscious.
Kirk slipped out of the biobed. The IV line chased after him while he followed after the two of them. Mostly because he couldn't stand to be left out of anything, even if it was a very stupid idea, and they were destined to get caught.
"How long do you need to get this thing working?" Kirk watched him skeptically. Spock's hands were remarkably steady considering the severity of his concussion. But he clearly wasn't firing on all thrusters by the way he was moving.
"Hmm." Spock paused fiddling with the wires and stared thoughtfully at the replicator display. "Perhaps…five minutes?"
"No seconds to that estimation?" Kirk teased. "Alright, this is a bad idea. Let's get you both back to bed."
McCoy drooped. "But my chocolate nuts…"
"I'll get you some later." Kirk steered him back out. The lights overhead flickered and there was a telling ZAPP behind him. Kirk sighed and turned back.
Both eyebrows went up at the scene: Spock's hair was standing straight up. The panel was blackened, as were Spock's fingertips. "I may have…miscalculated," he said guiltily. Then sat down, cross-legged, because even severe electric shocks made Vulcans dizzy.
Kirk closed his eyes. "I'll get Chapel. Bones, go back to bed."
"I want to sleep in my room," McCoy complained. No wonder Chapel was in surprisingly good spirits despite McCoy's condition. It was hard to stay mad at him when he was adorably confused. He probably wouldn't remember any of it in the morning when his concussion let up.
"You can sleep there tomorrow," Kirk called back. "Now lie down."
McCoy and Spock did remember their embarrassing behavior. Spock, in particular, went bronze to the tips of his ears when Kirk reminded him of his chivalrous attempts with the replicator.
"Damn fool thing to do," McCoy remarked, when he was done being embarrassed about all the running around and mischief he got up to. Chapel had ended up strapping both of them to their respective beds with the maximum strength security belts.
"I think it was kind of sweet," Kirk said, only lightly teasing. "Would you do the same for me, Mr. Spock? Maybe if I'd wanted pudding?"
"Perhaps," Spock said stonily. "Though I assure you the odds of that happening in the future are steadily shrinking." Kirk just laughed.
Kirk had bullied the two of them into his quarters after shift. They'd been released from Sickbay on light duty; except for McCoy, who was relegated to another six hours of observation. It felt right to have both of them in front of them. For the first time in as many hours, Kirk felt like he could breathe right again. Something warm and content settled over him. Spock and McCoy seemed similarly affected, given Spock's loose shoulders, and McCoy's early nods towards sleep.
McCoy had already claimed the couch just for that. Kirk didn't mind, even though his shoulder was trapped in place as the doctor's stand-in pillow. "It may be wise to assist the doctor to his quarters," Spock demurred.
A flash of something—intuition—caught Kirk by surprise. He smiled and said, "No, it's alright—my bed's big enough. Help me move him?"
He got a surprised blink from Spock, but after a moment he recovered. With Kirk's help they got McCoy to the bed. Spock knelt and removed the doctor's shoes and his fingers wrapped around McCoy's delicate ankle.
Despite their efforts, McCoy stirred. "W'ha the hell," McCoy muttered. He was somewhere between sleep and not, and not happy about the movement. "Spock?"
"The Captain would prefer you stay with him in his quarters tonight," Spock answered. "Is this acceptable?"
McCoy didn't answer for a beat. He tipped his head back and closed his eyes and grunted, which Kirk took as agreement.
Kirk pulled off his own shoes. It didn't seem right to put on his sleep clothes if McCoy was going without them, and it wasn't like he hadn't slept in his uniform before. Spock helped McCoy to the left side and then stood, his arms folded at parade rest. Kirk looked at McCoy, then the empty space beside him.
Spock's gaze followed his.
"Well?" Kirk asked. "Get over here."
Spock had the decency not to waffle about or pretend obtuseness. He knelt and removed his own shoes, and lowered himself onto the bed at Kirk's left. He settled in, brushing shoulders as he did.
They needed more pillows. At the same time, Kirk wasn't going to move for anything less than a red alert.
"This is nice," Kirk said aloud. McCoy made another grumpy noise and shushed him. "A little weird, though."
"How so?" Spock's voice was as collected as though he were standing on the bridge, reporting from his station.
Kirk's shoulders knocked against his again. "The three of us, in this bed?" It was a tight fit. McCoy's cold nose was pressed up against his collarbone. Spock, despite attempting to hold some respect for boundaries, had tangled his legs up with Kirk. "I mean, it's nice. Why haven't we done this before?"
McCoy's breath was warm on his neck. He was thin. He'd always been thin, but Kirk didn't like how easily he could feel the doctor's ribs. He'd have to work on getting some meat back on him.
As though he could hear Kirk's internal plotting, McCoy groused, "Jim, just go to bed."
"...and weird in another way," Kirk commented. "...I think I'd like to do this again. Together."
"I would as well," Spock agreed. McCoy shushed him too.
Kirk nodded sagely. "But we can't make a habit of it. How else are we going to find Spock a wife if he's always sleeping…in here with us?"
"Spock doesn't need a wife," McCoy muttered grumpily into his shoulder.
"Why not?" Kirk whispered back. It felt like he needed to whisper. Even though Spock could certainly hear them.
One of Spock's eyelids opened a sliver. His dark eye met Kirk's and then closed again.
"Because he doesn't need one," McCoy answered. His voice was lazy with sleep and edged with irritation. But much like the doctor's usual curmudgeonly care, it was also mixed with unmistakable affection. "Idiot."
Kirk blinked at his ceiling. McCoy's grumbling dropped off into wheezy snoring shortly after.
"Ah," Kirk said, meaningfully. "I see."
"Do you," Spock murmured beside him. Kirk twitched; he thought Spock had already fallen asleep; it was freaky (McCoy's phrasing) how he could control his breathing, deep and even like that, and still be wide awake. "The doctor and I were beginning to think you never would."
"...I may have been a little slow on the draw for this one," Kirk admitted. "Though you two also aren't very good at your words."
"Hmm," Spock said, and if Kirk wasn't looking directly at him he might have missed Spock's small smile. "In this matter, I was not sure we needed them."
"I can assure you," Kirk told him, amused and exasperated two-fold, "we definitely do."
He intended to hash out the full story and expectations right then. But Spock gave him a look and said, "Leonard will be cross if you wake him," so Kirk amended to himself: tomorrow. That was a matter for tomorrow.
In a strange, yet earnest kind of way, he was actually looking forward to it.