Ensign La!xa had nearly died, and Leonard McCoy could not sleep. The dark skinned ensign was the first of her species to join with Starfleet. Her species were amphibious and although were more or less humanoid, they had gills ridging their necks, webbed hands and feet, and also, rather noticeably, did not have a nose. McCoy had told her that she had solved the life-long human problem of how to keep water out of your nose while somersaulting under water rather handily. She hadn't laughed, just looked at him rather perplexed, before asking if this was a serious condition. She seemed genuinely concerned. Nobody ever got his jokes.

As a matter of course whenever non-humans were integrated into Starfleet, she had been inoculated against many potentially fatal human diseases that she would not have had natural immunity to: influenza, smallpox, the mumps, even chicken pox. The idiots who ran Starfleet had clearly not watched War of the Worlds enough times, however, and forgot the most basic of human conditions – the common cold.

The main debilitating factor of an altogether normal disease was that, although she ate and spoke through her mouth, all of her breathing was done through the gills on the side of her neck. When those clogged up with mucus, she found herself suddenly suffocating in the mess hall on her third day of active duty, and had to be rushed to sickbay.

The details weren't important, but McCoy had made what basically amounted to a hole in her body straight into her lungs and pumped air into her until he had flushed all the mucus out of her gills and could be sure that she wasn't going to suffocate from her own bodily fluids. She was now breathing on her own, fast asleep on a bunk, no worse the wear from nearly dying, and still McCoy could not sleep.

He'd written and then erased a nasty message to Starfleet officials vis a vis their idiocy about inoculations, had paced the lab, told the night nurse to go away and take the night off, checked the ensign's vitals another ten times, and finally was slumped down at his desk, drumming his fingers on the table, staring at nothing, when the door slid open with a faint woosh.

"Good evening, Doctor."

McCoy smiled to himself as he straightened from his desk. Just what he needed to distract himself – a good banter with his favourite pointy-eared superior.

He schooled his face back into a scowl before turning towards Spock and stalking past the stoic first officer back into the main sick bay.

"I don't see what's so good about it. We narrowly avoided an interplanetary incident because of a case of the sniffles, and nearly lost a fine young officer in the process." He deliberately let his voice be more angry than he actually felt - in truth he was just relieved that he had not lost his patient.

Spock, as per usual, was not moved by the outburst, nodding solemnly with his hands behind his back. "Well Doctor, as none of those things did, in fact, occur, I should think you would be celebrating. It is not logical to dwell on bad outcomes that did not come to pass."

McCoy narrowly avoided splitting his face into a large grin. Spock had said the magic word - logical. He spun round to begin his usual tirade about Spock and his infernal logic but was stopped mid-word as he saw what Spock had been hiding behind his back. A clear bottle of dark liquid with an elaborate spout, stoppered with a cork.

"What in the name of God is that?" He stammered, his well-earned banter lost in his surprise.

"Saurian brandy - the captain informed me that it is your preferred beverage." Spock placed the bottle on the table, and McCoy thought the Vulcan seemed almost uncomfortable as he continued. "On Vulcan we do not celebrate the passing of time in the same way as humans - gifts are not customary, nor do we usually acknowledge the day in any significant way."

McCoy stared blankly between him and the brandy, finding himself at a complete loss for words. Was it the lack of sleep? He just couldn't connect the brandy to what Spock was talking about, or why Spock had brought him a gift. Spock, apparently interpreting McCoy's silence as permission to continue, put his hands behind his back solemnly as if giving a speech, and continued.

"My time among humans, however, has shown that humans will give tokens of affection to their close friends and family at this time. During our time together, despite your alarming lack of a logical approach to anything, I find that you and I have become...friends." Here Spock paused, looking slightly disconcerted, as if he was not sure if he was using the word correctly. "I continue to enjoy our conversations, combative as they may be, and when we work together we often find unique and efficient solutions. You have earned my deep respect, as a fine medical officer, a fine member of Starfleet, and a fine man. So I have brought you this gift, as a token of that respect."

There was a long pause as this speech settled into McCoy's brain. McCoy was at a loss - he certainly liked Spock and enjoyed their banter, but it never occurred to him before that Spock actually enjoyed it too. He assumed he found it more of an intellectual exercise. Kirk and Spock had always been friends, and Kirk and McCoy were friends, it had never been on the cards that Spock and him might ever be 'friends'.

"...Spock, what in the name of your pointy-eared cornfed mind are you talking about?" McCoy finally said, staring at the Vulcan. The Vulcan did not react, but raised his eyebrow in a characteristic arch.

"I assumed you would be celebrating already. Your date of birth, Doctor. As of twenty minutes ago, today is the 20th of January, Earth-time. This is a..." Again Spock paused, as if contemplating his choice of words, before continuing. "A birthday gift."

McCoy's eyes widened as the pieces finally fell into place. His birthday. He'd been so focussed on keeping the ensign alive and keeping the sickbay from falling apart that he'd completely forgotten what day it was. Now that he had put that together, he was faced with an altogether new and far more shocking prospect - Spock had just said they were friends. On top of which, he had brought McCoy a gift, on his birthday, as a token of friendship.

"I…" He started, then stopped, completely floored at this situation. Spock was beginning to look more and more uncomfortable, and began to speak again, never wavering in his calm intonation.

"I apologise, Doctor. Clearly I misjudged the level of our acquaintance, and you are uncomfortable with the gift. I will withdraw. I apologise again for the misunderstanding." Spock inclined his head towards McCoy and swiftly turned on his heel and began to walk away.

"No, Spock, stop." McCoy said, finally having a grasp on his tongue again. He picked up the bottle of brandy and moved towards the Vulcan, who was still facing the other way. He tentatively reached out and put a hand on his shoulder, softening his voice. "Don't be an idiot. Of course we're friends. I just...never expected that you would lower yourself to admit it. This is a wonderful gift. Thank you."

Spock turned, the slightest ghost of a smile at the corner of his lips. McCoy smiled broadly at the Vulcan, finding himself feeling surprisingly heartened at the idea of having earned the Vulcan's affection, even if it was a bit stilted and confusing at times.

"Now, what do you say you help me break open this bottle?"

"It would be my honour, Doctor."

-Fin-