Disclaimer: Does anyone even believe I own this? Seriously you guys. You guys seriously.

A/N: ASK AND YE SHALL RECEIVE. Continuing on this little AU diversion in which Spock is the repeat offender with (even more) daddy issues and Kirk is the instructor. I'm not sure how this is going to work, but I just really wanted McCoy and Spock to meet. Although my way of reasoning is: in the movie, Spock is struggling to accept his human side. So in this story, he's struggling to accept his Vulcan side. either way he's got to find a way to unite the two pieces. I'm not sure how well it's going to translate, but what the hell? You know you all want to read about the adventures of Spock and McCoy, Starfleet Academy roomies extraordinare! So suspend your disbelief and embrace bad boy Spock. McCoy remains unchanged, he's still a moody old bastard. Uhura remains fierce and unseduced by farm-boys - Vulcan or not.

And for you all worrying, this will NOT turn into a Kirk/Uhura story, although they will make a badass nerd team.

Warning: I fail at science, so any Spock-like super genius smarts in this may be wrong. I grovel for forgiveness.

If Spock believed in fate (which he absolutely does not, there is no logic in believing something is destined to happen – it's just scientifically impossible) he would have said that it hates him. The minute he meets a semi-interesting woman, and he ends up sprawled out on a table. Said woman isn't on top of him, at least not that he can feel. His eyesight is a little trickier as he hadn't been fully prepared for that last punch. He should have nerve pinched all the bastards really, but he had been trying to impress Uhura by settling it the old fashioned way. Unfortunately this didn't have the desired effect.

Nyota, he mentally corrects himself. Nyota Uhura which, if his Kiswahili is up to scratch, roughly translates as free star. As he watches her sashay from the bar (for the way she walks can only be described as that, and Spock doesn't even use colorful prose) he finds this description particularly apt. He imagines that he will forever associate the coppery taste of blood in his mouth with her, with the stars she's named after. But he doesn't have any more time to dwell on her, as a pair of rough hands are yanking his shirt to draw him up.

And that is how he ends up sat across from Captain Christopher Pike.

"You know, I couldn't believe it when I realized just who the hell my Cadets were taking a slice out of."

Perhaps on any other day, Spock may have had the patience to deal with this man. But his 'Cadets', as Pike so affectionately calls them, have managed to rob him of what little restraint he has left tonight. Not only is he sore and entirely sober, but the cunning linguist he had hoped would serve as entertainment for the night is gone.

"And who am I, Captain Pike?" he questions, though he already knows the answer. Everyone knows the answer. The half-breed. The Vulcan. The son of the brave Ambassador. He's heard all these titles and he wants none of them. Picking up the glass of whiskey – another taste he is beginning to mentally associate with Nyota – he throws it back, waiting for the inevitable.

"A complete mess."

He resists the urge to roll his eyes and holds up his glass. Alcohol has no effect on him of course, but he enjoys drinking it all the same, relishes the hot burn it provides. "May I have another?" he asks the bar tender who is cleaning debris around them. Obviously not if that glare is anything to go by. Instead he places the glass back on the table with a little more force than necessary, regarding Pike with cool eyes. Vulcan eyes.

"You know, for my dissertation I was assigned to the Kelvin. Something I admired about your father, he never let his emotions get the best of him. Kept a cool head about him, even in the face of death."

"He was Vulcan. I am not." Spock quips, a wry smirk gracing his bruised features. "And I am sure his death is testament to the foolishness of his behavior." He wipes a hand across his nose, not a particularly dignified action. Looking down he sees green. He's not feeling all too dignified anyway.

"That all depends on your definition of foolish. You're here, aren't you?" Pike raises a brow as he snorts, swiping up the bottle of beer that's slammed down in front of him. "He wasn't a typical Vulcan. He didn't go around denying what he was, hiding his emotions away. He never let them get the best of him sure, but he felt them alright. Wasn't always logical either. He had instinct, he knew when to leap without looking – which is something the Federation has lost, in my opinion."

Spock takes a swig from the bottle, watching the older man as he does so. "Why are you here?" he questions, leaning forwards a little. "If I wished for a lecture about my history, I could simply go to a museum."

"Because I looked up your file while you were drooling on the floor. Your aptitude tests are off the charts, even for a Vulcan. I don't think I've ever met anyone who can solve equations as quick as you."

"Yes. I assume that would be interesting to you, considering my... disadvantage." Spock replies dryly.

