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Advanced Calculus

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"You've gotta be fucking kidding me.”

“Pardon me, Midshipman?” At the glare from the superior officer he blushed. He'd spoke without thinking once again and was reminded once again that he couldn't sling out what he thought of the various injustices foisted upon him since he’d entered this hell on Earth--Starfleet-- like they were dead roadkill any ol’ goddamned time he pleased.

“I meant--” He grimaced, trying to tone down the rancor in his voice, “Sir, why do I have to take this class again? I'm a doctor--”

“Yes. Dr. McCoy. I can see your qualifications on your file.” And also the man could see it on his name tag attached to his scrubs, too. What a brilliant guy.

McCoy pointed to his tag for emphasis. “So you know what 'Doctor' entails, right? Four years pre-med University of Georgia, Four years med-school at University of Mississippi, and three years residency at--”

“I am fully aware of that.”

He delivered his best scowl upon the entirely too young commander standing before him feeding him this bullshit. “So, why in blazes are you telling me, that I have to repeat--huh--what did you say it was?

“Math 414.”

“What the fu--I mean what is Math 414?”

“Advanced Calculus, Midshipman.”

“I’ve already taken it, Sir.”

“Apparently not,” the commander replied.

“No, no, no. That is impossible. I wouldn’t be a doctor if I hadn’t.”

“There is no record of you taking Advanced Calculus.”

McCoy raised an eyebrow. “None? Whatsoever?”

“I am afraid not, Midshipman.”

“ you have a superior I can talk to? Like an admiral?”

The commander pushed a button on his PADD. “Certainly. Wait over there and Admiral Smith will speak with you shortly.”


“What seems to be the problem, Midshipman?”

“Admiral, there is a terrible mistake on my file. It states that I have never taken Advanced Calculus. I’m a physician, I earned an M.D.--”

“Yes. I can see your name tag, Doctor.”

“So, Admiral, since I am a physician, I can assure you I have already taken Advanced Calculus.”

“Hang on a moment," the admiral replied.  "I’ll re-order your transcript right now. We’ll sort this out.”

McCoy sat back in his chair, relieved. “Thank you, Ma’am.” He waited nervously for a few moments as she punched in some commands, then studied the readout. “Ever taken the class at another school besides UGA? Community College maybe? What about Ol’ Miss?”

“I’ve never taken it at Ol Miss, I’d already passed it by then. An ‘A’, Ma’am. And no, I never went to Community College. At UGA I attended on a full baseball scholarship. I had a 4.0 average all the way through. At ‘Ol Miss’ I graduated Summa Cum Laude owing 300,000 credits in student loans but the amount was ultimately forgiven by entering Starfleet Academy.” He forced himself to refrain from shouting at her. “There’s absolutely no way I could have flunked the class, nor could I have skipped it.”

“Uh huh,” the admiral said, absently, as she typed in more commands. “Well, Doc, I don’t know what to tell you. You’ll have to take it again. I’m sorry. If you say you’ve already taken it, it’ll be an easy A for you, then.”

“What about teaching? I could make up the class credits by teaching. Any science class. How about that, Ma’am?”

“We have plenty of instructors available, Midshipman. I’m sorry.”

McCoy found himself pouting. Dammit. What a fucking waste of time.

“And it shows here that we don’t offer the class at Starfleet Academy. So you will need to transfer to UC Berkeley. It’s a quick and easy ride on BART, no problem.”

“Cal? I have to attend Cal?!” Oh God. The insanity.

“What’s wrong with Cal, Midshipman?”

“Well, first of all, their pathetic football team. We kicked their asses in the last Rose Bowl. You might as well send me to USC. Ma’am.”

“What’s wrong with USC?”

“Pffffft,” he scoffed and looked away.

The admiral smirked. “Well, Midshipman McCoy, I attended Cal Berkeley and I was very happy there. You can tolerate the school, for a semester. Especially if you are on academic probation. Enjoy a few months of being a civilian again. At least you are exempt from the tuition.”

“A semester? Not a quarter?”

“They’re still on semester system,” the admiral replied. “Thank you, Midshipman. Enrol in Math 414: Advanced Calculus. Cal Berkeley. That will be all.”

Goddamned bureaucrats.


So, as ordered, he enrolled in the torture/sleep session at the University of California at Berkeley. Five units. Three hours a meeting, four days a week (monday, tuesday, wednesday, thursday) meeting at 0800 sharp. Oh, joy.

Furthermore since he wasn’t actively enrolled at the academy, he’d had to find himself an overpriced apartment in the only place he could find on short notice, a single upper on Sanchez Street between Ford and 18th in the Castro District of San Francisco. When he wasn’t attending class, he’d have daily shifts at Union General Hospital. At least it was within walking distance to his apartment.

On the bright side, the Starfleet training (combat and emergency flight preparedness and mission training) had been suspended for him until the semester was up. So this semester as a civilian should prove to be a cakewalk. The class was full, but he was allowed in. Special dispensation. How about that.

Monday morning, at 0730 hours (or rather 7:30 am), he found himself walking/skulking though the hallowed halls of the university wearing his ripped but comfy jeans, his ‘Ol’ Miss’ tee-shirt and his dorky backpack he’d brought with him from Georgia. He stared down all the jocks, daring any of those ‘Golden Bears’ tee-shirt wearing infants to say a goddamned thing about his attire. Nobody did. The shirt and jeans and flip flops were pretty much the only civilian clothes he actually owned since the divorce. Guess he was gonna have to buy more. Inside said backpack was his PADD, his college ruled black notebook with real paper and his pen (that shit cost a fortune nowadays, but he was a traditional sort of guy).

There was no required book on file so he didn’t download it. Hmph, interesting. Alright.

He flipped his backpack around, unzipped it and fished out the notebook. He opened it to what he’d scribbled a half hour earlier: ‘Math 414, Room 570, second floor, professor Spock.’

With any luck this ‘Professor Spock’ would drone on and on like a typical instructor and be more effective than a couple of sleeping pills and he could sit in the back and get a nap in and come exam time ace those fucking things no problem.

He’d even loaded up a movie on the PADD with his earphones in case he couldn’t sleep. Yep. He was ready.


Room 570, a lecture hall, was filled to the brim with eager little students. Just dandy. He stood on the lecture stage, peering up at the raked seating, squinting.

“Are you searching for a seat?”

He turned around to find a tall, thin, young, pointy eared guy with straight, smoothed down black hair, with pointed sideburns and high swept eyebrows (cute, real cute). The kid was dressed like a dorky professor wearing corduroy pants, turtleneck and jacket, old man style shoes--almost looked like he was wearing his dad’s clothes. Kid didn’t appear old enough to be an instructor, but you never know. Probably a student. Great. Pointy eared Vulcan in the class-- which meant if the instructor graded using a curve, which at Cal Berkeley they usually did-- this wiz kid was gonna bump it up a notch. Or maybe--more likely--he was one of the TA’s.

“Yeah,” McCoy called back, barely friendly.

“Up there,” the Vulcan pointed. “Do you see?”

He saw it. “Thanks, man.” It wasn’t as high up (or in the back row) like he’d hoped but he clomped up there and sat down in the seat next to the aisle with little choice. He slid his pack off his back, and pulled out his movie selection loaded PADD, his headphones and his pen and pencil and notebook.

Then he noticed something strange occurring on the stage. Somebody from UC Berkeley Staff wheeling something in. “What the hell is going on?” he muttered mostly to himself.

A girl next to him, whispered: “Professor Spock prefers chalk boards.”

“Chalk boards? What is this, the twentieth century? Who uses that?”

“Professor Spock insists upon them. He’s kinda a hard ass.”

“Hmmm,” McCoy said back, but he had to say he was a little impressed. He hated those goddamned PADD presentations he’d had to suffer through at UGA and Ol Miss, but there hadn’t been a chalkboard a real one with real chalk, used in school since God knows when. Years.

As soon as the staff took off out of the classroom, the pointy eared TA turned around, now obviously hooked up with a voice mic--presumably to introduce the instructor--Jesus Christ what a fucking show they put on here. “Greetings,” the kid said. “I am Professor Spock.”

McCoy felt his jaw just about drop to the floor. That wet behind the pointy ears kid was the instructor? Had to be about seventeen years old. Well, he should have fucking known.

The kid--the professor, went on to say he wasn’t going to waste time going on about his personal credentials, if they really wished to know they could research him on their own time--and McCoy was embarrassed to admit he hadn’t fucking bothered even looking the instructor up on Berkeley’s site. But now PADD in hand, he immediately called up the details on the Vulcan. Shit. Nineteen years old. Two PHd’s: Mathematics and biophysics, so technically the kid was ‘Doctor Spock’.

But almost as if the instructor was reading his mind, the doctor preferred to be called ‘Spock’ or ‘Professor’, no other title was necessary. And that was it for the intros. Next was the textbook. Or rather one of the infants sucking up in the front row raised his hand and asked why it wasn’t available on download.

