the_water_clock | FIC: Our Life Is Not a Movie or Maybe, 2/2

7: Complications and Higher Stakes
For the next 25% of your story, achieving the visible goal becomes far more difficult, and your hero has much more to lose if she fails.

McCoy and Uhura shared a car to the set as they did every day, but on this morning McCoy couldn't maintain their usual amiable we-are-not-morning-people silence.

"I just wanna know what he's planning. Hell I wish he had a plan."

"Spock is confident," Uhura replied. "He said that whenever Kirk has solicited advice in advance his instincts are unerring."

McCoy chuckled at Uhura's mimicking of Spock's speech. "I'm sure if he wasn't he would have long since stopped working with Kirk. And you seem to be warming up to him."

"Maybe," she said, cocking her head. "I'll admit, he's more serious and thoughtful than he generally comes across."

"I think he likes the smarts to be a surprise," McCoy replied.

The set wasn't tense, but the crew did seem uneasy. McCoy wasn't surprised; they'd probably never seen their "Captain" not completely in control of the proceedings. Kirk and Sulu were talking angles, waiting for the actors. Gaila was perched on her chair sipping coffee, as she wasn't in the scene they were to shoot first. McCoy and Uhura hit the craft service table and then took their own seats, behind the camera not far from Spock; McCoy felt like the three of them were holding their breath.

Even though Khan kept them waiting a good twenty minutes, Kirk didn't send any of the production assistants to hurry him along. He seemed content to wait, keeping the crew loose trading jokes with Scotty until Khan finally arrived, deep in conversation with Chekov.

"James," he said, "Chekov and I have been discussing this scene and have some ideas."

Kirk grinned. "Great," he said. "I'd love to see them. Why don't we start out your way?"

Khan smiled back, self-satisfied. "Lovely," he replied. "How nice to work in such a collaborative environment."

"Isn't it just?" Kirk said. He quickly took them through the blocking and their marks for the camera, and then settled back into his own chair.

They started the scene—a simple one, early in the film, when the son realizes just how physically weak his father has become when he can't hold a plate long enough to dry it. McCoy had written it as a quiet moment when both men were still trying to hide their feelings, and he wondered why Kirk had chosen this scene to just roll over to Khan.

But as soon as Kirk called "action," all was clear. Khan was overacting the hell out of the scene. His hands were visibly shaking, so much that one wondered why Chekov gave him the plates to dry in the first place. When the breakaway plate hit the floor his face crumpled and he cried out.

"Cut!" Kirk shouted. "That was certainly interesting, Khan, but can we make it just a little more internal, take it down a bit?"

Khan nodded. "Of course, James. Anything you say."

"Thank you," Kirk replied.

In the second take Chekov pulled in his reactions somewhat, but Khan's performance remained unchanged. This didn't surprise McCoy; in previous scenes it had taken all of Kirk's persuasive powers to get Khan where he wanted him to go. But Kirk reacted with another smile, restated his direction, and went for a third take.

This time Chekov seemed a bit confused, trying to both follow Kirk's direction and stay in the moment with Khan; McCoy was surprised the kid's head hadn't exploded. He wasn't surprised, though, when Chekov flubbed his line.

Khan's head popped up and his eyes were blazing. "Pavel?"

Chekov looked down at the floor. "I'm sorry. Can we try again?"

Khan stood from where he'd been crouching. "You do know the lines, don't you?" he asked sharply.

"Of course," Chekov said. "It was just one mistake."

Khan started to pound his fist on the kitchen counter. "We cannot achieve our artistic goals, Pavel, unless we are professional!"

At that moment, out of the corner of his eye, McCoy saw a clipboard fly through the air before dropping and skidding on the floor at Khan's feet.

McCoy turned to Kirk, realizing the clipboard had come from him, and saw that he was furious, his hands gripping the arms of his chair so tightly that his knuckles were white.

Spock cleared his throat. "I believe a break is in order," he said.

Jean-Luc moved quickly. "Okay, clear the set. Everyone off the set, fifteen minutes."

McCoy and Uhura exchanged glances, but decided to take Kirk at his word and stay put. The crew went outside, even Sulu and Scotty. Spock whispered to Gaila, who walked over to Chekov and gently led him off the set. Now it was just the four of them, and Khan, who had not moved.

Kirk sighed and got up from his chair to walk over to Khan. He got right up in the actor's face, nose to nose, and while his voice was soft Khan's mike was still on, so the other three could hear every word through the sound monitor.

"I don't know what kind of bullshit power game you think you're playing," Kirk said, "but you listen to me. You can either fuck this entire thing up, not just for me and Spock but for McCoy and Gaila and Chekov out of some twisted need for revenge, or you can go back to being the actor you were when I first worked with you, the actor you were in rehearsals, the actor who can be a real example to Chekov. Because if you follow me, I can get you that nomination, and we both know that if you're nominated you're going to walk away with that statue. But I can't do that if I'm fighting you the whole way on choices you know are wrong." He stopped and backed off just a bit. "You're a better actor than this, Khan. Instead of getting revenge against me, why don't we both get revenge against everyone who's ever underestimated us?"

Khan was silent for a moment, looking at Kirk, and then his eyes darted away. "I shouldn't have shouted at the boy," he said.

"No," Kirk said. "You shouldn't've."

Khan nodded. "Do you mean that, about the statue?"

"Swear on my mother's grave," Kirk said, raising his hand.

Khan's eyes narrowed. "Isn't your mother still alive?"

"She has a grave," Kirk said. "She's just not in it yet."

Khan's nose twitched, and then suddenly he started to laugh. "All right, James," he said. "You win."

"No," Kirk said. "We win. Everybody wins."

After that the production proceeded relatively smoothly. Not that there weren't unexpected problems to solve and strongly worded disagreements to settle, but the struggles for power were behind them. McCoy marveled at the dailies, at how the style Kirk had perfected in all those action movies translated into an emotionally-driven three-character film. And for his part, Kirk had his quiet confidence back, which bled back into the crew, and inspired everyone to work at the top of their ability. McCoy had led a crew for a long time, and he knew that he'd been a damn good show runner, but he was a writer at heart and happy to return to it. Kirk, on the other hand, was a natural leader, and McCoy could see why Spock, for all their differences in temperament and opinion, had stuck so close for so long.

Spock's shooting schedule was aggressive—it had to be—but over the course of the six weeks they all still had a few evenings off. Mostly they ended up at the kind of group outings that Kirk favored as fostering camaraderie among the crew; one night McCoy took them all to the best barbeque joint in the area. But on this last free night before the final week of shooting, the others were scarce.

"Guess it's just you and me, Bones," Kirk said.

"Looks like it," McCoy said. "Gotta admit, I don't mind being quiet tonight."

"Oh," Kirk replied, his eyes shifting away from McCoy. "Well, I can …"

"No!" McCoy said, a little more forcefully than he meant to, reaching out to Kirk's arm. "No, I meant, we can be quiet together, Jim."

Kirk smiled a little. "I dunno, Spock certainly doesn't think I can be quiet."

"We were plenty quiet in Iowa," McCoy pointed out. "C'mon, let's go for a drive."

Kirk's grin widened. "Sounds good to me."

They signed out a car and McCoy immediately plugged in his iPhone because he didn't trust Kirk with the radio after all that classic rock in Iowa, and he wasn't going to drive around the back roads of northern Georgia listening to Skynard, that was for damn sure. Fables of the Reconstruction might be a little on-the-nose, but he'd listened to R.E.M. while learning his way around these roads as a teenager, so R.E.M. it would be.

Kirk sat in the passenger seat, casual in a white t-shirt, jeans that had come by their tears honestly, and sneakers, a cardigan on his lap. His blue eyes were hidden by dark sunglasses, but he still looked like a movie star with the late afternoon sun setting his blond hair aglow. When Kirk was in motion, or talking—which was most of the time; Spock was right in saying that Kirk found it hard to be quiet—the force of his intellect overrode his looks and McCoy could almost forget about them. But times like now, when that big brain wasn't focused on anything in particular, McCoy found it difficult not to be distracted, weirdly giddy that someone like Jim Kirk had actually been disappointed earlier when he thought McCoy didn't want to spend time with him.

It was strange, because McCoy didn't usually have this reaction around movie stars. In his experience most actors spent a lot of time reminding you of how good looking they were by the way they held themselves, the cock of a head, the placement of a hand—or by self-consciously trying to look like shit so you'd notice that their good looks couldn't be denied. He usually found it amusing, and understandable since in Hollywood good looks were an actor's stock-in-trade; it was just good business on their part to remind you of them. And with them doing all the thinking about them, McCoy didn't have to.

Kirk was another story entirely. It was like McCoy had an extra sense that registered every time Kirk shuffled in his seat, tilted his head, moved in any way. But he could keep that under control, surely.

"You know," McCoy said, figuring talking about it would keep him from brooding over it, "I read that Vanity Fair profile of you—the one where Khan did a number on you—and I remember the writer being confused that you weren't an actor, looking the way you do."

"I know, people say that all the time," Kirk replied.

"He should have spent time with you on set," McCoy continued. "He wouldn't have been confused. I can't imagine you ever letting anyone direct you."

Kirk chuckled. "No," he said. "Plus, I'm a mediocre actor at best. It's a lose-lose, and I'm all about the win-win." He looked out the window. "So, are you taking me to your old teenage hangouts?"

"If you like," McCoy replied, "though you didn't take me to yours, when we were in Iowa. Just the farm and the swimming hole."

"Those were the best places," Kirk replied. "The rest was mostly, 'here's where I got into a fight that time.' Or maybe, 'here's where I met that girl I didn't treat very well.' My happy memories are in California." He turned and looked at McCoy. "But I'd be happy to take you around there sometime."

McCoy smiled. "I'd like that."

"It's a date, then," Kirk said. He cleared his throat. "I mean, not a 'date' date—"

"I know what you meant, Jim," McCoy replied.

Kirk fidgeted a little, then turned up the music and settled back into his seat.

McCoy took them on the most scenic route he knew, and after a bit Kirk relaxed, his shoulders sinking into the seat. They pulled up to McCoy's favorite drive-through fried chicken joint, then drove over to the edge of a nearby lake to eat in the car and watch the waterfowl.

"This was the make out spot, wasn't it?" Kirk asked.

"No, this was the family picnic in the car spot. The make out spot was a clearing down that-away," he said, indicating a dirt road going into the trees.

Kirk nodded. "Spend a lot of time there with Jocelyn?" he asked.

McCoy shook his head. "Dad was kinda lax, and he was out in the afternoons. Why go parking when you can just make out on the living room couch?"

"Luckeeey," Kirk replied.

"I bet you just took girls out to that barn," McCoy said.

"Sometimes," Kirk replied.

"Well," McCoy said, shoving their trash back into the bag, "how do you feel about ice cream?"

"Good," Kirk said. "I know it'll be worth it."

"Great," McCoy replied, mentally slapping himself for forgetting about Kirk's 27 food problems. Then again, Kirk seemed to just handle them without making much drama out of them, like trading his biscuit for McCoy's corn in their fried chicken dinner.

While they drove to the ice cream stand McCoy's R.E.M. playlist flipped to Life's Rich Pageant. Suddenly Kirk perked up. "This is a little more lively," he remarked, turning up the volume on "These Days."

McCoy sang along with the chorus; it was one of his favorites, too: we are young despite the years, we are concern, we are hope despite the times

"Take this joy wherever you go," Kirk repeated. "I like that."

McCoy nodded, grinning; he loved nothing better than to turn someone on to good music. "Here we are," he said.

They got out of the car and stood in the short line, contemplating ice cream flavors and discussing cone types—Kirk liked sugar cones, while McCoy was a cake cone man—when Kirk noticed something over McCoy's shoulder. "Is that—"

McCoy turned and saw a couple sitting at one of the picnic tables. The woman was laughing, and it took him a moment to realize that it was Spock and Uhura.

"Huh," he said.

Spock was licking ice cream from his lips—raspberry from the looks of it, which would have surprised McCoy if not for the whole jelly donut thing—and Uhura pointed to a spot he'd missed. She swiped away the bit of ice cream, then licked it off her thumb, staring into his eyes the entire time.

"Wow," Kirk said, and he sounded like someone had knocked the air out of his lungs. "Should we—"

"Probably not," McCoy said, and turned back to the flavor board.

They had just got their cones when Spock and Uhura approached them, holding hands. "Hello," Spock said.

"Hello," Kirk said, and they just stared at each other. "Good ice cream."

"Indeed," Spock replied.

McCoy turned to Uhura, hoping to make something more human out of this interaction. "Nyota, how has your evening been?"

"Lovely, Len, thank you," she said, smiling. "And yours?"

"Great," he replied. "A drive, fried chicken, some ice cream. Could do a lot worse."

She looked up at the night sky. "It's a beautiful night," she said. "Haven't seen this many stars in a long time. You must miss it."

"Sometimes, yeah. Sometimes I do." He glanced at Kirk and Spock, who were still just staring at each other, and called it a failed attempt. "Well, you have a nice evening," McCoy replied.

"You too," Uhura said, and started to lead Spock away. "See you tomorrow."

As they sat down at the benches, McCoy said, "Well that wasn't awkward at all. What the hell, Jim?"

"Sorry, Bones," he said. "I've just never known him to date, or even be interested in anyone. I was surprised."

"All appearances to the contrary, he's not a robot," McCoy said.

"I know that," Kirk said. "I guess I just I assumed he was kinda asexual. I dunno, he's Spock; he does his own thing. Until now, that didn't include girls. Or boys, for that matter." He took a bite of ice cream. "But you know, good for him. If she's what he wants, he should have her."

McCoy cocked his head. "Jealous?"

"Of him? No. I don't think I could deal with Uhura 24/7, to be honest."

"Of her?"

"What? No, I mean, we're not—." Kirk paused and took a breath before speaking again. "Look, Spock is pretty much the most amazing person I've ever met. He's entirely self-contained, like a perfect sphere. He believed in me way before anyone other than Pike did. But there's stuff I'd want from a partner that he can't give me. Which is cool, because he's my best friend. And I'm pretty sure it goes both ways, because I'm not that much like Nyota Uhura. I mean, who knows if he even likes guys, or other ladies for that matter. As Spock might say himself, I lack enough data to come to a conclusion. Right now he's Uhura-sexual. And hey, one person is enough, right?"

McCoy smiled a little. "For most people, yes."

"Be nice!" Kirk replied, wagging his finger. "I'm trying to change that."

"Sorry," McCoy replied, still grinning.

They were quiet, eating, and then Kirk said, "Do you think they think we're on a date?"

"Given that I'm making no move to get that ice cream off your chin," McCoy said, which sent Kirk reaching for a napkin, "nor am I holding your hand, I think probably not."

"You could take me to your make out spot if you wanted to," Kirk said, waggling his eyebrows. "I've got no other plans."

McCoy rolled his eyes, but said nothing. Kirk's energy was mostly invested in the movie, to be sure, but he still made a steady stream of jokey sexual advances toward McCoy. It was like taking one for the team, letting them just roll off his back, especially since he respected that Kirk was serious about not having a fling in Georgia and probably saw McCoy as a safe person to flirt with. Been there, done that. And McCoy himself needed a friend far more than he needed a lover, so Kirk was pretty accurate in his assessment. Still, he hadn't expected that one of his duties on set would be to constantly turn down sexual favors while becoming closer friends with the man every day. It was doing strange things to his ego.

Kirk was quiet on the way home, pensive, and McCoy let him be as they drove along the dark country roads back to the hotel the production had taken over for the duration of the shoot. The weather had cooled down from the heat of the afternoon and they drove with the windows down. It was a comfortable silence, something he hadn't felt with anyone but Joanna since the good days of his marriage. He was damn glad they'd signed out a car with a manual transmission, as he was actively resisting the instinct to reach over and put his hand on Kirk's knee. Not that Kirk wasn't a touchy-feely kind of guy, constantly putting his arm around McCoy's shoulders or a hand at the small of his back, but the knee thing was a little too spousal, like an early fragmentary memory of seeing his parents together in the car when he was a kid. Maybe it was just driving around these hometown roads listening to R.E.M. that was doing it, getting the past all mixed up with the present. He fiddled with the iPhone, switching the music to Death Cab for Cutie, which was much safer. Brothers in a hotel bed, indeed.

"Do they collide?" Kirk asked.

"What?" McCoy replied.

"Shooting stars and satellites, I think," Kirk said.

"Wow, an indie rock reference from James T. Kirk?" McCoy said, smiling, and he could feel the past receding back to where it belonged.

"It seemed appropriate," he said, shrugging. "Anyway, thanks."

"For what?"

"Letting me brood a little."

"I figure it's not every day your best friend gets his first girl and doesn't tell you about it," McCoy replied.

"Yeah," Kirk replied. "Also, I think it was date night tonight and I didn't get the memo. I saw Scotty and Gaila head out together earlier."

"Huh," McCoy said. "Well, we had a good time tonight, didn't we?"

Kirk's slight scowl slowly turned into a smile. "Yeah, we did. Who needs dates?"

"Exactly. Who needs them?"

Though when they got back to the hotel, McCoy did walk Kirk to his room. It just seemed appropriate.

The next morning Uhura stepped into their car and said, "No questions," so McCoy didn't ask any.

But when they got to the set, Kirk made a beeline for them and put an arm around Uhura's shoulders. "So this is the thing," he said, apropos of nothing. "You've struck me as an honorable woman, working with you. And people get their hearts broken all the time, whatever; that's a part of living. But you fuck him over, and I will destroy your life." His mouth was pressed in a firm line, his eyes unwavering. McCoy had seen Kirk determined, but never so damn sincere.

Uhura stepped back slightly, to better look Kirk in the eye. "Nothing could be further from my mind," she said.

Kirk nodded. "Good. That's all I wanted to say."

"But thank you," she continued. "I'm glad to know he has such a good friend in you."

Kirk's eyes widened just slightly; he clearly hadn't expected that response. "Well, he does," he replied, and then walked away.

Once Kirk was out of earshot, McCoy couldn't help but chuckle; the entire situation was like being back in high school. Not surprising, since so many movie sets were like summer camp anyway. "You Have Been Warned," McCoy said.

Uhura smiled. "I thought it was kind of sweet," she said.

"You sure you want everything that comes along with that fella?"

"Oh, I can handle Kirk," she replied, waving her hand. "I'm not too worried about that."

"I'm sure you can," McCoy said. "Just, do you want to?"

She looked over at Spock, who was in conversation with Jean-Luc. His eyes met hers and he gave her the tiniest smile McCoy had ever seen on an adult human being, though it was still more smile than he'd ever seen on Spock.

"It's worth it," she said.

The final day of shooting was a pretty simple one on paper—just one scene, of the three characters eating dinner. But dinner scenes were always tricky to shoot, with so many angles, so much coverage, so much continuity to keep track of, which McCoy assumed was why Kirk had left it until last. But Spock mentioned that Kirk always liked to finish a film on an up scene, so that was likely part of it.

It was a happy and loose set that day, showing all the bonding that Kirk had so carefully facilitated, not to mention the undeniable buzz for the wrap party. The parties Kirk threw for the Bibi Besch movies were legendary—even McCoy had heard some stories of them—and he had to admit that he was looking forward to whatever Kirk had up his sleeve for this one. Kirk, unsurprisingly, was entirely silent on the matter, even disingenuous, and kept saying, "I don't know what you mean, Bones! It's just gonna be drinks with some friends!"

And that's how it started—a cookout behind McCoy's house, after which they all headed over to the local honky tonk for more drinks and a good bit of ill-advised karaoke singing from the crew. Then Sulu got up on the stage.

"All right," he said into the mike, grinning. "It's become a tradition—" at that the crowd roared— "so bring up the chair!"

As folks started rearranging furniture, McCoy leaned in to Scotty. "What the hell is he talking about?"

Scotty grinned widely. "So on the first Bibi movie, yeah? Carol had a scene where she was a stripper, and she said the only way she'd do it is if Jim stripped at the wrap party. Of course he did; he never backs down from a dare. Now he does it at every wrap party—it's the highlight."

"So he's going to strip now?" McCoy asked, incredulous.

"Just watch!" Scotty said. "He's got quite good on the pole."

McCoy turned to Uhura, who was standing on the other side of him. "You hear about this?"

She nodded. "Spock prepared me."

"Prepared you?" he asked. "For what?"

"Just watch," she said.

A chair had been brought to the front, and tables cleared back a bit from the stage, which McCoy now noticed did have a pole in the middle of it. Spock sat in the chair, looking a bit resigned.

The music started—Britney Spears, and wasn't that befitting Kirk—and two girls in cowboy hats came sashaying out onto the small stage area and began to dance around. The music paused for an instant before the vocal, and in that moment Kirk swung out onto the stage, also in an entirely ridiculous cowboy outfit, and McCoy wondered, vaguely, how the pants were going to come off.

And then Britney started to sing, and Kirk started to dance.

A guy like you should wear a warning

His movements seemed odd until McCoy realized that he wasn't dancing like the go-go boys in West Hollywood—he was dancing like a female stripper. He had the hip rolls down, and would occasionally shake his nonexistent tits. Off came the hat, neatly tossed to Spock, and while Kirk was playing to the room, he would look at Spock and mouth the lyrics

You're dangerous, I'm lovin' it.

McCoy had spent a lot of time watching dancers do pop routines, of course, and Kirk's had to have been choreographed by a pro. He wouldn't give an actual dancer a run for their money, but he seemed to be hitting all his marks. The brown leather vest came off next, then the blue chambray shirt, though he took a lot of care with the snaps. And he did all the silly stripper moves, too, licking his lips and rolling his head around. There was probably a universe in which this was arousing rather than hilarious, but they weren't living in it.

It's getting late to give you up

Of course the jeans were pull-aways—McCoy was annoyed with himself for not thinking of that—and now Kirk danced in nothing but blue briefs and a pair of cowboy boots. This led to a good deal of ass shaking, from the girls as well as Kirk, and then he grabbed the pole, flipped himself upside down, and kicked off the boots. McCoy hated to admit it, but he was impressed with the ingenuity and upper body strength if nothing else. Kirk clearly did his pilates.

With a taste of your poison paradise

Kirk spent the second chorus on the pole flipping about and gyrating against it. Then when the song hit the bridge for sixteen bars of atonal shrieking, he jumped down onto the floor and gave Spock an actual lap dance. McCoy understood now why Spock had felt the need to "prepare" Uhura, and to her credit she was laughing—she'd clearly have no problem at all dealing with Kirk's antics. Of course Spock remained completely impassive throughout.

