ZMail/origEarth, NA, ATLGA/recUSSEntNCC1701/Personal/Encrypt: YES/Priority: NONE/vid: NO/Receipt: NO

FROM: McCoy, Jocelyn

SENT: December 30, 2258 11:42 a.m.

TO: Kirk, James T. Captain, USS Enterprise

SUBJECT: RE: A Personal Request

I have reconsidered your request, and in the spirit of the season, I agree to allow Joanna to visit her father on December 31 and January 1.

I will have her at the Starfleet shuttle area at 8:00 a.m. tomorrow morning. Be certain her escort is present at that time. I have little patience for tardiness. You must also provide her with access to a comm unit, as I have instructed her to contact me upon her arrival.

I expect her to arrive back in Atlanta at 8:00 p.m. on January 1.

Jocelyn McCoy

SFvirtualmail /origUSSEntNCC1701/rec Earth, NA/Personal/Encrypt: YES/Priority: HIGH/SFComm protocol: NO/vid: NO/Receipt: YES/1Z450UDP90465

FROM: Kirk, James T. Captain, USS Enterprise

SENT: SD 2258.364 1200

TO: McCoy, Jocelyn

(BCC: Uhura, N.)

SUBJECT: RE: RE: A Personal Request

Ms. McCoy:

Thank you.

Captain James T. Kirk, USS Enterprise

Internal IM/USS Enterprise/SD 2258.364 1200/Priority: Urgent

Kirk, J: Uhura?

Uhura, N: I'm on it. I'll handle the logistics. McCoy is your problem.

Kirk, J: You're a doll.

Uhura, N: Bring me chocolate. The good kind. From Ghirardelli.

Internal IM/USS Enterprise/SD 2258.364 1200/Priority: Urgent

Kirk, J: Bones?

Internal IM/USS Enterprise/SD 2258.364 1300/Priority: Urgent

Kirk, J: Bones?

. . .

Kirk, J: Bones?

Of course he checked the lab first, and had to sweet talk his way out of being hauled away by security, because Bones was nowhere to be found. But some skinny uptight tech with a German accent was there, and he greeted Jim at the door with a glare that would have made Odin cry. It was a close call, and a good thing he knew one of the guards from his second year astrophysics class, because all he had to do was give her his slow, crooked smile and he was on his way, the tech's curses following him all the way down the corridor. He decided that swearing sounded much better in French.

So he made his way to McCoy's quarters in the temporary on-campus housing that Starfleet supplied to officers on leave. It was a dreary old building, too hot in the summer and too cold in the winter, and Kirk hated the place. He'd been surprised and a little embarrassed to learn how well Starfleet compensated its captains, and had been thinking about getting himself a nice little pad in the city with a fireplace, and lots of windows, maybe up on top of one of those hills so he could look out over the bay. But the money he'd saved up for that was presently being transferred into an account belonging to the Atlanta Area Junior League Charitable Foundation. He shrugged to himself, then climbed the steps and remembered just in time, and stopped just short of running into the door. It was one of those old-fashioned ones, and he had to admit that he liked the solid feel of the handle in his hand, the smooth click it gave when he turned it, and the weight of the door as it scraped across the dull marble floor.

At least there was a lift. But he took the stairs instead, all the way up to the sixth floor, and jogged over to McCoy's door. It opened before he could knock, and McCoy looked out at him with an exasperated expression on his face.

"I heard you coming all the way down the hallway. Jesus, man, can't you be still for just one minute, just slow down a little now and then?"

"Good to see you, Bones. Got your comm unit turned off again?" He ducked under McCoy's arm and slid through the door.

McCoy pushed the door closed. "Yeah, so? You could, I don't know, leave a message. When I'm on leave, my comm unit is for my convenience, not anyone else's."

"Yeah, okay, I get it. Luddite," he said under his breath. "But I'm here now, Bones, so let's chat." He scanned the room for food, and finding none, flopped into a chair and stretched out. "Got any plans for tomorrow and the next day?" Just then he noticed the open bag on the bed, and the sweaters and shoes piled up next to it, and he twitched a little when his heart jumped in his chest. Bones didn't seem to notice; he was rummaging through the closet.

"On my way down the coast, actually. Santa Cruz, maybe Monterey." There was a clattering sound and then a muffled curse, and he emerged with a scarf.

"Oh?" It was all Jim could manage. His mind was already racing ahead, planning contingencies and if necessary, prevarications.

"Well, we only have five more days of leave, and you keep telling me I need to get out and do something. My ex-wife's been pestering me today nonstop, and I'm about fed up with it. So—"

"Jocelyn?" He nearly squeaked it out, and McCoy gave him an odd look.

"Yeah, well, she's wanting money again. Something about needing to buy a new dress, and I told her, look, you get two-thirds of my income already, and I know you have two closets full of dresses, so what's wrong with them, and maybe she should go talk to her daddy, because I already gave her everything I had for Jo's Christmas presents . . ." McCoy tended to ramble when he was irritated, but the thought of Joanna seemed to derail him, and Jim took the opportunity to jump in.

"There's a storm coming in off the Pacific. Headed straight for Santa Cruz, somewhere around there. Probably Monterey, too."

