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the_water_clockAuthor: Clio
Title: When The Game Ends, We'll Sing Again
Pairing: Kirk/McCoy, Spock/Uhura
Rating: R
Summary: College AU: Four young men meet as Harvard freshmen in 1959.
Length: 20,000 words
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created by Gene Roddenberry and owned by one of the large media companies in a complicated arrangement to which I am not a signatory. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Notes: Thanks tolucidity and ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
ali_wildgoose for their help on this story; all errors are my own. Thanks also to the ol' alma mater; I hope I've done you proud. Title from the unofficial Harvard fight song, "Ten Thousand Men of Harvard." Ridiculous pile of cultural influences listed at the end.
Part 1
the amazing mr memory
May, 1977
The first phone call came on a Thursday.
"McCoy."
"Hello, Leonard. This is Spock."
Now Spock wasn't in the habit of calling anyone to chat, so hearing his voice on the other end of the line in the middle of a weekday was … odd. But McCoy was in his office catching up on some medical journals and frankly didn't mind the distraction.
"We still on for dinner Saturday?"
"Yes, of course."
"Great. So. What can I do you for?"
Spock cleared his throat. "You do not usually have students in your house after the term ends, do you?" he asked.
"No," McCoy replied. "They cleared out last week."
"Right." Spock was quiet again, and then asked, "And when does Joanna arrive?"
"25th of June. Spock, what's this about?"
"Will you be home this evening?" Spock asked.
"Yes, why?"
"Keep your line free," he replied and hung up.
McCoy stared at the handset for a minute before putting it back in its cradle. "Dammit, Jim," he sighed, then went back to his reading.
The second phone call came that night.
"Hello?"
"Don't say my name," the voice said quickly.
McCoy rolled his eyes. "Only you."
"C'mon," Jim said. "I'm a pro."
"Whaddya need?"
"Not here. Check tomorrow morning's paper."
"Tomorrow's paper, got it. But—"
Of course Jim had hung up.
Friday morning McCoy grabbed the Chronicle that had been duly tossed up on his front porch by the paperboy and carried it with him to the trolley stop. As he rode into his lab at UCSF, he carefully paged through the paper, finally finding Jim's signal in the movie section—a red circle around a matinee showing of Star Wars.
With the term over he was on his summer schedule, which was significantly lighter so he could spend as much time with Joanna during her summer visits as possible. In practical terms this meant no shifts in the clinic, only occasional consults at the hospital, and the post-docs taking over the day-to-day running of his lab. Jim knew all of that, or at least, McCoy was reasonably sure that he'd discussed his summer schedule with Jim since they talked about everything else, so it was only slightly unsettling that Jim assumed McCoy could make a 1pm movie downtown. Well, all he'd planned to do that day was catch up on some paperwork.
McCoy had never been to this particular cinema, a dumpy little place that catered to the student crowd. He sat in the middle of the back row, since that's where they'd always sat in movies when they were at school, with popcorn and Milk Duds and soda (hey, he'd had worse lunches). The theater was small but empty, with only six other people there when the previews started. They were mostly kids' movies—Herbie, Benji, the new Disney movie featuring two mice riding on the back of a bird, plus the new Bond. McCoy wondered if Jo's upcoming thirteenth birthday meant that she was too old for Disney. The thought of that made him feel a little sad.
It wasn't until the cantina scene that a man clad in jeans and a hooded sweatshirt loped into the theater and sat down next to him. McCoy handed him the popcorn.
"How'd you know it was me?" Jim whispered.
"No one moves like you," he answered.
Jim huffed, then grabbed a handful of popcorn. "Extra butter! Aww, you remembered. I'm touched. Where are the Milk Duds?"
McCoy handed the box over.
"You take good care of me," he said as he munched. "I hope you've already seen this."
"Saw it with Scotty and Gaila last week."
"Just the once?"
"Well, I reckon I'll see it again when Jo gets here. Why?"
"Jeez, Bones, I've seen it five times. It's just like Buck Rogers!"
McCoy scowled. "Was all this cloak and dagger stuff just to get me alone in a movie theater? I mean, I'm flattered, but you coulda just called."
Jim laughed at that. "As much as I'd love to sit in the back of this theater and neck with you, I actually need your house."
"Yeah, I got that from Spock's questions," McCoy said, more grouchily than he meant it. After their respective divorces they'd been teasing each other more openly, but the image of making out with Jim still got to him. "What do you want with my house?"
"I need a safe house," he replied.
"Aren't those things usually in the country?"
"Just in the movies. It's actually easier to secure a free-standing house in a developed area. Also your neighbors are used to people coming in and out of there are all hours. And you have a remarkably advanced security clearance."
McCoy shrugged. "Government grants. But Jo—"
"We'll be out of there before she arrives," Jim said.
"When would you need it?"
"Saturday."
McCoy thought for a moment. "Fine, just promise you won't wreck anything."
Jim grinned. "We won't. Besides, you'll be handsomely compensated. Probably best to pack up anything irreplaceable. You know, just in case. Oh, and make sure there's room in your garage for a large van."
"You fill me with confidence," McCoy said. "So what now?"
"Now we watch the rest of the movie, Bones. Ooh, I love this part."
Making your house into a kind of supplementary dorm for medical residents meant that you didn't keep irreplaceable objects in common areas to begin with. McCoy's grandmother's quilts were tucked into the hope chest that had belonged to his mother and would be passed down to Jo when the time came. The little treasures Jim had sent him from his various travels were in his office at the lab. At least he could display his—Jim had sent the Spocks nothing but fertility gods until the twins were born.
On Saturday morning he made himself some coffee and toast and went out on his front porch to do the crossword and wait. He didn't have much trouble picking out Jim's vehicle when it came up the street—there weren't many Chevy vans with an airbrush painting of the solar system driving around Noe Valley. McCoy walked down the steps to the ground level and pulled the garage door closed behind them. Airmen were piling out of the van like clowns, or at least he assumed they were airmen. They dressed like some of his students, in flared jeans, denim jackets and ridiculous t-shirts, but their hair was a bit shorter than the average college kid and as they came into the house they addressed him as "sir."
Jim climbed out last, a solemn young man next to him. "Men, this is Dr. Leonard McCoy, who has generously leant us his home. Bones, this is—
"Pavel Andreyevich Chekov," McCoy answered, shaking the man's hand.
"You read the papers," Jim said.
McCoy shrugged. "And I talk to Spock."
Chekov's eyes flew open. "You know Professor Spock also?" he asked in a heavy Russian accent. "He is inspiration for my defection—his book on responsibility of scientists."
McCoy nodded. "Well, for what it's worth I think you're a very brave man."
The corners of his lips turned down. "My parents are dead. There was nothing to keep me."
"Only everything you know," McCoy replied. "It isn't as simple to leave all that behind as people think. Believe me, I understand."
Jim chuckled. "When he gets like this, Chekov, it's best to just agree with him."
"Very well, then I am brave," Chekov said.
"Good," Jim said. "Let's go upstairs."
McCoy was impressed by the airmen's efficiency. It took them mere moments to secure the house to their satisfaction. His was just another San Francisco Victorian, with a garage on the ground floor and steps up to a porch at the front door that let into the second floor of kitchen, dining room and living room. The third floor had four bedrooms, so Chekov, Jim, and another officer named Sulu would stay up there with McCoy. Mitchell and Riley were to stay in the bedrooms on the first floor. Sulu began placing recording equipment in the dining room, and McCoy realized that his house was being used to debrief Chekov—hence the need for his own security clearance.
After leading Chekov to his room McCoy wandered back down to the kitchen, wondering if he should give the airmen coffee or breakfast, and a little annoyed with himself for not having thought of it. Then Sulu came up from the garage carrying four large paper bags and set them on the kitchen counter.
"We took the liberty of buying groceries, sir," he said, starting to unpack the bags.
"Not sir," McCoy replied, helping to put things away. "McCoy. Doctor if you must."
Sulu nodded. "The colonel said he hoped you still had custody of the waffle iron?"
McCoy barked out a laugh. "He would—it was his wedding present to me. I have it, but it doesn't work too well these days."
"That's fine, Bones," Jim said, patting McCoy's shoulder as he walked into the kitchen. "We can go to Penny's and get you another one." He pulled a mixing bowl down from the cabinet. "Sulu, why don't you see if Mitchell or Riley need any assistance while I get breakfast started?"
Sulu looked over McCoy's shoulder and McCoy turned to see Chekov standing in the kitchen doorway. "Yes sir," he said, and headed downstairs.
McCoy took a seat at one of the stools at the kitchen counter. "Kirk here has an obsession with breakfast foods," McCoy said, as much to Jim as to Chekov.
"It's the most important meal of the day," Jim said, smiling. "And it reminds me of you."
"It's the only meal you can reliably cook," McCoy said, watching Jim mix up the pancake batter.
"The only meal you'll let me cook," Jim replied.
"You have known the colonel a long time then?" Chekov asked.
"We've known each other all our lives," Jim said. "The part that counts, anyway."
After breakfast Jim, Sulu and Chekov went into the dining room and got started, Mitchell and his buddy Riley settled themselves at the doors, and McCoy went into his office to tackle a new grant application and some recommendation letters he'd been putting off. He'd forgotten that pleasant feeling of working at home and knowing that other people were working as well, something he hadn't felt since their rooms in Lowell House. A sandwich materialized at his elbow a little after noon, brought by Riley but surely either made or at least dictated by Jim because it was perfect: liverwurst, onions, that horseradish mayo stuff, rye toast.
In the afternoon he went out into the back yard and puttered around, though Riley had already mowed the lawn that morning—his bright idea of a cover for assessing the fence and the neighbors on the other side of it and hey, McCoy wasn't going to argue with that. He checked the flower beds that he and Jo had set out so many years ago, when she was a tiny thing digging in the soil with a plastic shovel from her sand box. He knew they'd be the first things she'd want to see when she arrived. He looked up and saw Jim, evidently on a break, walking out to him with a can of Coors from the fridge.
"You know there's a whole movie coming out about how you can't get this on the east coast?" Jim asked, pulling the tab on his own Fresca. "Dunno what the fuss is."
"Scarcity?" McCoy asked, shrugging.
"Maybe," Jim said, rubbing a hand across the back of his neck and definitely not looking him in the eye.
"All right, out with it," McCoy said, because if that wasn't Jim's universal gesture of "what I have to say you might not want to hear" he didn't know what was.
Jim chuckled. "I've invited a couple people over to dinner tonight, if that's all right."
"I'm not your damn wife, Jim," McCoy replied. "And apparently I'm not cooking any meals while your boys are here, so I don't know what I possibly could have to say about it. Is my security clearance high enough that I can sit at the big kids' table?"
"Your clearance is actually frighteningly high," Jim said. "Almost as high as mine. What have you been up to?"
"CDC stuff, mostly," he said. "They're always panicking about the Ruskies putting some bug in the water system or bringing back Spanish influenza. When events like Legionnaire's come up it makes them feel better to have a pissy virologist telling them to calm the fuck down."
"That should be your new title," Jim said, grinning. "Leonard Horatio McCoy, MD, PhD, pissy virologist."
For the sake of his own sanity, McCoy had learned not to get into guessing games with Jim Kirk. If Jim wanted him to know something, he'd tell him; if he didn't say, McCoy tried not to fuss over it. Plenty of time to be annoyed when the secret was revealed, and anyway, he wasn't quite as good as Spock was at anticipating Jim's behavior. So he didn't spend the afternoon wondering who was going to be at his dinner table, and instead puttered around and watched Sulu help Chekov make some kind of Russian feast while Jim took the van to pick up their guests.
That said, as soon as he heard the doorbell ring he knew who was on the other side of it. Only Spock always insisted on coming in through the front door, and only Spock would ring the doorbell even though he had been brought over to the house personally by Jim. And yet, when he opened the door, he was still surprised at who was standing behind Spock.
"Scotty?" he asked.
Scotty beamed. "Long time no see, eh?" he said as he walked in.
"Yeah, long time like two weeks ago," McCoy replied, shaking his hand. "What gives, Jim?"
"One of the many projects the Sovs had Chekov working on was a new jet engine. Scotty knows all the lingo, and besides, who'd think anything of him coming by your house?"
"What makes you think that anyone is paying attention to who is coming and going from my house in the first place?" he asked.
"Bones, please," Jim said.
He sighed. "So you drove all the way down to Palo Alto, then up to Berkeley, and back here, in that ridiculous van?"
"Hey," Jim replied, poking him in the chest, "that van is a sweet ride, as the kids say. Play your cards right and maybe I'll take you out for a spin."
"I should be so lucky," McCoy replied, rolling his eyes.
Chekov, upon seeing Spock again, was overcome by hero worship. He was frustrated trying to express himself adequately in English, but once Spock showed himself perfectly fluent in Russian the defector began babbling excitedly. It was actually sort of sweet. McCoy tried not to think about how inexplicably sexy Jim was when he spoke Russian—always had been, even back at school when he and Nyota would lapse into it on occasion. But at least he had Scotty to distract him by actually speaking English while they dined on borscht, salmon, boiled potatoes, cucumbers, brown bread and possibly more dill than McCoy had ever seen on one table.
After dessert he and Scotty left them to it and moved out onto the back porch. Riley was walking around the yard below them, checking the perimeter, and even Scotty was somewhat subdued, enjoying the gorgeous night. McCoy listened to the Russian drifting out of the window and felt strangely serene. Maybe Jim was right; maybe a little chaos was good for the soul.
