Disclaimer: Star Trek is copyright Paramount Pictures, original creator Gene Roddenberry. No copyright infringements are meant and no profit is being made from this story.

Title: Sharing

Author: rso

It all began with a note taped in his bathroom.

Captain,

I would like to bring to your attention that there are, in fact, two people making use of these amenities. Starfleet regulations require Captain and First Officer to share an adjoining bathroom. As I understand this may be difficult for you to comprehend, I have left a copy of Starfleet Directive 1015.11 with the appropriate sub-section highlighted. I have also attached a copy of the floor map for this deck so that you may observe for yourself the logistics of the situation.

Alternatively, you may like to consider why there are two sinks in this space.

This door, while locked, does lead into my quarters and I do make use of it. I also make use of this bathroom. As delightful as it is to encounter your laundry strewn across the floor and your beauty products cluttering all available shelf space, I had been led to believe that most humans learn to clean up after themselves by age seven.

If you are amenable to developing this core skill, please keep to using your own, personal sink and your own, personal half of the vanity shelves. Soiled clothing goes into the recycler. The toilet seat goes down. If you run out of toothpaste, replicate another tube and do not rummage around to "find" some. What you seem to think is a magical reservoir of things you lack is, in reality, my hygiene kit.

First Officer Spock

Jim read the note standing in his boxers, toothbrush in hand. He blinked and looked at the ream of paper neatly stacked on the (closed) toilet lid.

Well, shit.

Spock? In here?

The permanently closed door suddenly took on a new meaning. There was something extremely attractive about having the prissy bastard in such close proximity. Spock always disappeared right after shift, so Jim had assumed he spent his nights with Uhura. He never even heard Spock moving around through the bulkhead. Was his First Officer there right now?

Jim stealthily picked up a glass from the sink and stepped over to Spock's door to utilise a cunning and time-honoured eavesdropping technique. Other than the smooth humming of his beautiful Enterprise, there was only silence from the other side. Jim straightened up and wrinkled his nose, running a hand through his sleep-ruffled hair. This was why he had sprawled out to take up the entire bathroom. If Spock had been here this whole time, it was understandable he'd be upset because that had been about a week ago.

Score.

A shit-eating grin spread across Jim's face. He was, without a doubt, a genius. It was so obvious now that all the scheming in the world was nothing compared to his natural finesse. He'd been planning an elaborate programming emergency to get Spock to acknowledge his existence as a human being again. He had intended to blind Spock with science so that the bastard would forget he wasn't speaking to Jim. Evidently he needn't have worried. He'd gotten Spock to break their most recent cold war just by virtue of being his fabulous self. Not only that, but Spock was leaving him notes in his bathroom. Notes. In his bathroom. There was no way Spock could avoid him ever again.

Jim would write his reply later. Needless to say, he had absolutely no intention of acceding to any of Spock's requests. Where was the fun in that? He picked up the directive from the toilet seat and went back into his quarters to plunk it on his desk. The note he placed carefully on top, smoothing the edges down with his fingertips. Jim stood there for a moment, looking at Spock's precise, even handwriting. While he loved riling Spock up, it was never fun when Spock retreated into his icy shell to mope. Jim had been dealing with a genuinely robotic First Officer for almost an entire three days. The return of Spock's personality deserved some commemoration, even if it possessed a fair amount of room for improvement. Maybe Jim would make an official note in his Captain's Log.

He stripped off his boxers and stepped into the fresher, keying in a lukewarm temperature. He was the type to think in the shower and felt that he could use the soothing ritual today. He had spent last night obsessing over their new assignment. Every angle used to examine the delightful situation raised a new set of questions and Jim had ended up trawling through the ship's database up until, what, two hours ago?

The Federation was in an unprecedentedly vulnerable position. Check. That was one way to put the loss of a founding member and most of a graduating class. The essential core of Vulcan culture had been saved and almost three hundred thousand members were confirmed survivors, but the Rupture, as they were calling it, was exactly that – a gaping, bleeding wound in the minds of all survivors and in the Federation itself.

At this time, the Federation needed to secure the faith and loyalty of its member planets. Check. It was extremely fortunate that Nero had destroyed a Klingon flotilla using a Romulan ship because it meant that the Federation's two most powerful enemies were not likely to join forces any time soon. It bought everyone some breathing space so they could "find their goddamn asses and get them kicked into gear". Bones had not been happy with their immediate reassignment and was even less pleased with his Med interns.

