Lawful Obedience, Part Twenty-Three

by J. Rosemary Moss

Genre: Slash Fan Fiction (Star Trek, Spock-McCoy)
Rating: PG-13

LINK TO PART ONE

~

It was late, but a group had gathered around one of the tables in Rec Room 6. Kirk leaned back in his chair, enjoying the camaraderie, and glanced at the faces surrounding him.

Spock and Bones were first and foremost. They seemed content to pass their time with the group tonight, in lieu of a private date. Bones hadn't even objected when Kirk invited Spock to a game of chess earlier. Kirk appreciated that; he knew it was Bones' way of telling him that the good doctor wouldn't hog Spock.

Scotty was at the table as well, with Rand on one side of him and Sulu on the other. He was, at present, pontificating on the properties of good whiskey—but while those at the table made for an indulgent audience, it was likely that only Dr. McCoy appreciated Scotty's connoisseurship.

Lee sat on Sulu's right hand side and Uhura sat beside him. The two hadn't come together—Lee and Uhura, that is—but somehow they had gravitated toward each other. Kirk felt a knot in his gut as he realized that the sight of them sitting side by side was likely to become a common one.

Lee. Kirk still had difficulty crediting the fact that he was staring at Bobby Lee. Or Robby, as Mr. Scott insisted on calling him. Lee, apparently, was too much the gentleman to object that he had always been known as Bobby or Robert.

He was much like Kirk had imagined him. Well, not quite. Kirk couldn't help but picture Bobby Lee as he was during the Civil War: an older man, with that thick black hair of his long since turned white…but with the same dark, intelligent eyes.

And the same personality: that peculiar combination of charm and shyness. This was not a man who would put himself forward. And yet you couldn't ignore him. Perhaps that was because there was a tense excitement about him, for all that he was so quiet. He was, after all, a man who loved war, even with all the blood and mud and rot and disease.

In a strange sort of way, Lee had given Kirk his first taste of battle. When Kirk was about ten or eleven, he'd stumbled on an old hardcover book called The Killer Angels. It was a real book with yellowed pages that were crumbling on the edges.

He opened it up and started reading…and suddenly he was on the fields of Gettysburg. He could smell the smoke of the guns and cannons; he could see the rotting corpses of soldiers and horses baking in the sun.

And the men: Lee and Longstreet on the Rebel side; Buford and Chamberlain for the Federals—they all sprang to life in front of him.

Kirk was entranced. He'd sat down and read the damn thing from cover to cover. That book gave him his first whiff of war—and the knowledge that there were causes worth fighting and dying for.

Kirk narrowed his eyes at Lee. There was no harm, since Scotty was claiming Lee's attention at the moment. He thought about Gettysburg and how lucky the Federals were that Jackson was already dead.

How in hell had this shy man worked so well with Stonewall Jackson? What a strange pair they must have made. Lee was the perfect gentlemen and a quiet man of faith. But Jackson—Jackson was like some avenging angel: hard, bloody-minded and a religious fanatic.

But they were unbeatable together. If Lee'd had Jackson at Gettysburg…

But, no, that wasn't fair. There was no way to tell what might have been. And yet Kirk couldn't help but think that with Jackson at his side, Lee would have won Gettysburg on the first or second day. Jackson would have understood what Lee meant when he said, "Take that hill if practicable." Unlike Ewell, Jackson would have taken the damn hill.

With Jackson there Lee wouldn't have had to order Pickett's charge. Kirk frowned. What a foolhardy, stupid order that had been…and what a colossal waste of life. It was hard to imagine a brilliant general like Lee making such a mistake. That charge decimated the Army of Northern Virginia.

Lee was a daredevil—that was the problem. You wouldn't know it to look at him, but it was the truth. But Kirk couldn't fault him for that, could he? People in glass houses…

And, in fairness, if any army on earth could have succeeded with that charge, it was those Rebs. Even Kirk could admit that, however little sympathy he had for the Southern cause.

Scotty's brogue called Kirk back to the present. "What are you saying, Robby?" he was asking Lee in an outraged voice. "You don't like whiskey?"

"On the contrary, Mr. Scott, I like it very much," Lee assured him. "That's why I never touch it."

Scotty grinned appreciatively at that and then shook his head. "Your loss, lad."

"Robert, do you feel that way about wine too?" Uhura asked, placing a hand on his forearm.

Kirk didn't pay attention to Lee's soft answer, but he frowned at the fact that the general was comfortable with Uhura using his first name and resting her hand on him. Surely a Southern gentleman of the old school should object to such intimacy so soon? But Lee, Kirk noted sourly, didn't look like he objected.