"So," Scotty said. "You and Jim are getting along well."
McCoy scowled. "Why wouldn't we be?"
Scotty cocked his head.
Sometimes the bush telegraph that connected their college gang of eight was damned useful, such as when he hadn't had to tell everyone about the final, disastrous failure of his marriage. Other times he wondered if he would ever have any actual privacy again. "So you heard about that Tokyo trip," he said.
"You two spend two weeks in Japan mostly shouting at each other and sending tense postcards, people are going to find out."
"That was four years ago!"
Scotty shrugged.
"It was cathartic," McCoy said. "By the end we were aces, and we still are."
"I can see that," Scotty said. "I'm glad to see it."
McCoy looked at his friend, face half-shadowed in the dim light. For all his eccentricities and seeming aloofness, Scotty had always been the one holding them together through the rough spots. "Me too," he replied. "Where are you staying?"
"Gaila's flat," he replied, referring to her pied-a-terre in Pacific Heights, as opposed to the family townhouse on Nob Hill or the estate south of the city. "She's in Capri."
"And you're not with her because?"
"Because we're neither married nor joined at the hip?" Scotty said. "Because I had finals to grade and an oral exam to give?"
"Right. And when are you leaving for Italy?"
Scotty grimaced. "As soon as Jim's done with me," he said. "Happy?"
"Ecstatic," McCoy said, laughing. "Oh, and Christine told me you agreed. That's a great thing you're doing for her and Janice."
"Well, I reckon I'm doing it for myself, too," he replied. "Do you—who else knows?"
McCoy shrugged. "The Spocks know about Christine and Janice's relationship, but I don't think they know about what you're doing yet—at least, Nyota didn't mention it when I saw her last week. Jim, well, when do we ever know what Jim knows."
"You know Jan asked Gaila about it before she asked me?" he said.
"Of course she did, Scotty," McCoy replied. "I don't know who you two think you're fooling aside from yourselves."
"Who we're fooling?" Scotty asked, chuckling. "What about you?"
"What do you mean?" McCoy asked.
But Scotty didn't reply, instead nodding his head toward the door.
When McCoy turned he was surprised to see Lt. Sulu. "Enough Russian for ya?" McCoy asked.
Sulu shrugged. "They're talking physics now," he replied. "Dunno how the colonel can follow them."
"He probably can't," Scotty said, grinning.
"He's attracted to expertise," McCoy said. "He always has liked listening to people in their element."
"Probably what makes him a good officer," Scotty added.
"He is that," Sulu replied.
"Well, that dishwasher ain't gonna load itself," McCoy said, and the three of them headed back into the kitchen. But there they found Chekov, scraping plates.
"Dr. Chekov you don't need to be doing that," Sulu said. "You made dinner."
"I want to," Chekov said firmly. "I can carry my weight. And I wanted Kirk to visit with his friend. He's spent enough time entertaining me."
"I'm sure Jim doesn't mind one bit," Scotty said.
"Here, I'll help you," Sulu said, starting to rinse off the plates.
Jim poked his head out of the dining room. "Ah, there you are. I wondered where you'd wandered off to. Can you two come in here?"
"Sure," McCoy said.
"Sulu, we're going to be in here for a while. Take care of our man; make sure he has whatever he needs."
"Yes, sir," Sulu said.
"Thank you, sir," Chekov said.
Jim closed the door behind them. "Cards, Bones?" Jim had that look, had had it all day, of needing to Make an Announcement. McCoy kept thinking it was Chekov, or Spock and Scotty coming by, but clearly there was more, and the four of them had always talked better when there was something in the middle of the table—if not food, cards would do.
McCoy pulled playing cards and a pad and pen from the top drawer of the side cabinet. "Rummy," he said. "I'm not playing poker with this crew."
Once the cards were dealt and they were all arranging their hands, Jim said, "So I'm thinking about leaving the air force next year."
Typical Jim to give out big news so casually. Even Spock raised his eyebrows. There was a pause as the others stared at him, and then Scotty asked, "Why next year, Jim?"
"I'll be at fifteen years of service, which with the combat time in Vietnam and my rank means a pension, so whatever I do after this David will be provided for." He drew and discarded. "Plus I've been hearing that thanks to this little escapade, among other things, they're giving me my star soon."
"Wow, who would have thought," McCoy said. "General Kirk. And how did you hear about this?"
Jim shrugged. "Word gets around. And my next assignment is to go back to Hawaii, to the base I was at when I met Carol, and basically be General Pike's right hand man for at least the summer if not longer. Which means, they're teaching me how to run a base myself. Not surprising, since this thing with Chekov means I can't return to Moscow any time soon."
"I would think," Spock said, "that a promotion to general would be a reason to remain in the service, not to retire." He placed a set of threes in front of him.
"Yeah, you know what generals do?" Jim asked. "They sit in offices and give orders. Or they sit in the Pentagon and think up strategies that if they're really good don't get too changed by their superiors or the folks at State. Or if they're lucky, like Pike, they run a base and spend their time making nice with the locals and translating those strategies into something actually worth doing. But they aren't the ones on the ground making things happen."
"The armed services give you a unique opportunity to make things happen now, Jim." Spock said. "How would you replicate that in civilian life?"
"I met up with Gaila a few weeks ago in Germany," he replied. "She needs someone to run that foundation of hers, focus their efforts. I think with a little know-how and the right people we could even turn it into a real NGO if we wanted to. She was talking about picking up on all that responsibility stuff you've been talking about, Spock. And Bones, I'd want to talk to you about that stint you did with Doctors Without Borders."
McCoy played a jack on a run of Scotty's, and discarded. "Be glad to," he said.
Spock drew a card. "Are you sure, Jim, that yours and Gaila's relationship is suited to working together in such a fashion?" he asked.
"Look, I know that Gaila can be kinda kooky," Jim said, "but even you have to admit that she's perfectly capable of rational thought when she wants to be. Anyway she'd be doing the fundraising and outreach to the rich and powerful, which she does now anyway. I'd be in charge of implementation. I guess something about Brigadier General, Retired makes people sit up and take you seriously, while madcap heiress doesn't, even with the Radcliffe degree." He looked down at the discard pile, then picked up all of the cards.
"But who would decide where those efforts should be focused?" Spock asked.
"I can answer that," Scotty said. "Gaila's been talking about getting a board of directors and running the place like a proper foundation."
"Of whom would that board consist?" Spock asked.
"Oh, us," Scotty said. "The eight of us. That's her idea right now, at least."
"And I think it's a good one," Jim said. He'd finally finished shuffling through his cards, setting down two runs before discarding. "We're a pretty diverse bunch, all things considered."
"I do not think a philosophy professor—"
"Spock, honestly," McCoy said. "You inspired a kid genius to defect from the Soviet Union with this responsible scientist stuff."
"He's right," Jim said. "All I did was get him out of a hotel full of KGB. You're the one who made him want to leave."
"I admit, though I am always pleased to see how influential the book has become, when Chekov contacted me at that conference in Helsinki I was very surprised," Spock said.
"Well, at least you thought to find me," Jim said.
"I would do nothing else, Jim," Spock said. "I must admit, your decision to retire does appear well thought-out."
"But is it logical?" Scotty asked, grinning.
"I have found that life decisions are rarely entirely logical," Spock admitted. "Otherwise, I would not now be married, and we would not have the twins."
"You mean, married to Nyota?" McCoy asked.
"I could have married no one else," Spock replied. "But as to your question, Scotty, I would say that Jim's reasoning is sound. Also, I am out," he said, putting his last card in the discard pile.
"You would go out when I had all this shit in my hand," Jim said, setting the cards down in disgust.
"Serves you right," McCoy said as he set down the scores.
"Taking risks is worth it in the long run," Jim said, sliding his cards over to Scotty. "At least I think so."
"It's a good plan, Jim," Scotty said. "I know it will take a weight off Gaila's mind to have you in there with her. There's so many folks around her she can't really trust. I think that's why she spends her time with us."
"Oh I'm sure that's not the only reason," McCoy said, smiling.
"I'm just her designated escort," Scotty replied. "Her friends think I'm funny. We're not an item, no matter what these silly papers say."
"Of course not," Spock said. "We all spend major holidays with our designated escorts."
"All right, enough of that," Scotty said firmly. "Back to Jim."
"Yeah, back to me," Jim said. "Bones, you haven't said what you think of this."
"Well," McCoy said, watching Scotty deal, "what I want to know is, why now? You'd get a much better pension if you stayed in for another five years, and you probably could have run Gaila's foundation any time you wanted to. So why now?"
Jim looked at his cards. "You found me out, Bones, as usual," he said. "I called Carol last week to let her know about the Honolulu assignment and when she put David on—you know I haven't seen him in eight months? He was so excited about spending the summer with me."
"Of course he was," McCoy said.
"I grew up without a dad and I just don't want that for my son," Jim said. "If I retire now, I can settle down in one place and see a lot more of him. Carol's got her career too—I'm sure we can come up with some kind of arrangement."
"Where would you be settling?" McCoy asked.
Jim cocked his head. "Here in San Francisco, of course. Even if David does stay in Honolulu, we're as close as anyone could be, here. And all of you are here." He smiled at McCoy. "Why would I go anyplace else?"
McCoy blinked. The idea of Jim being permanently anyplace was strange enough, let alone living in the same city. He felt overwhelmed. "Well, that would be something," he said.
"Aww, Bones, don't you want me as your new neighbor?" Jim asked. "I'm hurt."
"Of course I do, idiot," McCoy growled. "It's just unexpected, is all."
"You know Len here doesn't like change," Scotty said. "Be easy on him."
"Oh I will be," Jim said, smiling. "Don't you worry."
"Famous last words if ever I heard them," McCoy replied.
Jim established a routine fairly quickly: the debriefing would start in the dining room immediately after an early breakfast and then end for the day before a late dinner. Spock only came that one night, not only because he wasn't really needed but also because he was pretty much shit at keeping anything from Nyota. But Scotty hung around for three days, leaving for Italy on Wednesday morning with all necessary and unnecessary teasing from Jim and McCoy.
McCoy kept up his own regular life, mostly going into the lab to set up the summer projects and supervise the staff of grad students and post docs. Jim for whatever reason started packing a lunch for McCoy to take with him. McCoy accused him of being June Cleaver but Jim just replied that he was actually Donna Reed, not only because she was married to a doctor but also because she was "a sexy blond like myself." The sandwiches were good enough that McCoy was determined not to fret over it too much—it had been a long time since someone else was cooking for him on a regular basis.
McCoy also maintained his regular Wednesday night phone call with Christine Chapel, holed up in his bedroom watching Charlie's Angels on the little black and white tv and talking about everything and nothing. Sure, it was extravagant talking long distance for an hour, but it was at night and dammit it was worth it. Their divorces had been around the same time, back in 1970, and they found talking to each other to be a great relief, with everyone else in their circle either married or single—at the time Jim had been a newlywed and expectant father and therefore entirely useless. It was almost like when they were at school, the only engaged people, and they clung to each other now much as they had then. When Chris first left Roger she came west to stay with Janice in Big Sur for a while, and after a year the two of them moved down to San Diego when Christine got a research position at Scripps.
He and Christine were in the middle of something or other, likely something silly, when McCoy heard one of the extensions pick up and a voice say, "Oh, sorry," and hang up again. McCoy held his breath.
"Do I recognize that voice?" Christine asked.
"Look, Sabrina is running without a bra," McCoy said.
"Don't you try to distract me with Kate Jackson," Christine said. "Why is he there and why didn't you tell me?"
"I can't tell you, and because I can't tell you."
"Truly?" she asked.
"Truly."
Christine was quiet for a moment. "Well, now that I do know, how is that? Cozy?"
"Why do you ask?" McCoy said innocently, though he knew why—she was the only one he'd ever told about him and Jim in Europe.
"Len."
McCoy sighed. "There are other people here. It's not like we're alone. But I don't know. It's nice to come home to dinner again, and have people I know in the house. Honestly I'm trying not to think about it. There's other news, but I'll have to wait to tell you about that," he said, thinking of Jim's thoughts of retirement.
"Fair enough," she replied. "Just be careful."
McCoy wanted to say that there was nothing to be careful about, or that he wasn't any of the women left brokenhearted by Jim over the years, or even that those ladies had been fooling themselves. But instead he sighed and said, "I will, Chris."
As if on cue, there was a knock at the door. McCoy let Jim in and simply handed the phone over. "Hi Christine. … Yeah, you too. … Could you?" There was a pause, then, "Hello! Don't say my name. Will you be home later this month? Might be able to come see you both. … Good, good, I will let you know. … Me too. Okay, I'll give it back to them now."
McCoy and Christine said their goodbyes quickly, Jim smirking at McCoy all the while. He hung up and Jim sat down cross-legged at the foot of the bed.
"So," Jim said. "You've been on the phone with Christine for an hour? You never used to like talking on the phone."
"Yeah, well," McCoy said, rubbing plumping the pillow behind his back. "Chris is different."
Jim laughed. "Oh really?"
"Not you too!" McCoy said, scowling. "She only just finally got Nyota to stop trying to fix us up. Chris and I are real close, but it's just not gonna happen."
"No?" Jim asked. "Why are you so sure?"
"Well." He hesitated. "She's been looking in another direction."
"Oh?" Jim asked. "She has someone else?"
"Jim, it's not my story to tell."
Jim grinned suddenly, and clapped him on the shoulder. "You're a good friend, Bones."
"What?"
