A/N: Written for this prompt on st_xi_kink . Also, totally unbeta'd.

Disclaimer: I own nothing to do with Star Trek, unfortunately.

When McCoy wakes up, he's looking at a ceiling which seems as though it should be familiar. Then it starts to come back to him – he's on the Enterprise, they went after Nero, watched him get sucked into a black hole and then... try as he might, McCoy can pull nothing more from his memory. He starts to sit up, which makes something beep, and suddenly he's the centre of attention.

"Bones," Jim smiles, appearing at his bedside, and McCoy blinks up at him. Jim looks different; there are lines around his eyes which he doesn't remember being there, and he's wearing command gold. Looks as though someone found him something to wear for the trip home.

"Leonard," comes another voice, cool and modulated, and he turns to the other side of the bed to find Spock looking down at him, with something which could be called concern on his face. "How are you feeling?"

He frowns. "Why're you calling me Leonard?" he asks with a scowl. "Only my friends call me that, and you aren't one of them." Spock doesn't react past blinking once, and McCoy watches him and Jim exchange a worried look.

"Bones?" Jim asks again, his eyes concerned. "Do you know where you are? What's the last thing you remember?"

"I'm on the Enterprise," he replies as he looks around the sickbay, "although it looks in better shape than it should be, considering."

"Considering?" Jim asks, and McCoy sighs.

"The damage Nero did to the ship," he says, because it's true. The sickbay looks in perfect condition, gleaming as though new, not the wreck he remembers it being. "Maintenance must have been working non-stop."

"Nero?" Jim asks, and McCoy looks at him hard now, since that's almost panic in his voice. "Is that the last thing you remember?"

He nods, then wonders why that makes Jim's eyes widen. "Yeah. Last I remember Nero was being sucked into that black hole, and then I'm waking up here." He tries to smile, to ease the tension, but it doesn't work. The air suddenly feels heavy and stifling, and Jim steps closer, places one of his hands over McCoy's.

"That was over two years ago," he says quietly, as though that would lessen the impact. McCoy blinks, then looks down at the hand on his. Captain stripes surround Jim's wrist, and he looks up at his friend again, realising why he looks so strange. He looks like a man who has the lives of his crew on his shoulders, weighed down with a responsibility McCoy has never seen on him before.

"Two years?" he asks, and Jim nods.

"You just came back from a diplomatic mission," he replies. "And passed out at the briefing afterwards. You've been out for three days."

McCoy blinks at Jim, but nothing changes. A grin doesn't bloom across his friend's face, and the room stays silent. He clears his throat, and feels shock start to sink in.

Spock shifts slightly, and McCoy turns his attentions to the Vulcan, who is standing silently at his bedside. His face is as unreadable as ever, but the thought that he's stood there, watching McCoy as he tries to fumble his way into understanding what is happening, watching him in a weak moment, makes him scowl.

"And why are you still here," he all but hisses at Spock, his worry and anger at this situation bubbling over towards the one person here he has no problems with hurting. He doesn't want him here.

"I was... concerned with your health," Spock replies quietly, one arm wrapped around his stomach as though he feels threatened. For some reason this just makes McCoy angrier.

"Concerned, Spock?" he asks harshly. "You'll have to excuse me if that doesn't ring true. Vulcan's aren't known for their caring dispositions, after all."

"Bones," Jim says sharply, but he doesn't look away from Spock, who is now standing quietly, eyes blank.

"And even if you were concerned, I'd rather not have it. The last person to engage you emotionally got choked almost to death, after all. I'd rather not suffer the same fate."

They fall into silence then, the only sound McCoy's harsh breathing.

"I had forgotten," Spock murmurs, voice rough, "just how much dislike you felt towards me at the beginning of our working relationship. Illogical." His hands clench, and then he's gone before McCoy can say anything else. He turns to Jim with a confused frown.

Jim looks disappointed, his lips turned down in a frown. "Bones," he says, and then looks away, clears his throat. When he looks back his face is neutral again. "I know that you don't remember it, but things have changed. You and Spock have worked hard to build a new relationship, So, just..." he runs one hand through his hair, looking harried and worn; like a real-life Starship Captain. "Please, try not to be too cruel."

"Cruel?" McCoy says past the lump he's found in his throat. "Jim, the last time I remember speaking to Spock, he'd just sent you off to some god-forsaken rock, and now you're defending him?"

"That was two years ago, Bones." Jim replies. "A lot's changed."

Jim's not lying. After being given a clean bill of health, except for his missing memories, he's filled in with the basics of what he can't remember. Jim was given the Enterprise after saving Earth, and chose McCoy to be his CMO. The rest of the crew include the people who survived Nero's attack, the links forged in battle not easily broken.

They're currently lightyears from Earth, working on adding yet another planet to the Federation, and apparently two years into a five year mission. Jim goes on to explain more of their exploits, his tone light to start with, but becoming more worried as each story does nothing to jog his memory. He leaves McCoy with a slap on the shoulder, directions to his cabin and the promise that he'll find out what's behind this.

McCoy walks into the quarters which are apparently his, and looks around them, confused. He knows he doesn't exactly have a lot of possessions, but he'd expected something more than this. The room looks bare, as though he doesn't even live in it. There are a few holos on the shelves, old ones of Joanna and Earth, and a collection of empty bottles, but nothing much more than that. The wardrobe holds only a small selection of clothes, mostly uniform, and his desk had a few PADDs on it.

It's a sad state, and it makes his stomach drop. It looks lonely and empty, and he hopes that this isn't an example of the state of his life on this ship. He was going to stay in his room, attempt to jumpstart his memory, but he thinks if he stays in here for another minute he'll try and bash himself back into a coma. He turns, instead, and goes to find Jim. After all, there's no way Jim doesn't have some liquor hidden away somewhere, Captain or not.

After Jim, Christine is the person on the crew which seems most eager to speak with him. He's not surprised, although he is glad to know that his promotion to CMO hasn't ruined the relationship between them.

They're sat in his office, the lights low as she shows him her holo selection from the last couple of years. She's always been one to keep constant photos of people, and McCoy's never been as glad of it as he is now.

It starts off with the awards ceremonies, everyone smart and pressed in their dress uniforms. Jim grinning as he holds up a medal, McCoy rolling his eyes from under the arm thrown over his shoulder. The entire bridge crew, and him, on a stage. Various candids of them around campus as they prepare for their first mission; Jim hidden behind a pile of PADDS, him storing hyposprays, Sulu in the greenhouses. Uhura caught belting out some song at karaoke, an arm around a blushing Chekov. Scotty and Jim with a line of empty shot glasses in front of them, bleary eyed but smiling. As they move through them, it looks like she managed to get pictures of everyone he knows, plus some he doesn't remember. The entire Bridge crew is certainly represented. All except Spock.

