To the casual observer, it might look like Dr. McCoy and Comdr. Spock had switched bodies: the former's posture was ramrod, military-straight, and the latter was slouching.

"You know what I miss?" Spock said, his face contorting. It looked like he was trying to smile, but couldn't quite remember how. "Cheerleaders."

"They still have those," Leonard replied, not breaking eye contact, not changing his expression at all. "The real McCoy was one."

"Yeah, but the whole culture's changed," Spock explained. "It used to all be about keeping up appearances and popularity games and peroxide. Now it's a well-respected sport without a gendered connotation in sight."

Leonard snorted. "You make that sound like a good thing."

"You're young," Spock retorted. Leonard bristled, almost imperceptibly. Almost. "You'll learn. You miss all those silly little backwards things after a while."

Leonard rolled his eyes. "I can't imagine. It must be all that aspartame people from your century drank, addling your mind."

"Of, that's the least of what's "addled my brain"," Spock promised. Then he streched, cracking several vertebrae in the process. "We should get our story straight, for when Jim comes swooping in for our inevitable rescue."

"I found a cure, too late to do anyone but you and myself any good. It probably only did you good because you have a wacky hybrid biology, and I wasn't effected as strongly because I spent so much of my time in a sterile environment."

Spock shrugged. "I assume you're going to back it up with something we can show Headquarters?"

"Of course I am. I'm a doctor, not a con artist."

"I find that answer to be quite satisfactory, Doctor," Spock replied, looking, for a moment, like his normal self. Then he tried smiling again. McCoy still hadn't moved out of parade rest. "Seriously, thanks, though, I wasn't finished with this life yet."

Leonard looked at him for a moment. Spock looked back, and then leaned forwards: "If it makes you feel any better, I can assure you that I love her for her mind."

Leonard snorted. "And how long's that going to last?"

"Vulcan biology ages better than humanity's does. And I do have that wacky hybrid thing going for me. What about you?"

"I've been thinking of telling Jim the truth," Leonard admitted. "Then I come back to my senses. Always do, in the end. I give it ten years, then I'll fake a nervous breakdown, find someplace quiet, planetside, where I can fake my death again."

"I like my plan better," Spock remarked.

"Good for you."

To the casual observer, that was a very strange conversation. But anyone who had the potential to casually observe had died over an hour ago.