"I know what you're not telling," Jim said. "Janice told me a couple of months ago."
"She did?"
"Yeah, she sent a telegram, wanted me to call her. I guess you know this too—she wants to have a baby."
McCoy cocked his head. "And she wanted you to help her?"
"No, actually she was making sure I was okay with her asking Scotty first, since I have a son and he probably won't be having kids. Which I was." He smiled. "And then I asked why she needed anyone's help and she said she was with a woman now. I mean, you know Jan—she just comes right out and says what she means, at least with me. So I teased her about spoiling her for all men and asked if I know the lady in question and when she said, 'yep,' I said, 'well, good for you, Jan. Good for you.'"
"They seem pretty happy," McCoy said. "I haven't been down since Chris told me, but she sounds real good. Dunno why it took them so long to tell the rest of us—or, well, I do, but still. I mean, it's us."
"Yeah, well, you can never know. You know that."
McCoy nodded.
"I'm just glad she's found someone great like Christine. I adore Jan, but we would have had one of those awful young marriages with everyone in over their head and would've have hated each other once it was over. You and Christine—it might not have worked out for either of you, but at least you were ready for it. Hell, I wasn't even ready with Carol. But now …"
"Now you are?" McCoy asked, raising an eyebrow.
Jim smiled, a little sheepish. "Maybe, maybe I am. Still, even though Jan deserved better than me, I'm sorry she was alone so much." He toyed with a thread on the quilt. "But hey, that meant she had time to write to me."
"She did?" McCoy asked. "You never told me that."
"Once a week, like clockwork, from the time I went in. It was like a lifeline."
McCoy bit his lip. "I'm sorry, Jim. I—"
"No," Jim said firmly, holding up his hand. "You had other things on your mind. And we—we had to make a break."
McCoy felt a little sad, suddenly, at how his plunge into marriage and medical school and fatherhood so quickly after graduation had left Jim alone. "I suppose we did," he said.
"Speaking of which, I told Jan. About Myrtle Beach and Europe, I mean."
"Funny thing," McCoy said. "I told Chris."
"Huh," Jim said, his eyebrows knit together. He nodded, as if he'd decided something, then swung his legs off the bed. "Well, I should go check with the men before I turn in," he said, walking over to the door. He paused and said, "I think tomorrow is the last day. We're about done."
"Oh?" McCoy said, because of course this would end eventually; he just hadn't really been thinking about it.
"Maybe we should try to go see Chris and Jan," Jim continued. "I've asked for some leave after this mission is over."
"You only say that because you want to drive down to San Diego in that damn van," McCoy replied lightly.
Jim chuckled. "Probably. Good night, Bones."
"Good night, Jim."
McCoy sat up that night for quite a while, thinking about Jim and that Tokyo trip back in '73. It was the first chance they'd had to spend time together since the divorces, and emotions were running even higher than usual. Their anger and disappointment and confusion with themselves, with each other, with the universe was so intense McCoy could almost taste it in the air. Once the shouting started he wasn't sure how it was going to stop. Jim said at one point that they were either going to fight or fuck, but in the end they did neither. One night in the middle of the final week they were outside in a sauna at some kind of spa, bickering as they had been for the past ten days, when thanks to the steam or the sake or just sheer exhaustion they ended up clinging to each other and sobbing apologies that they needed to give more than they needed to hear. When they woke up the next morning McCoy felt like a weight had been lifted from his shoulders, and Jim smiled, really smiled for the first time since McCoy had arrived in Japan. Later he said, "We lost it, but we got it back last night."
Funny how Jim always talked about them like they were Rick and Ilsa.
Anyway he was right—after that things were pretty easy between them, even if they didn't see much of each other. That was when the teasing started, or anyway he'd thought it was teasing until this visit. Now he wondered if it hadn't been flirting all along.
Thursday night McCoy came home from the lab to the smell of dinner cooking, as he had all week, but also a large box sitting on his desk that really, he should have been expecting since Saturday morning.
"You like it?" Jim asked, popping his head in the door.
McCoy picked up the waffle iron and held it out. "Of course. It's the 'deluxe model,' how could I not like it?"
Jim moved into the room and took the box, flipping it over in his hands. "See, you can lift out the sides and flip them, and then you have an electric griddle. I noticed you don't have one."
"A griddle?" McCoy asked, looking at Jim.
Jim nodded, eyes on McCoy. "In your stove. Remember, in the Myrtle Beach house? I made pancakes on it?"
McCoy smiled. "Yeah, I remember," he replied.
"Well, now you can have waffles and pancakes! In your own house!"
"That's great Jim," McCoy said, slapping him on the shoulder and pulling him into a rough half-embrace. "Thanks. Really."
"Sure," Jim said, relaxing into McCoy's touch for a moment before taking a step back. "Dinner'll be ready in a bit, so wash up," he said, and walked back into the kitchen.
Their meal that night was quieter than the past ones; all the men seemed to be preoccupied with their own thoughts. McCoy didn't mind not having to keep up his end of the conversation as it had been a strange week any way you looked at it. And what was strangest about it was that Jim slamming back into his house and making himself completely at home wasn't actually the strangest part. Nor was watching Jim in his element, putting the understandably jittery Chekov at ease and gaining his trust at the same time by letting him see Spock again. His men clearly thought he walked on water, and McCoy wasn't sure Jim couldn't if he really wanted to.
McCoy sat at the kitchen counter and watched Sulu and Chekov clean up after dinner, as they had done nearly every night while Riley and Mitchell performed their mysterious rituals that kept the house safe from the KGB. Jim had gone into the office to use the phone, door shut, and when he came out his expression was, well, not stern exactly. More like determined.
"Well, Pavel," Jim said, leaning on the counter, "it's official. We're handing you over to the feds tomorrow."
Chekov nodded, wiping his hands on a dish towel. "Where am I going next?" he asked.
Jim shook his head. "They didn't tell me. Everything's on a need-to-know basis and I … don't, apparently. Sorry."
Chekov shrugged. "Is okay. I suppose I should get ready to leave?"
"Yeah," Jim replied. "We'll go out after breakfast tomorrow."
Chekov headed upstairs, and Sulu grimly mumbled something about packing up the equipment and walked into the dining room.
McCoy sat up. "You arranged all this over the phone?" he asked. "Just now?"
"Jeez, Bones, what do you take me for?" Jim said, offended. "Of course not. I met up with their guy downtown at the JC Penny while I got the waffle iron. Two birds with one stone, better cover, et cetera."
He shook his head. "You're really something, Jim."
"Ain't I just?" Jim said, cocking his head. "I've gotta tell the others, but then it's you, me, the rest of that," he said, pointing at the leftover apple pie sitting on the counter, "and the bourbon I saw in your office."
"All right," McCoy said. While Jim was gone he put the pie in the toaster oven to warm up a little and pulled out some ice cream. It was their last night, after all; he figured they could use some a la mode. He was just setting down the tray with pie and coffee on the mostly-cleared-off desk when Jim came in.
"Oh, wow, Bones," he said, his eyes lighting up. "That's—wow. Good call."
"Thank you," McCoy said, handing him a spoon.
Jim took a bite and sat back in the chair, head tipped back and eyes closed. After a bit of nearly-orgasmic moaning, he said, "That's it. I'm retiring to San Francisco just so I can eat your apple pie with vanilla ice cream any time I want." He opened his eyes. "Will you still love me when I'm fat?"
"I will," McCoy said, "but your heart won't."
"Hmph," Jim replied, and sat up to grab another spoonful. "Where's the booze?"
"Not tonight," McCoy said lightly. "But there's coffee."
Jim looked up at him sharply from underneath his brows, suspicious. "Coffee it is" he said, and took a slurp. "So I got the leave I requested," he said. "Next two weeks."
"You certainly deserve it," McCoy replied.
"I think you should come with me to San Diego," he said.
"Jim, I know you've completely interrupted it, but I do have a life and responsibilities here."
"What I know," Jim said, "is that your lab will be just fine without you for a couple of weeks, and that Chris and Jan would love to see you."
"Well," McCoy said.
"I figure we can drive down, see some sights, take our time. We haven't had a road trip since you came to see me in Japan five years ago."
McCoy pressed his lips together. "At least this time let me drive," he said.
"Of course. And we'll get you back in plenty of time before Joanna gets here."
"Sounds like you've got it all worked out," McCoy said.
"Mostly," Jim replied. "I mean it about retirement by the way. I've made up my mind, gonna take the 15-year deal."
"I'm sure Gaila will be happy to hear that," McCoy replied.
"And I was wondering," he said, assembling another bite, "how you'd feel about having a housemate."
McCoy sat up. "A what?"
"You know, like The Odd Couple? Two divorced men sharing a house? I can pay my share, and you know I can cook, and come on, that whole med student boarding house thing has to be getting old."
"A little," McCoy said.
"We've lived together before, hell, we've even traveled together. We're good enough friends that we can work out any problems and it's a big enough house that you can just ignore me if you're really pissy."
McCoy shrugged. "Sure did that with Jocelyn, toward the end," he said.
Jim scowled. "Now don't bring that up. That's a bad precedent. How about that fight we had in Osaka, or in Lisbon? We got through those all right."
"True," McCoy said.
"We have the same friends, give or take. And I wouldn't be moving in with very much stuff."
McCoy cocked his head. "You can't think that your moving in here wouldn't change things, Jim, no matter how much stuff you do or don't have."
"Maybe not," Jim said, very much not looking at McCoy, "but you've liked it, this week, my being here. I know you have."
"You lured me with Russian child geniuses and liverwurst sandwiches."
Jim grinned at that.
McCoy took another bite of pie so he could be quiet for a bit and think. "You make a good argument, James Tiberius," he said.
"You don't sound entirely convinced, Leonard Horatio," Jim replied.
"Well, what I want to know is, on what terms would you be moving in here?"
"Terms?" Jim asked.
"Yeah, Jim," he said. "Are we gonna be just roommates, or something more?"
Jim's breath caught just a little, and McCoy had to be careful not to smile. That first time in Myrtle Beach Jim had taken him entirely by surprise but now he knew the man's tells. Jim squared his shoulders looked McCoy straight in the eye. "I guess that's up to you, Bones."
And really, that was fair, McCoy thought as he leaned forward and kissed him. Jim had made that first move after all. He reckoned he could make the last one. Jim tasted of ice cream and cinnamon, reminding McCoy of the chocolate milk and it was like the past and the present and the future were swirling all around them, their great big American future. He couldn't regret any of it, not one step of the circuitous path they'd been on, because it got them here, now.
McCoy pulled back, a little breathless, and pressed his forehead to Jim's. "A year, huh?" he asked.
"Give or take, yeah," Jim replied.
"I can wait," McCoy said. "Don't break your damn neck in the meantime, now."
Jim grinned. "I won't," he said. They kissed again, and then Jim pulled back. "We can't—"
"I know," McCoy said, and sat back in his chair. Then, before he could think about it too much, he pulled his class ring off his pinky finger and handed it to Jim.
"Why Beauregard," he said, batting his lashes and laying on a thick southern accent, "are you pinning me?"
"Shut up," McCoy said. "Look, it's not inscribed or anything, and it's your class too. No one would know."
"I'll know," Jim said, sliding the ring onto his finger. "You trying to keep me faithful, Bones?"
"Maybe."
"All right." He smiled. "Well, we should probably go up now, or I won't be able to keep from fucking you in this room."
"Yeah," McCoy said, nodding. "All right."
It was oddly comforting, hitting the lights and walking up the stairs with Jim, even if they weren't going to the same bedroom. McCoy saw Chekov and Sulu sitting on Chekov's bed looking at a photo album.
"Don't stay up too late, fellas," Jim said. "Early morning."
"Yes, sir," Sulu said.
"Good night, Bones," Jim said, and McCoy could see that Jim was fiddling with the ring.
He smiled. "Good night, Jim," he said.
Friday morning Jim made everyone waffles, and after breakfast the airmen hustled Chekov off to meet the FBI in their ridiculous painted van. McCoy left soon after them—okay, so he was avoiding the emptiness of the house, something he hadn't noticed before—to run errands. He went down to the lab to make arrangements for two weeks away, got a guide book to the California coast at the campus bookstore, and almost bought new swim trunks before deciding that he wasn't going on his honeymoon, dammit, and since he was the one who gave Jim a ring maybe he should stop acting like a girl.
Then he drove up to his house, and there was Jim, sitting on the porch eating pistachio nuts. He grinned up at McCoy. "I got maps," he said, holding up a handful. "I know how you like to plan this stuff."
"Thanks," he said, taking a seat next to him. "So are we taking my car or are you going to insist on that van?"
Jim grinned. "That van belongs to the Department of Defense." He paused, knocked a few more nuts into his mouth. "At least, in two weeks it will."
"I swear to God, Jim, you put a mattress in the back of that thing, don't expect me to be sleeping on it."
The two men left Friday afternoon and took their time, stopping often as they drove south along the PCH. They finally arrived at Chris and Jan's Sunday evening. Jim wanted to see if Chris or Jan would work it out so as they got out of the van and walked down the drive for welcome hugs they stayed a careful friendly distance apart. But McCoy could see Jan's eyes as they looked from Jim's face, to his hand with the ring, to McCoy's own hand without a ring. She stared for a good minute—long enough that Chris asked what she was looking at—and then broke into a grin. "Well it's about time," she said.
"Yeah," Jim said. "About the right time."
Harvard Class of 1963
Fifteenth Anniversary Report
JAMES TIBERIUS KIRK. Address San Francisco, CA. Occupation Brig. Gen., USAF. Children David, b September 28, 1970.