As the flagship, the Enterprise was needed to do the diplomatic run and make a show of strength. Check. There simply weren't enough starships to run patrols on the Neutral Zone, play pretty with ambassadors and protect Federation space at the same time. Everything assigned to the Enterprise was top priority. Jim had checked – red flashing lights marked at least seven missions down the list.

This was the first. They were ordered to go to Cardassian Prime and get a feel for the political climate. The official excuse was the Detapa Festival week in the capital. The Cardassians were celebrating the strength of their state and the Enterprise would attend as a sign of respect and honour. Unofficially, they were there to find out whether the Cardassians were still playing nice. Jim shook his head in disgust, sending water droplets flying. It was chancy, it was delicate and there were too many details. He towelled himself off roughly before donning his slacks and undershirt. The gold tunic he left folded on the bathroom replicator.

Pulling on his boots, he checked his chronometer. It was only 0810, so Jim had plenty of time to eat before shift. And Bones would be on his way to the mess now. Jim would hunt him down.

"Bones Bones Bones Bones-" Jim sing-songed as he slung an arm over his best friend's shoulders.

"Shut up, Jim!" McCoy made no move to get away as they walked down the corridor together and Jim's grin widened.

"Did you miss me, Bones? Didja? I bet you did. I bet you sat up all night crying from the desolation of it all."

McCoy grunted.

"I knew it! It's okay. I have a bottle of bourbon. We will drink it tonight and I will pass out in your bed and it will be like I never left you. No more grieving insomnia for you!"

Bones glanced at him. "You're the one who only got one and a half hours of sleep last night," he drawled.

Jim stared. "How the hell do you do that? Seriously, this thing of yours drove me crazy in the Academy; just tell me already! Is it the eyes? It's the eyes isn't it."

Jim scrutinised Bones at point-blank range, searching for a hint. Bones glared back at him, unimpressed.

"Get your ugly mug out of my face. All I need to do is look at how much of an idiot you're being on any given day. It's what you call an inverse relationship."

Jim snorted. "Oh, look at you and your higher math. We think we're so clever, don't we? We've come a long way from failing biostatistics, haven't we, Bonesy?"

"Not really. I'm serving under Starfleet's resident retard. He talks in second person. I think they're punishing me for something."

"Damn straight you're serving under me. Sometimes I'm not sure if you're aware of this fact. I should make you wear something demeaning, like a fez-"

"Good morning, Captain Kirk."

Jim broke off and looked around. It was Sulu, looking calm and capable as he always did. Jim relaxed, raising his hand for a fistbump. They were bros. He had never met anyone who could be such a mild, unassuming geek and yet so badass at the same time. It was kind of awesome.

Sulu fell into stride with them and Jim clapped him on the shoulder. "Heading to the mess?"

"Yeah. I skipped dinner last night so I'm starved."

"That's the third time. I'm monitoring your meal card, buddy."

Sulu grinned sheepishly at McCoy. "I know; I'm sorry. There's just a really interesting germination project underway in Plant Bio Lab 2. I lost track of time."

"Is that the one with the fluorescent aquatic spores? The samples we picked up on Tri-Gal IV?" Jim piped up, interested.

"Shush, Jim, the adults are talking."

"Bite me, Bones."

'You know about that, Captain?" Sulu sounded pleasantly surprised as opposed to disbelieving and Jim mentally bumped him up a few places on his List of Favourite People. It was Most Unfavourite McCoy who answered the question.

"Yeah, he would. His majors were Astrophysics and Engineering on top of the three-year command course but this idiot savant found time to dabble somehow. I'm warning you now so that he can't play dumb with you."

"Bones! You suck!" Jim scowled, unhappy with this development. What if Uhura found out that he hadn't actually slept his way to the top? She might, heaven forbid, start respecting him or something.

McCoy rolled his eyes. "Shut up. It's just Sulu. I think you have enough people to torment. You wanted to play in the labs with him anyway."

"You're welcome any time, Captain. Other than the spores, they've got a proteomic analysis underway with a few strains of thermophilic algae. Spock's looking after that one."

