Star Trek Fic: Out of Many, One (Part 1/6)
Title: Out of Many, One
Genre: Romance/Friendship fic
Word Count: ~39,000
Rating: PG-13
Pairings: McCoy/Uhura, Jim/Spock
Warnings: None
Summary: The holidays are a time for family and friends, for celebrations and showing them just how much they mean to you. For people from different walks of life and different cultures, it also means finding a common ground. McCoy, Uhura, Jim, and Spock's first holiday season together at the Academy.
Author's Note: As always, a huge thanks to phoenix_laugh for the beta. A far, far overdue Christmas present for rusting_roses. So late, in fact, that it kind of became a fusion Christmas/birthday present. As always, my dear, we've had some crazy adventures along the way. The road's usually not straight, and I'm more likely than not to take the long way around, but we got there. To be quite frank, I wouldn't trade our adventures for the world, you've become a lifelong friend, one of the best I've ever had. We'll raise a glass this fall (maybe even with a bit of real alcohol!) to celebrate the adventures yet to come.
[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3] [Part 4] [Part 5] [Part 6]
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Out of Many, One
It should've been colder.
Jim knew this. The other passersby, who kept giving him odd glances, apparently didn't. Many of them were wearing the red wool jackets that constituted their uniforms for cooler days. Jim probably stuck out a bit for the fact that he was wandering between classes bare-armed, wearing the standard short sleeve shirt that all of his classmates would be found wearing in the summer.
This wasn't cold. Not nearly cold enough to be running around as bundled up as his classmates were. Sure, it was a regular winter day by California standards and exactly what one could expect here at the Starfleet Academy. Sunny with a gentle crosswind and a temperature in the mid fifties. Few could complain about the lovely day. And yet that was exactly what Jim wanted to do. It shouldn't be this warm. It was the beginning of December for God's sake.
In a moment of boredom he'd taken out his PADD during his last lecture and looked up what the weather was currently like back home in Iowa. They were having a proper winter back there. An overnight blizzard had dumped eight inches of snow on his dusty hometown. His neighbors would be shoveling their walks about this time. Heavy snowfall might've taken down the odd power line or two. In that instance, the more fortunate families would be running their heat by generators. The more unfortunate ones would be huddled around their fireplaces praying for the electricity to come back up. School would have been cancelled and the plows would just be combing their way through the streets, at least in the city. The country folk would probably have to wait a day or two to get dug out proper. But in the meantime, they would be hunkered down with family, drinking hot chocolate perhaps, and passing the time as best they could in the absence of electricity or access to the outside world.
This is what this time of year was all about. He'd been stranded at home with his mother one Christmas as a child. It was just her and him on the farm that year, snow almost up to the windowsill. It couldn't have been more perfect. The rest of the world was hidden behind a veil of white. For that one brief night, it was just his mother and him. She tended the fire and handed ornaments up to him on the rickety step ladder he'd chosen as a perch. Together they decorated the Christmas tree by candlelight, in the haunting silence of the twilight hours. Finally, it had been his mother's voice rising into song, his own joining in soon after. His untrained voice paled next to hers, but somehow it worked. To an outsider, it might not have been the most perfect arrangement, but it wasn't meant for other people. It was a mother's song supported by the echo of her son's voice, their efforts woven together to form something unique and beautiful and completely their own.
That was what made for a proper Christmas. The holiday season didn't truly start until the surroundings were blanketed in a thick blanket of white, the perfect welcome to the season's festivities.
Another classmate wandered by, sparing him a sideways glace at his unusual attire. The stranger zipped up his jacket a bit tighter to keep out the non-existent chill. Jim ran a hand along his flesh, noting the absence of even the slightest of goose bumps that would signify a cool day. It was too warm for this time of year; it didn't feel like Christmas was fast approaching.
It should've been colder.
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It should've been hotter.
Spock's body argued this fact with a ferocity that easily wrestled his mind's logic into submission. The rational side of him knew that this was what he had signed up for when he'd accepted a teaching position at the Academy. He had, after all, spent years here as a student himself. He had assumed the shock would wear off, that, after a time, the landscape and the environment that accompanied it here on Earth would simply be one more fact to come to terms with.
His body argued for something else entirely. His physiology was adapted for the warmer climate of Vulcan. There, desert scenery wound its way out in every direction from the city where his forefathers had lived and worked toward perfecting Vulcan logic and culture for generations. The air was never humid. It was always dry on the throat, running for any length of time as a youth always left him yearning for even just a few cool sips of water.
There were the advantages he received from his Vulcan background. His endurance was far above that of the average terrestrial. The cardio workouts and muscular conditioning he'd been required to complete as a cadet of the Starfleet Academy had never been a challenge, the average gravity of Vulcan was three times that of Earth.
As the calendar year marched steadily toward the onset of the Terran winter, though, he was always filled with a sense of dread. It meant trading in his traditional uniform jacket for the heavier one he'd had custom made. It had taken a long-fought battle with the Admiralty to grant him even that small accommodation, strict uniformity was one of the key tenets of Starfleet. How else could they expect to unite so many people or different cultures, races, and species, into one coherent fighting force that could operate as a single entity?
He hadn't tried to argue with that logic. All he had requested was a jacket of an identical styling, deviating from the standard only in a heavier fabric to block out the frigid temperatures that accompanied this biome. Even inside, in a supposedly more sheltered domicile, he wasn't granted a reprieve from the chill that clawed its way into his body and sank into his bones. Humans preferred a temperature several degrees colder than the ambient temperature favored by Vulcans. The Admiralty had refused to even consider his argument until he had presented them with written testimony from a biologist specializing in Vulcan physiology and a note from one Dr. Leonard McCoy stating that he had treated Spock for hypothermia twice that year already and he was getting damnably sick of it and to just give him a proper jacket already.
Spock's lip twitched up at that. The doctor presented a unique personality and his tendency for unfettered bluntless had always intrigued him.
The holidays were an odd time. It was colder, yes, at least physically. Some part of him, though, picked up in a shift in mood both on campus and off. People walked about with a spring in their step where in prior months they might trudge between classes. He noticed that, as he was crossing campus, even total strangers addressed him differently during this time of year. Haughty expressions and cool stares were replaced with smiles. People carried a certain ease about them. The entire change seemed contradictory and somewhat out of place considering that students were studying for finals, but it was a welcomed change none-the-less.
Spock unfolded his blue jacket and slipped an arm into each sleeve and zipped it up, sighing deeply as the extra barrier minimized heat loss to the environment and gave him some small defense against the chilly atmosphere. He slung the strap for his canvas work bag over his shoulder after pausing to ensure that his PADD was safely ensconced inside. Then he braced himself, opened the door, and emerged into an environment far too cold for his liking. It was colder, this time of year, the weather almost unbearable. But the people themselves were warmer. He knew that at the end of the day he would close the door on the cold and retreat to a bed already warmed by Jim's body heat. The little bit of extra appreciation he took from that warmth made this season different from the rest in a pleasant way. His body might shiver at the cold and maybe he'd turn the lapel on his coat up at the chill. In the end, though, he could ignore that. The speeding of his heart beat as he slid beneath the sheets and nestled in against Jim would drown out all the rest and he would be warm once again.
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It should've never happened like this.
