Title: Queen's Gambit
Author: Yami no Kaiba
Fandom: Star Trek XI and Star Trek IV: The Voyage Home
Rating: PG
Pairing: McCoy!Prime/Spock
Length: 2,296 words (+743)

Summary: When the dilithium crystals crap out on the return trip, the crew of the U.S.S. Bounty find themselves in a familiar setting.
Disclaimers: I do not own the characters or the concepts of Star Trek in any of its forms.
Note: For cards_slash's Academy-centric 69 meme here, and her wonderful prompt for Voyage-Home!McCoy with NU!Spock.

*---*---*---*---*

"Well, its about time," Leonard grumbled, sitting down in one of the chairs – which was the farthest from ergonomically friendly, and it was no wonder the Klingons were pissed off so much if this was what they sat in all the time – and grabbed hold of the consol in front of him to brace for Spock's 'best guess' flight abilities.

They had the damn whales, they had all the crew once more, and Jim even had another pretty lady friend on his arm. This trip could be chalked up as a win, and it was time to get on home.

As the turbulence got worse and worse the closer they approached the Sun, he cast what might be his last look around, and found himself inexplicably watching Spock.

Correction. Jim might have a pretty lady, but as far as Leonard was concerned, they were still far away from having all the crew. He's not sure if it's because the Vulcan voodoo got screwed up, a complication from having the katra carried by a different species, or if it's just normal, but there are times –

Well. To make a long story short, there are times Leonard thinks he might still have some of Spock's marbles, and Spock has some of his.

*---*---*---*---*

They hadn't made it, or at least, not to the right time or place, and it had taken Kirk some really fast talking with the U.S.S. Potemkin to keep from having their stolen Bird of Prey fired upon.

Spock and Scotty had checked the sensor logs, trying to figure out what went wrong in the calculations to deplete their dilithium crystals so fast and shunt them into this parallel universe. As far as the two have determined, it was due to uncalculated for solar flares causing a previously unexpected reaction with the Klingon version of shielding.

He'd stopped listening half-way through the explanation when he'd realized he wasn't just following along, but understanding what they were saying. He's a Doctor, not a god-damned Engineer, and quite frankly he's too old to be finding a different field of study as fascinating as his own.

To sum it all up, Spock, Scotty, and Chekov have recalculated their flight path and were rigging something similar to the original transporter mechanism to get them home on time and in the right universe, but they're stuck here until they get new dilithium crystals. Unfortunately, spare dilithium crystals appear to be on backorder at the moment in the Sol system, and it's going to take a little longer than they were hoping for the next shipment to come in.

In the mean-time, they've been invited by Starfleet to mosey around San Francisco's HQ to pass the time.

So here he is, walking about the Academy grounds, taking in all the red-suited cadets and black-uniformed instructors. Spock, Chekov, and Scotty have stayed with the Bird of Prey, making repairs; Jim's off with the whale scientist doing who knows what (and honestly, Leonard doesn't even want to think about what it is); and Sulu and Uhura had opted to check out an old dive they both knew from their Academy days down by the bay.

It's a partly sunny day, a couple of cumulus clouds inching past. It's exactly like he remembers; the fountain in the south courtyard, the memorial plaque with the school moto Ex Astris, Scientia, the old medical annex that had been demolished only three years after his graduation still over in the western part of campus, the one that had held his Xeno Anatomy and Physiology classes every Tuesday and Thursday for two years of his life.

Not only that, but the students are acting like he remembers as well; walking or running to classes, lying in the grass in circles, textbooks out and open in some hands while others are crouched over PADs and furiously doing their homework. It's how he thinks any generation of cadets will act, so he doesn't pay it much mind.

At least, he doesn't pay much mind until he hears a commotion up ahead, around the corner of the Administrative building. Curious, he ducks around the bend, into the main quad.

It's a chess tournament, empty tables sprawling all over, a crowd gathered around a single one, the obvious last match of the day. He can't help but quirking a smile, knowing what he's going to see even as he elbows his way through the back of the crowd.

There's Spock, so much younger than the white-robbed one back in the ship, eyebrow raised and watching curiously without making a move to defend himself as some upstart young cadet leans over the chessboard, "It is not my fault that you left your queen open to the taking, which led to the series of moves that brought you to checkmate. Your anger is illogical directed."

Ah. This is what he's missing, what seems to be gone from the Spock back in the ship. The smug note of a job well-done, the curiosity of a scientist to push further; to see the play of cause and effect and the cascade of it all.

But it's dangerous to push here on Earth, especially around a cocky showman with a pretty bit to impress. He can see the red-bedecked cadet winding up, getting ready to deck Spock one. "Why you little freak –"

He steps in, catching the boy's fist at the apex of the back-swing. "Now, is that anyway to show good sportsmanship?" he asks, pointedly squeezing the wrist in such a way that he knows the boy's going to be smarting for the next day or two without going to someone to see it.

The boy whirls on him, snarling as he tugs his wrist back violently. "It's none of your business, old man!"