“Ah, the textbook,” Spock replied. “I do not like downloads.” Somehow that got a wave of amusement rippling throughout the captive audience. Spock raised an eyebrow at that. “I am certain you have had instructors who have written their own?”

There was a general nod of assent.

Spock pointed to the instructor’s desk in the corner. Stacked on top was hundreds of...what appeared to be books. Real books. ‘Tree killers’ as they called them nowadays.

“What are those?” Some genius in the front asked with what seemed like awe or horror.

“Your textbooks. There should be enough for all. You will each pick one up at break.”

There was a collective groan in the class.

“Is there a problem?” Spock asked, almost in gleeful defiance it seemed, but he hadn’t cracked even so much as a smirk.

A guy in the second row raised his hand, chewing and smacking his gum. “Yeah, uh. How much is that tree book gonna cost? Looks expensive, Professor.”

“And it was, to produce. The paper is artificially generated, so no trees were harmed in the process.” Spock replied. “I have insisted the textbook be free of charge to students.”

“Free? As in we don’t have to pay anything?”


There was another collective muttering throughout the audience.

“Is there an additional problem?”

“It looks heavy.”

McCoy could have sworn that Professor Spock rolled his eyes and he did also, along with the Vulcan. “I must apologize. There was much relevant information that I wished to include and it did, unfortunately, add considerable heft to the book, yes.”

McCoy muttered: “Get over yourselves, you goddamned crybabies.”

Professor Spock glanced up to McCoy’s neck of the woods as if he’d heard the comment, but he couldn’t have, not from that far away. “Leave the book at home if you do not wish to carry it around. However there will be required reading and daily homework to be turned in. Starting with today.”

Next the Vulcan took roll, like a freakin’ schoolteacher would do in elementary school, visually noting each person, with those calculating dark eyes, as if he was memorizing their name. And there had to be at least 400 or more students in here. And that meant he fucking read out 400 names. And he did, patiently. Well, at least that wasted more time. When he hit the ‘M’ names, he called out: “McCoy, Leonard?”

McCoy raised his hand, obediently. “Here,” he said, with as much enthusiasm as he felt: Which was absolutely none. Somehow that got a laugh from the other students, he had no fucking idea why, but it did.

Spock noticed and met his eyes with amusement. “Thank you for joining us, Mr. McCoy.”

“Don’t mention it,” McCoy replied.

Spock finished up the roll sheet. “Now, let us move on to the subject at hand.”

As the professor began his opening lecture, McCoy took that as his cue to relax and begin his movie watching experience for the next two hours. Every so often he glanced up to see the professor writing something on the board with that silly piece of chalk, then he sank back into the film, engrossed.

Eventually after a half hour he got so into it, that he didn’t notice that someone was standing close by, hovering over him.

A hand reached out and pulled his PADD off his desk, yanking his earphones right out of his ears.

“What the hell?” he snapped, before he realized who it was.

“Leonard McCoy, you may retrieve your device from my office at the end of the semester,” Professor Spock informed him. Shit, the goddamned professor now knew his name. The pointy eared jerk calmly strode down the steps, back to the lecture stage, the now stolen PADD under his arm.

Spock announced to the class: “Anyone else care to donate their devices, like Mr. McCoy?” No answer from the captive audience. Spock glanced at the PADD, the film still playing. “Die Hard III. Fascinating.” There was another laugh. “I prefer the first film, but not during Advanced Calculus. PADD’s and communicators are to be used solely for note taking or recording, not for entertainments while in my class, do I make myself perfectly clear?” The dark eyes up front met his own glowering ones and raised a challenging eyebrow. Goddammit.

“He can’t do that,” McCoy balked under his breath.

A girl in front of him turned around and whispered: “He confiscated mine last year. Had to wait till finals week to get the thing back.”

He twisted up his face and growled.

“Please do not bring coffee to class,” Spock was now saying. (What?!) “I do not care for the odor. Additionally no eating or drinking of anything besides water in my class. Consuming food is what break time is for. Please do so outside.”

More groans from the pitifully assembled.

This was gonna be a long semester.


At break he went and fetched the goddamned tree book, while the instructor was surrounded by the usual ass-kissers and teacher-stalkers with their millions of questions. He returned to his seat and flipped through it.

He became so engrossed in the text, some stuff he hadn’t known in here, interesting, that it seemed break had just started before was over with.


After class, he hit some local cafe across the street to scarf down that breakfast he’d skipped, as he’d be damned if he was gonna give Cal Berkley itself any of his hard earned credits for their heart attack on a plate food. He ate, nose buried in the text book.

Then at noon he had to tear himself away from the book to jump on BART, get to the hospital, change into his scrubs that had been stuffed into his backpack all morning. Now since that huge Advanced Calculus tree book was taking up precious backpack space it had wrinkled his goddamned scrubs.

Hopefully the head of surgery wouldn’t notice, but of course she did. “Just roll out of bed, McCoy?”

“Sorry, Doctor,” he replied. “Been in class all morning.”

“Next time make friends with an refresher, McCoy.”


“Leonard McCoy, what is the distance d between the point A(2,-6 1) and the linel through B (3, 4,-2) and C(7, -1, 5)?”

“The square root of 5411 times one divided by 3 square root of 10,” McCoy replied after a moment’s hesitation.

Spock tossed the piece of chalk over to him. “Kindly write how you arrived at that answer on the board.”

“Shit,” McCoy heard his neighbor mutter, “Dude did that in his fucking head.”


On thursday, a couple of idiots, two rows ahead of him, wouldn’t stop fucking whispering and giggling to each other. He’d shushed them a few times without much effect. He didn’t think Spock could hear them, as the Vulcan was up in the front lecturing away. But all morning listening to it was annoying and it was disrespectful to the instructor.

He ripped out a piece of paper from his notebook, balled it up, threw it as hard as he could and nailed one of the idiots in the head.

The kid turned around and glared at him.

“Next time it ain’t gonna be a piece of paper,” McCoy informed the kid out of the side of his mouth, like a gunslinger.

Spock glanced up. “Is there a problem back there?”

“Not anymore,” McCoy replied. “Carry on, Sir.”


One thursday evening he went home, took his usual shower, changing into his t-shirt, jeans and flip flops. He poured himself a glass of brandy, put a record on the turntable and set the needle down. At the familiar first song he sat down on the toilet and flipped through the required chapter reading. His comm beeped. He reached for it and flipped it open. “Yeah?”

Bones! Where the fuck have you been?”

“UC Berkeley.”

There was a pause. “The university? Why? Teaching?”


What are you doing there?”

He sighed. “I don’t wanna talk about it.”

You didn’t get kicked out of the Academy, did you?”

“Just for a semester.”

Man. I miss your ugly face around here, Bones.”

“Shut up.”

What are you listening to?”

“Daft Punk.”

Bones, you are the only guy I know besides me who listens to 250 year old music. On vinyl.”


Why’d you get kicked out of the Academy?”

“More like academic probation. Bureaucratic nightmare.”

Sounds like you need a drink. Come over and we’ll do some bar hopping.”

“Can’t. I’m studying. Got an exam already on monday.”

What are you doing at Cal? God, their football team sucks ass.”

“I know that, but I ain’t playin’ fucking football, Jim. I’m taking a fucking calculus class, alright? With some fucking asshole, named Spock.”


“Confiscated my PADD and everything.”

I don’t get it. I thought you already went to college. Aren’t you a doctor? Or did you buy your medical degree at ‘Target’ and they finally found out?”

“Fuck you. Those academy idiots think I didn’t pass AdCalc.”

Want me to fix that for you, Bones? Take me two seconds.”



“I can’t get my PADD back till finals week, so I’m held captive. I don’t pass this, I’m out of the academy, for sure.”

Who’d you say this guy was?”


There was a pause. “I’m looking him up. Just a sec. ‘Rate My professors’ got him rated at one star.

McCoy chuckled. “No shit?”

Most of the comments read: ‘Douche bag’. ‘Asshole’. ‘Up his own ass’. ‘Jerk’. ‘Haughty son of a bitch’. ‘Pompous jerk.’ ‘Gives too many exams.’, ‘Class is too difficult’. ‘I studied and still got a ‘D’.’ ‘Does not grade on a curve’.”

“Awww, too bad, those kids are idiots, anyway.”

He has a 4.0 on the ‘hotness meter’, though. Got a little chili pepper next to his name. Is he cute?”

“I don’t know.”

What do you mean, you don’t know? You like men.”

“That doesn’t mean I make goo-goo eyes at my professors, like you do, you pervert. All I know is that he’s a Vulcan. And you know what? He has Starfleet points.”


“Well, that too, but I meant his crappy haircut. He has these silly bangs and pointed sideburns. Think he’s one of us?”

I can’t find anything on him, Bones, besides ‘Rate My Professor’. Maybe he just likes the dorky haircut.”

“God, I wouldn’t have it cut like this, willingly. Can’t wait to grow this shit out.”

That’s you. Okay, if you’re not coming out with me, then I gotta go. See ya, Bones.”