Uhura's foot had taken on a mind of its own and continued its anxious tapping. She uncrossed her arms and crossed them again and leveled a stoic stare at the nurse who was sitting at her station across the room. She was the sole occupant of the waiting room, everyone else had taken the nurse's advice that they were closing soon and, unless it was a medical emergency, to come back in the morning when they reopened.
This might not be a medical emergency to them, but it was the world to her. So even though her watch beeped, taunting her with the knowledge that it was now eighteen hundred hours and the infirmary was officially closed, she resolved to remain glued in this seat until someone agreed to see her and fix this so she could get back to her life.
The nurse narrowed her eyes and cleared her throat. Uhura absorbed the petite woman's annoyed glare. She then leaned back in her own chair, making clear her intent, and matched the woman's expression with a devious smile of her own.
A minute later their face off was interrupted by a haggard looking doctor emerging from the hallway that led further back into the hospital. He was carrying a PADD in one hand, the other rode loosely in his pants pocket. He stopped by the nurse's station, laying his PADD on the counter for a minute as he leaned in for a quiet conversation.
No, she wasn't paying the man undue attention. It was just, well; she'd been sitting here for nigh on hour now and she had already finished her translation assignment for Advanced Frontier Languages. That meant she was just sitting here, and with little more to occupy her attention, she may as well entertain herself for a minute or two with the newcomer. The man was a mixture of emotions. There were the slight purple half moons under both eyes that suggested a long shift. But that was contrasted against the square set of his shoulders that suggested a quiet determination that he would finish his shift, regardless of how exhaustion might be creeping in around the edge of his vision.
Starfleet had rules about physicians working long shifts; they were relieved for a mandatory rest interval after a certain length of time without sleep. Little sleep made for many mistakes, and in this kind of work, where an individual's life could be sitting in the balance, fatal errors weren't too much of an exaggeration. The man looked like he was getting kicked out right about now, but his cool demeanor, the fact that his hair was still neatly swept to the side in an exaggerated part she hadn't seen outside of the southern states, let her imagine that if a mass casualty came in a minute from now, the man could scrub at his eyes and straighten his back and dive right back into the fray. Some physicians got sloppy when they got tired; this man's appearance suggested that he would refuse to sacrifice an inch of his resolve to the limitations of his body. He would push through. Funny how you could tell so much about a man from a simple read of his posture and appearance, it was a skill Uhura had never taken for granted.
The doctor sighed, waved a curt goodbye to the nurse, and then walked away from the station. And toward her. Uhura swallowed the gasp, she hadn't expected that much. She scrambled to sit up a bit straighter and smooth the wrinkles out of her skirt. She kept her eyes focused on the physician as he approached and stopped in front of her.
He stopped two feet in front of the uncomfortable chair she had claimed as her own. She had to crane her neck back to match his gaze, but she wasn't going to be intimidated out of here, there was too much riding on her ability to get this fixed and move forward. The man wasn't even that tall, really. He was hardily built, but he wasn't tall. These chairs were set too low, in her opinion.
He evaluated her appearance for a moment. And his stoic facade didn't crack once, other than earlier fact she'd managed to glean that he was probably tired, his poker face wasn't giving anything away.
"Well, as far as I can see you aren't bleeding to death. Your vision's tracking fine; you've been attempting to stare me down."
She smiled to herself at that. Well, at least he was left guessing as much as she was in terms of trying to read his opponent.
Her attention was drawn back to the conversation as the man continued. "So I guess that means I'll have to inquire in earnest. What brings you here after normal clinic hours?"
"I'll have you know that I was here an hour before clinic hours ended, but your nurse said you guys weren't taking any more appointments. She didn't take it upon herself to clue you in? She's certainly done her best to drive me out of here with that stern glare of hers."
The man's lip twitched upward at that. At least something in her statement had managed to break the tense mood in the room, at least for a momentary reprieve, but then he reined it in and smoothed his expression back into a blank slate. "All I got from her was that you were a very strong-willed woman who wasn't going to stop harassing my staff or vacate the premises until someone gives in to your demands or calls security to escort you out."
She nodded confidently. "Starfleet code mandates that access to adequate medical services be available to every cadet-" Her voice broke. She faltered as her body betrayed her and the fight drained out of her a bit. The next swallow she took was like swallowing gravel. She hated this.
The physician's eyes focused in on her more closely at that. "A bit of laryngitis from the sounds of it?"
She opened her mouth to speak but he held up a hand. "Save it for when I can get you into a room and ask you a few questions. Talking is just about the worst thing you can do to aggravate the condition." His eyes pinched a bit around the corners and he sighed. She might have imagined it but she could've sworn that his shoulders had dropped fractionally. "You sure this can't wait until tomorrow? I can book you an appointment first thing in the morning...I've technically been relieved for the rest of the night."
She sighed and shook her head. She forced her voice to speak, even if all she could manage was a whisper. "I have this choir concert coming up-"
He nodded and cut her off. "In which case having a functional voice is probably important. I'll have Kathy put you in a room and be back to see you shortly as soon as I do a little finagling with my superiors and get cleared to do one more appointment."
"Thanks. I'm Uhura by the way," her voice was still quiet. Too quiet and raspy for anyone, really, but the man didn't show any signs of disapproval for it, and he seemed to be hearing her just fine. That much she did appreciate, having to raise her voice to yell at Gaila across the room to get out of bed and turn off the damn alarm just this morning had cost her two hours with a near inability to vocalize at all.
The man cracked a solid smile for the first time since they'd met as he smacked his forehead playfully. "You see what a long shift does to me? Manners are the first thing to go," he finished, laughing. He held out a hand then. She placed her own in his and focused her attention on the strong grip that closed in around it. "I'm Dr. McCoy. It's a pleasure to meet you."
And so it came to be that he left her in the atrium to contact his superiors. The grumpy nurse that she'd been going back and forth with all night begrudgingly took her back to a room and quickly departed, apparently having had enough of Uhura for one day. McCoy came back soon after and conducted a preliminary exam and given her a patch to wear overnight to ease some of the swelling in her vocal cords. He'd warned her against stressing her voice in the next few days, to lay off the verbal translations for class, and take a break from singing at choir practice.
Uhura had to smirk at that one. She spoke in a hushed tone. "Like I could sing in this condition? I sound worse than a frog."
He shrugged and that cool, professional facade cracked again, replaced with something more akin to banter between friends than a clinical exchange between patient and physician. "If your persistence in getting in to see someone here is anything to judge by, I'd say you'll manage just fine for the next few days."
He put down his PADD, having finished off sending a message to her instructors that she should receive a medical extension on the presentation she was supposed to be giving on Romulan vocalization patterns tomorrow. That was frustrating in a way. She'd juggled choir practice and late nights at the library in order to get that presentation prepared and now all that rushing seemed to be for naught.
His smooth voice interrupted her thoughts then. "Any idea how you managed to lose your voice? You don't have an elevated temperature or any other signs of sickness. I'm just wondering if I should be concerned about an underlying cause."
She shook her head. "Blame Madonna," she said at barely a whisper.
He raised an eyebrow. "That so? You're blaming a long-dead pop diva for the sudden onset of laryngitis?"
She snorted. "Heard the song 'Santa Baby?'"
He gave a sympathetic wince. "Terrible song. Now I'm not a Madonna hater, call them oldies if you want, but some of them were decent. But that song..." he visibly shuddered. "Whoever penned that one should've been taken out back and shot the moment they unleashed that travesty upon mankind."
