The invitation from Admiral Pike had been uncompromising.  Since the Enterprise had ended up in space dock for repairs at the same time – Uhura apologized profusely, and had taken the appropriate dressing down and censure, for confusing two words of the Klingon greeting that had caused them to fire on the Enterprise – they could find no way of avoiding the reception in their honor.  Jim bitched about it, but always in private because the invitation included the entire command staff.  It was almost cute how excited Chekov was about attending a formal reception.

Bones had to admit that Jim looked good in his formal dress uniform, good enough that he’d had to grind his teeth and clench one hand into a fist, nearly drawing blood from himself – which is not the impression a doctor wants to make – upon seeing him before they boarded the shuttlecraft from space dock.

The fact that Jim’s own eyes had heated upon seeing him in his dress blues had registered only briefly for Bones.  It had been when Jim leaned over to whisper just what he wanted to do to Bones later upon taking that dress uniform off him that Bones hissed for Jim to shut up, earning a raised eyebrow from Spock and a snicker from Uhura.  Jim had just grinned and settled back into his seat while Bones buried his face in one hand and shook his head.  He had the distinct impression their relationship was a secret from no one despite the pains they’d taken to keep it that way.

A protocol officer met the crew at the arrival hangar, greeting them obsequiously.  Bones caught Scotty’s eye and nearly choked at the expression on his face.  Maybe the evening wouldn’t be as bad as Bones expected.

An hour later, Bones realized he was wrong.  It wasn’t as bad, it was worse.

When the Enterprise had limped back to Earth after destroying the Narada, the time between arrival and departure again had been taken by promotion ceremonies and funerals, more funerals than anyone could, or wanted to, remember.  The imperative then had been to repair the Enterprise, the Federation’s flagship, the symbol, and get her back out to the stars as soon as possible with her brand-new hero captain at the helm.

Now, however, there was time to fete the crew.  Bones had tried to complain to Admiral Pike and was told, in no uncertain terms, “Enjoy it while you can, Doctor McCoy, because they’ll turn on you just as quickly.”  Bones felt like a ’coon on a Georgia hunt and the sensation was not a pleasant one.

He was still nursing his first bourbon – no way was he going to get drunk at this damned shindig – and looking for someone he knew other than the crew – did Jim have to flirt with everyone? – when someone sidled up to him.

“Good evening, Doctor McCoy,” she murmured, voice as low and smooth as Scotty’s best whisky.

He turned slowly, noting the Admiral’s bars before anything else.  He straightened.  “Sir.”

She laughed.  “Come now, Doctor McCoy, this is an informal reception.  If all the inferior officers were ‘sirring’ the superior ones tonight, there’d be no conversation.”

Bones sipped his bourbon, unsure how to reply.  No longer did he feel like that ’coon, but like a mouse being toyed with, and he liked the sensation even less.  This Admiral reminded him of his ex-wife, the woman he’d tried to move half a universe away from.

“Forgive me,” the Admiral purred.  “Admiral Jellico.”

“Charmed, I’m sure,” Bones replied dryly.  “I would introduce myself, but you already know my name.”

The Admiral turned slightly, enough that Bones had to shift his right shoulder back and take a step back to avoid physical contact.  Her smile twisted into a small smirk.

“Yes, Doctor McCoy, the doctor who arranged for the suspended Cadet James Kirk to become a stowaway aboard the Enterprise.”

Bones had had to answer for his own actions during those few days, had been reprimanded, and had still been given the plum Chief Medical Officer’s position aboard the Enterprise.  Given the look on Admiral Jellico’s face, though, there were apparently some who didn’t agree with that decision.  Dammit, this is why he hated politics.  At least bodies on an operating table didn’t argue – unless they were Jim.

Bones met the Admiral’s sly gaze.  “Yes, I did.”

She tilted her head, Bones following the angle of her look.  Jim was across the room chatting up one of the few female captains currently in Starfleet.  By the hand motions, he must have been describing their recent encounter with the Klingons, the one that had landed them back on Earth for repairs.