On the first exam day, Spock handed out 300 exam papers (200 students had already washed out by this point). They had an hour to complete them. There was muttered cry-baby complaints about the exam not being available on PADD and students had to actually bring pencils to class and use scratch paper, no calculating devices.

The exam itself was challenging, even for him, but McCoy was confident. And he’d studied his ass off.

When the last straggler had handed theirs in, Spock said: “Thank you, I shall have these back to you all tomorrow morning.” And no he didn’t have a TA and he was gonna look at them himself.

And with that he began the lecture on the new chapter.


The next morning Spock handed back the exams as promised.

“Leonard McCoy,” he called out. As McCoy walked up to retrieve it, Spock said: “Congratulations on achieving 100 percent on your first exam. The only student to achieve an A.”

McCoy looked at it and scoffed. “How come it ain’t an ‘A plus’, then?”

“No one receives an ‘A plus’, in my class, Mr. McCoy. An A plus would imply perfection and no student is perfect.”

“Huh.” McCoy rolled his eyes.

As he walked past the first row, one of ‘em whispered: “Teacher’s pet.”


The next day it looked like he would have to attend class in his scrubs after the all nighter he’d had to pull at the hospital.  No time to shower and change clothes.

He left the hospital, jumped on BART and made it there with a half hour to spare.

Bleary eyed and yawning and without his backpack and notebook, he stood in line at the coffee cart. However, there was some type of delay ahead of him. The reader seemed to be malfunctioning; it wasn’t taking the girl’s credit card, kept spitting it back.

“Hey!” he told the clerk. “Put it on my card, I got hers, don’t worry about it, Sweetheart.”

“Thank you,” she replied, smiling.

Finally he got his ‘red-eye’. He chugged it down, because he wasn’t allowed drink the stuff in class, goddammit. He looked at the wall chron. Shit. Eight o‘ clock, already. Spock usually locked the door against stragglers. Tardy students was one of his many pet peeves and even hearing frantic banging he would ignore it. McCoy threw the cup into the recycler, and dashed to class. He ran down the hall in the math building and slid to the closed door. He pulled off his name tag so he could pass for a phlebotomist or a medtech.

Of course the damned door was locked. Why was he trying to open it? He was three minutes late. He turned around to go.

But, suddenly the door opened. Professor Spock stood in the doorway, studying him for a moment, glancing at his wrinkled scrubs, taking in his bloodshot eyes.

“Sorry,” McCoy said.

“I was wondering where you were,” Spock said softly and stood aside.


Bones, you coming out with me tonight? I need my wingman.”

“You don’t need no goddamned wingman, Jim.  Y’all do just fine. I’m studying. Got an exam on monday.”

Another one? So soon?”

“Yeah, he gives ‘em every week, at the end of each chapter.”

A quiz or a full exam?”

“Full exam. 100 questions.”

That’s a little excessive.”

“Well, he wants to make sure we know the material.”

Come on, Bones, come over. Nobody likes a hermit.”

“Get over it, Jim.”

AdCalc is piss easy.”

“Not Spock’s class, I’ll tell you that. We have to compute that shit by hand, no calculator, no nothin’.”

On scratch paper? Like it’s...1942?”


Oh man," Jim said, laughing. "Sucks to be you.”


Six hours into his shift at the hospital, pounding down another red-eye, and rubbing his own scratchy orbs, the urgent care triage nurse handed him a mediPADD. “Laceration, room one.”


He knocked on the exam room door, then hit the button to open it.

Perched on a bio bed, clad in a white medical gown was... Professor Spock. McCoy’s gaze traveled down to the hairy legs and bare feet then darted back up and over to a bloody (green) towel being held onto the right hand by the left. “Why, hello there.”

Spock’s eyes widened. His gaze drifted down to the name tag McCoy wore and back up. “Doctor McCoy.” He smirked.

“You’re bleeding.”

More humor in those dark eyes. “I see why you possess a medical degree.”

McCoy grimaced and snapped on some gloves. He pushed the Vulcan’s other hand away, unraveling the bloody towel, setting that aside and putting pressure on the wound on the palm. “Came here all the way from Berkeley?”

“I live in San Francisco.”

“Ah. So what happened here?”

“While I was washing dishes, a drinking glass shattered in my hand.”

McCoy sighed, still putting pressure on the wound that was now beginning to bleed again. “Haven’t you heard of a recycler?”

“I prefer to wash dishes by hand.”

“Yeah, but look where it gotcha, all cut up,” he drawled out and yes he was aware he was flirting... slightly, “now how ya’ll gonna hold that piece of chalk tomorrow, Professor?”

“I was anticipating this would be sufficiently tended to. At least I had some hope, before midnight.”

McCoy glanced over at the chron. “How long you been waiting in urgent care?”

“Two hours in the waiting room.”

“They made you wait two hours with a bleeding hand in the waiting room? We must be busy. Alright, alright, let’s get this taken care of.” He briefly let off the pressure and scanned Spock’s hand. “You still have some glass shards stuck in the wound.”

“Do I?”

“Uh huh.” He reached over for the sterilized tweezers, pulled the shards out, then scanned it again to make sure the wound was clean. “That was easy. Did it hurt?”


“I bet it did, I saw some tears,” McCoy teased.

Spock shook his head.

“Since you appear to be a traditional sort of guy, would you like real stitches?” McCoy found himself teasing again. “I’m a master at those.”

“A regen device would be sufficient,” Spock replied.

“Maybe we don’t have one of those,” McCoy shot back.

“You have one right there,” Spock said, pointing it out on the silver tray.

McCoy chuckled and retrieved it. “You are lucky, Professor.” In all seriousness he said, “You’re also lucky the wound isn’t any deeper than that.” He quickly sealed up the wound, then worked on the skin. After about thirty minutes he cleaned off the dried blood and finally bandaged it up. “I’d have a nurse do this part, but since you and I are acquainted....”

More amusement. “I am gratified.”

“Yeah, well,” McCoy glanced up at the chron. “It’s midnight, Cinderella.” He snapped off his gloves, threw them into the recycler and yawned into his fist. “Sorry.”

“You do not have to come to class tomorrow,” Spock offered. “You appear exhausted. One absence will not affect your grade.”

“The hell it won’t. I’ve been tired since med school. Don’t worry, I’ll be there, with bells on.”


McCoy shook his head. “You take it easy with that hand for a few days, alright? Would you like a script for the pain?”

“No, thank you.”

“It’s gonna ache ya tomorrow, if it doesn’t already.”

“I will be fine.”

“Alright. Suit yourself. Well...I gotta git. Next patient.”

“Thank you, Doctor.”


Next morning he was there alright, in the second row, in his usual jeans, ‘Ol Miss’ T-shirt and flip flops. Yawning into his fist.

“Am I keeping you up, Mister McCoy?” Spock asked, pausing from his lecture, wearing the bandage on his hand like a good patient.

There was a titter from the 150 odd students assembled. (Yes, more had dropped out).

“Too much wild partying, Professor,” McCoy replied.

“Ah. A terrible habit most humans possess.”

A student whispered: “Here he goes again. Comparing humans and Vulcans.”

“Miss Stephens,” Spock said to the offending student, “number seventy six up on the board, please.”


At the end of class, McCoy waited until the ass-kissers had filtered out of the room. Then he approached the instructor. “Professor? May I see you in your office?”

Spock picked up his cardboard box with his teaching supplies inside. “Certainly.”

They did not say a word until they reached said office in the basement and Spock had set the box down on his very neatly kept desk. “Let me see your hand,” McCoy said.

Spock did and McCoy slowly peeled off the bandage. He hadn’t noticed at the hospital, but the long fingers were surprisingly soft, especially the pads, as he’d accidentally brushed his own pads against them, making Spock jump. “Does that hurt?”


“You sure? Move your hand for me. Alright. Looks good, Professor. You don’t have to wear this anymore.” He handed the bandage over to Spock. “Souvenir.”

“How much do I owe you for the exam?”

McCoy rolled his eyes. “Nothin’.”

“Ah. Thank you.”

“Well, I guess I’ll see you tomorrow.” He turned to go.

“Dr. McCoy?”


Spock reached over to his desk, holding something up. The PADD.

“I thought I had to wait until finals week to get that back?” McCoy wondered.

“I had suspected you were what they call in sport: A ‘ringer’. Seeing you last night at the hospital obviously confirmed my suspicions. What are you doing in my class, Doctor?”

“What--I can’t take AdCalc for personal enjoyment? What made you suspect me?”

Spock sighed. “I deliberately wrote your exams to be much more difficult than the other students.”

“Well, that’s hardly fair.”

“And yet you have achieved 100 percent on each and every exam.”

“So? Maybe I’m just highly intelligent. I guess I should have missed a couple here and there. Would that have made you happy?”

Spock shook the PADD at him so that McCoy would take it. “You are not required to attend my class anymore. You are exempt from the final.”

“We still have a month left in the semester! I’m not going anywhere, Professor.”

“You would be able to sleep in, in the mornings.”

“Sleep in?” McCoy snorted. “I got fridays for that. Did it ever occur to you that I might enjoy your class? Huh? That it’s something I might look forward to in my lonely, pathetic life?”