With a taste of your lips I'm on a ride

Kirk ended his lap dance with an almost-kiss, smack on the beat as Britney began to sing again, and as the music kicked back in he flipped himself back onto the stage to finish his dance. A little more pole work, some winks to the crowd, and then suddenly he was looking right at McCoy.

I think I'm ready now

He mouthed the words along with Britney, then tore off his briefs to reveal the g-string underneath, and tossed the underwear to McCoy, who was surprised enough to actually catch them. Kirk winked at him, and all McCoy could think was that the fabric was warm from the heat of his body.

The music finished and Kirk and the girls bowed to the applause and cheers before running off the stage. McCoy wasn't sure what to do with the briefs; it seemed rude to just set them down someplace, so he scrunched them up and shoved them into his pocket.

"Never seen him do that before," Scotty said.

"What, the lap dance?" McCoy asked.

"Naw, he always does that," Scotty replied. "I meant, throwing his pants. He's never thrown his clothes into the crowd or any of that."

"Oh," McCoy said. "Well, he's never had a writer on set before, either."

"That's a true thing," Scotty said, nodding. "Another drink?"

Kirk popped up about ten minutes later, grinning like an idiot of course. "Whaddya think, Bones?" he asked.

McCoy sipped at his bourbon and stared him down, then said, "I think you've got a pretty good choreographer."

"Not as good as your ex," Kirk replied, "but he does a good job."

"Thanks for the present, by the way," McCoy said.

"Anything for you, Bones," Kirk replied, putting his arm around McCoy's shoulders. "But you liked it?"

"You know you were good, Jim," McCoy said. "If you weren't, you wouldn't have done it. You're lucky that Nyota's a good sport."

"Yeah," Kirk said, looking over to where Spock and Uhura were sitting. "I'd kinda forgotten about that until this afternoon, but Spock said he'd talked to her." Kirk shook his head. "I guess things are gonna change."

"Everything changes, Jim," McCoy said, "but don't get too far ahead of yourself. They've only been dating for a few months at the most."

Kirk shook his head. "Spock said it didn't really start until they got to Georgia. So I guess he gets the prize for set romance."

"Then only a few weeks," McCoy said. "Give it time. Everyone will settle into it, and it'll be fine."

"Yeah," Kirk said, nodding. "You're right." He smiled, but he still looked a little uncertain.

The line dancing started after that, and despite Kirk's pleas McCoy flat-out refused. There were many reasons he didn't live in Georgia anymore, and line dancing in a bar was certainly one of them. Chekov was showing Sulu the ropes, just as he'd done on salsa night, and McCoy wondered just what kind of mischief that Charlie X got into that Chekov had learned all these dances. Kirk goofed around with Gaila and some of the other ladies, but after a while he thumped down in the booth next to McCoy.

"Great party," McCoy said.

"Ain't it?" Kirk replied. "Wanted to make sure you weren't getting lonely."

"Nah, not me," McCoy said. "You've got a good crew, James T. Kirk."

"Sure do," Kirk said. "Best in the business. I'm lucky."

McCoy nodded, then held up his glass. "Thanks, Jim, for letting me be a part of it."

"Hey, thank you! Without you none of this could have happened. Having you here with us meant a lot, Bones." With that Kirk pulled McCoy into an embrace.

"Well," McCoy said, hugging Kirk back. They relaxed against each other, resting, before reluctantly pulling apart. McCoy blinked and their heads were suddenly very close together. He could smell the liquor on Kirk's breath, and his eyes were startlingly blue and staring into McCoy's own.

The moment passed—McCoy wasn't sure how, exactly—and they pulled back, sitting back against the booth. They were still close, pressed against each other. McCoy felt a little out of breath, as though he'd been running, and he could feel that Kirk was breathing just as fast.

"Hey, Spock!" Kirk called out, as Spock and Uhura walked by their booth. "Sit down, man! Sit down!"

They sat opposite McCoy and Kirk, and to McCoy's eye neither of them looked like they'd been drinking all that much, which he thought was a shame. "Get you something from the bar?" he asked.

"We're all set, thanks," Uhura replied, and sipped from a glass of clear liquid with a lime.

"We were gonna do this tomorrow," Kirk said, "but what the hell, it's a party, right?"

"Do what, exactly?" Uhura asked.

Kirk pointed at her. "Look, we can't change the deal, as you know, though maybe we can sneak you a few points, but Spock and I discussed it and we want to give you exec producer credit. Couldn't have done it without you."

Uhura's eyes widened. "Really?" She turned to Spock. "You don't have to."

Spock shook his head. "It was Jim's idea," he replied. "Though I do agree one hundred percent."

"Well, in that case," she said, smiling, "I accept. Thank you." She reached her hand across the table, and Kirk took it, shaking it firmly.

"Our pleasure, Uhura," he said. "Honestly."

"Please, Jim," she said, "call me Nyota."

Kirk grinned then, broad and bright as the sun. "See?" he said. "We really are a team!"

"Yep, Jim," McCoy said. "We're a team."

8: Major Setback
Around page 90 of your screenplay, something must happen to your hero that makes it seem to the audience that all is lost.

August, 2008

"You keep laughing like that," Kirk said, "and I'm going to wonder why I called you."

Carol was unrepentant. "You called me because I'm one of the few people who can handle you when you're like this," she said. "And I'm laughing because when you decided to edit the film yourself, you should have realized that meant you'd be here by yourself."

He scowled. "Actually I called because I thought you might want something to do other than nesting."

"Nesting is hard work!" she protested. "So is throwing up everything you eat for two months."

"You're done with that, right? Because the bathroom is way down the hall."

"I'm in my twentieth week, Jim. Morning sickness is generally over by now," she said, rolling her eyes. "Oh, which reminds me, here are the proofs." She took a large envelope out of her bag and handed it to Jim.

He pulled out the proof sheets. "Wow, you weren't kidding about the naked," he said.

"I may never have that body again," she said. "I wanted to document it for posterity."

"Of course," he said. "Well, as long as you don't hang them up in your house. That'll scar the kid."

"Thanks!"

"C'mon. No one wants photographic evidence of how hot their mom is."

"Was," she said, and patted her tummy.

"Will be again soon enough, knowing you," he replied. He looked away from the photos at her, and his eyebrows went up. "Really? That's the baby?"

She smiled. "You want to touch it, don't you?"

"Kinda?" he said, giving her his best puppy dog look.

She stood up and lifted her shirt. "Go ahead. The abs are long gone."

"No they're not," he said, shaking his head. He put a hand on the very slight swelling at her abdomen. "Wow. I mean, that's really cool, you know? That there's a little person cooking in there."

"That's such a Jim Kirk way of putting it," she said, sitting down. "Which reminds me, I wanted to ask you something, and you should feel free to say no if you don't want to, but you're the most dependable and take-charge guy I know."

"I so totally am!" he said.

"So I wondered if you'd be my birth partner? You know, like, my coach? Because I don't want my mother in there—"

"God, no," he agreed, because if Carol was a handful, her mother was about five of them.

"And I can trust you to keep a cool head and stay focused and keep me calm."

He smiled. "I'm flattered! Of course I'll do it!"

"Thanks, Jimmy," she said, and they hugged.

"You know, I really admire you," he said. "You wanted a baby and you went right out and got one."

"Well," she said, "I had help. Oh, speaking of going out and getting things, guess who I had dinner with last night?"

"Spock and Nyota, hello, he still tells me everything," he replied. "Well, almost. So what did you think?"

"I like her," she said, smiling. "He's completely whipped, of course. But we always knew he would be."

"I think that was the criteria," he said. "Can you exert your will over me if necessary? Yes? Then you are the girl for me." He smiled. "But it's nice to see him like that. Weird, but nice."

She put a hand on his knee. "You're sure you're okay with it?" she asked. "You two have been living out of each others pockets for years now."

"Yeah," he said. "Lives change, right? Can't pretend you're in school forever. He's got a girl and you're having a baby and I just directed an actually serious movie."

"Do you have a release date yet?" she asked.

He nodded. "Mid-November, after the horror stuff clears. Usual Oscar bait timing. Say, when are you due?"

"Um, early January, but my sisters and I were all early so Mom thinks this baby might be early, too," Carol said. "So be ready to go in December."

"That's fine," he replied. "We should be mostly done with the promotional tour by then."

"Perfect." She sat back in her chair and looked at him, smiling.

"What?" he asked.

"Well?" she asked.

"I don't know what you're talking about, Carol," he replied, though he had an idea.

"Come on, Jimmy," she said, nudging his foot with her own. "Tell me about that writer of yours. Your emails were full of him and now, nothing?"

"It's not like that," he said, looking down at the floor.

She tried to make eye contact. "But you wish it was?"

"No," he said. "No fooling around on this movie."

"Wow," she said. "I never thought you'd go through with that. So you really only fucked him the one time?"

"Well, technically three times," he said, smirking a little, "but yeah. We're friends. Good friends, though. Went over to his place for dinner the other night."

"Sounds romantic to me."

"Yeah—we sat in the living room with his teenage daughter eating chicken and rice and watching Gossip Girl. Super sexy! It was fun, though."

"That's … really domestic. And you tease me about nesting!"

"I know, right? I mean, he has a whole life. He came back from Georgia and it was right back to the grind for him."

"Yeah, I hear he's much in demand," she said.

"You hear?" he asked.

She huffed. "Okay, so I asked around." At his look she said, "What? If someone's going to get involved with you, even non-romantically, I want to make sure they aren't shady."

"So what did you find out?" he asked, smiling.

She raised her eyebrows. "Around the time Three to Tango ended, his wife left him for another man—the man she's married to now. Apparently when Krish Puri died and McCoy had to take over the show he didn't have a lot of time for his family, but I'm sure there was a lot of other stuff under the surface, too—it's never that simple."

"No," he said. "Especially not in this town."

"So he got a pilot made that wasn't picked up, and then the next two years had a couple of failed pitches, and then his option with the network expired and he dropped out for a little bit, as far as I can tell. I think there might have been some kind of custody problem, but that's just a rumor. Then he appeared again a few months later doing some script doctoring work for a certain action star—you know, the one who did that stint on his sitcom—and that's what he's been doing ever since. He's very popular, very professional, very good with the sarcastic one-liner."

"I can imagine," he said. "He's certainly good with them in real life."

"Directed at you?" She asked.

"Sometimes. But more often at Spock. I don't think those two know what to do with each other," he said. "Bones is pretty emotional."

She chuckled. "You do like 'em volatile, Jimmy," she said.

"Huh," he said. "I guess I do. I never thought about it that way before." He cleared his throat. "Not that we're doing anything."

"No, just nice family dinners," she said.

He rolled his eyes. "Carol—"

"So, are you going to show me any of this actually serious movie?" she asked.

"Of course!" he said, glad for the change of subject. "You know I couldn't make a movie without you."

"I know," she replied.

Once Kirk got used to it, working alone wasn't so bad. He found himself going back to his college habits of sleeping at odd hours and working for eighteen hour stretches. Jean-Luc was in and out, of course, as was Sulu, and Spock and Uhura often came over together or separately. It took more than a few text messages insisting that he wouldn't be in the way to cajole McCoy into dropping by. When he did he had so many suggestions for music that Kirk put McCoy in touch with music supervisor Kevin Riley and let them work it out.

On a Tuesday in early September Kirk, Spock, McCoy and Uhura gathered in Pike's executive screening room at Fleet Pictures. Kirk was more nervous than he'd ever been in showing a cut to Pike; for all his other films the studio head had been more personally involved, but on That Which Survives Kirk hadn't actually spoken to Pike since Uhura came onto the project during pre-production. Still, it wasn't like he didn't have studio approval.

Conversation ceased when the man himself rolled into the room "Kirk!" Pike never actually raised his voice, but he always made it sound like he did; Kirk had no idea how he did this but the man likely had the diaphragm of an opera singer. "How's it looking?"

"Very good, sir," Kirk replied, "but you'll be able to judge for yourself today."

Pike hummed, low in the back of his throat, a dubious sound that made Kirk even more nervous. Pike turned to Uhura. "So he Stockholmed you, did he?" Pike asked. "Thought you were immune to his charm?"

"I am, sir," Uhura said. "Kirk won me over with his hard work, dedication to the project, and flexibility in solving problems. He's much more of a team player than his reputation had me believing."

"Humph," Pike said. "You sound like Spock. Now who's going to control him?" He turned to McCoy. "And he's had you in his pocket since the day you met."

McCoy smiled and lifted his eyebrows. "According to Winona Kirk, the same can be said for you, sir," he said.

Kirk's eyes widened, but Pike just chuckled. "Sad but true, Len. All right, when's the movie starting?" he asked, rolling to the space in the first row left open for his chair. Spock and Uhura sat on either side of him.

Kirk filed into the second row, McCoy next to him. As the lights dimmed, Kirk let out a long sigh, trying to shake his nerves, when he felt McCoy patting the top of his hand.

"It'll be fine," he whispered. "It's a good film."

Kirk turned to him and smiled, and McCoy smiled back, nodding. Before he could think about it, Kirk turned his hand over, and McCoy clasped it, much as Kirk had taken McCoy's hand that day in Riverside. He figured since it was dark and the others were in front of them no one would notice.

The cut Kirk was showing clocked in at about an hour and forty-five minutes, so at least he knew Pike wouldn't be bitching about the length. Only Spock and Uhura could really see how Pike was reacting, which was exactly why his spot was in the front row. Kirk tried to watch the film as a final look over the edit, but he was too nervous to be properly critical.

The lights came up, and Pike turned around to look at Kirk, who quickly released McCoy's hand.

"Well kid," Pike said, "you've got one hell of a film there."

Kirk sighed in relief. "Thank you, sir. We think so."

"What's your schedule on getting the final music done?" he asked.

"Shouldn't take more than a week or so," Kirk replied. "Why?"

"Found out this morning they've had a feature drop out of the London Film Festival and we can get you in if you can be ready by the end of September."

Kirk blinked. The festival was only three weeks before their planned release date, and if they did well it could generate a lot of buzz. "We'll make it, sir."

"Excellent," Pike said, "because there's a hell of a release slate going up in November, and if we can get this film out ahead of that, we might be able to make some kind of impact."

"What are we facing, sir," Spock asked, "other than Narada?"

Pike scowled. "Other than Nero spending a hundred million dollars on his splashy Oscar-bait film opening Thanksgiving weekend, you mean?" he asked. "Isn't that enough?"

"The Cloud Minders is scheduled for early October," Uhura said, "and it's getting great buzz heading into the Toronto festival next week. The critics are going to eat it up."

"Mark Piper wrote the screenplay adaptation," McCoy said. "He's a pal of mine, and he's very good."

"I believe the play won a Tony last year," Spock said.

"And the Pulitzer," McCoy said.

"And it has Robert April and Sarah Poole in the leads," Kirk said. "Talk about your Hollywood royalty." He slouched down in his seat and tipped his head back to stare at the ceiling.

"There's probably seven or eight movies opening between Halloween and Christmas that have a shot at awards," Uhura said, "but it looks like Narada and The Cloud Minders are our real competition."

"We have faced worse odds," Spock said, "and still been triumphant."

"I know," Kirk said. "Just feel like the wind's been knocked out of me, is all. I'll get back up."

"You wanted a new challenge, Kirk?" Pike asked. "Well here it is. What you need to do is get all hands on deck and go out and sell this thing. Which means we'd better get McCoy into some media training."

"Me, sir?" McCoy asked.

"You haven't given a proper interview in almost eight years, have you?" Pike said. "And I've read some of those and you weren't the most press-savvy fella."

"Well," McCoy said, "by the time anyone wanted to talk to me, the actors carried most of the publicity for the show. But why would I be giving interviews for this movie?"

"Looks like you and Khan are the story," Pike replied. "No offense to pretty boy Kirk here, but comebacks from old pros are more compelling than changes in direction by young turks."

"Writers are getting more attention nowadays," Uhura said, nodding, "and Variety is interested in doing a piece on you. After all, Diablo Cody's story was a huge part of Juno."

"I didn't think I'd fallen that far. I mean, I ain't a stripper," McCoy said, looking at Kirk.

Kirk cleared his throat to keep from giggling. He didn't know why McCoy's irritability made him feel better, but it worked. "With quotes like that," he said, "I can't understand why you want him to get training."

McCoy scowled, but Kirk knew he had him. "Fine," he said. "I'll do it."

"That's the spirit," Kirk said, patting him on the back.

"But I ain't doing any photo shoots," he said.

"One step at a time," Kirk said.

Kirk thought his reasons for sitting in on McCoy's media training were totally legit. After all, McCoy would be promoting his movie, so he should take an interest. And McCoy might need his help, being a great interview himself. Plus it kept him from tweaking the movie while the music team did their work. He knew more fiddling would muddle the film, but he had to be doing something.

But mostly he went because watching McCoy do role plays with the publicity people was hilarious. McCoy clearly thought it was all just so much bullshit, but he wanted to please Pike as much as the rest of them did. Where McCoy kept stumbling was the completely expected, if intrusive, question about how autobiographical the screen play was. But Will Riker had endless patience.

"How much did you draw on your own life in this script?"

Take one, an honest reaction:

"That's none of your goddamn business. What the hell?"

Take two, a lie:

"None of it! I'm a screenwriter, not a journalist!"

Take three, a technical run-around:

"Every story has an element of truth to it, of course. But a powerful narrative uses that kernel and changes the details that surround it to make that truth more universal. Fiction is really a search for a higher truth in which the facts are less important than the relatability of the story itself."

Take four, the director's strangely unappreciated suggestion, to which McCoy replied with a raised eyebrow and "stick to directing, kid":

"You can't handle the truth!"

Take five, a compromise:

"My father did die when I was in college, but that's where the similarities end."

"Great," Riker said, though his smile was a little tight with stress. "I think you're as ready to talk to Variety as we can make you!"

"I'll sit in," Kirk said.

"Don't trust me, Jim?" McCoy asked.

Kirk smiled. "More like, don't trust them," he said.

McCoy cocked his head. "Or, need something to keep you busy before the movie premieres."

"You know all my secrets, Bones," Kirk said.

The Variety reporter, a somewhat colorless fellow named Data, met McCoy in Kirk's office, since he didn't really have an office of his own and no one thought him ready for the seeming informality of a lunch interview. McCoy was working his charm—he really could be disarming when he applied himself—and the reporter was swallowing it all happily. They talked Three to Tango, how McCoy took over the show after Puri's death, his years as a script doctor, and That Which Remains. Then the reporter tripped over a land mine, and Kirk kicked himself for not remembering it was there.

"So let's go back to the time after Three to Tango ended. You shopped a few pilots around, unsuccessfully, and at the same time you were divorced and I believe lost custody of your daughter?"

McCoy blinked. "I'm not sure what this has to do with—"

"Well, we are talking about fatherhood, aren't we? That is one of the themes of the film."

McCoy turned to Kirk, wild-eyed, looking like he had on that flight to Georgia. "I … I … I—"

"If we're talking about McCoy as a father," Kirk said quickly, "he's a full-time dad to his daughter. Takes her to school every morning, checks her homework, the whole thing."

"Does he?" Data asked. "That's lovely."

"Isn't it?" Kirk agreed. "They have an amazing relationship." He leaned in closer. "Oh, and by the way, off the record?"

Data leaned in, too. "Yes?"

"You know that rom-com TV script floating around town, about the mystery writer who solves crimes with the lady police detective?"

"Sure, I heard it's been picked up for mid-season. Why?"

"The way the writer relates to his daughter? Totally based on McCoy and his kid."

"Really?" Data asked.

"Uh, yeah," McCoy replied. "The writer isn't much like me, but the girl is a lot like my daughter. The creator is an old buddy of mine, so he's seen us together a lot. It's flattering."

"C'mon," Data said. "You gotta let me use that."

Kirk shrugged. "Talk to the writer of that script," he said. "It's his work."

"I'll do that," he replied. "Well, I think I have everything I need."

"Great," Kirk said, standing. They exchanged good-byes, and Jean-Luc walked him out.

McCoy turned to Kirk. "I'm sorry I froze up there, Jim. Thanks for the save."

Kirk shrugged. "Don't worry about it. I've done it more than you have, that's all. When they get to tender places, just redirect them with a better story. They get good copy, you keep your secrets, everybody wins." He smiled. "Besides, you saved me with Khan, so let's call it even."

"You solved that yourself, Jim," McCoy said, shaking his head.

"I was floundering, Bones. You snapped me out of it."

"Well," McCoy said, "all right then."

And just like that, Kirk and McCoy did all their promotion together. After the Variety piece was a hometown-boy-brings-us-jobs story for the Atlanta Constitution, and a conversation with the Hollywood reporter for the Times of London for a piece to coincide with the film festival. Kirk had never done interviews with anyone else in tow—Spock didn't do them at all and Carol became a star too quickly to need to share them—and he'd always been a little jealous of the other actors who got to sit through junkets together. But now he had a buddy, too, and he liked to think they played off each other pretty well. They were good at making each other laugh, if nothing else.

The music team finished their work in record time. The score was anchored by a lovely, haunting, piano-based theme that Kirk knew would work as perfectly over the trailers as it did in the film. Putting McCoy in touch with Kevin Riley to talk about music for the film turned out to be a good move—Riley found him so helpful that he not only gave him an assistant supervisor credit on the film and an assistant producer credit on the soundtrack, but unearthed precious Grammy tickets for McCoy.

Now that the film was completed, Kirk held two small screenings. The first was for the team and the actors, Carol, Pike, and a few other folks at the studio, which happily went over fairly well. Khan seemed pleased with his performance on screen, and both Chekov and Gaila were excited to get out and promote the film.

The other was a private one for Joanna and Jocelyn, as McCoy didn't want them to see the film for the first time in front of other people. In person Jocelyn was softer than she'd seemed on television, and after all if McCoy had repaired his relationship with her it wasn't Kirk's place to be angry with her on his behalf. "Len says you dance," she said.

"Not really," Kirk said. "I've seen your work and I'm pretty sure you wouldn't call me a dancer."

She raised her eyebrows. "You've got the body for one," she said.

"Mom!" Joanna said. "Gross."

"What on earth, Jo?" she replied. "Jim is an adult."

"Yeah, but he's Dad's friend," she explained, "and he's at the house all the time and it's like you're talking about one of my friend's dads or something."

