Leonard McCoy did not know very much about making friends. He understood the basic process, yes. Meet person, introduce yourself to person, somehow convince person that you are worth spending time with.

It was always step three that got him.

The problem was, every time McCoy actually tried to get someone to like him he was inevitably unsuccessful, and whenever he didn't work for it (in fact, when he actively worked against it) people seemed to cling to him like particularly obnoxious glue. (The beginning of his friendship with one James T. Kirk was a perfect example of this. He actually had no idea how he'd become friends with that man. Witchcraft was suspected.)

Normally, this wasn't a problem. McCoy didn't need friends. He didn't. He really didn't. Really.

Except, sometimes, on occasion, rarely, very rarely, he sort of wanted one.

###

The old Vulcan in the corner kept staring at him.

McCoy was too drunk to know how he felt about that.

There was also an annoying buzzing by his ear. He knew exactly how he felt about that.

"Hey, careful there, Bones," the annoying buzzing said after he attempted to swat it away. McCoy narrowed his eyes. He couldn't be sure, but he thought it was Jim. Jim was almost always the annoying buzzing he heard by his ear when he was drunk.

"Buzz."

McCoy tried to fit all of his irritation and disdain into that word, but he wasn't sure if he was successful.

"Yes, Bones. Buzz."

McCoy wanted to scowl at Jim and hiss don't mock me, boy but his head hurt too much and don't mock me, boy was four words too many.

"Look, I'm heading out. You need anything before I go?"

There were many things McCoy wanted to say, but his head was throbbing and the only words he could come up with were Don't leave me! I'm surrounded by diplomats! If I try to run I'll probably bump into one of them and start a war! Do you want that on your hands Jim? Do you? and that probably sounded too needy. Instead, he grunted and scrunched his face into the closest thing to a scowl he could handle.

"Alright," Jim clapped him on the shoulder. McCoy nearly fell out of his chair. "Come on, Spock."

So he was leaving with Spock, was he? Typical. They were probably going to the observation deck to stare at the stars and whisper sweet nothings to each other. And not even good sweet nothings. Sweet nothings about the nature of life and the universe. Nerds.

McCoy was not jealous of their epic friendship at all. He was dizzy. Very dizzy. But he wasn't jealous. Nope. Never. Not-Jealous was his middle name. Leonard Not-Jealous McCoy.

Wait. That didn't make any sense.

Slowly, carefully, McCoy pressed his face against the nice, cool countertop.

He hated everything. He really did. He hadn't been sure before, but this awful night had sealed it. He hated everything. Especially Jim. And Spock too. He hated that green-blooded…something. What was he thinking about?

This was a nice counter.

Suddenly, the unpleasant light that had been shining on his eyes was gone. McCoy wasn't sure why. Was he dead? Was it the apocalypse? Or was that old Vulcan from the corner suddenly standing before him and blocking out the light?

Probably the apocalypse.

"Are you well?"

McCoy blinked. A voice. A nice voice. One that didn't sound like buzzing. How interesting.

"Are you well?" McCoy asked.

He was so witty.

"Yes I am," the voice replied.

"Tha's great," McCoy slurred, "'m so happy fer you."

"Thank you."

He was fairly certain the voice was laughing at him. But that wouldn't make any sense, because the voice wasn't laughing. Or was the voice laughing? Or was McCoy laughing? Was anybody laughing?

"Are you laughing at me?"
"I would never laugh at you, Dr. McCoy," the voice told him solemnly.

"How'd you know my name?" he asked. He was shocked by how rational that question was. That must be a record. Most rational question asked by a man who was too drunk to remember what question he'd asked anyway.

"You told me your name. Approximately 42.7 minutes ago."

"Did I?"

"Yes."

"'S nice," McCoy murmured, "'m sooooo nice."

"Yes," the voice said, in a vaguely placating tone. If McCoy had had any pride left, that vaguely placating tone would have injured it. Fortunately, he did not have any pride left, and so the vaguely placating tone merely sounded vaguely placating and… McCoy had just lost his train of thought. "Do you require assistance, Dr. McCoy?"

"Probably," McCoy said, finally looking up. He couldn't be sure, but that smudge of color in front of him was probably a face. Or another one of those aliens that looked like sparkly lights. One of the two. Maybe."Do I know your name?"

"I believe you do."

"Hm…" McCoy thought about this. "Maybe I'll remember it in the morning."

"I am certain you shall, doctor."

