Kirk/Spock Advent Calendar 2006

If the Fates Allow

by Starshadow; rated PG-13 for language
FB: starshadow at starshadow dot net
Disclaimer. Paramount owns My Boys. I don't. I just try to give them a little angst to play with from time to time. No money made, no profit, no how. “Have yourself a Merry Little Christmas” lyrics by Hugh Martin. I think it's in public domain, but just in case, I'm not making profit off it either.
Summary: Jim tries to cope with his mother's death.
Beta: Frank, the Professor, Pat, Fiona All mistakes mine, as usual.
Dedicated to my mother, who died of cancer, on Christmas day 1995. I miss you, Mum.

It suited his own black mood. Spock would have come back. He was on Vulcan taking care of some family business, nothing terribly urgent, but his mother was getting elderly too, and Jim didn't want to deprive him of the visit by calling him. It wasn't like this was unexpected.

Mom had lived a good life. He should be happy she at least went in relative good spirits, not wracked with pain, or fuzzed out from drugs-–at least if modern medicine couldn't cure Braga's Syndrome, it could alleviate the suffering that otherwise would occur as organs failed one by one.

Hell of a thing. Bones couldn't help her. Nobody could. Kirk didn't blame anyone. Peter was coming in a few days, but he had his own holiday rituals. Kirk had told him the memorial would not be for a week and a half—and he needed a few days to try to come to grips with his own feelings, his own mortality.

He felt bad that he couldn't seem to cry. Maybe it was that she'd been joking and talking up to the last. He remembered when he first got the call a few months before. He remembered the day quite clearly—he'd seen Spock at lunch, a rare occurrence while Spock was captaining Enterprise, now a teaching vessel. They'd gone to that Thai-Andorian fusion place near the waterfront which catered to the Vulcan ambassadorial staff and hangers-on with a mostly vegan menu. Spock seemed to enjoy it. He liked peppers.

Kirk had gone back to work in good spirits. Then he got the call. Mom didn't call during working hours, so he knew something was wrong. When she'd told him, he must've looked stricken, because her next words were matter-of-fact. “Look, son, I've had a good run. But the race is about over. You get the house of course. There's some money, too. And I've had a trust fund going for Peter. It's all with the lawyers, you know. But I want to see you again. You and tall, dark and handsome, my favorite son-in-law. Come soon, will you? I don't want you to see me so much at the end.”

“We'll be down tomorrow, Mom. I love you.” He'd pulled some strings to get Spock a few days off, and they'd transported into Riverside that evening. Spock had been a rock for him, and he appreciated it. Spock had been so patient with Mom, who'd either forgotten or ignored that Vulcans don't like to be touched, even by family, and had greeted him with a big hug.

He'd hugged back. “Greetings, Mother of my bondmate,” he'd said, and the half-smile usually only for Jim lit up his face. They'd sat and talked for hours while Jim made sure the hospice care his mother was getting was tops. Bones had beamed in on his request and had confirmed the diagnosis. Terminal. Braga's was one of those newer things; the medics were sure it had come from the stars, somewhere, but no one knew where or how. Few people got it. Most seemed to have a natural immunity.

Sarah Kirk wasn't one of them. She was dying. Bones had talked to her doctors and was satisfied she was getting the best of care. He'd patted Jim's arm. “I'm sorry, Jim. I can't be a miracle worker all the time. There really is no cure, but her doctors are making sure there'll be no pain. That's the best that can be done. Look, stop by my offices when you get back and we'll share a drink and talk. Okay?” With that, he'd left, wanting to give the family room to come to terms in their own way.

Spock took to coming weekly on his own. Sometimes Jim made it with him, and Spock would give privacy by taking walks or meditating in Jim's old room. Sarah's bed was moved downstairs into the little study off the kitchen, then finally into the front room. She wanted a fire, she said, to remind her of old times. Spock spooned broth into her mouth, cajoled her to hydrate, and Jim and she just talked of old times, Jim getting her to laugh, though the laughter got weak at the end.