Jocelyn smiled. "All the time?"

"Well, we've been working hard for months," McCoy said.

"On the movie, yeah," Kirk added.

"So let's see it," Jocelyn said, sitting down next to her daughter.

Kirk couldn't really decide who to watch. Jocelyn's tears started flowing the moment McCoy's house appeared on screen. Joanna had read the script and knew what was coming, though by the end she was grabbing for the tissues as well. When the film ended Kirk brought up the lights slowly, and then sat down to give them time and space for their reaction.

"Oh Len," Jocelyn said, reaching over to take his hand. "David would be so proud to have inspired this. It's lovely."

McCoy nodded. "I hope so," he said. "Thanks."

Joanna blew her nose, then launched herself into her father's lap. "I'm sorry, Dad," she said, hugging him tightly.

"What for, sweetheart?" McCoy asked.

She sat up to look him in the eye. "When you told me the story," she said, "I pictured you now. But you weren't much older than me, were you?"

"No," he said, "I wasn't."

"Don't you go anyplace," she said, tucking her head down on his shoulder.

"I'll do my best not to," he said, holding her tight.

Kirk surreptitiously grabbed a tissue for himself. He hadn't thought about the real-life side of the film since Iowa at least, and even then he'd already been single-minded about what the details meant for the movie, not what the events had meant for McCoy. He didn't want to intrude on McCoy's family moment now, but made a note to himself to make it up to McCoy as soon as possible, because even Carol would admit that he wasn't a selfish ass all the time.

Before they left for the London Film Festival, Kirk made sure McCoy had a plan for surviving the long flight from LA. At least they were buying out first class on their flight, so McCoy would be surrounded by friends.

"My plan," said McCoy, "is to sleep through it, like a normal person on an eleven-hour flight, just with a bit of pharmaceutical assistance."

"Really?" Kirk asked. "I was hoping you'd take an Ativan and just be loopy. Sitting next to a sleeping Bones doesn't sound like nearly as much fun."

"You're disappointed?" McCoy asked. "You really want a repeat of that flight to Georgia?"

"No, of course not," Kirk replied. "Sorry we can't just go there digitally, though."

"Digitally?"

"Scotty thinks digital transport could happen within our lifetime. He reads all these articles about it and stuff."

"Oh, that would definitely be better," McCoy said, scowling, "to have my corporeal self translated into a long string of ones and zeroes and transmitted over equipment that routinely drops phone calls. Have you seen the size of the human genome, Jim?"

"Well unfortunately the land bridge to Asia is gone," Kirk said, "but we could take the Union-Pacific Railroad to New York and hop on the Queen Mary if you want to be all old Hollywood about it."

McCoy's scowl eased. "And be met by newsreel cameras as soon as we arrive, I imagine."

Kirk nodded, smiling. "We'll make the rotogravure from coast to coast."

McCoy chuckled. "I'm not a luddite. I just feel better when my feet are on the ground."

"You gotta fly sometimes," Kirk said.

London was a blur of interviews, dinners, screenings of other films, everyone trying to catch up with rarely-seen friends, Scotty's parents (who were even more hilarious than he was, which Kirk didn't think was possible) and one long red carpet. The only parts Kirk could focus on were their own screening and McCoy, who was by his side every step of the way. Kirk thought they were becoming quite a good team, the two of them. If they could all keep up the pace they might be able to rise above the rest of the serious fall films they were up against.

That Which Survives got an excellent position in the festival, the major film on the Saturday of the first weekend. Kirk was almost beside himself with nerves, as was McCoy—heck, so were they all—so he decided to take the entire group on a lunchtime outing to see his favorite thing in London. Thanks to Jean-Luc phoning ahead the group had a guide as soon as they arrived at the Tate Modern who took them straight upstairs.

"Wow," Sulu said. "This is amazing."

"Yeah," Kirk replied, walking more fully into the room. "Rothko originally painted these on commission from the Seagram family to hang in the Four Seasons restaurant. But after he made them he decided they shouldn't hang in a room where robber barons ate their dinner, and gave the money back. Some of the paintings are in Japan, some at the National Gallery in DC, and the rest are here in this room."

Kirk sat down on one of the benches. The gallery was small, the lighting dimmer than usual in a museum, and on all four walls hung large abstract paintings of dark red, brown and black squares and stripes in the customary Mark Rothko style. Kirk could feel his blood pressure dropping, just looking at them. He took in a deep cleansing breath, and sighed. His companions wandered around the room, soaking up the art and the atmosphere, and Kirk pulled up to sit cross-legged, turning every few minutes to look at a different painting.

McCoy took a long turn around the room before sitting down next to Kirk. "Never woulda pegged you for a modern art fan," he said.

"I like how they leave room for what you bring to them," Kirk said. "Like how a movie isn't really complete until an audience sees it."

"Never thought about it that way," McCoy admitted. "But why don't you own any art?"

"I do," Kirk said, "but it's always on loan. Seems selfish to buy something and just have it hanging in my house. I'd rather have windows and movie screens."

"You're a good man, Charlie Brown," McCoy said.

Kirk shrugged, but he couldn't help a little smile at McCoy's praise. "I try."

Kirk was glad he'd made the pilgrimage to the Rothkos, because he wasn't going to be able to take his usual stance at the back of the room. They all had seats in the audience, Kirk making sure he was between McCoy and Spock, and once the lights went down he slumped in his seat.

"Sit up," McCoy whispered. "You're gonna wrinkle your jacket."

Kirk reacted by taking his jacket off, draping it across his lap, and slumping back down. He could hear McCoy sighing next to him.

The movie began in silence, a text card with a definition Kirk had found coming up on the screen immediately after the Fleet logo:

saudade (Portuguese): a nostalgic feeling for someone or something that one was fond of and which has been lost. It was once described as "the love that remains" after someone is gone.

Cut to Chekov's character, Walter, driving on those beautiful Georgia back roads that McCoy had driven Kirk around on that day, the hauntingly simple piano theme playing under the credits, until he pulled into the driveway to see Gaila's Nurse Rachel waiting for him on the porch—the very first scene they'd shot of the entire film.

The movie looked great, at least, and in the funny moments there was some laughter here and there, but mostly the audience was so quiet you could hear a pin drop. Kirk tried desperately not to fidget; he was used to premiering movies that were much louder and had audiences shouting. He knew in his head that this wasn't that sort of movie, but his adrenal system hadn't caught on to that fact quite yet.

When it finished, credits rolling and music swelling from the speakers, the audience was still quiet though he couldn't hear them even moving to leave the room. And then, suddenly, his ears were hit by a roar of sound as they all applauded. Kirk turned around, cautiously, and saw that there were even some people standing up here and there, more and more as the idea caught on, until they were receiving a bona fide standing ovation.

Kirk turned to McCoy, and then to Spock and Uhura, and they both looked as surprised as he felt. "Looks like they liked it, Bones," he said.

"Imagine that," McCoy replied.

They stopped in New York on the way back for a critics' screening and two days of junkets and talk shows, still high off the London reception of the film. McCoy's reaction to sitting on a couch next to Kirk answering the same questions over and over for two days was to make a precise tally of the questions asked and then make a pie chart to give to Spock, "who'd appreciate it." The top five questions were:

5. (directed at Kirk) What was it like working with your old nemesis Khan/your old friend Gaila/rising young star Chekov/without Carol Marcus?

4. How was your approach to directing this film/writing this script different than an action film/sitcom?

3. (directed at McCoy) How much of your real life did you use for the script? You're a father now; how did that change the story?

2. What was it like working with (each other)?

and the number one question:

1. Did the fact that both of you have lost your fathers have an effect on how you made this film?

That was the one question that Kirk hadn't been prepared for, because he hadn't even known his father, while McCoy had been raised by his. Sure, the first credit at the end of the film read, "In loving memory of David McCoy and George Kirk" but that was as far as the similarities went. But Kirk thought he hid his jealousy of McCoy's family ties pretty well, all things considered.

Mostly it was just fun, sitting on a tiny couch in a hotel room trying to make each other laugh. Though that tiny couch part sometimes made Kirk regret he'd sworn off sex for the movie, as he was aware of McCoy's broad, muscular body in a way he wasn't most of the time. It would be so easy to just reach out and touch him, but he held back. He knew it was the right decision, knew he had to power down and reboot his sex drive to get it back under control, knew that fucking someone more than once made them not really a one night stand but a fuck buddy, and knew that after Carol maybe he shouldn't have fuckbuddies around. Still, when McCoy gestured wildly, or held himself back from being cuttingly sarcastic in response to a stupid question, or said something so perfect that Kirk had nothing to add, or—the best part—leaned back his head and laughed, Kirk kind of wished things could be different.

On the flight back to LA, McCoy did just take an Ativan, and spent the flight blissed out, sipping on club soda and playing travel Scrabble with Kirk and Spock.

"Oh man," Kirk said, looking up at Spock, "I just realized that you can't be my date to the premiere."

"I don't see why not, Jim," Spock said, making Kirk's "distract" into "distraction" and picking up the resulting triple word score. "When you had other attachments you still brought me as your escort."

"Yeah, but those women were either actresses who had to walk the red carpet by themselves anyway, or Marla who wouldn't walk it at all. And you should go with Nyota."

"I'll be your date, Jim," McCoy said. "All four of us can go together."

"You gonna put out?" Kirk asked.

McCoy surveyed the board. "Spock, you ever put out for Jim?"

"No, I have not," Spock said.

"Then you're used to it."

"Yeah, the four of us, that could be good," Kirk said. "I'll send over my stylist."

"Your stylist?" McCoy asked.

"Well, not really mine. Carol's."

"Are you implying that I don't know how to dress myself?"

"Not at all," Kirk replied. "But you know, red carpets ..."

"I'm a writer, not an actor, Jim," McCoy said, jutting out his jaw stubbornly. "As long as I'm clean and tidy I don't think anyone will care. London went fine and I didn't have a stylist there. Jo just told me what to pack."

"Oh, so you do have a stylist. She's just fourteen and lives with you." Kirk paused. "Wait, aren't you going to bring Jo to the premiere?"

"No," McCoy said. "She doesn't want to see the movie in public and I don't want to have to chaperone her through that party." He started laying down tiles, making Kirk's "cord" into "concordance." "Let's see, double word, got a triple letter for the 'c,' bonus for using all my tiles—"

"Ugh, I don't even want to know," Kirk said, sitting back in his seat. "How did you get so good at board games? You're an only child."

"Jocelyn was a very competitive little girl," McCoy said.

Kirk shook his head. "I'll say."

Kirk didn't expect the LA premiere to be anything like London. The LA audience would have more jaded industry insiders. Plus festival audiences often had stronger reactions to films, particularly very emotional films like That Which Survives. So as he wandered down the red carpet with McCoy, stopping for every microphone Will Riker pointed out, he tried to keep his expectations low.

Carol was there, and how one person's body could change that much in just three weeks Kirk wasn't sure, but she'd gone from being slightly round to stretching across several zip codes. Kirk was sure that the designers were still clamoring to clothe her, even if this wasn't her movie and even if she did have a sizable bump, because pregnant or not the woman could wear the hell out of a dress. She was a pal to come out and support them, since she'd just had a summer blockbuster and with that and the pregnancy she didn't exactly need the publicity. But she said she loved the movie and was excited to see it do well.

And no, the premiere wasn't like London, but it was still more than he thought it could be. The audience applauded, and several people came up to Kirk at the party to tell him, in confidence, that they'd teared up more than once. The good word that had started in London and flowed through New York agreed that the movie delivered on life and love and loss and all the things promised by its title, and Kirk was just keeping his fingers crossed that good buzz would lead to good reviews would lead to decent enough box office that Pike wouldn't take a loss, because Kirk would very much like to make another movie like this one.

Between the premiere and opening day, Pike set up a couple of screenings of his own.

The Cloud Minders, which had opened while they were in London, earned every bit of its praise. The story centered around two older people taking a last chance on love, and it was sweetly sentimental without being cloying. The adaptation from the award-winning play was light and adept, and the real-life chemistry and old-school craft of married couple Robert April and Sarah Poole shone out of every frame. It was the sleeper hit of the early fall, one of those movies the press got excited about because it was "for grown-ups."

"Damn," Kirk said. "That was beautiful. There is no way they aren't going to sweep the acting awards. I'm kinda glad that Khan has a supporting role now."

"They are clearly our main competition," Spock said. "I am pleased that their release date was well ahead of our own. I hope this means that we will have the momentum heading into award season, rather than they."

"Why Spock, that's downright Machiavellian!" McCoy said.

Spock nodded his head. "I find it is best to consider all strategic opportunities," he replied.

Pike also had a copy of Narada, the latest Nero picture out of Romulus Films which was opening two weeks after That Which Survives. Narada had Oscar Movie written all over it—big sweeping shots of beautiful scenery, action with a side of doomed love story set against historical events, young actors made into stars, no expense spared. Narada was the Goliath in every way possible, even without counting Kirk and Nero's personal antipathy or Fleet's rivalry with Romulus.

Pike, however, was entirely unimpressed. "That was empty prestige bullshit," he said.

Kirk shook his head. "I could have made that movie for half the money and two-thirds the running time, and it would have been better."

"Nero needs to stop writing his own damn movies," McCoy said. "That dialogue was so clunky—I think he just put down a bunch of cliches and rearranged them into that by-the-numbers plot that comes out of hacky screenwriting books."

"C'mon, guys, it wasn't that bad," Uhura had said. "People will cry and it will make a lot of money. It's based on an Oprah book, you know."

"I see," Spock said. "Pity he could not rise above his source."

McCoy laughed at that, and Kirk didn't think he'd ever seen McCoy laugh at one of Spock's rare jokes before. Turning to Uhura, he said, "We're surrounded by snobs."

"Tell me about it," she replied.

As a child Kirk watched many old-time "putting a show on Broadway" movies, where the cast decamps from the premiere to Sardi's to await the early papers with the first reviews on which the show would live or die. Movies hadn't been like that then and certainly weren't like that now. Sure, a few blog posts had been made after the critics' screening in New York and the premiere in LA, but unlike the Bibi Besch movies That Which Survives wasn't going to ignite the fanboy boards. The cineastes seemed to look upon it favorably, however.

On the Thursday before the limited opening in the usual handful of cities, though, Kirk got a text from McCoy.

McCoy—>Kirk
Tony Scott just liked a movie I wrote. Is this my life?

Kirk—>McCoy
damn all he's said about the other movies I've directed is that they're "spirited fun"

McCoy—>Kirk
Is it wrong that I'm refreshing Ebert's site every hour or so?

Kirk—>McCoy
no. can I invite myself to dinner? no reason you should go through this alone

McCoy—>Kirk
Sure. We're just grilling tonight.

Kirk—>McCoy
I'll bring dessert.

And so much to the amusement of Joanna, Kirk and McCoy sat hunched over smart phones and laptops, getting and sending links between them and the rest of the team, and before long Spock and Uhura had dropped in with a big salad and some very good red wine as the reviews started to roll in. Each good notice got a toast, as did the few negative ones, and Kirk watched the Rotten Tomatoes meter moving from 50 to 75 and as high as 95 before settling, for the time being at least, around 85. Most of the praise was of the "who knew they had it in them?" variety, whether talking about Kirk's direction, McCoy's script, or the performances of Gaila, Chekov, or Khan, who was frequently singled out for particular accolades.

Even though Kirk wasn't inebriated or even particularly tired, McCoy insisted that Kirk stay overnight because "you're not riding that bike home at one a.m., dammit." It was sort of sweet, really; it had been a long time since anyone had really looked after him, which at first had been by design because life in Iowa had been so stifling, but of late had just been habit. He had to admit, it felt kind of nice.

So after Spock and Uhura left he bedded down in the spare room, setting his phone alarm to wake up with the McCoys. As soon as his eyes opened that morning he had a brilliant idea that he shared with Joanna, who of course thought it was equally brilliant. McCoy, on the other hand, was unimpressed.

"I have to register you and sign a form and all this bullshit," McCoy said.

"I can see that if I was picking her up, but just dropping her off?" Kirk asked.

"Dad, the form is on the school website," Joanna said, "and you can send us with it and then call them."

"Well," McCoy said, hesitating.

"C'mon, Bones," Kirk said. "You get to sleep in, and then I'll come back and make you breakfast. You know, since you made dinner last night and put me up and stuff." He wasn't using the puppy eyes quite yet, but he was ready to.

McCoy sighed. "Fine," he said. "Where's the form?"

Joanna grinned broadly. "I'll print it out for you!" she said, running off to the computer.

McCoy pointed at Kirk. "Not fair, turning a man's daughter against him," he said.

"I did no such thing!" Kirk protested, smiling. "I wanted to do something nice for you! Just because she agreed with me ..."

"I'm afraid to let you two join forces," McCoy replied. "You could take over the world."

"We'd bring you along," Kirk said. "Promise."

"Got it!" Joanna said. "Just sign here."

McCoy grumbled, but did as he was told. "I know you won't do anything stupid with my kid on your bike, Jim; otherwise I wouldn't let you take her to school." He looked up, handing the sheet back to Joanna. "But don't do anything stupid with my kid on your bike."

"I won't," Kirk replied.

"And Jo, don't mess around," McCoy said.

"I won't," Joanna said solemnly.

"All right, off with you," he said.

"Go back to bed, Bones," Kirk shouted over his shoulder.

Kirk had never actually had a young person on his bike before. He'd had ladies, and a few guys, and McCoy that time, and Spock only when necessary as he didn't care for it. But other than Spock, they were people he'd fucked or wanted to fuck, which Joanna decidedly was not. They tucked her things into the saddlebags and got the helmet on her head and took off down the road, and Kirk did find himself being more careful than usual. McCoy had trusted him with some precious cargo here, and Kirk was determined to show that he was worthy of that trust. And Joanna's arms around his waist felt amazing—not in a sexual way of course (and not just because she was fourteen or because she was his friend's kid, but because the Miri debacle had taught him that he definitely had a lower age limit and it was higher than just "legal"). No, they felt warm and wonderful and trusting, and made Kirk want to sit up a little straighter.

The students at the Brentwood School were a tough crowd to impress, given that they were mostly the kids of high-flying Hollywood players, so Kirk chalked up the stares they got to Joanna being dropped off by someone other than her parents and on a motorcycle no less. Joanna basked in the attention as they handed off the paperwork to the monitor and Kirk had to grin, watching her walk away with her friends.

On the way back to Venice Kirk stopped to get all the ingredients for a seriously amazing omelet for two, and commandeered McCoy's kitchen while he sat at the counter and watched, warily. "An extra two hours of sleep looks good on you, Bones," Kirk said. "You're like, forty percent less irritable than usual."

"You spend too much time with Spock," McCoy replied.

Kirk chuckled. "Not lately," he said. "Say, what are you doing this weekend? Got a lot of work?"

"Not a lot," McCoy said, shrugging. "Some. Why?"

"Since you did such a good job of distracting me on my last opening weekend," Kirk replied, keeping a watchful eye on his home fries, "I wondered if you'd be interested in doing it again. I can offer a pool, lots of movies and free wifi!"

"So now you're a budget hotel?" McCoy asked.

"Nah, I have better views," he said, waggling his eyebrows.

McCoy rolled his eyes. "I'll go if you behave yourself."

"What fun is that?" Kirk asked, pulling the omelet out of the oven.

"I probably should get out of the house," McCoy said, sighing.

"You deserve a weekend off," Kirk said. "For many reasons."

"All right," he said, "but I'm bringing my swim trunks."

"Do," Kirk replied. "You swimming naked in the pool is too damn distracting."

Having McCoy in his house for the weekend was kind of like being with Spock, only not. It was certainly as easy as being with Spock, which was kinda weird because Kirk had known Spock for so much longer, but then Spock was a difficult guy to be around for long periods of time so maybe it balanced out. They played video games, watched movies, made ridiculous meals, dunked each other in the pool, and Kirk realized how long it had been since he'd hung out with anyone who wasn't on his team. Only, McCoy was on his team now, too. And the sex thing came and went, especially when McCoy was newly awake and rumpled, but Kirk felt like maybe he had it under control, finally.

Jean-Luc called Monday morning with the final tally: a million dollars in twenty theaters.

"I guess those are smaller numbers than you're used to, huh Jim?" McCoy asked. He was floating in the pool while Kirk sat on the edge, his feet in the water.

Kirk shrugged. "Per-screen average of fifty thou? I'll take that. Variety will say, 'surprisingly strong in limited release' and Pike will make his money back by February."

McCoy smiled then. "So it's a success?"

Kirk looked at McCoy, at the way the sunshine made him glow, and said, "Bones, I think it already was."

9: Final Push
Beaten and battered, your hero must now risk everything she has, and give every ounce of strength and courage she possesses, to achieve her ultimate goal

December, 2008

McCoy was having one of those truly excellent dreams where he was James Bond and Martin Amis all rolled into one, men and women falling at his feet just to hear him read his own devastating short stories in his Georgia drawl and the bourbon and the money flowed freely and without consequence. Only in this one, Jim Kirk was there, fetching him drinks and sitting at his elbow and staring up at him adoringly, which he never did in real life. Well, maybe the drink fetching. Still, it was a damn good dream, and then Big Ben started chiming, which was odd as he was in a pied-à-terre on the Upper West Side of Manhattan. It bonged again, and suddenly Joanna was there—what was she doing at this decadent party? he thought and buttoned his shirt back up—and she said, "I think your phone is ringing."

He opened his eyes. "Dad?" Joanna was calling from the other room. "Is that your phone?"

"Yeah," he replied. He shuffled out to the living room, where he'd left it the night before, noting that it was five a.m. and he could have used that extra hour of sleep, thanks. He glanced down at the phone, then answered it. "Dammit, Jim! What the hell?"

"Bones!" Kirk shouted. "Can you believe it?"

"What?" he asked.

"You don't know? I thought Christine would have called you by now."

"My agent knows better than to wake me up which is apparently more than I can say for my director."

"We got nominated for Globes. I think that's worth waking up for."

"What?" McCoy said, sitting down on the couch.

"Golden Globes! You, me, Khan, Gaila and the movie! Everyone but Chekov, poor kid."

"What?" McCoy asked again.

"You already said that," Kirk replied. "Man, you do need that beauty sleep don't you?"

"Ya think?'

"Champagne breakfast, Bones. Come to Spock's place after you drop off Jo, okay?"

