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caitriTitle: (‘Twas the Night Before Christmas, and) All Through the Snowglobe...
Author: caitri
Rating: PG (Language, Violence, Smoochies)
Pairings: Kirk/McCoy, Jo/OFC, Spock/Uhura, Sulu/Ben, Kitchen/Sink
Word Count: 12,452
Summary: It’s holiday season on the Yorktown as the crew waits for the Enterprise’s refits. Unfortunately, amid crises personal and professional, there’s a lot less mistletoe and good cheer and a lot more...explosions, fistfights, and drama. Jim Kirk and his crew have saved the universe on multiple occasions, but this year can they save….Christmas?
A/N 1. Many many thanks to abigail89 for organizing![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
space_wrapped , running Word Wars, and providing incredibly useful feedback and encouragement! Even more thanks to fritz42 for betaing and providing valuable feedback!! I appreciate you both more than words can say.
A/N 2.the_dala asked for a couple of things for space_wrapped, and I only provided a couple of bitlets from different prompts, namely everyone having personal crises and a Santa's workshop AU. Somehow my brain went directly to the idea of Jim in an elf costume in a dramatic shoot-out, and everything went downhill from there. So here, have Die Hard in space. Yippee ki yay, motherf***ers!
Disclaimer: I know this may come as a shock, but I am not, amazing as it may seem, Gene Roddenberry, J.J. Abrams, Paramount or Bad Robot.
PROLOGUE
Joanna McCoy liked space. From Earth to Starbase Yorktown, it was a ten day trip through three different passenger vessels, which gave her enough time to start her reading for the next term, actually finish it, and binge-watch most of a mediocre holo-drama series. By the time she was on the journey’s home-stretch, she was starting to go a bit batty with boredom. It didn't help that as far as passenger ships went, this was a fairly small one, with a limited library and a small gym. This latter was largely abandoned during the late "night" hours of ship time, so she made it a routine to go work out before bed each night.
And as it happened, there was another passenger who kept the same schedule. Jo didn’t know her name, though she sometimes saw her in the cafeteria or the communal entertainment room; she was a slight, quiet woman of roughly the same age, with long dark hair and a piercing expression that reminded her of old Earth paintings of mermaids—incredibly beautiful, and somehow dangerous in a way she couldn’t quite articulate. Other passengers seemed to sense that as well, and chose to keep their distance.
Joanna, on the other hand, wondered about what would make the perfect opening line.
As it happened, it was not Jo’s own efforts at nascent romance that brokered an introduction, but a bout of heavy turbulence.
Heavy turbulence.
The first violent list to the side came while Jo was doing pull-ups; her legs banged into the metal poles hard enough to bruise, and she let loose a series of expletives that would’ve done her daddy proud. The other girl, though, was on the running machine. Jo saw the abortive effort she made to save herself from skidding on the moving surface, but it wasn’t enough: She slipped and fell with a muffled grunt, skinning her arm in the process. Jo ran over to her. “Hey, are you okay?”
All passengers please return to your assigned quarters!, repeated the computer’s voice in a way that was going to get annoying quickly. All passengers please return to your assigned quarters!
“Ugh, I’m fine,” the girl said as Jo helped her up. “Thanks.”
“Are you sure?” Jo didn’t like the girl’s pallor. “I can help you to the Medbay if you want.”
“No,” the girl said with a shudder, and the ship rocked again; she lost her balance, but Jo caught her, bracing them both against the gym wall. She was paler than ever. “I just….don’t like….the ship moving….is all.”
Jo, who knew the symptoms of nausea from flight far too well (Thanks, Daddy.), said, “Uh yeah, I can tell.”
All passengers please return to your assigned quarters! All passengers please return to your assigned quarters!
“God that’s annoying,” said the girl, just as Jo said, “Should we go to our assigned quarters?” They looked at one another and burst into laughter.
“My name’s Jo. What’s yours?”
“Rea,” the girl said, and smiled.
('Twas the Night Before Christmas, and) All Through the Snowglobe...
PART ONE
Starbase Yorktown, December 23, 2263
“It’s bad enough livin’ in a snow globe as is,” Leonard grumbled anxiously to himself as he waited for the aptly-named Kringle to dock, “but did they have to fiddle with the weather controls to rub it in?” He huffed at the snow flurries in the air, created by the Yorktown’s temperature and humidity control functions, programmed on a quarterly basis to give the appearance of seasons usual to M-class planets.
Jim appeared at his elbow with a tray of coffees and an absurd Santa cap he had picked up...somewhere…in the last ten minutes. “Bones, I know that you’re from Georgia and that means that snow scares you more than actual freaking Klingon Birds-of-Prey, but just pretend to have some holiday cheer for the next five days. ‘Kay, Scrooge? Here.” He pressed one of the coffees into Leonard’s hands; the warmth of the container thawed his frozen fingers, and Leonard had to smile at Jim sheepishly over the rim of the cup. “No one’s disembarked yet, huh?”
“They’re takin’ their sweet time about it. Ohh!” Leonard let out a gratified sigh as the “coffee” Jim had presented him with turned out to be more “Irish” than “coffee,” and the surprise of the alcohol created a radiation of pleasant warmth from his stomach to his extremities. “Lordy! Where did you even get this?”
“I know a guy.” Jim winked, then kept his attention on the docking passenger ship before them. “Oh! Oh! I think they’re coming!”
And indeed, the bay doors had opened to free the ship’s passengers, who emerged in one’s, two’s, three’s, four’s and more’s, many of whom were greeted by waiting friends and family. Leonard was looking for one familiar face though, one he hadn’t seen in way too long. “Hey, there she is!” Jim said just as he caught sight of her himself: a tall, lanky girl with long brown hair pulled back, anxiously skimming the crowd as he had been himself. “Hey, kiddo! Over here!” She looked up at Jim’s voice and expansive waving, grinning widely.
“Uncle Jim! Dad!” And then Joanna was in his arms, and he could still pick her up as easily as he always could. “Agh! Put me down! Geez!”
Leonard hesitated the barest second before complying, doing his level best to not contemplate how his little girl had become this tall, freckled youngster. “Hey, Jo,” he said, and if his voice was a little more muffled than usual, no one commented on it. “How are ya, sweetie? Good trip?”
“I brought you a coffee too,” Jim said, handing her the last cup from the tray. “I’ve learned what McCoys are like when they’re traveling.” His Captain smiled, but Leonard could feel him stiffen with sudden, inexplicable tension.
“Ha! Thanks.” Jo grinned at him as she took the cup. “And the trip went well; we hit a messy debris field from a buncha comets you would have hated, Dad, but only for a bit. But, uh, look,” she said hurriedly, “I know I should have, er, let you know earlier, and it was kind of not planned, it kind of just happened, but I brought a friend with me—”
“Hey there,” Jim said, having clearly noticed a few minutes beforehand the second girl waiting a few feet behind Jo all this time; Leonard felt the sudden release of Jim’s curious strain as his captain exhaled, the “mystery” solved. Jim turned on the charm, covering for Leonard’s own awkwardness. “We don’t bite, we promise.”
“Yeah! Uh, introductions?” Leonard stepped back to include the stranger in their little circle, but keeping his arm around his daughter all the same…
...And trying to look calm when she shrugged out from under his arm to put her arm around the other girl instead. “Dad, Uncle Jim,” Jo said, “this is Reannon.”