"They wanted to put it in our holiday choir concert," she took a moment to clear her throat. This was more talking than she'd wanted to do, really. It also probably ran counter to the suggestions that McCoy had made. But this aggravation had been mounting for a whole day now. How could she stand by and let them ruin the whole concert like that? This was supposed to the pinnacle of an entire term worth of practice. Driving the audience right out of the auditorium on their first few notes wouldn't go very far toward showing off all that they'd accomplished and she'd been very vocal in sharing that opinion with her peers. "I couldn't let them do it."
He nodded. "I'll consider this appointment my public service for the day, then. If I prevented the future suffering of an audience of Starfleet cadets at the hands of that god awful song I may just consider this a successful day yet."
She opened her mouth to agree but he shook his head. "That's enough. Rest your voice, remember? Go home, try the patch, and contact Medical to schedule a follow-up appointment in a few days if things don't improve."
She stood up as he did and they stood there facing one another for a moment. She had the feeling that this conversation could've carried on for hours. He was just the type of man she could sit down with and start a conversation that would have her losing track of time. She stopped herself, though. The crescents under his eyes reminded her that she'd already kept him from his rest interval. The stone in her throat also reminded her that she'd probably pay for speaking any more than she already had. She had to settle for saying so much less than what she actually wanted to convey, but for now, in that moment, it would have to suffice.
"Thanks," she whispered softly and turned to exit the room. She didn't look back to see if he was watching, part of her kind of hoped that he was, that she wouldn't just be another notation in another chart, that maybe something about her had made their brief interaction as memorable to him as it would be for her.
The door glided to a close behind her, effectively ending their first meeting. In truth, if you had asked her one hour ago what she thought of this whole unfortunate development, a sudden inability to speak at a crucial point in the semester, she would've told you without a moment's hesitation, "It should've never happened like this." It was also how fate played its cards in funny ways. The night might not've been a total loss after all, she ruminated. There was this handsome physician, maybe a bit ragged around the edges after a long day. He had his hair slicked to the side in just the right way to let her know he was a character and had just a hint of a southern accent that made her want to know where exactly he came from to carry such a dialect. She might not have seen events happening quite like this, but that didn't mean she couldn't stack the deck in her favor.
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"Bones!"
McCoy scanned the cafeteria, trying to figure out just where the call had come from. It was peak meal time and there was scarcely an unoccupied seat. When you had everyone wearing identical uniforms, it didn't make picking out his friend in the crowd any easier. Especially when it was first thing in the morning, before he'd gotten to down a good cup of coffee or two. Where was the man?
"Bones! Over here!"
He tuned out the cacophony of voices cascading through the dining hall and eventually narrowed his gaze in on his quarry. He squeezed between two cadets, most likely first years if they hadn't yet learned the unspoken rule that you didn't stop in the main aisle ways for idle banter. He dropped his tray on the table and plopped down into the plastic chair.
"About damn time, Bones," Jim muttered between stuffing a forkful of hash browns into his mouth. He hastily swallowed it. "I had just about written you off as a lost cause. What kept you so long?"
Coffee. That was the first item on the agenda; he needed something to get his brain running at a normal speed. Two swigs later he organized his brain enough to make a coherent response. "Long nights and early mornings are about as agreeable with one another as an old quarrelling couple," he complained.
Jim smiled way too broadly for this early in the morning. People just weren't meant to be this chipper this early. "Finally got yourself a lady friend in that bachelor's pad of yours I hope?"
"In a sense, I suppose. I had a woman keep me out pretty late."
Jim halted his fork mid-scoop. He leaned forward. "Must've been a pretty woman to keep you out that late. Well, don't hold out on me. Do tell!"
"Mind out of the gutter, please. No, Jim, I willingly admit my extracurricular activities aren't quite as exciting as yours. I had a female cadet come in last night toward the end of my shift at the clinic. I didn't get back to my place until pretty late." Late, indeed. By the time he'd dragged himself to his doorstep and fumbled with the keys in the lock there'd been just enough energy left in his reserves to duck out of his clothes (although they never made it to the hamper) and drop himself into his bed.
He'd expected sleep to claim him, then, for a few blissful hours of unconsciousness before he had to roll back into the waking world again. It should've happened that way. But instead he'd laid there for a good hour staring at the ceiling and fiddling with the edge of his sheets replaying the entire sequence of events in his head. Uhura, she'd introduced herself. The name had sounded forced and strangled when she spoke, not that it was something she could help with the current state of her voice.
The woman had been a rarity, even amongst all the people that passed under his tutelage day in and day out. The night nurses who were assigned that shift received it for a reason. It was a badge of honor in a ways, one that suggested a thick skin and a no-nonsense attitude that made them fit to deal with some of the more belligerent patients came in, particularly the drunken patients who came in weaving a crooked path and slurring their words and openly hitting on the staff. In order to deal with those patients a nurse had to be a battle-hardened veteran. Kathy was certainly one of these nurses. So the fact that Uhura had managed to dig under Kathy's skin so quickly instantly piqued his interest. That feat was a rare enough occurrence that he wanted to know more about her.
Nyota Uhura. The name sounded smooth as he'd formed his mouth around the words late at night in the privacy of his own room. Part of him was hoping that she would schedule a follow-up appointment. If only so that he would have the opportunity to extend their meeting. That, perhaps, was the part that really got to him about this job. He met people from all walks of life. He helped them regain their health or improve their day-to-day habits in such a way as to be conducive to a longer life span. But most of those people, they popped in for a moment, just long enough for him to gain a cursory glimpse into their lives, before they faded back into the rest of their life and he never saw them again. He didn't want that to happen with Nyota.
Jim had polished the last bits of food off his plate and was now focusing all of his attention on McCoy. "Ok, let's have the whole story. And no holding back, I can tell when you got your mind tied in knots about something. And if it's a woman, that instantly makes it fair game for morning banter."
"I mean, what do think this is? She came in for a routine check-up; it was a quick visit, Jim. It was just another student, nothing happened," McCoy attempted to deflect.
"Ok, I can see this is going to be difficult. Let's start with a name. That's simple enough."
"Jim, you know there's this little thing called doctor-patient confidentiality, right? But it's just the one inviolable rule that I've sworn myself to. No harm in throwing that to the wind to satisfy your curiosity, right?"
"Come on Bones! I'm not asking for you to recite her medical record. It's a name, nothing more."
McCoy huffed at that. It was never just a name with Jim. Give the man an inch of rope and he'd steal much more than that right out of your hands without you even realizing it. "No way, Jim. I'm not going to fall for that again," he shook his head as if to emphasize the degree to which he would remain firm in his resolve.
Jim shrugged. "Fine, I suppose you've left me no choice. I'll just have to guess then. I'll have you know, though, I'm exceptionally good at this game. And your poker face is non-existent, Bones. You sure you don't want to forfeit right now and save us both the trouble?"
"Play whatever game you want, you'll be playing it alone. I'm going to sit here and drink my coffee and eat my breakfast and imagine all the ways I can put off going to class," McCoy suggested, lifting his mug in a toast to his most-stubborn friend before taking another sip.
"Ok. Let's narrow down the pool. What species are we talking? I'll guess the most obvious first, human?"
McCoy quirked his eyebrow over the edge of his cup.