"Yeah, yeah, I'll do that," McCoy said, and hung up.

Joanna padded out to the living room, rubbing her eyes. "What did Jim want?"

McCoy sat staring at his phone. "We, uh, we got nominated for Golden Globes," he said.

"That's great, Dad," she said, turning around to go back to her room. "Go to bed."

"Yep," McCoy said. But he didn't go back to his bed; instead he said on the couch, half-awake and staring at his email inbox as it filled up with messages.

Après that, le déluge.

McCoy had thought he was immune to this sort of thing. Television was a marathon, if it was good. He'd worked for seven years on a critically-acclaimed, highly-rated, famous-people-beg-to-be-on-it sitcom, and had a Globe and three Emmys to show for it. Krish Puri had been concerned with delivering show after show, season after season, and three camera sitcoms were a grind. Twenty-four episodes a year, every year, and in the later seasons working around the movie schedules of the stars. McCoy was pretty aware that the Globe they got that fifth season was more about Puri's death than anything else, though he liked to think he'd earned the Emmy he got for writing the episode where Zach and Zoe finally got together, "A Private Little War." And ever since he'd been working in film, his milieu had been the summer blockbuster.

But this awards season business was more like a sprint. The Globe nominations were announced only three weeks after the movie opened, and they were quickly followed by any number of year-end "best film" lists on which That Which Survives appeared with surprising regularity. Jean-Luc kept track and sent emails with links or mailed clips to the team, as did Chapel and Rand: Entertainment Weekly, The New York Times, The Los Angeles Times, Newsweek, Time, The New Yorker. There were celebratory lunches and yet more interviews for everyone. While their lead might have been left out of the Globe noms, Chekov was to be a presenter, and besides he had more scripts than he knew what to do with.

A few of those articles required photos, but McCoy was steadfast in not really caring how he looked, much to the dismay of Kirk and Joanna. Joanna insisted on at least picking out his clothing for these snapshots, but all the fussing made him nervous. He was a writer, dammit, not an actor. The photo shoot he had to take seriously, though, came through about five days after the Globe noms were announced.

"They want us in Vanity Fair," Kirk said.

"Us who?" McCoy asked.

"All of us. Whoever I say. They heard about the nickname and want to do a 'captain and his crew' thing for the Hollywood issue."

"Huh," McCoy said.

"I figure the four of us, Scotty and Sulu, Gaila, Chekov, Khan, and Carol of course."

"Carol?"

"Gotta dance with the one that brung you," Kirk replied.

"Is she gonna want to do that, though?" McCoy asked. "Isn't she due in a month or something?"

"Like she's ever turned down a photo shoot," Kirk said.

Kirk was right, though it certainly helped that they only had to go to Long Beach for the shoot. Annie Liebowitz gathered them on the bridge of the old Queen Mary, putting them in 30s era clothes. The actors were buzzing as they drifted between hair, makeup and wardrobe; the SAG nominations had been announced that morning and That Which Remains was up for three of them: supporting for Gaila and Khan, plus the cast award. McCoy thought Chekov, who looked like a cross between Andy Hardy-era Mickey Rooney and Leo DiCaprio in The Aviator, was going to vibrate right off the boat and into the water he was so excited. Carol smiled at them like an old pro, as the fourth Bibi Besch movie had won for stunt cast two years before. Kirk said that was why he had a good feeling about the SAGs.

Once the stylists got through with him McCoy's hair was slicked down with so much styling cream he looked like Clark Gable, big ears and all. Kirk, predictably, just looked like even more of a matinee idol than usual. Carol, sitting next to him, was gorgeous and glowing, and gave the stylists a hard time about how to dress Uhura and Gaila, making sure they got every bit of the attention she usually received. McCoy brought Joanna along, even took her out of school for the day, because heaven knew her old man wasn't going to be in anything like this again, and she sat in the back with big eyes, soaking it all in.

"See, Bones?" Kirk said. "We went old Hollywood after all."

Less than a week later, McCoy was on his hands and knees trying to scrub a particularly stubborn bit of who-knows-what off the edge of the tub when he heard a banging on the front door. It wasn't often that he had visitors in the middle of a weekday afternoon, but he was still surprised to see Jim Kirk standing outside his door.

"Come in, Jim," he said. "You look beat."

Kirk slumped onto the couch in a daze. "Carol had the baby this morning."

"Well!" McCoy said. "I don't have any cigars but I do have some whiskey."

"That sounds fantastic," he said.

"How long was the labor?" McCoy called from the kitchen.

"She called me at noon yesterday," Kirk said, "and we finally went to the hospital around four in the afternoon. So sixteen hours, I guess."

"That's not bad," McCoy said. "I never asked, boy or girl?"

Kirk smiled. "She had a little boy. She was a few weeks early, but the doc wasn't worried at all. I don't blame her—David is almost eight pounds."

McCoy's hand shook, and a little whiskey sloshed onto the counter. "She named him David?" he asked.

"Yeah, why?"

McCoy finished pouring and came back to the living room. "David was my father's name," he said, handing Kirk the glass.

"Oh, that's right," Kirk said. "Well, here's to both of them."

"I'll drink to that," McCoy said, and sat down next to Kirk. "And how are you?"

"I'm lucky Carol asked me to do this," Kirk replied. "She was a trouper. Of course, she was on some serious drugs, but still. There's a whole extra person in the world today, Bones. It's kind of amazing, isn't it?"

"Amazing's the word for it," McCoy replied, thinking of that day Joanna was born and how completely in love with the world he'd been. "How's the mother?"

"Carol's all right. She's got five older sisters, all of whom have already had kids, so they just descended on the hospital with her mother and they're all staying with her in shifts for the first few months."

"Doesn't she have a nanny?" McCoy asked.

Kirk shook his head. "Not yet. She didn't want a baby nurse. She thought it made her too much like a queen."

"Carol Marcus, too much like a queen?" McCoy asked.

"I know, right?" Kirk said. "I think she just heard that the longer you nurse the more weight you lose. Plus Carol has a hidden crunchy side—she grew up in northern California and her parents were hippies on a commune or something. So she's doing it with family help for a while. She'll get someone when she goes back to work, I bet."

"Well, good for her," McCoy said. They were quiet for a bit and then McCoy said, "Stick around for a little bit, take a shower, and Jo and I will take you out to dinner."

"I didn't have the baby, Bones," Kirk said.

"Yeah, but you just spent a whole day with a woman who was having one," McCoy said.

"It just feels awfully congratulatory for someone who just held her hand and told her to keep breathing."

"Shouldn't it be? Carol's your girl, isn't she?"

"What do you mean?" Kirk asked.

"Well, uh, just that she seems to be the one in your life," he said. "The one you keep coming back to. The one you reach for when you've broken up with your girlfriend, for example."

"You have a point," Kirk said, rubbing the back of his head. "But I dunno if that's true anymore."

"No?" McCoy asked, carefully neutral, though he wasn't sure why it was so important to him.

"So when you quit smoking, the hardest part is to stop the associations you have with it. You know, cigarette with the morning coffee, after dinner, with a beer, that whole thing."

"Right."

"I feel like this year I did that with Carol. I didn't go to her the night before the first day of shooting; I went to you. I didn't go to her when I was having trouble on the set; you and Spock and Uhura came to me. I didn't even talk to her about this script before I decided I wanted to do it." He paused. "Okay this makes it sound like I replaced her with you, but it's not the same thing at all, trust me."

"I know," McCoy said. "I'm not your fuckbuddy."

"No," Kirk agreed. "And you know, two years ago, if she'd wanted a baby she just would have come to me and said, 'Hey Jimmy, let's have a baby.' But she decided to do it on her own. And I made this movie without her. And Spock got himself a girlfriend without either of us even knowing about it." He shook his head. "Man, that party was so crazy that it changed everything. Even Janice and Christine—you know they finally moved in together after that party."

"I didn't realize they were there," McCoy said.

"Oh, they were there all right," he replied. "Anyway, that's just—I think things with Carol and Spock are just going to be different now. We got too entwined and we needed a break." He smiled. "But I'll still take that dinner."

"Good," McCoy said. "Plenty of reason enough."

"Thanks," Kirk said. "So, what are your plans next week?"

"Christmas?" McCoy asked. "Well, Jo will go up to her mother's place on Friday for the week, and I'll go up and join them for Christmas dinner. And you?"

"I don't know, actually," Kirk said. "It's another one of those associations, I guess. Usually Spock and I go to the movies and get Chinese, but he and Nyota are spending the week in New York with her family. And his father, which should be interesting."

"Why?" McCoy asked.

"Well, they're estranged." Kirk looked up. "He got the movie bug from his mom; she died while we were at USC. His father thought it was one thing to get his Ph.D. in film crit, but quite another to start making the things, especially the movies we make. So they haven't talked for a while."

"What could his father have against movies?"

"Oh, that's right, you don't know Spock's real name. His grandfather started a publishing house, brought over a lot of highbrow stuff from Europe, and his dad took it over. He's kind of a book snob, though to hear Spock tell it, in the early days Vulcan stayed afloat by bringing over the more risque stuff. They just looked brave because they helped bring down the obscenity laws."

"Vulcan Books?" McCoy asked, surprised. "Spock's father is Sarek?"

"Yeah, that's right," Kirk replied.

As the head of a publishing house known for its literary fiction, Sarek was a regular guest on the kind of "liberal elite" chat shows that McCoy often watched or listened to. He'd always found Sarek knowledgeable, if a bit stiff and very aware of his position in literary circles. "Jesus, that's where he gets it from," McCoy said.

Kirk kept talking as though McCoy hadn't said anything, his usual reaction whenever McCoy said something not-so-nice about Spock. "So anyway Nyota is trying to get them back together. I guess there's a lunch planned? Good luck to it. Spock would never show it but I know the thing with his dad makes him a little glum."

"So you don't go to Iowa?" McCoy asked.

"No," Kirk said, looking away from McCoy and out the window. "Winona and I decided, during college, that it would be better if I came home other times of the year. Days that aren't so emotionally charged."

"I see," McCoy said, though he didn't, not really. But then, he'd seen Kirk with his mother and while they were cordial he wasn't sure he'd call it a warm relationship. Then, before he could think about it too much, he said, "Come to Calabassas with me."

"What?" Kirk asked. "No, that's your family time. I just thought maybe you'd be alone, too."

"You're coming," McCoy said, and a wave of protectiveness swept through him at the thought of Kirk being by himself. "You know Jo adores you. You've never been shy about coming over here."

"That wasn't Christmas, Bones."

"Yeah, well, I'll put it this way: I could do with someone to talk to other than my ex-wife and the man she left me for. And we've already seen how good you are at keeping me on an even keel."

"I'm sure you'll be fine."

"You'd be surprised," McCoy admitted. "Look, I was your date on the damn red carpet. Sitting down to dinner with Jocelyn can't be worse than that."

Kirk looked at him for so long that McCoy could almost hear the gears turning in that steel-trap mind of his. Finally he said, "Okay, Bones, if you put it that way."

"Great," McCoy said, clapping his hand against Kirk's bicep. "You'll see. It'll be fun."

It was a good idea, mostly. They'd agreed not to exchange presents, but McCoy brought Kirk a homemade cornmeal-crusted apple pie, since he'd been baking for Christmas and McCoy was pretty sure that the hippy-dippy food delivery service Gaila had Kirk on didn't include pastries. Kirk presented him with a black t-shirt that said "My favorite band doesn't exist anymore" and McCoy had to chuckle at that; he was pretty sure it would get plenty of wear.

The holiday at the Treadwells' horse ranch up in Calabassas was fine, too. Kirk's presence kept Clay from most of his usual preening, and McCoy didn't feel quite as low-ranking as he had in the past, though some of that was undoubtedly the success of the movie. Kirk didn't say anything, even privately to McCoy, but he did keep talking McCoy up, so he obviously noticed. They went out to the paddock, where Joanna was trying out the new saddle she'd received from her mother and stepfather that morning. Turned out Kirk could ride so they put him up on a horse for a bit, and while he was clearly a beginner he had a pretty good seat. When Joanna suggested that the three of them should go riding together sometime, Kirk actually blushed before saying he'd look forward to it.

Dinner was ham and sweet potatoes and creamed onions and collards with bacon, plus the yeast rolls and pecan and peach pies McCoy had brought. Jim's contribution to the dinner was a bottle of port, a basket of pears, and some lovely aged cheddar. After some conversation her parents agreed that Joanna could have a small glass, as it was just wine and it was Christmas. Joanna looked very grown up, sipping daintily at her glass and eating cheese and fruit, so much so that McCoy got a lump in his throat just looking at her.

After dinner Joanna opened her presents from McCoy and Kirk. From her father she got several of the kind of notebooks he wrote in, which she'd been eyeing lately; a few serious pens and some sillier I'm-a-teenage-girl pink gel sparkly ones; a large gift card for the iTunes store; and another gift card for her favorite clothing store. For his part, Kirk bought her a vintage dress that he "happened to find" while he was shopping. While Kirk had consulted with McCoy on size and appropriateness, McCoy was pretty sure Kirk had had some other help along the way.

It wasn't until he was driving Kirk home, a bag of leftovers for each of them in the back seat, that he saw the trouble. Kirk was quiet, contemplative, not even trying to fuss with the music, and McCoy felt the hairs on the back of his neck standing up.

"So, Clay," Kirk said. "I guess he's from Georgia too?"

"Yep," McCoy said. "Grew up with us."

"And when did he move out here?"

"When Joss asked him to."

Kirk gave him a look, and McCoy sighed, resigned.

"Clay was always interested in Joss," he said, "but he was content to stay in Georgia and raise horses. I was the one with big plans and big dreams. I was going to sweep her out of that tiny little town, and I did. It was a little rough in the beginning, but I got lucky, caught a few breaks, and when the sitcom hit we were riding pretty high. The studio had day care so we didn't even need a nanny and Joss could get right back to dancing."

"And then?"

"And then Puri died, and I didn't have as much time to spend with them, and Joss wasn't ready to do any of it on her own."

"Sounds familiar," Kirk said under his breath.

McCoy winced; he didn't mean to remind Kirk of his own family problems. "Yeah, well, I guess that's around the time she started emailing with Clay. They'd never really lost touch, and he was more than happy to be a sympathetic ear to her troubles."

Kirk rolled his eyes. "I'm sure he was."

"He came out here on a trip, one thing led to another, and before I knew it she was gone. I wasn't paying enough attention to her; I know what kind of woman she is but I hoped that she could hang on, look at the bigger picture, think of Jo. That … didn't happen. I wrote the screenplay for the Three to Tango movie in a bungalow at the Beverly Hills Hotel."

"Talk about old Hollywood," Kirk said.

"Kinda, yeah. After the movie was over I moved into a little place in West LA, since so much of my money was tied up legally, and worked on sitcom pitches that didn't pan out."

"Yeah, I heard about that. Gotta admit, I can't imagine the networks wouldn't snap up your ideas."

"Working on a sitcom, or running one, is pretty different from coming up with the concept in the first place. Some can do both; some have great ideas but are terrible show runners, and some are like me, good at running a show but terrible at coming up with one. And that's when things really went awry. Missed a couple of payments to Joss, a visit with Joanna, and next thing I knew my ass was being hauled back into court."

Kirk reached out, putting a hand on McCoy's arm. "I'm sorry."

McCoy shrugged. "My own fault really, but Joss had a vision of making a new family, cutting me out of it entirely. She thought Jo was young enough not to remember."

"You're never young enough not to remember," Kirk said.

"Yeah," McCoy replied softly, remembering the story of Kirk's dad and then thinking of his own mother. "I'd been the one taking care of Jo before she started school, so she wasn't having it with Clay. But the judge felt otherwise, and I didn't see her much for a year or so." McCoy cleared his throat. "I, uh, I drank pretty steadily for about a month there. Felt good and sorry for myself. And then M'Benga read me the riot act and put out the word, and an old friend gave me a hand."

"The script doctoring work."

"Yep. Cleaned myself up, caught up on all my payments—which had reduced considerably when Joss married Clay—bought the place in Venice, and went back before the judge a few months later and got my joint custody back. By the time Joanna was starting at the Brentwood School, we decided it was easier for her to stay with me, and she moved in almost three years ago now. So all's well that ends well." He put on a smile.

"I dunno," Kirk said. "None of that is about you."

"What do you mean?"

"The divorce was because you couldn't give Jocelyn what she needed? As far as I can tell she didn't support you when you needed it. And your happy ending is holidays with a guy who spends his time reminding you that you're the lesser man? In front of your kid?"

"Well, when you put it that way."

"Without you, Jocelyn wouldn't be a star choreographer on TV. If she'd stayed with him she'd be teaching dance to spoiled little girls and talking about how she sacrificed her career for love."

McCoy chuckled. "Guess you've got her number," he said.

"Yeah, well, I've seen it before," Kirk said. "But I don't even understand. Instead of trying to work things out with you, Jocelyn starts having an affair, then tries to cut you out of your own kid's life because you missed a couple of payments while you were unemployed. And yet the way you tell it, it's like you were the one doing all the fucking up, and you were the one who needed to make amends. It takes two, Bones. She kinda fucked you over and you pretty much let her."

"Well, I—"

"And the man that I met eight months ago? He would have been pissed off. Where's the anger? You've certainly got plenty of it for everyone else."

McCoy wasn't sure what part of this Kirk couldn't understand; it was pretty simple to him. "The important thing was getting Joanna back and being a good father."

"And you did, and you are. But that doesn't mean you have to accept all this humiliation."

"Now you sound like M'Benga," McCoy replied.

"Good!" Kirk said. "I'm glad there was someone saying this to you back then, even if you didn't listen to him."

McCoy sighed, and they were silent for a bit, listening to Dinah Washington wishing them Merry Christmas in three-quarter time.

"It just sounds lonely," Kirk said.

"I've had Joanna," McCoy said.

"Yeah, but don't you miss having a partner?" Kirk asked.

"Sometimes," he admitted. Kirk's exit was just ahead, and McCoy turned off the 101 and onto one of the roads leading into the Hollywood Hills.

"Next Christmas, I think we can find something better to do," Kirk said.

"We?" McCoy asked.

"Well, uh, sure, I mean, if nothing's changed," Kirk stammered. "If nothing's changed, then I am pretty sure that you and I can find something better to do than sit around in Calabassas while Clay Treadwell comes all over your face and you thank him for it."

"That's … quite an image there, Jim."

"It's accurate," he said with a shrug. "And you know, I don't think it's good for Joanna to watch that, either."

"Yeah," McCoy said. "Maybe not."

As McCoy pulled into the driveway, Kirk said, "It's late. You should stay."

"Oh, I'll be all right," McCoy said.

"No," Kirk said. "You wanted me to come with you, so now you're going to stay with me, and tomorrow we'll have an awesome day."

McCoy raised one eyebrow. "Kirk, you aren't going to—"

"On Christmas?" Kirk asked. "When we're both all kinds of vulnerable? What do you take me for?"

"Just checking."

"I mean, talk about clichéd! Geez, Bones, give me some credit."

"I'm sorry, Jim," McCoy said, but he couldn't help smiling a little at Kirk's indignation.

"We'll just cuddle," he pronounced.

And the oddest thing was, that's exactly what they did. They watched a movie and drank some more wine and very purposefully did not have sex—he could feel Kirk holding back just as much as he was. But they did hold each other, McCoy thinking about all that Kirk had said about Jocelyn, about Carol, about Joanna. He couldn't quite get it all straight in his mind, and after a while he stopped trying.

A week later, Uhura had a stylish New Year's Eve party at her little house in West LA.

"How was your trip to New York?" McCoy asked.

"Amazing," she said. "Fantastic."

McCoy raised his eyebrows. "Romantic?"

"Yes," she said, smiling a little. "Obvious?"

"Only a little," McCoy said, smiling back. "Kirk said you got Spock to talk to his father?"

"It was awkward," Uhura admitted, "but it was a start, and that's what's important."

"Yeah," he said, looking across the room at where Kirk and Spock were deep in conversation.

"And you took Kirk with you for Christmas?" she asked.

McCoy chuckled. "Look at us," he said. "We talk about them like they're strays we took in."

She shrugged. "Aren't they?" she asked. "A little skittish at first, but if you feed them regularly and show them some genuine affection, they'll not only stay, they'll guard your door."

"Huh," McCoy said. "I think you're right."

"Geoffrey!" Uhura called out.

McCoy turned and saw his friend. "M'Benga," he said. "I didn't realize you two were friends."

Uhura waved her hand. "We go way back."

"C'mon, McCoy, I keep telling you," he said, "all the black folks in Hollywood know each other."

After exchanging holiday pleasantries with M'Benga, Uhura excused herself to see to her other guests.

"Well, look at you," M'Benga said.

"What?" McCoy asked.

"I thought the whole buddy-buddy with Kirk was just part of the publicity machine, since you never mention him," M'Benga said, "but you two seem pretty tight tonight."

"Well, you know, Kirk's a good guy," McCoy replied. "And yeah, he's kinda latched on, but I think he's just been a little lost."

M'Benga nodded, humming.

"What?" McCoy asked.

"Nothing," M'Benga said.

"No really, what?"

M'Benga looked McCoy in the eye. "I think he's not the only one who's been a little lost, is all," he said.

"Huh," McCoy said. "Well, you'll be glad to know that he shares your opinion of Joss and Clay. Came with me to Calabassas for the holiday and man did he light into me in the car on the way home."

"You brought him up to that nightmare of country kitsch? Really?" M'Benga asked. "You must trust him."

"Yeah, well, he talked me up all day to Clay," McCoy replied. "You know, the movie and all that."

"Well, that makes me like him even better," M'Benga said. "You gotta stop settling for scraps, Len."

Kirk, showing his usual infallible timing, came bounding up at that moment. "Bones!" he shouted, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. "It's ten minutes to midnight! You still gonna give me a peck?"

"What have you been drinking?" McCoy asked.

Kirk looked at his glass. "The champagne punch." He looked up. "Hey, you're M'Benga! You've done a very good job with Bones's body."

"Thanks!" M'Benga said. "He helped. Hasn't missed a single day of personal training since he met you." He looked at McCoy and winked.

"Whoa," Kirk said. "Maybe I'm a good influence too!"

"Or maybe," McCoy said, "I just wanted to keep in shape for all those damn photo shoots you want me to do."

"Maybe," M'Benga said, draining his glass. "Well, I should go get another before the clock strikes. Excuse me."