“Would you do it again?”

Bones drained his bourbon.  A hyper-efficient steward took the empty glass away almost before it left his lips.  He was walking in a minefield blindfolded.

Dammit, did Jim have to smile like that?

“If by it you mean sneak one of the Academy’s top cadets and potential best officers aboard a Federation vessel amidst a time a crisis, then, yes, I probably would.”

Bones’ fingers twitched.  He wanted to hurt something and Jim would do in lieu of anything better.  Or challenge Scotty to a drinking contest.  Bones paused and reconsidered the last.  No, hurting something was safer for everyone involved.

“If you’ll excuse me, Admiral,” Bones said, only to be stopped short by her hand on his arm.

“But I don’t excuse you, Doctor,” she replied, words polite and with a smile, but her tone glacially cold.  The grip she had on his arm was forceful enough that he wondered if he’d have bruises, which he really didn’t want to explain to Jim.

“Pardon me?”  Anger leeched into his voice, increasing his drawl.

“We need to have a discussion, Doctor McCoy,” she said, that smile still on her face like a rictus.  Her grip on his arm tightened, leaving him no choice but to allow her to lead him to an anteroom just off the main ballroom.

The anteroom was one of several soundproofed and glass-walled rooms obviously set aside for private conferences or set-up during events.  The rooms were raised about ten feet above the ballroom floor and accessed via a discreet staircase at the back of the ballroom.  Once the Admiral closed the door, the din of the reception ceased.

“Permission to speak freely, sir,” Bones ground out.  He did not like being manhandled by anyone but Jim, and even then only at certain times.  To be subjected to such indignities at a reception that was supposed to be a relaxing event in his honor – well, as relaxing as such a formal event could be – was infuriating.

The Admiral tapped a fingernail across her lips, cocked an eyebrow, and replied, “Permission denied.”

She changed the polarization of the glass, darkening it.  Bones knew he and the Admiral could now see the crowd, but the crowd could not see into the anteroom.  He wondered if he would have to figure out how to report sexual harassment by a superior officer – without implicating Jim.

He shifted his stance to stand at parade rest.  If she was going to make this more formal, then he would as well.

“Doctor McCoy, I know that Captain Kirk is not only your commanding officer, but your best friend.”  She said the last as if it were a disease, drawing the words out as she circled him.  He kept his eyes straight ahead.  Maybe all those disciplinary hearings with Jim were finally coming in handy.

When the silence became uncomfortable, Bones realized she might be waiting for an acknowledgment, though she’d not asked a question.  “Yes, sir.”

“Does that make it difficult to serve under him?”

Bones frowned.  He was sure he didn’t imagine the leer in her voice on those last few words, but since she was behind him, he couldn’t see her expression.

“If you are asking if your friendship interferes in our professional relationship, then the answer is no, sir.”  No, the only problems we have are when Jim comes back broken and I have to make him whole again.

“I see.”  The Admiral circled around front.  Her gaze was piercing when she pinned Bones with it.  “And do you feel Captain Kirk is an able commander?”

Bones blinked, then frowned again.  “Pardon me, sir?”

She smiled coquettishly, increasing her resemblance to his ex.  “Come now, Doctor, just answer the question.  Do you feel Captain Kirk is an able commander?”

There was something very wrong here, but Bones couldn’t put his finger on it.  Given that she was in a position of authority, he couldn’t call bullshit to her face.  If he could escape, he could talk to Admiral Pike.  He had to escape the spider’s web first, though.

“I’m afraid, sir, that I find the question inappropriate in this situation.  Without a direct order to answer, which I will then report to Admiral Pike, I decline to answer.  Sir.”  Bones hoped his nervous swallow wasn’t audible.

Admiral Jellico smiled sweetly.  “That’s all right, Doctor McCoy, no need to answer that.”  She moved closer, close enough that he could see the grey at the roots of her blonde hair, the blue flecks in her hazel eyes.  “You do know of Starfleet Directive 563, do you not?”