Kirk turned toward Spock and Bones, seeking a distraction. Bones met his eyes with a wry look of sympathy—he had read his captain's thoughts. Kirk just shrugged his shoulders in response.

Spock, meanwhile, was staring at Yeoman Rand. And she, in turn, was frowning over the schedules she had in hand.

"Are you still struggling to make a minyan, Yeoman?" the Vulcan asked.

She glanced up at him and smiled. "Yes," she answered. "Just for the early part of the services, from 9-10:30."

"Well, it wouldn't be so hard if you weren't trying to schedule people for the party too," Sulu pointed out.

"True," she owned. "But I'll figure out some way to make this work. I only need one more person now."

Kirk smiled at her. "I'll approve just about any scheme you come up with," he reminded her.

"Thank you sir—I know that," she said, with a warm look of gratitude in her eyes.

"Who counts toward a minyan, Rand?" Bones asked suddenly. "You just have to be Jewish?"

She nodded. "Jewish and at least bar mitzvah age."

"What if you haven't had a bar mitzvah?" he pressed.

"That doesn't matter," she said. "It's the age that counts—you have to be an 'adult.'"

"What's up, Bones?" Kirk interrupted, grinning. "You know a closet Jew?"

Bones grinned back. "Can't a fellow just be inquisitive?"

"Hey, are you going to find religion, Doctor?" Sulu cut in.

"Nah," Bones said, shaking his head. "I got too dizzy trying to keep up with your faith du jour."

The whole table laughed at that. Sulu tended to change religious hats with alarming frequency. Kirk had never decided if he was a broad minded individual—or if he just had a short attention span when it came to eternal questions.

At length Kirk's eyes returned to Bones. What was behind the good doctor's question? And why had Spock raised the issue of the minyan to begin with? It wasn't like the first officer to ask a question out of mere politeness.

But the captain wouldn't find his answers tonight; the conversation had already turned. So he pushed his curiosity aside and joined in the discussion about the latest rumors from headquarters.

~

Bones risked a sidelong glance at Spock. They were walking together in the general direction of the Vulcan's quarters, but Spock hadn't said a word for the past ten minutes.

"What's wrong, Spock?" Bones asked.

"You had no reason to ask Yeoman Rand who qualifies as part of a minyan," he said.

The doctor grinned. "Spock, if I didn't know better, I'd say you're a bit cross. But you'd never lower yourself to such a human emotion now, would you?"

Spock glared at him. "I am not cross, Doctor. I am merely questioning your curiosity in a matter that cannot possibly concern you."

"I thought you approved of curiosity?" Bones retorted.

The Vulcan took a deep breath at that, but apparently he did not quite trust himself to answer.

Bones grinned to himself. It was almost too easy to get Spock riled up sometimes.

"Don't worry, Spock," he said "I won't out you."

Spock stopped walking and turned to face the doctor with a look of utter incomprehension. "Out me?" he demanded.

Bones had to bite his lip to keep from laughing. This time Spock wasn't faking it—he really had no idea what Bones was talking about.

He shook his head at the Vulcan—at this man he knew he would love for all of his life. "I won't tell anyone that you're technically Jewish," he promised. "God forbid you should identify with any part of your human heritage. But, as I said before, that's your business. Now come on; we're almost to your quarters."

Spock turned front again and resumed walking. "Do you—do you mean to return to your cabin tonight?" he asked at length.

"It's kind of far off," Bones pointed out. "And yours is coming right up…would it be a problem if I spent the night again?"

"It would be…pleasant…to have your company throughout the night," Spock managed. "But in light of our agreement to refrain from…intimacy…you might prove—" he stopped abruptly.

"Too tempting?" Bones asked with what he knew was a hopeful glint in his eyes.

"Precisely Doctor," Spock confirmed.

McCoy thought that over. "But it felt natural to sleep next to each other, didn't it? I'd hate to end our date with a chaste kiss at your door after that. Besides, we're not a pair teenagers with raging hormones. I think we can control our sex drives."

They were at Spock's door now. Spock paused and looked at Bones as it slid open. Unless McCoy was imagining things, he seemed to swallow hard before responding.

"Very well, Doctor," he said at length. "You may stay the night. But…there are differences between a human's 'sex drive' and a Vulcan's. Perhaps we should now discuss them."

And with that, Spock nodded him inside. Bones hesitated for a moment, wondering what could be so different about the sexual habits of Vulcans. But he'd find out soon enough, he supposed.

He was smiling to himself again as he finally stepped inside. This was likely to prove a fascinating conversation.

LINK TO PART TWENTY-FOUR