His attention is grabbed, and he tilts his head to survey Spock carefully. "You like being the only genius-level repeat offender in the mid west? Hell, in the whole damn world?"

"Maybe I love it." He adds a grim smile, just to show this Captain that he's not a Vulcan. He isn't his father, and he's beyond tired of people making that comparison. Whatever job he's come to offer him, whatever Council member or Federation Admiral sent him here to bribe him into joining their offices, he doesn't want to hear it.

"So you're Human today." Pike concludes, still eyeing him with that wary look, like he's going to explode or something equally as dramatic. This, Spock supposes, is not an entirely illogical idea. He had after all been sprawled out on a table moments ago, and despite the fact he looks Vulcan, he clearly is not. He noted the surprise on Nyota's face when he smirked at her. People just don't expect Vulcans to go around smiling at people.

But like Pike said, he's not Vulcan.

"You're a child of two worlds," the man continues. "you think you're happy to just pick one? That it'll be enough? Vulcan runs in your blood too. You can't just turn your back on one side of yourself."

"I believe I already have, Captain Pike." His tone is quiet, concise, polite. He does not allow his irritation to show. This merely pleases Pike more, who leans back with a satisfied smile.

"You know you're not supposed to be like this. You try and deny that you're Vulcan today but what about tomorrow? Are you going to go home and meditate on it, try out being something else next week? Deep down you know you're made for something better than this." He waves an arm around the bar, his eyes never once leaving Spock. Who says nothing. So he continues, "enlist in Starfleet."

He doesn't even try to stop his laughter, shaking his head with the hilarity of his statement. Starfleet? Vulcans do not join Starfleet, and as Pike has managed to point out, he is unable to escape the fact that he is so clearly his fathers son. Sarek would be appalled for his son to even consider it as an option. "How illogical."

But Pike, it seems, is not that easily put off. "It's better than wasting your talents here. Think about it. You'll be the only Vulcan Starfleet has, we could use someone like you. You can be an officer in four years, have your own ship in eight. You know about the Federation, how it important it is – to Earth and Vulcan. We can help you, help you find a balance."

Fixing him with the best impassive stare he can muster, Spock shrugs. "Is there anything else, Captain Pike? Or are we done?"

He stays silent for a moment, still keeping his gaze like he's going to be able to crack Spock that easily. When he finally sees the sheer impossibility of this task, he shakes his head. "I'm done." he says, getting to his feet and throwing down a handful of credits to pay for his drinks. It's a kind gesture that he assumes the Captain believes may garner some trust and understanding between them. It does not. "Riverside shipyard. Shuttle for new recruits leaves at oh eight hundred." The only reaction he gives is to lift the bottle he's drinking from in a farewell.

Just as he's about to walk away, he hesitates and turns back. "Your father managed to save eight hundred lives, including your mothers – and yours. He should have been first out of that ship, but he stayed, he did the right thing. Him and George Kirk were heroes." There is a long silence in which he can only hear the rushing of his own blood. "I dare you to do better."

Pike is long gone before Spock is able to move from his seat.

***

When Amanda Grayson wakes, she can't help but feel something is different. There is a shift, something inside of her that feels unfamiliar yet right. Still she can't place the sensation, and as soon as the sun is up she walks about the house checking that everything is in place. Her books are exactly where she left them the night before, right down to the folded tip of the page she had been studying from. She pushes open the door to Spock's room and sees that his bed is neat and unslept in – as usual. For a moment she wonders if something has happened to him, but there are no messages from the hospital or police on the machine.

It is only when she walks into the kitchen and sees a frame on the table that she realizes. Picking up the holo of Sarek holding a small, perfectly formed child in his arms, she hugs it to her chest and realizes that Spock has gone.

She doesn't need the call from Captain Pike for her to know where he's gone.

***

When Spock slides his bike to a stop outside the boundaries of Riverside Shipyard, he has no intention of going inside. He tells himself that Pike simply sees him as some kind of asset, plays over the conversation in his mind to prove his hypothesis correct. His father worked closely with Starfleet this is true, but only because it was logical. He wouldn't want his son joining them. If anything, the many memories his mother has shared with him simply proves that the man was Vulcan through and through. The only path he would want for his son is the Vulcan Science Academy, to dedicate his life to the same path as he had.