As he walked away McCoy turned to Kirk. "Just how drunk are you?" he asked.

"Not at all," Kirk replied. "But when you pretend you are, you can say what you actually want to say and everyone just laughs. It's handy."

"I'll bet," McCoy said, rolling his eyes. "Well, come on, let's get our glass of champagne for midnight."

"So are you going to give me that kiss?" Kirk asked.

"I don't know if you deserve it."

"Of course I do! I've been a very good boy. I made two whole movies this year."

"Okay, then I'll give you that kiss. But you try to slip me the tongue and I'll bite it off."

"Aw, Bones," Kirk said. "You are seriously no fun."

Later, when Kirk and McCoy were nearly the last ones there, sitting on the sectional with Uhura and Spock, Kirk said, "You know what we should do? We should form a production company."

"Jim, we already have one," Spock said patiently.

"Yeah, but we don't do anything with it," Kirk said. "I mean a real one, with the four of us. One where we develop scripts and get people to direct them, people who aren't me."

Uhura and McCoy looked at each other and back at Kirk. "What are you saying?" McCoy asked.

"You two both have television experience," Kirk said, "and I bet you could take a script from boring to awesome, and we all know all kinds of people, and why not? Carol can't be a spy forever, and while we're developing stuff for me why not develop stuff for other people? McCoy can write more scripts that are his and maybe ease up on the doctoring gig, and Uhura I know you don't want to be hanging around under Pike for much longer. We'll be like United Artists!"

"That was a studio, not a production company," Uhura said.

"But you know what I mean!" Kirk said.

McCoy cocked his head. "You're serious?"

"Like a heart attack," Kirk said. "We could do that Fitzgerald pirate movie, Bones. It could be amazing. Can't you see it?"

"Trouble is, I can," McCoy said. "I can see it clear as day."

"You don't sound happy about it," Kirk grumbled. "Nyota?"

"It would be a broader scope than my role at Fleet," she said. "I'm interested."

"Spock?" Kirk asked.

"I am surprised you asked," Spock said.

"Formality," Kirk said.

"Quite," Spock replied.

"So was that a yes, Bones?" Kirk asked.

McCoy looked around at the other three. "Why not?" he said. "Let's do it."

"We'll come up with a super cool name," Kirk said. "And we'll be inspired and smart and passionate and soulful and it will be awesome!"

"Are you drunk?" McCoy asked. "Or is this one of your pretending to be drunk to say outrageous things moments?"

Kirk grinned. "That's up to you, Bones," he said.

Of course the holidays were just a pause in the action. Come Monday it was full speed ahead: less than a week to the Globes; Oscar nominees would be named ten days after that; the Oscars themselves were in just seven weeks; and in between there were all the guild awards—WGAs, DGAs, Producer's Guild, and the SAGs which unlike the others were televised with a red carpet (Kirk just rolled his eyes and said, "Actors")—plus any number of critic's circle presentations, not to mention that McCoy, thanks to his work on the soundtrack, had finagled himself two tickets to the Grammys. Jean-Luc had to draw up a schedule for all of them to make sure someone could represent the film at all these ceremonies and that they would all be in attendance at the big ones. Never had McCoy been more glad that his calendar was shared with Jocelyn, so there were no surprises, and that Jean-Luc knew well enough to keep his air travel to a bare minimum.

It also meant that McCoy suddenly had to buy a few new suits, something he hadn't needed in years, and Kirk and Joanna were only too happy to take him shopping at Barney's. He refused a stylist but acquiesced to a personal shopper, a dapper young man with thick glasses named Geordi who helped referee a long argument between his two helpers regarding the lapels on his tuxedo. McCoy was just happy to get a jacket that he could move his shoulders in.

The SAG nominations had been announced before Christmas, but the other guild nominations came in quickly after the new year, and Spock and Uhura, Kirk and McCoy were all nominated by their respective organizations. McCoy put down his own predictions, sealed them in an envelope, and gave them to Chapel for safe keeping. He figured he'd get the WGA, in part because it was a writerly script, in part because he had a lot of good friends in the membership, and in part because of the comeback story, which had caught on while they promoted the film. Kirk might get the DGA, as he had a lot of good will among the pros and was seen as a Hollywood guy. But The Cloud Minders was sweeping most of the critic's circle awards, and Narada had made a hundred million dollars in its opening weekend. Since McCoy didn't think they had a shot at any of the bigger awards, he decided to just enjoy the ride.

The Globes were just as much of a drunken revelry as McCoy had remembered, especially since the ceremony had been cancelled the year before due to the strike. It did seem strange to be sitting up front with the movie people instead of further back with the TV folks. The Narada table was front and center, of course; the That Which Remains crew was seated near the stage but a bit off to the side.

"So," McCoy said, leaning over to Kirk, "looks like Scotty and Gaila are still on."

Kirk glanced across the table. "Yeah, Gaila said they were dating. Which is weird because she never dates."

"Didn't you date her?" he asked.

"Not really," Kirk replied. "We had fun. She usually doesn't take romance very seriously. But do you think Chekov and Sulu are doing it?"

Chekov and Sulu were sitting next to each other, but not talking—Chekov was laughing with Khan and Gaila, Sulu listening to Spock—but there were little brushes of the sort men who were not intimate generally avoided. (Well, he and Kirk didn't, but they had fucked.)

"Definitely," McCoy said. "But they're doing a good job of hiding it."

"They'll have to," Kirk said.

Nero came by then, his bald head gleaming in the lights and his jacket stretched tight around his muscular frame; suddenly McCoy was glad for that Barney's trip. There were were fake smiles all around as they got up to shake his hand, exchange congrats on the movies and the nominations and the best-lists, and McCoy could see the tightness around Kirk's mouth but he was damn good with the fake Hollywood bullshit—a lot better than McCoy himself had ever been.

"And this is?" he asked, looking at McCoy.

He leaned forward to introduce himself. "Leonard McCoy."

"He wrote the script," Kirk said, putting one hand against McCoy's back.

"Ah, a writer," Nero said, with all the usual condescension. "I'm a writer as well, you know."

"Yes, I've noticed," McCoy said, as neutrally as he could manage.

"Why have two people when one will do, am I right?" Nero asked, chuckling.

"With the time I've spent doctoring scripts," McCoy replied, "I'd say it's more, why not get someone to do it right the first time?"

"Script doctor, script doctor," Nero said, snapping his fingers. "Say, you worked in television, didn't you? I knew your name sounded familiar."

McCoy didn't say, "Maybe because the star of your last action film brought me in to rewrite all of his lines and you didn't even notice." Instead he said, "Best training ground for screenwriting I can think of."

"Is that a fact?" Nero asked. He looked around. "Oh, they're signaling for us to sit!" He shook Kirk's hand again. "Good luck!"

"You too!" Kirk said, and they sat back down. "Ugh," he muttered to McCoy, "I'm glad that's over."

"What a hack," McCoy said.

No real host meant a cold open from the announcer and presenters wandering onto the stage. The show began with a few TV awards, then got to the supporting actors. Gaila lost, but kept smiling; Khan won, surprising no one in the room. He went up on stage to much applause, thanked Kirk and McCoy and Spock, his fellow actors, and the crew, thanked everyone who hadn't forgotten about him, and ended with a kiss for his late wife. Classy, brief, emotional—what anyone would expect from an old pro.

Chekov got his moment on stage presenting the clip from That Which Survives. McCoy watched him standing as though he lived in tuxedos and wondered at the kid's poise; you'd never know he was barely eighteen, or that there had been an entire bleacher of girls screaming his name a few hours earlier. McCoy sneaked a look at Sulu out of the corner of his eye, and his face had the carefully neutral expression one puts on when one's feelings are anything but. It was actually kind of sweet.

After that, it was the Narada show, though the That Which Survives crew also cheered loyally for the three Globes won by Bread and Circuses. Screenplay, at least, went Mark Piper for The Cloud Minders rather than Nero, so McCoy's applause was sincere on that one. (Even better, since Piper had written an adapted screenplay, they wouldn't be competing against each other again.) And April and Poole got their lead actor and actress awards. But Nero did manage to snag both director and best picture, and spent a lot of time saying "woo!" into the microphone and prancing around the stage ridiculously. Kirk smiled for the cameras throughout, but his hands were digging into the side of his chair.

The second the all clear sounded, Kirk stood up. "Okay crew," he said, "let's get out of here before they come back from the press room."

"Aye, Cap'n," Scotty said. "I don't need to listen to that peacock anymore tonight!"

The Fleet party was saved by the Bread and Circuses wins. Gaila and Uhura weren't the only ties between the show and Kirk's film; McCoy had some old acquaintances among the writers and producers, and Khan was in talks to do a featured role during the next season. McCoy wasn't sure when it had become his habit to keep one eye on Kirk, but he realized he'd never seen the man work a party that wasn't his own. And did he work it—he had all of the actresses who played girls in Gaila's brothel on Bread and Circuses hanging off his every word. Yet every time he got up to get a drink, he made a point to come by McCoy and tease him ("You don't have to only talk to the writers, you know; the party is for everyone").

"What's that like?" one of the writers asked.

"What?" McCoy asked.

"Being so in with Kirk the wunderkind," he replied.

"Oh," McCoy said, blinking. "Well, I was a wunderkind once, too," he said. "What makes you think he isn't in with me?"

When the BAFTA nominations were announced, McCoy was honored but also relieved that since Kevin Riley had got him those tickets to the Grammys, which were on the same night, he wouldn't have to fly back to London. He wasn't entirely sure he had it in him, especially in the midst of all this activity, even if Kirk held his hand the entire way. Work and routine were the only things saving him in the two weeks between the Globe ceremony and the announcement of the Oscar nominations. That Which Survives might have made its money back, but it wasn't in the black quite yet due to the opacity of Hollywood accounting , so he was still actively script doctoring to pay the mortgage. He had two scripts to punch up before February, so he just put his head down and worked. Or really, worked as best he could with an unoccupied Jim Kirk texting him every few hours.

Kirk—>McCoy
how about Enterprise?

McCoy—>Kirk
You mean, do I have any?

Kirk—>McCoy
no as a name for the production company

McCoy—>Kirk
It sounds like an frontier town in Wyoming

Kirk—>McCoy
maybe that should be our logo!

Kirk—>McCoy
Spock has Jean-Luc looking for office space.

McCoy—>Kirk
What's wrong with your bungalow at Fleet?

McCoy—>Kirk
And have you talked to Pike about this at all?

Kirk—>McCoy
it's been discussed. i can get first look out of him

McCoy—>Kirk
So why not space? I don't need much room and Uhura is already there

Kirk—>McCoy
that's the sticking point. he's annoyed she's leaving him for us

McCoy—>Kirk
I don't blame him. She's a keeper.

Kirk—>McCoy
working today?

McCoy—>Kirk
Trying to!

Kirk—>McCoy
so does that mean I can come for dinner, or I can't?

Kirk—>McCoy
bones?

Kirk—>McCoy
um, you gonna answer me here or leave me hanging?

McCoy—>Kirk
If I say you can come over, will you leave me be until then?

Kirk—>McCoy
of course!

McCoy—>Kirk
All right, see you around seven

Kirk—>McCoy
hey, I could pick up Joanna! I'm closer to her now than you are and then you could work EVEN LONGER

McCoy—>Kirk
Fine, I'll text her to let her know

Kirk—>McCoy
see bones? I am SO HELPFUL

McCoy—>Kirk
Yeah, Jim, that's the word for it.

Joanna not only made sure he was awake for the Oscar nominations, she invited Kirk, who thought there should be a little breakfast party, which Gaila decided to cater, so they all squeezed into McCoy's living room to eat a remarkably tasty tofu scramble thing with Indian spices and watch, bleary-eyed, as the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences made their announcements. Even Khan was there, sitting in the easy chair in the corner and smiling benevolently at them all, and McCoy wondered at how far they'd come.

It was torture mostly because the nominees were announced alphabetically by the name of the film, so they would groan at the Narada nomination before getting to cheer on their own. They got five in all: Gaila, Khan, McCoy, Kirk, and the film. Narada got ten, with many more in the visual effects, editing, costume design, art direction, and the like but none at all in acting. The Cloud Minders also made a strong showing, sweeping all of the big four awards (film, direction, lead actor and actress) plus screenplay and score.

"Well!" Khan said. "Remember, they can never take this away from you. Even you, Chekov—you weren't nominated, but being the lead in a nominated film is recognition in itself, especially for someone so young."

Chekov nodded solemnly. "Yes, sir," he said.

"Good," Khan said, clapping his hands once. "Now where's that champagne? Can't drink orange juice without champagne."

Joanna looked up at McCoy with big eyes, and McCoy shook his head. "Yeah, I'm going to send you into school liquored up? Not likely, young lady."

"Aww, Dad, come on!" she said.

"You'll just have to wait until the Governor's Ball," he said.

Joanna stopped short. "You mean?"

"Who else would I bring but my best girl?" McCoy asked, and was pretty sure the ensuing shriek could be heard in Santa Barbara.

It was after the Oscar noms were announced that strange things started to happen. The Producer's Guild Awards were two days later, so they all filled a table to support Spock and Uhura, and That Which Survives actually won Best Theatrical Picture. Nero looked somewhat surprised, but seemed to brush it off.

The next night at the SAGs, Gaila and Khan both won their awards, and with Chekov won Outstanding Performance by a Cast. Narada wasn't even nominated , not being much of an actor's film (few of Nero's movies were), but it was still a boost for the That Which Remains crew. April and Poole won again for lead actor and actress, continuing the momentum for The Cloud Minders.

A week later, much to almost everyone's surprise (but not McCoy's), Kirk won the Director's Guild Award. Kirk was pleased enough when Khan led the tribute to him as a nominee, but McCoy thought Kirk might burst as he got up on stage to accept his award. He was grinning from ear to ear, shaking his head, and finally said, "Seriously? You guys sure about this?" He talked about his admiration for his peers, thanked all of his "crew" including Carol, and closed with, "This might be my best night in Hollywood, ever."

If the period before the nominations had been quiet, the period after was anything but. The three major guild awards increased the Oscar buzz around That Which Remains exponentially; now they were seen as real contenders, if underdogs compared to sentimental favorite The Cloud Minders or the behemoth that was Narada. The nominations also increased box office. Now there was a chance for real profits, and with so many of them having points deals this was welcome news.

McCoy was glad he'd finished his work during the earlier lulls, because now his days were full of interviews and luncheons. At least Kirk was standing by his side, or he would have been entirely overwhelmed. He certainly knew why people said it was an honor just to be nominated, because all of the attention fell during this pre-Oscar period. And as Khan had said, he would always be an Oscar-nominated screenwriter, no matter what else happened.

Kirk pouted a bit at having to go to London without McCoy, but McCoy just patted his head and gave him a short list of people to thank if he needed to accept a BAFTA on McCoy's behalf. "Take care of Gaila for Scotty," he said. "He's worried she only loves him for his accent and will be spirited away by James McAvoy."

"He's an idiot," Kirk said, "and I'm just a substitute for another guy."

McCoy shook his head. "References to lyrics from The Who won't get you far with me, Jim."

"No one knows what it's like to be the sad man, Bones!"

"If Townsend shows up at the Grammys I'll get you his autograph," McCoy said. "Now go."

Kirk's eyebrows went up. "Anyone from Zeppelin is good, too," he said.

McCoy rolled his eyes. "I'll keep that in mind," he said.

The Farragut Agency, where Chapel and Rand worked, was having a BAFTA viewing party in the afternoon, eight p.m. London time being noon LA time, so McCoy and Joanna ate lunch there before the Grammys. At Joanna's insistence they brought their evening clothes in garment bags to keep them pristine, though McCoy thought it was rather silly as they were just wearing nice jeans and vintage band T-shirts (R.E.M. for McCoy, Madonna for Joanna). Chapel had promised to do Joanna's makeup as well.

As they mingled just before the awards, McCoy took advantage of Rand having led Joanna off to get more pastry to ask Chapel, "So, you were at that infamous party Jim Kirk threw for the rough cut of Armageddon, I hear?"

Chapel glanced over at Rand and Joanna, then pulled McCoy into the corner. "What do you want to know?" she asked.

McCoy raised his eyebrows. "When you put it that way, everything."

Chapel sighed. "Well, I'll say this. Miri is a very young girl, and because she's had a cable show with her name on it for six years she thinks that she can play with the adults. That was where the trouble really started. I don't think anyone was ever really parenting her, poor kid."

"Same old story, unfortunately," McCoy said. "So Jim said she was possessive—did she start up trouble about Carol or something?"

"No!" Chapel said, shaking her had. "Not Carol—Janice."

"Janice? Your girlfriend-his agent Janice Rand?"

"Yes. Miri thought he was too attentive to Jan at the party. Jan and Jim have always been thick as thieves; that's why they're so successful. But Miri didn't like it, and she let Jan know about it, and Jan of course told her to mind her own business—"

"Of course," McCoy said, because if Janice Rand felt that someone was misbehaving she generally let them have it.

"And Miri slapped her across the face. Scratched her cheek, she was bleeding and everything."

"Oh, god. And Jim—"

"Lit into her. He was furious. I didn't hear all of it, because Sulu and I had taken Jan into the bathroom to patch her up, but by the time we were back in the living room Jim had broken up with her and Scotty was trying to talk him out of just dumping her into a cab. But then some folks from Fleet, Deanna Troi and that publicist boyfriend of hers, agreed to make sure she got home okay, call her friends, that sort of thing."

"Wow."

"Yeah. We left quickly after that, of course, but I heard the party pretty much broke up anyway."

"And then Janice moved in with you?" McCoy asked.

"Well," Chapel said, smiling, "she finally decided that she wanted to be more open about us, about her sexuality, all of it. We'd always been out at work, but she thought maybe she could avoid more trouble this way."

McCoy looked over to Rand, who was still talking to Joanna. "She sure is a looker," he said. "And a catch."

"Tell me about it," Chapel said.

Farragut represented several British clients so there was much interest in the television portion of the show, but ears still perked up when they started the film awards. Khan and Gaila won again, and both were charming in their speeches. (Gaila even thanked Scotty, though not by name—she called him "my visual engineer"—which McCoy hoped would allay some of Scotty's anxiety.) As the nominees for original screenplay were announced, a hush came over the room.

The presenter opened the envelope. "Leonard McCoy, for That Which Remains!"

Chapel, Rand and Joanna jumped up, shouting, and the others broke into applause. McCoy got hugs and handshakes aplenty as, on the screen, Kirk made his way to the stage.

"McCoy isn't with us tonight because he's terrified of planes. I don't even know how we got him here back in October. " The crowd laughed, and Kirk grinned. " He wanted me to thank his agent Christine Chapel, his beloved daughter Joanna, everyone at Fleet Pictures, the entire cast and crew, oh, and me." Kirk looked into the camera. "You're welcome! And I'd like to add to that, in case we're not up here again, a huge thanks to the city of London. You all were early fans and champions of this movie, and we couldn't have asked for a better place to have the world premiere than here at the London Film Festival." He paused, waiting out the applause. "I also want to thank McCoy himself. I joked about his being afraid to fly, but he is one of the bravest men I know. He took a painful moment in his own life and transformed it into a story for all of us, and that took real guts. So, thank you British Academy of Film and Television Arts, and thank you, Leonard McCoy."

McCoy blinked back a few tears, listening to Kirk's acceptance. It reminded him of Jocelyn and Joanna's reactions to the truth of what had happened, and that Kirk found a way to say this in public—thousands of miles away, no less—made him all the more grateful that it had been Kirk to direct the film, Kirk who had pushed for it to be made. About twenty minutes later Kirk did get an award of his own, as did Spock and Uhura, and McCoy felt warm all over. He'd started his career belonging to a team, being in the writer's room, and now after all this time he was back on a team again, and it felt good. It felt right.

He sent a text to Kirk as soon as the show was over:

McCoy—>Kirk
I should have you accept all my awards

Kirk—>McCoy
you saw that already?

McCoy—>Kirk
There is such a thing as a satellite

McCoy—>Kirk
Are you saying you didn't mean for me to see it?

Kirk—>McCoy
maybe not right away

McCoy—>Kirk
I thought it was real nice, Jim

Kirk—>McCoy
Thanks, Bones.

Kirk—>McCoy
you should have seen Nero's face when we won, ha ha

McCoy—>Kirk
I'll bet

Kirk—>McCoy
get your music geek on tonight and I'll see you in a couple of days

McCoy—>Kirk
have fun tonight yourself

The Writers' Guild Awards were two days later, so Kirk and the others came right back from London to go support McCoy. Kirk even shared a car with him, though it made no geographic sense whatsoever.

"So how was London?" McCoy asked.

"We all missed you! There were tons of girls crawling all over Khan, kind of a hit to my ego."

"No girls for Jim Kirk?" McCoy asked.

"Hey, you told me to take care of Gaila," Kirk said. "And anyway, as you've said, been there, done that."

McCoy cocked his head. "So this not chasing lots of girls really is permanent," McCoy said.

"I think so. I like it better, anyway." Kirk tapped his fingers on his knee. "How was the Grammys?"

McCoy smiled. "I have something for you," he said, and pulled out his Grammy program and opened it to the page of Album of the Year nominees.

Kirk picked it up and read, "To Jim Kirk, Thanks for the lovely films. Good luck at the Oscars! Robert Plant." Kirk turned to McCoy. "Seriously?"

"Ran into him at one of the parties. He's a fan of the movie, congratulated me, and when he realized you'd directed it and the spy movies both he was happy to sign something for you."

"Wow," Kirk said, looking down at it again. "I mean, thanks. This is—thanks, Bones."

"Of course," McCoy said.

"Did you meet anyone you wanted to meet?" Kirk asked.

"Yeah, you know, Kevin Riley got us into some nice parties. Joanna met Justin Timberlake, so I can coast on that one for a while."

Kirk chuckled.

"And I met Thom Yorke, so that was amazing."

Kirk turned to him. "Really? And you didn't like, explode or something?"

"Joanna said I was very cool," he replied, shaking his head. "I didn't feel cool, but I'm good at faking it."

"Man I never get star struck any more," Kirk said, "except when it comes to certain musicians."

"Me too," McCoy said. "You should go next year."

"Yeah, maybe I should," Kirk said.

