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and they were ROOMMATES (a love story pieced together in bathroom tiles)

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Leonard still thought Jim’s decision to put him as the second officer was dumb as shit, especially considering he only had very basic and standard command training, but given that the admiralty was stupid enough to sign off on the assignment he was stuck in the position. He didn’t begrudge the larger, mostly private quarters though, especially after three years and some change of bunking with the adult-infant that was James T. Kirk and four years before that of Joanna and Jocelyn. It’d been awhile since he’d truly been on his own, and as he unpacked his meager possessions in a room that felt too large, he wondered whether it was going to be truly good for him. 

Anything was better than Jim waking up naked in his bed with a hangover though, he supposed. 

He did share a jack-and-jill bathroom with another high ranking officer, but that would most likely not be an issue. It wasn’t the communal bathrooms of the Academy dorms, at least, and he could guarantee some level of sanitization if he had any say in it, so there was that. He had complaints about how far the room was from Medbay, but Jim had already approved (unofficially, but who cared about the bureaucracy) his desire to put a cot in his office down there. Jim had conveniently forgotten to tell him who he would be sharing with, but his bets were on Scotty, and if that was the case at least he would have some decent alcohol and a decent person to share it with. He grabbed his bath kit to find someplace to store it, and pondered over rooming alone for the first time in years, although “alone” was a mislabel on a starship. He would never be alone; he’d probably be damn pleased he had this room to himself, at least the bathroom door locked. 

He reconsidered this conclusion when he saw Spock blinking at him placidly from the other bathroom doorway. 

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me!” 


“Jim, this is damn unacceptable!” 

“Captain, the Doctor is quite upset at the room arrangements-” 

“Damn right I’m upset! Spock, do you want to share a bathroom with me?”

“That is irrelevant, Doctor, as the assignments have already been made.” Spock tilted his head in that way Leonard had learned he did when he found something about Humans particularly confusing, and he hated that he found it endearing, scowling furiously while Jim and the rest of the Bridge burst into laughter. 

“I’m so sleeping in Sickbay,” he grumbled to himself.


Spock thought he drank too much coffee.

Correction: Spock thought he replicated too much coffee. Leonard rarely got around to actually drinking it before it was cold, as evidenced by the cups that got strewn across the bathroom counter whenever he was inevitably called in early due to an emergency, or forgot to pick it back up after shaving, or put it down after wincing because he had just brushed his teeth, or he left it as he took a shower and forgot he had replicated it in the first place. 

It said something about Spock that, however much he logically complained about this habit, he still made his own habit of cleaning the cups and clearing them out of the restroom before Leonard got back to collapse after his shift, and always sneakily left a fresh cup of decaf on his desk for him to drink as he decompressed. 

Leonard was exhausted, sweaty and filthy and shaking, and all he wanted to do was take a long shower and collapse for about thirteen hours. His room smelled like stale coffee, and he stripped his uniform on the way to the bathroom, not caring at this point how much of his nakedness Spock saw. 

There were cups on the bathroom sink. 

Two, to be exact. One he had replicated before he got in the shower that morning, and one he had gotten after he had changed into his uniform and went to straighten his hair and do his make up. They were cold now, and as Leonard saw himself and the cups reflected in the mirror, his own ragged eyes watching him warily, a stain of green on the cut of his jaw where his mask hadn’t been secured properly, he felt tears well up in his eyes. 

Spock was in Sickbay, and for awhile there Leonard hadn’t known if he would wake up at all. 

The cups shattered against the side of the shower, and he tile was cold as he curled up and sobbed. 


It probably wasn’t a good idea to hide his whiskey under the bathroom sink, but while his room could be inspected whenever they were at a starbase, it was less likely anyone would ever check the bathrooms. He expected Spock to find them and throw them out, because although not prohibited necessarily, alcohol on a Starfleet vessel was probably highly illogical, or something like that, but even if he had found the whiskey he hadn’t said anything. 

Which would’ve been great, if Leonard wasn’t far too sober and couldn’t even get the damn bottle open. 