Can two men share a house without driving each other crazy? We'll find out—I'm leaving the Air Force this summer after fifteen years and moving in with my old roommate Leonard McCoy while I take over as the administrator of a charitable foundation. Far better for me than being stuck at the Pentagon, and I get a pension besides.
Now that I'm settled in one place for a while I'll get to see my son more, too. He's nearly eight, hilarious and headstrong, and the goal for this winter is to get him to Iowa because he's never seen snow!
LEONARD HORATIO MCCOY. Address San Francisco, CA. Occupation Doctor, researcher in infectious diseases. Degrees MD, UCSF; PhD, UC Berkeley. Children Joanna, b August 23, 1964.
Yes, at my age, I'm about to have a roommate. But at least he's a known quantity, and the military has forced him into neater habits. Other than that, things are much the same, and I spend much of my day staring at viruses or making sure my grad students are actually doing what they should be. Some days, clinic is a blessed relief from the lab, some days just the opposite, so it's probably good that I have both to keep me busy. That, a teenage daughter and a new roommate are about all I can handle at present.
MONTGOMERY SCOTT. Address Palo Alto, CA. Occupation Professor of Aeronautical and Astronautical Engineering, Stanford University. Degree PhD, California Institute of Technology.
What can I say? Not much has changed, and life has settled into a comfortable routine of work at Stanford and play elsewhere. Classmates finding themselves in the Bay Area should definitely give me a call.
SPOCK. Address Berkeley, CA. Occupation Professor, Philosophy of Science and Logic, UC Berkeley. Degree PhD, Harvard University. Wife Nyota Uhura '63, October 15, 1967. Children Isaac and Rebeccah, b May 17, 1970.
We had our moment in the spotlight last year, thanks to Dr. Chekov, and it is a strange thing to think that one's work might inspire others to such actions. The children are in school, making our daily lives a bit less hectic, and I am taking some time now to focus on teaching and reading, both of which are rejuvenating. I suspect that Isaac and Rebeccah will have an influence on my philosophy that I could never have predicted. Nyota, however, seems entirely unsurprised. Children are many things, but always fascinating.
Harvard Class of 1963
Twentieth Anniversary Report
JAMES TIBERIUS KIRK. Address San Francisco, CA. Occupation Brig. Gen., USAF (Ret.); Director, The Orion Fund. Partner Leonard McCoy '63. Children David, b September 28, 1970.
Right, so, not exactly a roommate. Some part of me thinks this should feel like a bigger change but it's been coming along so gradually that I can't see it as much of one. Besides, if you're going to be gay, San Francisco is a damn good place to be.
Another change that is a change is that my son will be living with me and attending high school here in San Francisco. It will be interesting, to say the least. Leonard's already been through it with his daughter but I suspect that I'll also be relying on Spock, and he on me. But come to think of it, that's nothing new, either.
Directing a large charitable foundation has been a welcome and rewarding challenge. We've invested in many different programs around the world, but the constant theme is an individual's ability to control their own sexuality, be it our efforts against girls being sold into brothels, or combatting female genital mutilation, or working for reproductive rights or homosexual rights around the world as well as here in the US. We've been able to have some good effect, but there is so much more to be done.
LEONARD HORATIO MCCOY. Address San Francisco, CA. Occupation Doctor, Director of the Orion Free Health Clinic. Degrees MD, UCSF; PhD, Univ. of CA at Berkeley. Partner James Kirk '63 Children Joanna, b August 23, 1964.
Thanks to the damn custody laws in this country we couldn't say anything until last year, but yes, Jim and I are together, have been since he moved in, but probably were before that anyway. I can scarcely believe that my Jo is a sophomore in Winthrop House, and wants to follow her old dad into medicine. Couldn't be prouder.
Now that the dammed virus has been isolated—and I'm also proud to say that one of my former students was involved in that important work—I've decided to step down from my position at UCSF. With some seed money from The Orion Fund, of which I'm honored to be a board member, we've established a much-needed free clinic specializing in caring for gays and lesbians here in the city. Jim says that he's not surprised I found a way to be a country doctor in the middle of the city, but mostly I just like walking to work. And, like him, I like getting my hands dirty and seeing the change. There's a lot to do, and this crisis is going to get worse before it gets much better, but until the government realizes that it needs to get involved clinics like this one will be on the front lines, and I want to help any way I can.
MONTGOMERY SCOTT. Address Palo Alto, CA. Occupation Professor of Aeronautical and Astronautical Engineering, Stanford University. Degree PhD, California Institute of Technology. Children Rosemary, b March 13, 1978.
Well, I admit that fatherhood came in an entirely unexpected, though not unwelcome and quite deliberate, manner. Rosemary lives with her mothers in San Diego but gets to see her old dad on a regular basis, and she's another child for Gaila to shower with attention. She already shows an interest in tinker toys, so I have hope for the future of women engineers.
Aside from teaching, I'm on the board of Gaila's foundation and that's been an eye-opening experience. Now our travels have a purpose, whether its overseeing the disbursement of funds or raising more funds among the generous friends we've made around the world. If you'd like to be a part, please write to us in care of The Orion Fund, San Francisco. Gaila and Jim are doing amazing things.
SPOCK. Address Berkeley, CA. Occupation Professor, Philosophy of Science and Logic, Univ. of CA. at Berkeley. Degree PhD, Harvard University. Wife Nyota Uhura '63, October 15, 1967. Children Isaac and Rebeccah, b May 17, 1970.
By the time you read this, the bar and bat mitzvah season will be in full swing, with Isaac and Rebeccah at the center of it. Right now we are in the midst of planning for them, which Nyota is tackling with her usual brisk efficiency as well as a reprimand not to think I might get a book out of this. Not that I have any time to write when there are venues to visit, bands to audition (though Isaac is insisting on a deejay) and food to sample. I do not recall my own bar mitzvah being quite as much of a production, but my mother, who is here to help us, merely reminds me that I was not the most social of young teens. Fortunately the children take after their mother in that respect. Their present from us will be a family trip to Kenya to visit Nyota's extended family, whom we have not seen since our honeymoon trip.
In addition, Nyota and I have been very involved in the organization of The Orion Fund, run by our friends Gaila and Jim. It is yet another activity that makes me think about the responsibility that we all have to improve the planet as best we can.
third book down
June, 1988
"Wow, it even smells the same," Jim said.
"Of course it does," Bones replied. "We've had a teenage boy in our house for the last four years. They all smell the same."
"Actually," Janice said, coming in the door after them, "both of these rooms had girls this year."
"Huh," Bones replied.
At least it looked the same, good old Holworthy 13, and Jim felt sentimental as all hell. Not that he hadn't been in a room at Harvard since commencement—they'd moved in Joanna after all—but this was their room. This was where it had all started.
"You just gonna stand there?" Bones asked. He had wandered off into one of the bedrooms and was poking irritably at the mattress on the bed. Christine and Jan were in the other bedroom, unpacking.
"Maybe," Jim said, but he walked into the bedroom with Bones. "Ooh, we've never done it in a Harvard bed."
"I don't know how much sex we're going to be having this week with Chris and Jan next door," Bones replied.
Jim grinned and wrapped an arm around Bones's waist. "I can be quiet," he said.
"Yeah, well, I don't know if the bed can," Bones said, scowling at it.
"At least they took out the bunk bed for us," Jim said. He leaned in a little closer. "Did you ever think about kissing me, when we shared this bedroom?"
"No," Bones said, quickly, but his face was flushing. "Maybe. Dammit, Jim!"
"What?" Jim said, innocently as he could, though he had turned them slightly so they faced each other, and put his other hand on Bones's chest. "I thought about kissing you."
Bones raised his eyebrows. "Well," he said, "you just gonna talk about it, or are you gonna do it?"
Jim shook his head. "You're a jackass," Jim said, and kissed him. Bones pulled him closer, deepening the kiss, and then Jim lost track of his surroundings.
They were interrupted by a tap on the door. Jim looked up and realized that somehow they'd ended up on the window seat, Jim in Bones's lap, and he hadn't thought the two of them would fit on the window seat.
"Yeah?" Bones said, as usual completely unashamed at being caught, when he'd been blushing thinking about it beforehand. Jim found this to be inexplicable, but by now he was used to it.
Nyota was in the door. "Are you two just going to sit in here and have sex all week?" she asked. "Because you could have done that in San Francisco."
Gaila popped her head in as well. "Isn't the room great?" she asked.
"Thanks again, Gaila," Jim said, extricating himself from Bones's arms. "I don't know what strings you pulled to get us our old freshman room for the 25th, but this is amazing." The two walked back out into the common room, where the rest of their friends had gathered. Spock, Nyota, Gaila and Scotty were sharing the other room across the hall.
"I dunno, I think our Radcliffe room was nicer," Nyota said.
"It was," Gaila replied, perching on one of the desks, "and now the 35th Reunion ladies are in it. But these two rooms, a shared bath—perfect for the eight of us."
Scotty wandered in, a bag in one hand and a case in the other. "Ladies, gents, I suggest it's time for a cocktail."
"I wondered where you went," Gaila said.
"Market 'round the corner has cupfuls of ice," Scotty said, pulling one out of the plastic bag, "and Gaila won't have a whiskey without ice." He set that down on the desk next to her, then opened the case, which contained a bar kit complete with collapsable metal cups.
"Who would have thought, that first night we met," Christine said as they watched him set up, "that we'd all be back here, and all coupled up like one of those girls' books. Like Nancy Drew or Grace Harlowe."
"Not like them," Nyota said. "There weren't any black girls in Nancy Drew."
"Or Jews," Spock said.
"I'd say there weren't any lesbians," Janice said, "but I admit I'm having second thoughts about George."
"Oh, George. I had such a crush on her," Christine said. "That really should have been a sign, looking back."
"I dunno," Jim said. "I think you're both more like Bess."
Spock turned to Jim. "You read Nancy Drew?" he asked.
"Yeah, why?"
"Maybe that should have been a sign," Bones said.
"What was I supposed to do?" Jim said. "I'd finished all the Hardy Boys that were in the town library."
"How funny, Scotty," Gaila said. "We're the most traditional couple here!"
"Yeah," Bones said. "You're living in sin, and he had a baby out of wedlock with your lesbian friend. Pretty traditional."
"All right, so none of us would have been in those books," Nyota said. "Maybe that's better, anyway."
"So what are you pouring us, Scotty?" Jim asked.
Scotty answered him by handing him the bottle, then continued to pass glasses around.
"A 30-year single-malt scotch," Bones read over his shoulder. "Well!"
"Aye," Scotty said. "It's about a year off but it'll do."
"A year off of what?" Janice asked.
"1959," Jim said, grinning. "Scotty, you sentimental thing."
Once they all had glasses Scotty raised his. "A toast, to the friendships formed one night in September, nearly thirty years ago, and a hope that we'll all be here twenty-five years from now to do it again."
"Cheers," they said, clinking glasses. They sipped quietly, all lost in their own memories, and Jim was glad to know he wasn't the only one feeling flooded by the past.
After a while, Spock cocked his head. "Do you hear that?" he asked.
Nyota looked out into the Yard. "It's the band," she said, grinning.
They threw their windows open, leaning out and seeing their classmates doing the same all over the Yard, and as the band started the old fight song they all sang along, waving their fists and cheering. Jim sat on the window seat, Bones holding his hand, and thought yes, the past was lovely, but the future was even better.
Harvard Class of 1963
Twenty-Fifth Anniversary Report
JAMES TIBERIUS KIRK. Address San Francisco, CA. Occupation Brig. Gen., USAF (Ret.); Director, The Orion Fund. Partner Leonard McCoy '63. Children David, b September 28, 1970.
1. Four gentlemen—a pilot, a doctor, an engineer and a philosopher—walk into a bar.
LEONARD HORATIO MCCOY. Address San Francisco, CA. Occupation Doctor, Director of the Orion Free Health Clinic. Degrees MD, UCSF; PhD, UC Berkeley. Partner James Kirk '63. Children Joanna, b August 23, 1964.
2. They each ask the bartender for a whiskey.
MONTGOMERY SCOTT. Address Palo Alto, CA. Occupation Professor of Aeronautical and Astronautical Engineering, Stanford University. Degree PhD, California Institute of Technology. Children Rosemary, b March 13, 1978.
3. The gentlemen are joined by four lovely ladies—an artist, a doctor, a linguist, and a benefactor.
SPOCK. Address Berkeley, CA. Occupation Professor, Philosophy of Science and Logic, UC Berkeley. Degree PhD, Harvard University. Wife Nyota Uhura '63, October 15, 1967. Children Isaac and Rebeccah, b May 17, 1970.
4. And they all lived happily ever after. (Did you think this was a joke?)
Ridiculous pile of influences include: the statue of three lies; Chef Chow; WWII movies of the 50s such as The Longest Day; spring break senior year; Royal Wilder making pancakes in The Long Winter; the movie Shag; American International's Frankie and Annette beach movies; Casablanca, which was originally titled Everybody Comes to Rick's; Karl Urban wearing a pinky ring like DeForest Kelly in the movie; The Thirty-Nine Steps with its spy plot and its music hall star The Amazing Mr. Memory; the guys in my class who wrote a long running story in our anniversary report; psychoanalytic theories about joke-telling; my college friend the heiress; the clunky renaming of Emerson Hall in Love Story; the defections of Valentin Poénaru, Vladimir Pasechnik and Vladimir Petrov; the research done at UCSF to isolate HIV; and the work of GMHC.