At the awards dinner, McCoy was so anxious he could scarcely eat. This was the award he really wanted, the one he'd be truly disappointed if he didn't get, and he just wanted the whole thing to be over. At least Nero and his team weren't there, as Narada hadn't been nominated by the guild, so McCoy didn't have to deal with the bitchery from that corner. He glad-handed around a bit before the start, talking to old friends and meeting a few new folks. The television awards were handed out, and then Mark Piper got best adapted screenplay for The Cloud Minders. McCoy tensed as his category came up, and Kirk patted him on the shoulder.

When they called his name, the first thing he heard was Kirk giving a loud shout. He stood up and Kirk hugged him, then when he didn't show signs of moving, turned him and pushed him toward the podium. He took the award and then turned, looking out at all of his colleagues, his former coworkers, his strike buddies not so long ago. McCoy took a deep breath, and then began to speak.

"I'm just glad that my friend Mark adapted a screenplay!" The audience laughed, and McCoy smiled just a little. "I've stood around in a lot of rooms since this movie was started, talking to a lot of folks, and getting praise from many of them, but this. I've been a producer, and I've been a show runner, but in my heart I'm a writer, and always will be." He got applause for that line, though the crowd was admittedly biased.

"I've got to thank my agent Christine Chapel who stood by this script after it had been passed on by just about everyone else in Hollywood. And our entire cast and crew who were just amazing, making these words come to life; everyone at Fleet for giving us some money to go make it even though they didn't have any thought they'd make any kind of profit on it, and when can you say that about a studio?" He paused as the others laughed. "Thanks to Spock and Nyota Uhura, who couldn't have been more caring about this film if they had written it. Thanks to Jim Kirk, the man who read the script and pushed the hardest for it to be made. I'm very proud to be one of those who call him Captain. But most of all, thanks to my father, David, who showed me how to be a man, and was the kind of father I hope to be for my beloved daughter Joanna. Thank you."

There was more drinking and talking that night, and pictures were taken, and McCoy was so relieved he found himself grinning from ear to ear.

"You look so happy, Bones," Kirk said.

"I am," McCoy replied. "I got the one I really wanted."

Kirk raised his eyebrows. "What about the Oscar?" he asked.

McCoy shrugged. "I don't know that I need anything else, Jim," he said, and at that moment, he meant it.

10: Climax
Several things must occur at the climax of the film: the hero must face the biggest obstacle of the entire story; she must determine her own fate; and the outer motivation must be resolved once and for all.

February, 2009

Like so many other things, it had seemed like a good idea at the time. Joanna was stressed out about her dress for the Oscars, and couldn't go to her mother because according to McCoy, "Joss would show up to the Oscars in a fedora and a macrame dress if you let her" and that really wasn't Joanna's style at all. Carol's stylist owed her a favor, and Carol and Kirk had always had good luck with her. And Carol owed Kirk kind of a huge favor since he'd just coached her through having a baby and all. So Carol's stylist agreed to take care of Joanna for the Oscars.

But on the appointed day, about a week before the ceremony, the stylist had to send an assistant because she was needed elsewhere. The assistant didn't seem entirely happy to be sent on the assignment, but she was professional and the dresses she'd pulled were all pretty and age-appropriate.

Problem was, they were also all sample sizes, which Joanna was not.

"You know, honey," the woman said, "if you want to make it in this town you're gonna have to lose that pudge."

Cue a teenage girl blinking back tears.

Cue a father turning into an enraged bear.

"What the hell?" McCoy said. "Get out of my house!"

"Excuse me?" the woman asked.

"Jim, she'd better be gone when I come back out," McCoy said. He wrapped an arm around Joanna and led her back into her bedroom.

"Mr. Kirk, you know as well as I do that when she goes up for parts—"

"She's not pudgy; she's just normal-sized. And she's not an actress," Kirk said, still trying to work out what went so horribly wrong. "She's the daughter of a nominated writer."

The woman looked offended. "Then why am I here?" she asked.

"I don't really know," Kirk said. "To do the job you were hired to do, maybe? Which you didn't, so you'd better go."

As he watched the woman packing up, he could feel the panic coming on. But he was not going to fail Joanna. Spock would be of no help, so he called his other fail-safe: Carol. "Yeah, we have a problem. The assistant brought only sample sizes and called Joanna fat, so now she's crying and Bones is fuming."

"Not good," Carol said.

"That's an understatement," Kirk replied.

"Okay, give me two hours, and don't go anywhere. Distract them. It's almost lunchtime anyway."

So Kirk got them all lunch from In-N-Out Burger and told ridiculous stories about Carol until Joanna got a little smile on her face. It was around then that Carol arrived, along with little David in his car seat and a stylish diaper bag of enormous proportions.

"Okay," she said. "You two are going to watch him, and Joanna and I are going to go shopping. Leonard, I assume you know what to do with a baby. Everything you should need is in the bag. He was just fed and is sleeping it off now, but he'll need another bottle in not too long." She turned to Joanna. "Ready?"

Joanna nodded.

"Let's go, the car is waiting outside," she said, and shepherded Joanna out the door not five minutes after she'd arrived.

McCoy turned to Kirk. "What was that?" he asked.

Kirk shrugged. "That was Carol," he replied.

He cocked his head. "She helped you buy that dress for Jo, didn't she?"

"A gentleman never tells," Kirk said, smiling.

"Well, just so you know," McCoy went on, "she's planning on wearing yours to the big spring dance."

Kirk grinned. "Really? That's so excellent!"

Four hours later, Kirk had learned that David really wanted to be held, or sit in his Snugli against one of their chests, when he wasn't being fed; that if McCoy was anything to go by, changing diapers was like riding a bike; and that breast milk wasn't nearly as weird in practice as it had always seemed to him in concept. Other than the physical touch requirement David was a pretty mellow infant, and Kirk figured he'd probably been handled by so many Marcus sisters at this point that he was used to new people swooping in and taking care of him. Kirk had been thinking about David off and on since he'd helped him into the world, but he found that David was hard to think about for too long, because it was just weird. Sure, Kirk had nephews and stuff, but his brother Sam had always been fatherly to him growing up. And McCoy, of course, was all Dad. But Carol wasn't really the motherly type. Yet here David was, all helpless and dependent and big-eyed and saying "take care of me" and you couldn't not do it.

When Joanna returned she looked dazed, which was par for the course when someone experienced the full-court press of Carol Marcus for the first time. She also had three dresses to show her father, and she ran into her room to change into the first one.

"Carol," McCoy said, "I hate to ask—"

Carol held up her hand. "My fault entirely," she said, "so my treat."

"I appreciate that, but—"

"No," she said flatly, sitting down. "Consider it your payment for taking care of David today. How was he?"

Kirk looked down to where David was asleep on his chest. "He was fine."

Carol nodded. "Mom says he's the most low maintenance baby she's ever seen," Carol said. "And before you say it, I have no idea where he gets it from. Certainly not me."

Joanna modeled the three looks, and they all agreed that the violet dress with the full skirt and princess neckline was the winner. "I know you don't care for your mother's taste in clothes," McCoy said, "but I'm pretty sure she'll have some jewelry to go with that. We'll pack it up for the weekend so she can see it in person."

"Okay, Dad," she said. She walked over to Carol. "Thanks!" she said, and gave her a big hug.

"Oh!" Carol said. "You're welcome!"

"Thanks, Jim," she said, giving him a kiss atop the head as she walked by since he still had David curled against his chest.

"I didn't do anything," Kirk said.

"You made it all happen!" Joanna said, and went back into her room.

Kirk turned to Carol. "What's that expression for?" he asked.

"What expression?" Carol asked.

"The one you get when you're scheming," Kirk replied.

"I wasn't scheming," she said. "Leonard, that was awfully classy of you, making sure your ex-wife is involved."

"Oh, well," McCoy said, "if she hadn't looked after Joanna this summer there wouldn't have been an Oscars for us in the first place."

"Then you're both classy," she said.

"I guess so," he said, and Kirk kept his face carefully neutral.

Joanna came back into the living room, now back in her jeans, and sat on the couch next to Kirk. "He's so little," she said.

Carol smiled. "Do you want to hold him?" she asked.

"Can I?" she asked, her eyes widening.

"Sure," Carol said. "You hold him while we pack up his life, and then you can put him in his seat."

Kirk handed him over, and Joanna was transfixed. "His mouth is perfect," she said.

Kirk laughed. "I think you've got another sitter for when you run out of sisters, Carol," he said.

"I think so," Carol said, and smiled.

Winona came into town the day before Oscars. Mother and son knew that a visit of longer than three days wasn't good for either of them, but Kirk also couldn't imagine taking anyone else with him to the ceremony. It would be cute, Kirk there with his mom and McCoy there with his daughter. Kirk had never been nominated before and had only attended once, right after the first Bibi Besch movie, as Carol's escort when she presented an award. That was crazy enough, and Carol took so much time getting ready that they were nearly late, probably the last ones to go in, though Kirk always wondered if she hadn't planned that so the photographers could get the best view of her dress. You never knew with Carol.

Kirk got up around eight and went for a swim, then zipped down to the Waffle House with Winona to meet up with his crew. From there, Gaila and Uhura took Joanna and Winona over to Carol's house to get ready. Carol's price from her stylist for the debacle with Joanna was to do the accessories for all the ladies, and arrange for hair and makeup at her house. It was a nice treat for Winona and Joanna, and Kirk was grateful for it; Winona and Carol had always gotten along.

The men, including Chekov, Scotty and Sulu, went to Kirk's place for the best Rock Band tournament ever, which kept at least some of the nerves away. Even still, McCoy was looking a little green around the gills. They had a late lunch of quesadillas before Geordi, McCoy's personal shopper from Barney's, showed up with a men's barber in tow, some enormous man named Worf. While Geordi made sure they all had the right socks and cufflinks and studs and whatever else to go with their tuxes, Worf wrestled their hair and critiqued their shaves. Even Spock was coiffed to perfection before they were allowed to get into the cars and go get the ladies. Khan met up with them there, and some pictures were taken before they finally got on their way to Hollywood and the usual completely insane traffic.

Kirk was in a car with his mother, McCoy and Joanna. McCoy had teared up when he saw Joanna, though Kirk was pretty sure he'd deny it if asked. Winona was striking as ever in the soft blue dress her son had bought for her, her greying hair in an elaborate up do. She had also, apparently, spent some time with the baby.

"That David is a charmer," she said.

"He's pretty great," Kirk agreed. "Kinda chill."

"Yes, he's a happy baby," she said.

Kirk nodded, but said nothing; he really didn't want to know Winona's thoughts on babies. He'd always tried to be understanding of his mother's difficulties after his father died, but when he'd taken care of David that afternoon at McCoy's house, and held him in his arms, he couldn't imagine looking at a helpless little baby like that and not wanting to do everything for them. And that wasn't a conversation to have with Winona in a limo headed to the Academy Awards. "What stars do you want me to introduce you to, Mom?" he asked.

"Oh I don't know," she said. "I wouldn't mind seeing Chris Pike again, if he's there."

"He'll be at the party afterwards," Kirk said. "I'll make sure you get some time to talk to him. No one else?"

"You're my star, Jim," she said, and Kirk decided to believe it, if only for the night.

"Thanks, Mom," Kirk said. "Let's listen to some music, can we do that, driver?"

"I've got my iPhone here," McCoy said.

Kirk smiled. "Of course you do, Bones," he said, and they listened to R.E.M. all the way to the theater—appropriate, since that band now always made him think of Georgia, and That Which Survives, and riding in a car with McCoy.

Will Riker was waiting at the end of the red carpet to wrangle them down the line of press. Some of the fans on the bleachers were shouting Kirk's name, so he signed a few things before heading over to the bank of photographers. Riker kept he and McCoy together as they moved along the press line, answering the same questions they had been since the nominations were announced but with the added, "Ralph Lauren" for Kirk and "Calvin Klein" for McCoy. McCoy actually kept his cool pretty well, maybe because Joanna was there, and maybe because it was finally almost over.

They got inside with thirty minutes to spare. Winona and Joanna headed off to the ladies' room while Kirk and McCoy procured champagne. Spock and Uhura were already seated, and McCoy and Kirk took their seats directly behind them. The actors filed in soon after, and they were all sitting pretty close to each other on one of the aisles, Khan in the second row and the rest of them in behind him.

Kirk leaned over to McCoy. "You ready, Bones?"

McCoy took in a deep breath. "As I'll ever be," he said.

Later, Kirk could only remember the night in a haze. The producers of the show had gotten a Broadway type to host, so there was a proper opening number with singing and dancing—old-fashioned, sure, but it felt appropriate. Then the usual jokes at the audience's expense, something about Khan retiring from being a master criminal to raise Russian children in Georgia that they all pretended to laugh at.

One of those still-hot white-haired English actresses came on stage and Kirk held his breath, then jumped up and shouted when she called out Khan's name. Kirk had kept his promise, a promise Khan actually mentioned in his acceptance speech, so whatever else happened would be gravy.

Chekov and Miri came on stage then, Chekov giving a hug to Khan as he walked past. They presented the best animated film, which Kirk supposed was a joke since they were both Disney stars. Then a musician Kirk hadn't heard of but McCoy had won best song and McCoy cheered.

Original screenplay was next, and McCoy sat ramrod straight next to Kirk.

"Smile, Bones," he said. "There's a camera."

So McCoy smiled nervously, holding Joanna's hand and Kirk's, and when they called his name he squeezed them even harder, then hugged Kirk, kissed Joanna and bounded up on stage and made a speech not unlike his WGA speech. Kirk mostly remembered his grin, Joanna's happy tears, and how the audience applauded.

Joanna slid in next to Kirk to make room for the seat filler and it was all those short film and documentary awards that make or break office pools, the winners having to come up to the stage from the cheap seats in the back.

McCoy got back from the press room and asked, "What'd I miss?"

"Not much," Kirk said. "Did you kill any reporters?"

"Nope," he said, grinning. "I was a good boy."

McCoy got to see his buddy Mark Piper win adapted screenplay, and then they all held hands for Gaila. When she won they jumped some more, Uhura was crying, and then Gaila started giggling before thanking Uhura, Kirk, McCoy, Khan, Chekov, Spock, everyone ever, and Scotty for being her light, which Kirk thought was sweet.

Not long after that it was time for That Which Remains to be presented as a nominated film, which they all had agreed should be done by Carol. She was the one who'd set everything into motion; she was the person closest to the production without being a part of it; and besides, what befit a movie star more than to make her first public appearance after having her baby at the Academy Awards? She was in her usual teal, corseted within an inch of her life to both hide the baby weight she hadn't lost yet and make the most of her "bonus tits" as she liked to call them. They'd kept her appearance under wraps as much as possible, and she hadn't wanted to walk the red carpet anyway, so the audience reacted with surprised cheers. She smiled graciously.

"Apparently what my friend Jim Kirk does to pass the time while I'm off having a baby is direct an award-winning film!" she ad-libbed, and the audience laughed. But she stuck pretty close to the script after that. "That Which Remains stars Pavel Chekov as Walter, who comes home from his first year of college to the news that his father is dying. Over that final summer, with help from a no-nonsense nurse, he comes to accept his father's fate. That Which Remains is about courage, hope and disappointment; loss, love and life. Gaila and Khan have already received Academy Awards tonight for their performances. Produced by my friends Spock and Nyota Uhura from an Academy Award-winning script by my new friend Leonard McCoy and directed by Academy Award nominee and my old friend Jim Kirk, this is That Which Remains."

The clip they chose was the dish-washing scene that had caused all the trouble on set. Now, it was the scene Kirk was the proudest of.

Kirk's attention wandered a little through the next few awards. Narada got a bunch of the effects, editing and visual awards, which was fine; the movie was mostly effects and probably deserved it, and anyway Kirk's team had won those effects awards in the past. He didn't begrudge Nero jumping around like a lunatic at his seat so much as he didn't need to see it.

At the last ad break, with just the four major awards left, McCoy turned to him and said, "How ya holdin' up?"

Kirk shrugged. "I'm just glad it was me who had to wait and not you," he said. 'You would have vibrated your seat right out into the aisle by now."

"Probably," McCoy said, chuckling.

Kirk looked around the audience. At the other breaks there had been a good bit of seat jumping, with everyone eager to talk to rarely-seen friends, but now they were all too tired or too nervous to bother. Nero caught Kirk's eye and gave him a thumbs-up and a smile, which Kirk returned.

"What the hell is he up to?" McCoy said.

Kirk turned to McCoy, who was scowling fiercely in Nero's direction. "You're hilarious, you know that?" he said, laughing.

Spock turned around in his seat. "Good luck, Jim," he said, and they shook hands.

"You too," Kirk said. "And you, Ms. Uhura."

Uhura smiled. "Thank you, Mr. Kirk."

The break over, Kirk settled back in his seat. Actor and actress were Robert April and Sarah Poole, the two leads from The Cloud Minders. Kirk was glad that they won, since they'd won most of the other acting awards. "Think we should make a romance, Bones?" he asked over the applause.

"I don't know about a romance," McCoy said. "Romantic comedy, maybe."

Kirk's heart came up in his throat when Jonathan Archer came out on stage; he hadn't known his idol was going to present Best Director. Archer's career had inspired Kirk in so many ways, particularly on That Which Remains, and now he hoped even more that he, and not Nero, would get the award.

No muss, no fuss in this presentation. Archer read out the names, they each smiled for the camera while the audience applauded, and then he opened the envelope and everything went silent. Archer was smiling as he looked at the name—what could that mean?

"James T. Kirk," he said.

Kirk blinked, and wondered what he was supposed to do next.

McCoy poked him. "Get up, you dumb ass. You just won an Oscar."

Kirk kissed his mother, and then hugged everyone that was between him and the stage, though he was still a little dazed. Jonathan Archer shook his hand—Jonathan Archer shook his hand—said, "Good job, Kirk," and handed him the statue.

"So!" he said. "I feel like we've all gotten up here and said a long list of people, all of whom deserve our thanks, and I'll just say thank you to my entire crew, because each one of them, whatever they were doing, contributed to making this movie what it was. I'd also like to thank everyone at Fleet for being so encouraging, Carol for having a baby—" the audience laughed then, and Kirk laughed with them—"my agent Janice Rand who put this script into my hands, and Christopher Pike for everything he's done for me." He looked out into the audience and found Spock. "Spock, who's like my brother. I've never made a movie without him and I never want to. And Nyota and Leonard, who came into our cozy little partnership and just fit so well that it was like they'd always been there. My mom, who's a really great date. And finally thanks to all of you, and all the moviemakers of the past. You inspire me every day." He held up the statue and stepped back from the mike as the audience applauded.

Kirk didn't go to the press room after he got off stage, as Best Picture was next. The stage went dark and then, in a pool of light, stood the actress affectionately known in the industry as "Number One." She needed no introduction, just the audience's applause as she walked up to the microphone. She was semi-retired now, only taking a few roles here and there, and most of those on stage. She didn't need to do anything she didn't want to; after all, she had two statues of her own and plenty of popular success on top of that.

"Wow," she said as the applause died down. "With a reception like that I feel like I should be saying 'I'm Mrs. Norman Maine.'" She paused for the laughter of those in the audience who caught the reference. "Well, I am Mrs. Christopher Pike, and he is alive and well and making a lot of trouble backstage, so let's get on with it. The nominees are: Catspaw, The Cloud Minders, Dagger of the Mind, Narada, and That Which Remains. And the Best Picture of 2008 is—" she opened the envelope and smiled, and Kirk knew, he fucking knew as she looked down into the audience. "Get up here, you two. That Which Remains!"

Kirk was shouting as he jumped back out on the stage, and as soon as Spock had gotten up the stairs he jumped into Spock's arms, Oscar in hand, his legs around Spock's waist. "We did it, man! We did it!"

"It would appear so, Jim," Spock said.

Kirk jumped down and went to the mike while Uhura was getting the statue from Number One. "Nyota's going to talk but I want everyone up here. Pavel, Bones, Gaila, Khan, Scotty, Sulu, everyone up here!" He stepped back, letting Spock and Uhura soak up the spotlight while he hugged everyone as they came up on stage, keeping McCoy by his side.

"Wow, this is, um, this is really overwhelming!" Uhura said. Spock stood beside her and took her hand. "I'm a d-girl! This is the first movie I've produced!" The crowd laughed. "So I have to thank Spock and Jim for letting me into their process, because while they're nothing alike, when it comes to making movies they have one mind. Thanks to Chris Pike for assigning me to this project and giving us the freedom to do as we pleased. Thanks to Leonard McCoy for writing such an amazing script, and Gaila, Khan and Pavel for bringing it to life, and the entire cast and crew, and the state of Georgia for being so welcoming. Thanks to everyone who's seen the movie or is going to after tonight. And thanks, very much, to the Academy."

Uhura stepped aside and Spock leaned into the mike. "The people on this stage would like to thank all of our fathers, and all of our mothers."

And that was it. After almost a year, it was over. It was over, and they had won.

Kirk, Spock and Uhura had to go through the press room and then it was on to the Governor's Ball, where they ate like a starving tribe and Joanna had her promised first glass of champagne. Carol was there, too, and Kirk was pleased that she'd simply attached herself to the That Which Remains crew as though she'd been in the film; it was very Carol of her, and in a way she had been a big part of it. Glad handing was a lot more fun when you were the one being glad handed, Kirk found, especially when one of the glad handers was Nero. Not that he saw it that way, of course.

"Kirk!" he bellowed. "Looks like we tied up!"

"Did we?" Kirk asked, smiling. "How'd you figure?"

"Five and five!" Nero said, grinning.

"Oh," Kirk replied. "In all the excitement I kind of lost track myself."

"Well," Nero said.

"And the way I see it," Kirk went on, "we've gone five-for-five, while you've gone five-for-nine. We didn't lose to anyone, and we got the big prize. I'd say we're pretty damn satisfied around here."

"As well you should be," Nero said. "You made a moving little film there."

"Thanks," Kirk said. "Likewise, I'm sure." They shook hands.

As soon as Nero was out of earshot, Scotty said, "Meow!"

"I know, right?" Kirk said, grinning. "Okay, let's get to the Fleet party. Pike's already texted me three times."

In his years as a director, Kirk had become very good at herding cats, which came in handy on occasions such as this. He had his crew out and in their limos in fifteen minutes, and they were off to see Pike.

The Fleet party was at the Four Seasons, and Kirk went right up to Pike, his mother on his arm. "Winona!" he said. "Aren't you a sight?"

"Hello, Chris," she said, and gave him a hug, then sat down next to him. "How have you been? Has my boy been driving you to distraction?"