“Pathetic? I hardly think so. And as you are the only student that has ever enjoyed my class, I thank you.”

“Well, silly me, I do like the challenge. And believe me, it’s not all review. I’ve studied hard.”

“Is that really why you are here? For personal enjoyment?”

“No, truth is, I’m on academic probation. I need the class or else I’m out.”

“Out? Of wh--?”

“Starfleet, alright?” McCoy sighed.

“Ah, I thought I noticed your Starfleet points.”

“What about yours?”

Spock reached up, felt his ear tip and blushed green. “I took the liberty of loading some films you might enjoy on your PADD.”

“Why, thank you.” McCoy looked down at it and smiled. “James Bond?”


“Who’s your favorite Bond? The new one: Thomas Pine?”

“Negative. Pine is wooden and atrocious. I prefer Sean Connery, the original.”

“Of course.” McCoy glanced down at the titles. “Unfortunately I’ve seen all of these...all except one: ‘Dr. No.’”

“You have not seen ‘Dr. No’?”

“I’m afraid I haven’t. You know--it’s uh... a shame we’re--” He motioned, “y’know, student and professor...otherwise I’d suggest we should, y’know, watch it together. I mean, if we weren’t--”

“I know what you meant.”

This time McCoy blushed and glanced down at his flip flops. “Well...I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“You could--come over to my home,” Spock seemed to blurt out. “If you wanted.”

McCoy glanced up. “Uh...well...uh....”

“Are you working tonight?”

“Till nine.”

“Come at midnight.”

“Midnight? Isn’t that a little...uh...late?”

“Do you wish to or not?”

“Sure. Yes.”

Spock took the PADD from him and quickly typed something in before handing it back. “Here is my parents home address.”

“You live with your parents?”


“Oh, of course you do--you’re nineteen...I lived at home when I was nineteen. You are nineteen, right?”

“I am.”

“Your parents live on Earth?”

“My father is the Vulcan ambassador to Earth. My mother is a primary school teacher but she is on break.” Spock handed back the PADD. “Tap on my bedroom window. It is upstairs, but you shall be able to reach it via the adjacent hill.”

“You want me to...sneak into your bedroom?”

Spock raised a rather defiant eyebrow, if McCoy had ever seen one. “I shall see you at midnight.”


Of course instead of getting out of the hospital at nine, there was a couple accident victims admitted to the ER at the last minute, so he ended up finishing up at eleven. He still could make it to Spock’s parental home in the Mission district if he hurried.

He reached his apartment, ran inside, ripped off his scrubs, left them where they landed and took a five minute shower. He could hear his comm beeping, Jim Kirk. He ignored it. He barely toweled off his hair as he found something clean to wear. He shoved on a nicer pair of jeans, some clean black socks, a black button up shirt he hardly ever wore that usually resided in the back of his closet, his suede boots and a suede jacket.

He sprinted through the Harvey Milk Plaza and down the stairs into Castro Muni Station while digging into his pocket for his monthly travelpass. Couldn’t find it. Goddammit. He’d left it in his scrubs. He lunged over to the kiosk, swiped his credit card through the slot to buy a day pass. Finally with pass in hand he went through the turnstile then ran up the stairs two at a time. Sign said: ‘twenty fucking minutes till the next train’. He cursed up a storm then finally was able to board a Mission bound train.

He sulked in a seat as he was forced to listen to the retched loud noise on a thug’s comm, some crap that passed for music in this day and age. Some tourist was stupid enough to actually ask the thug to turn his music down. There was almost a fight on board, which would have delayed the train even more, so he found himself stepping in till the thug managed to calm down. Finally, the train rolled into Mission Station.

Then the train sat there inside the station and wouldn’t open it’s fucking doors. For ten full minutes. No announcements as to what was going on. He still had a ten minute walk ahead of him. Fuck. He banged on the doors, like that was gonna do any good. Goddamned San Francisco public transport, shit like this never happened in Georgia--

Finally the doors opened.

He sprinted up the stairs, out of the station, down the street, running for his life. Spock didn’t like anyone to be tardy and here he was gonna be fifteen minutes late on their--whatever the hell this was. Just hanging out, thing. In Professor Spock’s bedroom, at midnight, to watch ‘Dr. No.’.

It seemed the Sarek household was the one at the end of the block, up hill with an small hill right next to the house.

He was gasping by the time he finally reached the attractive, large, brown wooden slatted home.

He found what he hoped to God was Spock’s bedroom window. He didn’t think the parents knew he was coming over. And honestly, he didn’t understand what was the big deal, Spock was nineteen, wasn’t he allowed to have any friends? Maybe not. And it was unethical, doing something like this with an instructor, sneaking into the guy’s bedroom. But alright, Spock wanted him to tap on his window.

He did. No response.

He waited and tapped again. Well, it either wasn’t Spock’s window or he’d gotten the address wrong or maybe he’d been stood up from their...hanging out thing...well he was fifteen minutes late.

He tapped one more time before he turned around to go.

Suddenly the window went fully transparent and finally opened. Spock leaned out of it. “Hello,” he whispered.

“Sorry I’m late,” McCoy whispered back. “Just got off work.”

“Ah, I assumed that to be the case.” Spock motioned for McCoy to jump through the open window. “Can you manage it?”

“Yeah.” He landed with a soft “oof” onto Spock’s single bed.

Spock sat down next to him. “Yes, my bedroom is rather small. I apologize.”

McCoy glanced around. It was like a monk’s cell and extremely tidy to match. The bed took up most of the room. A record player sat on a dresser, with an impressive collection of vinyl albums neatly arranged underneath. He could see Spock had great taste. A TV sat opposite the bed, near the closet.

“I hope you do not mind, there is no other place to sit,” Spock whispered.

“This is fine, just fine,” McCoy assured him.

“Would you like something to eat or drink? I shall have to fetch it for you, downstairs in the kitchen.”


“I hope you do not mind keeping your voice low. My parents are asleep.”

“They don’t know I’m here,” McCoy surmised.


“You’re allowed to leave, aren’t you? I mean, we could go somewhere, get a drink or something.”

Spock shook his head. “I cannot be seen out with a student.”


“Would you like me to fetch you something--?”

“No, thank you,” McCoy whispered. “I’m alright.”

“Are you sure? I could make you a sandwich. You probably have not had dinner.”

McCoy chuckled as softly has he could. “It’s okay.”

Spock already had the TV on CNN. He took the remote and flipped it over to a film. “Dr. No.”


Spock crawled into his bed, adjusting his pillow back to the wall to make a headrest. “Make yourself comfortable, Doctor.” He got underneath the covers and motioned for his guest to join him, like it was no big deal.

“Call me ‘Leonard’,” he said.  He took off his shoes and jacket and got under the covers next to Spock. It seemed a little warm in the bedroom but most likely was because he was nervous. And why in the hell was he nervous? Spock had not showed any sexual interest in him, it was obvious the guy simply wanted company, a friend, but this was a little cozier, intimate than he’d normally be with a ‘friend’. If he was in bed with a a man he’d be fucking him (sure... like that had happened in two years). He and Jim never even watched TV like this, not even when they’d shared a dorm, well okay not sober.

They lay there, close but not touching (why should they be, anyway?) and watched ‘Dr. No.’. They were about halfway into the film, when McCoy felt his eyes getting heavy (Spock’s bed, while small, proved amazingly comfy, more so than his own).

“Sleepy?” Spock whispered.

“Uh huh,” he whispered back and that was the last thing he remembered.


There was a hand on his back shaking him awake. “Hmph?”

“It is morning.”

“Time is it?”

“Six o’clock.”

He sat up and rubbed his face. “I fell asleep? Damn. I’m sorry. I was terrible company.”

“It is of no consequence. Unfortunately my mother is now downstairs. My father has already left the house.”

McCoy stretched and grunted. “So I guess I’m leaving out the window, huh?”

“It appears so.”

“Well, since we have class in a couple hours, why don’t we go and get us some breakfast? I know a little dive cafe close by. I could meet you there.”

“I cannot. I am sorry.”

“What about coffee?”

“I do not drink coffee.”

“Yes, that’s right. Well. I guess I’d better git.” He leaned over and put his shoes and jacket on. Spock opened the window for him. “I’ll see you later, huh?”


And with that he was out of the window and running down the hill (away from the kitchen window).


He stopped at that cafe, scarfed down some breakfast, glaring at the happy couples engaging in some morning PDA. Now he usually had breakfast alone these days since moving out from his dorm and honestly he didn’t mind. But right now, it was just--It had felt nice sharing a bed with someone and he’d realized he’d slept sounder than he’d had in a long time, because someone was in bed with him.