Oh was he now. Jim had a feeling he might develop a burning interest in thermophilic algae soon. Bones took one look at Jim and started swearing under his breath.

The three of them continued the conversation into the mess hall until they parted to get trays and line up at the replicators. The mess was a large, echoing place reminiscent of a high school cafeteria. Considering the age of the crew and all the departmental cliques, Jim found this comparison apt. It was a welcoming, social place to eat, warm and well-lit. There were several long tables made to seat up to twenty on benches as well as more intimate settings scattered around. A few shrub-palms in pots stood around to keep the place looking nice.

This morning, a large number of men and women in Maintenance uniforms filled up one long table and were chatting animatedly. Firmly on the opposite side of the hall was a mass of Engineering red. Right at the centre of it, Scotty was earnestly explaining something to one of his underlings with the aid of a colossal structure he'd made out of coffee stirrers. As Jim watched, Scotty snatched another one out of someone's mug and used it to gesticulate. The baguette he held in the other hand dripped onion bits with every movement.

Jim smiled. He had spent two days reprogramming the replicators with Scotty before the Enterprise launched and they had been successful in improving both the range and quality of foods available. Scotty was adamant about never going near a protein nib ever again. Their Constitution-class flagship now suffered the ignoble distinction of best sandwich bar in space. It meant that their crew was well-fed, at the very least. Jim surveyed the ensigns walking back and forth with an air of proprietary satisfaction.

There were few Science blues around as their shift rotation was scheduled differently. A third of the engineers had already left and a fresh wave of officers was coming in. With four hundred and twenty crewmembers on board, high-traffic areas like this were always bustling. The aromas of a hundred good breakfasts hung in the air with the clink of cutlery and dull roar of conversation.

When it was Jim's turn in line, he decided on traditional continental fare and placed an order for two croissants and a selection of jams. He placed his hot chocolate on the tray as and headed off to where Bones and Sulu had found a spot. He would eat, return to his quarters for his reports and an unfinished schematic and then report to the bridge.

"Good morning, crew."

Jim entered through the doors of the turbolift and beamed around at his assembled officers. He winked at the motherly Officer Rhuyet manning Internal Systems Control and then made his way slowly down to settle in his command chair. He stacked his PADDs on the floor nearby in easy reach.

"Status, Chekov?" His prodigious navigator turned to face him with a bright smile, looking far too small in his gold tunic.

"We are directly on-course for Cardassian Prime, Keptin. ETA is sixteen days which is giving us plenty of time as Detapa Festiwal begins in twenty days."

"Anything to report?"

"Nyet, Keptin."

"Very good." Chekov ducked his head and spun back around.

"How's the ride, Sulu?"

"Warp factor 5, Captain and going smoothly. Keeping a low altitude to pass under Sonor's Belt, should be clear in an hour." Sulu's hands were steady on the helm and his eyes trained forward.

Having established that his ship was intact and going places, Jim sat back and called up his task list. It would probably be a quiet shift today. Chekov had plotted and laid in the course for the Cardassian System yesterday. He had also made the shipwide announcement, because Jim got his kicks wherever he could. They were now enroute through charted space so unless Sulu steered them into a stray asteroid, Jim had a time to make his rounds of the Bridge and play with Spock.

It was a habit of Jim's to visit all the consoles and chat with their manning officers. It helped him keep in touch with all that was going on and ensured that he was familiar with more than just his central command team. Each officer would greet him pleasantly and make their report. On occasion, he would receive a hands-on crash course in their duties; necessary thanks to his skip through the ranks. Lieutenant Johnson on Sensors told him about a pending recalibration portside and showed him how the current readouts would compare once the service was complete. Scar-faced Gott in charge of Hardware and Systems had several grievances to air, which was not unexpected. Jim moved from station to station, filing away the updates in his mind.

He had spent maybe the first two hours of his captaincy treading lightly before throwing caution to the wind. His original concern with prowling the bridge had been making his officers nervous by breathing down their necks, but then decided to give his crew a bit more credit. If he wasn't acting Big Scary Captain on their asses, they had no legit reason to be twitchy. Uhura's predictions for the outcome of his attitude were dire and ultimately incorrect, which of course didn't make him insufferably smug at all. Because he was the very model of a sensible and mature Captain. Her ponytail had gotten the last word in anyway, smacking him in the face when she'd turned to storm off.