“Rea,” said Reannon, with a little wave. She had the pale luminous skin and deep, dark eyes of a Betazoid, all but confirmed with her reluctance to offer her hand for a touched greeting as most species (barring Vulcans and a few other telepathic species) did. Leonard nodded at her, offering his best attempt at an avuncular smile.
“And, uh, she’smygirlfriendandIinvitedhertoChristmaswithusisthatokay?” Jo finished in a rush.
“Um, wow,” said Leonard, as his brain struggled to parse that into words he could understand. Luckily he managed to grapple onto girlfriend, stay, and us. “I mean yes. Sure. Yes!” he said with more enthusiasm when Jo looked dubious. “Hi,” he added to Rea.
“Hey,” Rea returned, her lips quirking upwards in an amused smile. “I’m sorry for, uh, intruding, I guess. Like Jo said, this really wasn’t planned—”
“No, no,” Jim interrupted, “the more, the merrier!” He started to shepherd their group towards the exit back to the main promenade. “Turns out, the Captain’s quarters are the same size as the family units. It’s going to be a shock when they finish rebuilding my girl and we move back in, that’s for sure!”
“Your girl?” Rea’s brows knit in confusion, as if she was trying to solve a puzzle.
“He means the Enterprise,” said Jo with a good-natured chuckle. “Dad’s always said he’s in an unwinnable love triangle—him versus a starship for Jim’s affections.”
“Hey, now! It’s not a love triangle….exactly.” Leonard grinned at Jim, who at least looked sheepish. “More like an open relationship. It’s me, the ship, new life and new civilizations…”
“Bones, if it’s you versus the universe, you’re doing pretty good, I’d say.” Jim put an arm around Leonard, who was not too ashamed to admit to feeling some warm fuzzies at that statement (purely influenced by the spiked coffee, of course).
“Wait.” Rea was staring at them now. “You’re….I recognize you. You’re Captain Kirk and Doctor McCoy.”
“Uh, yeah.” Jo looked sheepish now; faintly embarrassed as only teenagers can be with their parents. “Sorry, I guess I could have warned you, huh?”
Rea opened her mouth; closed it. Leonard doubted the poor kid could have looked more stunned if they had told her that the traditional Terran greeting was to be slapped in the face with a fish. “We really don’t bite,” Leonard said as gently as possible. “Promise.”
“They’re cool...mostly. Sometimes,” Jo said. She touched Rea on the shoulder, looking a little worried now. “You’re okay...right?”
Rea shook her head again, blinked, and smiled—an open and somehow innocently hopeful expression for just a second that made Leonard see her as Jo must have done: someone who has lived inside a shell for so long that they had forgotten that there was an outside to begin with. “Yeah,” she said. “Sorry, I just. Surprised. Was me, just now.”
“See,” Jo said, “She’s just as cool as you guys. She’ll blend in.”
“You’re giving us warm fuzzies, kiddo,” Jim said, picking up on Leonard’s thoughts in his own way. “C’mon, let’s head home.”
~
The warm fuzzies lasted right up to the moment they got to the door of their quarters, when several disparate facts coalesced in Leonard’s brain:
Joanna had brought her girlfriend home for Christmas.
Joanna was eighteen.
The quarters’ guest room (such as it was) had a single bed in it.
Leonard McCoy was many things. He was a doctor. He was a Starfleet officer. He had seen wonders, saved more than a few worlds, talked smack to the faces of so-called gods.
But he was not prepared for his grown-up, fully legal daughter to share a bed with her girlfriend under his roof.
… He needed another drink.
“Who needs a drink?” He said with false joviality as they entered, and made a bee-line to the decanter of Saurian ale Jim kept in their living room. “Because I do!”
“Huh?” said Jo.
“Bones?” said Jim.
“I’m sorry,” said Rea, wincing. “I’m totally fine with the couch, for what it’s worth.”
Telepath. Right, Leonard thought. He felt guilty, but not enough to supercede either his paternal panic or his desire for liquid comfort.
“No, you should take the bed,” Jo said to Rea. “You need it more. I’m good with the couch,” she said to Leonard, putting an emphasis on her words that relieved one part of his conscience and made the other light up with alarm. He could imagine the scans now, in fact, the rainbow whorls of color over the dual hemispheres of the brain. Exhibit A: A Father’s overreaction getting him the hell in trouble.
“I’ll help you make it up,” said Jim, patting Jo’s arm in reassurance. “Rea, let me show you the guest room. It’s not big, but it should be comfy enough.” The Betazoid girl smiled wanly at Jo as she followed him down the little hall, leaving the pair of them to have it out.
“Cool, Dad,” Jo said immediately. “Real cool.”
“Sorry. Drink?” Leonard held up a second glass for peace.
His daughter raised a significant eyebrow. “I’m not legal….for that. Yet,” she pointed out.
“You think I can’t count?” Leonard answered. She snorted, took the shot, and knocked it back like a pro. “Damn. You’re my girl, alright,” he said, and Jo saluted him with the empty glass and a smile. “So. Is this,” he flicked his eyes in the direction Rea and Jim had gone, and lowered his voice, “serious?”
Jo chuckled ruefully. “On a scale of one to ‘I’d die for this girl,’ I’m probably at a seven, maybe?” She held out her glass, and he obligingly gave them both a refill before they plopped down together on the previously contentious couch. They both sipped in silence for a moment. “I should probably say I only met her like four days ago, though.”
“Whoof,” said Leonard. “Like that, is it?”
“Just like that.” They nodded at each other, and clinked their glasses with another small salute.
“Oh look, I think it’s safe,” said Jim with no small amount of relief as he came back into the living room, Rea still following behind. Then he spotted the dual drinking glasses. “Uh. It is safe, right?”
“For now,” Leonard and Jo said together, on the same dour note.
Rea looked surprised, but Jim shook his head. “They’re all like that, believe me. You should see them at one of their family reunions—McCoys everywhere,” he gestured to imply being surrounded, “and the rest of us banding together for protection.”
“Really? That sounds….kind of frightening, to be honest,” said Rea. She smiled hesitantly, rubbing her arms, though whether in cold or anxiety Leonard wasn’t sure.
“Sorry about earlier,” he said to the girl, and stood up, offering her his spot next to Jo. “People talk about how bad my bedside manner is in the Medbay, but it’s not like I’m much better outside it, either. Drink?”
“No, thank you.” Rea smiled, more genuinely this time. “I do appreciate this, very much. Your daughter is....an amazing woman.”
“Yes, she is,” Leonard said in total agreement.
There was a beat of perfect, harmonious silence for a moment, and then Jim spoke up. “Scotty was mentioning something about a party tonight. You guys game?”
Jo and Rea looked at one another; Leonard couldn’t be certain, but either they had already reached the level of intimacy where entire conversations could be communicated in silent looks, or they were just using Rea’s natural telepathy. Either way, there was another heartbeat of quiet, and then Jo said, “That sounds great!”
~
Somehow, Leonard had forgotten that Fleeters held only two kinds of parties. The first kind was the sort of decorous assemblage that involved commissioned officers, good wine, and finger foods. The second kind involved music with heavy beats, glow lights, and beer pong.
Tonight’s party was the second kind. It made Leonard feel ancient as fuck.
“It’s kinda loud in here, isn’t it?” he asked, just as Jo said, “Aw, man, I love this song!”