Then Spock was called away and took his leave. He knew the end was near. On Vulcan, those who were going to die often wanted privacy, to go in peace, they had generally made the last arrangements, and he knew this was true of Sarah Kirk. He made his farewells, bending down and surprising both of them with a soft kiss on her cheek. “Jim will call me if you want me,” he said. “I will miss you, O Mother of my bondmate.”

“I don't know if there's anything to this whole life after death thing, but Spock, I never thought I'd say it, but I'll miss you too if there is. You and Jim, you were made for each other. I'm sorry I was such a bitch when we first met. You're as dear to me now as if you were my own son. I bless each hour you and Jimmy can make each other happy, Spock.” This was the longest speech she'd managed in days, but she felt she had to say it.

“Thee has nothing to be sorry for, Mother-of-my-heart. The cause was sufficient.”

Embarrassed at seeing Spock's naked love so clearly, at the end, Sarah had squeezed his hand and gone to sleep, the refuge of the dying when they can't just leave the room. Those had been the last words between them.

Jim had a similar conversation. She'd apologized again. “I wanted to see you married to some nice girl, Jimmy. But it wouldn't have worked, would it? You'd have gone out to space just like your father. Jimmy, you were so much like George in so many ways. Sam was more like me, but you're just like your father. And you found the best companion for yourself, and I was stupid blind in the beginning. Full of prejudice. A Vulcan. A man, because he couldn't give you children, or me grandchildren. Such selfishness. I'm sorry for it, Jimmy. He's a good man. The best. I'm proud to have been at your wedding. Love him, Jimmy. Always love him. It's not easy for him, you know, always making compromises, living among humans, but he does it because he loves you, Jimmy.”

Jim forgave the nickname he once loathed. He wanted to hear his mother call him that again and again. “Thanks, Mom,” he said to her. “Thanks for all of it. For raising me and Sam. For kissing our bruised knees. For letting us grow up here and for understanding when we both left. And thanks for understanding about Spock. I never thought I'd fall in love either. But I did. Mom, I can't tell you how brilliant, how patient, how supremely trusting he is. How it was when I nearly lost him, after he went back to Vulcan, when I knew it was me who'd made him think I didn't love him any more. But I never stopped, Mom, and he came back and now...I'll try to make him happy every single day. You made me happy, too, Mom. You let me go and you never brought up Dad leaving.”

“Don't think I didn't think about it, Jimmy. But you had stars in your eyes. I knew you'd leave some day. I was happy to have you while I did. I could no more have tamed you than anyone but you could have tamed Tango. Remember Tango?”

Jim remembered the horse that belonged to his uncle, so dangerous his uncle was thinking of having him put down. Jim had walked up to the horse when no one was looking and talked to him, just talked. The horse came to him day after day, and finally, Jim had whispered in the horse's ear, grabbed his mane, and flipped bareback onto Tango's back, and the horse first walked gently, then trotted when he saw the human wasn't going to fall, around and around the paddock.

His uncle had given him to Jim. Jim and he had been inseparable, too, until Tango got colic and died. Jim had mourned—how he had mourned for that horse! And then gone off to the Academy and put it behind him, just one more of life's downsides.

But this wasn't a horse. This was his mother. Something from the stars. Maybe Gary had been right. Maybe humans weren't meant to be out there. Maybe it was something he'd brought back. Who knew?

Sarah had patted his hand. “Don't mourn too hard, Jimmy. I've had a full and good life. It's a little shorter than the average, but it's been good. I've seen Sam happy, and you happy, and I've got a grandson, and great-grandchildren. And that's all God intended for mothers, after all.” Sarah rarely talked about God, having no particular belief in such an entity, though she'd dragged Jim and Sam to the nondenominational church off and on for years, figuring it'd give them a good grounding in morals, at least.