Title: When The Game Ends, We'll Sing Again
Pairing: Kirk/McCoy, Spock/Uhura
Rating: R
Summary: College AU: Four young men meet as Harvard freshmen in 1959.
Length: 20,000 words
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created by Gene Roddenberry and owned by one of the large media companies in a complicated arrangement to which I am not a signatory. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Notes: Thanks to
lucidity and ali_wildgoose for their help on this story; all errors are my own. Thanks also to the ol' alma mater; I hope I've done you proud. Title from the unofficial Harvard fight song, "Ten Thousand Men of Harvard." Ridiculous pile of cultural influences listed at the end.Part 1
the amazing mr memory
May, 1977
The first phone call came on a Thursday.
"McCoy."
"Hello, Leonard. This is Spock."
Now Spock wasn't in the habit of calling anyone to chat, so hearing his voice on the other end of the line in the middle of a weekday was … odd. But McCoy was in his office catching up on some medical journals and frankly didn't mind the distraction.
"We still on for dinner Saturday?"
"Yes, of course."
"Great. So. What can I do you for?"
Spock cleared his throat. "You do not usually have students in your house after the term ends, do you?" he asked.
"No," McCoy replied. "They cleared out last week."
"Right." Spock was quiet again, and then asked, "And when does Joanna arrive?"
"25th of June. Spock, what's this about?"
"Will you be home this evening?" Spock asked.
"Yes, why?"
"Keep your line free," he replied and hung up.
McCoy stared at the handset for a minute before putting it back in its cradle. "Dammit, Jim," he sighed, then went back to his reading.
The second phone call came that night.
"Hello?"
"Don't say my name," the voice said quickly.
McCoy rolled his eyes. "Only you."
"C'mon," Jim said. "I'm a pro."
"Whaddya need?"
"Not here. Check tomorrow morning's paper."
"Tomorrow's paper, got it. But—"
Of course Jim had hung up.
Friday morning McCoy grabbed the Chronicle that had been duly tossed up on his front porch by the paperboy and carried it with him to the trolley stop. As he rode into his lab at UCSF, he carefully paged through the paper, finally finding Jim's signal in the movie section—a red circle around a matinee showing of Star Wars.
With the term over he was on his summer schedule, which was significantly lighter so he could spend as much time with Joanna during her summer visits as possible. In practical terms this meant no shifts in the clinic, only occasional consults at the hospital, and the post-docs taking over the day-to-day running of his lab. Jim knew all of that, or at least, McCoy was reasonably sure that he'd discussed his summer schedule with Jim since they talked about everything else, so it was only slightly unsettling that Jim assumed McCoy could make a 1pm movie downtown. Well, all he'd planned to do that day was catch up on some paperwork.
McCoy had never been to this particular cinema, a dumpy little place that catered to the student crowd. He sat in the middle of the back row, since that's where they'd always sat in movies when they were at school, with popcorn and Milk Duds and soda (hey, he'd had worse lunches). The theater was small but empty, with only six other people there when the previews started. They were mostly kids' movies—Herbie, Benji, the new Disney movie featuring two mice riding on the back of a bird, plus the new Bond. McCoy wondered if Jo's upcoming thirteenth birthday meant that she was too old for Disney. The thought of that made him feel a little sad.
It wasn't until the cantina scene that a man clad in jeans and a hooded sweatshirt loped into the theater and sat down next to him. McCoy handed him the popcorn.
"How'd you know it was me?" Jim whispered.
"No one moves like you," he answered.
Jim huffed, then grabbed a handful of popcorn. "Extra butter! Aww, you remembered. I'm touched. Where are the Milk Duds?"
McCoy handed the box over.
"You take good care of me," he said as he munched. "I hope you've already seen this."
"Saw it with Scotty and Gaila last week."
"Just the once?"
"Well, I reckon I'll see it again when Jo gets here. Why?"
"Jeez, Bones, I've seen it five times. It's just like Buck Rogers!"
McCoy scowled. "Was all this cloak and dagger stuff just to get me alone in a movie theater? I mean, I'm flattered, but you coulda just called."
Jim laughed at that. "As much as I'd love to sit in the back of this theater and neck with you, I actually need your house."
"Yeah, I got that from Spock's questions," McCoy said, more grouchily than he meant it. After their respective divorces they'd been teasing each other more openly, but the image of making out with Jim still got to him. "What do you want with my house?"
"I need a safe house," he replied.
"Aren't those things usually in the country?"
"Just in the movies. It's actually easier to secure a free-standing house in a developed area. Also your neighbors are used to people coming in and out of there are all hours. And you have a remarkably advanced security clearance."
McCoy shrugged. "Government grants. But Jo—"
"We'll be out of there before she arrives," Jim said.
"When would you need it?"
"Saturday."
McCoy thought for a moment. "Fine, just promise you won't wreck anything."
Jim grinned. "We won't. Besides, you'll be handsomely compensated. Probably best to pack up anything irreplaceable. You know, just in case. Oh, and make sure there's room in your garage for a large van."
"You fill me with confidence," McCoy said. "So what now?"
"Now we watch the rest of the movie, Bones. Ooh, I love this part."
Making your house into a kind of supplementary dorm for medical residents meant that you didn't keep irreplaceable objects in common areas to begin with. McCoy's grandmother's quilts were tucked into the hope chest that had belonged to his mother and would be passed down to Jo when the time came. The little treasures Jim had sent him from his various travels were in his office at the lab. At least he could display his—Jim had sent the Spocks nothing but fertility gods until the twins were born.
On Saturday morning he made himself some coffee and toast and went out on his front porch to do the crossword and wait. He didn't have much trouble picking out Jim's vehicle when it came up the street—there weren't many Chevy vans with an airbrush painting of the solar system driving around Noe Valley. McCoy walked down the steps to the ground level and pulled the garage door closed behind them. Airmen were piling out of the van like clowns, or at least he assumed they were airmen. They dressed like some of his students, in flared jeans, denim jackets and ridiculous t-shirts, but their hair was a bit shorter than the average college kid and as they came into the house they addressed him as "sir."
Jim climbed out last, a solemn young man next to him. "Men, this is Dr. Leonard McCoy, who has generously leant us his home. Bones, this is—
"Pavel Andreyevich Chekov," McCoy answered, shaking the man's hand.
"You read the papers," Jim said.
McCoy shrugged. "And I talk to Spock."
Chekov's eyes flew open. "You know Professor Spock also?" he asked in a heavy Russian accent. "He is inspiration for my defection—his book on responsibility of scientists."
McCoy nodded. "Well, for what it's worth I think you're a very brave man."
The corners of his lips turned down. "My parents are dead. There was nothing to keep me."
"Only everything you know," McCoy replied. "It isn't as simple to leave all that behind as people think. Believe me, I understand."
Jim chuckled. "When he gets like this, Chekov, it's best to just agree with him."
"Very well, then I am brave," Chekov said.
"Good," Jim said. "Let's go upstairs."
McCoy was impressed by the airmen's efficiency. It took them mere moments to secure the house to their satisfaction. His was just another San Francisco Victorian, with a garage on the ground floor and steps up to a porch at the front door that let into the second floor of kitchen, dining room and living room. The third floor had four bedrooms, so Chekov, Jim, and another officer named Sulu would stay up there with McCoy. Mitchell and Riley were to stay in the bedrooms on the first floor. Sulu began placing recording equipment in the dining room, and McCoy realized that his house was being used to debrief Chekov—hence the need for his own security clearance.
After leading Chekov to his room McCoy wandered back down to the kitchen, wondering if he should give the airmen coffee or breakfast, and a little annoyed with himself for not having thought of it. Then Sulu came up from the garage carrying four large paper bags and set them on the kitchen counter.
"We took the liberty of buying groceries, sir," he said, starting to unpack the bags.
"Not sir," McCoy replied, helping to put things away. "McCoy. Doctor if you must."
Sulu nodded. "The colonel said he hoped you still had custody of the waffle iron?"
McCoy barked out a laugh. "He would—it was his wedding present to me. I have it, but it doesn't work too well these days."
"That's fine, Bones," Jim said, patting McCoy's shoulder as he walked into the kitchen. "We can go to Penny's and get you another one." He pulled a mixing bowl down from the cabinet. "Sulu, why don't you see if Mitchell or Riley need any assistance while I get breakfast started?"
Sulu looked over McCoy's shoulder and McCoy turned to see Chekov standing in the kitchen doorway. "Yes sir," he said, and headed downstairs.
McCoy took a seat at one of the stools at the kitchen counter. "Kirk here has an obsession with breakfast foods," McCoy said, as much to Jim as to Chekov.
"It's the most important meal of the day," Jim said, smiling. "And it reminds me of you."
"It's the only meal you can reliably cook," McCoy said, watching Jim mix up the pancake batter.
"The only meal you'll let me cook," Jim replied.
"You have known the colonel a long time then?" Chekov asked.
"We've known each other all our lives," Jim said. "The part that counts, anyway."
After breakfast Jim, Sulu and Chekov went into the dining room and got started, Mitchell and his buddy Riley settled themselves at the doors, and McCoy went into his office to tackle a new grant application and some recommendation letters he'd been putting off. He'd forgotten that pleasant feeling of working at home and knowing that other people were working as well, something he hadn't felt since their rooms in Lowell House. A sandwich materialized at his elbow a little after noon, brought by Riley but surely either made or at least dictated by Jim because it was perfect: liverwurst, onions, that horseradish mayo stuff, rye toast.
In the afternoon he went out into the back yard and puttered around, though Riley had already mowed the lawn that morning—his bright idea of a cover for assessing the fence and the neighbors on the other side of it and hey, McCoy wasn't going to argue with that. He checked the flower beds that he and Jo had set out so many years ago, when she was a tiny thing digging in the soil with a plastic shovel from her sand box. He knew they'd be the first things she'd want to see when she arrived. He looked up and saw Jim, evidently on a break, walking out to him with a can of Coors from the fridge.
"You know there's a whole movie coming out about how you can't get this on the east coast?" Jim asked, pulling the tab on his own Fresca. "Dunno what the fuss is."
"Scarcity?" McCoy asked, shrugging.
"Maybe," Jim said, rubbing a hand across the back of his neck and definitely not looking him in the eye.
"All right, out with it," McCoy said, because if that wasn't Jim's universal gesture of "what I have to say you might not want to hear" he didn't know what was.
Jim chuckled. "I've invited a couple people over to dinner tonight, if that's all right."
"I'm not your damn wife, Jim," McCoy replied. "And apparently I'm not cooking any meals while your boys are here, so I don't know what I possibly could have to say about it. Is my security clearance high enough that I can sit at the big kids' table?"
"Your clearance is actually frighteningly high," Jim said. "Almost as high as mine. What have you been up to?"
"CDC stuff, mostly," he said. "They're always panicking about the Ruskies putting some bug in the water system or bringing back Spanish influenza. When events like Legionnaire's come up it makes them feel better to have a pissy virologist telling them to calm the fuck down."
"That should be your new title," Jim said, grinning. "Leonard Horatio McCoy, MD, PhD, pissy virologist."
For the sake of his own sanity, McCoy had learned not to get into guessing games with Jim Kirk. If Jim wanted him to know something, he'd tell him; if he didn't say, McCoy tried not to fuss over it. Plenty of time to be annoyed when the secret was revealed, and anyway, he wasn't quite as good as Spock was at anticipating Jim's behavior. So he didn't spend the afternoon wondering who was going to be at his dinner table, and instead puttered around and watched Sulu help Chekov make some kind of Russian feast while Jim took the van to pick up their guests.
That said, as soon as he heard the doorbell ring he knew who was on the other side of it. Only Spock always insisted on coming in through the front door, and only Spock would ring the doorbell even though he had been brought over to the house personally by Jim. And yet, when he opened the door, he was still surprised at who was standing behind Spock.
"Scotty?" he asked.
Scotty beamed. "Long time no see, eh?" he said as he walked in.
"Yeah, long time like two weeks ago," McCoy replied, shaking his hand. "What gives, Jim?"
"One of the many projects the Sovs had Chekov working on was a new jet engine. Scotty knows all the lingo, and besides, who'd think anything of him coming by your house?"
"What makes you think that anyone is paying attention to who is coming and going from my house in the first place?" he asked.
"Bones, please," Jim said.
He sighed. "So you drove all the way down to Palo Alto, then up to Berkeley, and back here, in that ridiculous van?"
"Hey," Jim replied, poking him in the chest, "that van is a sweet ride, as the kids say. Play your cards right and maybe I'll take you out for a spin."
"I should be so lucky," McCoy replied, rolling his eyes.
Chekov, upon seeing Spock again, was overcome by hero worship. He was frustrated trying to express himself adequately in English, but once Spock showed himself perfectly fluent in Russian the defector began babbling excitedly. It was actually sort of sweet. McCoy tried not to think about how inexplicably sexy Jim was when he spoke Russian—always had been, even back at school when he and Nyota would lapse into it on occasion. But at least he had Scotty to distract him by actually speaking English while they dined on borscht, salmon, boiled potatoes, cucumbers, brown bread and possibly more dill than McCoy had ever seen on one table.
After dessert he and Scotty left them to it and moved out onto the back porch. Riley was walking around the yard below them, checking the perimeter, and even Scotty was somewhat subdued, enjoying the gorgeous night. McCoy listened to the Russian drifting out of the window and felt strangely serene. Maybe Jim was right; maybe a little chaos was good for the soul.