Pike shrugged. "That's what he does best. But, you two got me my statue years ago, for Best Documentary, so I thought I'd return the favor."

"Thanks," Kirk said.

"Don't mention it," Pike said, in a tone that meant, "really, we will speak no further of this," so Kirk left them to it and went in search of a drink. Uhura was talking to her coworkers—well, soon to be former, but that hadn't been announced yet—and Spock was sitting with Scotty and Sulu, back to the wall and observing as he always did at parties. Number One was gliding around hostessing it up, and Kirk caught Gaila staring at her with admiration, while Khan had as big a gaggle of admirers here as he had after the BAFTAs. Kirk found McCoy and Joanna on a couch and joined them, carrying with him three glasses of virgin punch.

"You know, Jo," he said, "if you want to follow your dad into the industry you should be chatting up Pike, and he'd give you an internship or something."

"Yeah," Joanna said, shrugging.

"She wants to write novels," McCoy said.

"Ah," Kirk said. "Then you should talk to Spock."

"I know!" Joanna said, excited. "Dad told me. But I don't have to do that tonight."

"No," Kirk replied. "Tonight's just for fun."

The Fleet party was like the good kind of family holiday—Kirk had been at the studio for so long that he knew everyone on the lot and they were all there, congratulating him as one of their own, their pride in him so evident that he was relieved he hadn't let them down. He made his way back over to Pike a bit later, and the man patted the chair next to him.

"Well, you can thank Nyota for wearing me down," he said, "but even though you stole her out from under my nose, we'll find a bigger bungalow for you at Fleet."

Kirk's eyes widened. "Really?" he asked.

"Don't make me repeat myself," Pike said irritably. "I just can't imagine the lot without you, all right?"

Kirk smiled. "You know it was really Spock who stole her from you," he said. "He's the one who charmed her, not me."

"Yeah," Pike said, looking at the two of them talking in the corner, their heads close together. "It's the darnedest thing, isn't it?"

Winona was ready to go home after that, as was Joanna, so Carol took them home in her limo.

The remaining crew hit the Vanity Fair party last, and the room was packed with winners, fellow nominees, and other Hollywood types. McCoy's action-star clients were practically lined up to congratulate him, and also themselves on keeping him employed through the lean years, and McCoy was gracious enough to let them. Sulu and Chekov could finally sit together without attracting attention, though they were still not doing much canoodling, and Scotty and Gaila were mostly just beaming at each other. Kirk was getting another drink at the bar when Spock came up to him, hand in hand with Uhura.

"Apparently Nero has been saying that since he has an Oscar already he's happy to let you have one now," he said.

"Really?" Kirk asked. "My god this is so high school." He rolled his eyes.

"Is that what it is?" Spock asked. "I thought it was just pettiness on his part."

Kirk smiled a little. "Pretty much."

"You talking about Nero?" McCoy asked as he joined them at the bar. "I'm gonna sock that guy in the jaw if he's not careful."

"What happened now?" Kirk asked.

"Oh, one of my clients—Nero didn't know I was writing for the guy, didn't know the lines the actor seemed to have come up with on his own were all from me. I guess he'd thought I'd never touched any of his movies." McCoy drained his glass, set it down on the bar, and motioned the bartender for another. "Idiot, I've done everyone's movies."

"Except mine," Kirk said.

"Yeah, but that's not true anymore, is it?" McCoy asked.

"Nope," Kirk said. "From now on it's all you, baby."

Kirk and McCoy finally poured themselves into the limo around two a.m., not really drunk but under the influence. They were so exhausted physically and emotionally that all they could do was slump down against the seat and lay their heads back. Tomorrow Winona would go home and Kirk's life would go back to normal, only it was this new normal where Spock had Uhura and Carol had David and Kirk wasn't sure what he had other than this statue.

Well, he had his Bones, sure, but he wasn't really sure what that meant. He sighed.

"What was that for?" McCoy asked.

"Just thinking," Kirk replied. "I'm sorry that I fucked up the whole Joanna's dress thing."

"What?" McCoy said, sitting up slightly. "You didn't fuck it up, Jim. You fixed it."

"That was Carol."

"You called her."

"Yeah, well," Kirk said. "You were just so angry—understandably—and I—"

"Well, I got angry because it's so tough to raise a girl in this town," he replied. "Joss sees a lot of young dancers with eating disorders and all kinds of body image problems and we've worked hard to make Joanna feel strong. She danced when she was little, and she rides horses now, and it helps that she sees her body as a tool that can do things, rather than just how she looks in a swimsuit."

"She's a good kid," Kirk said.

"Yeah, she is," he replied.

They pulled up outside of McCoy's house not long after that.

"Well, this is me," he said, sitting up a bit and fishing his keys out of his pocket. He turned and looked at Kirk, staring so long that Kirk squirmed a little, then clasped his hand in Kirk's and kissed the back of it. "Thanks, Jim" he said.

"Thanks, Bones," Kirk replied.

"Talk to you soon," he said, and got out of the limo and went into the house.

All the way home, Kirk couldn't get the look on McCoy's face out of his mind. There was something to it, and he certainly didn't want to fuck it up. But he had the niggling sense that there was a ball in his court and he wasn't sure how to play it.

When Kirk woke up the next day, he was still weary, so he went down stairs without bothering to put in his contacts or throw a t-shirt on. Winona had coffee brewing and the griddle out on the stove, and was sitting at the kitchen counter using one of the guest laptops. "Watcha making, Mom?" he asked.

She looked up. "Tiberius's corn flapjacks," she said. "I didn't realize so many people on Facebook watched the Oscars! My wall is full!"

Kirk smiled. "It makes the news, you know," he said.

"Well, I can leave answering these until later," she said. "You're a real hometown hero now, James."

"I guess so," Kirk said, scratching his stomach and reaching for his mug.

"But I did want to show you a couple of pictures. You know your brother put all those family photos online for me."

"Yeah," Kirk replied.

"I thought you'd get a kick out of these," she said, turning the computer around.

Kirk pulled it closer as Winona hopped off the stool and started up the stove. "You took pictures of David yesterday?" he asked.

"No," she said. "That black and white one on the left is your father, and the one on the right is you."

Kirk blinked, adjusted his glasses, and looked again. "Huh," he said.

"Newborns often look like their fathers," Winona said, spreading oil on the surface of the griddle. "Evolutionary advantage. It's after a month or so that they start looking like themselves."

Kirk turned to Winona. "What are you trying to say?" he asked.

"You can't be that surprised," she said. "I don't know what that girl means in not telling you. I'm sure she has her reasons. But I also know how you feel about fathers." She smiled, a little sadly. "You've certainly shared that with me. And I know the kind of man you are. Now, do you want three flapjacks, or four?"

"Four," Kirk said. "Maybe five." He'd need them, to get through the day he suspected was ahead of him.

As soon as Winona left for the airport, Kirk got on his bike and went over to Carol's. He had the code to her gate and the keys to her house, and he walked in quietly. It was after one and the house was dark, though Carol had said she was managing to nap when David napped. Kirk slipped up the stairs and into the nursery, and sure enough David was on his back in his crib, sleeping. Kirk looked down at the baby, so tiny in his little t-shirt with the spaceship on it. He wasn't sure how long he'd stood there staring before David suddenly opened his eyes and looked at him. He couldn't quite remember if David's eyes could focus at this age—books! He needed books, he'd ask Bones—or if David could recognize him, but he decided it didn't really matter, today.

"Hey, David," he whispered. "Turns out I'm your dad! I'm sorry I couldn't be here the whole nine weeks you've been alive, and I'm gonna make up for that. But I'm so glad you're here. I'm not entirely sure what a dad does other than love you a lot, so we'll have to make it up as we go along, okay?"

David was listening, he thought, but also trying very hard to reach his mouth with his toes while waving his hands around. Kirk reached down into the crib, putting his fingers on David's stomach where the t-shirt had ridden up. David made a face, one Kirk recognized from the day he and McCoy had looked after him as the "I'm thinking about crying" face.

"Don't do that," Kirk said, and picked David up. "Let's not wake Mom up just yet, huh? Because your mother does not like to be woken up." Kirk settled into the nearby rocking chair and let David curl up into his chest. "But I bet you know that. Or I bet she makes an exception for you." Kirk smiled. "I am going to tell you so much about your mom, and she's going to tell you so much about me. But we really do love each other. Remember that."

David had been squirming a little, snuggling closer, but now he was still, his slow even breathing indicating he'd gone back to sleep. Kirk kept stroking his soft baby skin as he rocked slowly in the chair.

He looked up and saw Carol standing in the door. No telling how long she'd been there.

"Why didn't you tell me?" he asked.

"Why didn't you ask?" she replied.

"I trusted that you'd think it was something I'd want to know. I asked Spock and he agreed."

"So you asked Spock and not me?" she said, moving further into the room. "No, Jimmy. You didn't want to know."

Kirk sighed. "Why didn't you tell me?"

Carol picked up a toy and started fumbling with it. "I was scared. When I found out I was pregnant I knew I wanted to keep the baby. I was scared you'd try to get me to do something ... else."

Kirk's jaw set, angrily. "Only assholes try to get girls to get abortions or not get abortions. What the hell, Carol?"

"You never said anything about wanting a family."

"Neither did you."

She sat down in another chair. "I'm sorry, okay? I panicked. I couldn't be sure." She sighed. "You aren't going to want to marry me now or something, are you?"

"Okay, you have got to stop thinking of me as a character in a Lifetime movie and concentrate on the man who's been your friend for nine years."

"Look at this room," she said. "I've become a character in a Lifetime movie."

Kirk looked around at the fluffy clouds and smiling sun on the walls. "I think it's sweet," he said.

David made a little snuffling noise then, and tried to bury his head further into Kirk's chest.

"He's going to want to eat in a minute," she said.

"Oh," Kirk said. "You want him, then?"

Carol hesitated, then stood up. "Yeah, let me take him." As Kirk cleared out of the rocking chair she said, "Just give me a few days? Then we can talk about how this is going to work."

Kirk handed her the baby. "Okay," he said. He kissed David's head. "I'll see you soon, kiddo."

David didn't seem to mind. As soon as Carol sat down and opened her robe his mouth latched onto her breast.

"Impressive," Kirk said.

Carol rolled her eyes. "David, when you grow up, don't be vulgar like your father," she said. "Go away, Jim. I'll call you."

"Okay," he said, leaving, "but if you don't I still have keys."

Kirk sat on his bike in Carol's driveway trying to decide what to do next. He knew what he wanted to do, though it felt a little selfish. He glanced at his watch and thought, well, fuck it, and headed for Venice.

From the porch Kirk could see McCoy sitting on his couch, reading a book and taking some notes. The Oscar was sitting on his coffee table. McCoy looked up, hearing his steps. "Come in," he said, setting the book down. "I was going to text you and see what you were up to this week."

Kirk read the book upside down. "Fitzgerald again?"

McCoy shrugged. "Thought I'd see if I could make something out of that pirate story," he said.

Kirk smiled and nodded. "Cool."

McCoy stood. "I only have about fifteen minutes before I have to pick up Jo, but you're welcome to hang around and stay for dinner if you want to," he said.

"Well, I have some stuff I have to say," he replied. "To you. So I guess I should say it now."

"Okay," McCoy said, and leaned against the archway to the dining room.

Kirk nodded. "So it turns out that I'm David's father. Which, maybe you already figured out, maybe not, but it's true, and Carol and I are going to work something out."

"I ... suspected," McCoy admitted. "Once I saw him in person."

"Yeah," Kirk said. "So I'll probably be asking you about books and stuff because you're pretty much an awesome father."

"Thanks. Happy to help."

"But that's not why I'm here. I mean, I did want to tell you that, but it isn't what I have to say."

McCoy looked confused, but nodded. "All right," he said.

Kirk cleared his throat. "We make a good team, you and I, and not just for making movies. You're good at calling me on my bullshit and I'm good at calming you the fuck down and we had great sex that one time—well, three times. I've been told that while I'm an amazing director as a boyfriend I kinda suck, but I'd try hard to be awesome if I was your boyfriend. And it isn't just oh, I'm a dad now and I need help, though that's true because I didn't have a dad so I'll have no idea what I'm doing but you're a great dad and I can tell that you had a great dad, too. But anyway I was thinking about you before I knew about David, and I understand what you said about Carol but I promise, Bones, that's totally over and different now and basically—"

"Shut up, Jim," McCoy said, advancing on him and looking a little wild-eyed.

"Bones?" Kirk asked.

"I said, 'shut up, Jim,'" McCoy said, and kissed him.

It took Kirk a half-second to get with the program but get with it he did. And then McCoy pulled away.

"Why'd you stop?" Kirk asked.

"Because nice as this is, I still have to go pick up my kid."

"How about I get her," Kirk said, "which is faster because I have the bike, so we can make out for fifteen more minutes. Then while I'm gone you can start dinner?"

McCoy grinned. "Why Jim Kirk," he said, "that's the most romantic thing anyone has ever said to me."

If it had been a movie Kirk would have ended it there. Pull back from our united lovers, out the door, pan to the ocean, the end. But what actually happened is that when Kirk returned with Joanna, McCoy handed him his Costco card and the keys to his car and asked him to go get some paper towels. Kirk nodded because he wasn't an idiot—of course McCoy wanted to talk to Joanna. Kirk got paper towels and an enormous container of early strawberries and filled the gas tank and generally dawdled. When he returned McCoy and Joanna were taking dinner out of the oven.

"Hey, berries!" Joanna said.

"Yeah," Kirk replied. "They looked good." He set them down on the counter, suddenly very nervous even though he'd been to their house for dinner many times.

Joanna looked at him with that serious McCoy expression. "Don't mess it up," she said, wagging her finger.

"I'll do my best not to," Kirk replied, just as serious.

"Okay," she said, and that was that.

Kirk left after dinner, and it was weird but also kind of awesome to have some goodbye kisses with McCoy out on the porch. "Come over this weekend?" he asked. "And by weekend I mean, show up after you drop Jo off at school Friday morning and leave my place Monday afternoon to pick her up."

"I'd like that," McCoy said, and Kirk could feel feel McCoy's eyes on him as he got on his bike and drove away.

Kirk went over to Spock's place from there, after checking that he was home and that Uhura was around. It just felt right to do it all in one day. But he did bring them a bottle of wine.

"So," Kirk said, "what I have now that I didn't have when I saw you last is a boyfriend and a son. Or well, I kinda had both but I didn't know it, only now I know it and they know it and so you should know it too."

"I see," Spock said, and thought for a bit. "It is more logical for Carol to have had your baby, than anyone else's."

"I think so," Kirk said.

"Am I right in presuming that the boyfriend in question is Leonard McCoy?" he asked.

"Yes," Kirk said. "I guess we should have called our production company 'Abba.'"

"Because we are Swedish?" Spock asked.

"What does Joanna think of this?" Uhura asked.

"She threatened me," he said, smiling at her, "and then we had dinner."

"Well, I'm happy for you, Jim," she said, and gave him a hug.

"Spock?" Kirk asked.

Spock cocked his head. "It cannot be a coincidence," he said, "that we all have had such significant change in our lives over this past year. Perhaps the party was the precipitating event? You and Carol slept together that night, and the movie was made at least in part because Carol became pregnant. And making the film certainly brought us in closer contact with new people."

"Maybe it was the planets coming together, Spock," Kirk said. "Maybe our little group had grown too incestuous and we needed fresh blood, and Carol was the first person to figure that out." He paused. "Maybe we all needed to make a movie about our dads so we would grow the fuck up."

"Perhaps," Spock allowed. "It is an interesting puzzle. In any case, good luck to you, Jim. I have every confidence that this relationship will not have the same outcome as the others."

"Oh really?" Kirk asked. "Why?"

"In part because you are correct in saying that we have matured in the last year," he said. "And McCoy is a mature adult as well."

"Well," Kirk said, "I hope you're right. At least, I'll do everything I can to prove you right."

"I know you will," Spock said.

At midweek Kirk and Carol went to his lawyer Gary Mitchell's office with her lawyer and a notary public. They signed a bunch of forms that said that Kirk was David's father, and gave them to Gary who knew someone in Sacramento who could speed the process along. "Two weeks, tops," he said, and Kirk would be on the birth certificate. But David would keep Carol's name—after all, Carol had nothing but sisters, but Kirk's brother had kids. Then Gary and Carol's lawyer referred them to a confidential family practice that could draw up a simple joint custody agreement. It was strangely easy to put things straight, after all the months of subterfuge.

They went to lunch after the forms were filed, just the three of them, and it was weird and nice and overwhelming and wow, he had a family now. Like, officially.

"I have a crazy idea," Carol said.

"And that's different than your other ideas how?" Kirk asked.

"I'm going to wean at six months," she said. "Mom thinks I should nurse for a lot longer but ugh, no. I can't work worrying about saggy tits."

"Okay," Kirk said.

"So maybe you can take him then."

Kirk cocked his head. "For how long?"

"I don't know, two months? That's long enough for a nice spa vacation, maybe travel a little. Treat my sisters."

"You sure you can handle the separation?" he asked. "It doesn't have to be that drastic. I'm going to see him all the time now."

"I'm not sure I can, but I want to make it up to you," she said, "the two months you didn't get to be his dad. And—I need to make sure I don't lose myself."

"Well, we can't have that," Kirk said. "That doesn't help anyone." He leaned over to David, who was playing with a blanket in his carrier. "Especially not you!"

"Do you mean that?" she asked.

Kirk smiled at her. "We'll work it out," he said. "We always do. I mean, sure, with a lot of shouting and ridiculousness, but still. We made all these movies and stayed friends through that. Bones and his wife had a pretty bad breakup but they seem able to co-parent their kid. Why can't we?"

Carol smiled at him then, really smiled, and Kirk realized how much those months of hiding and worry had clouded her features. But they were wide open now. "You're right," Carol said. "We absolutely can."

McCoy arrived at Kirk's house at eight a.m. on Friday morning, and Kirk was waiting for him with a cup of coffee and some corn fritters.

"What's in the bag?" he asked.

"Clothes?" McCoy said. "A swim suit?"

"What makes you think you'll need those?"

"For when we leave the house?"

"What makes you think we'll be doing that?"

"Well, at the very least," he said, "I'll need a clean shirt and different pants to pick up Joanna. She's a teenage girl; she notices things like that. And while she knows I'm here, she doesn't need to feel like I'm on a four-day-old walk of shame."

"That, I'll allow," Kirk said, stepping forward and pulling McCoy into his arms. "But otherwise it's naked time. I've got plenty of sunscreen."

"Good," McCoy said, muttering against Kirk's lips. "I wouldn't want to burn anything."

They kissed then, just standing in the kitchen making out, and it struck Kirk again how normal it all was. He hadn't had anything like normal in a long time.

Kirk pulled back. "Let's take this upstairs," he said.

McCoy just nodded; he seemed more interested in getting in some more kisses than speaking.

Kirk grabbed the fritters on the way out of the kitchen—sex burned calories after all—so he walked up to the bedroom behind McCoy, and wasn't that a sight. McCoy was setting his bag down in the corner, bending over, and suddenly Kirk heard himself saying, "God I can't wait to fuck you."

McCoy stood up, turned, and raised an eyebrow. "Why wait?" he asked, kicking off his shoes and laying on the bed, leaning back on his elbows.

"And when's the last time you were fucked, Bones?" Kirk asked, sitting next to him. "Because knowing you, you didn't let any of those tricks from West Hollywood fuck you."

"You're right about that," McCoy said. "The last time there was a person fucking me? Yeah, that was a long time ago. The last time there was a cock-shaped object up my ass? That would be yesterday."

Kirk grinned and bounced a little on the bed, then straddled McCoy. "Yesterday? You were totally thinking about me, weren't you?"

McCoy glanced away. "I knew I shouldn't have told you …"

"No, no, it's awesome!" Kirk said. "What, you think I haven't been jacking off thinking about you since Monday night? Though I admit I was thinking more about those cocksucker lips of yours." He leaned in and kissed them. "Since I had a memory for that."

McCoy's hands were on Kirk's biceps, steadying him. "Good memory," he said. "Let's make some more." He slid his hands under Kirk's shirt, sliding it up and off, then sat up slightly so Kirk could do the same for him.

"Lovely," Kirk said, leaning down for another kiss and rubbing against McCoy, feeling him hard and hot under his jeans, just as Kirk was himself.

"Jesus, Jim," McCoy said eventually, "you gonna fuck me with that thing or what?"

Kirk sat up, smirking. "You're going to be a bossy, bitchy little bottom aren't you?"

McCoy grinned, entirely unrepentant, and damn was it a good look on him. "Pretty much," he said.

Kirk got up off the bed to grab the lube, while McCoy shucked his jeans and boxers and pulled the covers down.

"By the way," McCoy said, "not only a bottom. Just to be clear."

"Oh, I know," Kirk said, tossing him the lube and getting naked himself. "I'll be riding you before the weekend is over. Hell, maybe even before the day is over." He grabbed a condom and joined McCoy on the bed, laying on top of him and between his invitingly spread legs.

They made out for a little longer, despite McCoy's earlier protest, because the kissing was addictive, and they really did have the entire weekend. Kirk picked up the lube eventually, squirting some onto his fingers and slipping them between McCoy's legs. They were still kissing, and Kirk could feel McCoy react as one, then two fingers slid inside him, stretching him. When Kirk added a third McCoy pulled back, gasping, though his arms still held Kirk close.

"One of these times," Kirk said, "I'm gonna watch you prepare yourself. God, must be so hot."

"You're doing just fine," McCoy said, a little hitch in his voice.

"Why thank you," Kirk said, smirking. He pulled his fingers out of McCoy, who hissed in response, and wiped them off on the sheet before reaching for the condom.

"Let me do that," McCoy said, taking it from him.

Kirk sat up on his knees and watched as McCoy rolled on the condom and then slicked him up with lube, giving his balls a grope for good measure. Then McCoy grabbed a pillow, slipped it under his back, and spread his legs even further. Kirk just stared.

"What?" McCoy asked grouchily, knitting his brows.

Kirk had to grin at that, McCoy being his usual self and reassuring Kirk that yes, this was actually happening in the real world. "Nothing," he said, lining himself up and pushing into McCoy. "Just you."

McCoy hummed and Kirk went slow, relishing the tight fit, feeling McCoy's body shifting around him. McCoy tipped his hips up just a little more, making the angle easier, and wrapped his legs around Kirk's waist.