"Ok, human then."
"Oh piss off! You're just pulling crap out of thin air. There's no way you got all of that from my face," McCoy shot at his friend. Even when he didn't want to participate in antics such as this, somehow Kirk managed to reel him into it anyways.
"See! I told you Bones, you aren't going to win at this."
The interrogation continued through the meal. Jim kept picking off his plate while Bones was distracted fumbling for a way to ward off his questions. The tactic hadn't worked. Jim had ended up with a good fourth of his meal and had significantly whittled down the potential pool of who the mystery woman could be. He'd been remarkably accurate, too, in drawing his conclusions. Jim's abilities were uncanny sometimes, McCoy mused to himself as he drained his cup of its last few drops of coffee.
"Ok, so human, our grade. She's not in command track, or a medical student. How about her hobbies, reading maybe? She a talker?"
"Much more adept with words than you'll ever be," McCoy snorted.
"Oooh. Linguistics then, right?"
"No!" Bones shot back defensively. Jim was getting dangerously close.
"I'll take that as a yes," Jim remarked as he snuck another forkful of eggs off Bones' plate. "You do realize that I'm going to get this right, right?"
McCoy shook his head in response.
"You do know that there are fourteen third-year students in the Xenolingustics department? And of that, only four women?"
"Now you're making stuff up. Not falling for it Jim."
"Hey, my numbers are right; I know that for a fact. But I only actually know one woman in the department. Her name's Uhura...but no way it's her. She's totally not your type, Bones," Jim scoffed.
McCoy had reacted to the name. He hadn't meant to, but his head had snapped up from his plate at the mention of her name. How the hell had Jim narrowed down the entire student body of the Starfleet Academy to the one woman who had taken up residence in his thoughts?
"Bones, you kidding me? Uhura?" he put his fork down. "How...what..." For perhaps the first time in their friendship, Jim had actually been left at a loss for words.
"My personal life is none of your business, Jim. Let it lie," McCoy responded acidly.
"No way in hell, Bones. We are having this conversation right now. Now spit it out, how did this happen?"
McCoy sighed. He'd been found out, apparently. And once Jim had gotten a scent for something that piqued his interest, there was no turning the insistent man off the trail. "She goes by Uhura, her last name? She never mentioned that during our interactions..."
"You mean you know her first name? Do tell, my good man. She's withheld that piece of information from me since the very first time I met her in a bar back in Iowa. Apparently my charming manners and devilish looks weren't enough to win her favor. She's a very stubborn woman when she means to be."
McCoy nodded to that, recalling the sit-in Nyota had staged last night. "If she didn't tell you her first name, then I'm not going to betray her wishes. She probably has her own reasons. And back up one step. You tried to woo her?"
"Not try. I did woo her. She just got distracted by the bar fight that started right as we were getting things off the ground. And not like it matters now, I have Spock, remember? I'm not going to go behind your back and steal your woman when I have a perfectly good Vulcan who happens to overshoot every hope I could ever have for a significant other."
"Somehow I very much doubt that Uhura will ever be 'my' woman or anyone else's woman for the matter. I feel it would be more her giving a man the distinctive honor of receiving her attention and being held in her good graces," McCoy said, smiling. And seeing an opportunity to steer the conversation in another direction, he seized it. "So what are you thinking you're going to do with Spock for the holidays?"
Jim sighed and ran his free hand through his hair before setting his fork down on the table with the other. "I really don't know, man. I've tried to have this conversation with Spock. I've always traditionally done Christmas but I don't know what, if anything, he celebrates. But he's just so passive in this. The basic conversation starts with me bringing up the topic. Then he says that he would find perfectly acceptable whatever holiday I should wish to celebrate," Jim finished, ending his admirable attempt to imitate Spock's manner of speaking.
"So he has no opinion in this whole thing?" McCoy prompted.
Jim shrugged. Bones could tell the man was getting a bit worked up now, though. He was sitting on the edge of his seat and his next statement started with him lightly smacking the table with an open palm in frustration. "That's the thing, I don't know. Part of me really wants to do Christmas all out, with the stockings and the lights and the tree. Hell, I was even thinking about renting a Santa suit for the evening. It would really just be just to spite Spock for making this so difficult for me."
"As appealing as I might find the idea of you waltzing into Spock's apartment in a Santa costume, you know that's not at all in the spirit of the holidays, Jim. In fact, if anything, that's the exact opposite," Bones chided him.
Jim seemed to deflate a bit at that, slumping down in his chair a few inches and leaning back. "I know it's not. I just want this to be something that both of us will enjoy and he's being so tight-lipped about it. I'm starting to get really stressed out about it."
"You made any progress with the man?"
"Not really. I went up into the Stacks the other night trying to do some research on Vulcan holidays to see if there is anything I could incorporate into our festivities. I mean, I ended up digging around in some really old stuff, physical books even. I found references to one holiday, Kal Rekk. But that Vulcan tradition is a day of atonement, solitude and silence, it didn't really sound too festive..."
"Nothing else?"
"Not yet, anyways. I'm still holding out hope to find something that we can do...kind of a hybrid Christmas celebration with something Vulcan. I'm meeting with a professor in the Cultural Studies Department, Thurl Ravenscroft. From his bio that I pulled up in the Starfleet database, I know that he specializes in cultural celebrations for many of the lesser-researched species in the Federation. I've messaged back and forth with him a bit over the last few days. Apparently he spent a few months living on Vulcan as part of an exchange program and he says he might have a few ideas."
"Well, it seems that at least you have a rough plan of action. It's a start. And you're balancing all of this extra research you're doing with starting to study with finals? You don't have the lightest course load this semester, Jim," McCoy finished in a more serious tone. Bones knew that Jim cared about this; he was obviously investing a lot of time in it. But it just happened to be unfortunate scheduling that the holidays fell at the same time that students were starting to gear up for finals.
"Don't worry, Bones," Jim suggested with a wave of his hand. "I have it under control. How about your holiday plans. You doing anything with Joanna?"
"My ex-wife has her for the holidays," McCoy responded.
"Aw Bones. I'm sorry you won't get to see her-"
"I have it under control, Jim. Don't worry about it."
"Sheesh, you really have to be such a Grinch? I was just trying to help."
"I don't need your consolidations...Look, I'm sorry if I snapped. It's a bit of a sore point. I'm coping with it the best I can. And I'm taking a week off at Easter and she's coming to visit. Just me and her...it'll be nice."
Jim nodded. "Of course it will. And as for now, I know we might not compare to your own flesh and blood, but you have friends here too, McCoy. Friends, including me, that care. And blood isn't the only thing that makes a family. Just remember that, okay?"
Bones smiled. It was a slow smile, one that he had to force the start of. But as Jim's words sunk in, the grin blossomed, taking on a life of its own as a warmth spread in his chest."Thanks, Jim."
The look on Jim's face echoed his own. He stood up, pushing his chair out with his legs as he did so. He snagged the last slice of bacon off McCoy's plate and swallowed it in one bite. "What are friends good for if not reminding you of the good things in life?"
"Apparently they're also good for stealing food off my plate," McCoy chuckled.
"Hey Bones, don't knock it. That's a time honored tradition!"
"One you seem hell-bent on upholding," he complained.
"It would be a grave disservice to give you any less than my best," Jim replied, taking a quick bow before they parted ways and headed toward their respective classes.