"No pictures of the goblin?" he asks, and she frowns slightly, shakes her head.

"No," she says, her dislike of his name for Spock obvious. "He didn't sign onto the crew until the last minute," she informs him, and that surprises him, considering how well him and Jim supposedly work together.

"Didn't fancy the post?" he asks, almost insulted on the Enterprise's behalf, since he may not be as mad about her as Jim is but even he can see she's a damn fine ship. Christine shakes her head.

"He was going to head back to the colony," she says conspiratorially, as though she shouldn't be filling him in at all, and he nods. New Vulcan, of course. Makes sense that he'd want to head back there, after their numbers had been decimated. Now he can't help but wonder what on earth Starfleet could have offered him to make him stay with them.

"Just decided against it, did he?" McCoy asks, and she nods distractedly as she sorts her next lot of photos.

"Apparently found something he liked better about Starfleet," she replies, then gives him a bright smile. "Not that I can blame him."

He rolls his eyes, and focuses on the rest of the photos. These focus on sickbay, or the mess hall, and he can't stop a grin as he takes in all the images. Jim all swollen with the mumps, Sulu with his hand caught in a plant, a row of Ensigns handcuffed together, their fuzzy eyes showing him the cause. Parties in the mess, Christmas, new year, a wedding? Just happy, smiling people, one big happy family, and McCoy feels a pang in his stomach that he can't remember any of it. That he can't remember all the little things which have pulled this crew together, that no matter how welcoming everyone is to him, he's not their friend yet. He's been removed from the fabric of that shared past, and he can't help but mourn the loss.

Christine must sense his mournful turn, because she changes holos, and the next one is of Jim awkwardly dancing with a woman about half his height. He's bent over, hair falling over his face, which holds a charming smile and the woman's purple eyes are watching him adoringly.

"A ceremony to signal the end of diplomatic talks," Christine informs him as he chuckles at the sight, glad to see that Jim is apparently still the man he knows, even with the promotion sitting on his shoulders.

It might not be the same as getting the last two years back, but it's something.

A couple of weeks after he wakes up, he decides enough is enough and tries to face this head on. He walks into the mess, grabs some food, and sits down across from Chekov and Sulu, who are talking enthusiastically.

"Alright, boys. What's the one story I shouldn't be missing out on?" he asks as a conversation starter.

They exchange a glance he can't decipher, and then turn to look at him as one, faces innocent. He scowls. "What?"

"Just wondering how much embarrassing you can take," Sulu said easily.

McCoy grins. "Sounds promising," he replies and Sulu leans forward ready to impart something juicy. Just before he speaks, Chekov perks up in his seat.

"Oh, Mr Spock is here!" he says happily, happier than McCoy suspects anyone has ever been to see Spock. "I must talk to him about my latest astrological equations for the upcoming warp to Antglious VII."

He gets up from his chair in one swift move, abandoning his food and scurrying across the mess hall. McCoy watches as he intercepts Spock with a smile and the Vulcan looks down at him, face calm as ever. They talk for a moment and then Spock inclines his head and they move towards a table, Chekov speaking animatedly and Spock with his lips almost in a smile, hands behind his back.

McCoy doubts that's the reaction he'd get if he walked over to Spock and demanded his attention. Even his requests for a medical are met with a brush off. M'Benga has apparently been signed on as the Vulcan's main physician, which McCoy can't exactly blame the man for since M'Benga is the one with the experience with Vulcan biology. Still, nice to know exactly what he thinks of McCoy's skills as a Doctor, or his willingness to learn.

They sit and start to talk, both looking completely comfortable. "They often spend time together?" McCoy asks Sulu, seeing none of the young Ensign he can remember from the first time on the Enterprise, the boy who would have been terrified to even approach Spock.

"Spock's pretty much the only one who can come near to understanding Chekov sometimes," Sulu confirms. "So he jumps on him whenever he's free."

McCoy looks at him curiously. "And you let him?"

Sulu laughs. "I'm not his keeper, and Spock doesn't bite."

"He might if you pushed him," McCoy replies, eyes on Chekov again as he gestures wildly in the air to Spock, who seems to be listening calmly.

"He wouldn't," Sulu replies, seriously. "It's been pretty proven by now that Spock only snaps with good reason."

McCoy can tell there's a story there, but he doesn't know if he wants to hear it. "Sounds serious," he replies, and then grins. "I'd rather hear something I can use to embarrass Jim."

Sulu's eyes brighten. "Well, the best one has to be shore leave on Tremilion V. He got so drunk that he almost married one of the locals, and the only reason they didn't go through with it was that he threw up on the bride." He grins. "She wasn't so keen on him after that."

McCoy laughs, making a mental note to make sure Jim knows he has this information. It'll do wonders at making him sit still during his next physical.

McCoy likes Jim's room. It's warm and cluttered and such an opposite to his own rooms that he's surprised he hasn't commandeered them by now. They've been sat, reminiscing – otherwise known as Jim telling stories in which he was the hero and people bowed at his feet. He's taking it all with a pinch of salt, but it's still pretty amusing. The only downside is the fact that Spock has a part in each story, and he's somewhat putout. He didn't think he was the jealous type, but it sure sounds like Jim found a new best friend in the past couple of years.

"Anyway, Spock said that the next time it happened he wasn't going to pull me out, which is totally a lie. He likes me too much to leave me abandoned in a bog."

McCoy scoffs into his glass. "I wouldn't bet on it."

Jim peers at him, eyes slightly red but otherwise not too damaged by the drink. "I would," he says firmly. "Spock always rescues me, it's like... his thing."

"Spock's in a lot of your stories, Jim. You got something to tell me?"

Jim blinks at him, then laughs. "Oh man, Bones. Have you ever got the wrong idea! Me and Spock are just pals."

"And yet he's all you talk about," McCoy replies, and can't stop the bitterness in his tone. You'd think that when trying to jog McCoy's memory, Jim'd talk more about his best friend than that pointy eared goblin. "Spock said this, Spock did that, Spock saved my life. Seriously, what's so great about Spock that you can't stop talking about him?"

Jim frowns, looking suddenly more sober. "He's my First Officer, Bones. And a friend. I wasn't aware you didn't want me to talk about him."

"You need to talk about him so much? I'm sick of all the Spock love. Has everyone forgotten that he tried to kill you? That he almost got us all killed?" McCoy doesn't know why he's suddenly so angry about this, but he knows that he's finding being angry at Spock easy. Maybe he should feel bad about using his as a scapegoat for everything that wrong, but why bother?