Once he was all the way in, he asked, "Ready?"

McCoy rolled his eyes. "I was ready ten damn minutes ago."

Kirk snickered. "You're gonna regret that."

"Make me," McCoy replied.

"Gladly," Kirk said, and got to work with long, deep strokes that hit that sweet spot more often than not, gradually gaining speed until he was shifting the bed with every thrust, pounding into McCoy with all he had, and McCoy was taking it with a little smile on his face.

And of course he was a talker. "Fuck yeah, Jim, that's good, just like that," he said, digging his heels into Kirk's back. "Keep going, open me right up darlin'."

Hot as that was, Kirk decided his goal should be to get McCoy to incoherence, so he leaned forward, his cock hitting its target with every thrust now. McCoy reached up to fist himself but Kirk batted his hand away, replacing it with his own, and McCoy was doing nothing but moaning now, which was more like it. Then he made another sound, low and guttural, and he was coming all over Kirk's hand and their stomachs. Didn't take much after that, between the way McCoy's ass clutched at his cock and how damn gorgeous he was when he came, red-faced and gasping, for Kirk to go over the edge as well. One last long thrust and he collapsed atop McCoy, panting and sticky.

McCoy's hand was softly stroking Kirk's hair when he came back down from the high, and he smiled, planting a kiss on McCoy's chest before slipping out of him and rolling off him and onto his back. "That what you wanted, Bones?" he asked.

McCoy chuckled, getting rid of the pillow and turning onto his side, propping his head up with one hand. "Yeah," he said. "That was just what I wanted."

Later—some time on Saturday afternoon when they were bothering to actually talk again—McCoy said, "So I was thinking about a rom-com."

"Oh, the pirate movie?"

"Not that," he said. "I think that's gonna take a while. This one's about a career woman who always meant to have a family, but just never met that right guy."

"Okay, standard," Kirk said, "but I like that she's thought about it."

"Yeah. So she starts working with this single father, something collaborative."

"The rom-com demo loves single dads."

"The guy has sacrificed his career to be a more involved dad, though he always thought he'd set the world on fire."

"Right, right. Nice role-reversal."

"Maybe he's a writer? And she's his editor, and he's finally publishing his novel?"

"Or maybe," Kirk said, sitting up in bed, "he's a lawyer, but he's always been kinda small time, personal service, hang out a shingle, and suddenly he's in on a big case, and she's the litigator brought in to help him?"

"Yeah, I like that better," McCoy said.

"That can give us the non-romantic b-plot."

"She helps him become a better lawyer, and he turns out to be the right guy."

"She doesn't have a baby by her ex-boyfriend in the middle of all this, does she?"

"No," McCoy said, shaking his head. "We can skip that part."

"An unnecessary complication."

"In the narrative," McCoy said. "Narratives are sleek and clean, like a well-oiled machine. Life, it seems to me, is a long series of unnecessary complications."

Kirk raised his eyebrows. "You're really philosophical after sex, you know that?"

"Yeah," McCoy said, looking away. "It's a thing."

"I like it," Kirk said.

"Anyway," McCoy said, and Kirk was pretty sure he was blushing, "I don't think David is an unnecessary complication."

"Me neither. I think he's tiny and awesome and terrifying."

"That sounds about right," McCoy said.

"So, we'll make the movie?"

"Yeah, let's make it. But for now," McCoy said, and dragged Kirk back down onto the bed.

Kirk laughed. "Sex and movies?" he asked. "I love you, Leonard McCoy."

"Damn right you do," McCoy said.

"When did you know?" McCoy asked.

It was early Sunday morning and they'd made eggs and potatoes and were sitting out by the pool, eating.

"Christmas," Kirk answered. "Well, that's when I knew I loved you, anyway, and when I started to think you might love me. But it wasn't until Oscar night that I really knew, when you said I hadn't fucked up, with Joanna."

"You didn't."

"I know, but when you said it—I don't know, something about it."

"I wanted to kiss you."

"Yeah, maybe that was it. You can do that now if you want to."

"All right," McCoy said, and did.

"When did you know?" Kirk asked.

"Christmas. Or really, when I invited you for Christmas because I was so upset that you might be alone. That was when I knew I loved you. About you, well, sort of at Christmas, when you were so protective of me, but I was still hesitant because so many people had warned me about you."

"For good reason," Kirk said.

"I don't know about that," McCoy said, "but I knew for sure when you took care of Joanna, and then seeing you with David. That's when I knew you loved me, and I thought it was about time I went after something I wanted."

"Well, I'm glad it was me, and I'm glad you did," Kirk said, and kissed him. They were quiet for a bit and then he said, "You know what? Let's call the Oscars our first date."

McCoy smiled. "That sounds good to me," he said.

11: Aftermath
No movie ends precisely with the resolution of the hero's objective. You have to reveal the new life your hero is living now that she's completed her journey.

February, 2010

Leonard still didn't like red carpets, even if now Jim could hold his hand as they walked down it, and even if people were no longer asking intrusive questions about his father. As they walked along they saw Data, the Variety reporter who'd done McCoy's first interview about That Which Survives.

"What's the status on the next Bibi Besch movie?" he asked. "Are the rumors true?"

"Yep," Jim said. "Last one for me and Carol. You'll see Bibi training a new spy-girl in the next movie. We're introducing a terrific actress, Tasha Yar, and I think she's going to be fantastic in the part. We start shooting in, what, two months?"

"Something like that," Leonard replied.

"And you wrote it, McCoy?" Data asked. "Quite a departure from That Which Remains."

"Well, so is the movie opening tonight!" Leonard said. "And I've been working on action films for the last six years, so writing one from scratch was pretty doable."

"You two recently moved into a house in Pacific Palisades?"

"Yeah, it's a gorgeous place," Jim said, "plenty of room for the kids."

"Domesticity! Sounds like quite a change for you, Jim."

"You gotta change it up!" he replied. "Do new things. I spent plenty of time partying in this town." He turned to Leonard. "Now I'm doing something else."

"And is it true that you based this romantic comedy on your own relationship?"

"Nope," Leonard said. "No truth to that whatsoever. Totally fiction."

On the big screen, a lawyer played by Carol Marcus was engaged in a passionate lip-lock with another lawyer played by Geoffrey M'Benga.

"Nice as this is," he said, "I still have to pick up my daughter at school."

"How about I pick her up on the bike?" she asked. "We get fifteen more minutes of kissing, and you can start dinner while I'm gone."

"That's the most romantic thing anyone has ever said to me," he replied.

Cue music, pull back, pan to ocean, fade to credits.

If he hadn't known better, Leonard would have wondered if he had deja-vu. Once again Jim was pacing in the back of the theater at a premiere. Once again Spock was standing, impassively, near the door, though now he was joined by Uhura. Once again Leonard himself, with his daughter, was sitting in the audience next to Carol, watching her movie premiere.

"How were they?" she asked, meaning her breasts, because that's what she always meant, and because she rather bravely filmed the love scene about four months after she stopped breast feeding.

"Good, they were good," Leonard said, in his most reassuring tone, and Carol smiled. The performances, no one was worried about; Jim had suspected Carol had a talent for light comedy and she'd proven him right.

When they got to the back of the theater, Joanna said, "I just don't know why Jim had to be made into a girl."

"Single fathers score very highly with the romantic comedy target demographic," Spock said.

"But that's why Jim was made into a girl instead of Dad," Joanna said, "and anyway Carol is better at pretending to be Jim than pretending to be Dad. Geoff M'Benga is really good at pretending to be Dad, though."

"I noticed," Nyota said.

"What I want to know is, why did it have to be about a man and a woman?" Joanna asked.

Leonard winced. "Because Mr. Pike probably wouldn't have given us enough money to make a movie about two men, Jo. Because he doesn't think anyone would go see it."

"Maybe they don't see them because you don't make them," Joanna said.

"Well," Leonard said, "there is the pirate movie coming up."

"I've always liked lady pirates," Nyota said.

Leonard looked up at Jim, who was thinking. "That could work," Jim said. "Really well."

"We'll get a lower budget," Spock said.

Jim waved a hand. "We've done it before," he said. "We can do it again."

"That went well," Leonard said, climbing into the limo with Kirk.

"Yeah," Jim replied. He tapped the side of Leonard's thigh. "You know what I used to do in the car between the movie and the party?"

"I've learned it's better not to guess," Leonard replied.

Jim raised his eyebrows.

"You've got to be kidding me."

"Started with Carol."

"Of course. And ended with?"

"Lenore."

Leonard turned to face Jim fully. "Not Miri?"

"No, actually, though she totally jumped me. But I didn't feel like it."

Leonard grinned. "Because you'd already met me!"

"No, because I didn't want to reward Miri for her possessive behavior."

"Come on, you were all over me at that premiere."

"I wasn't all over you!"

"Yes you were with your sad eyes and aren't-you-coming-to-the-party."

"Whatever, the point wasn't to rehash our sex lives."

"No, I'm pretty clear that you want to have sex right now in the back of this car. And I'm telling you that I'm not cleaning up the mess—"

"Not much mess."

"—or going into the party with semen on my breath."

"Not that either."

"What else is there?"

"There's straight-up fucking, Bones."

"And how is that not messy?"

Jim smiled and pulled a small plastic bag out from under one of the seats. Inside was a towel and two suit hangers.

"Well I can guess what those are for," Leonard said suspiciously, though he was disrobing.

Jim pulled two condoms out of his pocket and set them on the dash behind them. "One of those is for you of course."

"Thanks, but I ain't fucking you dry, Jim."

"You won't," Jim said, folding his trousers over the hanger.

"So you're self-lubricating now?"

"More like pre-lubricated."

Leonard, who'd gotten his jacket off, stopped with his trousers halfway down his legs. "Are you serious?"

Jim nodded. "Slipped into the bathroom while you were putting Joanna into a car to go home. I knew she'd put up a fight, so I had time."

"Jim, the next time you try to get me to fuck you in the back of a limo? Start there."

Jim liked to think they were merely a little disheveled when they arrived at the party. He spotted Nyota and Spock, who had also just arrived, which wasn't surprising as Spock often liked to stay behind a little at a screening.

Jim noticed something odd, and motioned Nyota to come closer. "What is it?" she asked.

"Your, um, well, just turn around," he said, and when she did he undid the hair clip near the crown of her head and flipped it so the correct side was facing out. "Do stuff like that, Nyota, and everyone's going to think you were fucking in the car."

Nyota coughed.

"Oh my god," Jim said, and walked around in front of her. "Oh my god, seriously?"

She held up her hands. "Jim—"

"Seriously?" He started to laugh, which brought Leonard back over to his side, with Spock not far behind.

"What is it now?" Leonard asked.

"Spock, you have the best girlfriend ever," Jim said.

"I am well aware of that, Jim," Spock replied, and Nyota smiled.

"You," Leonard said, pointing at Jim, "are a nut."

"I am well aware of that as well," Spock said, and led Nyota into the party.

"Have we seen everyone?" Leonard asked.

"I think so," Jim said, finishing his drink and setting the glass down. "And Pike's already left, so."

"So there's nothing keeping us here?"

"Not a damn thing," Jim replied.

"Good, let's go."

"You know what we could do," Jim said.

"What?"

"On the way home, we can stop by Milk, get some fudge sauce, some caramel, some ice cream …"

"We're going to get some real ice cream and not that soy stuff, right?"

"I'd think you'd be glad that someone makes a frozen treat that my son and I can eat without having sad tummies, Bones."

"Sad tummies?" Leonard asked. "We are raising a toddler."

"So ice cream sundae party?"

"Two great ideas in one day, Jim," Leonard said. "I'm going to have to hang on to you."

"Somehow, I don't think that will be a problem," Jim replied.

Current Mood: accomplished
Current Music: Theme from That Which Survives | Spark Out

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

From:

mardia

Holy crap, this is just phenomenal, seriously. Seriously, I have stars in my eyes right now, I never wanted this story to end. I love the world you built up, and the roles you had for everyone involved--Nero's role in the story was particularly inspired, and I was laughing hysterically as I realized he was basically a stand-in for James Cameron. HEE. The progression of Jim and McCoy's relationship was just perfect--it wasn't rushed at all, and as a reader, I enjoyed seeing them at each stage of their relationship. Really, absolutely tremendous.

From:

jlh

Aww, yay! I'm so, so glad that you liked it! And so relieved that the way Jim and Bones come together works for people because I was definitely trying to do a different kind of arc there.

♥♥ Thank you!

From:

the_future_modernes

this is absolutely AMAZING!!!!

From:

jlh

Thank you!

From:

glittertine

This was absolutely fantastic. Jim/Bones is not usually my pairing of choice, but the set-up was intriguing, and I'm so glad I started reading! I love the structure, the writing, the way very single relationship was just right, the timing - simply everything. Standing ovation, indeed!

From:

jlh

It's always super exciting when nonshippers read your fic, so I'm doubly glad that you enjoyed the story, particularly the romantic arc as I was trying to do something a little different and hoping that it would work.

Thank you!

From:

sistermagpie

Oh man. Okay, so you know I love stories about the makings of movies. I don't know what it is about them, but they really do seem to give you an opportunity for like, an entire life starting with the idea and ending with the success/failure of the movie. So this was like candy to me.

And as usual I LOVE ALL THESE GUYS! I mean, not just the characters themselves because obviously I love them, but I love how you create these networks of relationships. Especially how in this story it's not so much about the love story of Jim and Bones but like the characters realize in the end, how this was happening in a period where the whole crew needed a change and then Jim reached out to Bones who also needed a change--omg, I so loved that scene where Jim is in his corner about his ex wife. That was awesome. (For some reason I always get sensitive about the "You are inconvenient so I'm going to try to cut you out of your child's life and replace him with a step parent" thing.)

So I love how you see all these people successfully settling into a new era in their lives. The movie's exciting and then they're all changed for it. I think that's why one of the best relationships in it was Spock/Uhura and Kirk/Uhura, which are so going on at the same time. I totally laughed everytime there'd be something like "And Spock and Uhura were talking, tweaking the budget probably" because of course Kirk was completely clueless about his friend but even better of course he was a little disconcerted when he learned the truth because things are changing and that's somehow scary even though it's good when he thinks about it.

Also another favorite line (leaving aside all the funny ones and surprise guest appearances and Joanna being the inspiration for Castle and things like Kirk and Carole talking like Joe and Audrey Gideon sans the blonde with the television show...) was when Kirk is in the limo and thinking about little David and how he felt about him and wanting to ask his mother how she could possibly not have been there for him. It was totally believeable as one of those moments where this movie would bring up a lot of emotional stuff that was important and had always been there but Kirk wouldn't have put it into those simple words before...but at the same time, not a conversation you can just start in the limo on the way to the oscars.

And I totally want to see that dishwashing scene--oh yeah, I was totally biting my nails when Jim was planning his confrontation with Kahn because so much second-hand tension and worry! I loved how Chekov was reacting to it--great snapshot of the young actor sponge who's ready to handle so much but can't handle everything.

In short: yay.

From:

sistermagpie

Oops--by Carole and Kirk having that scene like Audrey and Joe? I of course meant Bones and Joss! Obviously!

From:

jlh

Obviously!

From:

jlh

First, thank you so much for your suggestions of movies about movies! So many of them really helped in figuring out what needed to be in the story and what didn't.

Well, you know me too well--I love writing these ensemble stories and making them into this web of relationships. It's my favorite part! Rather than, you know, how they all related to one or two characters. And it's something I really love about the Trek 'verse, as opposed to HP. We really know how the characters all interrelate, not just how they all relate to Kirk.

I'm so glad people liked the character evolution! For me that's always the starting place and the heart-and-soul of the story, and then after that I have to figure out a series of events for all that growth to hang from. Jim is a bit self-involved, so it was fun to kick him out of that, even if kinda forcibly! And the movie gives us such a fun new way to see Kirk and Uhura's relationship.

Joanna had to be the inspiration for Alexis Castle because it was the other way around, and Ali at one point was like, she's hyper articulate and really smart and I didn't want to change her, so I just decided to be clever about it, haha. But I think becoming a dad will make Jim both more critical and more understanding of what Winona went through.

I'm always surprised that I create any tension at all! I always think, but it's my story! You know what's going to happen!

I'm so writing like, 25 spin off fics of this, seriously. I'm so pleased you liked it! Triple yay!!!!!

From:

beledibabe

This? Is brilliant! Loved the characters (and all the cameos -- too funny!), loved the premise, lovedlovedloved the wonderfully slow build of Kirk and McCoy's relationship.

Brava! Brava! Bravissima!

From:

jlh

Wow, thank you so much! I'm really pleased the romantic arc and pacing worked for you, as I was trying out something a little different.

From:

edithmorningstar

This is so seriously good. I don't even know where to start. You get everybody's voice just right - even Spock, which in an AU where he *can't be a Vulcan* is really super damn impressive.

I loved the build of the relationship, and how the sexuality of it is acknowledged early, not pretended not to be there, but that falling into bed doesn't automatically mean anything else.

Joanna is a great character, and a great way to show who McCoy is - and for Kirk to show some of his deeper side in interaction with her. <3 the Castle reference.

I totally want to watch a Bibi Besch movie now. How awesome would they be? Also how awesome that Carol Marcus was played by an actress with such a great movie hero name. (I totally couldn't remember Carol and went to Wikipedia to read up on the second movie because of this, which was a fun side trip.)

At some point in there, you switched from the movie title being That Which Survives to That which Remains and then back again, which I almost didn't even notice.

BTW I *love* the use of episode titles for the films and TV shows. Similarly I love the using a few characters from those episodes, like Miri and Edith Keeler. And Harvey Mudd!! And the plots of the films, or the life experiences of the characters at the times of the films, being related to the episode plots. I liked that because of all that, I didn't know what to expect from Khan, so there was a lot more tension in terms of "will Khan fuck up the film" in that I kept expecting him to go evil again.

I wish Three to Tango had been a real show.

I was seriously impressed with how you got Kirk to nickname McCoy as Bones when he wasn't even a doctor, and have it feel natural in the context of the story.

Nero and Narada as the enemy film was awesome. Totally ditto what someone said above about Nero as James Cameron.

From:

jlh

God the NAME, argh! So many betas, and no one noticed!

Anyway I'm really excited that it all worked for you! I find Spock not so hard to write externally, but I don't think I could write from his POV yet. The falling into bed part--I'm just lucky gay boys do that sometimes, because I wanted to do something different with the romantic arc than the traditional hook up-misunderstanding/freakout-angst-reunion and being able to play around with sex left me some breathing room there.

As I said in the notes, I didn't realize until I was posting the story the way that Bibi Besch functions as a long reference to Alias, I think because I was picturing Katee Sackoff as Carol even though Bibi isn't that Starbuck-like. But yes, I was very lucky that the actress has such a great name! It was fun to be able to revisit the second movie as research. And also fun to take that personality from a science star to a movie star where it worked quite well!

I hate making up titles, tbh, so using the show was like a goldmine. Seriously, the wiki page for TOS was one of the first pieces of research I downloaded into Scrivener. It was that, and maps of LA. Khan was the trickiest character, because every time I mentioned him to anyone (very few, he was the one I kept back) they'd do the yell, and I thought, Kirk can't yell at him. But then, Kirk always perserveres!

Bones's nickname in AUs is always the trickiest part when he's not a doctor. I don't even know how I worked that out; it just happened in the flow of writing. Divine intervention!

It was nothing but a good time to make Nero into James Cameron, especially watching award season go by and Cameron was becoming more and more of an asshole every day. I was like, I couldn't have made this shit up!

Thank you so, so, so much for this lovely comment! I'm super glad you liked the story!

From:

bellawishing

Right away. Epic and amazing.

From:

jlh

Thank you so much! Gosh! I'm so pleased you enjoyed the story!

From:

deerang2002

This was absolutely wonderful...lighthearted, but with moments of seriousness thrown in...and all the supporting characters were magnificently fleshed out. I hope you continue to write in this fandom and I'm looking forward to reading whatever else you've written~

From:

jlh

I'm really excited that you liked the supporting characters--that's why I love writing ensemble fics, and it's awesome to be in a fandom that really appreciates them. I'm totally going to keep writing here! I'm having a lot of fun with these folks, both the characters and the people in the fandom. And I keep creating AU's that I want to explore further.

There's a tag in the list, canon: star trek, that includes all the ST fic I've written. Pretty much all Jim/Bones but I'll be expanding on that very soon.

Thank you so much! I'm really glad you liked the story!

From:

grey_bard

I love that you managed to never lose the plot about the movie or their respective families in the midst of the plot about the romance, and I really love that you managed to be fair to everyone in the story, even the exes.

From:

jlh

Yeah, Jocelyn can sometimes get a bad deal, so I wanted to do something very different. And I'm so pleased you liked the plot! Thanks!

From:

ceria

I really enjoyed this, from the relationships to the entire cast (including all the other ST character names!). As mentioned above by someone, I love Kirk and Uhura. I love that I kept expecting something perfect to happen and you kept surprising me and making it feel more real.

I really enjoyed this.

From:

jlh

I love that I kept expecting something perfect to happen and you kept surprising me and making it feel more real.

What an intriguing and lovely compliment! I do try to make it real but still give everyone the pleasures that you get out of reading a romance. Thank you! I'm glad you liked it!

From:

poala

This is extraordinary! The way you made everything work it was like being behind the scenes in real life. I loved everything about it!

From:

jlh

I'm so glad that the AU worked for you. Thanks so much!

From:

merisunshine36

Holy worldbuilding, Batman! I'm a sucker for good research and it's clear you've done yours. I loved following Jim and Bones through this world. The supporting characters sparkled (I especially loved Joanna), the narrative was straightforward and engaging, and watching all the various couples slowly fall in love was squee-inducing.

*subscribes*

From:

jlh

I actually love the world building part of an AU, and figuring out where all these archetypal characters belong in the new universe. Crucial but also so much fun! And I also love writing ensemble fics, and I'm so excited that Trek fandom really welcomes, values, and rewards them. It's a refreshing change from some of my other fandoms!

Thank you so much, I'm so pleased you liked the story!

From:

hypertwink

This was very good. I love how perfect everyone is in their new roles.

From:

jlh

Thank you so much! "Casting" is probably the most important part of constructing an AU so I'm very pleased that part worked for you!

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FIC: Our Life Is Not a Movie or Maybe, 2/2

FIC: Our Life Is Not a Movie or Maybe, 2/2

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