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Leonard was told often that he had skilled hands. It had earned him a handful of nicknames through college and a reputation with women in Starfleet that he wasn’t entirely sure was founded. Being a surgeon tended to make people think he was a lot of things: smart, rich, good looking. And though he might be considered by a few people to be good looking, Leonard wouldn’t go so far as to think himself smart and he sure as hell wasn’t rich. It was singularly hard to imagine, amongst some of the Fleet’s geniuses, that you were anything but ordinary, in fact.
As a doctor, his hands were his most important feature. Having talented hands then was a claim to fame he was willing to take. After all, he had performed some unheard of surgeries. He thought back fondly on the Gorn octuplets and, less fondly, on the torpedos from their Khan mishap. The same hands had also pulled Jim back from the dead.
Steadiest hands on the ship, Jim had said. Legendary, Leonard had joked in response.
It stood to reason then that Leonard’s skilled hands ought to be good for more than doctoring. And yet, here he was surrounded by twenty lumpy roses carved into basswood. He shifted, the bed creaking underneath him, and looked at his mess. There were woodchips all over his covers and piling on the floor. A third of the roses were barely bloomed, half made or hacked to pieces where he’d gotten frustrated with the cuts. Others were squared and unnatural looking, apparently a very common beginner’s mistake that made Leonard want to burn every piece of wood.
Leonard flopped backwards onto the bed, hissing in pain as a rose dug into his back. He fished it out and threw it onto the ground.
This was Jim’s fault, he decided. It would be so much easier if he could just buy roses for him but, like everything else on God’s green Earth, Jim was allergic. Buying Spock roses was out of the question as well. Jim was a sneezing mess if they were even in the same room. Not to mention, Spock had very clearly told him, “While the sentiment of roses is appreciated, I cannot accept them being used to symbolically represent our relationship. Roses die, Doctor.” As if Leonard wasn’t aware. “I would rather a gift with more permanence.”
So wooden roses. It hadn’t been Leonard’s idea.
Despite using scalpels to carve out diseased tissues and organs, Leonard had never wielded a knife to carve or whittle. His grandpa used to whittle. Leonard could half remember a sun-soaked porch, sweating sweet tea, and his grandpa’s hoarse whistling while he worked all manner of twigs into intricate, delicate shapes. And while it had been fascinating, it hadn’t grabbed Leonard.
In the middle of his grumping about Jim’s allergies, it had been Nyota who said: “Well, Len, why not carve them? You can still give them roses but they’ll last forever.”
He had kissed both her cheeks and her forehead for that spark of genius.
Which meant this was also Nyota’s fault, damn it all.
Despite all the days of his childhood spent in awe of his grandpa’s skill, Leonard just didn’t have it. For a half mad second, he imagined carving a rose into an organ, using a scalpel instead of a whittling tool. He shook his head to clear the thought. A product of a recent transporter malfunction had taken him to a universe with a bearded Spock and a cruel Captain, both scarred and both who had revealed their Doctor was no saint either. The only good to come of that universe was the certainty of seeing their relationship inevitable, a pull felt in a parallel world.
It brought his Jim to mind though, frantic with worry when Leonard returned. There in the transporter room, his hands had passed over every inch of Leonard to reaffirm his existence while Spock had held back, fingers denting the control panel.
Leonard curled onto his side, spooning his free pillow and throwing his leg over it.
He couldn’t remember a time before being in love with Jim anymore– his courtship and marriage and divorce all a hazy dull memory in comparison. Jim was his true first. A love so deep it burned and chafed in the worst and best ways. It hadn’t even bothered Leonard to see how Spock had gravitated to Jim because who could ever resist his pull? Jim made for a great captain because of his magnetism (and his other genius abilities but Leonard hardly counted those). Although, perhaps the absence of jealousy should have been his first hint that Spock wasn’t a threat because he was a missing piece of it all.
The blanket was bunched uncomfortably under his shoulder and dimly he felt a draft on his back. Leonard burrowed his face further into his pillow.
He could near taste their first kisses, Spock and then Jim, spice and saccharine. Tea for one and over-sugared coffee for the other. He’d made Jim brush his teeth three times before they were allowed to kiss again. Leonard had been the first to say I love you to them both, the words easier for him after Jocelynn and Joanna. Jim had been second, accidentally letting it tumble free in post-coital bliss one night before hiding in the bathroom for two hours.