And when he’d woken up he’d noticed Spock with messy hair, clothes looking rumpled from being in bed and a day’s worth of scruff peppering his face, however he probably wouldn’t show up to class like that so would probably take a shower and shave and make himself presentable. Goddammit that Vulcan looked hot with scruff and Spock would be naked in that shower, and--

Why in the fuck was he fantasizing and now getting a boner about Professor Spock, who he’d just platonically shared a bed with? Emphasis on the wordplatonic, as in Professor Spock was his professor at Berkeley and therefore considered off limits, even if the Vulcan had been interested like that, which he wasn’t. He didn’t even give off any inclination that he was into men, like that, he was just lonely, like Leonard was, lonely. So he invited friends to sneak into his bedroom and into his bed to watch ‘Dr. No.’ Maybe it was the Vulcan way. Yeah, that must be it.

He finished up his eggs, jumped on MUNI metro which was clogged with commuters and made it to his depressing, lonely apartment. He took a shower, jacked off, tilting his head back with an amazingly strong orgasm. He didn’t bother to shave.

He stood in a towel in his bedroom, cursing as he stared the the huge pile accumulated on the floor, realizing that he hadn’t done any laundry, (which nowadays consisted of using a real washer/dryer combo in the basement). At the academy they had clothes recyclers for their uniforms. This old building, no. He dug his ‘last resort when nothing else was clean’ white medical coat out of the closet, attaching his name tag. He hated this coat, preferred his scrubs (all of them were dirty, all seven pairs of them). He carefully folded it up, put it into his backpack with the huge AdCalc treebook and his notebook and the sack containing his hospital shoes.

Now for something to wear. All his underwear was dirty, of course, so he put on the newer jeans he wore last night with no shorts underneath. Now for a shirt....dammit, both Ol Miss shirts were in the stinky pile. So he put on the same black button up that he hated wearing, and his jacket, and grabbed the umbrella as the weatherman said there was gonna be a downpour. And flip flops.

He made his way through the pouring rain, reached BART station, made it to Berkeley at 7:30am. He dashed over to the coffee cart, bought his usual ‘red eye’. After a few sips of the coffee he managed to spill half of the coffee down the front of his shirt. Goddammit. So he wouldn’t reek of the stuff, Spock hated the smell, he nipped into the bookstore and after looking around was forced to buy a heather grey, long sleeved ‘Cal’ tee shirt. Never thought he’d live to see the day.

He dove into the math building men’s room to take a quick piss and change his shirt, unbuttoning and removing it and stuffing it into his backpack.

Suddenly Professor Spock entered. McCoy could have sworn those dark eyes grazed approvingly over his bare chest, before resting on the grey shirt in his hands. “Oh...hello, Professor.”

“Hello, Leonard. Changing clothes?”

“Uh, yeah. I had a little,” he pulled the ‘Cal’ shirt over his head, “accident.”

“I see,” Spock said, his hands moving down to his zipper. McCoy’s eyes followed the hands, till he realized Spock was staring at him, raising his eyebrow.

He quickly looked away. Embarrassed. “See you in class.”

Spock moved to the urinal and McCoy left him to it.


He arrived home from the hospital a little after nine to find Jim Kirk camped out on the main doorstep. “Cal?” Jim sputtered. “You have a fucking ‘Cal‘ shirt on? Are you feeling okay?”

“What the fuck you doin‘ here, Jim? What if I’d brought somebody home with me?”

“Not gonna happen in this lifetime.” Jim held up a box. “Pizza.”

McCoy sighed. “You better have some beer, too.”

Jim motioned at his backpack, grinning.

McCoy keyed in the code to the main door and waved him inside. They darted up the stairs and he opened up his door.

He went for a piss as Jim called out: “No furniture?”

“What the hell for, Jim? I’m only living here for a semester!”

“Well, you could have rented a furnished place.”

“No thanks. That would have cost even more.”

“Nice bed. This place is a hell of a lot nicer than the dorm. Nice wood floors. You should keep this and let me move in with you.”

“Don’t think they’d let me stay,” he said, finishing up. He came out of the bathroom to find Jim sprawled out on the queen sized bed, already diving into the pizza.

Jim held up the PADD, pretty much one of McCoy’s few possessions, besides the TV on the wall, the vinyl player on the floor, already spinning with the ‘Beastie Boys’. “Thought your professor confiscated this.”

McCoy flopped down on the bed, next to Jim. “He gave it back to me.” He dug through Jim’s backpack and pulled out a beer, Coors, perfect. He pulled the rest of them out and stuck them in the fridge.

“There’s a ton of movies on here,” Jim called out to him. “Fucking hell. ‘Dr. No’. That one looks awesome. Sean Connery.” Jim pushed the button to sync it with the TV to start the film.

McCoy suddenly found himself stopping him. “No! Not that one.”

“Jesus! Relax, Bones! Why not?”


“Okay, okay.” Jim was now pawing through the record collection of his. “‘Patricia’ by Perez Prado? When’d you get this?”

“Rummage sale. It’s vintage. And fantastic condition. It’s where I got my TV and my dishes.”

“No shit?” Jim immediately swapped out the Beastie Boys and put on ‘Patricia’.

His comm beeped, he took it into the bathroom so he could hear over the music. “McCoy.”

Leonard.” It was Spock.

“Oh!” He cleared his throat and turned to see what Jim was doing, Jim was engrossed in the TV. He turned back to the call, keeping his voice low. “Hello.”

I hope you do not mind, I took the liberty of investigating your comm number and contacting you.”

“No, I don’t mind. Not at all.”

Is that ‘Patricia’?”

He chuckled. “Yeah...yeah it is.”


“Yeah it’s, uh--what can I do you for, Professor?”

There was a slight pause. “You have only seen half of ‘Dr. No’.”

“Uh...yeah...that’s right.”

I thought perhaps we might finish the rest of the film tonight.

“Well....” McCoy cleared his throat once again. “How about coming over to my place?” He’d just have to clear up the pile of smelly laundry, do a little dusting, clean his bathroom, go to the grocery store to fill up his fridge and get rid of Jim--or why would he need to get rid of Jim, they were just friends, but maybe the third person would make the professor uncomfortable--

I cannot. I would prefer you come to mine. If that is amenable to you.

“Uh, yeah alright. That would be fine. What time?”


McCoy noted the current time on the comm: Ten o’clock. “I’ll see you then.”

Affirmative.” There was a click and Spock was gone.

McCoy came out of the bathroom. “Jim. I have to...uh...get back to the hospital.”

“What?! No!”

“Yeah. Emergency. They need me.”

“Damn, I just put on ‘Goldfinger’.”

“Well, you could stay behind, finish up the rest of the pizza and watch it. Just leave me a slice and a beer.” He shrugged. “I gotta go take a shower.” He nearly tripped on the pile of dirty clothes. “Shit.”

“Nothing clean to wear there, Sparky,” Jim said, clucking his tongue.

McCoy bent down and gathered up a pair of jeans, the two Ol Miss tee-shirts, a few pairs of underwear and socks. “What is it with you and the nick-names?”

“Don’t forget your scrubs,” Jim said, throwing a couple pairs at him.

“Right.” He dumped it all into a basket. “I’ll be back.”

“Here,” Jim said. “You take a shower, I’ll take your laundry down. Eat some fucking pizza cause I know damned well that’ll be the only food you consume in eleven hours.”

“Jim you don’t--”

“Bye, Lenny.” Jim took the basket and was gone.

McCoy scarfed another slice, downed the beer, then dove into the shower, then shaved and brushed his teeth. He must have been in there for forty five minutes, because when he came out, the laundry was already folded on his bed. “Thanks, Honey,” he joked.

“Alright, who is he?”

“What’s that now, Jim?”

“You. Hanging out with someone.”

“I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”

“Uh huh,” Jim said.


He reached Spock’s house at five to midnight this time, tapping on the bedroom window. Spock let him in just like before.

He landed on Spock’s bed, removed his shoes and jacket.

“Good evening, Leonard,” Spock whispered.

“Hi, Spock,” McCoy whispered back.

They got comfortable on the bed, under the covers just like before. Spock put in ‘Dr. No’. “Here is where you fell asleep, would you like me to start at this point or go back further?”

The only illumination was from the TV but now that he’d adjusted to the low light he could see Spock staring intently into his eyes, with those expressive dark orbs. It almost seemed as if the professor might be physically attracted to him after all...possibly... which began affecting his own breathing. Maybe he was wrong, but there was no denying Spock was looking at him like that. “You could go back a little further.”

Spock used the remote, but still staring. “Here?”

“Yeah,” he said without bothering to look at the TV.

Spock let the hand holding the remote simply drop, still staring, but now glancing from eyes to McCoy’s mouth and back again.

McCoy, throwing all caution to the wind, leaned over and kissed him, ever so chastely.

“Fascinating,” Spock breathed.

McCoy snuggled closer to him, pulling Spock back in. “Hmmm?”

“I have never...done this,” Spock whispered.

“What-- sneaking a guy into your room to watch movies?”


“Is it your first time with a male? Or with a human?”

“I have never had sexual contact with anyone.”

McCoy hesitated a moment. “ this...alright?”

Spock nodded.

“You sure?”

Spock nodded again.