“So much for an easy out, huh, Bones?” Jim said in his ear, and then with a wicked grin, took off his ridiculous Santa cap...and plonked it on Leonard’s. Over the din, he added, “Follow me, I know where Scotty keeps the good stuff!”
“What’s ‘the good stuff?’” Rea wanted to know.
Leonard resisted the urge to say I’ll tell you when you’re older only because Betazoids aged at a different rate from Humans and there was every reason to think she would actually know already. “Usually whiskey. The real stuff—not synth or brewed in a Tellarite’s bathtub.”
“Ew, Dad,” said Jo.
“Capt’n!” Scotty emerged from the crowd with a glass in either hand and wearing a glow-in-the-dark fugly Christmas sweater, because apparently if you’re going to commit atrocities to Human eyeballs you’re going to do it all the way and in a seasonally appropriate fashion. “Doctor! Ladies?” He beamed at them with a smile that was appropriately affable, then his eyes grew wide. “Hey noo, is this your wean Joanna, Doctor?” He grinned as Jo gave him a hug. “Ye gads, girl, ye’ve shot up like a beanstalk!”
“That seems to be the theme tonight,” Jo said with only the barest hint of impatience. “Mr. Scott, this is Rea. She’s my girlfriend.”
“Call me Scotty, lassies,” he said, making an abortive attempt at a hug for Rea and then smiling with a nod of his head when she took a step back. “Right then, welcome to the party. Ah, drinks there, food there, facilities in the back. Dinna do anything I wouldna do! Capt’n,” he continued to Jim, looking a bit nervous, “a brief word, if I may?”
“Of course, Mr. Scott.” Jim smiled at the three of them in apology and then followed his chief engineer off….somewhere.
“So. The good stuff?” Jo helpfully prompted Leonard, waggling her eyebrows.
Leonard snorted, and plucked the fool hat off his head and plopped onto Jo’s. “Beats me, kid. Jim’s the one who knows how to ferret stuff out,” he said, and he was mostly telling the truth. “Besides, you need a full stomach for a proper foundation to partying, and I know neither of you ate enough at dinner to make that a remotely good idea. C’mon, kids, time to carb-load.”
~
“What’s up, Scotty?” Jim asked as his chief engineer navigated through the crowd. “Also—and I can’t believe I’m about to ask this, either—how many people do you have in here? There’s legal occupant limits we have to follow, y’know!”
“Dinna fear, Jim, I’ve got it all under control!” Scotty assured him, and Jim forebore to point out the ratio of times Scotty claimed to have everything under control to the number of times everything had, in fact, been under control. (It was not a great ratio. Thank God for the Scot’s ability to defy the laws of physics despite his protestations to the contrary.) “No, I need your help with Mr. Spock. Man’s got himself into a corner this time.”
Jim grimaced as he mentally bid adieu to his fleeting fantasy of having a good time tonight. Between Bones, the kids, and whatever his First Officer had gotten himself into… The Magic 8 Ball said “Unlikely.”
When Scotty led him to the men’s room, Jim downgraded this to “Nonexistent.”
When they opened one of the stall doors to find a puce-colored Spock wrapped around the toilet, Jim downgraded everything to …. “Scotty, what the hell happened?”
“Ah, fun fact, Capt’n,” Scotty said. “Vulcans can metabolize alcohol at four times the rate of Humans. But, uh, turns out they dinna process chocolate nearly that fast.”
“I wouldn’t say that’s a fun fact, Mr. Scott,” Jim said, just as Spock murmured, “Indeed. Not fun at all,” before getting violently ill. And not, Jim could tell unhappily, for the first time that evening.
“Also,” Jim said loudly as he pulled Scotty outside the stall to lend Spock a modicum of privacy, “would you care to tell me exactly why my First Officer is getting totally blitzed on chocolate?”
“Chekov,” Spock said distinctly behind the stall door, followed immediately by the sound of more digestive pyrotechnics. Jim winced.
“Aye, well, an’ it gets worse.”
The story, or at least as much as Jim was able to construct it from Scotty’s animated retelling and Spock’s intermittent monosyllabic inserts, was this: Spock and Uhura had arrived to the party early on and were decorously partaking of some of the sweets on offer, including some cookies that Chekov had brought— “Perozhina kartoshka, sir, just like the wee lad’s gramma used to bake!” — that had seemingly consisted largely of sugar and nuts, but apparently included enough cocoa powder to reduce Spock to his unfortunate current circumstances.
“Oof,” Jim said sympathetically, having had enough surprise allergic reactions to be more than familiar with his First Officer’s plight. “That sucks, man,” he said more loudly, for Spock’s benefit.
“There’s more, sir.” Scotty looked unhappy.
“Okay….”
Apparently Spock and Uhura had been in the middle of an intimate conversation when he had the first inkling that the cookies were toxic to his system.
“Wait,” Jim interrupted, “who tries to have an intimate conversation at a holiday party?”
“Capt’n, focus,” Scotty said, and Spock said something rude in Vulcan that left Jim staring in mingled dismay and surprised respect, because seriously, who knew Spock had it in him?
At any rate, the conversation went downhill rapidly, Uhura actually slapping Spock before leaving in tears, and Spock retreating to the men’s room after putting the fear of Surak, God, and Vulcan metabolism into Chekov, and Scotty doing his damnedest to provide damage control.
“Okay,” said Jim, pinching the bridge of his nose as an incipient headache started. “Do we know where Uhura is?”
“Gaila went after her, I think.”
“And Chekov?”
“I sent Keenser to find Mr. Sulu. If anyone can sort the lad, it’ll be him.”
“I bet Ben was thrilled with that,” Jim muttered, with absolute feeling.
“Man’s a livin’ saint,” Scotty agreed. “Anyhoo, that’s where we are, or ah, were, when ye arrived at the party, and I figured it was a matter for the higher payroll.” He waggled his eyebrows at Jim.
“Not high enough,” Jim said under his breath, and briefly imagined life at a Vice Admiral’s desk, all quiet and paperwork. But out loud, he continued, “Alright, Mr. Spock, we’ve got this. We’ll fix everything. Easy peasy. You can go back to being two happy lovebirds in an hour.”
“Not two, Captain,” Spock said wearily. The toilet flushed, and he opened the stall door, leaning to the side for support, clearly still the worse for wear. “Three.”
“Huh?” Okay, Jim really couldn’t parse that. “What’s that mean, Spock?”
“Lieutenant Uhura—Nyota,” he clarified, as if there was more than one Uhura they might be acquainted with who had recently stormed out of a Vulcan lovers’ quarrel, “is pregnant, sir. Three.”
Scotty looked confused. “Wait, ye mean the three of ye altogether or she’s got three—”
“That’s great!” Jim said with loud enthusiasm to cover for Scotty. “Congratulations, man! That’s awesome!”
“But why did she slap ye, if’n ye don’t mind me askin’?” Jim raised his eyes heavenward as Scotty, not taking any hints, barreled forward.
“Lieutenant Commander Scott,” Spock enunciated carefully, with the specificity of the about-to-be-painfully-hungover, “My ashaya,” and yup, if he was using actual Vulcan to them he was seriously down for the count, “told me she was pregnant, and I laughed.”
“Well, I mean, that’s not the worst—” Jim started to offer reassuringly, but Spock cut him off.
