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“Jim, that’s disgusting,” the Doctor said, eyebrows scrunching and lips pressed into a thin line as he watched Kirk’s jaw working fixedly on what appeared to be nothing, sprawled comfortably in the Captain’s chair.“What?” Kirk whined in response, swiveling around to blink at McCoy, obvious confusion on his features.“That- that chewing,” McCoy continued, bringing his hands up in frustration to gesture in Kirk’s general facility. Kirk wrinkled his nose but grinned in an expression McCoy would be hesitant to call close to sheepish. Ever since they’d visited that planet last week where the aliens had basically amounted to a bunch of lumberjacks, who had learned to chew the sap of a certain species of tree for what apparently passed as enjoyment, Kirk had been a lost cause.Of course, the captain had jumped at the opportunity to take part in what they had all assumed a harmless quirk of this alien species. McCoy had scanned the trees and the sap itself to ensure there was nothing in it Jim was allergic to or would end up suffering from. It was just their luck the sap was completely, totally harmless, and even tasted sweet. That entire duration of the mission, the locals and Kirk had walked around with hunks of tacky sap in their mouths, like cows chewing their cud.Privately, McCoy had thought the habit a bit of a repulsive one, simply by the nature of it. Why bother chewing something that wasn’t food about to make its way down your throat? The thought of gnawing on something over and over again for no purpose was just gross. For some reason, watching everyone else do it and thinking about them masticating just gave him the heebie-jeebies. McCoy had made the mistake of believing that once they got back on the ship, it would all be over. How wrong he had been.After the negotiations with the aliens, they’d apparently warmed up to the Captain so much that they’d given him an entire crate’s worth of the sappy stuff for him to take back up to the Enterprise. It had been the beginning of the end. Ever since then, Kirk showed up for everything with a wad of the gum in his mouth and was always visibly toying with it. It wasn’t always chewing either. There were clear moments where Kirk paused to think, and it was evident by the slow way his jaw was moving that he was just playing with the sap with his tongue, probably stretching it or pushing it into weird shapes, or something else equally repulsive.“It’s not sanitary, Jim,” McCoy begins again, exasperated now as Jim shrugs and continues on. “You’re gonna work your jaw muscles half to death. Or get startled and choke on it when something catches you off guard on the bridge.”“I get mouth fidgety,” Kirk protests with a pout, choosing that moment to blow a bubble, which he promptly pops to begin chewing again. The sap is bright pink. McCoy hates it. It’s like watching a baby play with his food, or a dog eat its throw-up. The only thing left for McCoy to do is roll his eyes and make his way back to the bridge’s neglected medical station as he shakes his head. There’s blessed silence for a moment, and then Spock speaks.“He has an oral fixation, Doctor,” Spock announces matter-of-factly, face the epitome of calm when McCoy whips around to look at him.Checkov develops a sudden coughing fit where he sits at the nav station, and Sulu’s eyes are wide as he pounds the younger man gently on the back.“What. Did you say?”“Oral fixation,” Spock repeats, just pleasant enough in his tone that McCoy gets the distinct feeling that the green-blooded bastard knows exactly what he’s doing, but wouldn’t admit it upon the threat of death. Uhura has the good sense to put on a blank face and turns around to face her monitors as Spock continues.“It is my observation that when the Captain has something with which he may occupy his oral sensory functions, his—what you might call ‘fidgeting’—is reduced by seventy point eight one percent. The Captain apparently also finds the need to speak less for the sake of simply hearing his own voice, and exhibits a significant decrease in the physical signals of anxiety and restlessness. His decision-making processes are more logically sound rather than impulsive, and he is, in general, relatively… content.”“Hey—” Kirk protests ineffectually, probably taking mild offense at some of Spock’s less than complimentary descriptions.But… damnit, Spock is right. McCoy feels like an idiot for not spotting it sooner. Kirk’s got some minor anxiety, he knows that, and trying to get him to sit still is worse than trying to herd cats. Kirk’s brain is always going a mile a minute, too fast for his body or his mouth, constantly whirring behind too-bright eyes. The kid is always a handful, even when he’s expertly commanding their ship. But this past week, since the whole gum thing started… he’s been almost peaceful. Quiet. More centered.Spock must see the understanding dawning in McCoy’s features, because he raises an eyebrow and his lips quirk into the tiniest, sneakiest smile the doctor has ever seen before the Vulcan is turning back around in his chair to observe his instruments like nothing at all has happened. McCoy swears quietly under his breath and waves off Kirk’s complaints as he picks his way over to Spock’s station.“Now, Spock…” McCoy begins, voice pitched low enough and so quiet that no one besides the First Officer will hear him. “I don’t think I really wanna know this. But… you are speaking from… private experiences too?”Spock has his head ducked, face glued to the scanner so that his forehead and the bridge of his nose are pressed against the viewing mask and his eyes aren’t visible.“Of course, doctor. However, there has been insufficient experimentation in that realm to gather satisfactory data. Most of my observations pertain to the Captain’s time on the bridge,” the Vulcan murmurs, completely unbothered while McCoy grits his teeth and tries to keep unbidden images of what these two must be getting up to out of his mind. If he has to imagine them “gathering data” he’ll find an excuse to hypo Jim into next week, and will find a way to sabotage the replicators so that they run out of plomeek soup. But McCoy is on a mission now, and there’s no stopping it.“Do you think you could… find some way to… I don’t know, satisfy him enough on your off duty hours so that I don’t have to watch him act like the world’s most unsanitary infant during my shift?” McCoy manages to hiss out, ducking his own head now to pinch the bridge of his nose. McCoy would go for the crate of gum itself, but now that Spock had pointed out that the Captain apparently benefited from oral activity, he was’t cruel enough to take it out entirely. Not just yet, anyway. Maybe if Spock could help him out, Jim’s need to suck on something on the bridge wouldn’t be so intense, and the doctor wouldn’t have to resort to sabotage and subterfuge.When McCoy opens his eyes, Spock has lifted his head from his instruments and is looking at him with an expression that can only be described as shit-eating, even if the grin’s not there.“Oh, I certainly endeavor to, do so, Doctor. I am confident the captain will find our experimentations on the matter quite satisfactory.”Spock’s not quiet, and the sound of Checkov choking again fills the bridge. McCoy doesn’t bother looking to see the expression on Kirk’s face, because he has absolutely no desire to see his friend embarrassed and horny in the way that only their resident hobgoblin can get him. With a brief, heavenward eyeroll, McCoy stalks back over to the pathetic medical station and settles down with a grumble.“Damn kids.” McCoy loves them. But if this Spock thing doesn’t work out, he’s definitely throwing the rest of Kirk’s gum into an airlock.