With that, McCoy brought his hand to the back of the Vulcan’s neck, pulling him in again. Since this was the guy’s first time...holy shit, a goddamned virgin, pure as the driven snow, who the fuck has never even kissed anyone at age nineteen, well he is a Vulcan. He kept the second kiss just as chaste but lengthened it. Spock seemed to be enjoying it, anyway. “Open your mouth,” he whispered and slid in his tongue.

The intense kissing went on for what seemed to be an eternity, with McCoy still snuggled up next to him. Then to try to move things a little further, he slid his hand under Spock’s shirt, feeling the flat, warm belly, traveling up to the hairy chest. Spock reacted slightly to this touch but didn’t stop him.

He couldn’t feel the heart beating, until he slid it over to the side. Spock’s heart was pounding. “How close is your parents room?” McCoy whispered.


“How close? Next door?”

Spock nodded. McCoy froze. ohmygodthisiscrazy. Everything was going to have to be completely silent. “You better not be underage,” he hissed.

“Would you like to see some I.D.?” Spock shot back.

He glowered at that and sighed. Without another word, he tugged at Spock’s shirt, so that he pulled it up and over his head. At least ‘Dr. No‘ was still on to disguise a few noises, but it was almost over. He discarded his own shirt, crept over (careful to not make the bed squeak) and slid on top. He could feel Spock hard against his thigh and by the little swallow Spock gave, Spock could feel him hard against his. He began nuzzling and worrying a point on Spock’s shoulder and up his neck. Then at one point he bit down on warm skin just so he could elicit a soft little gasp from those soft, full, bow shaped lips. His hands slid over the hairy chest, awnsering hands moved up his back, to his hair, then to his chest.

His hands moved down to Spock’s waistline. He dipped his finger underneath, experimentally. That got another reaction from the Vulcan. He undid the button fly (old fashioned) and pulled the corduroy’s down slid off the shorts, grabbed the--goddamn it’s huge--cock. Spock sighed at the contact, closing his eyes. He pulled everything off so that Spock and finally he were both nude. He moved back up into the embrace, the skin to skin contact that was heaven. Felt so good, he half expected there to be angels playing harps in the corner, Jim applauding--goddamned Spock felt solid, thin and muscular and warm--

Spock’s gasp opened his eyes, their cocks had touched, so McCoy reached down and held them together as he resumed biting and kissing his way around his new lover’s body.

Eventually he took Spock into his mouth, and it had been ages since he had had totally silent sex, (and yes he’d done it before with parents in the house, across the hall, but never them sleeping in a bedroom next door) but the soft moans (very soft), the heavy breathing, the reacting hands at first clenched onto his shoulder, then combing through his hair told him everything he needed and wanted to know and very soon Spock was coming deep into his throat.

He smiled and wiped his mouth. He crawled up to hold a shattered Vulcan in his arms.

Then, Spock, the fast learner, soon slid down and insisted on returning the favor and for somebody who’d never given a blow job before in his life...mmmmm. McCoy didn’t know how he managed to refrain from audibly moaning and when he came hard into Spock’s throat he bit down onto his own hand.

He dozed off in Spock’s arms, and stayed asleep, deeply, warm and protected, until he felt the hand on his back, rubbing him, combing through his hair, waking him. He opened his eyes and smiled up at Spock in the morning: Nude, unkempt black hair, the one day growth of scruff...oh God, the guy was beautiful, he wanted to stay here forever and--

“My father has left for the day. My mother is downstairs.”

“I know the drill.” McCoy sat up, groaning softly, rubbing his face and reluctantly put his clothes on. Damn he had to pee really bad, but like could really ask to use the bathroom.

“Are you working tonight?” Spock asked.

“Yeah, noon to eleven.”


“Why don’t you...come over...come over to my place, midnight tonight? We’d have a hell of a lot more privacy. I’m sure you could...sneak out the window after the parentals hit the sack.”

“I am sorry, but I cannot.”

“Oh.” Apparently this was going to be a one time thing only. He did his best to hide his disappointment. “Well then, uh, I’ll see you in class.”


He got in the window, when Spock leaned over and kissed him. “Goodbye.”

He chuckled softly. “Goodbye.” He leaned over and kissed Spock back, this time letting it--insisting upon it-- involving tongues again. “Mmmmm.”

Spock broke them apart. “You’d better--”

“Yeah, yeah, I know.” McCoy leaned over for yet another peck. “I’ll see ya.”

Spock pointed. “Go.”


Crunched in with the morning commuters on MUNI Metro, he made it back to Milk Plaza. He reached his apartment, ran upstairs and inside to find Jim asleep on his bed, cradling McCoy’s pillow.

“You home?” Jim murmured, sleepily, both eyes shut.

“Uh huh.”

“How’d it go?”

“Fine.” He took off his jacket, pulled off his shirt and jeans and stood there naked. “I don’t know--he’s my goddamned professor, I...uh...probably shouldn’t be doing this with him, it seems terribly unethical but I don’t know if there’s any regulations against--”

“There is and I would,” Jim muttered into the pillow.

“I know YOU would, but I don’t’s uh...I haven’t been with anyone in a long time and it felt so fucking amazing and right but I think I’m confusing a one night stand with-- I don’t know, Jim, you’re better at this shit than I am...I’m not...I’m not sure if anything’s ever gonna happen with him again, but I...” he chuckled to himself, “you know I think i’m falling for him...really hard... I’m trying not to...he’s my fucking AdCalc prof, what the hell am I I out of my fucking mind...what if Berkeley or even Starfleet found out... never gonna see this guy again after this semester...but I--”



Jim snorted awake. “Hmmph? I’m sorry, what? How was it?”

McCoy reached over and smoothed down Jim’s hair. “I’m gonna take a shower. Go back to sleep.”

He came out of the bathroom to find Jim still in his bed, face down. “It’s thursday, I think. Don’chya have class today, Jim?”


“Well, I do.” He dropped his towel, dug in his pile of clean clothes for a fresh pair of shorts and his clean jeans. He dressed, folding up a clean pair of scrubs and stuffing that and the AdCalc book into his backpack. “Later, Jim,” he said, picking up his comm and heading to the front door.

“Hmmm mmm,” Jim rumbled out.

McCoy made it to the bottom of the stairs, sighed and clomped back up, opening the door. “Jim?”


“What the hell’s the matter with you?”


“You sure?”

“Uh huh.” He came over to feel Jim’s forehead for a fever, but Jim batted him away. “Your bed’s more comfortable than the dorm bed, that’s all, Bones.”

“Tell me about it. I’m getting spoiled.”

“Mmmmm, me too. I could sleep here forever.”

McCoy rolled his eyes, and walked out.


“Oh my fucking God,” the student next to him whispered. “He has a hickey.”

“Mmmm?” McCoy grunted, then looked to see who she was referring to. And sure enough, peeking out under the black turtleneck, as he moved the chalk across the board and turned around to lecture, the professor had what looked to be a green love bite on his neck. McCoy gasped, giggled, blushed and at once felt terrible guilt. I didn’t realize I’d bitten him that hard. He realized he had a matching one and at that he felt himself immediately getting rock hard, which luckily he could hide under the small desk.

“Mr. McCoy,” Spock called out.


“Number twenty three, up on the board, please.”

McCoy glanced down at his erection and cleared his throat.  Great, his worst nightmare in middle school, redux.  “Uh, sure thing, Professor.”


His shift at the hospital wound up ending at 3am. Instead of bothering with stumbling home he crashed on one of the on-call bunks. Then three hours later he was woken up for another emergency. So after swigging down a red eye and swallowing a stimulant pill he spent all friday dealing with that nonsense.

He finally was able to lay down again on the on-call bunk, which was hurting his back, uncomfortable as all get out, but not before checking his comm--nobody had contacted him.

Damn. He tossed it onto the table next to him.

He heard another doctor climbing into the top bunk, before passing out.


He finally walked into his apartment around 11pm friday night. Jim was long gone but the dirty laundry had all been washed and dried. All the clean clothes including the ones that had been in a clean pile in the basket, had been hung up in his closet or folded up neatly on his TV table. (he didn’t have a dresser).

He cursed when he realized he hadn’t been to the grocery store, and therefore no food would be in the fridge. He opened it anyway. It was full of food.

All the dishes had been done up, too.

He poured himself a glass of bourbon, began fixing himself some supper and flipped open his comm. “McCoy to Kirk.”


“You fucking shit head.”

Yeah, I love you too, BonesEat something for fuck’s sake.”

“I am. Coming over?”

No...I’m kinda at this girl’s place right now.”

“And you answered your comm?”

Well, we finished... for now.”

“Jesus Christ, alright. Never mind.”

You gonna hang out...with him again?”

“Nope. Doesn’t look like it.”

Okay. Gotta go, Bones.”

He ate his supper (eating over the sink, no kitchen table). He poured himself another glass of bourbon, pulled off his shoes and socks. He turned on the TV to CNN and plopped down on his bed.

He considered comm-ing Spock. Nah. If the professor wanted him, he was gonna have to fucking chase him. Too exhausted to bother with it anyway. He yawned in his fist.