"So," Scotty said. "You and Jim are getting along well."
McCoy scowled. "Why wouldn't we be?"
Scotty cocked his head.
Sometimes the bush telegraph that connected their college gang of eight was damned useful, such as when he hadn't had to tell everyone about the final, disastrous failure of his marriage. Other times he wondered if he would ever have any actual privacy again. "So you heard about that Tokyo trip," he said.
"You two spend two weeks in Japan mostly shouting at each other and sending tense postcards, people are going to find out."
"That was four years ago!"
Scotty shrugged.
"It was cathartic," McCoy said. "By the end we were aces, and we still are."
"I can see that," Scotty said. "I'm glad to see it."
McCoy looked at his friend, face half-shadowed in the dim light. For all his eccentricities and seeming aloofness, Scotty had always been the one holding them together through the rough spots. "Me too," he replied. "Where are you staying?"
"Gaila's flat," he replied, referring to her pied-a-terre in Pacific Heights, as opposed to the family townhouse on Nob Hill or the estate south of the city. "She's in Capri."
"And you're not with her because?"
"Because we're neither married nor joined at the hip?" Scotty said. "Because I had finals to grade and an oral exam to give?"
"Right. And when are you leaving for Italy?"
Scotty grimaced. "As soon as Jim's done with me," he said. "Happy?"
"Ecstatic," McCoy said, laughing. "Oh, and Christine told me you agreed. That's a great thing you're doing for her and Janice."
"Well, I reckon I'm doing it for myself, too," he replied. "Do you—who else knows?"
McCoy shrugged. "The Spocks know about Christine and Janice's relationship, but I don't think they know about what you're doing yet—at least, Nyota didn't mention it when I saw her last week. Jim, well, when do we ever know what Jim knows."
"You know Jan asked Gaila about it before she asked me?" he said.
"Of course she did, Scotty," McCoy replied. "I don't know who you two think you're fooling aside from yourselves."
"Who we're fooling?" Scotty asked, chuckling. "What about you?"
"What do you mean?" McCoy asked.
But Scotty didn't reply, instead nodding his head toward the door.
When McCoy turned he was surprised to see Lt. Sulu. "Enough Russian for ya?" McCoy asked.
Sulu shrugged. "They're talking physics now," he replied. "Dunno how the colonel can follow them."
"He probably can't," Scotty said, grinning.
"He's attracted to expertise," McCoy said. "He always has liked listening to people in their element."
"Probably what makes him a good officer," Scotty added.
"He is that," Sulu replied.
"Well, that dishwasher ain't gonna load itself," McCoy said, and the three of them headed back into the kitchen. But there they found Chekov, scraping plates.
"Dr. Chekov you don't need to be doing that," Sulu said. "You made dinner."
"I want to," Chekov said firmly. "I can carry my weight. And I wanted Kirk to visit with his friend. He's spent enough time entertaining me."
"I'm sure Jim doesn't mind one bit," Scotty said.
"Here, I'll help you," Sulu said, starting to rinse off the plates.
Jim poked his head out of the dining room. "Ah, there you are. I wondered where you'd wandered off to. Can you two come in here?"
"Sure," McCoy said.
"Sulu, we're going to be in here for a while. Take care of our man; make sure he has whatever he needs."
"Yes, sir," Sulu said.
"Thank you, sir," Chekov said.
Jim closed the door behind them. "Cards, Bones?" Jim had that look, had had it all day, of needing to Make an Announcement. McCoy kept thinking it was Chekov, or Spock and Scotty coming by, but clearly there was more, and the four of them had always talked better when there was something in the middle of the table—if not food, cards would do.
McCoy pulled playing cards and a pad and pen from the top drawer of the side cabinet. "Rummy," he said. "I'm not playing poker with this crew."
Once the cards were dealt and they were all arranging their hands, Jim said, "So I'm thinking about leaving the air force next year."
Typical Jim to give out big news so casually. Even Spock raised his eyebrows. There was a pause as the others stared at him, and then Scotty asked, "Why next year, Jim?"
"I'll be at fifteen years of service, which with the combat time in Vietnam and my rank means a pension, so whatever I do after this David will be provided for." He drew and discarded. "Plus I've been hearing that thanks to this little escapade, among other things, they're giving me my star soon."
"Wow, who would have thought," McCoy said. "General Kirk. And how did you hear about this?"
Jim shrugged. "Word gets around. And my next assignment is to go back to Hawaii, to the base I was at when I met Carol, and basically be General Pike's right hand man for at least the summer if not longer. Which means, they're teaching me how to run a base myself. Not surprising, since this thing with Chekov means I can't return to Moscow any time soon."
"I would think," Spock said, "that a promotion to general would be a reason to remain in the service, not to retire." He placed a set of threes in front of him.
"Yeah, you know what generals do?" Jim asked. "They sit in offices and give orders. Or they sit in the Pentagon and think up strategies that if they're really good don't get too changed by their superiors or the folks at State. Or if they're lucky, like Pike, they run a base and spend their time making nice with the locals and translating those strategies into something actually worth doing. But they aren't the ones on the ground making things happen."
"The armed services give you a unique opportunity to make things happen now, Jim." Spock said. "How would you replicate that in civilian life?"
"I met up with Gaila a few weeks ago in Germany," he replied. "She needs someone to run that foundation of hers, focus their efforts. I think with a little know-how and the right people we could even turn it into a real NGO if we wanted to. She was talking about picking up on all that responsibility stuff you've been talking about, Spock. And Bones, I'd want to talk to you about that stint you did with Doctors Without Borders."
McCoy played a jack on a run of Scotty's, and discarded. "Be glad to," he said.
Spock drew a card. "Are you sure, Jim, that yours and Gaila's relationship is suited to working together in such a fashion?" he asked.
"Look, I know that Gaila can be kinda kooky," Jim said, "but even you have to admit that she's perfectly capable of rational thought when she wants to be. Anyway she'd be doing the fundraising and outreach to the rich and powerful, which she does now anyway. I'd be in charge of implementation. I guess something about Brigadier General, Retired makes people sit up and take you seriously, while madcap heiress doesn't, even with the Radcliffe degree." He looked down at the discard pile, then picked up all of the cards.
"But who would decide where those efforts should be focused?" Spock asked.
"I can answer that," Scotty said. "Gaila's been talking about getting a board of directors and running the place like a proper foundation."
"Of whom would that board consist?" Spock asked.
"Oh, us," Scotty said. "The eight of us. That's her idea right now, at least."
"And I think it's a good one," Jim said. He'd finally finished shuffling through his cards, setting down two runs before discarding. "We're a pretty diverse bunch, all things considered."
"I do not think a philosophy professor—"
"Spock, honestly," McCoy said. "You inspired a kid genius to defect from the Soviet Union with this responsible scientist stuff."
"He's right," Jim said. "All I did was get him out of a hotel full of KGB. You're the one who made him want to leave."
"I admit, though I am always pleased to see how influential the book has become, when Chekov contacted me at that conference in Helsinki I was very surprised," Spock said.
"Well, at least you thought to find me," Jim said.
"I would do nothing else, Jim," Spock said. "I must admit, your decision to retire does appear well thought-out."
"But is it logical?" Scotty asked, grinning.
"I have found that life decisions are rarely entirely logical," Spock admitted. "Otherwise, I would not now be married, and we would not have the twins."
"You mean, married to Nyota?" McCoy asked.
"I could have married no one else," Spock replied. "But as to your question, Scotty, I would say that Jim's reasoning is sound. Also, I am out," he said, putting his last card in the discard pile.
"You would go out when I had all this shit in my hand," Jim said, setting the cards down in disgust.
"Serves you right," McCoy said as he set down the scores.
"Taking risks is worth it in the long run," Jim said, sliding his cards over to Scotty. "At least I think so."
"It's a good plan, Jim," Scotty said. "I know it will take a weight off Gaila's mind to have you in there with her. There's so many folks around her she can't really trust. I think that's why she spends her time with us."
"Oh I'm sure that's not the only reason," McCoy said, smiling.
"I'm just her designated escort," Scotty replied. "Her friends think I'm funny. We're not an item, no matter what these silly papers say."
"Of course not," Spock said. "We all spend major holidays with our designated escorts."
"All right, enough of that," Scotty said firmly. "Back to Jim."
"Yeah, back to me," Jim said. "Bones, you haven't said what you think of this."
"Well," McCoy said, watching Scotty deal, "what I want to know is, why now? You'd get a much better pension if you stayed in for another five years, and you probably could have run Gaila's foundation any time you wanted to. So why now?"
Jim looked at his cards. "You found me out, Bones, as usual," he said. "I called Carol last week to let her know about the Honolulu assignment and when she put David on—you know I haven't seen him in eight months? He was so excited about spending the summer with me."
"Of course he was," McCoy said.
"I grew up without a dad and I just don't want that for my son," Jim said. "If I retire now, I can settle down in one place and see a lot more of him. Carol's got her career too—I'm sure we can come up with some kind of arrangement."
"Where would you be settling?" McCoy asked.
Jim cocked his head. "Here in San Francisco, of course. Even if David does stay in Honolulu, we're as close as anyone could be, here. And all of you are here." He smiled at McCoy. "Why would I go anyplace else?"
McCoy blinked. The idea of Jim being permanently anyplace was strange enough, let alone living in the same city. He felt overwhelmed. "Well, that would be something," he said.
"Aww, Bones, don't you want me as your new neighbor?" Jim asked. "I'm hurt."
"Of course I do, idiot," McCoy growled. "It's just unexpected, is all."
"You know Len here doesn't like change," Scotty said. "Be easy on him."
"Oh I will be," Jim said, smiling. "Don't you worry."
"Famous last words if ever I heard them," McCoy replied.
Jim established a routine fairly quickly: the debriefing would start in the dining room immediately after an early breakfast and then end for the day before a late dinner. Spock only came that one night, not only because he wasn't really needed but also because he was pretty much shit at keeping anything from Nyota. But Scotty hung around for three days, leaving for Italy on Wednesday morning with all necessary and unnecessary teasing from Jim and McCoy.
McCoy kept up his own regular life, mostly going into the lab to set up the summer projects and supervise the staff of grad students and post docs. Jim for whatever reason started packing a lunch for McCoy to take with him. McCoy accused him of being June Cleaver but Jim just replied that he was actually Donna Reed, not only because she was married to a doctor but also because she was "a sexy blond like myself." The sandwiches were good enough that McCoy was determined not to fret over it too much—it had been a long time since someone else was cooking for him on a regular basis.
McCoy also maintained his regular Wednesday night phone call with Christine Chapel, holed up in his bedroom watching Charlie's Angels on the little black and white tv and talking about everything and nothing. Sure, it was extravagant talking long distance for an hour, but it was at night and dammit it was worth it. Their divorces had been around the same time, back in 1970, and they found talking to each other to be a great relief, with everyone else in their circle either married or single—at the time Jim had been a newlywed and expectant father and therefore entirely useless. It was almost like when they were at school, the only engaged people, and they clung to each other now much as they had then. When Chris first left Roger she came west to stay with Janice in Big Sur for a while, and after a year the two of them moved down to San Diego when Christine got a research position at Scripps.
He and Christine were in the middle of something or other, likely something silly, when McCoy heard one of the extensions pick up and a voice say, "Oh, sorry," and hang up again. McCoy held his breath.
"Do I recognize that voice?" Christine asked.
"Look, Sabrina is running without a bra," McCoy said.
"Don't you try to distract me with Kate Jackson," Christine said. "Why is he there and why didn't you tell me?"
"I can't tell you, and because I can't tell you."
"Truly?" she asked.
"Truly."
Christine was quiet for a moment. "Well, now that I do know, how is that? Cozy?"
"Why do you ask?" McCoy said innocently, though he knew why—she was the only one he'd ever told about him and Jim in Europe.
"Len."
McCoy sighed. "There are other people here. It's not like we're alone. But I don't know. It's nice to come home to dinner again, and have people I know in the house. Honestly I'm trying not to think about it. There's other news, but I'll have to wait to tell you about that," he said, thinking of Jim's thoughts of retirement.
"Fair enough," she replied. "Just be careful."
McCoy wanted to say that there was nothing to be careful about, or that he wasn't any of the women left brokenhearted by Jim over the years, or even that those ladies had been fooling themselves. But instead he sighed and said, "I will, Chris."
As if on cue, there was a knock at the door. McCoy let Jim in and simply handed the phone over. "Hi Christine. … Yeah, you too. … Could you?" There was a pause, then, "Hello! Don't say my name. Will you be home later this month? Might be able to come see you both. … Good, good, I will let you know. … Me too. Okay, I'll give it back to them now."
McCoy and Christine said their goodbyes quickly, Jim smirking at McCoy all the while. He hung up and Jim sat down cross-legged at the foot of the bed.
"So," Jim said. "You've been on the phone with Christine for an hour? You never used to like talking on the phone."
"Yeah, well," McCoy said, rubbing plumping the pillow behind his back. "Chris is different."
Jim laughed. "Oh really?"
"Not you too!" McCoy said, scowling. "She only just finally got Nyota to stop trying to fix us up. Chris and I are real close, but it's just not gonna happen."
"No?" Jim asked. "Why are you so sure?"
"Well." He hesitated. "She's been looking in another direction."
"Oh?" Jim asked. "She has someone else?"
"Jim, it's not my story to tell."
Jim grinned suddenly, and clapped him on the shoulder. "You're a good friend, Bones."
"What?"