“Jim,” he said, “Vulcan laughter isn’t quite the same as Human laughter. It indicates humor, yes, but more often derision. Nyota is intimately familiar with Vulcan culture; there really is no excuse for how I behaved, whether under the influence or not. Jim,” he repeated, “I am so. Very. Fucked.”
In any other situation, Jim would have been tempted to laugh. But this was his best friend, and two of his most important officers. He gripped Spock by the shoulder, looked him in the eye, and said, “Spock. I promise you. We’ll fix this. We’ll make it right.” Spock burped. Jim made a face. “Scotty!” he ordered, “Go find mouthwash.”
~
Fleeter parties were very different when you were in custody of two teenage girls, Leonard thought. Shots weren’t an option, and beer pong was right out. Proper Fleeter parties, he realized, were incredibly boring when you had to be (mostly) sober. In retrospect, this explained one hell of a lot about what he remembered (or didn’t) from his days at the Academy.
As a consequence, he was beyond relieved when a worried-looking Pavel Chekov turned up around the sparsely filled food tables where he had stationed himself with Jo and Rea, and where they had proceeded to make awkward small talk over some dry canapés, picked-over cheese and crackers, and a swear-to-God unwrapped and untouched fruitcake just like the kind Aunt Lucy (bless her heart) always used to bring over when he was a kid.
“Hey, Chekov!” Leonard said with forced joviality as he decided to add another canapé to his plate, “where’ve you been hiding?”
Chekov froze and started guiltily, which was probably the first sign that all was not well. Indeed, he more than slightly resembled a rabbit that’s found itself in the crosshairs of a fox that just happened to be in possession of a Romulan disruptor or five. Leonard, with his usual impeccable judgement, observed as much aloud.
“Frankly, my odds of surwiwal might be better if this vere true,” Chekov said, and okay, yeah, things were pretty bad then.
Leonard glanced over to the girls, who were deep in a whispered chat now that he was no longer part of the conversation. He put his plate down, leaned over to his fellow officer, and asked, “Son, what did you do and how bad was it?”
“Don’t ask,” Gaila said through gritted teeth, having materialized from somewhere behind him and glaring at the wilting Lieutenant like she was going to gut him and fry him for breakfast. Leonard wondered how worried he should be about that, actually….
“See, told you drama would happen,” he heard Jo say with barely contained glee. “It’s inevitable. It’s like a show that never ends!”
“Not a show, peanut gallery,” he shot back without looking. He took hold of both Gaila and Chekov, paused to determine where they would get some privacy in this hubbub, and opted to lead them towards the back, near the facilities. “You two, explanations, now. Start talkin’.”
“He started it,” Gaila said immediately. “He brought cookies with chocolate in them—”
Leonard blinked. “Okay, as far as sins go? I’m….not followin’ this one.”
“Spock ate them,” Gaila said, like it explained everything.
“I said I’m sorry!” Chekov looked genuinely upset, bordering on terrified. “Is Lieutenant Uhura alright?”
“I’m so glad you asked that,” Gaila said through her teeth. “She’s locked herself in her quarters and says she’s putting in for a transfer back to Earth effective immediately.”
“Wait, what?!” Leonard mentally reprioritized the situation from What the shit?! to Holy fucking shitballs! “What happened? She hasn’t sent anything through, yet, has she?”
This moment was, of course, when Jim and Scotty emerged from the men’s room with a staggering and green-tinged Spock between them.
“And you!” Gaila yelled in pure rage, and before anyone could stop her, she punched Spock in the face. Spock, still green, and now with a truly impressive black (emerald?) eye, fell to the ground, out cold.
“Security!” Jim bellowed, and at once the music stopped, a trio of uniformed personnel arrived, and above it all, the clear sound of Joanna screaming “I hate you!” at Rea in tears, before running outside.
~
“Well that was the longest day ever,” Jim said several hours later as they arrived back in their quarters. It was in the wee hours by now; Gaila was in the brig overnight for assaulting a superior officer, though Jim was doing everything possible in his power to get that scrubbed off her record as a, quote, “monumental yet defensible misunderstanding;” Rea had at some point slipped inside for her things and disappeared (And how did she manage that? Leonard wondered); Joanna had locked herself in their guest room and had, seemingly at least, cried herself to sleep; and Spock was now staying on their couch, as Uhura still refused to talk to him.
“Not the longest, Jim,” Spock said with subdued pedantry as he sat on said couch which was at least still made up from when it was meant to be Jo’s abode, “but I do take your meaning.” The taciturn Vulcan held a bag of ice over his bruised (and rather impressive; Damn, Gaila!) black eye.
“Really, Spock, that’s what ya gotta argue about?” Leonard pulled over a chair, hiding his worry with gruffness, and held up the dermal regenerator. “Lemme take a look at that.” Spock obligingly put down the bag of ice so Leonard could see how the skin was healing, which was well enough but with a ways to go yet. “This will sting a little,” he said, and let the regenerator do its work.
“We just have to explain to Uhura this is all a terrible misunderstanding,” Jim said for the dozenth time. At this point he was saying it as much to convince himself as Spock, Leonard was sure.
“If you have suggestions for peaceable communication, I would delight in hearing them,” Spock said. “We are challenged, however, by the fact that Nyota has turned off her personal communicator and seemingly refuses to acknowledge the one in her quarters.”
“Or she’s sleeping somewhere else tonight,” Leonard pointed out, and then only belatedly realized that Jim was staring daggers and Spock looked stricken. “That’s not what I meant.” Luckily the dermal regenerator chose that moment to beep, signaling that it had done its job. “There, good as new.”
“‘Good’ is debatable, but I do thank you, Leonard.” Spock still looked as woeful as it was possible for a Vulcan to look.
“Don’t mention it.” Leonard busied himself with packing the tool away again in his doctor’s bag, feeling like a total ass. “Sorry. I’m just—I’m worried about Jo, too. Y’know?”
“We’ll get that sorted out, too, Bones.” Jim patted him on the back in reassurance. “You’ll see.”
“Specializing in Christmas miracles now, huh?” Leonard raised a rueful eyebrow, but couldn’t help feeling comforted by Jim’s usual reassurance. After all, they had saved more than a few planets in their day, why not at least one feuding couple?
“If anyone could save Christmas, it would be our Captain,” Spock said with all the confident assurance a mildly drunk Vulcan could possess.
Jim’s lips twitched in amusement. “Thank you for the vote of confidence, gentlemen,” he said. “I’ll see what I can do.”
The Maht-H'a
“Agent, report.” DaraQ was impatient; the ship had maintained its cloaking for the past two days while waiting for Qes to reach The Yorktown and set their plan in motion.
There was a beat of static, and then a clear signal. “Agent Qes reporting to Santay DaraQ. Boarding successful. I await your command.”
DaraQ made a sound of pleasure. “Assemble the explosive devices at the attached coordinates.” He nodded to his second-in-command, Klavek, who dutifully began transmitting on a secondary channel. “We will board The Yorktown at 2200 hours tomorrow. Prepare to meet us at the first designated location.”
“Santay DaraQ, I receive and accept your command.” There was a pause. “Agent Qes out.”
Aboard his ship, DaraQ chuckled as he sat back in his chair. Soon the Federation space station, and all those aboard it, would be little more than ashes flying and flames dying.
Aboard The Yorktown Reannon closed her clandestine communicator and contemplated the small explosive devices and the station map that Klavek had given her. Her communicator beeped; it was Jo, trying to call her. Again.