He put ‘Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Heart’s Club Band’ on the turntable but before the needle reached Ringo singing: ‘I Get By With a Little Help From My Friends’, he fell asleep face down, fully dressed.


Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.

He blinked his eyes open--felt like goddamned sandpaper. He was still clothed, face down. TV still on. Record was still on the turntable, needle running in the runout groove, (didn’t have automatic return or stop) playing the gobbledygook that the Beatles recorded there.

Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.

He felt around for his comm, on the floor next to the bed. He flipped it open, clearing his throat. “McCoy,” he rasped out.

Leonard.” It was Spock.

“Well, hello,” he said, softly.

Did I wake you?”

“No...I was... up. What time is it?”

Ten hundred hours--or rather I mean, ten o’clock.”


You have the original mono version of 'Sgt. Pepper',” Spock said, suddenly.


The runout groove. I can hear it. That sound is only available on the original mono EMI recording.”

“You can hear it on the digital remaster, too.”

I can hear the pops of the vinylIt is an original pressing, is it not?”

"Mmmm, yeah. I got it at a rummage sale. Couple a credits.”


McCoy snorted. “Yeah, I s’pose it is.”

Are you working tonight?”

“What day is it?”


“Yep, I am working noon to ten.”

Would you like to come over at midnight?”

(Goddammit, yes I fucking would. I missed you so--) “Sure,” he said, calmly.

Bring 'Sgt. Pepper' along, if you are able.”

He chuckled. “You got it.”


“Leonard,” Spock breathed, naked in McCoy’s arms. “I would like for you to penetrate me.”

McCoy came up for air, after tonguing and sucking on an erect, green tinged nipple. He whispered: “You want me to fuck you?”


‘Sgt. Pepper’ was playing on side one for the second time around. “Ohhh,” he gasped as Spock ran a hand down his sweaty back and cupped his ass. “With you-know-who right in the next room?”


“Are you out of your Vulcan mind?” McCoy hissed. “They’re gonna hear us.”

“I can keep absolutely quiet, can you?”

McCoy panted into Spock’s shoulder: “I dunno...that’s asking a lot...” A warm hand slid down and gripped the base of his cock. “You know, your first time, sure as hell isn’t gonna feel that great to start out with, most likely cause you some pain. You might cry out, no matter how careful I’ll be--are you sure?”

“I am positive.” And by the sound of his harsh whisper, he was getting ancy. Spock’s cock was so hard, pre-come leaking out of slit, that McCoy wondered if perhaps the pointy eared hobgoblin might actually get off on the idea of fucking with his parents bedroom next door, in danger of being discovered. No. This was a terrible idea. A crazy idea.

McCoy sat up on his haunches. “Aren’t they gonna hear the bed squeak, or you...y’know, maybe you wanna fuck on the floor...or...I don’t know....”

“On the bed, should be sufficient. My father is a heavy sleeper and my mother’s ears most likely will not pick up the sound.”

“Why not?”

“She is human.”

“Is she? You’re half-human?” Spock nodded. “Yes she will. You know we humans can hear pretty damned well in the dead of night. Specially mothers.”

“Over ‘Sgt. Pepper’?”

“I dunno. Come on, I’ll blow you, Sweetheart, we shouldn’t--”

“Leonard, I really wish for you to fuck me.”

After hearing that filthy word coming out of those bow shaped lips, McCoy caved in. “Just let me get some goddamned lube and a condom.” God, had he even come prepared? He hoped--

Spock reached over, opened the bottom drawer, silently, and handed him what looked to be a brand new tube of lube.

“What about a condom?”

Spock shook his head. “Unnecessary.”

“No, no, no. I’m wearing a--”

“I am still technically a virgin and you have not had sexual intercourse with anyone else in quite a long while. You have been checked for STD’s since then. In Starfleet you receive routine physicals.”

“How the hell do you know?” McCoy hissed. “I might be infected with God knows what nasty disease, that might blow your dick off, or kill you--you don’t know-- I might have had sex with someone else, recently. Maybe I picked up Denebian Syphilis, you know what that does to ya? That turns your brain into mush. Literally. Maybe I have that, you don’t know.”

“Definitely not.”

“Maybe you’re not really a virgin.”

“Leonard. You have already swallowed my semen and I yours.”

McCoy sighed mightily and reached up and rubbed the sweat off his brow. He couldn’t believe he was hissing this argument in his lover’s bedroom at one AM with said lover’s parents next door. “I’m supposed to practice what I preach, I’m a doctor, not a--I dunno...” and he was starting to lose his erection after all of this, till Spock leaned over and fluffed him up a little bit, and any resistance left him. “Alright, alright, come here.” McCoy pulled Spock in for a kiss and maneuvered the Vulcan to lay to the side of him.

“No,” Spock whispered. “I wish to look at your face.”

“God, how romantic,” he muttered, huffing and pushing Spock to lay on his back, settling down in between his long legs. “Technical virgin...Jesus Christ. You ever hear your parents doing it?”

“Leonard, please do not kill the mood.”

He took his sweet time preparing Spock, so long so that the Vulcan was getting obviously impatient. “Len--”

“Shhhh.” He wasn’t rushing a damned thing, he’d take all night if he had to, because he wasn’t having Mr. Stoic here crying out in agony and giving away what they were up to. Poor parents didn’t even know their innocent, dutiful son was getting laid, right next door. His dick was starting to droop again.

“Leonard, don’t think about them.”

“I’m not.” He stroked himself to get hard again. “It’s gonna be messy without a condom.”

“I am beyond caring at this point. Carry on.”

“It’s gonna hurt you.”

“I will be fine.”

He slid in and heard Spock grunt a little. “Told you.”

“I am fine, continue.”

He eased himself the rest of the way in, closing his eyes. He’d forgotten how insanely good anal sex felt...ohmygod...and no matter how fantastic it was he had to make damned sure he kept absolutely fucking quiet. He leaned over, panting, kissed those sultry lips, then began thrusting harder--


The bed.

He pulled out, with Spock glaring at him in protest.

“Get on the floor,” he mouthed.


And so almost night after night he continued sneaking into Spock’s bedroom at midnight, fucking the hell out of him, silently, except when he was on-call those weekends--and even exhausted as he was, lying on the bottom bunk in the on-call dorm, he’d get a text from Spock, and he’d reply to it, which would turn into a sexting session and then he’d be writhing, frustrated, wanting desperately to close his fist around his cock and jack himself off and finally giving in (even with another doctor asleep in the top bunk).

The sex was fantastic, but he had to say he mostly enjoyed sleeping next to someone afterwards--till Spock woke him up. Damn, it had been so long since he’d been able to wake up in someone’s arms.

One of those mornings he’d been woken up by the sound of knocking on Spock’s bedroom door. He’d froze, seeing his very life flash before his eyes.

“Spock?” a woman’s voice called out.

“I shall be right down, Mother,” Spock replied calmly. There was footsteps heading away from the door and down the stairs.

“She never comes in?” McCoy mouthed.

Spock shook his head. McCoy dressed faster than he ever had in his life and darted out of the window (but not before a quick kiss goodbye).

Another time he’d come over he noticed a PADD by the bed. “Well, look at that, you actually use modern technology.”

“I am writing a new exam.”

“For AdCalc?”

“Not precisely.”

“What’s it for?”

“The exam is called: ‘Kobayashi Maru’. I did plot it out on paper, beforehand.”

“Of course. What is ‘Kobayashi Maru’?”

Spock hadn’t answered, but pushed him down on the bed, hand clamping onto his cock.

He forgot about any more silly questions.


The friday before the final-- his nose in the AdCalc book, studying, him scribbling in pencil on his scratch paper-- his comm beeped. He flipped it open. “McCoy.” did say last night that you are not working today until 3pm. Is that correct?”


Would you like to come over, right now?”

“Now?” He glanced at the chron. Eight A.M.

My mother has left for the day. I am in the house alone.”

“I’ll be right there,” he said, snapping the comm shut and jumping into the shower.


He positively reveled in the fact that he could moan and groan as loud as he wished. And so could Spock and ohhhh those sounds coming out of that mouth. After rolling around naked, their hands roaming, mouths biting, bodies moving with feverish intensity, Spock panted out: “Leonard.”

“Ohhhh....Don’t stop...whaaat?”

“I wish to fuck you.”



It had been a long time since he’d been on all fours, bottoming. “Take it easy,” he said.

The lubed fingers slid into of his rectum. “I will.”

The bed squeaked, but it didn’t matter. Spock slid his cock in and McCoy cried out and moaned as loud as he wanted to and told Spock to fuck him harder in full voice, it didn’t matter. Spock cried out and that sound was the most delightful thing he’d ever heard. He came first, with a shout, ribbons of come shooting out across Spock’s bed. Spock came immediately after.

McCoy panted and laughed as Spock pulled out of him and they both collapsed down on the bed, avoiding the wet spot.

Knock. Knock. Knock. Knock.

McCoy froze.


“Spock?” It was a male voice.

Spock’s dad.

McCoy gasped in horror.