"No, Bones," Jim replies, voice slow as though he's trying to keep McCoy calm. "But maybe everyone was willing to move past that over the last two years."

"Then maybe everyone's as dumb as you."

Jim slams his glass down onto the table, and when he speaks his voice is firm. "This has to stop. I don't care how strange this is for you, Bones, you have no right to say that our choices aren't valid when you have no idea what we went through to make them. No idea." McCoy opens his mouth but Jim slices his hand through the air, stopping him dead. His eyes are dark blue and serious as McCoy has ever seen him. "People are probably keeping things light for you, not wanting to bring up the dark parts, but if I have to then I will. I'll tell you about the time I was tortured and Spock didn't sleep for three days as he tried to find me. I'll tell you about the injuries he's taken for this crew. The constant risks he takes."

"Jim, I..."

Jim sighs and slumps in his seat, and runs a hand over his face. "And see, even this isn't working. You still think you're right. Dammit, Bones, I'd forgotten how much of a stubborn bastard you were about Spock. Let's just leave it, ok? I trust him, you don't. But you trust me, yeah?"

"Yes."

"Well then. Spock's not going to hurt anyone and no-one's going to make you talk to him."

"Good," McCoy replies, and then forces a grin, trying to lighten the tension, almost apologise for causing Jim pain. "I mean, I just can't see it. So tell me, Jim. Would you have called me and Spock friends before I lost my memory? Because that's not the impression he's giving me." And he knows himself, and knows that he wouldn't be friends with someone as cold and standoffish, as judgemental as Spock.

Jim doesn't reply for a long moment, then shakes his head. "No, Bones," he says quietly. "I wouldn't have called you friends."

"Well then," he says, and sits back in his chair happily. "Stop trying to force this. If it's meant to be, it will be, otherwise can we please talk about something else?"

"Ok, Bones," he says, voice still subdued for a moment, before he claps his hands together and pulls out a close approximation of his usual grin. "So, as I was saying. I was stuck in this bog..."

After his first attempts at redeveloping all the things he's lost, he finds it much easier to continue. He doesn't have that much free time, what with the demands of being a CMO as well as having to relearn how to handle all the damn paperwork, but he doesn't let that stop him.

He meets Jim for lunch each day, sits with the Bridge crew during dinner, has an evening a week drinking with Scotty and Jim. He also starts attending the weekly poker games, which can be a lot of fun even though apparently, compared to the rest of the crew, he can't bluff worth a damn.

"Any luck on finding the source of the flu?" Jim asks as he throws in his bet. McCoy scowls at his cards and then shakes his head as he folds.

"We've got nothing so far, and it doesn't help that the Science labs are being so damn slow sending back the results we need." He takes a drink of whiskey, enjoying the burn of it down his throat. "Maybe if Spock pulled his finger out, we'd already have cured it."

"Spock's been busy," Jim says, and although he tries to sound casual, eyes remaining on his cards, McCoy can hear the chastisement in his tone. "He's in that lab more than he's on the bridge nowadays, what with your flu virus, the ion storm a few lightyears away, working on two AI projects for Starfleet and, not forgetting, the analysis from our last first contact."

Which McCoy had forgotten, actually, and hearing the list of jobs Spock's been completing makes him feel almost sorry for sending constant abuse through the computer system. Almost. It's not as if he can really insult the guy, is it? "Well, if he doesn't think it's important, maybe he'll change his mind when half the crew are throwing their guts up and the ship flies into a sun."

Every laughs at his comment, even though he was serious, dammit. "I'll pass that along," Jim informs his wryly, and then declares, "full house," with a large grin. The rest of the table groan and throw down their cards, and Jim scoops his winnings towards him with a gloating smile.

"You always win this much?" McCoy scowls at him, and Jim just nods as he starts to pile all his chips into one tall tower.

"Yup," he replies, popping the p, "although it got a lot harder when you stopped me counting cards."

McCoy hits the table then jabs a finger at him. "I knew you counted them," he says victoriously. "How the hell did I prove it?"

Jim gives a one shoulder shrug, still piling his chips. "Something to do with cameras and trickery," he says, distracted. "I was never really interested in the details. But the fact you played the tape of me counting in the mess hall is what made me stop." He shoots McCoy a half grin, eyes amused, and McCoy can't stop himself from smiling back.

"Sounds like I got you good," he says, mostly happy at the thought of his victory, not really bitter about the fact he can't remember it. "Shame I can't remember doing it."

"You had help," Jim says, cutting through his smugness with a smirk. "So don't go thinking that you became that awesome in the last couple of years, Bones. You still can't outsmart me."

"Who?" he scowls, angry that he's sharing his thunder when he's been trying to catch Jim out for years.

Jim shakes his head. "You never told me," he says, now shuffling the cards and passing them out. "I think you wanted to shield them from my rage."

McCoy scoffs. "Your rage wouldn't scare a puppy," he says as he picks up his hands, which is just as dismal as all his others have been. "And I certainly wouldn't work with someone who could be scared by you."

"I'll have you know I can be terrifying," Jim says haughtily, throwing in some chips. "I've made people actually tremble with fear."

"We actually all agreed that it was the Enterprise that caused the trembling," Sulu chips in, and McCoy had almost forgotten that they weren't alone. "Since we were shooting the building, causing it to shake."

"His eyes said he was terrified," Jim defends.

"Of the phasers," Sulu replies and Jim slumps down into his seat.

"He was terrified," he mutters, almost to himself, and Sulu grins at McCoy, who turns to Jim.

"I'm sure he was shaking in his boots," McCoy says to him consolingly, and pats him on the shoulder. Jim scowls at him and ups the bet, just to be spiteful. McCoy folds with a groan. "We missin' anyone else?" he asks and Jim looks round the table casually.

"Uhura sometimes comes for a few hands," Jim says, "and some other bridge crew might show their face."

"Uhura any good at poker?" McCoy asks as he puts down a card and picks up another. Jim slants a grin at him over his cards.

"She gives me a run for my money," he says and then adds to the pile of chips in the middle of the table. McCoy doesn't reply. The silence between them is comfortable, not filled with McCoy wondering what he didn't know, what he was missing, and it was also absent of the weight which had between him and the others when he first woke up, that tension. It's a nice feeling, just to feel as though he's around friends and to not think about anything else but enjoying their company for the moment.

They all sit in the silence for a few minutes, just upping each other's bets and letting the quiet relax them until McCoy decides to break it.

"So, where's Chekov?" McCoy asks Sulu. Despite the other man's protestations that he isn't the young Ensign's keeper, he suspects that there's something more going on between them. Or maybe he's just hoping there is, since he thinks they'd be good together.