Jim was at the console next to Uhura's now, speaking softly to a quiet little Andorian girl in Science blues ("Lieutenant Shathrissia zh'Cheen, isn't it?"). She was so shy that she flinched whenever he leaned over her station. She gradually relaxed when Jim asked her to explain what the readings on her screen meant and began to sit up rather than cringing away from him. Jim caught Uhura watching them with suspicion and winked at her. In response, she narrowed her eyes at him and turned away. Lieutenant Shathrissia looked between the two of them, confused, and twitched her left antennae in inquiry.

"It's nothing. She just likes me too much and she doesn't know how to express it. It's a problem that Human females have." Jim explained.

Uhura turned immediately and told Shathrissia exactly how wrong Jim was and why in rapid Andorian. Jim grinned when she got stuck with defending the clarity of female communication with the opposite sex.

"Well- no, I'm not saying that- It's true we don't always let them know right away- That doesn't necessarily mean that- No! No. It's... complicated."

"Two words," he smoothly intervened in the same language. "Mixed signals."

Lieutenant Shathrissia nodded in understanding. They were interrupted by a beep from her console, which was fortunate for Jim. From the look on her face, Uhura had been ready to gouge chunks out of him. He'd heard that she ran mandatory seminars for the females in her department entitled "When Captains Go Wrong: Exposing Depravity within the Chain of Command".

After a moment of concentration on her earpiece, Uhura turned back to Jim. "Captain, I have a communiqué from Starfleet Embassy. The assistant consul has sent records of past contacts with the Cardassians. You'll need to review them."

Jim looked at her suspiciously. "How big is it?"

"17.6 megabytes, Captain."

He loved that particular shade of disdain in her voice. Maybe she learnt it from Spock. But, over 17 megabytes? "Thank you, Uhura. Upload them onto my PADD and I'll have a look."

He bid farewell to Lieutenant Shathrissia and glanced over at his final destination; Spock's station. Spock was still diligently scanning his screen, posture perfect and every hair neatly in place. He hadn't looked up once the entire shift, so maybe Jim had been too hopeful with his morning prognosis. Maybe Spock wanted to play Super Vulcan for a bit longer.

Stuff that.

Jim sauntered over; the expression he had used to start a dozen bar fights pasted firmly on his face.

"Hey, Spock!" he greeted boisterously as he deliberately leaned into Spock's personal space.

He had to give the Vulcan some credit. His eyes had not even flickered, though Jim was sure the pointed ear nearest him had twitched.

"How are you doing over here, buddy?"

"Please do not refer to me as your "buddy". It may mislead people into thinking our interactions are mutually enjoyable."

Jim felt like punching the air in glee. Yes, Spock was still mad, but he was talking to Jim again! It was beautiful. Jim tilted his head to the side, enjoying Spock's stony profile.

"What's that, buddy? You don't want people to know how much you adore our little chats? But it shows, you know. You just can't hide a love like ours."

"As much as I regret having to disillusion you, Captain, you are irrefutably alone with your love."

"Unacceptable. Your protestations ring hollow in my ears, Mr Spock. Practise in front of the mirror for a bit longer and I might consider believing you."

Spock finally turned to look up at Jim, severe as always. "Is there a reason you are here, Captain?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact. For one, I wanted to see how you were." Spock turned back to his screen. "Also... What do you know about the Cardassians?"

"Specify, Captain." The patterned light from a spreadsheet moved over Spock's face as he scrolled through his data.

"Had any experience with them?"

"Negative, Captain."

"Heard anything about them?"

"Several things, Captain, most from unreliable sources."

Jim sighed. Even when Jim bowed down to the demands of duty, Spock still wouldn't give him a break. Mean bully.

"The rumour about the neck ridges, right?" Jim injected a leer into his voice.

No response, though Spock had stopped scrolling and was just sitting there now. Counting to ten, possibly.

"I think it's true."

No reply.

"Maybe I'll find ou-"

"That would break several guidelines concerning behaviour befitting a Starfleet representative and four regulations about diplomatic conduct."

Spock gave Jim his special cutting glance and continued. "If you require, I can compile a report for you from the Federation database and ship's library."

"Thanks, Spock! You're the best!" Jim flashed him a grin and clapped him on the shoulder before going back to his command chair.