Link to Part Two
Author: caitri
Rating: PG (Language, Violence, Smoochies)
Pairings: Kirk/McCoy, Jo/OFC, Spock/Uhura, Sulu/Ben, Kitchen/Sink
Word Count: 12,452
Summary: It’s holiday season on the Yorktown as the crew waits for the Enterprise’s refits. Unfortunately, amid crises personal and professional, there’s a lot less mistletoe and good cheer and a lot more...explosions, fistfights, and drama. Jim Kirk and his crew have saved the universe on multiple occasions, but this year can they save….Christmas?
A/N 1. Many many thanks to abigail89 for organizing
space_wrapped , running Word Wars, and providing incredibly useful feedback and encouragement! Even more thanks to fritz42 for betaing and providing valuable feedback!! I appreciate you both more than words can say.A/N 2.
the_dala asked for a couple of things for space_wrapped, and I only provided a couple of bitlets from different prompts, namely everyone having personal crises and a Santa's workshop AU. Somehow my brain went directly to the idea of Jim in an elf costume in a dramatic shoot-out, and everything went downhill from there. So here, have Die Hard in space. Yippee ki yay, motherf***ers!Disclaimer: I know this may come as a shock, but I am not, amazing as it may seem, Gene Roddenberry, J.J. Abrams, Paramount or Bad Robot.
PROLOGUE
Joanna McCoy liked space. From Earth to Starbase Yorktown, it was a ten day trip through three different passenger vessels, which gave her enough time to start her reading for the next term, actually finish it, and binge-watch most of a mediocre holo-drama series. By the time she was on the journey’s home-stretch, she was starting to go a bit batty with boredom. It didn't help that as far as passenger ships went, this was a fairly small one, with a limited library and a small gym. This latter was largely abandoned during the late "night" hours of ship time, so she made it a routine to go work out before bed each night.
And as it happened, there was another passenger who kept the same schedule. Jo didn’t know her name, though she sometimes saw her in the cafeteria or the communal entertainment room; she was a slight, quiet woman of roughly the same age, with long dark hair and a piercing expression that reminded her of old Earth paintings of mermaids—incredibly beautiful, and somehow dangerous in a way she couldn’t quite articulate. Other passengers seemed to sense that as well, and chose to keep their distance.
Joanna, on the other hand, wondered about what would make the perfect opening line.
As it happened, it was not Jo’s own efforts at nascent romance that brokered an introduction, but a bout of heavy turbulence.
Heavy turbulence.
The first violent list to the side came while Jo was doing pull-ups; her legs banged into the metal poles hard enough to bruise, and she let loose a series of expletives that would’ve done her daddy proud. The other girl, though, was on the running machine. Jo saw the abortive effort she made to save herself from skidding on the moving surface, but it wasn’t enough: She slipped and fell with a muffled grunt, skinning her arm in the process. Jo ran over to her. “Hey, are you okay?”
All passengers please return to your assigned quarters!, repeated the computer’s voice in a way that was going to get annoying quickly. All passengers please return to your assigned quarters!
“Ugh, I’m fine,” the girl said as Jo helped her up. “Thanks.”
“Are you sure?” Jo didn’t like the girl’s pallor. “I can help you to the Medbay if you want.”
“No,” the girl said with a shudder, and the ship rocked again; she lost her balance, but Jo caught her, bracing them both against the gym wall. She was paler than ever. “I just….don’t like….the ship moving….is all.”
Jo, who knew the symptoms of nausea from flight far too well (Thanks, Daddy.), said, “Uh yeah, I can tell.”
All passengers please return to your assigned quarters! All passengers please return to your assigned quarters!
“God that’s annoying,” said the girl, just as Jo said, “Should we go to our assigned quarters?” They looked at one another and burst into laughter.
“My name’s Jo. What’s yours?”
“Rea,” the girl said, and smiled.
('Twas the Night Before Christmas, and) All Through the Snowglobe...
PART ONE
Starbase Yorktown, December 23, 2263
“It’s bad enough livin’ in a snow globe as is,” Leonard grumbled anxiously to himself as he waited for the aptly-named Kringle to dock, “but did they have to fiddle with the weather controls to rub it in?” He huffed at the snow flurries in the air, created by the Yorktown’s temperature and humidity control functions, programmed on a quarterly basis to give the appearance of seasons usual to M-class planets.
Jim appeared at his elbow with a tray of coffees and an absurd Santa cap he had picked up...somewhere…in the last ten minutes. “Bones, I know that you’re from Georgia and that means that snow scares you more than actual freaking Klingon Birds-of-Prey, but just pretend to have some holiday cheer for the next five days. ‘Kay, Scrooge? Here.” He pressed one of the coffees into Leonard’s hands; the warmth of the container thawed his frozen fingers, and Leonard had to smile at Jim sheepishly over the rim of the cup. “No one’s disembarked yet, huh?”
“They’re takin’ their sweet time about it. Ohh!” Leonard let out a gratified sigh as the “coffee” Jim had presented him with turned out to be more “Irish” than “coffee,” and the surprise of the alcohol created a radiation of pleasant warmth from his stomach to his extremities. “Lordy! Where did you even get this?”
“I know a guy.” Jim winked, then kept his attention on the docking passenger ship before them. “Oh! Oh! I think they’re coming!”
And indeed, the bay doors had opened to free the ship’s passengers, who emerged in one’s, two’s, three’s, four’s and more’s, many of whom were greeted by waiting friends and family. Leonard was looking for one familiar face though, one he hadn’t seen in way too long. “Hey, there she is!” Jim said just as he caught sight of her himself: a tall, lanky girl with long brown hair pulled back, anxiously skimming the crowd as he had been himself. “Hey, kiddo! Over here!” She looked up at Jim’s voice and expansive waving, grinning widely.
“Uncle Jim! Dad!” And then Joanna was in his arms, and he could still pick her up as easily as he always could. “Agh! Put me down! Geez!”
Leonard hesitated the barest second before complying, doing his level best to not contemplate how his little girl had become this tall, freckled youngster. “Hey, Jo,” he said, and if his voice was a little more muffled than usual, no one commented on it. “How are ya, sweetie? Good trip?”
“I brought you a coffee too,” Jim said, handing her the last cup from the tray. “I’ve learned what McCoys are like when they’re traveling.” His Captain smiled, but Leonard could feel him stiffen with sudden, inexplicable tension.
“Ha! Thanks.” Jo grinned at him as she took the cup. “And the trip went well; we hit a messy debris field from a buncha comets you would have hated, Dad, but only for a bit. But, uh, look,” she said hurriedly, “I know I should have, er, let you know earlier, and it was kind of not planned, it kind of just happened, but I brought a friend with me—”
“Hey there,” Jim said, having clearly noticed a few minutes beforehand the second girl waiting a few feet behind Jo all this time; Leonard felt the sudden release of Jim’s curious strain as his captain exhaled, the “mystery” solved. Jim turned on the charm, covering for Leonard’s own awkwardness. “We don’t bite, we promise.”
“Yeah! Uh, introductions?” Leonard stepped back to include the stranger in their little circle, but keeping his arm around his daughter all the same…
...And trying to look calm when she shrugged out from under his arm to put her arm around the other girl instead. “Dad, Uncle Jim,” Jo said, “this is Reannon.”