Sulu grins at him. "He'll be here when his shift finishes," he says. "Chekov never misses a chance to drink us under the table."

McCoy scoffs and Scotty laughs. "Don't be so doubting, Doctor," he says happily as he takes another swig of his foul whiskey. "That wee lad has drunk us all under the table at one time or another."

"All of us?" he asks, and the table nods as one.

"They start early in Russia," Jim informs him with a grin, "And didn't you know that's where drinking games were invented?"

McCoy joins in the laugh then – even these past couple of months have been enough to expose him to Chekov and his loyalty to Russia.

They end up playing well into the ship's night, and McCoy wakes up with his head full of fluff but his cheeks sore from smiling, and thinks it's a result he can live with. It was well worth it to take him out of his head for a while.

He walks into the labs and looks around, stunned. He hasn't been in here before, that he can remember, and he's impressed. The equipment is all brand new and above top-of-the-line, and crew members dressed in blue are bustling around, industriously working. Spock obviously runs a tight ship. Still, despite the large work force, there is hardly any noise, especially in the corner he can see Spock stood in, bent over a microscope.

He moves towards him quietly, trying not to break the silence of the lab, but Spock still apparently hears him, and turns just as McCoy reaches him, one eyebrow raised and face unreadable.

"Doctor," Spock says after they've been stood in silence for a long moment. "Might I ask why you are here?"

McCoy clears his throat, feeling nervous although he doesn't know why. "I was just coming to check up on the flu results," he says, and watches Spock's lips tighten into a straight line and then relax.

"And you have decided to deliver your complaints about the length of time it is taking in person?" Spock asks, head slightly tilted and his expression giving away nothing of what he's thinking.

McCoy scowls, annoyed that Spock thinks he's here just to sling insults, especially now he knows just how much work Spock has to handle at the moment. He can be a grumpy, demanding bastard, but he likes to think he's not often cruel to people for no reason, even if he doesn't much like them. "Not quite, Spock. I thought that since you're so weighed down and sickbay's quiet, I'd look over the research myself."

Spock blinks and then nods, seems to relax, although it's only obvious in the looser way he's now holding himself. "You are of course welcome to," he agrees, and gestures towards the machine next to him, its screen running lines and lines of formulas.

McCoy steps up to the machine, curious. He slants a look at Spock. "You not going to ask me if I know what I'm doing?"

Spock's eyes lighten slightly. "I am well aware of your capabilities, Doctor," he replies, and if McCoy strains he can almost imagine amusement in his tone, before turning back to his own machine. "I have no doubt that you are able to handle this task."

That sounds almost like a compliment, and McCoy watches Spock out of the corner of his eye as the Vulcan goes back to what he was doing. His hands are tapping in instructions, moving so fast McCoy has no way of telling what he's inputting, and McCoy's impressed despite himself.

"I would appreciate it if you would cease watching me," Spock says suddenly, and McCoy glances away feeling a blush rise on his cheeks.

He turns his attention back to the information in front of him, trying to narrow down the cause of the flu and find out how they can stop it. Its symptoms are not overly serious but are long lasting, leaving every crew member who catches it out of action for at least two weeks. He'd only been partly joking with Jim – if they don't get this sorted quickly they'll be running a skeleton crew, and that's just asking for trouble based on the stories he's heard about this ship so far.

He works in silence next to Spock for almost an hour, concentration pointed towards the screen in front of him and the soothing noises of Spock working next to him. Something in him feels comfortable, relaxed, as though he's done this before, and he wonders if that's true. If he and Spock have spent time here working together, solving problems and managing not to argue until the emergency was over.

He clears his throat, ready to ask, to try and find out if he and Spock ever even spent time together in the same room, and turns to look fully at Spock. Spock is looking at him, eyes dark, and one hand flits up towards McCoy. McCoy looks at him, confused, and sees an unguarded look sweep across his face. He also watches it disappear as Spock straightens and pulls his hand back, clenches it at his side, and then nods his head towards McCoy.

"If you will excuse me, Doctor," he says quietly and then turns and walks away. McCoy just watches him go, completely unsure what just happened. But he knows something – whatever it is about him that's keeping Spock away, it isn't his foul mouth. He hadn't said a single thing.

It's been almost two months since McCoy woke up without the last two years of his life, and he's still flitting between being relieved that he's still alive despite his memory loss and cheated since it sounds like he'd worked hard for his place on this ship, and something has stolen that away. He's heading towards the latter tonight, and so is wandering the ship, trying to drag his mind away from angry thoughts.

McCoy hadn't expected anyone to be on the observation deck at this hour. He especially hadn't expected to find Spock sitting on one of the benches with Uhura leant over him, her attention on his stomach. It seems odd, especially when the conversation continues down a path McCoy can't quite follow.

"Do you know what you're going to call him yet?" she asks, her gaze not leaving the blue tunic she has her hands on. From this angle, McCoy can see that Spock's stomach is protruding, and it looks so odd on his usual thin frame that the obvious thought doesn't come to his mind until Uhura all but spells it out.

"I have not chosen a name," Spock replies, one of his own hands coming down to rest next to Uhura's. "We were going to choose one together, and as such..." he trails off, as if unsure, and Uhura looks up at him, eyes understanding. She moves one hand to cup his cheek, and Spock's eyes flutter closed for a moment.

"It'll be ok, Spock," she says quietly. "Everything will work out, and this little one will be fine." Which means that Spock's pregnant, that the bump on his stomach holds a baby, and he feels the loss of his memories all the more at this realisation – so much has changed that he doesn't know how to handle it at all. He supposes that explains why Spock has changed Doctors, and he can't believe he hasn't noticed this before.

He turns to leave, but must make a noise which alerts Spock and Uhura to his presence, since the latter speaks up.

"Leonard," she says, surprised, and McCoy turns to find them standing. Spock's face is as neutral as ever, but when he stands it is awkward, without his natural grace, and he keeps one hand protective around his bump. Something about the sight makes McCoy's heart twinge. He frowns at that, and then tries to look as though he hadn't been spying on them.

"Uhura," he nods. "Spock."

"What brings you to the observation desk?" she asks, and McCoy notices that she's standing very close to Spock. He heard about them in the transporter room, of course, and wonders if they're still together now, if the reason Spock is carrying their child has something to do with alien biology or something else, like alien spores.

"Congratulations," he says, and tilts his head towards Spock's bump. Uhura frowns for a moment, and then shakes her head with a laugh.

"Oh, we're not together," she says, amused. "He grew tired of my illogical ways after a year of it."

"Not quite, Nyota," Spock says, not looking at McCoy. "I believe you found a more preferable dialect to study." His lips turn up into what could pass for a smile on a Vulcan, and Uhura bumps her shoulder against his, very gently.