Jim had patted her hand and overcome by memories and feelings, all mixed up together, kissed and hugged her, careful now that she'd grown frail. They'd had a good visit. They'd talked about Peter and his wife and kids, and she'd laughed and he'd laughed with her. And then she was gone. Simply gone, like she had been erased from life.

Spock not being here was a good thing, Jim reflected, tossing back another drink, then putting another log on the fire. There were boxes around for the things he'd started packing up, and the bed she'd been in had been stripped and covered, so he could pretend it didn't exist, but the pictures he'd looked at in the shelves were reminders of all he'd lost through the years. Picures of his parents at their wedding, and of his dad just before he'd left, in the spacer's jumpsuit he'd so proudly worn. He was smiling at the holocam, a smile that belied the arguments Jim had heard after he'd gone to bed. Then one day his Dad kissed him, said, he'd be seeing him, and was gone.

He'd found a holo of Sam and Aurelan at their wedding. Not an elaborate affair, but they'd had the wedding at the little Riverside church, just for Sarah's sake. Jim had been best man. Sam and Jim together when Jim was on leave from the Farragut, his first posting. Jim and Spock at their bonding ceremony, on Vulcan. A picture of Spock as a child—when did his mom get that and how?

He wanted to cry. A sob shook him, but it was dry, and he couldn't summon tears. His own mother, gone, and he couldn't summon tears. The cremation had already happened, they were going to disperse the ashes in her garden, like she wanted, with the family, what was left of them, there. A memorial, which Sarah wanted to give everyone a time to grieve—she said, specifically, in her last notes, taped just before her death, after New Years. Party first. Christmas first. New Years, then let go.

How could he let go? Jim was clutching his glass so hard he almost broke it. He set it down, carefully, on the floor near the sofa, got up and fed the fire again. Then went and got another bottle from his carrybag.

He could save the Earth. But he couldn't save the ones closest to him. Sooner or later they all died.

His father. Ruth. Gary. Edith. Miramanee. Sam. Aurelan. Peter's brothers. The litany went on and on. One by one they all died. The faces of each and every crew member under his command he'd lost also swam before his eyes, and to stop the faces, which almost seemed accusatory, he downed another slug of brandy. It didn't help.

Was it something he was doing, that so poisoned his life that everyone close to him succumbed? He wondered, and downed another slug of brandy. Maybe he should leave StarFleet. Maybe he never should have gone out there in the first place.

Spock had Enterprise and he had Spock, but Spock had his own life, too. Maybe he should look into some other line of work. Where the hell did you go when, before fifty, you'd already accomplished pretty much everything a man could? Nogura had never wanted to give Enterprise back to him. He'd managed to get another five years out of them. They owed him that much after V'ger. But afterwards, he was back to being a desk jockey. He hated it. Some days he tried to convince himself he was making a difference and other days he knew he was just marking time.

They could have found someone to do what he'd done with V'ger. He never gave Will Decker a chance. And what about Spock? Spock would have found someone. Maybe T'Pring would have married him, and they could have been raising little Vulcan children.

It seemed like a night for what-ifs, and Jim didn't like any of them. All down the line it seemed to him he'd run roughshod over other peoples' lives and here he was, nearly fifty, and what did he have to show for it?

“Merry Fucking Christmas,” Jim said to the fireplace, which crackled back, and drank another gulp from the brandy bottle. He thought he'd better sit down before he fell down, so he went back to the couch and pulled the throw over his knees, and took another swig. He was fuzzy from the drink, but he didn't care.

He was going to have a hangover later. He didn't care about that, either. He had to think, but he just couldn't do it right now. Later. He'd think later.

But the more he chewed over the idea the more he thought maybe he should leave the Fleet, while he was still able to do it with dignity.

Well. He checked in on him and discovered there was a good chance he was about to chuck it all in and take up something mundane. That would not do at all. History would suffer. Earth would suffer. And of course his own favorite Enterprise would likely suffer fallout as well. Q thought and thought. Inspiration hit—it was Christmas, and humans had such high expectations of this season. It wouldn't do to reveal Q too soon. He'd go in incognito. James Kirk would just have to see what might have happened if he'd never become Captain James T. Kirk.