Spock had been last, running a hand along Leonard’s shin and kissing the side of his knee. Jim lazing beside them, for once wholly uninterested in touching and seducing. Spock had chose that moment to stun them with it, mummered so quietly they had almost missed it.
Leonard closed his eyes. Despite all the frustration and failure he felt with his roses, he wanted to do this. He’d nap for an hour and then get back to it. Finish in time for the end of Alpha and present his work.
He woke to the feel of his bed dipping and kisses scattered across his exposed shoulders. “Leave m’alone, Jim. Sleepin’.”
Jim’s chuckle reverberated against his spine, cold hands pressing to his lower back. Leonard tried to wiggle away, squeezing his eyes tightly together as if it would help fight off wakeful hours.
“Leonard,” Spock’s voice hovered in front of him before a set of fingertips touched his lips.
Well, Leonard couldn’t ignore that even if he wanted to. He licked them deftly, smirking at the gasp he won, and cracked one eye open. The room was dim and cold when Leonard untangled from his covers. Spock stood at his side, looking fond and fresh despite a double shift on the bridge. Maybe a bit greener at the tips of his ears from Leonard’s tease. Leonard rubbed the sleep from his eyes, grunting as Jim laid over Leonard’s lap. “Shift go well?”
“Quiet and boring,” Jim confirmed, tugging one of Leonard’s hands down. Leonard dutifully combed his fingers through the gold locks. “You missed the wedding I had to officiate today. Uhura tried to comm you but I guess you were too out of it after all your sneaking.”
There was a wooden rose in Spock’s hand before Leonard could even process Jim’s sly tone. He swore under his breath. “Well damn. I suppose there goes my surprise.”
Spock tilted the carving and then turned it upside down, trying to puzzle out Leonard’s ill-made forms. “Surprise? For Valentine’s Day?”
Jim hummed, closing his eyes. “Bones, you really didn’t need to. Though I’ll admit it was a cute compromise to carve those.”
“What are they intended to be?” Spock asked, still turning the mostly square block in his hands.
Leonard groaned. Never again.
“Roses,” Jim mumbled, looking close to drifting off. “Don’t need roses, Bones. Already know you love me. Can’t get enough of me,” Jim slurred, faint smile tugging at his lips.
“Jim,” Leonard griped but Jim only snored in response.
Spock put the carving on the bedside table, carefully removing Jim’s boots before his own. “It really was unnecessary, Leonard, but the thought is appreciated.” He tugged off his blues and folded them before pulling a small black box from his slacks. Unceremoniously, he handed it over to Leonard while he plucked all the wooden roses from the bed. “Jim prepared nothing as far as I am aware but I did not want to make the mistake of letting the holiday pass unmarked. Jim has not seen them so if they are not to your liking...”
“Shut up, Spock,” Leonard grouched softly. The rings inside were plain silver but Leonard felt itchy and hot instantly. He swallowed hard. “Which one?”
“The middle.”
There were inscriptions along the inside of his ring but it was impossible to read them in the dim light. Leonard almost needed to ask what they were but he could make out curves and soft lines. Vulcan script was yet another thing he didn’t know. So he asked anyway, “what do they say?”
“Our names, Jim and my own.”
So you will always have us with you seemed to follow that simple, unassuming statement.
“The other two rings match in the same way.” Spock settled underneath the covers at Leonard’s side, touching Jim’s hair gently before leaning in to kiss Leonard. It was soft, sweet, and Leonard pulled away first to slide his ring on.
“It’s perfect. Not my wooden roses perfect, but still good.”
“Of course; your roses were magnificent,” Spock said seriously and Leonard didn’t even have to look at him to know he was hiding a smile.
“Jim’ll love these.”
Spock took the box from Leonard’s hands, setting it aside. “Happy Valentine’s, Leonard. I love you.”
Leonard tried to hide a sniffle. “I guess you’re okay too.”
Jim shifted in Leonard’s lap. “Love,” he grunted before snoring again softly.
“And you as well, Jim.” Spock leaned forward to kiss Jim’s cheek and Leonard looked fondly on his lovers. In a few hours, they could celebrate the first of many holidays together but for now, Leonard couldn’t fathom asking for more. He had everything he needed here.
Wooden roses and all.