McCoy's not sure how to take their bantering, or the fact that Spock seems to have made an innuendo. He clears his throat, feeling awkward and then gestures again to Spock's bump. "How'd this happen?" he asks, and winces internally at the sharpness of his voice.

Spock's face tightens, but he shows no other signs of distress. "My DNA includes the male carrier gene," he replies as if talking about the weather, "and so I am able to carry my mate's child with little problem."

"Mate?" McCoy asks, disbelieving. "You got married?"

Spock inclines his head slightly, and his eyes have darkened until they're almost black. "Indeed," he replies, and even McCoy cannot miss the ice in his voice. "Exactly ten months, two weeks and four days ago."

"There's a chance for everyone then, I suppose," he replies, trying to lighten the tension which has appeared between them, but the words come out crueller than he'd intended. Spock clenches one hand again, as he did in sickbay when McCoy awoke, and then closes his eyes for a long moment.

"So it would seem," he replies, voice back to neutral, and then turns to Uhura. "If you will excuse me," he says and she nods, face pained and eyes wide.

"Of course," she says quietly. "I'll come visit you both soon." She tries to smile, but it's watery, and Spock just nods and then leaves the room. He says nothing to McCoy, although he's sure he feels his burning gaze hit the back of his head, just for a moment.

He and Uhura stand in silence for a long moment, and he's about to say something when she speaks.

"Leonard, I understand this must be very hard for you," she says and then steps in closer. "I know that you don't remember anything that's happened between you and Spock, but I have to tell you that you both worked very hard to move past the antagonism which lay between you. And if all you can offer instead of venom is neutrality, that's fine, but if you ever hurt him like that again – I'll hurt you." Her voice is serious and her eyes burn into him until they shift, so she's looking at him with something like pity. She reaches up and touches one of his shoulders, gently. "You'll understand why when you remember."

McCoy wonders why the hell people keep saying stuff like this to him.

It's three months after he wakes up that he sees the crew acting at their best. He's stood on the bridge when a ship suddenly de-cloaks on the viewscreen and starts shooting at them. Kirk moves back to his seat, not even stumbling as the ship rocks from side to side. The bridge lights change to red alert as he sits.

"Shields," he yells to Chekov, whose fingers are already dancing over his console. Sulu has started to dodge the blasts and Jim turns in his seat, eyes sparking and face more serious that McCoy has ever seen it. "Uhura, hail them and find out what the hell they think they're doing. Chekov, try and knock out their weapons. Sulu, keep up the manoeuvres and Spock!" The Vulcan turned to look at the captain, face as serious as ever, one hand almost absentmindedly resting on his bump. "I don't recognise the ship, and I need you to find any weaknesses it might have."

McCoy watches them all jump to their tasks, faces set and their movements competent, and it hits him suddenly. This isn't the crew he remembers. The Jim he knew didn't look so comfortable in that seat, frowning, serious. And the crew wasn't one seamless unit, keeping the ship safe from further hits. They aren't struggling to control a situation, panic bubbling around them; they're a well oiled machine. Jim's been calling this ship Starfleet's best, and now he really sees why.

"I am sensing a fluxuation in their shields, Captain," comes Spock's voice suddenly, calm and low but still managing to cut through the background noise of the bridge.

"Can we use it?" Kirk asks and Spock replies after a long moment.

"It will take one point six minutes for me to discover the pattern, after which Ensign Chekov will be able to use it to strike through their shields."

"Good work," Jim says happily, undoubting of Spock's word, and then speaks to the rest of the bridge. "You heard the man. We've got two minutes of dodging before we can stop them, so let's keep it up."

"They aren't responding to our hails," Uhura says, frustrated. "They're receiving, just not replying."

"Keep trying, Lieutenant," Jim says as the ship shudders from another glancing hit. "I'm sure they'll change their mind when we stop them from moving."

Uhura smiles sharply at the comment and then turns back to her work – another hint that everything is different. The Uhura McCoy still remembers would never smile at Jim.

"I have the pattern," Spock says suddenly. "I have sent it through to Ensign Chekov's console."

"You have it?" Jim asks, and Chekov nods excitedly.

"Yes, Keptin."

"Then fire to disable," Jim says flatly, and Chekov complies. McCoy watches as he does so, watches the phasers slide through the other ship's shields as though they aren't even there. The ship gets out one last blast, which shakes the ship again, and then stops, engines dead. They sit in silence for a moment, a collective sigh of relief, and then Spock moves towards Jim, leans over and whispers something into his ear. Jim nods with a smile, pats Spock in the arm, and then turns in his chair as the Vulcan walks away. "How about now? Jim asks Uhura with a grin, and she returns it.

"They're hailing us," she confirms and Jim rubs his hands together.

"Excellent. Put them on screen."

McCoy catches a glance of aliens which look like a cross between a rhino and an octopus, when Spock moves past him, heading to the turbolift. He stops him with a hand on the arm, eyes moving over the other man, assessing. "You alright?" he asks, wondering of one of the hits had shook Spock too much, if he'd hit himself or the bump on his console.

Spock tilts his head. "I am unharmed," he replies. "But Mr Scott has requested my help repairing some damage in engineering and I am going to aid him."

"How bad's the damage?" McCoy asks and Spock looks at him as though wondering why he's bothering to ask.

"There are apparently some consoles which have blown their electrics, and some general damage to the systems and tanks. It is minor, but necessary work, and as a number of engineers were injured in the first blast, and are now on route to sickbay, I am left as the logical choice for assistance."

McCoy looks at him for a long moment, and then frowns. "You're heading down to engineering, which has already exploded once today and is likely still dangerous, in your condition?"

Spock straightens, which McCoy wasn't aware he could do based on his already rigid posture, and his eyes are like ice. "I assure you, Doctor, that it will not be dangerous. Furthermore, I am more than capable of completing my duties. If this were not the case, I would not be on the bridge. That would be –"

"Illogical, yeah," McCoy sighs, and then makes his mind up. "Well then, I'm coming with you."

"Doctor McCoy, I am –"

"Yeah yeah, Spock," McCoy cuts in, waving a hand. "I'm sure you'll be fine. But as your chief medical officer, I say you need medical observation." He shrugs. "And if engineering was as badly hit as you say, then no doubt they could use me."

Spock's lips purse slightly, for a short moment, and McCoy can tell that he's annoyed that McCoy's argument made sense. "Very well," he replies and then moves to the turbolift and presses the button for engineering. McCoy only just manages to sneak in with his bag.

"Thanks for waiting," he scowls at Spock, and the Vulcan doesn't react.