He knew this room—it had been his dorm room at the Academy. Gary Mitchell was talking to him. He remembered this. It was right after his dad died, and he was thinking of leaving the Academy. “Jimmy. You're a million miles away. Get with the program, Jimmy-boy. This is your life you're screwing up and I'm trying to help you.”

He heard himself saying the words, “I can come back later, Gary. I have to help Mom now. Besides, Carol's pregnant. We're going to get married, Gary, and live with Mom. It's a big house, there's room, and I can work in town.”

“You remember Leeds Furniture, Gary. Mr. Leeds needs an accountant. I've got the skills now and the pay's decent.”

“Old Man Leeds? Jimmy-boy, you'll stagnate. You're gonna marry Carol, have a bunch of kids, and stagnate in Riverside. I'll be out among the stars, and you'll be working in Riverside for the rest of your life.”

“No, I won't, Gary. I'll be back. I can keep up my courses and be back next year. With Sam already working on Deneva, I have to step up to the plate. Someone has to.”

“Bah. I'll miss you, Jim. You're gonna disappoint the professors, you know.That old guy, Commodore Nogura? He really thinks you're something. Well, he did.”

Jim found himself frowning. “Nogura already talked to me, Gary. He's disappointed, but he understands family obligations. He's old school Japanese.” He finished throwing the last of his clothing in his valise.

Last thing to go in his bag was the holopic of Enterprise—he'd taken that when he went through matriculation, having seen her go out of spacedock. Jim sighed. “Another year baling hay isn't going to kill me. Besides, I can take my courses at home, keep current. I'll be a year late, but the Academy takes people up to age forty, if they're fit, and I intend to be fit. Baling hay will do that to a man.”

Gary looked thoughtful, not a state he was used to. “Well, dammit, Jim. I'm gonna miss you. Have a happy Christmas, okay?”

“I will, Gary. Here.” he shoved a small bottle in his friend's hand. “This is from me. I didn't wrap it, but I know you like it.” It was a rare cologne scent modeled after one reputed to drive green Orion women wild. Jim always thought it smelled terrible, but Gary loved it. It was expensive as hell. He'd won a bet to get this bottle.

“Jim! Thanks. I have to send your present. I left it at my parents'.” Gary was telling a polite fib, and Jim knew it. He always tended to shop last minute.

“No problem, buddy.” Jim slapped his arm, looked around for the last time. “I'm gonna miss it here, but I'll be back. Don't order a permanent roommate.” On his way he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror . He looked so young.

...into what looked like a small fresher somewhere. Confused, he looked in the mirror. He looked tired and older. Somehow he was remembering three years had passed. Three years...he'd never made it back to the Academy. Instead, Carol had nagged him until they got their own place. He remembered it—an apartment near the furniture store. Leeds liked him, liked his work, but Jim hated it. Every day, it was the same damn thing.

And every night after work he went down to the local bar, drank a couple of beers, watched the newsholo shots of starships like the one that should have been his, would have been if he hadn't been so stupid as to leave—what the hell was he thinking?

Oh, yes, Mom. Mom couldn't manage on her own. And he couldn't believe he was stupid enough to have taken Carol's word about her contraceptive shots. Not that David wasn't a bright little boy, but now they had another on the way, and it was beginning to look like he'd never get his dream.

He splashed water on his face and brushed his teeth, then went into the living room of the tiny apartment. He looked at the small tree on the table with the modest gifts under it. There were a few more to be added for David, and a necklace for Carol, already wrapped. It was costume jewelry—that was all he could afford. But he hoped she'd like it.

Dinner had been some kind of meatloaf, bland and unmemorable, like his whole damn life. He wondered what it would have been like if he'd gone out there. He looked at the booster chair, and knew Carol was trying to get David to settle down. “I WANNA SEE SANTA! I WANNA SEE SANTA.” The kid made enough noise for three kids.