“Rea,” said Reannon, with a little wave. She had the pale luminous skin and deep, dark eyes of a Betazoid, all but confirmed with her reluctance to offer her hand for a touched greeting as most species (barring Vulcans and a few other telepathic species) did. Leonard nodded at her, offering his best attempt at an avuncular smile.
“And, uh, she’smygirlfriendandIinvitedhertoChristmaswithusisthatokay?” Jo finished in a rush.
“Um, wow,” said Leonard, as his brain struggled to parse that into words he could understand. Luckily he managed to grapple onto girlfriend, stay, and us. “I mean yes. Sure. Yes!” he said with more enthusiasm when Jo looked dubious. “Hi,” he added to Rea.
“Hey,” Rea returned, her lips quirking upwards in an amused smile. “I’m sorry for, uh, intruding, I guess. Like Jo said, this really wasn’t planned—”
“No, no,” Jim interrupted, “the more, the merrier!” He started to shepherd their group towards the exit back to the main promenade. “Turns out, the Captain’s quarters are the same size as the family units. It’s going to be a shock when they finish rebuilding my girl and we move back in, that’s for sure!”
“Your girl?” Rea’s brows knit in confusion, as if she was trying to solve a puzzle.
“He means the Enterprise,” said Jo with a good-natured chuckle. “Dad’s always said he’s in an unwinnable love triangle—him versus a starship for Jim’s affections.”
“Hey, now! It’s not a love triangle….exactly.” Leonard grinned at Jim, who at least looked sheepish. “More like an open relationship. It’s me, the ship, new life and new civilizations…”
“Bones, if it’s you versus the universe, you’re doing pretty good, I’d say.” Jim put an arm around Leonard, who was not too ashamed to admit to feeling some warm fuzzies at that statement (purely influenced by the spiked coffee, of course).
“Wait.” Rea was staring at them now. “You’re….I recognize you. You’re Captain Kirk and Doctor McCoy.”
“Uh, yeah.” Jo looked sheepish now; faintly embarrassed as only teenagers can be with their parents. “Sorry, I guess I could have warned you, huh?”
Rea opened her mouth; closed it. Leonard doubted the poor kid could have looked more stunned if they had told her that the traditional Terran greeting was to be slapped in the face with a fish. “We really don’t bite,” Leonard said as gently as possible. “Promise.”
“They’re cool...mostly. Sometimes,” Jo said. She touched Rea on the shoulder, looking a little worried now. “You’re okay...right?”
Rea shook her head again, blinked, and smiled—an open and somehow innocently hopeful expression for just a second that made Leonard see her as Jo must have done: someone who has lived inside a shell for so long that they had forgotten that there was an outside to begin with. “Yeah,” she said. “Sorry, I just. Surprised. Was me, just now.”
“See,” Jo said, “She’s just as cool as you guys. She’ll blend in.”
“You’re giving us warm fuzzies, kiddo,” Jim said, picking up on Leonard’s thoughts in his own way. “C’mon, let’s head home.”
~
The warm fuzzies lasted right up to the moment they got to the door of their quarters, when several disparate facts coalesced in Leonard’s brain:
Joanna had brought her girlfriend home for Christmas.
Joanna was eighteen.
The quarters’ guest room (such as it was) had a single bed in it.
Leonard McCoy was many things. He was a doctor. He was a Starfleet officer. He had seen wonders, saved more than a few worlds, talked smack to the faces of so-called gods.
But he was not prepared for his grown-up, fully legal daughter to share a bed with her girlfriend under his roof.
… He needed another drink.
“Who needs a drink?” He said with false joviality as they entered, and made a bee-line to the decanter of Saurian ale Jim kept in their living room. “Because I do!”
“Huh?” said Jo.
“Bones?” said Jim.
“I’m sorry,” said Rea, wincing. “I’m totally fine with the couch, for what it’s worth.”
Telepath. Right, Leonard thought. He felt guilty, but not enough to supercede either his paternal panic or his desire for liquid comfort.
“No, you should take the bed,” Jo said to Rea. “You need it more. I’m good with the couch,” she said to Leonard, putting an emphasis on her words that relieved one part of his conscience and made the other light up with alarm. He could imagine the scans now, in fact, the rainbow whorls of color over the dual hemispheres of the brain. Exhibit A: A Father’s overreaction getting him the hell in trouble.
“I’ll help you make it up,” said Jim, patting Jo’s arm in reassurance. “Rea, let me show you the guest room. It’s not big, but it should be comfy enough.” The Betazoid girl smiled wanly at Jo as she followed him down the little hall, leaving the pair of them to have it out.
“Cool, Dad,” Jo said immediately. “Real cool.”
“Sorry. Drink?” Leonard held up a second glass for peace.
His daughter raised a significant eyebrow. “I’m not legal….for that. Yet,” she pointed out.
“You think I can’t count?” Leonard answered. She snorted, took the shot, and knocked it back like a pro. “Damn. You’re my girl, alright,” he said, and Jo saluted him with the empty glass and a smile. “So. Is this,” he flicked his eyes in the direction Rea and Jim had gone, and lowered his voice, “serious?”
Jo chuckled ruefully. “On a scale of one to ‘I’d die for this girl,’ I’m probably at a seven, maybe?” She held out her glass, and he obligingly gave them both a refill before they plopped down together on the previously contentious couch. They both sipped in silence for a moment. “I should probably say I only met her like four days ago, though.”
“Whoof,” said Leonard. “Like that, is it?”
“Just like that.” They nodded at each other, and clinked their glasses with another small salute.
“Oh look, I think it’s safe,” said Jim with no small amount of relief as he came back into the living room, Rea still following behind. Then he spotted the dual drinking glasses. “Uh. It is safe, right?”
“For now,” Leonard and Jo said together, on the same dour note.
Rea looked surprised, but Jim shook his head. “They’re all like that, believe me. You should see them at one of their family reunions—McCoys everywhere,” he gestured to imply being surrounded, “and the rest of us banding together for protection.”
“Really? That sounds….kind of frightening, to be honest,” said Rea. She smiled hesitantly, rubbing her arms, though whether in cold or anxiety Leonard wasn’t sure.
“Sorry about earlier,” he said to the girl, and stood up, offering her his spot next to Jo. “People talk about how bad my bedside manner is in the Medbay, but it’s not like I’m much better outside it, either. Drink?”
“No, thank you.” Rea smiled, more genuinely this time. “I do appreciate this, very much. Your daughter is....an amazing woman.”
“Yes, she is,” Leonard said in total agreement.
There was a beat of perfect, harmonious silence for a moment, and then Jim spoke up. “Scotty was mentioning something about a party tonight. You guys game?”
Jo and Rea looked at one another; Leonard couldn’t be certain, but either they had already reached the level of intimacy where entire conversations could be communicated in silent looks, or they were just using Rea’s natural telepathy. Either way, there was another heartbeat of quiet, and then Jo said, “That sounds great!”
~
Somehow, Leonard had forgotten that Fleeters held only two kinds of parties. The first kind was the sort of decorous assemblage that involved commissioned officers, good wine, and finger foods. The second kind involved music with heavy beats, glow lights, and beer pong.
Tonight’s party was the second kind. It made Leonard feel ancient as fuck.
“It’s kinda loud in here, isn’t it?” he asked, just as Jo said, “Aw, man, I love this song!”