They travel in a tense silence, which McCoy can't help but fidget though. He's not used to heavy silences, especially when he can't figure out the reason behind it, and he breathes a sigh of relief when the doors open to engineering.

Spock is instantly moving towards the huddle of people in red. "Report," he says, and they all stood to attention, and McCoy can see the relief in their faces.

"All the consoles have blown, although only the ones connected to the warp-core are approaching serious," one brave ensign reports, Spock's eyes completely focused on her. "We've lost a third of the shift staff to sickbay, and another third to Commander Scott, as he's gone to the source of the major issues."

Spock nods, then looked sharply at the Ensign at the edge of the group, who's stood slightly behind one of her colleagues. "Ensign Marks. Please report to sickbay for treatment to your wound." The Ensign slumps but starts to move. Spock's voice stops her in her tracks. "Your commitment to your work is commendable, and I expect you to report back as soon as you have been tended to," he says blandly, but McCoy watches the Ensign's face light up, the way she stands taller and walks faster after Spock's praise.

Looks as though Spock is someone they all want to impress, McCoy thinks to himself as he watches Spock point out what needs to be done and they rush out to complete his orders. The Vulcan himself walks over to a console which is still sparking slightly, his movements slow and slightly uncomfortable, but he rips the melted front off it with remarkable ease. A shower of sparks falls around him and McCoy almost runs over to his side.

"Woah, Spock, are you ok?" he asks, making sure none of them caught on his uniform.

Spock raises an eyebrow. "Indeed, Doctor," he replies before kneeling down with difficulty and reaching into the console. "I foresee no need for you to hover around me at this current moment."

McCoy scowls but moves back, watching Spock carefully as he crosses wires and then stands to reprogram the console. He watches Spock do this to another seven, until he stops and nods to himself, apparently satisfied. He's about to say something to the effect of sit down you stubborn Vulcan, when Scotty beats him to it as he appears from around a corner.

"Mr Spock," he says, admonishing. "I didn't mean you had to do all the work yourself, that's what Ensigns are for!"

A man in red rolls his eyes behind Scotty, but Spock just looks at the Engineer, something in his face relaxing. "I can assure you, Mr Scott, that had I thought myself not up to the simple task of rewiring a selection of consoles, I would have passed the work onto a subordinate."

Now Scotty rolls his eyes. "Ah, you know it wasn't a slur on your abilities," he says with a grin, one finger pointed at the Vulcan. "Just making sure you don't come blaming me when that bairn pops out early thanks to all this stress."

Spock's lip twitch in a smile that Scotty returns. "I shall be sure to do no such thing," he replies and Scotty keeps on grinning.

"We still on for tonight?" he asks and the Vulcan nods.

"Indeed. I have drawn up some schematics which should be something of an improvement and with your added input..."

Scotty's eyes are shining. "It'll be something to see," he finishes. "Well then, I'll meet you at 21:00 hours at your quarters." Spock opens his mouth but Scotty talks over him. "And I'm coming to you! I told you, I won't have that kid escaping too soon on my conscience!"

Spock tilts his head. "Very well," he replies, and the two men separate – Scotty already yelling at the engineers around him, and Spock towards McCoy.

McCoy can tell he's looking at Spock oddly, but he can't seem to stop it. Despite all the talk from everyone about Spock, he hadn't quite believed the Vulcan had changed much. Maybe because Spock has been avoiding him, maybe because he just couldn't see a Vulcan wanting or being able to hold onto friends, he doesn't know. But something about seeing Spock interact with Scotty as though they got along like a house on fire, alluding to plans outside of work... it makes him blink dumbly at the Vulcan as he steps up close.

Spock looks at him curiously. "Are you well?" he asks, voice as cold and toneless as ever, as though he'd imagined the thawed version of Spock in front of him not a minute ago.

He almost laughs. "Sure, Spock," he replies, although he's not certain that's the case. If Spock can, in fact, be friendly, then why the hell hasn't he been friendly towards McCoy?

McCoy knows he's missing something about Spock. Something important. He's being ignored, and at first that seemed fine, since McCoy had expected Spock to be like that with everyone – cold and standoffish; had taken the tales from the crew about the Vulcan with a pinch of salt. But no. He's now seen first-hand evidence that Spock can look happy and speak as though he doesn't want to hurt the person he's talking to. And it really makes McCoy wonder more why he's like another person with the rest of the crew, and a stranger to McCoy. He has a horrible suspicion that it's to do with more than just his memory loss, which is why he's fishing for answers from Jim.

"Spock mentioned he was mated," McCoy says, and watches Kirk blink in surprise. "But he's nearing his due date, and I've never seen a mate. Where is he?"

Kirk sits in silence for a moment. "He's been called away, unavoidably," he replies, and sounds sad. "If he could be here then he would, I know that. But he can't."

McCoy frowns, remembering the unhappy light in Spock's eyes when attending the check-up on his own. "And there's nothing you can do?"

Kirk frowns. "I told you, Bones. If he could be here, he would. I don't want Spock alone during this but it can't be helped."

McCoy leans back in his seat, one hand wrapped around his cup of coffee. "Just not right, if you ask me," he mutters before taking a drink, and Jim nods, a strange look in his eyes.

"I agree."

"Then get him back, Jim," McCoy almost yells, not sure why he's speaking so loudly, or why he even cares.

Kirk's eyes flicker with anger. "I'm trying, Bones. Do you think I like seeing Spock like this? Moping around, alone and worried? Dammit, Bones, he's one of my closest friends, so you better believe that I'm doing everything I can to help him."

They sit in silence for a long moment, and McCoy curses Spock in his head, for messing up his relationship with his best friend.

"So, how's life in sickbay?" Jim asks, an olive branch, and McCoy grabs it with a grin.

"Not too bad," he says with satisfaction. "Whatever else I was up to that I can't remember, I ran a very good sickbay, and now we've cured that flu we're back down to practically empty again."

Jim smiles, a quirk of his lips. "Wait till we have another away mission," he says. "Then you can really test your staff."

McCoy narrows his eyes. "I get the feeling you might be the reason behind that, Jim," and Jim shrugs, unconcerned.

"I'm just unlucky, Bones," he grins.

McCoy grins back, although not before he's listing all the times he can remember that injuries had come more from Jim's smart mouth than bad luck, and forces Jim to tell him all the ones he had forgotten.

They pass the rest of the evening with laughter and good liquor, and McCoy walks back to his quarters with a smile on his face, until he stops in his steps and curses. He's left his communicator in Jim's room, and he daren't be without it for long. He never knows when someone might need him for something urgent, constantly on call as he is.