“I’m afraid I don’t, sir.”  He shifted his gaze to the middle distance, though he could feel her eyes on him, examining him like he was under a microscope – or a prize bull.  He wished he’d shaved, but he’d been running late.

He felt the change in her smile as much as saw it from the corner of his eye:  a piranha sensing blood.  “Directive 563 states that a superior officer may not have personal relations with those under his direct command.”

Bones fought to keep from reacting, resisting the urge to clench his jaw or flare his nostrils or clench his fist.  Hurting Jim was sounding better and better.  He was going to have to suck it up and ask Spock about Directive 563, dammit.

“I thank you for the information, Admiral.  I will make note of it if someone reports a superior officer while in my sickbay, sir,” Bones replied, subtly reminding her of his status.  Take that, bitch.

She sucked air through her teeth and backed up several steps.  “No one has had cause to make such a report so far, Doctor McCoy?”

He schooled his featured to innocence – something else learned from Jim – and lifted his eyebrows slightly.  “No.  Why, have you heard something about the Enterprise that I, as Chief Medical Officer, should be aware of, sir?”

The Admiral smiled unpleasantly before resuming her circling of him.  “No, Doctor McCoy.  I am not aware of anything directly.  I had merely heard . . . rumors.”

Bones didn’t reply.  Had they been rumors about Jim and him together?  Their relationship didn’t seem to be much of a secret among the command crew, but some of that was by necessity since the command crew were the only ones with the ability to find them anywhere at anytime.  Then again, it could have been about Spock and Uhura.

Bones longed for another bourbon.  Relationships made his head hurt.

He startled when the Admiral tapped the polarized glass of the partition wall.  “I see Captain Kirk is enjoying his time in the spotlight.”

Bones relaxed and crossed to the wall.  It took no effort to find Jim who, while not the center of the party, had his own orbit like a gravity well.  What the Admiral couldn’t see, though, were the lines of tension in Jim’s stance and face.  He was smiling, but he was exhausted.  It was no wonder:  while Bones had been treating those injured in the Klingon attack, Jim had been notifying the families of the dead.  Neither of them had slept well once they worked out their frustration on each other.

“He’s very young for a captain,” she murmured, still staring down at the crowd.

Bones gave a sidelong glance at the Admiral.  He shuddered briefly.  He would guess the Admiral’s age to be mid-fifties, though with body modifications, she could be older. Her gaze, as she looked on Jim, was hungry.  Maybe there was more than just Starfleet politics at play here.  It still made his head hurt.

“He is,” Bones agreed neutrally.  Jim was twenty-five, still nearly a kid himself chronologically, though long past that by experience.  Bones had stopped calling him “kid” except when he was being exceptionally stupid.  He was the youngest Starfleet captain in the history of the Federation, so denying his age was pointless.

The Admiral turned on Bones, her look just a bit crazed this time.  “In that context, I ask you again, Doctor McCoy:  do you find your friend, James T. Kirk, an able commander?”

Bones straightened to formal posture, hands at his sides.  He considered saluting, but refrained.  “Sir, there is no man I would consider a finer officer to serve under than Captain Kirk.”  He hoped he hadn’t blushed, because that would just ruin the whole damn effect.

She narrowed her eyes at him.  “Why, I believe you mean every word of that,” she said, mimicking his drawl.  “Every meaning of that.”

Bones didn’t reply to the implication, but understood the meaning.  Someone had reported his relationship with Jim to Starfleet.  The fact there were no official reprimands had to mean something, but he was still going to have to ask Spock about Directive 563.  He hated asking Spock for anything.  He never knew Vulcans could look so smug until he met Spock.

Admiral Jellico tilted her head to look down on the crowd while she faced Bones.  “You don’t find Captain Kirk . . . unstable?”