"I know what you're not telling," Jim said. "Janice told me a couple of months ago."
"She did?"
"Yeah, she sent a telegram, wanted me to call her. I guess you know this too—she wants to have a baby."
McCoy cocked his head. "And she wanted you to help her?"
"No, actually she was making sure I was okay with her asking Scotty first, since I have a son and he probably won't be having kids. Which I was." He smiled. "And then I asked why she needed anyone's help and she said she was with a woman now. I mean, you know Jan—she just comes right out and says what she means, at least with me. So I teased her about spoiling her for all men and asked if I know the lady in question and when she said, 'yep,' I said, 'well, good for you, Jan. Good for you.'"
"They seem pretty happy," McCoy said. "I haven't been down since Chris told me, but she sounds real good. Dunno why it took them so long to tell the rest of us—or, well, I do, but still. I mean, it's us."
"Yeah, well, you can never know. You know that."
McCoy nodded.
"I'm just glad she's found someone great like Christine. I adore Jan, but we would have had one of those awful young marriages with everyone in over their head and would've have hated each other once it was over. You and Christine—it might not have worked out for either of you, but at least you were ready for it. Hell, I wasn't even ready with Carol. But now …"
"Now you are?" McCoy asked, raising an eyebrow.
Jim smiled, a little sheepish. "Maybe, maybe I am. Still, even though Jan deserved better than me, I'm sorry she was alone so much." He toyed with a thread on the quilt. "But hey, that meant she had time to write to me."
"She did?" McCoy asked. "You never told me that."
"Once a week, like clockwork, from the time I went in. It was like a lifeline."
McCoy bit his lip. "I'm sorry, Jim. I—"
"No," Jim said firmly, holding up his hand. "You had other things on your mind. And we—we had to make a break."
McCoy felt a little sad, suddenly, at how his plunge into marriage and medical school and fatherhood so quickly after graduation had left Jim alone. "I suppose we did," he said.
"Speaking of which, I told Jan. About Myrtle Beach and Europe, I mean."
"Funny thing," McCoy said. "I told Chris."
"Huh," Jim said, his eyebrows knit together. He nodded, as if he'd decided something, then swung his legs off the bed. "Well, I should go check with the men before I turn in," he said, walking over to the door. He paused and said, "I think tomorrow is the last day. We're about done."
"Oh?" McCoy said, because of course this would end eventually; he just hadn't really been thinking about it.
"Maybe we should try to go see Chris and Jan," Jim continued. "I've asked for some leave after this mission is over."
"You only say that because you want to drive down to San Diego in that damn van," McCoy replied lightly.
Jim chuckled. "Probably. Good night, Bones."
"Good night, Jim."
McCoy sat up that night for quite a while, thinking about Jim and that Tokyo trip back in '73. It was the first chance they'd had to spend time together since the divorces, and emotions were running even higher than usual. Their anger and disappointment and confusion with themselves, with each other, with the universe was so intense McCoy could almost taste it in the air. Once the shouting started he wasn't sure how it was going to stop. Jim said at one point that they were either going to fight or fuck, but in the end they did neither. One night in the middle of the final week they were outside in a sauna at some kind of spa, bickering as they had been for the past ten days, when thanks to the steam or the sake or just sheer exhaustion they ended up clinging to each other and sobbing apologies that they needed to give more than they needed to hear. When they woke up the next morning McCoy felt like a weight had been lifted from his shoulders, and Jim smiled, really smiled for the first time since McCoy had arrived in Japan. Later he said, "We lost it, but we got it back last night."
Funny how Jim always talked about them like they were Rick and Ilsa.
Anyway he was right—after that things were pretty easy between them, even if they didn't see much of each other. That was when the teasing started, or anyway he'd thought it was teasing until this visit. Now he wondered if it hadn't been flirting all along.
Thursday night McCoy came home from the lab to the smell of dinner cooking, as he had all week, but also a large box sitting on his desk that really, he should have been expecting since Saturday morning.
"You like it?" Jim asked, popping his head in the door.
McCoy picked up the waffle iron and held it out. "Of course. It's the 'deluxe model,' how could I not like it?"
Jim moved into the room and took the box, flipping it over in his hands. "See, you can lift out the sides and flip them, and then you have an electric griddle. I noticed you don't have one."
"A griddle?" McCoy asked, looking at Jim.
Jim nodded, eyes on McCoy. "In your stove. Remember, in the Myrtle Beach house? I made pancakes on it?"
McCoy smiled. "Yeah, I remember," he replied.
"Well, now you can have waffles and pancakes! In your own house!"
"That's great Jim," McCoy said, slapping him on the shoulder and pulling him into a rough half-embrace. "Thanks. Really."
"Sure," Jim said, relaxing into McCoy's touch for a moment before taking a step back. "Dinner'll be ready in a bit, so wash up," he said, and walked back into the kitchen.
Their meal that night was quieter than the past ones; all the men seemed to be preoccupied with their own thoughts. McCoy didn't mind not having to keep up his end of the conversation as it had been a strange week any way you looked at it. And what was strangest about it was that Jim slamming back into his house and making himself completely at home wasn't actually the strangest part. Nor was watching Jim in his element, putting the understandably jittery Chekov at ease and gaining his trust at the same time by letting him see Spock again. His men clearly thought he walked on water, and McCoy wasn't sure Jim couldn't if he really wanted to.
McCoy sat at the kitchen counter and watched Sulu and Chekov clean up after dinner, as they had done nearly every night while Riley and Mitchell performed their mysterious rituals that kept the house safe from the KGB. Jim had gone into the office to use the phone, door shut, and when he came out his expression was, well, not stern exactly. More like determined.
"Well, Pavel," Jim said, leaning on the counter, "it's official. We're handing you over to the feds tomorrow."
Chekov nodded, wiping his hands on a dish towel. "Where am I going next?" he asked.
Jim shook his head. "They didn't tell me. Everything's on a need-to-know basis and I … don't, apparently. Sorry."
Chekov shrugged. "Is okay. I suppose I should get ready to leave?"
"Yeah," Jim replied. "We'll go out after breakfast tomorrow."
Chekov headed upstairs, and Sulu grimly mumbled something about packing up the equipment and walked into the dining room.
McCoy sat up. "You arranged all this over the phone?" he asked. "Just now?"
"Jeez, Bones, what do you take me for?" Jim said, offended. "Of course not. I met up with their guy downtown at the JC Penny while I got the waffle iron. Two birds with one stone, better cover, et cetera."
He shook his head. "You're really something, Jim."
"Ain't I just?" Jim said, cocking his head. "I've gotta tell the others, but then it's you, me, the rest of that," he said, pointing at the leftover apple pie sitting on the counter, "and the bourbon I saw in your office."
"All right," McCoy said. While Jim was gone he put the pie in the toaster oven to warm up a little and pulled out some ice cream. It was their last night, after all; he figured they could use some a la mode. He was just setting down the tray with pie and coffee on the mostly-cleared-off desk when Jim came in.
"Oh, wow, Bones," he said, his eyes lighting up. "That's—wow. Good call."
"Thank you," McCoy said, handing him a spoon.
Jim took a bite and sat back in the chair, head tipped back and eyes closed. After a bit of nearly-orgasmic moaning, he said, "That's it. I'm retiring to San Francisco just so I can eat your apple pie with vanilla ice cream any time I want." He opened his eyes. "Will you still love me when I'm fat?"
"I will," McCoy said, "but your heart won't."
"Hmph," Jim replied, and sat up to grab another spoonful. "Where's the booze?"
"Not tonight," McCoy said lightly. "But there's coffee."
Jim looked up at him sharply from underneath his brows, suspicious. "Coffee it is" he said, and took a slurp. "So I got the leave I requested," he said. "Next two weeks."
"You certainly deserve it," McCoy replied.
"I think you should come with me to San Diego," he said.
"Jim, I know you've completely interrupted it, but I do have a life and responsibilities here."
"What I know," Jim said, "is that your lab will be just fine without you for a couple of weeks, and that Chris and Jan would love to see you."
"Well," McCoy said.
"I figure we can drive down, see some sights, take our time. We haven't had a road trip since you came to see me in Japan five years ago."
McCoy pressed his lips together. "At least this time let me drive," he said.
"Of course. And we'll get you back in plenty of time before Joanna gets here."
"Sounds like you've got it all worked out," McCoy said.
"Mostly," Jim replied. "I mean it about retirement by the way. I've made up my mind, gonna take the 15-year deal."
"I'm sure Gaila will be happy to hear that," McCoy replied.
"And I was wondering," he said, assembling another bite, "how you'd feel about having a housemate."
McCoy sat up. "A what?"
"You know, like The Odd Couple? Two divorced men sharing a house? I can pay my share, and you know I can cook, and come on, that whole med student boarding house thing has to be getting old."
"A little," McCoy said.
"We've lived together before, hell, we've even traveled together. We're good enough friends that we can work out any problems and it's a big enough house that you can just ignore me if you're really pissy."
McCoy shrugged. "Sure did that with Jocelyn, toward the end," he said.
Jim scowled. "Now don't bring that up. That's a bad precedent. How about that fight we had in Osaka, or in Lisbon? We got through those all right."
"True," McCoy said.
"We have the same friends, give or take. And I wouldn't be moving in with very much stuff."
McCoy cocked his head. "You can't think that your moving in here wouldn't change things, Jim, no matter how much stuff you do or don't have."
"Maybe not," Jim said, very much not looking at McCoy, "but you've liked it, this week, my being here. I know you have."
"You lured me with Russian child geniuses and liverwurst sandwiches."
Jim grinned at that.
McCoy took another bite of pie so he could be quiet for a bit and think. "You make a good argument, James Tiberius," he said.
"You don't sound entirely convinced, Leonard Horatio," Jim replied.
"Well, what I want to know is, on what terms would you be moving in here?"
"Terms?" Jim asked.
"Yeah, Jim," he said. "Are we gonna be just roommates, or something more?"
Jim's breath caught just a little, and McCoy had to be careful not to smile. That first time in Myrtle Beach Jim had taken him entirely by surprise but now he knew the man's tells. Jim squared his shoulders looked McCoy straight in the eye. "I guess that's up to you, Bones."
And really, that was fair, McCoy thought as he leaned forward and kissed him. Jim had made that first move after all. He reckoned he could make the last one. Jim tasted of ice cream and cinnamon, reminding McCoy of the chocolate milk and it was like the past and the present and the future were swirling all around them, their great big American future. He couldn't regret any of it, not one step of the circuitous path they'd been on, because it got them here, now.
McCoy pulled back, a little breathless, and pressed his forehead to Jim's. "A year, huh?" he asked.
"Give or take, yeah," Jim replied.
"I can wait," McCoy said. "Don't break your damn neck in the meantime, now."
Jim grinned. "I won't," he said. They kissed again, and then Jim pulled back. "We can't—"
"I know," McCoy said, and sat back in his chair. Then, before he could think about it too much, he pulled his class ring off his pinky finger and handed it to Jim.
"Why Beauregard," he said, batting his lashes and laying on a thick southern accent, "are you pinning me?"
"Shut up," McCoy said. "Look, it's not inscribed or anything, and it's your class too. No one would know."
"I'll know," Jim said, sliding the ring onto his finger. "You trying to keep me faithful, Bones?"
"Maybe."
"All right." He smiled. "Well, we should probably go up now, or I won't be able to keep from fucking you in this room."
"Yeah," McCoy said, nodding. "All right."
It was oddly comforting, hitting the lights and walking up the stairs with Jim, even if they weren't going to the same bedroom. McCoy saw Chekov and Sulu sitting on Chekov's bed looking at a photo album.
"Don't stay up too late, fellas," Jim said. "Early morning."
"Yes, sir," Sulu said.
"Good night, Bones," Jim said, and McCoy could see that Jim was fiddling with the ring.
He smiled. "Good night, Jim," he said.
Friday morning Jim made everyone waffles, and after breakfast the airmen hustled Chekov off to meet the FBI in their ridiculous painted van. McCoy left soon after them—okay, so he was avoiding the emptiness of the house, something he hadn't noticed before—to run errands. He went down to the lab to make arrangements for two weeks away, got a guide book to the California coast at the campus bookstore, and almost bought new swim trunks before deciding that he wasn't going on his honeymoon, dammit, and since he was the one who gave Jim a ring maybe he should stop acting like a girl.
Then he drove up to his house, and there was Jim, sitting on the porch eating pistachio nuts. He grinned up at McCoy. "I got maps," he said, holding up a handful. "I know how you like to plan this stuff."
"Thanks," he said, taking a seat next to him. "So are we taking my car or are you going to insist on that van?"
Jim grinned. "That van belongs to the Department of Defense." He paused, knocked a few more nuts into his mouth. "At least, in two weeks it will."
"I swear to God, Jim, you put a mattress in the back of that thing, don't expect me to be sleeping on it."
The two men left Friday afternoon and took their time, stopping often as they drove south along the PCH. They finally arrived at Chris and Jan's Sunday evening. Jim wanted to see if Chris or Jan would work it out so as they got out of the van and walked down the drive for welcome hugs they stayed a careful friendly distance apart. But McCoy could see Jan's eyes as they looked from Jim's face, to his hand with the ring, to McCoy's own hand without a ring. She stared for a good minute—long enough that Chris asked what she was looking at—and then broke into a grin. "Well it's about time," she said.
"Yeah," Jim said. "About the right time."
Fifteenth Anniversary Report
JAMES TIBERIUS KIRK. Address San Francisco, CA. Occupation Brig. Gen., USAF. Children David, b September 28, 1970.