"'M going to stand up now," McCoy said. He waited a moment to give the world a chance to stop sloshing back and forth. The world did not take advantage of this generous opportunity. "'M not going to stand up now."

"That is probably a wise decision."

"You're a wise decision."

There was no end to his wit. He was a fountain of wit.

That was the last thing McCoy remembered before he woke up in his bed the next morning with a head that felt like it was being carefully picked apart by sadistic chimpanzees.

Actually he remembered some other things too, or at least he thought he did. He had a vague recollection of having a long and detailed discussion about pointy ears, and then… a drinking contest?

That couldn't be right. Vulcans didn't have drinking contests. Vulcans couldn't even get drunk. A drinking contest against a Vulcan would be impossible to win.

…

Son of a bitch.

###

"You cheated."

This accusation was greeted with a pleasant smile.

"Good morning, doctor," the old Vulcan said. "Did you sleep well?"

"Don't give me any of that," McCoy said, slapping his tray on the Vulcan's table and sitting down. "I know exactly what you pulled last night. The innocent act won't work on me."

The Vulcan lifted an eyebrow. God, did all Vulcans do that? McCoy had thought it was just a Spock thing.

"I do not know to what you are referring, Dr. McCoy. I did not 'pull' anything."

"You tricked me into a drinking contest," McCoy said, pointing an accusatory finger, "even though you can't get drunk."

"That is correct, doctor. Vulcans cannot get drunk. This is common knowledge. I had assumed you would be acquainted with such basic information."

"Don't common knowledge me. I was drunk. Nothing is common knowledge when you're drunk. That's common knowledge."

If McCoy didn't know any better, he'd say the old Vulcan was smiling.

"If I recall correctly, the contest was your idea, Dr. McCoy," he said.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, that doesn't mean it was a good one."

"No. It does not."

"Hmph."

McCoy wasn't sure if he'd won that argument or not, but his head hurt too much for him to care.

Suddenly, McCoy became extremely aware of the fact that he was apparently eating breakfast with a Vulcan he had only had one (drunken) conversation with. He wondered if he should move. He shot a look at the Vulcan. He didn't seem to mind his presence.

And if he left he'd have to go over to the table where Jim and Spock were sitting and making googly eyes at each other.

"Can Vulcans even make googly eyes?" McCoy asked, mostly to himself. Part of him just felt the need to make some sort of comment on the ridiculousness that was happening only a few tables away, but the other part was genuinely curious. The Vulcan looked at him.

"Googly eyes?"

"Yeah. Googly eyes." McCoy said. The Vulcan's brow furrowed.

"I am unfamiliar with that particular term."

"It means, uh… oh hell, just look at those two idiots over there and you'll understand," he gestured vaguely at Jim and Spock's table.

"You are referring to the captain and the first officer?"

"Uh-huh," McCoy shoveled some strange purple-y stuff onto his fork and tried not to think about what he was eating. He found that made everything easier.

He spared a moment to glance over at the two idiots. Yup, they were still at it. And… were Jim's eyes sparkling?

Yes. Yes they were.

McCoy was going to need to have a talk with him.

"I see," the Vulcan said, and there he went again, not smiling, but somehow giving off the impression that he was. "Do the captain and the first officer make… googly eyes often?"

"More than you can even imagine," McCoy grumbled.

"Fascinating."

For a second, McCoy frowned at the old Vulcan sitting across from him and serenely eating his breakfast. There was something about him, something that seemed…familiar…

It was probably the hangover.

They ate the rest of their meal in comfortable silence.

###

"So let me get this straight…you've got a pen pal."

McCoy rolled his eyes.

"For the last time, Jim, he's not my 'pen pal'. What century are you living in?"

It was apparently Jim's turn to roll his eyes.

Personally, McCoy thought anyone who was sitting cross-legged on top of the chief medical officer's desk when the chief medical officer had very important work to do and why are you even here don't you have a ship to be captaining didn't get to roll his eyes at anybody.

"You write letters to each other, right?"

"Can you get off my desk?"

"You write letters to each other, and you're pals. Therefore, pen pals."

"Your logic is flawless."

"You sound like Spock."

"Don't ever say that to me again."

Jim laughed and slipped off the desk.

"Come on. It's a good thing. You need to get out there more."

"I get out there plenty. I'm in space aren't I? How much more out there could you get?"

"You know what I mean," Jim said.

"No, Jim, I don't. I almost never do. Now, could you go away? I have actual work to do."

