FIC: Our Life Is Not a Movie or Maybe, 1/2

[the_water_clock]

Author: Clio
Title: Our Life Is Not a Movie or Maybe
Pairing: Kirk/McCoy, also Spock/Uhura, Chekov/Sulu, Scotty/Gaila, Chapel/Rand
Rating: NC-17
Summary: From Variety, June 2008:
Pavel Chekov ("Charlie X") and Gaila ("Bread and Circuses") have joined the cast of small budget drama "That Which Survives," funded by Fleet's indie arm Academy and supervised by Nyota Uhura.
The debut feature from longtime script doctor Leonard McCoy, former show runner on sitcom "Three to Tango," centers on a college student coping with his father's terminal cancer. Chekov plays the son, Gaila the nurse. The father is yet to be cast.
Also attached are director James T. Kirk and producer Spock, the team behind the blockbuster spy-girl franchise starring Carol Marcus, the latest of which, "A Taste of Armageddon," opened last month.
(A modern-day Hollywood AU.)
Length: 60,000 words
Notes: Written for startrekbigbang. Beta'd by ali_wildgoose, lillijulianne, and kitsune13, with help from rawles and kittyjimjams. All other notes and acknowledgments in the notes post.

Art by affectingly

Mix by starsandgraces

masterpost | art | mix | first act | second act | notes

---

1: The Set Up
The opening 10% of your screenplay must draw the reader, and the audience, into the initial setting of the story, must reveal the everyday life your hero has been living, and must establish identification with your hero by making her sympathetic, threatened, likable, funny and/or powerful.

May, 2008

"We are going to be so late," Joanna McCoy said, running out of her room, book bag in hand.

"We're fine," replied her father. "And we wouldn't be anything close to late if you hadn't tried to wear a belt as a skirt."

"Dad! It wasn't that short."

McCoy merely raised an eyebrow. "Got everything? Your history homework? Your lab report? Your story for the paper?"

Joanna checked her bag again. "Yep. You have caffeine? Protein?

He held up the travel mug and the wax paper-wrapped egg and veggie burrito she'd made for him earlier.

"Pants?" she asked.

"It was only that one time," he said, "and I was wearing swim trunks. Let's go."

"Can't we take the freeway today?" Joanna asked as they made their way through the streets of Venice and onto Ocean Avenue. "We're late as it is."

McCoy shook his head. "The freeway is only faster at three a.m., Jo."

Joanna huffed and slouched against the seat, crossing her arms with all the attitude that a fourteen-year-old girl could summon. Unfortunately for her, it was less than half of the attitude of a typical actress, so her father was unmoved. "Probably couldn't go fast anyway," she said. "This car is older than I am."

"It's a classic in perfect working condition," McCoy said of his '74 BMW, "and when you get your license you'll be begging me to let you drive it."

She rolled her eyes. "You're so old-fashioned."

"Excuse me, I have a goddamned iPhone with the internet and the blue ray."

"Blue tooth, Dad. Blu-ray are the next generation of video players. You should really know this; you're in the industry."

"See, look, Ocean is moving just fine," he said, following the traffic through Santa Monica. "We'll be in Brentwood in no time, and you'll be nothing like late."

"Whatever," Joanna said, reaching for the radio.

"Don't. you. dare," McCoy growled, because seriously, the kid was pushing every button this morning. He might have said more, but then the phone rang. The car was old but the aftermarket tech was not so he hit the handsfree button on the steering wheel. "McCoy."

"Hey, it's Christine Chapel."

"Never knew you to be up and at 'em so early," he said. Joanna looked at him, wondering, and he just shrugged.

"Can you come into the office this morning?" she asked. "I don't see anything on your schedule."

"Sure, after I drop Jo off. What's up?"

"I … I think I have an offer on your script."

"My script?" he asked. He couldn't think of what she meant—he hadn't pitched a sitcom after the last one never even made it to pilot, and that was five years ago. "What script?"

"Your movie script, McCoy. That Which Survives."

Joanna turned to him. "Dad? I didn't know you wrote a movie script."

"Long time ago," McCoy said. "You were just a baby." He'd forgotten all about that script, which he'd written while he was still show runner on Three to Tango. At least, he'd tried to forget it. "So who's biting?" he asked.

"James T. Kirk."

"Oh my god, Dad!" Joanna shouted, grabbing his arm and shaking it in her excitement.

McCoy went blank for a minute because that wasn't a name he was expecting to hear. Kirk directed a big-budget action movie franchise about a female spy named Bibi Besch, the fifth film of which was to open in a few weeks, over Memorial Day weekend. Joanna wasn't much for wallpapering her room with posters but she did have a pin-up of Kirk's star Carol Marcus on her bedroom door. Kirk's films were also some of the few Hollywood action movies he'd never been asked to punch up.

"McCoy?" Chapel asked.

"Oh, sorry," he replied. "Um, yeah, I mean, I'll stop by."

"Great! I know it's a surprise but I think this one is really going to happen," she said, and hung up.

"Oh my god!" Joanna said.

"You said that before, Jo."

"You're gonna take it, right?"

"Sweetheart, it's just a meeting."

"But you work on so many action movies. I know you wrote the best one ever."

McCoy smiled though in the back of his mind he wondered when he'd stop being his daughter's hero. "That's the thing, Jo. It's not an action movie. It's a little indie flick if anything."

"Oh," she said. "What's it about?"

He sighed. "It's about me and your granddad."

Joanna nodded. She hadn't known his father, and McCoy had never told her about how he died, but he supposed that if the movie got made he'd have to. But not now, in a car winding its way up San Vicente.

"Okay," McCoy said as they pulled up to the school. He checked his phone. "I'm seeing you at four, right here."

"Yep," she replied.

"Curry for dinner?"

"Eggplant?"

Damn kid always trying to make him into some kind of vegetarian. "And chicken?"

She rolled her eyes. "Fine." She gathered up her things and kissed him on the cheek. "Good luck, Dad!"

He smiled. "Thanks. Have a good day now."

She got out of the car and ran over to one of her friends and they immediately started giggling. Strange how even living with a teenage girl didn't make them any less mysterious.

---

Christine Chapel, like most successful people in Hollywood, had certain affectations. One was her office at The Farragut Agency, which was decorated in the manner of an English gentlemen's club with dark brown leather furniture, a Victorian solid oak desk, and bookshelves with beautiful leather-bound copies of the scripts of her clients that had been produced. It was suitably library-like for a writers' agent.

"So tell me," he said once he'd settled into a club chair with a pineapple Jarritos, "how in hell did James T. Kirk come across a script I wrote over ten years ago?"

"You make it sound like you haven't been working on it since then," Chapel replied. "And that I haven't been sending it around."

McCoy shrugged. "So I've revised it here and there," he said. "Still doesn't explain anything."

Chapel curled into the opposite chair. "Jan and I were talking," she said, meaning Janice Rand, her girlfriend and Kirk's agent, "and when your name came up she said she'd never read the script, so I loaned it to her. And Kirk is like a toddler when you leave him alone in a room. He picked it up off her desk and now he wants to make it."

"But why?" McCoy asked. "It's not his sort of thing. Can he even get it produced?"

"Yes, within his deal at Fleet Pictures," Chapel said. "Jan was looking around for a small movie for him anyway; we just didn't think yours was a fit. But apparently Jim does."

"And what Jim Kirk wants … "

Chapel merely shrugged.

"Well," McCoy said, "I suppose a meeting wouldn't hurt anything."