McCoy stopped stuffing clothes into the bag. He looked perplexed. Then suspicious.

"Bullshit." He waved the vidscreen on and selected the weather channel. From above in orbit, a satellite relay beamed down a real-time image of the North American West Coast, the Pacific Ocean gently hugging the shoreline, the sunlight rippling over the serene waters, with nary a cloud in sight. They both watched in silence for a moment.

"Looks like a hell of a gully-washer blowing in, all right," McCoy said dryly. He tossed the bag on the floor and sat down on the sofa, then propped his feet up on the coffee table. "Don't insult me, Jim. You're not the only genius on the ship, you know; you're just the one who's in charge. So spill it, kid."

Kirk chewed on a thumbnail, and McCoy waited. This was how it went, and they both knew it. McCoy was running through the dispensary inventory in his head, and was about halfway through it when Kirk finally looked over at him.

"I need you here tomorrow, Bones. Please. You know I wouldn't ask if it weren't important."

It was McCoy's turn to make Jim wait, but he was a sucker for the big blue eyes, and Kirk knew the doctor would relent even before he sighed and reached for the bottle of bourbon on the side table.

"Okay, Jim, I'm in. What's this about anyway? Is this one of those things I should talk about with my attorney first?"

Kirk shook his head slowly and took the shot glass from his friend's outstretched hand. "All I can tell you is this, Bones: it's about a girl."

"Of course it is," the doctor muttered, and poured himself another shot.

Internal IM/USS Enterprise/SD 2258.365 0500/Priority: Urgent

Uhura, N: Good morning, Sunshine. Time to wake up. Confirmed ETA 55 minutes.

. . .

Uhura, N: KIRK!

Kirk, J: OK OK.

"You always give people alcohol for Christmas. And St. Patrick's Day, Thanksgiving, Cochrane Day. I even heard you gave Chekov something on his birthday--isn't that illegal? And kind of ironic, isn't it, for a man of medicine to push such a potentially harmful, even addictive substance, on his friends at every happy occasion?" Kirk's breath fogged in the chill and his voice carried easily across the courtyard.

"Shut up," McCoy replied tersely. His coffee hadn't finished brewing before Kirk dragged him out of his room, only five minutes after he'd started frantically pounding on McCoy's door. None of the campus dining facilities were open either, which was not surprising, since Starfleet probably figured that most normal people would not be trudging across the campus at oh-dark-thirty in the goddamn morning on New Year's Eve.

The campus was still and quiet, but for the occasional whine of a departing or arriving shuttle at the port in the distance. That's where they were headed, according to Kirk. The lights from the port shone brightly, and in the distance, through the fog, McCoy could just make out the twinkle of the lights strung along the Golden Gate bridge.

"Anyway, that was some fine brandy, and I've been feeling guilty about not getting you anything for Christmas."

"Get over it. I have."

"Hey." Kirk halted, grabbed McCoy's shoulders, and peered intently into the doctor's eyes. "I really appreciate this. You don't know how much it means to me."

McCoy fought the urge to squirm. "Yeah, okay, okay, no problem. Let me go now." He frowned. "I just don't get it, though--you, the great James T. Kirk, Starfleet prodigy and legend-in-the-making, need me to be there when you meet a new girl?" He shook his head in disbelief and squinted at his watch. "We have about ten minutes, though, so let's get moving."

"Oh, this is no ordinary girl, Bones. I don't want to mess this up. Besides, I've never met her before, and her father would skin me alive with a butter knife if I upset her somehow." This was not a lie, Kirk told himself.

"So I'm there to kick you if she starts to cry?"

"Something like that." He looked up as a shuttle passed overhead, low and slow, and the draft rustled the treetops. "That's probably her."

They finished their trek in silence. McCoy closed his eyes briefly against the glare of lights as they made their way through security. The port was all but deserted, and the guard waved them through with only a cursory glance at their cards.

"C'mon, she's at terminal four."

Uhura was standing at the entrance to the terminal, and she gave him a sly smile he didn't understand. "Good morning, Doctor McCoy."

He turned to Kirk, his expression already threatening. "Uhura?" he sputtered. "You dragged me down here for Uhura--no offense, and good morning, Lieutenant--" he said as politely as he could muster, "but what the--"

Kirk cut him off with a reproachful glare. "Watch your language, Doctor."

Before he could snap something back, Uhura held up a finger and looked over her shoulder. He heard a giggle, the sweetest sound god ever invented.

"Merry Christmas, Bones." Jim's words, so soft, almost didn't register over the shriek his little girl gave when she peeked around Uhura's legs and pounced on him, but he would remember it later, when he thought of this day.

"Daddy! Surprise! Merry Christmas! Are you surprised? Mommy had to go to a big party tonight, no kids allowed, so she said I could come see you and I said that would be the best and guess what? Santa came and I got a new dolly and a bike and one of those--" she continued talking, but her words were muffled against his shoulder and he inhaled her sweet soapy smell as her piggy tails tickled his nose.

"And a Happy New Year, Leo." Uhura smiled at him, her eyes bright.

It already is, he thought.