“So much for an easy out, huh, Bones?” Jim said in his ear, and then with a wicked grin, took off his ridiculous Santa cap...and plonked it on Leonard’s. Over the din, he added, “Follow me, I know where Scotty keeps the good stuff!”
“What’s ‘the good stuff?’” Rea wanted to know.
Leonard resisted the urge to say I’ll tell you when you’re older only because Betazoids aged at a different rate from Humans and there was every reason to think she would actually know already. “Usually whiskey. The real stuff—not synth or brewed in a Tellarite’s bathtub.”
“Ew, Dad,” said Jo.
“Capt’n!” Scotty emerged from the crowd with a glass in either hand and wearing a glow-in-the-dark fugly Christmas sweater, because apparently if you’re going to commit atrocities to Human eyeballs you’re going to do it all the way and in a seasonally appropriate fashion. “Doctor! Ladies?” He beamed at them with a smile that was appropriately affable, then his eyes grew wide. “Hey noo, is this your wean Joanna, Doctor?” He grinned as Jo gave him a hug. “Ye gads, girl, ye’ve shot up like a beanstalk!”
“That seems to be the theme tonight,” Jo said with only the barest hint of impatience. “Mr. Scott, this is Rea. She’s my girlfriend.”
“Call me Scotty, lassies,” he said, making an abortive attempt at a hug for Rea and then smiling with a nod of his head when she took a step back. “Right then, welcome to the party. Ah, drinks there, food there, facilities in the back. Dinna do anything I wouldna do! Capt’n,” he continued to Jim, looking a bit nervous, “a brief word, if I may?”
“Of course, Mr. Scott.” Jim smiled at the three of them in apology and then followed his chief engineer off….somewhere.
“So. The good stuff?” Jo helpfully prompted Leonard, waggling her eyebrows.
Leonard snorted, and plucked the fool hat off his head and plopped onto Jo’s. “Beats me, kid. Jim’s the one who knows how to ferret stuff out,” he said, and he was mostly telling the truth. “Besides, you need a full stomach for a proper foundation to partying, and I know neither of you ate enough at dinner to make that a remotely good idea. C’mon, kids, time to carb-load.”
~
“What’s up, Scotty?” Jim asked as his chief engineer navigated through the crowd. “Also—and I can’t believe I’m about to ask this, either—how many people do you have in here? There’s legal occupant limits we have to follow, y’know!”
“Dinna fear, Jim, I’ve got it all under control!” Scotty assured him, and Jim forebore to point out the ratio of times Scotty claimed to have everything under control to the number of times everything had, in fact, been under control. (It was not a great ratio. Thank God for the Scot’s ability to defy the laws of physics despite his protestations to the contrary.) “No, I need your help with Mr. Spock. Man’s got himself into a corner this time.”
Jim grimaced as he mentally bid adieu to his fleeting fantasy of having a good time tonight. Between Bones, the kids, and whatever his First Officer had gotten himself into… The Magic 8 Ball said “Unlikely.”
When Scotty led him to the men’s room, Jim downgraded this to “Nonexistent.”
When they opened one of the stall doors to find a puce-colored Spock wrapped around the toilet, Jim downgraded everything to …. “Scotty, what the hell happened?”
“Ah, fun fact, Capt’n,” Scotty said. “Vulcans can metabolize alcohol at four times the rate of Humans. But, uh, turns out they dinna process chocolate nearly that fast.”
“I wouldn’t say that’s a fun fact, Mr. Scott,” Jim said, just as Spock murmured, “Indeed. Not fun at all,” before getting violently ill. And not, Jim could tell unhappily, for the first time that evening.
“Also,” Jim said loudly as he pulled Scotty outside the stall to lend Spock a modicum of privacy, “would you care to tell me exactly why my First Officer is getting totally blitzed on chocolate?”
“Chekov,” Spock said distinctly behind the stall door, followed immediately by the sound of more digestive pyrotechnics. Jim winced.
“Aye, well, an’ it gets worse.”
The story, or at least as much as Jim was able to construct it from Scotty’s animated retelling and Spock’s intermittent monosyllabic inserts, was this: Spock and Uhura had arrived to the party early on and were decorously partaking of some of the sweets on offer, including some cookies that Chekov had brought— “Perozhina kartoshka, sir, just like the wee lad’s gramma used to bake!” — that had seemingly consisted largely of sugar and nuts, but apparently included enough cocoa powder to reduce Spock to his unfortunate current circumstances.
“Oof,” Jim said sympathetically, having had enough surprise allergic reactions to be more than familiar with his First Officer’s plight. “That sucks, man,” he said more loudly, for Spock’s benefit.
“There’s more, sir.” Scotty looked unhappy.
“Okay….”
Apparently Spock and Uhura had been in the middle of an intimate conversation when he had the first inkling that the cookies were toxic to his system.
“Wait,” Jim interrupted, “who tries to have an intimate conversation at a holiday party?”
“Capt’n, focus,” Scotty said, and Spock said something rude in Vulcan that left Jim staring in mingled dismay and surprised respect, because seriously, who knew Spock had it in him?
At any rate, the conversation went downhill rapidly, Uhura actually slapping Spock before leaving in tears, and Spock retreating to the men’s room after putting the fear of Surak, God, and Vulcan metabolism into Chekov, and Scotty doing his damnedest to provide damage control.
“Okay,” said Jim, pinching the bridge of his nose as an incipient headache started. “Do we know where Uhura is?”
“Gaila went after her, I think.”
“And Chekov?”
“I sent Keenser to find Mr. Sulu. If anyone can sort the lad, it’ll be him.”
“I bet Ben was thrilled with that,” Jim muttered, with absolute feeling.
“Man’s a livin’ saint,” Scotty agreed. “Anyhoo, that’s where we are, or ah, were, when ye arrived at the party, and I figured it was a matter for the higher payroll.” He waggled his eyebrows at Jim.
“Not high enough,” Jim said under his breath, and briefly imagined life at a Vice Admiral’s desk, all quiet and paperwork. But out loud, he continued, “Alright, Mr. Spock, we’ve got this. We’ll fix everything. Easy peasy. You can go back to being two happy lovebirds in an hour.”
“Not two, Captain,” Spock said wearily. The toilet flushed, and he opened the stall door, leaning to the side for support, clearly still the worse for wear. “Three.”
“Huh?” Okay, Jim really couldn’t parse that. “What’s that mean, Spock?”
“Lieutenant Uhura—Nyota,” he clarified, as if there was more than one Uhura they might be acquainted with who had recently stormed out of a Vulcan lovers’ quarrel, “is pregnant, sir. Three.”
Scotty looked confused. “Wait, ye mean the three of ye altogether or she’s got three—”
“That’s great!” Jim said with loud enthusiasm to cover for Scotty. “Congratulations, man! That’s awesome!”
“But why did she slap ye, if’n ye don’t mind me askin’?” Jim raised his eyes heavenward as Scotty, not taking any hints, barreled forward.
“Lieutenant Commander Scott,” Spock enunciated carefully, with the specificity of the about-to-be-painfully-hungover, “My ashaya,” and yup, if he was using actual Vulcan to them he was seriously down for the count, “told me she was pregnant, and I laughed.”
“Well, I mean, that’s not the worst—” Jim started to offer reassuringly, but Spock cut him off.