"Great," she said. "Tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow?"

"He wants to move fast," she said. "This isn't widely known but the next Bibi Besch pic is being pushed back so he finds himself with a hole in his schedule this summer." She paused, looking at him. "Don't you growl at me, McCoy. You have to admit this would be a quick one to get into production."

McCoy let his eyes drift back over to the bookshelf, where he was represented only by the script for the Three to Tango movie Tango at the Wedding. Script doctoring might be lucrative and get you known and respected by the power players in Hollywood but it didn't exactly rack up the WGA credits. He found himself looking at those shelves with a little more envy.

"Fine," he said. "Breakfast, usual place."

Chapel shook her head. "Why do you like that restaurant so much?" she asked. "I didn't think all that healthy stuff was your kind of thing."

McCoy just raised his eyebrows and shrugged.

"Oh by the way," she said, walking over to her desk, "you should know that he's been reading your scripts."

McCoy cocked his head. "What scripts?"

Chapel looked up. "All of them."

"All the movie scripts you mean?" he asked. "They're not really mine, but—"

"Not just those," she replied. "The Three to Tango scripts, too."

"Are you trying to tell me," McCoy said, "that he has the 92 sitcom scripts I was credited for?"

"Actually he had the entire run," she said. "Jan sent him all seven seasons yesterday afternoon."

"Huh," McCoy said. "Well, I hope he's a fast reader."

"He is," she said. "He returned them this morning."

---

McCoy didn't go home after seeing Chapel; his thoughts were spinning too much to get any writing done. Instead he went down to the beach in Santa Monica and grabbed trunks and a towel out of his car for a swim, his preferred head-clearing method. Then he bought a couple of tacos and ate them sitting on the hood of his car staring out at the ocean. He'd been in Los Angeles for seventeen years now, and he still couldn't get over the sight of nothing but sails until the sky and the ocean met, or how you could almost hear the hiss as the sun set into the water.

Chapel had given him a tote full of Kirk-directed DVDs and a portable player, so he watched What Are Little Girls Made Of, the first Bibi Besch film Kirk directed back in 2000 when he was 25. It was a mid-range film, to be sure—Kirk wasn't that much of a genius to have started with a big budget—but he could see why they'd given him the money after that. All the elements of his later films were there, if in embryonic form: his quirky visual sense with more angles than a bad student film that still somehow worked, his ability to sketch a character in thirty seconds of film, his instinctive and ruthlessly efficient sense of story. His student film wasn't bad either, something about a confidence man named Mudd that showed he certainly could handle a smaller and more direct story, but still didn't give McCoy that much confidence that Kirk would be the right director for a project as emotional and actor-centered as That Which Survives. Anyway, it was just a meeting.

He flung his t-shirt back on before going to pick up Joanna, who'd had a newspaper meeting after school. She asked about Kirk, and he let her know about his meeting the next day.

"We have to plan what you're going to wear," she said.

"Why not what I always wear to meetings?" he replied. It had taken McCoy quite a while to adjust to the casual dress of LA after four years of Ole Miss formals and tea parties. His Hollywood meeting uniform consisted of a relatively hip t-shirt, a light jacket, jeans without too many holes, and a pair of Vans; it said "I'm a creative" without implying "who's holding onto his youth in a somewhat pathetic manner."

"James Kirk is so GQ," she said. "His producer Spock wears all these amazing scarves."

"I'm not wearing a scarf to a breakfast meeting in May."

"Of course not," she said. "Your neck is too short."

McCoy rolled his eyes. "This isn't a date, Jo."

"You never know," she said. "I hear he dates guys, too."

McCoy sighed. Ever since her mother remarried Joanna had been looking for someone for her father. When she came to live with him three years ago, McCoy had explained that sometimes he dated men and sometimes women, and Joanna had come down decidedly on the side of his settling down with a man. McCoy wasn't sure what that was about, perhaps some kind of wish to be the only woman in his life, but he generally just let it slide. "I'm not dating my director."

"Well anyway you still want to impress him," she said.

"I'd say he wants to impress me," McCoy said. "He's the one who wants to make the movie so badly."

Joanna raised an eyebrow at him. Genes were funny things; Joanna got her big brown eyes from her maternal grandmother and her dark hair from his own mother, but her expressions were pure unadulterated McCoy.

"Don't you have homework?" he asked, which they both knew was his go-to last ditch attempt to get Joanna off the given topic.

She shrugged. "I handed in my story and the editor didn't have anything to say about it, so I did most of it while I waited for you. Thanks for reading the story for me."

"Any time," he said. "I'm always glad to look over your writing." He had a sudden flashback of his father saying the same thing to him years ago, about his math homework. Maybe becoming your father was just part of parenthood; he'd certainly seen Jocelyn become his former mother-in-law over the years.

"So we have plenty of time to find you something to wear," Joanna said firmly. "This is Hollywood, Dad. Appearance is important."

"Fine," McCoy replied, because another part of parenthood was knowing when you were beat.

And so after they salted eggplant and browned chicken and dumped in the green thai curry base from Trader Joe's and got the whole thing simmering away in the dutch oven while the rice cooker did its thing, they marched into McCoy's room and Joanna surveyed the offerings. About thirty minutes later, which was less time than McCoy had feared, they had an outfit Joanna approved of and McCoy could actually see himself wearing—some well-worn-in jeans that Joanna liked the fit of but weren't "snug," a vintage Pylon t-shirt (that he'd purchased at a show in Athens in 1983, thank you very much, and not on eBay) and a brown denim jacket. Joanna also insisted on "doing" McCoy's hair the next morning "because you always make your bangs too heavy, Dad; product is your friend." But the stubble he could keep, because it made his eyes "pop."

"So who's the band on the t-shirt?" she asked, once they'd sat down to dinner.

"It's Pylon," he said. "I've told you about them."

"One of those bands," she said, waving her hand vaguely.

"You are not going to college without some goddamned taste in music," he said, scowling.

"I'm scared now," she said, sounding anything but. "Which band?"

"Pylon were a crucial band in the Athens scene of the early 80s," he began.

"Cliffs notes please, not the entire wiki entry."

"Where's your attention span?" he asked.

"I'm saving it for Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man," she replied.

McCoy made a face. "Your mother hates that book," he said.

"I can see why," she said. "So, Pylon? Athens G-A?"

"Yes, Georgia, not Greece. They heavily influenced R.E.M., and then they broke up and got back together and toured with R.E.M., and then they broke up again. They were the first band I ever saw play live in a club, when I was fourteen. There, that's your short version."

"Thanks."

"And in return I'm putting some on your ipod."

"Will there be a quiz later?" she asked.

"Don't be a smart ass," he replied.

---

Catch was the restaurant at the Casa Del Mar hotel in Santa Monica. McCoy liked having breakfast meetings there because he knew the staff, the menu was extensive while still accommodating the egg white omelet crowd, and he got a perverse pleasure out of forcing the suits to come west of the 405 that early in the morning.

His routine for these meetings was to get there early—easy when he was dropping Joanna off at school anyway—and hide out in the hotel lounge. Being first at the table was a kind of advantage, in that you could size up the others as they walked in. McCoy let them think they had that advantage, while he'd been watching them since they got out of their cars; they rarely knew what he looked like since he was a lowly writer.