Red alert.  “Are you asking my professional opinion or my personal opinion, Admiral?” Bones prevaricated.  Though this conversation was not supposed to be official, he knew now that was a fiction.  This was an interview.  Someone was out for Jim’s head.

The Admiral smiled enigmatically, though Bones knew she was frustrated with him.  He’d learned double-speak from the best:  James T. Kirk.

“Dismissed, Doctor McCoy,” she purred, that hungry gaze on Jim again.  Bones’ stomach churned.  As he passed within inches of her to exit the room, she gripped his arm with her talon-like fingers.  “I should not have to advise you that this conversation was private, should I, Doctor?”

Bones glanced down.  She released his arm.  He looked up, meeting her eyes coldly – and lied with sincerity.  “No, sir.”

He managed to hold himself together until he reached a bathroom.  The lovely formal dinner they’d been served came right back up.  Fuck, he hated politics and intrigues.  The most complicated thing he wanted was Jim – but could he have him?  After that, the most complicated thing he wanted was his sickbay.  Dammit.

He rinsed his mouth, thanking the attendant for the mouth rinse provided.  He needed to find Spock.

Thankfully, finding the Vulcan Science Officer was not as difficult as he had thought given that the man was taller than many of the humans at the reception.  That would explain why it always felt as if Spock were towering over the crew.  He and Jim were probably two of the few men as tall as Spock and he’d never noticed.

Bones didn’t recognize either of the other two officers Spock was speaking with as he approached.  By their insignia, both belonged to the Omicron, one of the ships that had been in the Laurentian System during Nero’s madness.

“Commander Spock, might I have a word?” Bones interrupted during a lull in the conversation.

Spock turned, raising one eyebrow.  Bones raised an eyebrow right back.  If Bones didn’t know better, he would have said Spock smirked in response, but hobgoblins didn’t smirk.  Spock glanced back at the Omicron officers and dismissed himself with a curt nod and a precise, “Gentlemen.”

When Spock made to lead Bones upstairs to an anteroom, Bones shook his head violently.  “No, in the corridor is fine, Spock.”

Spock studied his expression, then nodded.  “Very well.”

They were not the only ones in the corridor.  It was populated with small groups of threes and fours, for the most part, though there were a few pairs and one boisterous group of at least six, of which Scotty was a part.  He waved to Spock and Bones, then continued his story.

Once they reached an area of moderate privacy, Spock turned to Bones.  “Am I correct to assume this was a matter of some delicacy that you wished to discuss?”

Bones ran a hand through his hair and sighed.  Why hadn’t he gotten another bourbon?  To Spock, he said, “Yes, yes, you’re right.”

Spock crossed his arms over his chest.  “And?  I do not have all evening, Doctor.”

He refused to let Spock rile him, not after he’d held it together before Admiral Jellico.  Facing the corridor, his back slightly to Spock, Bones said, “Tell me about Directive 563.”

From the corner of his eye, he saw Spock’s arms fall to his sides.  “Indeed.”

Bones turned to face Spock when Spock didn’t continue.  “Spock?”

“I know you would not have looked up that particular Directive, so I must ask, Doctor, who mentioned it to you and in what context.”  If he didn’t know better, he would swear Spock had paled.  That decided Bones:  crew trumped the damned Admiral.

“Admiral Jellico decided to have a cozy chat with me,” Bones replied.

Spock flexed one hand, the only physical sign of strong emotion Bones had ever seen Spock make outside a conversation with Jim.  “She has a serious dislike for the captain.”

Bones raised both eyebrows at Spock, but resisted the accompanying jaw drop of disbelief.  “I’m not sure it’s entirely dislike,” he admitted.

“Explain.”

Bones flushed.  It was Jim they were talking about.  What was between them just was and he’d never analyzed it, but seeing that predatory look on the Admiral’s face, along with her questions, had made him both uncomfortable and jealous.  He didn’t like either feeling.

“She wanted him.”