Everything was all good now. He signed off on a systems report from Yeoman Rand and picked up his duty PADD to examine his mound of reading. It was time to do some actual work.

"Chekov, announce a senior staff meeting for central command duty officers after alpha shift tomorrow. And our CMO. We'll meet in Briefing Room 3 to discuss our current mission. Everyone needs to be well-versed on the brief as well as the information Uhura's going to send around."

"Aye, Keptin!"

"Uhura, divvy up the communiqué so that each member of the meeting has a reasonable proportion to handle. This thing is ridiculous."

Jim opened up the report on First Contact with the Cardassians and began to read. As Captain, he'd try to get through as much of it as possible.

The turbolift doors hissed open, admitting Bones to the bridge right as shift turned over. Jim looked up from where he was slumped in his chair and gave Bones a small wave.

"Listen to this, Bones." Jim angled his PADD and adopted a breathy falsetto.

"Dear Diary,

Today I had, in troth, met one most wondrous boy with whom, stars be willing, I long to couple –"

"What?" McCoy demanded.

"He has the most lustrous grey skin I have ever seen, the most delicately sculpted pebbledash around his most piercing dark eyes... The way his hair sweeps back from his imposing brow! The way his bangs sweep his chiselled jaw! We met at Kegroth when mine father presented me to the nobles. He was one of the contestants in the display of valour and looked so dashing in their garb. When our gazes connected, the universe stood still! I thought I should swoon! He is so strong and stern and oh so handsome-"

"All right, all right!" McCoy raised a hand to his temple, closing his eyes. Dear lords. "Is there a reason you're reading this tripe on the bridge? A sane, intelligent one that makes sense?"

"A crewmember asked me to edit their great intergalactic novel."

"Uh huh."

"I personally think it's going to be a great hit."

"Sickbay. Now."

"What if I told you I was following Starfleet orders?"

"You must think I'm a real idiot."

McCoy hustled Jim out of his chair, ignoring the muttered, "No, I know you are." Jim was marched into the turbolift and Bones punched in the deck for Med Bay. Jim blinked owlishly at him.

"Don't give me that look. I need to update your allergen information. Every six months, on the dot. You weren't allergic to Melvaren mud flea last I checked, so suck it."

"Right here in the turbolift? You Southern romantic you." Jim leered obscenely down at Bones' crotch.

"Shut up, you oversexed maniac."

The lift chime sounded and Bones kept a firm grip on Jim's arm as they walked to the open entrance area of Medical. It was a dangerously efficient place, black floor shining under the bright lights and glowing screens. Several hallways branched off in different directions to operating theatres, storage space, offices, prep rooms; even a small Medical Lab. Bones' domain was practically a small hospital unto itself. The main difference was that it was well-staffed, with nurses and techs with files and trolleys navigating around them quickly and noiselessly. Jim had simply approved every requisition form Bones had put in front of him, trusting his friend implicitly. And this is what I get in return, Jim thought sourly. The clean, fresh smell of antiseptic permeated the air and grew stronger as they reached the double doors leading to the consultation area. Once safely inside, Bones looked about for someone amongst the mass of pale Medical blue.

"Nurse Chapel, did you finish prepping the examination room?"

"Yes, Doctor McCoy. Everything you need should be there." Jim's gaze ran up long legs to a neat figure and pleasant smile. Before he could say anything, Bones pinched him mercilessly.

"No harassing my head nurse."

"You're so not fun."

They entered the white examination room and Bones washed his hands thoroughly before donning a med coat and pair of latex gloves. Jim, well familiar with the routine, went to slouch on the bed. He kicked his legs back and forth, pretending to ignore the way Bones was eyeing him critically.

"You've added muscle around your shoulders and your skin is pale. Too much working out and not enough sleep. Tunic and undershirt off."

"Nag, nag, nag."

Bones ran a tricorder over Jim with practised movements and examined the readings.

"Slightly dehydrated. I can fix that."

"Wha- Ow! Bones! Couldn't I have just drunk a glass of water? Jeez!"

"Yeah, probably," he replied, discarding the hypospray needle into sharps. He looked at the pout on Jim's face and smirked. "But that's so not fun."

"Ha."