But as he looks up at the slowly forming Enterprise – the name is clear, printed in bold black letters on the bare hull – something stirs inside him. Some little part of his mind reminds him that if his father had truly believed this, he would still be alive. Spock wants to, more than anything, to say that Pike is wrong. Yet he cannot fault his logic, no matter how hard he tries. A Vulcan Ambassador should have left; he should not have stayed behind with the Acting-Captain and embark on what he knew to be a suicide mission, especially when the man in question had specifically ordered him to leave with his wife and child.

If Sarek had been entirely logical, he would still be here.

The sky has lightened considerably, and Spock realizes he's been standing here, looking up at the Enterprise for over an hour. The lights illuminating the ship flicker in and out, as even now the technicians work hard to give it a more solid shape, to fill out the bones. His eyes drink in every inch, every single bolt and screw, and his feet ache to walk along the corridors while his fingers itch to touch the consoles it will soon hold. Something slides into place within him, and against his better judgement he slips back onto the bike and rides all the way down to the waiting shuttles.

"Nice ride man." someone calls behind him. He doesn't bother to look around, merely tosses the keys over his shoulder as soon as the engines dies and hops off.

"It is of no use to me now." And it isn't. Pike is standing in front of the shuttle door, his arms crossed over his chest and wearing a smile of victory. Sliding up next to him, Spock allows the corners of his lips to curve into a smile.

"Four years?" he repeats, taking his first step into the cool, metallic air. There are so many people, eager faces in which he can see the stars reflected in their eyes. He imagines he looks the same. "I can do it in three."

If Pike has a reply, he doesn't hear it, already passing through the rows of people to find a seat. He gives the men from the previous night a salute and deftly ducks under the beam and into a vacant spot. It's only when he's belting himself in that he realizes there is an all too familiar face across from him.

Nyota is taking great lengths not to meet his eye, looking everywhere except where he knows she wants to. From here, he can tell that her heart rate has elevated considerably, and he smiles over at her only to be rewarded with a sharp intake of breath on her part.

"I believe I owe you a drink." he comments casually in Vulcan, and from the smile that graces her lips he knows she understands him. He picked well last night. She really is quite fascinating.

"You need a doctor."

"I told you people. I don't need a doctor, damn it I am a doctor!"

The entire row whip their heads round to the bathroom, where a woman is leading an irate man out. "You need to take a seat." She tugs hard on his arm, trying to guide him over to the only other empty seat on the shuttle. The seat next to him. Spock looks from the man, to the seat, then back to the man.

"I had a seat, in the bathroom where there are no windows." He manages to free his arm from her grasp, whipping round to face her with a furrowed brow. "I suffer from aviophobia. It means a fear of dying in something that flies." Spock gives the empty seat another glance. This is going to be a fascinating journey.

"For your own safety," the woman replies firmly. "Sit down or else I'll make you sit down."

There is a moments hesitation before he concedes and drops into the spot with a particularly vicious glare at the departing woman's back. "Fine." he says in what can only be described as a growl, pushing the buckles of his seatbelt together roughly. As the voice of Captain Pike sounds over the intercom, he leans over and Spock can smell whiskey on his breath. "I may throw up on you."

Spock gives the man a curious tilt of his head. "The likelihood of us suffering from a cataclysmic accident that will render us fatally injured is less than two point eight three percent." His brow goes up. "I believe these shuttles are quite safe."

"Don't raise your eyebrow at me, you damn hob-goblin." the man mutters, giving his ears a narrow look. "One tiny crack in the hull and our blood boils in thirteen seconds. A solar flare might crop up, cook us in our seats. And wait 'til you're sitting pretty with a case of Andorian shingles." he pauses long enough in his phobic rant to unscrew the flask he pulls from his pocket. "See if you're still so relaxed when your eyeballs bleed! Space is disease and danger wrapped in darkness and silence."

"I trust you are aware that Starfleet operates in space."

"Yeah, well. I got nowhere else to go. The wife took the whole damn planet in the divorce. All I've got left are my bones." He raises the flask to his lips and takes a hearty swig, before noticing Spock watching him. "Thought Vulcans didn't drink." he questions, passing it over.

"Then it may come as some comfort to you that I am half human." Spock replies, taking a sip. It's extremely strong, even on his tongue. He finds himself warming to this doctor.

"Well it doesn't."

He allows a snort of laughter to escape him. "Spock." he offers in way of a name, passing the flask back to him.

"McCoy." the doctor replies, hand gripping his knee tightly as the shuttle begins to rise. "Leonard McCoy."

As he risks another glance over at Nyota, he catches her watching their exchange closely. Her cheeks flush and she averts her eyes. But he knows that she was watching him. "This will be fascinating."