He was sweating with how hard he had been straining, half ready to smash the bottle against the floor just to take out his frustrations in a different manner, when the door on Spock’s side of the room slid open soundlessly. The Vulcan stared at him, and Leonard scowled back, and he could’ve sworn there was amusement in Spock’s eyes as he took in the scene. He was prepared for a lecture: he wasn’t prepared for Spock to step forward, pluck the bottle from his hands, fill the glass he had left on the counter up to two fingers, and then screw the lid back on and hand it back, retreating once more. 

He blinked, looking down at the bottle again before trying once more to open it. The lid didn’t budge, and he felt himself baring his teeth. 

“Damn it, Spock, you ass!” 


Leonard could admit he was jealous of Spock’s shadow palette. He was jealous of the fact that Spock had a fucking ten-step skin and hair routine in the mornings and still managed to get done in one-fourth of the time it took him to get ready. He was jealous of the fact that Spock looked good effortlessly, and Leonard looked like hell with a lot of effort. 

He was a little less jealous when he noticed Spock kept throwing glances at his shadow palette too. 

“I think this color would look good on you,” he remarked off-hand one morning as he put on his preferred shade of blue, pointing to a different color than what he was using with his brush. Spock raised an eyebrow at him in the mirror. 


“Yeah. You should try it, tomorrow.”

“Perhaps I will.”

He was a even less jealous when Spock bought a new pot of his fancy moisturizer and left it unopened on Leonard’s side of the sink. 


Leonard didn’t notice the stares he kept getting all day as much, mostly because he hadn’t slept well the night previous and had accidentally used Spock’s shampoo, and didn’t know whether to be pissed off or jealous that his hair was now incredibly soft and smelled delicious. He pulled his sleeves up again as they slipped down, musing that at least the red alert last night had only been a false alarm and no one had been injured. 

All these thoughts quailed in comparison to Spock walking into Sickbay in a uniform shirt that was clearly Leonard’s. He looked under the weather, eyes weary, and Leonard knew this week had been bad for the Vulcan, his meditation routinely interrupted. They were passing through a politically unstable sector, and it meant a great deal of emergencies seemed to be finding them. Leonard would be glad when they were out of the damn place. 

The exhaustion on Spock’s face was the only reason Leonard didn’t start laughing hysterically when he realized the uniform, which was only slightly short in the arms and loose in the chest, bore a medical insignia instead of a science one. “Go to sleep, Spock, that’s an order,” he said with a shake of his head, cutting off whatever he was about to say. It was a testament to how bad Spock was truly feeling that he simply closed his mouth and turned on his heel, nodding as he went to do just that. 

They were both less amused when they realized no one had told them they were wearing each other’s shirts all day. 


“Doctor, those candles are meant to assist in my meditation!” Spock sounded the most pissed Leonard had ever heard him, and the pounding on the door was getting louder and louder. He was surprised the Vulcan hadn’t simply tried to break in yet. “I demand you give them back! Leonard!” 

He pretended he couldn’t hear Spock, smirking to himself as he finally got started reading that medical journal he’d been wanting to skim, the candles making the bathroom smell vaguely of sweet spices and lighting it lowly. It was romantic and relaxing, and the only thing that made it better was that it was thoroughly pissing off Spock. 

He would admit he hadn’t expected Spock to override the lock and storm into the bathroom while he was naked in the bath, but he guessed he had been found in more compromising positions, and forced himself not to blush. “Mr Spock,” he managed fairly evenly, and even in the low light he could see the emotion burning in the Vulcan’s eyes. 

“Leonard, you have taken every single one of my meditation candles. What is the purpose of this?” Leonard opened his mouth to answer, but Spock plowed onwards, towering over him in the bath and making him feel incredibly small. “Is this the equivalent to some childish ‘pigtail pulling’ as Nyota has told me?” His breath left him in a rush. 

“Oh,” he said, and Spock blinked in surprise, breath also leaving him. They were close enough that Leonard could smell that shampoo that he liked so much over the overwhelming scent of his bubble bath, and his throat felt dry. “Yes, I suppose so,” he answered after a moment. 

He hadn’t thought Spock knew how to kiss, but he supposed he had interrupted his meditation, so he probably deserved some out of character kissing.