Carol sounded tired. “David, Santa won't come at all if you don't go to sleep and be a good boy. Do I have to get your father?”

Silence descended. Then, snuffling. “No-o-o...”quiet, now. Rustle of bedclothes and the light under the door darkened, with a small glow indicating a nightlight.

“Sleep, David. Santa will come if you're good. He'll know, remember.” Carol came into view. She didn't bear a lot of resemblance to the old Carol Marcus from before their marriage, the one who was vivacious and bright and witty. She looked worn down. Her hair was pushed behind her ears, its blonde shade looking a bit mousy. Her waist had thickened with the pregnancy. She was wearing something shapeless with a robe over it and pink fluffy slippers, the kind Jim thought looked like someone's grandmother—not his, thankfully. She disappeared again into the kitchen, clearing up things.

Jim waited until he was sure David was asleep and went to the hall closet, pulling down a box labeled “Space station, E-Z assembly” and plunked it on the floor next to the couch. He sat down, brushing at the spots on his jeans. Carol had forgotten to pull the clothes out of the cycler again. “Carol, where is the damn gift bag that fits this thing? Fetch me my screwdriver, the sonic one, willya? I can never find where you put anything in this dump.”

Carol emerged from the kitchen carrying something which she plopped into Jim's hand. “Dump? I spend all day cleaning this place, trying to keep it looking nice, while you're off at work all day and I'm stuck at home with the kid, and you call this a dump? If you had any ambition we could afford a house. Anytime we get anything extra, you drink it up.” She gestured to the coffee table where a bottle of Saurian brandy reposed, open. There was a glass with a healthy slug in it already. Carol sniffed. “You're already three sheets to the wind. I could have been a scientist, but no, I packed it in to raise your kids.”

“Our kids, Carol. And I work hard for what I bring home. Dammit, I left the Academy for us. I could have been in StarFleet, Carol. Besides, you're the one who got pregnant.

“How could I forget? You told me you'd take care of me, take care of us. Look at us, Jim. Look at us! Why the hell didn't you finish your courses? I swear you'd be happier in space. You've got your head in the damn clouds, just like your father.”

“Don't you bring my father up. You never knew him. Dammit, Carol, I stayed here. I finished the accounting school. I got the damn office job. I did it for you and for David, isn't that enough?”

Carol's face softened. “I'm sorry, Jim. It's Christmas eve. Let's not fight again. Maybe after the baby's born we can take your mom up on her offer to babysit and you and I have that week on Luna Colony we talked about, our honeymoon. Remember? My brother can still get us tickets...”

“Yeah, maybe, Carol. Let me finish this. If Santa doesn't come on schedule, you-know-who is going to be a pain in the you-know-what.” Jim reached up and squeezed Carol's hand briefly, took a slug of his drink, and got to work.

He went into the other room to get the other gifts...and found himself walking into the dining room at the old Kirk farm. There were three children around the table. Where was Carol? Oh, yes, she'd left him two years ago. Said she couldn't handle it any more. That was when he'd moved back in with his mother and the kids. David was going to be a teenager soon, and had stars in his eyes, just like his granddad before him. He scored high on his math and science aptitudes. They were talking about accelerating him.

Melinda was eight. And little Sam was six. Before he knew it they'd be in college, all of them, and he'd be an old man. He was already too old to get into command school at the Academy. Each year he thought about resubmitting. He kept up. He could do it. Not command school, maybe, but he could get into space. Maybe running a Starbase somewhere. But who'd mind the kids? He couldn't just dump them on his mother.

Jim rubbed his eyes. He was trying hard not to look as tired as he felt. God knows the kids deserved a decent Christmas. He went into the kitchen to carve the turkey.

He was staring at the counter, looking at the snow fall. He heard a comm line buzz and went to the wall unit, punching it. David's face. He'd grown so handsome through the years. He was teaching now at the Academy. Commander Kirk—it had a nice ring to it. “Hi, Dad. Saavik and I are coming this year. What about Mel and Shohreh—did they ever say?”