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Continue to Part 2
Genre: Romance/Friendship fic
Word Count: ~39,000
Rating: PG-13
Pairings: McCoy/Uhura, Jim/Spock
Warnings: None
Summary: The holidays are a time for family and friends, for celebrations and showing them just how much they mean to you. For people from different walks of life and different cultures, it also means finding a common ground. McCoy, Uhura, Jim, and Spock's first holiday season together at the Academy.
Author's Note: As always, a huge thanks to phoenix_laugh for the beta. A far, far overdue Christmas present for rusting_roses. So late, in fact, that it kind of became a fusion Christmas/birthday present. As always, my dear, we've had some crazy adventures along the way. The road's usually not straight, and I'm more likely than not to take the long way around, but we got there. To be quite frank, I wouldn't trade our adventures for the world, you've become a lifelong friend, one of the best I've ever had. We'll raise a glass this fall (maybe even with a bit of real alcohol!) to celebrate the adventures yet to come.
[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3] [Part 4] [Part 5] [Part 6]
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Out of Many, One
It should've been colder.
Jim knew this. The other passersby, who kept giving him odd glances, apparently didn't. Many of them were wearing the red wool jackets that constituted their uniforms for cooler days. Jim probably stuck out a bit for the fact that he was wandering between classes bare-armed, wearing the standard short sleeve shirt that all of his classmates would be found wearing in the summer.
This wasn't cold. Not nearly cold enough to be running around as bundled up as his classmates were. Sure, it was a regular winter day by California standards and exactly what one could expect here at the Starfleet Academy. Sunny with a gentle crosswind and a temperature in the mid fifties. Few could complain about the lovely day. And yet that was exactly what Jim wanted to do. It shouldn't be this warm. It was the beginning of December for God's sake.
In a moment of boredom he'd taken out his PADD during his last lecture and looked up what the weather was currently like back home in Iowa. They were having a proper winter back there. An overnight blizzard had dumped eight inches of snow on his dusty hometown. His neighbors would be shoveling their walks about this time. Heavy snowfall might've taken down the odd power line or two. In that instance, the more fortunate families would be running their heat by generators. The more unfortunate ones would be huddled around their fireplaces praying for the electricity to come back up. School would have been cancelled and the plows would just be combing their way through the streets, at least in the city. The country folk would probably have to wait a day or two to get dug out proper. But in the meantime, they would be hunkered down with family, drinking hot chocolate perhaps, and passing the time as best they could in the absence of electricity or access to the outside world.
This is what this time of year was all about. He'd been stranded at home with his mother one Christmas as a child. It was just her and him on the farm that year, snow almost up to the windowsill. It couldn't have been more perfect. The rest of the world was hidden behind a veil of white. For that one brief night, it was just his mother and him. She tended the fire and handed ornaments up to him on the rickety step ladder he'd chosen as a perch. Together they decorated the Christmas tree by candlelight, in the haunting silence of the twilight hours. Finally, it had been his mother's voice rising into song, his own joining in soon after. His untrained voice paled next to hers, but somehow it worked. To an outsider, it might not have been the most perfect arrangement, but it wasn't meant for other people. It was a mother's song supported by the echo of her son's voice, their efforts woven together to form something unique and beautiful and completely their own.
That was what made for a proper Christmas. The holiday season didn't truly start until the surroundings were blanketed in a thick blanket of white, the perfect welcome to the season's festivities.
Another classmate wandered by, sparing him a sideways glace at his unusual attire. The stranger zipped up his jacket a bit tighter to keep out the non-existent chill. Jim ran a hand along his flesh, noting the absence of even the slightest of goose bumps that would signify a cool day. It was too warm for this time of year; it didn't feel like Christmas was fast approaching.
It should've been colder.
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It should've been hotter.
Spock's body argued this fact with a ferocity that easily wrestled his mind's logic into submission. The rational side of him knew that this was what he had signed up for when he'd accepted a teaching position at the Academy. He had, after all, spent years here as a student himself. He had assumed the shock would wear off, that, after a time, the landscape and the environment that accompanied it here on Earth would simply be one more fact to come to terms with.
His body argued for something else entirely. His physiology was adapted for the warmer climate of Vulcan. There, desert scenery wound its way out in every direction from the city where his forefathers had lived and worked toward perfecting Vulcan logic and culture for generations. The air was never humid. It was always dry on the throat, running for any length of time as a youth always left him yearning for even just a few cool sips of water.
There were the advantages he received from his Vulcan background. His endurance was far above that of the average terrestrial. The cardio workouts and muscular conditioning he'd been required to complete as a cadet of the Starfleet Academy had never been a challenge, the average gravity of Vulcan was three times that of Earth.
As the calendar year marched steadily toward the onset of the Terran winter, though, he was always filled with a sense of dread. It meant trading in his traditional uniform jacket for the heavier one he'd had custom made. It had taken a long-fought battle with the Admiralty to grant him even that small accommodation, strict uniformity was one of the key tenets of Starfleet. How else could they expect to unite so many people or different cultures, races, and species, into one coherent fighting force that could operate as a single entity?
He hadn't tried to argue with that logic. All he had requested was a jacket of an identical styling, deviating from the standard only in a heavier fabric to block out the frigid temperatures that accompanied this biome. Even inside, in a supposedly more sheltered domicile, he wasn't granted a reprieve from the chill that clawed its way into his body and sank into his bones. Humans preferred a temperature several degrees colder than the ambient temperature favored by Vulcans. The Admiralty had refused to even consider his argument until he had presented them with written testimony from a biologist specializing in Vulcan physiology and a note from one Dr. Leonard McCoy stating that he had treated Spock for hypothermia twice that year already and he was getting damnably sick of it and to just give him a proper jacket already.
Spock's lip twitched up at that. The doctor presented a unique personality and his tendency for unfettered bluntless had always intrigued him.
The holidays were an odd time. It was colder, yes, at least physically. Some part of him, though, picked up in a shift in mood both on campus and off. People walked about with a spring in their step where in prior months they might trudge between classes. He noticed that, as he was crossing campus, even total strangers addressed him differently during this time of year. Haughty expressions and cool stares were replaced with smiles. People carried a certain ease about them. The entire change seemed contradictory and somewhat out of place considering that students were studying for finals, but it was a welcomed change none-the-less.
Spock unfolded his blue jacket and slipped an arm into each sleeve and zipped it up, sighing deeply as the extra barrier minimized heat loss to the environment and gave him some small defense against the chilly atmosphere. He slung the strap for his canvas work bag over his shoulder after pausing to ensure that his PADD was safely ensconced inside. Then he braced himself, opened the door, and emerged into an environment far too cold for his liking. It was colder, this time of year, the weather almost unbearable. But the people themselves were warmer. He knew that at the end of the day he would close the door on the cold and retreat to a bed already warmed by Jim's body heat. The little bit of extra appreciation he took from that warmth made this season different from the rest in a pleasant way. His body might shiver at the cold and maybe he'd turn the lapel on his coat up at the chill. In the end, though, he could ignore that. The speeding of his heart beat as he slid beneath the sheets and nestled in against Jim would drown out all the rest and he would be warm once again.
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It should've never happened like this.