The humiliating scene played over and over again in his head as he walked slowly to Mission Station: Spock’s father entering the bedroom, finding them in bed together. The disapproving but silent stare. McCoy being instructed calmly, coldly to get dressed and leave at once. He did, looked over apologetically at Spock, who was of course, studying his own hands. McCoy making the walk of shame down the stairs, through the living room, head down, unseeing anything but his own shoes and out the front door.

He hadn’t even had a chance to clean up properly so he could feel---mmmmphhhh.

He flipped open his comm. “McCoy to Kirk.”

Yeah, Bones?”

“Jim, come over to my place, now.”

Alright, alright, be right there.”

Jim was waiting on the doorstep as he approached. Jim was smiling, until he took in McCoy’s pale, anguished face. “What happened?”

McCoy was silent until he led them up the stairs and into the apartment. He went to the bathroom, cleaned himself up. Jim waited for him, patiently.

He came out, sat down on his bed, closed his eyes and unloaded on his best friend the whole story.

“Holy shit,” Jim said, cracking up a little.

“It’s not funny.”

“Sounds like something I would do,” Jim said. McCoy couldn’t help the tears streaming down his face. “Ohhh, man, don’t cry...come on...don’t cry...” McCoy felt himself being patted on the shoulder.

McCoy found himself sobbing and burbling and Jim gathered him into his arms, “I fucked up, Jim. I totally fucked up. What the hell was I thinkin’, sneaking around like that? His career, can you imagine what Berkeley’ll do to him? What about his dad?”

“Bones, he’s nineteen. He can have sex if he wants. It’s ridiculous. They’ll see the light.”

“The hell they will. My parents were strict like that. I know how it is. He and I are toast. Berkeley is gonna kick us both out.”

“Maybe his mom and dad won’t say anything. They don’t know you’re a student, anyway.”

“Yes they do. Spock had said he’d made the mistake of mentioning a Leonard McCoy in passing. His dad surely’ll look me up.”

“Maybe he won’t.” McCoy continued to sob on Jim’s shoulder. “It’s okay, Bones. I’m sure everything will be okay.”

“Oh my God, it was awful. Doing the walk of shame down the stairs...his dad’s cold dark eyes boring holes into my back.”

Jim chuckled. “Walk of shame. I’ve done that.”

McCoy couldn’t help but laugh too. “I know YOU have. Oh my God. Maybe the ambassador won’t--”

“The ambassador? His dad’s an ambassador?”

“Yeah. Ambassador Sarek.”

Jim broke out in a fit of giggles.

“What, Jim.”

“Wow, Bones. When you fuck up, you fuck up big. His dad’s the Vulcan Ambassador to Earth?”

“Yeah.” McCoy leaned over and put his head between his legs. “I think I’m gonna throw up.”

Jim got up, went into the kitchen, poured out a double bourbon on the rocks, came back and thrust it at him. “Here.”

“I gotta get to the hospital soon.”

“If you still have a job there.”

“Thanks, Jimbo, you’re a real fucking pal. I can’t drink this.”

“Drink it anyway. Your nerves will appreciate it. Have you called your boyfriend, yet?”

“He ain’t my boyfriend. And, no.”

“So he’s some dude you’re fucking and you’re in love with. Goddammit, call him. See if he’s okay.”

“Alright.” McCoy sniffled.

“Pull yourself together, Bones.”

“I am.” He flipped his comm open. No response from Spock. “He ain’t answering.”

“Text him.”

“I did that already. Soon as I got out of there. Didn’t answer that, either.” He threw down his comm. “I gotta take a shower.”


He’d had to work at the hospital till eight am the next morning. Before crashing on the on-call bunk, rather than stumbling home, he checked his comm. Nothing. He tried again to contact Spock. Nothing. He fired off yet another text.

He wound up spending all saturday and sunday at the hospital, on-call, never once managing to come home.

Finally Monday morning at five AM he exited the hospital, stumbling back to his apartment. He checked his comm--still nothing from Spock.

Today was the last day of class, final exam day--something he’d barely studied for, but at least he’d be able to see Spock, be able to corral him in his office, talk to him.

He showered, got dressed, shoved everything into his backpack, yawned and dragged himself to the BART station.

He reached the campus, headed down to the basement of the math building at 7am (Spock would be there in his office-- should be there before class, as it was his posted office hours.) Nope. Door was shut and locked. He pounded on the door. Nothing.

He leaned his head against the door, rubbing his eyes.

Finally at five minutes to eight he went up the stairs to class.

At ten minutes past eight, the professor still hadn’t shown up. His breathing increased. Where the hell was Spock?

A TA suddenly walked in and announced: “Professor Spock has posted his class. I am to administer your finals. Please make sure you sign the roll sheet.”

He swore under his breath, among all the murmurs in the lecture hall to the tune of: ‘Professor Spock has never ever posted a class. Ever.’

He took the exam, quickly finished it up, handed it in, and signed the roll sheet.

He went back downstairs to the offices, door was still shut and locked.

He reluctantly went home, changed into some clean scrubs, went to work.

One week later, his grade was posted, an ‘A’. Wonderful. Soon after he received a comm from the academy, informing him to report to re-orientation at 0800 hours. By the end of summer he would be expected to return to the academy dorms and hand in his resignation to the civilian hospital. He was gonna miss that hospital and his ol’ apartment of his, but it was lonely here, anyway. He’d tried comm-ing Spock again, even showed up to the office at Berkeley, like a goddamned stalker. Door was shut and locked.

He’d had Jim hack into the system, to see if there’d been any activity. There was on one item. He glanced over at it. “That looks like his ‘Kobayashi Maru’ exam he’s writing, Jim. He’s holed up somewhere, probably in his bedroom, working on that thing.”

Jim turned to him, eyes wide. “Kobayashi Maru?”

“Yeah. What about it?”

“I have to take that, next semester.”


Sunday evening McCoy’s comm beeped. Spock’s number flashed up. He breathed a sigh of relief as he flipped it open. “Where the hell have you been? I’ve been worried about you.”

“This is Spock’s mother, Amanda.”

Shit. His heart began pounding. “Where’s Spock?”

We haven’t been able to locate him in a few days. He even left his communicator behind. It is terribly unlike him.”

“A few days?! Have you reported him missing?”

Yes.” Amanda’s voice caught. She teared up.

“I’ll be right there, alright? Just stay there! I’ll be right there!” He tore off to the house, knocking on the front door.

Amanda opened it, letting him through the kitchen into the living room. The house was beautiful and it was unfortunate he had to see the rest of the place under these circumstances. Amanda, after composing herself, explained that Spock gotten into an argument with his father--a quiet and logical one, of course, but an argument nonetheless. Spock had ultimately left the house with a duffel bag.

“I am really sorry about what happened, Mrs. Sarek,” McCoy told her. “It’s all my fault.”

“Don’t worry about it, Leonard. And please, call me ‘Amanda’. It’s not your fault. I’m glad he has you. He speaks highly of you. His father...well....”

“Yeah. I know.”

After he left the house, he jumped on BART and went to the campus to see if he could break into Spock’s office (he managed to get another instructor to open it up). No one had been there for weeks. He searched the campus library, the local Berkeley city library, the transient hotels, gave the landlord’s Spock’s description, no luck. He went to the San Francisco libraries, began combing the hotels, motels and transient apartments there. Jim hacked into the system again, there’d been no online activity.

He and Jim searched everyplace they could think of in San Francisco to no avail.

“He wouldn’t have jumped off that bridge, would he?” Jim asked, staring up at the Golden Gate.

“Jim. Don’t even...don’t even fucking suggest that right now.”

“I didn’t mean...Bones...I didn’t mean--”

“I know, I know.”

Finally after the all-nighter of pounding the pavement around town, he had to get to Starfleet orientation.

He went to his apartment, showered, carefully shaved and dressed in his red academy uniform.

He took MUNI to downtown. At 7:30am, actually 0730 hours, he strode onto the Academy campus for the four hour re-orientation. While there, he tried to convince his superior officer to let him continue to live off campus in his Castro apartment. They told him they’d consider it. The same superior officer informed him that he needed a haircut and his eyes were too bloodshot.

Then, somebody else said to him, entirely too cheerfully: “Welcome back, Midshipman.”

He scowled. “Thanks.”

There was a downpour, of course, that evening, when he finally made his way back to his apartment. How appropriate. The dark storm clouds matched his mood.

As he got closer he noticed something...someone... and gasped.

Sitting on his front doorstep, clutching a duffle bag, was Spock.

He ran up. “Spock!”

Spock stood up. The Vulcan’s clothes were rumpled, his white button up shirt unbuttoned enough to show the hair on his chest. His normally impeccable shoes appeared scuffed. He wore a long black pea-coat, dark beanie on his head which covered the ears. The dark eyes were bloodshot, exhausted. Green tinged circles under the eyes. A few days growth of scruff peppered his face. He looked like a zombie, but at least he was here and alive and okay.

McCoy bit down on his lip.

“Hello, Leonard,” Spock said, calm as ever. “Would you like a roommate?”

In the pouring down rain, McCoy reached over, pulled him close and kissed him. Hard.