“They can't. You know the pipes froze in that area of Mars City. Mel's team had to work over the holiday to fix it. Sam sent a box. Hey, does Saavik eat turkey? I forgot to ask. I know you said she wasn't born on Vulcan, but...”

“Yes, Dad, she eats turkey. She's not pure Vulcan. What do you know about Vulcans anyway, Dad?”

“I studied.” Jim had pored over the information that was available on Vulcan. Not a lot. They were a bit secretive. But what there was, he'd studied. One day maybe he'd meet the captain of Enterprise, Saavik's father, Spock. He wanted to make sure he didn't commit any gaffes. Saavik was important to David, so she was important to Jim. He was sure there was more to her than she'd talk about. Some history that seemed very mysterious. She tried to act like a proper Vulcan, but she threw herself into some of the human customs, like Christmas.

And Jim couldn't wait to hear what David had been doing in StarFleet, all the things he could talk about, anyway. Sometimes he wondered what it would have been like to be out there himself. But there had always been one more thing that needed doing, one more reason to keep plugging along, stay with the steady job.

Maybe one day he'd at least get to Mars City and see Mel and Shohreh's house under the bubble. As he closed the connection to David, he felt oddly cheerful. Some people were meant to be heroes. Some were just meant to stay at home and work so the rest of them could go and have adventures.

Jim rubbed his eyes and sat up. Conversation in the kitchen...McCoy's voice. “He's awake. Hey, sleeping beauty, you didn't think you'd get to sulk alone on Christmas day, did you?” This said as McCoy held a tray with cups on it. Spock followed with a thermal carafe. “Drink this, and take these.” A mug was slid into his hands and two red pills were held out. “They're for the hangover you're going to have if you don't listen to your kindly family doctor.”

Spock sat on the floor near Jim's feet. “I was nearly back when I got the news, Jim. This,” his hand swept back to indicate the tree and boxes near it, “was your mother's command, a last wish. I could not refuse. She left you a letter; I was to give it to you.” He held it up until Jim could swallow the pills and take his first sip of hot coffee. Jim took the letter and unfolded it.

“Dear son,” (he read) “If you're reading this, I'm dead. Duh. Well, anyway, it's either Christmas, nearly Christmas, or just after. Either way, you're sulking and alone. I know you, son. It's one of the ways you handle things. You need company in this time of year above all times. I know a mom isn't supposed to say this, Jimmy, but I always did love you best. My youngest, my baby, and I always knew you'd leave me. You did, but you made me proud. Keep on making me proud, son. I love you. Merry Christmas.” It was signed “Mom” at the bottom with a splotch like she cried a little at the end, then wiped her tears and went on.

That was so like his mom. Jim put his arms around his bondmate and leaned his head on his shoulder. He still couldn't cry, but somehow this felt right.

“It was your mother's last wish, Jim.We are to all three decorate the tree, and place gifts around it. Dinner will be ready soon. As I remember the ceremonial order, were not gifts to be opened in the morning? It will be afternoon before we are finished.”

“Spock, it doesn't matter. This is fine. This is great. Damn. I was sitting here feeling sorry for myself, and here you are. You and Bones—you're my family, you know. Oh, God, Spock. You don't know how good it is to see you. I'm drunk. I'm sorry, but I didn't expect anything...”

“We know, Jimbo.” McCoy was cheerfully checking boxes for lights. “Come on. Let's do the tree first. Then we can sit around and stuff ourselves like pigs and then I have got to get back, so I'll leave you with Spock. I can trust you with him, can't I, Spock?”

“Indeed. I shall not break him, Doctor, nor allow him to break himself.” Spock's tone was amused.

Jim wiped his eyes. not yet teary, but a bit blurry, maybe from the drink. He smiled at McCoy and Spock. “Bones, have you got a sober-me-up pill in there somewhere? Damn, I didn't expect to have to be sober, and...”