It was sunny, but not too warm, so after checking with the maitre d', he settled into one of the chairs in the lobby that gave him a view of the door and sipped a red grapefruit juice. Kirk was predictably early—by about fifteen minutes—and sauntered in from the valet smiling at all the staff. McCoy was actually glad that Joanna had made such a fuss, as Kirk certainly was well put together in expensive-looking jeans, a crisp white button-down, and a brown cardigan, with a grey newsboy cap atop his head. He didn't notice McCoy as he walked in, but standing at the maitre d' station he turned and—damn it, was the kid actually checking him out? He flashed McCoy a smile just before walking into the dining room.

McCoy stood up, not bothering to wait—either the jig was up or it wasn't. He walked right up to the table where Kirk sat checking his blackberry, the New York Times sitting on the table in front of him. "Nice trick, waiting in the lobby," he said, and then stood. "James T. Kirk," he said, extending his hand, and this time he was definitely checking McCoy out. His voice was deeper than McCoy had expected, with just a touch of midwestern twang around the edges.

"Leonard McCoy," he said, and they sat. "How did you know?"

Kirk removed his cap, putting it and the paper on the chair next to him, and ran a hand through his hair. "There are pictures of you all over the internet, like everyone else. You did win a few Emmys, after all."

McCoy shrugged. "Most people don't bother to look," he said.

"I'm not most people," Kirk replied. The waiter came over and McCoy pointed to Kirk. "Coffee, and what are the market vegetables?"

"Zucchini and tomato, sir."

"Tofu scramble and hash browns, no toast, please."

"The usual, sir?" the waiter asked McCoy, who nodded. Tofu, really?

Kirk smiled again, and his eyes were almost distractingly blue. McCoy hoped his own eyes were "popping" or whatever Joanna had said.

"So," McCoy said.

"Look, I've heard you're a straightforward guy so I'm not gonna blow a bunch of smoke up your ass," Kirk said. "It's a fantastic script, the bones are solid." He paused as the coffee arrived. "Thanks. It just needs a little help—not a lot, a little. But you know, collaborative process, blah blah blah."

"Sure, sure," McCoy said, feeling just a little off balance in the absence of the usual fifteen minute intro of bullshit. "What kind of help are you thinking?"

"Well," Kirk said, "I read the sitcom scripts, and man have you got a distinctive voice. I went through those movie scripts and knew exactly what lines you added."

"You're actually not supposed to be able to tell," McCoy said, "if I'm doing my job right."

"Well, like I said, I'm not most people," he said, shrugging. "And I kinda know my way around an action script."

"True," McCoy replied. And how—he and Joanna had watched Kirk's other movies after dinner, and all of them were tight as a drum. "So the script isn't in my voice, is what you're saying?"

"No, it is. But to be honest, you're funny as hell, and this script? Not so much."

"It ain't a comedy, kid," McCoy said.

Kirk gave him a little smile, raising his eyebrows. "I know, but you were trying so damned hard to be serious that no one even cracks a smile. The story is compelling and the characters fantastic but there's no life to it."

"Huh," McCoy said, because he honestly couldn't think of a good reply to that.

"Thing is," Kirk went on, "you're just the person to fix it. I bet that if you looked at this script not as your baby, but like a script doctor, you'd know exactly what to do."

McCoy cocked his head and thought, mostly just to slow the kid down because he'd been talking a mile a minute. "See, that's great and all," he said, drawling just a little more than usual. "Useful notes, but that only shows me you should be producing, not directing."

"Oh, right," he said, smiling again. "I really get this character on a personal level. I know what it's like to lose your father, to have a complicated relationship with a parent. And the father, you can see that he wants to protect his son, but needs him at the same time, and how tough it is on him. And the nurse! She's not just one of those wise caregivers, not by a long shot." His eyes were wide and glowing now, his mouth firm. "The narrative is so elegant and spare. It lets everyone breathe. The actors would be able to take their time with this one. And we'd absolutely have to shoot it on location. It's all about finding the right house and then just holing up in it until we get it right."

McCoy nodded, amazed that Kirk could seamlessly blend sincerity and actual insight with industry bullshit like "getting the character." "And you think you can do it this summer?" he asked.

"With the glut of stuff that was shot before the strike," he said, "there's a lot of good people free right now. We just have to move fast. And my crew is available, of course."

"Funding?"

He waved a hand. "Leave that up to me," he said. "Shouldn't be a problem."

The waiter came then with the tofu scramble and McCoy's asparagus and cheddar omelet. Kirk reached into the pocket of his bag and pulled out a slim plastic case. "Here, this might help you," he said.

"And this is?" McCoy asked.

"It's one of my first student films," he said. "The first one Spock and I worked on together anyway. Not the final project; I know Jan hands that one out. This is an earlier one. Might make you feel more confident about me."

"Okay," McCoy said. "I mean, I'll have to—"

"Think about it, of course," Kirk said, nodding. "I think we could do great things with this script. I think it could be amazing. But you should go with what your gut is telling you."

He was smiling again, that infamous megawatt grin, and McCoy could almost feel the heat it generated on his skin. And he had to hand it to the kid—he certainly had a feel for the script. His advice, however, left something to be desired; McCoy's gut had certainly steered him wrong in the past. "I'll do that," he said.

"Great," Kirk replied. "So, Pylon," he said, gesturing at McCoy's shirt. "R.E.M. did a lot of covers of them, didn't they?"

McCoy raised an eyebrow. Maybe the kid was all right, after all.

---

McCoy looked down at the family schedule in his phone. Easy to go see his buddy M'Benga as his gym was just down the street, but McCoy doubted the workout his friend would give him would be wise immediately after eating an omelet. Besides, he felt restless and itchy; he didn't want easy. He turned down Santa Monica and headed for Silver Lake; maybe the drive would ease the worst of it before he got to the dance studio.

The former Jocelyn McCoy, mother of Joanna and pain-in-the-ass ex-wife of Leonard, was rehearsing with a male dance partner to some kind of pop song. Or scratch that—she was creating, choreographing; the dance was clearly unfinished, as she was repeating a few patterns in slightly different ways. How a nice girl from Georgia had gone from being head cheerleader at Ole Miss to showing pop starlets how to move their asses in their videos to best effect McCoy wasn't sure, and he'd been there as it happened.

Neither the staff nor Jocelyn took much notice of McCoy as he slipped into the room, though her eyes met his briefly in the mirror. He'd always liked watching her dance, and so wasn't an unknown presence at the studio. Jocelyn had a fantastic body and knew how to move it, how to change it up from sexy to classy and back again. She and the male dancer were weaving in and out of each other's space with some damned complicated footwork; her client would have to be pretty well trained to follow that.

"All right," Jocelyn said, glancing up at the clock. "We'll take this up again tomorrow." She gave the other dancer a hug. "Good luck!" she said as he left.

"Audition?" McCoy asked her.

"Yeah, some soda ad," she said, wiping off her face with a towel. "So if you wanna stay and yammer at me you'll have to be my partner."

"Hey," he said, eyes widening, "I ain't doin' that shit you were just—"

"Calm down, Len. I just need you to lift me."

"Oh," McCoy said. He rubbed the back of his head. "Well, that's fine then."

She shook her head as she walked over to the stereo and changed the music from the pop track to a slower piano song. "So how was the meeting?" she asked.

"How'd you find out about that?" he asked, taking off his jacket.

Jocelyn cocked her head. "I can see your schedule and you know it. Stop being coy."

"I'm not being coy," he said—he honestly did keep forgetting that Jocelyn bothered to look at his schedule.