Spock cocked his head to the side in that Vulcan way that said Bones had performed a particularly amusing human trick he didn’t quite understand.  “Wanted him?  Please, Doctor, I am not familiar with the idiom.”

Bones really wanted to ask if Uhura had ever said the same to him, but he held his tongue.  He should receive a fucking medal after tonight.  It was Bones’ turn to cross his arms over his chest.  “She was looking at Jim like she wanted to keep him as a pet in her collection, to be taken out when she wants sex.”

Under other circumstances, Bones would have taken delight in the green flush on Spock’s cheeks.  Not now, though.

“I see.”  Spock straightened, tugging his dress shirt down.  “That does put a different perspective on things.”

“And Directive 563?” Bones asked again.

“To summarize:  a superior officer may not engage in a romantic or sexual relationship with someone under his or her command.”  Spock’s gaze, which had been distant, now focused sharply on Bones.  “But Subdirective A allows for an exception among certain members of the command hierarchy, presumably recognizing both that they would not have been able to reach that level without learning to separate personal and professional and that if all relationships were forbidden, a standard five-year deployment would drive down recruiting.”

Bones smirked, then laughed involuntarily.  “Let me guess:  Subdirective A applies to the Captain and First Officer?”

The look on Spock’s face was the closest Bones had ever seen to a smile.  “You are correct, Doctor.  However, that does not negate the fact it seems there are those within Starfleet working against Captain Kirk.”

“Admiral Jellico was very . . . agitated when I mentioned bringing the conversation to the attention of Admiral Pike,” Bones said, waving to someone as they said hello on their exit from the reception.  “She also wanted me to be well-aware our conversation was a private matter.”

“Yet you discussed it with me,” Spock murmured.  Bones leveled a look at him.  “Fascinating.”

There was a small commotion at the door, then Jim and Sulu appeared, followed by Admiral Pike, Chekov and Uhura.  Bones heard Jim pull Scotty from the group just outside the door.  Admiral Pike and Chekov were deep in discussion about something that was making the Admiral frown, but that could have been concentration.  Uhura caught sight of Spock and gave him a smile that Bones felt uncomfortable being within ten feet of, though Spock showed no effect and merely inclined his head.

“We must continue our conversation later, it seems,” Spock said under his breath.  Bones didn’t answer.  Spock caught up with the party, moving to Uhura’s side.

Bones waited for Jim to catch up to him.

Jim’s smile was showing wear and exhaustion, but he knew he was still on show.  “Admiral Pike’s trick pony,” he’d complained bitterly when they received the invitation.  Bones reminded him he’d earned his captaincy and he’d damn well prove it or he’d be treated like the child he was acting like.

Smile still in place as they walked, Jim said from the corner of his mouth, “I believe you mentioned spanking.”

Bones was suddenly glad he wasn’t drinking anything.  As it was, he stumbled, nearly falling onto Spock in front of him.  He glared at Jim, who smiled angelically.

“Bastard,” Bones muttered.

Snickering, Jim said, “Well, boys and girls, as nice as this torture has been, let’s get back home to our ship.”

He made the appropriate farewells to Admiral Pike as the command crew boarded the shuttle.  Bones waited outside.

Spock paused as he entered the shuttle.  Looking back over his shoulder at Jim, he asked, “Shall we tell the captain?”

Bones glanced from Spock to Jim, who looked back and waved.  “No, not yet.  I’m sure he won’t be surprised to hear there are conspiracies, though.”

Spock made a non-committal noise and boarded the shuttle.

Jim made his way over a few moments later.  “Waiting for me?” he asked, grinning.

Bones smiled for a moment, then turned serious.  “Let’s get home.  You’re exhausted.”

“No spanking, then?”

“Not tonight, though I’m sure you’ll do something to deserve it soon.”

“Love you, too,” Jim whispered.

Stomach in his throat and Directive 563 – Subdirective A notwithstanding – at the forefront of his mind, Bones climbed to the same step as Jim and whispered back, “Love you, too, brat.”