"No you don't. You just want me to leave so you can write a letter to your pen pal complaining about me."

That was far too close to the truth for McCoy's comfort.

"Out."

"Fine. I'll just go tell Spock all about your pen pal."

The book McCoy threw hit the door as it closed behind his former friend.

He waited ten whole minutes before taking out a PADD and starting a new letter.

###

Two days later, McCoy arrived in sickbay to find the captain and the first officer having a Very Serious conversation. When they heard him come in, they turned simultaneously and crossed their arms. It was the most terrifying thing McCoy had ever seen.

"Bones, we need to have talk to you," Jim was speaking solemnly but McCoy could tell the captain was about two seconds away from bursting into hysterical laughter. Spock was in much the same condition, although he at least had the decency to be subtle about it.

He needed new friends.

"A talk about what, Jim?" McCoy said pleasantly, adding just enough sugar to his voice to succinctly inform both idiots that he was about two seconds away from hypospraying them both to next Sunday.

Spock raised an eyebrow. McCoy raised an eyebrow right back.

"We are concerned about your health doctor," Spock said, and that was it, Jim was officially giggling now, McCoy was going to have to kill him.

"Oh you're concerned about my health. Says the man who threw himself in front of a deadly spitting flower last week, and then got hit by lightning and then…"

"You have made your point doctor," Spock said and McCoy thought he detected irritation somewhere in the vast depths of that emotionless face. Ha. "However, that is irrelevant to our current topic of discussion. The captain has informed me of your recent encounter with a Vulcan elder, and your lack of antipathy towards him is atypical."

"So because I don't hate him, I must be sick."

"Yup," Jim said.

"Get. Out. Of. My. Sickbay."

"I think you're being quite illogical Bones."

"Indeed, Captain."

One day he was going to kill both of them. That would be a good day.

###

McCoy didn't hate Spock. He didn't. Really.

Sure, sometimes he kind of wanted to smack the smug eyebrows off his face. And most of the time he couldn't tell if they were best friends or mortal enemies. But he liked him. Buried somewhere within that tangled mess of emotional suppression and daddy issues, McCoy knew there was a person he could maybe get along with. Kind of. One day. If he stopped being so irritating.

McCoy didn't have a problem with Vulcans in general either. He'd just never met one he actually got along with. It made perfect sense that when he actually did, he'd want to keep in touch. For all he knew, the easygoing Vulcan was a scientific phenomenon. He needed to keep in touch with him. He had an obligation to science.

The last thing McCoy expected was to watch Spock stop in the middle of an emergency situation to call up well… Spock. Spock. Spock was Spock. The old Vulcan was Spock. His pen pal was Spock. His friend was Spock. He was friends with Spock. He was friends with Spock and he hadn't even known it.

McCoy needed a drink.

###

It took a while (several weeks and two bottles of Saurian brandy to be exact) but eventually McCoy got around to calling up… Spock.

He didn't yell. He didn't pout. He didn't swear (much).

"Good evening, doctor."

"What the hell?"

The old Vulcan looked abashed.

"I apologize for my deception, Dr. McCoy. I meant to tell you the truth."

"Sure you did."

"I did. I was simply waiting for the correct time," Spock said. He had the same expression McCoy's Spock always got when he'd done something completely insane and he was pretending to feel guilty about it, even though he knew he was right and anyone who disagreed with him was an idiot.

"And how on earth was hiding this from me the logical decision? You know, I've always thought…"

"It was an entirely logical decision, doctor," Spock said, and now he wasn't even trying to look repentant. "I am aware of your… difficult relationship with my younger counterpart. The McCoy I was acquainted with and I were very similar. The two of us were never quite sure if we were friends or enemies and it was not until we knew each other for many years that the truth became apparent. He was one of the most loyal friends I ever had the good fortune of having, and the chance to... I could not allow this opportunity to pass. I hid my identity from you in the hopes that your aversion to my younger self would not affect your opinion of me."

McCoy stared at him.

"I… I… I have no doubt that the other me would have… damn it, Spock, you're my friend too. Both of you."

Spock seemed relieved.

McCoy was having the weirdest day.

He coughed.

"So uh…about that book you told me to read…"

"Yes?"

"I hated it. I can't believe you recommended it. I couldn't decide if I wanted to launch the book or myself into space."

"Yes, doctor, I thought you would have such a reaction."

The rest of their conversation continued much the same way.