She stood next to him. "Lean," she said, and when she hopped up he easily grabbed her with one arm as she lifted both legs into the air, leaning her side into his. "So is Kirk as hot in person?" she asked.

"If you like that sort of thing," McCoy replied, standing up as he set her back down.

"Which you do," she said, rolling her eyes. "You've always been a sucker for blue-eyed blonds."

McCoy harrumphed. "He's not as hot as he thinks he is, at least," he said, trying to maintain some pride.

She turned them at a side angle to the mirror and stood back to him, putting his hands on her hips, then hopped up, locking her legs backwards around his waist. "Did he impress you?" she asked.

He watched her do a head roll. "He's passionate about the script, and he seems to have a good understanding of its strengths." He didn't say, "and weaknesses," though that was also true.

"That's good."

"Yeah," he replied.

"So why are you unsure?" she asked. "Follow my hand," she added, moving her arm in a graceful arc.

"Fuck, I don't know, Joss," he replied.

"Don't sag your shoulders," she said. "God, you've got the most graceful hands, Len."

"What?"

Jocelyn sighed, and leaned back into his chest. "You still can't take a compliment, can you?"

"I—"

"Never mind. Here, shift me this way, and make a quarter turn," she said, and moved so he was holding her by her waist and one outstretched leg. They now faced the mirror. "I'm just saying, you're always surprised that people are paying attention to you."

"I'm not the talent," he said.

"Hmm," she replied, standing again. "Did you come by so I would talk you into this?"

He followed her lead and lifted her onto his shoulder. "Never made a big decision without you, Joss," he replied.

"Leonard McCoy, that isn't even true. You bought that house in Venice."

McCoy closed his eyes for a moment. "You said once that I don't know how to take advantage of opportunities."

Jocelyn slid down onto the floor. "I was angry then," she said.

"Doesn't mean you were wrong," he replied. "Anyway, you were there when I wrote the damn thing."

"What does Christine think?" she asked, leaning them sideways again.

"Christine's an agent. She wants to make a deal."

"Give the woman some credit," Jocelyn said. "She takes good care of you."

"Yeah," he replied.

"Look, does it feel right?" she asked.

He watched in the mirror as she lifted her leg, extending it straight to her perfectly pointed toe. "Yeah," he said, not realizing it until that moment. "Yeah, it does."

"Then do it," she said. "What have you got to lose?"

"Dunno what the shooting schedule is yet; he said he wanted me on set for it—"

"We'll figure it out," she said. "You've certainly worked around my shit any number of times."

"Yeah, well," McCoy said, setting her down.

She turned to him and lay her hands on his chest. "All right, get out of here and call Christine."

He put his hands over hers. "Thanks, Joss."

When McCoy got home he realized there was one more thing he wanted to do, and slipped Kirk's student film into the DVD player. Unlike his final project about con men, Tomorrow is Yesterday was an emotional short film about a teen who chooses not to retaliate against another boy who'd bullied him years before. McCoy could see why Kirk had given him the film, as it showed a sensitivity mostly absent from his other work. Not that his action pictures really called for much of it, but it was still good to know it was there.

He picked up the phone before he could think about it anymore. "Christine, it's McCoy. Let's do it."

He tossed the phone on the couch and headed out to the beach for a swim.

---

---

2: The Opportunity
Ten percent of the way into your screenplay, your hero must be presented with an opportunity, which will create a new, visible desire, and will start the character on her journey.

Jim Kirk shared an office on the Fleet Pictures lot with his longtime producer, Spock. He mentally called it 'Fleet—it had been Starfleet Pictures back in the day, but Fox had dropped the "20th Century" too. Nothing as disposable as the future of the past.

"Good morning, gentlemen," he said as he walked in. "You are looking at the director of That Which Survives."

"That's very good news, sir," said their shared assistant, Jean-Luc, a young man fresh out of film school.

"J.L., I keep telling you, stop calling me 'sir.' You make me feel like Peppermint Patty."

"I trust the meeting with Mr. McCoy went well," Spock said, not even looking up. Spock always looked just a little more formal than everyone else, as if he hadn't quite gotten Manhattan out of his blood, and today was no exception—a sweater over a shirt and tie, and perfectly pressed khakis.

"You bet," Kirk said, dropping into the chair behind his desk and then leaning back to cross his feet on top of it. "If he doesn't say yes, I'll eat my hat."

"And nothing of value would be lost," Spock said.

"Hey!" Kirk said, and chucked the cap at Spock, who caught it one-handed and set it down on the desk, his eyes still on that day's Hollywood Reporter, spread out on the desk in front of him.

"I take it you charmed him," Spock said.

"I did no such thing, actually," Kirk replied. "The rumors were right; he is almost un-charm-able. I went with passion and intelligence instead."

"How on earth will you be able to work with him, Jim, if he is immune to your particular charms?"

"You're immune to my particular charms, and we get along all right."

Spock looked up then, finally. "True," he said. "So you feel that we can collaborate with him? Remember, we have never brought a writer onto our team before."

"Well, it's not like we have much of a choice. We don't have Carol—she can sell any line you put in front of her," Kirk replied. "But I think you'll like him, too. He's very straightforward. Super smart. Quick, well read, funny in this offhand sarcastic way. I mean, of course he's funny, he was a writer on a sitcom, but he's not on, you know? Passionate, but you can see him trying to hide that and I don't blame him, in this town. And most importantly he's sincere, like we are."

Spock glanced at Jean-Luc, then back at Jim. "What does he look like?"

"Well," Kirk said, a little smile on his face, "he's got that disheveled writer thing going on. Kinda floppy dark hair, stubble, wearing jeans and a t-shirt. Though apparently he's a single dad so maybe it's that. Anyway, he's tall, broad-shouldered, surprisingly buff for a writer actually. Pretty handsome—hazel eyes that you can feel when he looks at you. Talks with his hands a lot, big sweeping gestures. Growly voice with a hint of a southern accent. Why do you ask?"

"I was merely wondering if he will be your romantic conquest for this film," Spock replied.

"Hey now," Kirk said, "that's entrapment. You asked me what he looked like."

"And you replied as if you were describing the latest teen idol," Spock replied.

Kirk waved his hand. "No, that would be that Chekov kid from Charlie X…." He stared into space for a moment.

Spock and Jean-Luc looked at each other; they'd seen Kirk's flashes of inspiration often enough to know better than to interrupt one.

"J.L., make a note in the casting for That Which Survives to look at Chekov for the lead."

"Doing that right now, Mr. Kirk," Jean-Luc said, walking back out to his desk.

"So where was I?" Kirk asked. "Oh, right—I said that I wasn't going to fuck anyone during this film and I meant it, Spock."

"You did say something about energy and football players that I admit I did not entirely follow," Spock replied."

"I want to keep my mind on the game, Spock. Laser focus!"

"Being distracted has never been your problem, Jim."

"Well, still. It's a different kind of movie."

"True. So you do honestly think that McCoy will agree to our making the picture?" Spock asked.

"Spock, the only other time I've had a meeting that felt as good as that one was the very first meeting for What Are Little Girls Made Of."

"I see," Spock said. "Well, that is very encouraging, Jim." He looked at his watch. "While we are waiting for this inevitable 'yes,' we have a meeting regarding our current movie to attend."

"A premiere is just a party," Kirk said. "Why can't promotions plan these things by themselves?" He hated promotional meetings, mostly because he had no actual control over any of the materials. They always rejected his trailers; he thought theirs gave some of the best parts away, even if they were out of context. And Carol would show up and moan about how she looked on the posters.