Uhura's foot had taken on a mind of its own and continued its anxious tapping. She uncrossed her arms and crossed them again and leveled a stoic stare at the nurse who was sitting at her station across the room. She was the sole occupant of the waiting room, everyone else had taken the nurse's advice that they were closing soon and, unless it was a medical emergency, to come back in the morning when they reopened.
This might not be a medical emergency to them, but it was the world to her. So even though her watch beeped, taunting her with the knowledge that it was now eighteen hundred hours and the infirmary was officially closed, she resolved to remain glued in this seat until someone agreed to see her and fix this so she could get back to her life.
The nurse narrowed her eyes and cleared her throat. Uhura absorbed the petite woman's annoyed glare. She then leaned back in her own chair, making clear her intent, and matched the woman's expression with a devious smile of her own.
A minute later their face off was interrupted by a haggard looking doctor emerging from the hallway that led further back into the hospital. He was carrying a PADD in one hand, the other rode loosely in his pants pocket. He stopped by the nurse's station, laying his PADD on the counter for a minute as he leaned in for a quiet conversation.
No, she wasn't paying the man undue attention. It was just, well; she'd been sitting here for nigh on hour now and she had already finished her translation assignment for Advanced Frontier Languages. That meant she was just sitting here, and with little more to occupy her attention, she may as well entertain herself for a minute or two with the newcomer. The man was a mixture of emotions. There were the slight purple half moons under both eyes that suggested a long shift. But that was contrasted against the square set of his shoulders that suggested a quiet determination that he would finish his shift, regardless of how exhaustion might be creeping in around the edge of his vision.
Starfleet had rules about physicians working long shifts; they were relieved for a mandatory rest interval after a certain length of time without sleep. Little sleep made for many mistakes, and in this kind of work, where an individual's life could be sitting in the balance, fatal errors weren't too much of an exaggeration. The man looked like he was getting kicked out right about now, but his cool demeanor, the fact that his hair was still neatly swept to the side in an exaggerated part she hadn't seen outside of the southern states, let her imagine that if a mass casualty came in a minute from now, the man could scrub at his eyes and straighten his back and dive right back into the fray. Some physicians got sloppy when they got tired; this man's appearance suggested that he would refuse to sacrifice an inch of his resolve to the limitations of his body. He would push through. Funny how you could tell so much about a man from a simple read of his posture and appearance, it was a skill Uhura had never taken for granted.
The doctor sighed, waved a curt goodbye to the nurse, and then walked away from the station. And toward her. Uhura swallowed the gasp, she hadn't expected that much. She scrambled to sit up a bit straighter and smooth the wrinkles out of her skirt. She kept her eyes focused on the physician as he approached and stopped in front of her.
He stopped two feet in front of the uncomfortable chair she had claimed as her own. She had to crane her neck back to match his gaze, but she wasn't going to be intimidated out of here, there was too much riding on her ability to get this fixed and move forward. The man wasn't even that tall, really. He was hardily built, but he wasn't tall. These chairs were set too low, in her opinion.
He evaluated her appearance for a moment. And his stoic facade didn't crack once, other than earlier fact she'd managed to glean that he was probably tired, his poker face wasn't giving anything away.
"Well, as far as I can see you aren't bleeding to death. Your vision's tracking fine; you've been attempting to stare me down."
She smiled to herself at that. Well, at least he was left guessing as much as she was in terms of trying to read his opponent.
Her attention was drawn back to the conversation as the man continued. "So I guess that means I'll have to inquire in earnest. What brings you here after normal clinic hours?"
"I'll have you know that I was here an hour before clinic hours ended, but your nurse said you guys weren't taking any more appointments. She didn't take it upon herself to clue you in? She's certainly done her best to drive me out of here with that stern glare of hers."
The man's lip twitched upward at that. At least something in her statement had managed to break the tense mood in the room, at least for a momentary reprieve, but then he reined it in and smoothed his expression back into a blank slate. "All I got from her was that you were a very strong-willed woman who wasn't going to stop harassing my staff or vacate the premises until someone gives in to your demands or calls security to escort you out."
She nodded confidently. "Starfleet code mandates that access to adequate medical services be available to every cadet-" Her voice broke. She faltered as her body betrayed her and the fight drained out of her a bit. The next swallow she took was like swallowing gravel. She hated this.
The physician's eyes focused in on her more closely at that. "A bit of laryngitis from the sounds of it?"
She opened her mouth to speak but he held up a hand. "Save it for when I can get you into a room and ask you a few questions. Talking is just about the worst thing you can do to aggravate the condition." His eyes pinched a bit around the corners and he sighed. She might have imagined it but she could've sworn that his shoulders had dropped fractionally. "You sure this can't wait until tomorrow? I can book you an appointment first thing in the morning...I've technically been relieved for the rest of the night."
She sighed and shook her head. She forced her voice to speak, even if all she could manage was a whisper. "I have this choir concert coming up-"
He nodded and cut her off. "In which case having a functional voice is probably important. I'll have Kathy put you in a room and be back to see you shortly as soon as I do a little finagling with my superiors and get cleared to do one more appointment."
"Thanks. I'm Uhura by the way," her voice was still quiet. Too quiet and raspy for anyone, really, but the man didn't show any signs of disapproval for it, and he seemed to be hearing her just fine. That much she did appreciate, having to raise her voice to yell at Gaila across the room to get out of bed and turn off the damn alarm just this morning had cost her two hours with a near inability to vocalize at all.
The man cracked a solid smile for the first time since they'd met as he smacked his forehead playfully. "You see what a long shift does to me? Manners are the first thing to go," he finished, laughing. He held out a hand then. She placed her own in his and focused her attention on the strong grip that closed in around it. "I'm Dr. McCoy. It's a pleasure to meet you."
And so it came to be that he left her in the atrium to contact his superiors. The grumpy nurse that she'd been going back and forth with all night begrudgingly took her back to a room and quickly departed, apparently having had enough of Uhura for one day. McCoy came back soon after and conducted a preliminary exam and given her a patch to wear overnight to ease some of the swelling in her vocal cords. He'd warned her against stressing her voice in the next few days, to lay off the verbal translations for class, and take a break from singing at choir practice.
Uhura had to smirk at that one. She spoke in a hushed tone. "Like I could sing in this condition? I sound worse than a frog."
He shrugged and that cool, professional facade cracked again, replaced with something more akin to banter between friends than a clinical exchange between patient and physician. "If your persistence in getting in to see someone here is anything to judge by, I'd say you'll manage just fine for the next few days."
He put down his PADD, having finished off sending a message to her instructors that she should receive a medical extension on the presentation she was supposed to be giving on Romulan vocalization patterns tomorrow. That was frustrating in a way. She'd juggled choir practice and late nights at the library in order to get that presentation prepared and now all that rushing seemed to be for naught.
His smooth voice interrupted her thoughts then. "Any idea how you managed to lose your voice? You don't have an elevated temperature or any other signs of sickness. I'm just wondering if I should be concerned about an underlying cause."
She shook her head. "Blame Madonna," she said at barely a whisper.
He raised an eyebrow. "That so? You're blaming a long-dead pop diva for the sudden onset of laryngitis?"
She snorted. "Heard the song 'Santa Baby?'"
He gave a sympathetic wince. "Terrible song. Now I'm not a Madonna hater, call them oldies if you want, but some of them were decent. But that song..." he visibly shuddered. "Whoever penned that one should've been taken out back and shot the moment they unleashed that travesty upon mankind."