Can two men share a house without driving each other crazy? We'll find out—I'm leaving the Air Force this summer after fifteen years and moving in with my old roommate Leonard McCoy while I take over as the administrator of a charitable foundation. Far better for me than being stuck at the Pentagon, and I get a pension besides.
Now that I'm settled in one place for a while I'll get to see my son more, too. He's nearly eight, hilarious and headstrong, and the goal for this winter is to get him to Iowa because he's never seen snow!
LEONARD HORATIO MCCOY. Address San Francisco, CA. Occupation Doctor, researcher in infectious diseases. Degrees MD, UCSF; PhD, UC Berkeley. Children Joanna, b August 23, 1964.
Yes, at my age, I'm about to have a roommate. But at least he's a known quantity, and the military has forced him into neater habits. Other than that, things are much the same, and I spend much of my day staring at viruses or making sure my grad students are actually doing what they should be. Some days, clinic is a blessed relief from the lab, some days just the opposite, so it's probably good that I have both to keep me busy. That, a teenage daughter and a new roommate are about all I can handle at present.
MONTGOMERY SCOTT. Address Palo Alto, CA. Occupation Professor of Aeronautical and Astronautical Engineering, Stanford University. Degree PhD, California Institute of Technology.
What can I say? Not much has changed, and life has settled into a comfortable routine of work at Stanford and play elsewhere. Classmates finding themselves in the Bay Area should definitely give me a call.
SPOCK. Address Berkeley, CA. Occupation Professor, Philosophy of Science and Logic, UC Berkeley. Degree PhD, Harvard University. Wife Nyota Uhura '63, October 15, 1967. Children Isaac and Rebeccah, b May 17, 1970.
We had our moment in the spotlight last year, thanks to Dr. Chekov, and it is a strange thing to think that one's work might inspire others to such actions. The children are in school, making our daily lives a bit less hectic, and I am taking some time now to focus on teaching and reading, both of which are rejuvenating. I suspect that Isaac and Rebeccah will have an influence on my philosophy that I could never have predicted. Nyota, however, seems entirely unsurprised. Children are many things, but always fascinating.
Twentieth Anniversary Report
JAMES TIBERIUS KIRK. Address San Francisco, CA. Occupation Brig. Gen., USAF (Ret.); Director, The Orion Fund. Partner Leonard McCoy '63. Children David, b September 28, 1970.
Right, so, not exactly a roommate. Some part of me thinks this should feel like a bigger change but it's been coming along so gradually that I can't see it as much of one. Besides, if you're going to be gay, San Francisco is a damn good place to be.
Another change that is a change is that my son will be living with me and attending high school here in San Francisco. It will be interesting, to say the least. Leonard's already been through it with his daughter but I suspect that I'll also be relying on Spock, and he on me. But come to think of it, that's nothing new, either.
Directing a large charitable foundation has been a welcome and rewarding challenge. We've invested in many different programs around the world, but the constant theme is an individual's ability to control their own sexuality, be it our efforts against girls being sold into brothels, or combatting female genital mutilation, or working for reproductive rights or homosexual rights around the world as well as here in the US. We've been able to have some good effect, but there is so much more to be done.
LEONARD HORATIO MCCOY. Address San Francisco, CA. Occupation Doctor, Director of the Orion Free Health Clinic. Degrees MD, UCSF; PhD, Univ. of CA at Berkeley. Partner James Kirk '63 Children Joanna, b August 23, 1964.
Thanks to the damn custody laws in this country we couldn't say anything until last year, but yes, Jim and I are together, have been since he moved in, but probably were before that anyway. I can scarcely believe that my Jo is a sophomore in Winthrop House, and wants to follow her old dad into medicine. Couldn't be prouder.
Now that the dammed virus has been isolated—and I'm also proud to say that one of my former students was involved in that important work—I've decided to step down from my position at UCSF. With some seed money from The Orion Fund, of which I'm honored to be a board member, we've established a much-needed free clinic specializing in caring for gays and lesbians here in the city. Jim says that he's not surprised I found a way to be a country doctor in the middle of the city, but mostly I just like walking to work. And, like him, I like getting my hands dirty and seeing the change. There's a lot to do, and this crisis is going to get worse before it gets much better, but until the government realizes that it needs to get involved clinics like this one will be on the front lines, and I want to help any way I can.
MONTGOMERY SCOTT. Address Palo Alto, CA. Occupation Professor of Aeronautical and Astronautical Engineering, Stanford University. Degree PhD, California Institute of Technology. Children Rosemary, b March 13, 1978.
Well, I admit that fatherhood came in an entirely unexpected, though not unwelcome and quite deliberate, manner. Rosemary lives with her mothers in San Diego but gets to see her old dad on a regular basis, and she's another child for Gaila to shower with attention. She already shows an interest in tinker toys, so I have hope for the future of women engineers.
Aside from teaching, I'm on the board of Gaila's foundation and that's been an eye-opening experience. Now our travels have a purpose, whether its overseeing the disbursement of funds or raising more funds among the generous friends we've made around the world. If you'd like to be a part, please write to us in care of The Orion Fund, San Francisco. Gaila and Jim are doing amazing things.
SPOCK. Address Berkeley, CA. Occupation Professor, Philosophy of Science and Logic, Univ. of CA. at Berkeley. Degree PhD, Harvard University. Wife Nyota Uhura '63, October 15, 1967. Children Isaac and Rebeccah, b May 17, 1970.
By the time you read this, the bar and bat mitzvah season will be in full swing, with Isaac and Rebeccah at the center of it. Right now we are in the midst of planning for them, which Nyota is tackling with her usual brisk efficiency as well as a reprimand not to think I might get a book out of this. Not that I have any time to write when there are venues to visit, bands to audition (though Isaac is insisting on a deejay) and food to sample. I do not recall my own bar mitzvah being quite as much of a production, but my mother, who is here to help us, merely reminds me that I was not the most social of young teens. Fortunately the children take after their mother in that respect. Their present from us will be a family trip to Kenya to visit Nyota's extended family, whom we have not seen since our honeymoon trip.
In addition, Nyota and I have been very involved in the organization of The Orion Fund, run by our friends Gaila and Jim. It is yet another activity that makes me think about the responsibility that we all have to improve the planet as best we can.
third book down
June, 1988
"Wow, it even smells the same," Jim said.
"Of course it does," Bones replied. "We've had a teenage boy in our house for the last four years. They all smell the same."
"Actually," Janice said, coming in the door after them, "both of these rooms had girls this year."
"Huh," Bones replied.
At least it looked the same, good old Holworthy 13, and Jim felt sentimental as all hell. Not that he hadn't been in a room at Harvard since commencement—they'd moved in Joanna after all—but this was their room. This was where it had all started.
"You just gonna stand there?" Bones asked. He had wandered off into one of the bedrooms and was poking irritably at the mattress on the bed. Christine and Jan were in the other bedroom, unpacking.
"Maybe," Jim said, but he walked into the bedroom with Bones. "Ooh, we've never done it in a Harvard bed."
"I don't know how much sex we're going to be having this week with Chris and Jan next door," Bones replied.
Jim grinned and wrapped an arm around Bones's waist. "I can be quiet," he said.
"Yeah, well, I don't know if the bed can," Bones said, scowling at it.
"At least they took out the bunk bed for us," Jim said. He leaned in a little closer. "Did you ever think about kissing me, when we shared this bedroom?"
"No," Bones said, quickly, but his face was flushing. "Maybe. Dammit, Jim!"
"What?" Jim said, innocently as he could, though he had turned them slightly so they faced each other, and put his other hand on Bones's chest. "I thought about kissing you."
Bones raised his eyebrows. "Well," he said, "you just gonna talk about it, or are you gonna do it?"
Jim shook his head. "You're a jackass," Jim said, and kissed him. Bones pulled him closer, deepening the kiss, and then Jim lost track of his surroundings.
They were interrupted by a tap on the door. Jim looked up and realized that somehow they'd ended up on the window seat, Jim in Bones's lap, and he hadn't thought the two of them would fit on the window seat.
"Yeah?" Bones said, as usual completely unashamed at being caught, when he'd been blushing thinking about it beforehand. Jim found this to be inexplicable, but by now he was used to it.
Nyota was in the door. "Are you two just going to sit in here and have sex all week?" she asked. "Because you could have done that in San Francisco."
Gaila popped her head in as well. "Isn't the room great?" she asked.
"Thanks again, Gaila," Jim said, extricating himself from Bones's arms. "I don't know what strings you pulled to get us our old freshman room for the 25th, but this is amazing." The two walked back out into the common room, where the rest of their friends had gathered. Spock, Nyota, Gaila and Scotty were sharing the other room across the hall.
"I dunno, I think our Radcliffe room was nicer," Nyota said.
"It was," Gaila replied, perching on one of the desks, "and now the 35th Reunion ladies are in it. But these two rooms, a shared bath—perfect for the eight of us."
Scotty wandered in, a bag in one hand and a case in the other. "Ladies, gents, I suggest it's time for a cocktail."
"I wondered where you went," Gaila said.
"Market 'round the corner has cupfuls of ice," Scotty said, pulling one out of the plastic bag, "and Gaila won't have a whiskey without ice." He set that down on the desk next to her, then opened the case, which contained a bar kit complete with collapsable metal cups.
"Who would have thought, that first night we met," Christine said as they watched him set up, "that we'd all be back here, and all coupled up like one of those girls' books. Like Nancy Drew or Grace Harlowe."
"Not like them," Nyota said. "There weren't any black girls in Nancy Drew."
"Or Jews," Spock said.
"I'd say there weren't any lesbians," Janice said, "but I admit I'm having second thoughts about George."
"Oh, George. I had such a crush on her," Christine said. "That really should have been a sign, looking back."
"I dunno," Jim said. "I think you're both more like Bess."
Spock turned to Jim. "You read Nancy Drew?" he asked.
"Yeah, why?"
"Maybe that should have been a sign," Bones said.
"What was I supposed to do?" Jim said. "I'd finished all the Hardy Boys that were in the town library."
"How funny, Scotty," Gaila said. "We're the most traditional couple here!"
"Yeah," Bones said. "You're living in sin, and he had a baby out of wedlock with your lesbian friend. Pretty traditional."
"All right, so none of us would have been in those books," Nyota said. "Maybe that's better, anyway."
"So what are you pouring us, Scotty?" Jim asked.
Scotty answered him by handing him the bottle, then continued to pass glasses around.
"A 30-year single-malt scotch," Bones read over his shoulder. "Well!"
"Aye," Scotty said. "It's about a year off but it'll do."
"A year off of what?" Janice asked.
"1959," Jim said, grinning. "Scotty, you sentimental thing."
Once they all had glasses Scotty raised his. "A toast, to the friendships formed one night in September, nearly thirty years ago, and a hope that we'll all be here twenty-five years from now to do it again."
"Cheers," they said, clinking glasses. They sipped quietly, all lost in their own memories, and Jim was glad to know he wasn't the only one feeling flooded by the past.
After a while, Spock cocked his head. "Do you hear that?" he asked.
Nyota looked out into the Yard. "It's the band," she said, grinning.
They threw their windows open, leaning out and seeing their classmates doing the same all over the Yard, and as the band started the old fight song they all sang along, waving their fists and cheering. Jim sat on the window seat, Bones holding his hand, and thought yes, the past was lovely, but the future was even better.
Twenty-Fifth Anniversary Report
JAMES TIBERIUS KIRK. Address San Francisco, CA. Occupation Brig. Gen., USAF (Ret.); Director, The Orion Fund. Partner Leonard McCoy '63. Children David, b September 28, 1970.
1. Four gentlemen—a pilot, a doctor, an engineer and a philosopher—walk into a bar.
LEONARD HORATIO MCCOY. Address San Francisco, CA. Occupation Doctor, Director of the Orion Free Health Clinic. Degrees MD, UCSF; PhD, UC Berkeley. Partner James Kirk '63. Children Joanna, b August 23, 1964.
2. They each ask the bartender for a whiskey.
MONTGOMERY SCOTT. Address Palo Alto, CA. Occupation Professor of Aeronautical and Astronautical Engineering, Stanford University. Degree PhD, California Institute of Technology. Children Rosemary, b March 13, 1978.
3. The gentlemen are joined by four lovely ladies—an artist, a doctor, a linguist, and a benefactor.
SPOCK. Address Berkeley, CA. Occupation Professor, Philosophy of Science and Logic, UC Berkeley. Degree PhD, Harvard University. Wife Nyota Uhura '63, October 15, 1967. Children Isaac and Rebeccah, b May 17, 1970.
4. And they all lived happily ever after. (Did you think this was a joke?)
Ridiculous pile of influences include: the statue of three lies; Chef Chow; WWII movies of the 50s such as The Longest Day; spring break senior year; Royal Wilder making pancakes in The Long Winter; the movie Shag; American International's Frankie and Annette beach movies; Casablanca, which was originally titled Everybody Comes to Rick's; Karl Urban wearing a pinky ring like DeForest Kelly in the movie; The Thirty-Nine Steps with its spy plot and its music hall star The Amazing Mr. Memory; the guys in my class who wrote a long running story in our anniversary report; psychoanalytic theories about joke-telling; my college friend the heiress; the clunky renaming of Emerson Hall in Love Story; the defections of Valentin Poénaru, Vladimir Pasechnik and Vladimir Petrov; the research done at UCSF to isolate HIV; and the work of GMHC.