"I think they want to give you some choices about film clips before your appearance on Leno next week," Jean-Luc said.

"Ooh, you think that McCoy would write me some jokes for that, Spock?" Kirk asked.

"I feel that we should confirm we are making a film with him before asking him," Spock replied.

"Well, sure," Kirk said, taking his hat back as they left their office.

---

After the promo meeting was lunch with the distribution people. Kirk knew that distribution was crucial—A Taste of Armageddon was opening Memorial Day weekend, opposite Return of the Archons, the sequel to a highly successful animated film, and he was nervous. His movies with Carol had been tent poles for Fleet for some years now, so he was used to the pressure. But as opening day neared and his ability to make changes waned, he worried more about letting down Chris Pike, since he'd risen to head of the studio partially on his championing of Kirk. And given that Kirk didn't have a new movie in preproduction, That Which Survives was the only thing providing the necessary distraction from the possibility of failure.

"Sighing at the phone won't make it ring," Spock said. He was flipping through the Vanity Fair with Carol on the cover that had hit newsstands the week before.

And then the phone rang, of course. "Says you," Kirk said, listening to Jean-Luc answer the line in the other room.

"Yes, Ms. Rand, he's been awaiting your call," he said. "I'll put you through."

Kirk put her on speaker. "Jan!" he shouted. "Don't give me any bad news!"

"Of course McCoy said yes," Rand said.

Kirk howled. "Have I told you lately that I love you, Jan?" he asked.

"Yes, actually," she replied.

"Have I told you how fantastic it is that you finally moved in with Christine Chapel?"

"Yes," she said, "when you asked if you could watch us have sex."

"Oh, yeah," he said. "I'd say I was sorry but I still think it's hot. Not in some creepy lesbians only fuck for my entertainment way, but you know, aesthetically."

"I know," she said. "That's why I didn't kick you off my client list."

"And because I make you money."

"That too. Speaking of which, where is Pike on this?"

"He has seen the script," Spock said, "but we were waiting on Mr. McCoy."

"We have an appointment with him today," Kirk said. Spock raised an eyebrow, and Kirk put a finger to his lips.

"Good, because we're going to have to move fast," Rand replied.

"Don't I know it," Kirk said. "We'll call you as soon as we know. Thanks again, Jan."

After he hung up, Spock said, "Jim? We do not have any kind of appointment."

"Details, details," Kirk said, hitting speed dial.

A warm female voice answered. "Christopher Pike's office."

"Hello, Moneypenny," Kirk said.

"Are you making trouble?" she asked.

"Not today," Kirk replied. "He available?"

"He has a meeting at three."

"We'll be in and out, I promise."

"Well … if you come right now, I can sneak you in."

"Thanks, Beverly," Kirk said. "You're the best." He hung up and stood to leave.

Jean-Luc peeked in. "I can put those calls through for you, you know," he said.

Kirk shook his head as they walked out of the office. "First, you have more important things to do than making phone calls for me. Second, you are actually friends with her. You don't need an excuse to talk to her."

Jean-Luc's eyes widened. "That wasn't—"

"Don't worry about it," Kirk said, clapping him on the shoulder.

As they walked across the lot, Spock asked, "What was that, Jim?"

"C'mon, Spock," he replied. "Even you have to have noticed that he has a crush on the Crusher."

Spock nodded. "I see. Is she not a widow?"

"Yeah. Iraq, two years ago."

"Well," Spock said, "that seems to be a perfectly respectable mourning period. I do not understand why Jean-Luc hesitates."

"Me neither, man," Kirk replied.

Pike's bungalow was just down the walk, so they were there in less than five minutes. Beverly Crusher smiled indulgently at them as they came in, then tapped at Pike's slightly open door. "Have a minute?" she asked.

"Of course he does," Kirk said, walking past her.

Christopher Pike didn't even look up at them. "Don't you have anything better to do than bother me?" he asked.

He didn't tell them to leave, so Kirk sat down, Spock next to him. "Actually, no," Kirk said.

"That's why we keep you working," Pike said.

"Your policy is not unwise," Spock replied.

"So I take it you're in here grinning like a lunatic because you got McCoy to sign on?" Pike asked.

"Yep!" Kirk replied.

"And you want me to green light the thing?"

"I assure you, I have gone through the script and we can make this film at the budget discussed previously," Spock said.

"And you can keep him to that budget?" Pike asked.

"Christopher, you talk as though I am incapable of saying no to him."

"You both talk as though I'm not in the room," Kirk mumbled.

"Zip it, Kirk," Pike said. "It's good for you. And Spock, I know you're perfectly able to rein him in; I've seen you do it. But I've also seen you agree with him."

"For the good of the film, yes."

"And then you rarely account for your overage elsewhere."

"We have never been more than 1.257% over budget," Spock replied.

"Well, that's fine when we're talking movies that gross five hundred mil worldwide. But with little budgets like this you're gonna have to get pennywise, and fast."

"I assure you that we comprehend the difference."

Pike shook his head. "Never mind that I don't think you could have found a more downer script. Jesus, Kirk, you want anyone outside the art house crowd to watch this thing? Dunno if you noticed the name when you drove on the lot this morning, but this ain't Lion's Gate."

"Hey," Kirk said, "my deal says—"

"Your deal says that we have to make it," Pike said. "It doesn't say how much we have to spend on it. I know we've been throwing around forty, but with this script, I'm not sure I can give you that."

"Why not?" Jim asked.

"The hypothetical script was going to be a little more audience friendly than the one you actually picked."

"But you won't have to pay for a Bibi Besch film this year, so there's money for it!" Kirk protested.

"And we won't get the big money for it either," Pike said. "You two geniuses ever heard of a P&L?"

"I believe it is within the corporate interest to keep Jim happy," Spock said, "which included this part of our deal."

Pike sighed. "You know I'll go to bat for you with the money guys," he said. "Just be forewarned. The movie will be made, but don't count on the forty."

Kirk opened his mouth, but Spock put a hand on his arm, so he closed it. "When will you know?" Spock asked.

"Early next week. Tuesday night at the latest." Pike looked down at something on his desk. "You guys are all in for points on the back end anyway, right?"

"Yeah," Kirk replied.

"So we'll get McCoy in the same way. I'm sure he'll agree, so that shouldn't hold up the deal."

"You're sure?" Kirk asked. "You know him?"

Pike kept his head down, looking up at Jim through his eyebrows. "Everyone knows McCoy. How the hell do you think he gets all that script doctoring work? Just 'cause you didn't have to use him …"

"Right, of course," Kirk said, feeling a little unsettled. He'd liked thinking of McCoy as his own discovery, at least as far as anyone could really be "discovered" these days.

"I'm sure you've already started to bring him into your little crew," Pike said.

"Yep," Kirk said. "He's my next phone call."

"Well, go make it then," Pike said.

Kirk thanked Beverly again on his way out. As soon as they got back to the office he dialed McCoy on his Blackberry.

"McCoy," he answered, clearly on speaker.

"I've got a green light with That Which Survives written all over it," Kirk said.

"Well!" McCoy replied. "That's pretty sweet."

"Yeah, it is," Kirk said. "Won't get all the deets 'til next week, y'know, the uze. But we're good to move forward."

"Great!" McCoy said. "So, meetings are next I reckon."

"Yeah, we have a pretty compressed schedule," Kirk said. "We'll probably start in first thing next week."

"Sounds good to me," McCoy replied.