“Jim,” he said, “Vulcan laughter isn’t quite the same as Human laughter. It indicates humor, yes, but more often derision. Nyota is intimately familiar with Vulcan culture; there really is no excuse for how I behaved, whether under the influence or not. Jim,” he repeated, “I am so. Very. Fucked.”
In any other situation, Jim would have been tempted to laugh. But this was his best friend, and two of his most important officers. He gripped Spock by the shoulder, looked him in the eye, and said, “Spock. I promise you. We’ll fix this. We’ll make it right.” Spock burped. Jim made a face. “Scotty!” he ordered, “Go find mouthwash.”
~
Fleeter parties were very different when you were in custody of two teenage girls, Leonard thought. Shots weren’t an option, and beer pong was right out. Proper Fleeter parties, he realized, were incredibly boring when you had to be (mostly) sober. In retrospect, this explained one hell of a lot about what he remembered (or didn’t) from his days at the Academy.
As a consequence, he was beyond relieved when a worried-looking Pavel Chekov turned up around the sparsely filled food tables where he had stationed himself with Jo and Rea, and where they had proceeded to make awkward small talk over some dry canapés, picked-over cheese and crackers, and a swear-to-God unwrapped and untouched fruitcake just like the kind Aunt Lucy (bless her heart) always used to bring over when he was a kid.
“Hey, Chekov!” Leonard said with forced joviality as he decided to add another canapé to his plate, “where’ve you been hiding?”
Chekov froze and started guiltily, which was probably the first sign that all was not well. Indeed, he more than slightly resembled a rabbit that’s found itself in the crosshairs of a fox that just happened to be in possession of a Romulan disruptor or five. Leonard, with his usual impeccable judgement, observed as much aloud.
“Frankly, my odds of surwiwal might be better if this vere true,” Chekov said, and okay, yeah, things were pretty bad then.
Leonard glanced over to the girls, who were deep in a whispered chat now that he was no longer part of the conversation. He put his plate down, leaned over to his fellow officer, and asked, “Son, what did you do and how bad was it?”
“Don’t ask,” Gaila said through gritted teeth, having materialized from somewhere behind him and glaring at the wilting Lieutenant like she was going to gut him and fry him for breakfast. Leonard wondered how worried he should be about that, actually….
“See, told you drama would happen,” he heard Jo say with barely contained glee. “It’s inevitable. It’s like a show that never ends!”
“Not a show, peanut gallery,” he shot back without looking. He took hold of both Gaila and Chekov, paused to determine where they would get some privacy in this hubbub, and opted to lead them towards the back, near the facilities. “You two, explanations, now. Start talkin’.”
“He started it,” Gaila said immediately. “He brought cookies with chocolate in them—”
Leonard blinked. “Okay, as far as sins go? I’m….not followin’ this one.”
“Spock ate them,” Gaila said, like it explained everything.
“I said I’m sorry!” Chekov looked genuinely upset, bordering on terrified. “Is Lieutenant Uhura alright?”
“I’m so glad you asked that,” Gaila said through her teeth. “She’s locked herself in her quarters and says she’s putting in for a transfer back to Earth effective immediately.”
“Wait, what?!” Leonard mentally reprioritized the situation from What the shit?! to Holy fucking shitballs! “What happened? She hasn’t sent anything through, yet, has she?”
This moment was, of course, when Jim and Scotty emerged from the men’s room with a staggering and green-tinged Spock between them.
“And you!” Gaila yelled in pure rage, and before anyone could stop her, she punched Spock in the face. Spock, still green, and now with a truly impressive black (emerald?) eye, fell to the ground, out cold.
“Security!” Jim bellowed, and at once the music stopped, a trio of uniformed personnel arrived, and above it all, the clear sound of Joanna screaming “I hate you!” at Rea in tears, before running outside.
~
“Well that was the longest day ever,” Jim said several hours later as they arrived back in their quarters. It was in the wee hours by now; Gaila was in the brig overnight for assaulting a superior officer, though Jim was doing everything possible in his power to get that scrubbed off her record as a, quote, “monumental yet defensible misunderstanding;” Rea had at some point slipped inside for her things and disappeared (And how did she manage that? Leonard wondered); Joanna had locked herself in their guest room and had, seemingly at least, cried herself to sleep; and Spock was now staying on their couch, as Uhura still refused to talk to him.
“Not the longest, Jim,” Spock said with subdued pedantry as he sat on said couch which was at least still made up from when it was meant to be Jo’s abode, “but I do take your meaning.” The taciturn Vulcan held a bag of ice over his bruised (and rather impressive; Damn, Gaila!) black eye.
“Really, Spock, that’s what ya gotta argue about?” Leonard pulled over a chair, hiding his worry with gruffness, and held up the dermal regenerator. “Lemme take a look at that.” Spock obligingly put down the bag of ice so Leonard could see how the skin was healing, which was well enough but with a ways to go yet. “This will sting a little,” he said, and let the regenerator do its work.
“We just have to explain to Uhura this is all a terrible misunderstanding,” Jim said for the dozenth time. At this point he was saying it as much to convince himself as Spock, Leonard was sure.
“If you have suggestions for peaceable communication, I would delight in hearing them,” Spock said. “We are challenged, however, by the fact that Nyota has turned off her personal communicator and seemingly refuses to acknowledge the one in her quarters.”
“Or she’s sleeping somewhere else tonight,” Leonard pointed out, and then only belatedly realized that Jim was staring daggers and Spock looked stricken. “That’s not what I meant.” Luckily the dermal regenerator chose that moment to beep, signaling that it had done its job. “There, good as new.”
“‘Good’ is debatable, but I do thank you, Leonard.” Spock still looked as woeful as it was possible for a Vulcan to look.
“Don’t mention it.” Leonard busied himself with packing the tool away again in his doctor’s bag, feeling like a total ass. “Sorry. I’m just—I’m worried about Jo, too. Y’know?”
“We’ll get that sorted out, too, Bones.” Jim patted him on the back in reassurance. “You’ll see.”
“Specializing in Christmas miracles now, huh?” Leonard raised a rueful eyebrow, but couldn’t help feeling comforted by Jim’s usual reassurance. After all, they had saved more than a few planets in their day, why not at least one feuding couple?
“If anyone could save Christmas, it would be our Captain,” Spock said with all the confident assurance a mildly drunk Vulcan could possess.
Jim’s lips twitched in amusement. “Thank you for the vote of confidence, gentlemen,” he said. “I’ll see what I can do.”
The Maht-H'a
“Agent, report.” DaraQ was impatient; the ship had maintained its cloaking for the past two days while waiting for Qes to reach The Yorktown and set their plan in motion.
There was a beat of static, and then a clear signal. “Agent Qes reporting to Santay DaraQ. Boarding successful. I await your command.”
DaraQ made a sound of pleasure. “Assemble the explosive devices at the attached coordinates.” He nodded to his second-in-command, Klavek, who dutifully began transmitting on a secondary channel. “We will board The Yorktown at 2200 hours tomorrow. Prepare to meet us at the first designated location.”
“Santay DaraQ, I receive and accept your command.” There was a pause. “Agent Qes out.”
Aboard his ship, DaraQ chuckled as he sat back in his chair. Soon the Federation space station, and all those aboard it, would be little more than ashes flying and flames dying.
Aboard The Yorktown Reannon closed her clandestine communicator and contemplated the small explosive devices and the station map that Klavek had given her. Her communicator beeped; it was Jo, trying to call her. Again.
Link to Part Two