He turns and makes his way back to Jim's, and as he gets closer the sound of voices reaches his ears. He peers around the corner and sees Spock and Jim talking, Spock leant against the wall between their quarters, one hand cradling that bump of his, which seems to grow more each day, and Jim standing in front of him, an earnest look on his face.

McCoy measures up leaving versus staying, and decides on the latter. This might be the only way he can get to know more about Spock, and something deep inside him is urging him to take the opportunity.

"Spock, you need to tell him," Jim is saying, and McCoy leans back against the bulkhead trying to make sure that he isn't overheard.

"Captain," Spock says in a voice which tells McCoy that this isn't the first time Jim has pressed him. "It has been proven that providing information regarding the lost memories has done nothing to restore them. As such, I see no reason to inform him of –"

"No reason?" Jim cuts in. "Maybe your information will be what finally jogs his memory."

"The chances of that are less than three-point-two-five percent," Spock replies, and McCoy rolls his eyes at the quotation of statistics. "As such, I see no reason why I should place myself in that situation –"

"Except that it might help –"

"Especially since I find it... difficult to be in his presence." Jim doesn't reply to this, and McCoy doesn't blame him. Spock sounds almost emotional, and McCoy risks peering around the corner to see Jim place one hand on Spock's upper arm, his face sad and understanding. "He is not the Leonard I know, and I find it uncomfortable to be in his company during his current regression."

Jim sighs, and tightens his grip on Spock's arm. The Vulcan doesn't move away – in fact, he seems to lean into the touch, as though searching out reassurance. "Ok, Spock. Ok. I think you should tell him, but I understand why you can't. Just let me know if I can help at all, ok?"

Spock inclines his head, and his eyes soften as he replies. "Certainly."

They start to walk away leaving McCoy leant against the wall, puzzled and with the beginning of anger stirring in his stomach. Spock hasn't been approaching him, that's true, and he supposes he can't blame him based on how their interactions have gone since he woke up without his memories. But it seems as though Spock has been holding out on him – he has memories which might help McCoy regain his, and he decides that it's about time he and the Vulcan had a discussion.

The door opens and Spock is stood right there, filling the doorway, an inscrutable look on his face. "Doctor McCoy," he says as though he's been expecting him, and McCoy just nods.

"Spock." He pauses, clears his throat. "I was wondering if we could talk," he says as civilly as he can and Spock raises one eyebrow, obviously as close to being surprised as he got.

"Indeed, Doctor? May I enquire as to why you would wish to converse with me?"

McCoy ignores the verboseness of the question, the nervous tension he can see in the Vulcan's shoulders. "We haven't spoken much since I... forgot. I was hoping you could fill me in on anything between us I may have missed."

Something odd flickers across Spock's face at those words, but is gone in a second, far too fast to translate. "Of course, Doctor," he replies, and inclines his head, no sign of the reluctance he'd seen in the corridor, the pain he'd shown Jim. "I would be happy to speak with you."

"Now ok?" he asks, and moves past Spock into the room. He knows it's rude, knows he should have waited for an invite, but he's starting to maybe get Spock. And he knows that the invite would have been a long time coming, which was why he had decided to force himself on the Vulcan, so they could talk right now, without interruption.

He opens his mouth to say something – apologise for barging in, most likely, but is stopped in his tracks as he glances around the room. It looks like he's found where all his personal effects have been hiding. He glances at the bookshelf, filled with a mix of science and medicine books. More recent holos of Joanna, looking all grown up and beautiful. His good alcohol is on a shelf, his good PADDs... everything which was missing to make his quarters a home is here in Spock's room, and he suddenly realises why Spock has been avoiding him. Why he'd told Jim that it was difficult even being in his presence. Mated, he'd said. Spock and he were mated and having a child, and no-one had mentioned a god-dammed thing.

"Are you well?" Spock asks, and McCoy whirls on him, glaring.

"What do you think?" he says, furious. "All my damn stuff's in your room, which can mean only one thing. I'm your mate, or husband, or whatever, and you didn't say a word to me." He points at Spock's stomach, large now as he nears his due date. "That's my child, in there, and you weren't going to tell me."

"I regret that you have been living without your effects," Spock says, not an answer or an explanation. "I intended to move your belongings to your room without your knowledge, but you removed yourself from sickbay with more haste than I had expected, and once you had viewed your room you would have questioned your sudden acquisition of items."

"So you admit that you've been hiding this all from me. Been keeping secrets about my life from the day I woke up months ago. What gives you the right?" he yells into Spock's face.

Spock looks as calm as ever, and it makes McCoy want to punch him. How can he act so unaffected? "May I ask, Doctor, if your regard for me has changed due to the facts you have just learnt? Or do you feel confused that you would be with me, even in the future?"

McCoy opens his mouth to yell that of course his feelings have changed, you green-blooded robot, when he realises that they haven't. He still thinks of Spock as cold and heartless, doesn't understand the man's thought processes, very rarely agrees with his points. He's working to move beyond that, is doing so slowly but surely, but Spock's right. This knowledge changes nothing about what McCoy actually feels for Spock.

He says nothing, and Spock nods. "As I thought. You are not my mate, Doctor. It is your memories, our shared memories, which create the bond between us. You are a stranger to me, and I... thought it best that I did not burden you with a role you would not wish to fill." He places one hand on his bump. "That you would feel obligated to undertake."

McCoy wants to argue with that, but he really can't. He can understand Spock's point of view, and thinks he probably agrees with the Vulcan's logic, but that doesn't mean he thinks he was in the right. He opens his mouth to speak, but is stopped by the chirp of his communicator.

"Chapel to McCoy," comes the voice of his nurse, and he looks at Spock questioningly.

"Go," the Vulcan says quietly, eyes shuttered and dark. "I shall happily answer any more questions you have when you are next free."

He nods at the Vulcan and then leaves the room, feeling to dark gaze on his neck until the door hisses shut. "McCoy here," he says into the communicator.

"Doctor! Come to sickbay immediately, we've got something you should see."

His trip to sickbay is short, thanks to his medical override, and he all but runs into the room. He notices Chapel by the machines and rushes over to her, taps her on her shoulder. She turns with a smile on her face and a hypospray in her hand, and he has to step back to avoid being stabbed with it.

"Doctor," she says, "you're here," and he nods at the observation.

"I am," he confirms, "now what the hell was so important?"

"This," she says happily, and waves the hypospray she's holding. "It contains a compound which should bring back your memories."

McCoy's legs go weak and he moves to sit on a biobed. Chapel follows, her mouth still split into that massive grin. "How?" he asks.

"There's a long and complex explanation involving analysing your blood and then lots and lots of trial runs," she says brightly, adjusting the dosage, "but let's just chalk it up to amazing scientists and doctors being astounding for now."