"They wanted to put it in our holiday choir concert," she took a moment to clear her throat. This was more talking than she'd wanted to do, really. It also probably ran counter to the suggestions that McCoy had made. But this aggravation had been mounting for a whole day now. How could she stand by and let them ruin the whole concert like that? This was supposed to the pinnacle of an entire term worth of practice. Driving the audience right out of the auditorium on their first few notes wouldn't go very far toward showing off all that they'd accomplished and she'd been very vocal in sharing that opinion with her peers. "I couldn't let them do it."
He nodded. "I'll consider this appointment my public service for the day, then. If I prevented the future suffering of an audience of Starfleet cadets at the hands of that god awful song I may just consider this a successful day yet."
She opened her mouth to agree but he shook his head. "That's enough. Rest your voice, remember? Go home, try the patch, and contact Medical to schedule a follow-up appointment in a few days if things don't improve."
She stood up as he did and they stood there facing one another for a moment. She had the feeling that this conversation could've carried on for hours. He was just the type of man she could sit down with and start a conversation that would have her losing track of time. She stopped herself, though. The crescents under his eyes reminded her that she'd already kept him from his rest interval. The stone in her throat also reminded her that she'd probably pay for speaking any more than she already had. She had to settle for saying so much less than what she actually wanted to convey, but for now, in that moment, it would have to suffice.
"Thanks," she whispered softly and turned to exit the room. She didn't look back to see if he was watching, part of her kind of hoped that he was, that she wouldn't just be another notation in another chart, that maybe something about her had made their brief interaction as memorable to him as it would be for her.
The door glided to a close behind her, effectively ending their first meeting. In truth, if you had asked her one hour ago what she thought of this whole unfortunate development, a sudden inability to speak at a crucial point in the semester, she would've told you without a moment's hesitation, "It should've never happened like this." It was also how fate played its cards in funny ways. The night might not've been a total loss after all, she ruminated. There was this handsome physician, maybe a bit ragged around the edges after a long day. He had his hair slicked to the side in just the right way to let her know he was a character and had just a hint of a southern accent that made her want to know where exactly he came from to carry such a dialect. She might not have seen events happening quite like this, but that didn't mean she couldn't stack the deck in her favor.
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"Bones!"
McCoy scanned the cafeteria, trying to figure out just where the call had come from. It was peak meal time and there was scarcely an unoccupied seat. When you had everyone wearing identical uniforms, it didn't make picking out his friend in the crowd any easier. Especially when it was first thing in the morning, before he'd gotten to down a good cup of coffee or two. Where was the man?
"Bones! Over here!"
He tuned out the cacophony of voices cascading through the dining hall and eventually narrowed his gaze in on his quarry. He squeezed between two cadets, most likely first years if they hadn't yet learned the unspoken rule that you didn't stop in the main aisle ways for idle banter. He dropped his tray on the table and plopped down into the plastic chair.
"About damn time, Bones," Jim muttered between stuffing a forkful of hash browns into his mouth. He hastily swallowed it. "I had just about written you off as a lost cause. What kept you so long?"
Coffee. That was the first item on the agenda; he needed something to get his brain running at a normal speed. Two swigs later he organized his brain enough to make a coherent response. "Long nights and early mornings are about as agreeable with one another as an old quarrelling couple," he complained.
Jim smiled way too broadly for this early in the morning. People just weren't meant to be this chipper this early. "Finally got yourself a lady friend in that bachelor's pad of yours I hope?"
"In a sense, I suppose. I had a woman keep me out pretty late."
Jim halted his fork mid-scoop. He leaned forward. "Must've been a pretty woman to keep you out that late. Well, don't hold out on me. Do tell!"
"Mind out of the gutter, please. No, Jim, I willingly admit my extracurricular activities aren't quite as exciting as yours. I had a female cadet come in last night toward the end of my shift at the clinic. I didn't get back to my place until pretty late." Late, indeed. By the time he'd dragged himself to his doorstep and fumbled with the keys in the lock there'd been just enough energy left in his reserves to duck out of his clothes (although they never made it to the hamper) and drop himself into his bed.
He'd expected sleep to claim him, then, for a few blissful hours of unconsciousness before he had to roll back into the waking world again. It should've happened that way. But instead he'd laid there for a good hour staring at the ceiling and fiddling with the edge of his sheets replaying the entire sequence of events in his head. Uhura, she'd introduced herself. The name had sounded forced and strangled when she spoke, not that it was something she could help with the current state of her voice.
The woman had been a rarity, even amongst all the people that passed under his tutelage day in and day out. The night nurses who were assigned that shift received it for a reason. It was a badge of honor in a ways, one that suggested a thick skin and a no-nonsense attitude that made them fit to deal with some of the more belligerent patients came in, particularly the drunken patients who came in weaving a crooked path and slurring their words and openly hitting on the staff. In order to deal with those patients a nurse had to be a battle-hardened veteran. Kathy was certainly one of these nurses. So the fact that Uhura had managed to dig under Kathy's skin so quickly instantly piqued his interest. That feat was a rare enough occurrence that he wanted to know more about her.
Nyota Uhura. The name sounded smooth as he'd formed his mouth around the words late at night in the privacy of his own room. Part of him was hoping that she would schedule a follow-up appointment. If only so that he would have the opportunity to extend their meeting. That, perhaps, was the part that really got to him about this job. He met people from all walks of life. He helped them regain their health or improve their day-to-day habits in such a way as to be conducive to a longer life span. But most of those people, they popped in for a moment, just long enough for him to gain a cursory glimpse into their lives, before they faded back into the rest of their life and he never saw them again. He didn't want that to happen with Nyota.
Jim had polished the last bits of food off his plate and was now focusing all of his attention on McCoy. "Ok, let's have the whole story. And no holding back, I can tell when you got your mind tied in knots about something. And if it's a woman, that instantly makes it fair game for morning banter."
"I mean, what do think this is? She came in for a routine check-up; it was a quick visit, Jim. It was just another student, nothing happened," McCoy attempted to deflect.
"Ok, I can see this is going to be difficult. Let's start with a name. That's simple enough."
"Jim, you know there's this little thing called doctor-patient confidentiality, right? But it's just the one inviolable rule that I've sworn myself to. No harm in throwing that to the wind to satisfy your curiosity, right?"
"Come on Bones! I'm not asking for you to recite her medical record. It's a name, nothing more."
McCoy huffed at that. It was never just a name with Jim. Give the man an inch of rope and he'd steal much more than that right out of your hands without you even realizing it. "No way, Jim. I'm not going to fall for that again," he shook his head as if to emphasize the degree to which he would remain firm in his resolve.
Jim shrugged. "Fine, I suppose you've left me no choice. I'll just have to guess then. I'll have you know, though, I'm exceptionally good at this game. And your poker face is non-existent, Bones. You sure you don't want to forfeit right now and save us both the trouble?"
"Play whatever game you want, you'll be playing it alone. I'm going to sit here and drink my coffee and eat my breakfast and imagine all the ways I can put off going to class," McCoy suggested, lifting his mug in a toast to his most-stubborn friend before taking another sip.
"Ok. Let's narrow down the pool. What species are we talking? I'll guess the most obvious first, human?"
McCoy quirked his eyebrow over the edge of his cup.
"Ok, human then."