“Say no more, Jimbo, say no more.” McCoy rummaged in his medkit and held up a hypo. “This won't hurt a bit, but you'll be sober as a judge in fifteen minutes.”

Tree decorating was next. Each ornament brought a story with it. By the time the tree was decorated, Jim realized what it was his mother had planned...the tree wasn't just a tree. It was a tribute to lives intertwined. He even found an ornament she'd had made of Enterprise. That went in a place of pride. There were ornaments from Deneva, and a few made by Peter and his brothers, before their deaths. Spock found a carved sehlat, too, and a hand carved ball that he had sent her one year. Something for everyone in the family.

Then Spock went to a box he hadn't noticed before, and pulled out gaily wrapped packages, and placed them precisely around the tree. McCoy went to his carrybag and pulled out a few more.

Spock silently handed him a bag. Inside were the gifts, neatly wrapped. “Your yeoman said to tell you she took the liberty of having them wrapped for you. I had stopped by your office when I got back. I hope bringing them was the right thing to do...”

Jim's face broke into a grin. “Just right. Perfect.” He added them to the pile, which had grown respectably large. “How about dinner first, then presents?”

Dinner was great. Mom always knew how to cook—she'd made the traditional turkey, plus some vegan pot pie for Spock. Stasis hadn't completely destroyed the quality.

They sat around the tree, then. and Spock played Santa. He handed Jim a box. “Your mother wanted you to open this first. She said it was something meaningful.”

Jim lifted the lid. Inside was an old fashioned tape player, which had a card on the on-button. “Play me,” it said in block letters. He pushed the button, and a holo sprang to life. It was his father, looking like he had just before the divorce.

“Hello, son,” said his father. “If you're seeing this, I'm likely dead. Maybe long dead. I told your mother to wait to give you this until the time was right. If it's been enough years, you've been grown up a long time now, and maybe you're wondering what the point of everything was. Whether you should keep on doing whatever you're doing. Sarah says you want to be a spacer like me. Well, son, the Kirk men have been explorers and go-getters from way back, and every time there's been a horizon, we've headed for it, and you have to know that there is a reason. Whatever it takes, there is a reason. I just want you to know that regardless of what you turn out to be in life, I know the Kirks aren't quitters, and I know you won't be one either. You'll make me proud, son, whatever you do. I know you'll never quit either. I'm giving your mother the medal I won for my research work last year, the one you always want to hold and look at. It comes with this tape. When the time comes, you'll get them both. I love you, son. I just had to let you know that. One day you'll need to hear it again from me. I hope you've had a good life, son, and that you continue to have one. Bye for now.” In the background, before the holo switched off, Jim heard a voice and recognized it as his brother's, asking what he was doing, and being told it was a private letter, before it switched off.

Under the tape player was a small box. “Geeze,” Jim breathed. “I always asked Dad about this, and all he'd ever say was that he'd put it in a safe place.” Reverently, he opened the box and looked at the medal, turning it over in his hand. On the back was the name of his father, engraved, and one underneath it, which looked newly etched, “Admiral James T. Kirk”

Jim stood up then, going to both his friends and embracing them fiercely. “Whatever happens, we're all in it together. I don't deserve either one of you, but I love you both. Merry Christmas.” He was weeping now, openly, and it was a healing sound. Then he laughed through it, wiping his streaming eyes. “Merry Christmas,” he repeated, and he sounded content, finally.

McCoy laughed, and even Spock looked pleased. From somewhere came an echo or was that the radio tape just playing Christmas music? Outside snow fell like a benediction, and a carol played.

Have yourself a merry little Christmas,
Let your heart be light
From now on, our troubles will be out of sight

Have yourself a merry little Christmas,
Make the Yule-tide gay,
From now on, our troubles will be miles away.

Here we are as in olden days,
Happy golden days of yore.
Faithful friends who are dear to us
Gather near to us once more.

Through the years
We all will be together,
If the Fates allow
Hang a shining star upon the highest bough.
And have yourself
A merry little Christmas now.