Kirk tapped the desk. "Say, what are you doing tomorrow night?"

"Tomorrow? Well, I have my daughter, but other than that, nothing."

"Right, your daughter. She lives with you?" Kirk asked.

"Yeah. Sorry if I sound distracted, I'm waiting to pick her up at school. Joanna's fourteen."

"Even better," he said. "The premiere is tomorrow night—our movie, Taste of Armageddon?"

"Yeah, I think I've heard of it," McCoy replied, and Kirk could almost hear his eyes rolling.

"So you should come. And bring your daughter. We'll put you in with us. You know, team building."

"I'm not much for premieres, I admit," McCoy said, "but Jo is a big fan. I think I'll take you up on that."

"Great! Jean-Luc will email you with the time and location and get you on the lists and stuff. I'll make sure your seats in the theater are next to Carol. She likes to watch the movie right in the thick of the crowd."

"And where will you be?" McCoy asked.

"Oh, I'll be standing in the back, nervously pacing," Kirk admitted. "I mean, the screenings went well and all but, you know."

"Yeah, I've been there," McCoy said, chuckling. "Well—oh, can you hang on a sec?" he asked.

"Sure," Kirk said, hearing the sound of kids in the background, and a car door opening and closing.

"Hi Dad," said a girl's voice.

"Hi Jo-Jo," McCoy replied, his voice suddenly sounding very warm, no trace of sarcasm. "Before you say anything else, I'm on the phone right now with Jim Kirk, who has invited us to his big premiere tomorrow night."

Kirk heard a gasp. "Really?"

"So what do you say?" McCoy asked.

"Thanks Mr. Kirk!" she said.

Kirk had to laugh. "You're welcome, Joanna. I'm looking forward to meeting you."

"Thanks Jim. See you tomorrow night," McCoy said.

"You bet," Jim said. He hung up, and then noticed that both Spock and Jean-Luc were staring at him. "What?" he asked.

"Nothing," Spock said.

"I'll add their names to the list," Jean-Luc said. "All-access."

Jim looked at Spock. "Man, I can't work now," he said. "Let's just get some sushi and go to your place and play Lego Star Wars."

Spock cocked his head. "Very well," he said, "but I am Obi-Wan."

---

Kirk stayed over at Spock's house in Santa Monica that night, which wasn't an infrequent occurrence. They'd moved into a tiny place in West LA together after they got out of USC, and even with success and houses they ended up bunking with each other pretty regularly. It kept alive the rumor that they were fucking, but neither of them could be bothered to care. Or at least, Kirk didn't care; Spock never said anything about it, but Spock never let other people's attitudes affect his decisions anyway.

Kirk made them veggie omelets for breakfast, then drove back to his own house to chill out for a while before heading into the premiere. But after a few hours home was boring, and he was restless, so he ended up calling Spock anyway.

"I hate premiere days," Kirk said, slouching into the couch. His laptop was open next to him, and The Apartment was playing on the big screen on the wall opposite.

"Why not work on the script?" Spock said.

"Nah. Need McCoy for that."

"You are serious about collaborating on this project?" Spock asked

"I said I was," Kirk replied.

"I am surprised," Spock said.

"Well, it's better than the scripts we're usually rewriting. Why work with the writer when the original script is just the bones anyway?"

"These are better bones," Spock said.

"Much better bones," Kirk agreed. "Even have some meat on them." He drank some coffee and fidgeted. "Spock, you think they're going to ask us about the delay on the next movie?"

"Perhaps," he replied. "What is the agreed-upon language?"

"We've been working so hard, we all need a break, recharge the creative batteries, blah blah blah," Kirk said.

"As opposed to, 'our mercurial leading lady has decided it is in her best interests at this time to have a child,'" Spock said.

Kirk chuckled. "Why would we ever answer a journalist's question with the truth?" he asked.

"We have an email," Spock said. "Jean-Luc forwarded the final Entertainment Weekly cover for tomorrow."

Kirk pulled it up on his laptop. The cover was a medium shot of Carol, in a scanty blue dress, holding a revolver. Across the bottom it read: "Carol no. 5—Can Marcus and Kirk keep their spy-girl franchise fresh?" He glanced at Jean-Luc's summary of the article: "Positive on Armageddon as summer popcorn fare. Wondering if you and Carol can do anything else. Speculation on 'reclusive one-named producer Spock.' Nothing surprising."

"Carol will be pleased with that photograph," Spock said.

"And I guess we'll find out if I can do anything else soon enough," Kirk replied.

"You have already made films in other genres," Spock pointed out.

"True, but that was before Carol," Kirk said. Then he heard the gate buzz. "Oh, that's the stylist," he said. "I'll see you in a bit?"

"Of course," Spock replied, and hung up.

Ninety minutes later Kirk had been primped and coiffed to within an inch of his life even though his outfit had been decided upon a few days earlier: a dark blue Prada suit with an open white shirt. Now he was being driven to Santa Monica to pick up Spock. It was a tradition, being each other's dates for premieres, and now they were a bit superstitious about it. Kirk wasn't sure what they'd do when they had actual significant others.

Spock hopped into the car, impeccable as always. Kirk always felt a little disheveled in comparison, a bit wrinkled while Spock maintained the crease in his trousers. Maybe it was just that he was better at sitting still than Kirk. He didn't even use a stylist, though that was more because Carol had given up on getting him to use one than anything else.

"Jim, it occurred to me today, have you seen Miri since your screening party for the rough cut?" Miri was the young actress who'd played Carol's antagonist in Armageddon.

Kirk closed his eyes and threw his head back against the seat, because that was two fucking months ago. "Shit, no," Kirk said. "I meant to call her, but then I got busy with the effects editing and Carol just threw everything into chaos and so, no."

"Speaking of Carol," Spock began.

"I haven't seen her either," Kirk said. "Meetings and stuff, sure, but not—"

"I was merely wondering, as at the party you—"

"I know," Kirk said. "Not my best moment. Or hers either. And I was so pissed at Miri, I haven't seen her."

"Well," Spock said.

Kirk glared at him. "You know I hate it when you do that."

"Jim, you know what I am going to say."

"Then say it!"

Spock cocked his head, which Kirk also hated, or at least hated when he was in this mood and knew he was going to get a lecture on his personal life from Spock, who had no personal life to speak of as far as Kirk knew, and Kirk would know, because that was the kind of friends they were. Even if Spock didn't tell him, he'd know.

Kirk waited, and tried not to tense up before the blow came.

"It is true that perhaps sleeping with Carol on the night of your screening party, immediately after you broke up with Miri, was not the wisest of decisions. Nor was failing to make some sort of overture to Miri before the premiere, so that your first meeting with her since she left your home in hysterics was not on a red carpet in front of the international press. Still, this is not what I wanted to discuss with you."

Kirk had to laugh then, because really, this was insane. Only Spock could lay out his most recent romantic disaster so dispassionately and then dismiss it entirely as a topic of conversation. "So what did you want to say?"

"I was merely wondering, given that Carol made her announcement of her intention to have a child two weeks after that encounter, if you suspected they are related."

Kirk's head jerked. "You mean, you think the kid is mine? Because wouldn't she have said, 'I'm pregnant' rather than 'I wanna get pregnant'?"

"No, I agree. That is not what I was thinking. Rather, did anything happen between the two of you that night that might send her to that decision? You have also been somewhat more serious since that evening."

"Oh," Kirk said. "Well, the funny thing was, Carol wasn't there in the morning. And you know me; I'm a breakfast guy."