Jim fidgeted as Bones rolled a metal trolley over. The tray on top held twenty-seven ampoules, which was admittedly less than last time. Jim looked at them unhappily but obediently held out his forearms to be swapped with antiseptic. Bones' touch was calm and gentle as always, which worked to soothe Jim a little. He held Jim by the wrist as he swabbed the skin to thoroughly clean the surface. Then he turned to work over the tray, swapping out the hypo for the first spot test on Jim's arm.

"Plant extracts to start with."

With a pneumatic hiss, the first sample was injected under Jim's skin and Bones moved onto the next. He worked quickly and methodically, sharp gaze flicking between tray and skin, hands never faltering or clumsy. Jim sat there patiently as he was treated with sample after sample, the silence focused and companionable. He leaned his head back against the wall, watching the movements of Bones' tousled brown hair and the surly pursing of his lips. It was almost nice, being forced to acknowledge that someone cared.

As Bones was finishing up the left arm, however, Jim began to get restless. From the mistrustful glances Bones was sending his way, he knew as much as well.

Well then.

"Bones, Spock is leaving me passive-aggressive notes in the bathroom."

There was a pause.

"That's nice, Jim."

"Booones..." Jim whined. "Bones! You're not listening to me, Bones!"

"Shut up, you brat!"

"But Bones..."

"I thought he was ignoring you," Bones grumbled. He moved over to his terminal, checking Jim's MHC sequence.

"Yeah, ever since I asked him about Vulcan mating customs. It was hilarious at the time but then the bastard froze me out for three whole days."

"Oh no. The horror. However did you cope," Bones deadpanned.

Jim hid a smile. Bones did not approve of Spock and he would continue to not approve of Spock no matter how many notes he sent.

"Oh, you couldn't possibly imagine how dreadful it was."

Bones closed his eyes briefly before ordering, "Forearms out. I need to check the spots."

Jim inspected the bright red reactions detachedly, half-listening to Bones' mutterings and half-lost in thoughts of how to reply to Spock.

"Type-1 hypersensitivity still apparent for shellfish, chlorine, all nut varieties, urushiol..."

Bones continued cross-referencing between the results Jim's skin and his dataPADD records.

"You can eat tropical fruits now. No reaction. Stay away from everything on this list. I'm sending it through to you now." Bones highlighted the information and tapped out a command on his screen.

Jim felt a rush of affection for his best friend.

"Resource Scheduling told me that you'd requisitioned twice as much antihistamine as the U.S.S Nightingale. A hospital ship," he remarked, tone light and airy.

Jim watched Bones out of the corner of his eyes. The tips of Bones' ears reddened and he seemed ready to combust with the wrath and embarrassment battling for precedence within him. Predictably, wrath won out.

"Yeah?" Bones snarled. "Well if I didn't have a wrongheaded slap-brained addlepated nincompoop of a Captain who leaks IgE and keeps his MHC cassettes all over the place, maybe I wouldn't have to!"

Jim winked. "Love you too, Bones."

He whistled as he made his way back to his quarters, nodding to crewmembers that passed by. Back in his quarters, he rifled through the papers Spock had left for him, lingering over one in particular, and began to prepare his reply.

Spock-man!

You don't mean say you're just on the other side of this extremely thin bulkhead here? I thought you'd left me for Uhura's quarters! I felt all bereft and everything. There may have been tears. But you know, I got over it. Wouldn't it be far more convenient for you to stay over there? I can guarantee you that her toilet seat will always, without a doubt, remain down.

Don't you ever get sick of being so prissy? It's always "Captain, that is not within standard protocol" and "Captain, that is highly inadvisable" and "Captain, you're a moron". Now you're doing it off-duty. Thanks ever so for lending me all two hundred and ninety three pages of Starfleet Directive 1015.11, but I'm done with them now. You can have them back.

The floor map, on the other hand, I'm keeping. It may be the most fantastic thing ever. Because of your generous gift, I forgive you for the uncharitable comparison of myself to a seven-year-old. However... Beauty products, Spock? Beauty products? Why the hell are my things relegated to being beauty products while yours get to be all hygiene, huh? Last I checked, fruity hand cream and nail files don't exactly cleanse. You're just jealous because you're not as pretty as I am. This is what you look like.

James T Kirk

Questions? Comments? Suggestions? Please let me know!

-xox-