"Oh piss off! You're just pulling crap out of thin air. There's no way you got all of that from my face," McCoy shot at his friend. Even when he didn't want to participate in antics such as this, somehow Kirk managed to reel him into it anyways.
"See! I told you Bones, you aren't going to win at this."
The interrogation continued through the meal. Jim kept picking off his plate while Bones was distracted fumbling for a way to ward off his questions. The tactic hadn't worked. Jim had ended up with a good fourth of his meal and had significantly whittled down the potential pool of who the mystery woman could be. He'd been remarkably accurate, too, in drawing his conclusions. Jim's abilities were uncanny sometimes, McCoy mused to himself as he drained his cup of its last few drops of coffee.
"Ok, so human, our grade. She's not in command track, or a medical student. How about her hobbies, reading maybe? She a talker?"
"Much more adept with words than you'll ever be," McCoy snorted.
"Oooh. Linguistics then, right?"
"No!" Bones shot back defensively. Jim was getting dangerously close.
"I'll take that as a yes," Jim remarked as he snuck another forkful of eggs off Bones' plate. "You do realize that I'm going to get this right, right?"
McCoy shook his head in response.
"You do know that there are fourteen third-year students in the Xenolingustics department? And of that, only four women?"
"Now you're making stuff up. Not falling for it Jim."
"Hey, my numbers are right; I know that for a fact. But I only actually know one woman in the department. Her name's Uhura...but no way it's her. She's totally not your type, Bones," Jim scoffed.
McCoy had reacted to the name. He hadn't meant to, but his head had snapped up from his plate at the mention of her name. How the hell had Jim narrowed down the entire student body of the Starfleet Academy to the one woman who had taken up residence in his thoughts?
"Bones, you kidding me? Uhura?" he put his fork down. "How...what..." For perhaps the first time in their friendship, Jim had actually been left at a loss for words.
"My personal life is none of your business, Jim. Let it lie," McCoy responded acidly.
"No way in hell, Bones. We are having this conversation right now. Now spit it out, how did this happen?"
McCoy sighed. He'd been found out, apparently. And once Jim had gotten a scent for something that piqued his interest, there was no turning the insistent man off the trail. "She goes by Uhura, her last name? She never mentioned that during our interactions..."
"You mean you know her first name? Do tell, my good man. She's withheld that piece of information from me since the very first time I met her in a bar back in Iowa. Apparently my charming manners and devilish looks weren't enough to win her favor. She's a very stubborn woman when she means to be."
McCoy nodded to that, recalling the sit-in Nyota had staged last night. "If she didn't tell you her first name, then I'm not going to betray her wishes. She probably has her own reasons. And back up one step. You tried to woo her?"
"Not try. I did woo her. She just got distracted by the bar fight that started right as we were getting things off the ground. And not like it matters now, I have Spock, remember? I'm not going to go behind your back and steal your woman when I have a perfectly good Vulcan who happens to overshoot every hope I could ever have for a significant other."
"Somehow I very much doubt that Uhura will ever be 'my' woman or anyone else's woman for the matter. I feel it would be more her giving a man the distinctive honor of receiving her attention and being held in her good graces," McCoy said, smiling. And seeing an opportunity to steer the conversation in another direction, he seized it. "So what are you thinking you're going to do with Spock for the holidays?"
Jim sighed and ran his free hand through his hair before setting his fork down on the table with the other. "I really don't know, man. I've tried to have this conversation with Spock. I've always traditionally done Christmas but I don't know what, if anything, he celebrates. But he's just so passive in this. The basic conversation starts with me bringing up the topic. Then he says that he would find perfectly acceptable whatever holiday I should wish to celebrate," Jim finished, ending his admirable attempt to imitate Spock's manner of speaking.
"So he has no opinion in this whole thing?" McCoy prompted.
Jim shrugged. Bones could tell the man was getting a bit worked up now, though. He was sitting on the edge of his seat and his next statement started with him lightly smacking the table with an open palm in frustration. "That's the thing, I don't know. Part of me really wants to do Christmas all out, with the stockings and the lights and the tree. Hell, I was even thinking about renting a Santa suit for the evening. It would really just be just to spite Spock for making this so difficult for me."
"As appealing as I might find the idea of you waltzing into Spock's apartment in a Santa costume, you know that's not at all in the spirit of the holidays, Jim. In fact, if anything, that's the exact opposite," Bones chided him.
Jim seemed to deflate a bit at that, slumping down in his chair a few inches and leaning back. "I know it's not. I just want this to be something that both of us will enjoy and he's being so tight-lipped about it. I'm starting to get really stressed out about it."
"You made any progress with the man?"
"Not really. I went up into the Stacks the other night trying to do some research on Vulcan holidays to see if there is anything I could incorporate into our festivities. I mean, I ended up digging around in some really old stuff, physical books even. I found references to one holiday, Kal Rekk. But that Vulcan tradition is a day of atonement, solitude and silence, it didn't really sound too festive..."
"Nothing else?"
"Not yet, anyways. I'm still holding out hope to find something that we can do...kind of a hybrid Christmas celebration with something Vulcan. I'm meeting with a professor in the Cultural Studies Department, Thurl Ravenscroft. From his bio that I pulled up in the Starfleet database, I know that he specializes in cultural celebrations for many of the lesser-researched species in the Federation. I've messaged back and forth with him a bit over the last few days. Apparently he spent a few months living on Vulcan as part of an exchange program and he says he might have a few ideas."
"Well, it seems that at least you have a rough plan of action. It's a start. And you're balancing all of this extra research you're doing with starting to study with finals? You don't have the lightest course load this semester, Jim," McCoy finished in a more serious tone. Bones knew that Jim cared about this; he was obviously investing a lot of time in it. But it just happened to be unfortunate scheduling that the holidays fell at the same time that students were starting to gear up for finals.
"Don't worry, Bones," Jim suggested with a wave of his hand. "I have it under control. How about your holiday plans. You doing anything with Joanna?"
"My ex-wife has her for the holidays," McCoy responded.
"Aw Bones. I'm sorry you won't get to see her-"
"I have it under control, Jim. Don't worry about it."
"Sheesh, you really have to be such a Grinch? I was just trying to help."
"I don't need your consolidations...Look, I'm sorry if I snapped. It's a bit of a sore point. I'm coping with it the best I can. And I'm taking a week off at Easter and she's coming to visit. Just me and her...it'll be nice."
Jim nodded. "Of course it will. And as for now, I know we might not compare to your own flesh and blood, but you have friends here too, McCoy. Friends, including me, that care. And blood isn't the only thing that makes a family. Just remember that, okay?"
Bones smiled. It was a slow smile, one that he had to force the start of. But as Jim's words sunk in, the grin blossomed, taking on a life of its own as a warmth spread in his chest."Thanks, Jim."
The look on Jim's face echoed his own. He stood up, pushing his chair out with his legs as he did so. He snagged the last slice of bacon off McCoy's plate and swallowed it in one bite. "What are friends good for if not reminding you of the good things in life?"
"Apparently they're also good for stealing food off my plate," McCoy chuckled.
"Hey Bones, don't knock it. That's a time honored tradition!"
"One you seem hell-bent on upholding," he complained.
"It would be a grave disservice to give you any less than my best," Jim replied, taking a quick bow before they parted ways and headed toward their respective classes.
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Continue to Part 2