He smiles, sharp and tight, and pats the man sharply on the back. "Why, so it is! Maybe I should just go over to the Dean's office and report this instead? I'm sure he’d be delighted to hear how you almost clobbered a superior officer..."

The boy freezes and backs off, eyes flickering with restrained rage at the threat. "That's not necessary, sir," said in a civilized, if strained voice.

"Nice to know," he replies, and watches silently as the boy slinks off and the crowd, realizing that a fight isn't going to happen, starts to break up.

"Your interference was not necessary, sir," he heard in that clipped, ruffled tone he knows so well from a voice younger than he’d ever heard it before. "In fact, I can satisfactorily defend myself against a human's attack."

"Ah, but that's not the point, boy," he says, turning around and taking the cadet's vacant seat. "The point is that this is Starfleet Academy, the best of the best, the future meeters and greeters of the Federation. Attitudes like that," he nodded his head in the direction the cadet had stormed off in, "need to change, or they'll end up never rising in rank beyond Ensign, if accepted at all."

Spock seemed to eye him, seeing if he meant what he said while taking in his civilian outfit. He stared right back, eyes playful and as loose limbed as a contented cat in a sun-beam.

"I see. A remarkably insightful thought, for a human. Are you a retired officer?"

The chuckle rolls out of him, and he picks up a white pawn. "I was. So, now that you've won the title, are you up for a friendly game?"

The dark eyes stare at him, weighing, and the familiarity of the gaze has his eyes dancing even as he gives his best poker face.

"If you're sure you have nothing else to do."

"Excellent!" Leaning forward, he busies himself resetting the board. "Black or white?"

"Is it not customary to 'flip' for it?"

"It is, but I'm not picky. Either way you'll have me checkmated before the hour is up, if I'm lucky. Ten minutes if I'm not."

"Black. If you already believe you know the outcome, than why do you wish to play?"

He spins the board so that the black pieces are on Spock's side. "Because there's pleasure to be had in the game itself, not to mention," he teases, eyes flitting up to eye Spock from beneath his lashes, "the pleasure to be had in pitting mind against mind." He moved his queen's pawn forward two.

That earned him a raised eyebrow in curiosity, as Spock's own queen's pawn moves forward to meet it head for head.

And then it's down to business, as Leonard moves his black bishop's pawn up beside his queen's, finishing the opening for the Queen's Gambit, and waiting for it to be accepted or declined.

*---*---*---*---*

"You are a better player than you admitted to earlier. There was no need for modesty, sir," Spock spoke up for the first time since they'd started while moving a knight to a position that covered two different pawns and was protected by his last bishop, startling Leonard.

He blinked, noting they'd gathered a small crowd of cadets, some of whom were openly cheering for the Earther to win. "Call me Bones," he replied offhandedly, as he looked back at the board with a frown. He'd never been a very good chess player – it was Jim and Spock's game of choice, though Jim had tried to teach him. Leonard, however, had proved too impatient, always moving his pieces forward without giving them adequate cover. "How long have we been playing?"

"One hour, forty-seven minutes, and twenty-three seconds, Mr. Bones," came the clock-work reply.

"Huh. That is longer than I was expecting." His frown deepened as he nudged his white bishop over two spots with a direct diagonal to Spock's king. "Check. Also, drop the Mister, please. It's just Bones."

Spock moved his king out of harm's way. "As you wish. Though I do not see why you are adamant in your assertion that this game should not have lasted this long. Your skill is greater than some grandmasters I've had the pleasure to play against."

Leonard used his other bishop to get at Spock's last rook, now that the king wasn't blocking the way. "This is ridiculous. If I didn't know better, I'd say you're going easy on me, but then I know you Vulcans take pride in your superior logical abilities."

A sharp look his way, those dark brown eyes questioning. "You've served with Vulcans?"

"Only the one," he murmured, fingering the captured rook.

Spock looked back at the board, before moving his queen to take one of Leonard's unprotected pawns. "Perhaps he or she taught you how to play well without you noticing?"

Leonard thought it over as he took in the board, trying to rationalize why he instinctively wanted to move his black bishop back behind his line. It was only as he really consciously looked for it, that he noticed the checkmate trap Spock was setting-up with his queen and his most recently moved knight. "Huh... You know, you just might be on to something there. Use to be a five-year-old could beat me," he replies fondly, thinking of Georgian evenings with Joanna sitting across the board. He moved the bishop back, effectively blocking Spock's knight from getting into position.

Spock cocked his head to the side, considering his next move. "I do not understand why that blanket statement of derogatory intent in reference to your skills applies. Age is irrelevant to the skill level of a player."

"It has to do with Human Physiology. Chess is a game of strategy, logic, and psychology, concepts that the undeveloped human mind can't achieve to any meaningful level until the adolescent stage of development."

"Ah. I believe I have seen such evidence in over abundance here at the academy, then," Spock commented, as he moved his bishop forward. "Check."

Frowning, he took the bishop with his last knight, leaving another pawn open for the taking. "That's a bit harsh."

"But an accurate assessment of my observations," Spock replied, attacking with a pawn.