McCoy moves to look at her, demand more of an explanation, when the hypospray hits his neck. "Jesus," he curses at the sudden sting, no longer wondering why Jim objects to his constant injections, and is hit by... nothing. Nothing has changed, he can recall nothing more than he could this morning, and he's hit by a wave of disappointment.

He opens his mouth to tell Chapel it hasn't worked, but is stopped by a sudden onslaught of memories, filling his brain, his vision, overpowering. Missions and treating people and laughter and late nights drinking. He remembers Jim bleeding out on a table, remembers Sulu and Chekov being caught in the act, remembers countless things, until they all begin to feature Spock.

Bad first meeting, antagonism, fights, insults. Patching him up, his hands covered in green blood. Spock taking shots for him. Being imprisoned, learning about each other, becoming friends and then lovers, and then finally mates. Light touches of fingers, smiles contained in deep brown eyes, the joy of having a child on the way. His last thought before the darkness takes him is the look on Spock's face each time they've spoken recently. Loss and pain, and he swears he can feel his heart break.

This time when he wakes up, it's with the knowledge that he has been a complete jackass to his mate for the last few months. That he has left him, and their unborn son, all alone, and he's almost certain he can feel his heart break slightly at the thought. He suddenly feels the bond in his mind again, snapping back into place, and pushes himself up from the bed he's lying on, not caring about the way his arms are shaking, or the way the room is spinning – all he wants is to get to Spock, to prove to him that he's back, and that he'll never leave him again.

"Bones!" yells Jim suddenly, forcing himself into McCoy's vision. "Are you ok? What the hell happened?"

"Chapel found the combination of compounds that caused my memory loss," he explains, trying to stand. "Then how to counter them. The counter knocked me out, but here I am, back to normal." He manages to find his feet, and after a moment of gripping onto the biobed he lets go and is happy to realise he can stand up.

"You remember?" Jim asks, hopeful and disbelieving, and McCoy nods.

"Everything," he confirms, "which is why I need to find Spock. Now."

Jim suddenly glances away, towards the other end of the sickbay. It's only a quick flick of his eyes, but it makes McCoy's narrow. "Jim," he asks. "Where's Spock?"

"He went into labour," Jim says, and McCoy is moving before he can say anything else. Just as he reaches the door to the operating room, Jim catches his arms and pulls him back. "Bones, don't overwhelm him, ok? I know you feel bad and all, but he's had it tough these past few months. Just look after him."

Jim's eyes are sober, and McCoy knows now that Jim has been doing his best to provide as much support for Spock as he could in McCoy's absence. He nods. "I will, Jim," he promises, and he's never been so serious in his life.

Jim nods and moves out of his way, and then he's stepping into the room. Spock is lying on his back, bump larger than the last time he touched it, and his eyes are closed. His fingers are clenched in the sheets, as close to emotion as he will show during all of this, and McCoy walks closer almost against his will.

He stands next to Spock, eyes tracing the features he's not really been seeing for the past few months. That long neck, his pointed ears, the dark eyebrows which express hidden emotions with every twitch. He looks pale, drawn, and that proves how much he's been worrying about McCoy, about their child.

He moves one hand forward to touch Spock's, notices it's shaking as it touches the overly hot skin, and Spock's dark eyes snap open and McCoy freezes under their weight. Spock's eyes run over him for a moment, and McCoy tries to express his emotions, his sorrow and love, through his eyes and where their gripped hands.

"Oh, darlin'," he whispers, and brings his face down so their foreheads are touching. "I'm so sorry."

"Apologies are illogical, Leonard," Spock replies, equally quietly, but McCoy can feel the relief, the joy, the overwhelming happiness through the touch of their skin. "You did not plan on losing your memories, and your actions based on that loss were reasonable."

"Never again," he vows, and places a human kiss on Spock's forehead. "I swear it."

Spock doesn't mention that something could happen to either one of them at any time, that there is no way to promise that. He doesn't quote statistics, or shoot him down. Instead, he closes his eyes and nods. "That would be acceptable," he says lowly, and that tells McCoy more than anything how much he's been missed.

He squeezes the hand under his own and when Spock grips his hand tightly, making his bones creak, he remembers why he's here in this room.

"You alright?" he asks, and Spock raises one eyebrow. "Right, no, of course. Can you feel anything?"

A screen goes up, blocking their view of the operation which will free their child. Spock shakes his head. "I am quite numb," he reports, concentrating. "Although I can feel the incision, and the child preparing to be removed."

McCoy resists the urge to peak over the screen, focusing instead on his mate's face, drawn and serious. "And do we have a name yet?" he asks, trying to keep Spock with him, trying to prove he's really there.

Spock looks at him with a gaze which says – you are illogical and know the answer to this question, but I will answer anyway because I love you. "I have not yet chosen a name. I was awaiting your return."

He runs one hand though Spock's sweat damp hair with a smile. "I got back just in time then, didn't I?" he asks, and the slight smile Spock gives him is beautiful and fills him with warmth.

"Agreed," Spock replies, and then gasps. The sudden cry of their child is quiet, but echoes through the room, and McCoy looks from the messy bundle being measured and washed to Spock who is lying on the bed, eyes almost closed but as close to content as McCoy has ever seen him.

"You did it," he murmurs into Spock's skin as he leans in for a kiss, savouring the sweat against his lips, the familiar scent of Spock.

"I am aware," Spock says quietly in reply, and McCoy has to kiss him again, grip his hand and let his joy overspill into the mind of his mate.

"Would you like to hold him?" Chapel asks McCoy and he blinks down at the baby she's holding, tiny and pink and wrapped in blue blankets.

"It's definitely a boy?" he asks, even as he reaches his arms out, and she nods as she gently places him into McCoy's arms.

"That's right," she confirms, and McCoy looks down at the squashed face of his son, the slightly upturned eyebrows. He brushes away the blanket slightly, and reveals ears which come to a point, dainty and beautiful. He presses a gentle kiss to his brow and then moves to sit next to Spock, still lying on the bed as he's cleaned up.

"And he looks just like his mommy," McCoy whispers to Spock, who looks tired and drained, but is smiling, a real smile, and has reached one hand up so he is touching his son's tiny fingers. The baby grips at Spock's hand.

"We had agreed that I would be addressed as father despite the fact that I carried the child," Spock reminded him, although he didn't look away from their baby, dark eyes enraptured and warm.

"Ah, that's right," McCoy grins, feeling as though he'll burst from all the happiness and love he's feeling right now, feeling that he could just live in this moment forever and be happy with that. "I forgot."

The unimpressed look Spock sends his way is more than worth the pun, and McCoy laughs out loud.