"Indeed," Spock said.

"So that was weird, and I was feeling kinda weird. I mean, I'm 33, and that's probably too damn old to be banging 20-year-old actresses like Miri even if this is Hollywood and I am a director. I don't wanna be that guy, you know? I mean, 25-year-olds, that's another story—they're women." He flashed a grin at Spock, who didn't respond, so he sobered and kept talking. "Anyway, after I woke up and found Carol gone I swam in the pool while the housekeepers worked, and then I called Winona."

Spock showed about as much surprise as Kirk had ever seen on his face. He knew well that Kirk and his mother weren't close. "To what purpose?" he asked.

"I dunno. Just wanted to hear her voice. The accent maybe? I guess I needed some grounding." Kirk played with his tie. "Maybe Carol did, too. Maybe that's what she wants the baby for, to feel a little more normal. Things have gotten pretty high-flying around here lately."

"True," Spock said, looking out of the car window. "I believe we have arrived."

Kirk nodded and put his sunglasses on. "Show time," he said, emerging from the car to the glare of TV lights and flashbulbs.

---

Once inside the lobby Kirk glad-handed around a bit. He didn't see Miri, but he did spot McCoy standing in one corner with a teenage girl, talking to Chris Pike. Pike always set himself up in a corner, because with the wheelchair it was easier, but he was powerful enough that everyone came to him anyway. McCoy, Kirk noted, cleaned up pretty well, his suit jacket hanging perfectly off those broad shoulders.

"Hey there!" he said, grinning and shaking McCoy's hand. "Glad you could make it!"

"Glad to come. This here's my girl Jo. Joanna, this is Jim Kirk."

Joanna McCoy had a serious little face like her dad's, but with big brown eyes. "Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Kirk," she said. "Thank you for inviting us."

"You're welcome, as long as you call me Jim," he said. "How's it going, Chief?"

"Chief?" McCoy asked.

Pike rolled his eyes. "Kirk likes to think his life is some 70s cop show."

"Ironside? Really?" McCoy asked.

"Why not?" Kirk replied.

"So where's your twin?" Pike asked.

"He's around someplace," Kirk said, looking around.

"Is that him over there with Carol Marcus?" Joanna asked.

"Oh, yeah, it is," Kirk said. He turned to her. "You recognized him?"

"I read the trades," she said with a shrug.

"Huh," Kirk said.

Carol was walking over to them purposefully, as she did pretty much everything. She was well turned out as usual in a turquoise sheath that set off her dark blonde hair and deep blue eyes. "Jimmy, Chris, we need to talk," she said, then looked up at McCoy. "I'm sorry—" she began, then stopped, her eyes narrowing. "Leonard McCoy?"

McCoy grinned. "I had a bet with myself over whether you'd remember," he said.

She walked around Kirk to give McCoy two cheek kisses in the patented Hollywood manner that kept everyone's makeup on their own faces and not on other people's collars. "And what did you win?"

"Haven't decided. Maybe a post-movie hot fudge sundae with the kid."

Carol gasped and looked at Joanna. "Well, if she isn't the spitting image. Hello, I'm Carol."

Joanna shook her hand, but didn't seem quite capable of speech until her father nudged her. "Sorry, hi, I'm Joanna."

"Jimmy, tell me these are the folks you wanted me to sit with tonight."

"These are they," Kirk said, "but how do you know each other?"

"Oh," Carol said, waving her hand, "I did a guest spot on Three to Tango as one of Zach's disastrous dates. You know, like every other young actress in Hollywood in the late 90s."

"You were better than most of 'em," McCoy said.

"I'll accept that compliment because I remember how bad at bullshitting you are," Carol said.

"Carol, you have something to say?" Pike asked. "Don't want the natives getting restless."

"Yes, there's a little room over here," she said, taking Joanna's arm and leading the way. "Now, Joanna, I know we're going to be friends, so you need to promise me that what gets said in this room goes no further. Not to your best friend, not anybody."

"I won't tell, Carol," Joanna said, her eyes wide.

"Great," Carol replied, and held the door open for Pike. Once they were all inside, she shut the door behind them and looked up, smiling. "Well, so," she said, and one hand drifted to rest on her lower abdomen.

"You've lost weight?" Spock asked.

"No," Kirk said, blinking. "She's pregnant."

Carol started laughing. "I'm only a little over a month along, but I wanted you to be the first to know! I can't believe it's happened so fast—"

"I can," Kirk said. "Once you set your mind to something, it tends to happen pretty quickly. Congratulations."

"Thanks," she said.

"So that's why there isn't going to be a new Bibi Besch movie next year," McCoy said.

"Yes, but how did you know?" Carol asked.

"He wrote that script I emailed you about the other day," Kirk said. "Chris gave us the green light yesterday."

"Well, there you go," Carol said. "I'm not the only one who gets what she wants."

"Far from it," Pike said. "You sure you know what you're doing?" he asked.

She raised an eyebrow. "When haven't I, Chris?"

"Point," Pike replied, sighing. "Well, congrats from me too."

Spock walked over to her and put a hand on her shoulder. "Mazel Tov, Carol," he said, and then to the surprise of everyone, pulled her into a hug.

"Oh my!" she said. "Thank you, Spock!"

Kirk felt a little unsettled. Sure, he'd known that the next movie wouldn't be with Carol—he'd pursued McCoy's script, hadn't he, and there certainly wasn't a role for her in that. But he hadn't realized until this moment that he hadn't taken Carol's announcement particularly seriously in terms of her pregnancy—only in terms of her taking some time off. He looked around the room and when he met McCoy's glance he quickly put on a smile. Which was silly—he didn't know why he cared what McCoy thought of his admittedly strange relationship with Carol Marcus.

"All right, let's get this picture playing," Pike said.

"And that's why we call you Chief," Kirk said, opening the door for him. "Because you're always barking out orders."

Pike peered up at him. "One of these days, Kirk, I'm not gonna be here to keep you from doing something stupid, and then where will you be?"

"Bereft," Kirk replied, grinning, and Pike just shook his head as he left the room.

---

Kirk spent the screening just as he'd told McCoy he would—nervously pacing at the back of the theater. Spock was with him, though he stood still in the exact center, watching the audience. Premiere audiences were easy, and there was plenty of applause graciously received by Carol as she stood to leave. Kirk waited for McCoy, but didn't see him in the throng headed to the party.

"Where's McCoy?" Kirk asked.

"Oh, he was headed to the side exit," Carol said. "But there's your little friend."

Kirk turned and sure enough, Miri was advancing on him, though she didn't look like she was still angry, thank goodness. Probably, as with most actresses, making her look good up on the screen atoned for any sins he may have committed. "There you are, Jimmy," she said.

Carol left him to his fate, which Kirk thought was damn unfair. "Hey Miri," he said.

She linked her arm in his. "Now are you going to make it up to me by escorting me to this party?" she asked.

"Um, you bet," he said. "I just have to find someone first."

"Uh-uh," she said, tightening her grip. "I"m not letting you out of my sight again."

"Fine," Kirk said, "then come with me." He took her hand and pulled her along against the tide of well-wishers, saying "See you at the party!" as he cut through the crowd and hustled to the side entrance of the theater that led to the back parking lot.

Outside he spotted McCoy and his daughter sauntering to his car. "Hey!" he shouted. He left Miri waiting at the door as he trotted over to them.