Remembering some of the antics he'd done back in Med School ("Why no, Dean Richardson, I really don't know how that cadaver got into your office.") he grinned as he moved his white bishop over. "Check. And you know what they say about all work and no play."

"I do not," Spock replied, moving his queen to block and threaten. "Check."

"Nice one," he praises, moving his king out of danger and leaving the bishop to be taken, already seeing he'll be in checkmate in two turns. "It's an Earth saying, denouncing the worker for not having any experience of life beyond their work."

Spock moved his queen to take the bishop. "Check. Why the stigma for one focused on their work?"

"Because humans believe that an obsessive worker tends to be unappealing in the romantic department," he replied, moving his king out of the way once more, and then gives his best knowing smirk. "Of course, that's their loss."

A raised eyebrow as Spock's queen chased him. "Am I to infer that you do not believe in that saying? Checkmate."

"So it is," he teases, knocking over his king even as the crowd around them makes noises of discontent and the exchange of credits between hands occur. "And you can infer whatever you like."

There was a considering pause between them, before Spock stood. "It is getting late, and the light here in the quad will be below acceptable human range in .45 hours. Would you be interested in a rematch in my quarters?"

Chuckling, Leonard stood with as much grace as his old bones would let him. "Now, if that isn't the sweetest invitation I've ever heard."

--Fin.

--Extra Possible Ending! (Spock!Prime/McCoy!Prime, because Spock!Prime demanded screen time, and there just wasn't enough banter.)

A raised eyebrow as Spock's queen chased him. "Checkmate."

"So it is," he teases, knocking over his king even as the crowd around them makes noises of discontent and the exchange of credits between hands occur.

"Doctor," a familiar voice with but a hint of disapproval sounds out over the departing crowd.

Startled, he looks quickly in its direction. "Why you pointy-eared devil. Finally decided to get out of that rattling clap trap of a ship, did you?"

"As should be self-evident, Doctor," Spock, still draped in that ridiculously white fluffy bathrobe with nary a smudge of oil or dirt, stepped into their space, casting a glance at the chessboard between them before directing his gaze at his younger self. "If you had desired a game of chess, you need not have left the ship."

"Jealous?" Leonard can't help but ask, standing up with an audible pop as a vertebral disk slips back into place.

"Doctor," his Spock says, and hey now, he didn't think he'd earned that 'bitch, please' look. "Not only are you intimating that I'd lost control of my emotions, but that I would be illogically jealous of myself. I assure you, that is not the case."

"Sure it isn't," he mutters under his breath, looking pointedly at how Spock had positioned himself between Leonard and his younger self.

"Fascinating," came from across the board, as the dark-clad Spock stared up at his older self, the only physical reaction to his surprise being the slight widening of his pupils. "You are me?"

"A potential analogue of your future self, yes," white-clad Spock responded with a sedate nod.

Leonard couldn't help a chuckle from bubbling past his lips, as the dichotomy of their clothing choice struck him. White vs. Black, jockeying for position, feeling each other out.

Now they both were look at him, identical raised eyebrows. "Is your shipmate usually prone to emotional displays?"

"My friend is indeed prone to such displays, as well as the issuance of derogatory remarks and strange colloquial expletives."

"Hey now," he yelps, glaring a bit at his Spock, a funny feeling that he might just be outnumbered here. "It says just as much about you as it does me that you'd take such an emotional person in as a friend."

His Spock's lips make that little almost non-existent curl of satisfaction, as the younger Spock watches intently. "One must make allowances for the natural inclination of the less mature."

"Oh, how you wound me," he replies with a growl, slinging an arm around the other's shoulders, just to feel that familiar stiffening. "Knowing you, you didn’t come here just to banter, though. Is the Captain callin'?"

"As you would know, if you had not neglected to leave your communicator on the ship," said his Spock with that barely there disapproval. "Mr. Sulu and Ms. Uhura managed to procure dilithium crystals from a secondary source. The ship and crew are waiting to depart."

"Fine, fine," he says with a dismissive wave, turning to his chess companion and waving an imperious finger. "Hey, Spock, a little piece of advice before I go. You're not going to find your answers at Gol."

The black-clad Spock blinked, glancing between the two of them. "I do not understand."

"Sometimes," white-clad Spock started slowly. “As illogical as it may sound at first, emotions have their uses."

"About time you admitted it," he chided, hugging his Spock a little.

"I admit nothing, Doctor. It is merely logical, for instance, to be married and live your life with those you love."

He pushes away, snorting. "Why you uppity, overly logical computer!"

"Thank you, Doctor," his Spock says lightly, as he turns his attention back to his other self and raises a hand to form the Vulcan salute. "May your life be fruitful."

The black-clad version stands and mirrors the salute back. "Live long and prosper."

Leonard tries to copy, but he never could get his fingers to stretch like that. "May your life be interesting." Sure, that was actually more a curse than a proper parting, but Leonard figured for a Vulcan with the curiosity of a cat, it'd be better appreciated then peace and long life.

As for his own life, while the chess match merely confirmed his fear that he still had bits and pieces of Spock rolling around up there in his head, their interaction had brought about an odd sense of comfort.

They were all finally going home.

--Fin.