McCoy turned to him. "Oh hey, Jim," he said. "Great movie. I'm sure it'll open big." He pointed his clicker at an old green BMW.

"Thanks," Kirk said. "What did you think, Jo? I hear you're a fan."

"Best one yet!" she said. "Well, not better than the first one, but nothing's better than the first one of anything, right? So better than the rest of them. Not that those were bad—they were great! But this one, definitely the best. Or second-best, after the first one."

Kirk grinned. "Thanks. I hope folks agree with you." He looked at McCoy. "Not going to the party?"

"Nah, it's a school night," he said. "Gotta get the kid home. She'll have plenty of time for Hollywood parties when she's eighteen and I can't force her to stay home anymore."

"Dad!" she said. "Jim, can't you change his mind?" she asked.

Kirk struggled not to smile. "Even if I didn't agree with your dad—which I do—I wouldn't contradict him." He leaned in a little. "But between you and me, Carol's probably going to have a lot of nights at home in the near future. We'll have a dinner to make up for it."

Joanna smiled. "Really? Thanks, Jim."

"That's enough charm for one night," McCoy said to her, though he was smiling. "Get in the car."

"So, Monday, um, meeting in my office? How about a working lunch?"

McCoy nodded. "Send me an email so I can put it in the ol' phone?"

"Sure," Kirk said.

"Jimmy!" Miri called out.

"Looks like you got someone waiting for ya," McCoy said. "Wasn't she in the movie we just saw?"

Joanna looked toward the theater. "That's Miri. You know her, Dad, she was on that Disney show I used to watch, about the cheerleader who's also a sorceress?"

"Right, I remember now," he said. He raised his eyebrows at Jim, and his eyes were twinkling.

Kirk scowled and crossed his arms. "Yeah, well …"

"I'd say have a good night," McCoy said, "but I'm pretty sure you will. All right, kiddo, we're off to Milk."

"Good choice," Kirk said.

"Best hot fudge sundaes in the city," McCoy replied, getting into the car. "See you Monday, Jim."

"You bet," Kirk said, heading back over to the theater door because he wasn't actually lame enough to stand there and watch them drive away. Besides, Miri was hot (if a little possessive) and the party was bound to be brilliant with everyone falling all over themselves to congratulate him. Definitely better than some hot fudge sundae.

---

---

3: The New Situation
For the next 15% of the story, your hero will react to the new situation that resulted from the opportunity. She gets acclimated to the new surroundings, tries to figure out what's going on, or formulates a specific plan for accomplishing her overall goal

Monday mornings were McCoy's least favorite part of the week. He couldn't just lollygag around as he did on the weekend, because in the evening he'd have Joanna in the house and he liked having his work done so he could spend time with her. But he didn't have her there to force him out of bed and hand him a breakfast burrito and coffee, either. So he waited out rush hour traffic sipping a yogurt smoothie and listening to NPR tell him in dulcet tones how the world had gone further to shit in the previous twenty-four hours. Then he went to meet up with his buddy Geoffrey M'Benga at The Vanguard, the gym he owned in Santa Monica.

"Looks like you've recovered from Saturday night," M'Benga said, grinning.

McCoy shrugged. "We weren't that bad," he replied. They'd gone out tomcatting in West Hollywood, as they often did of a Saturday night when M'Benga wasn't dating anyone (and even sometimes when he was) but this particular Saturday was a bit more raucous as they were celebrating McCoy's deal with Fleet Pictures.

"Sure," he said, walking over to the empty middle of the room. "Okay, let's get you stretched out."

They went through the usual warm-up routine, and then M'Benga set him up on one of the weight machines. "I know you swim about every day but man, you gotta vary your style," he said. "Get some backstroke in there."

"Not really strong enough to backstroke in the ocean," he said, breathing through the reps.

"Then find a pool," he said. "Your back's gonna be tight as a drum. Didn't that guy you left the bar with Saturday night with work it out at all?"

McCoy grunted, deciding not to dignify the comment with an answer.

They were silent for a while, other than M'Benga counting and guiding McCoy through the reps for a few more muscle groups. It wasn't until he was working his quads that M'Benga said, "So, your first big meeting at Fleet is today."

"Yep."

"You know, if you were anyone else I'd warn you about that Jim Kirk," M'Benga said thoughtfully.

"Anyone else?" McCoy asked.

"I'm not worried about you," M'Benga said. "Bet you didn't even bring that guy back to your house Saturday night, much less take him to breakfast."

"My daughter lives in that house," McCoy growled. "I'm not gonna bring a trick home. We went to his place."

"She's not there on the weekends, McCoy," he replied. "Clean the sheets and she'd never know."

"I'd know. I worked too hard just to be able to see her again, and now that she's living with me, I don't want to fuck it up again. Gotta be a father first."

M'Benga shrugged. "You might wanna start dating sometime. After all, Joss remarried."

"Plenty of time for that when Jo's in college. I can wait three more years."

"I suppose," M'Benga replied. "I'd just feel better if you saw people on the weekend other than me, your poker buddies, and your one-night stands."

"Christine and Janice have had me over to their new place for dinner a couple of times," McCoy said.

M'Benga shook his head. "Let's hit the showers."

"Let's?" McCoy asked. "You making bad porn on the side or something?"

"No, though that's not a bad idea actually. I just wanted to admire my work."

"Your work? Which one of us is sweaty here?"

"My direction, then," he said as they walked down the hall. "C'mon, you're like a walking ad for the gym. If I can do this for a lazy thirty-something writer imagine what I can do for someone else!"

"Well, I'm glad I can help," McCoy replied, rolling his eyes.

"Don't mention it," M'Benga said, slapping him on the shoulder.

---

McCoy steeled himself as he sat at the light for the turn into the Fleet lot; he hadn't been there since his last unsuccessful sitcom pitch back in '03. But what did he have to be nervous about? His script had been green lit, and even if the movie was a disaster it was better than nothing.

Of course Jim Kirk had a bungalow, though at least it was one of the smaller ones. Three vehicles were parked in front: a beat up Camry with a USC sticker, an immaculate blue Prius, and a vintage Triumph motorcycle. McCoy walked in to see a young man sitting at the desk in the outer office in casual clothes and a trilby hat. He looked up and his smile was warm and broad, full of eager youth like most assistants. "Mr. McCoy?" he asked in a round, plummy English accent. "We're expecting you. I'm Jean-Luc."

McCoy shook his hand. "McCoy is fine, no need for the mister," he replied.

"Hey, the bones are here!" shouted Kirk through his open office door. "C'mon in, man."

Jean-Luc led McCoy into the inner office, which was a little smaller than McCoy had expected—two desks at the back, side by side and facing forward, five or so guest chairs scattered around a round table, and a video set up in the corner. Kirk's desk was surprisingly clear of clutter; McCoy would have pegged him for the creative-mess type. That Spock's desk was neat as a pin, however, was entirely expected. Even during the three-minute conversation they'd had at the premiere, Spock had struck McCoy as having a truly impressive stick up his ass.

Kirk was walking toward him, hand extended. "Good to see you. You said sushi was okay so we just ordered a bunch of rolls from the commissary." He indicated a platter in the middle of the table, with some assorted beverages.

"Yeah, that's fine," McCoy said. Kirk and Spock joined him at the table and the three men began to dig into the sushi platter.

Kirk turned to Jean-Luc. "Aren't you joining us?"

Jean-Luc shook his head. "I ran into Beverly and we're going to grab something since she's free. Pike's having a lunch meeting with the money men."

Kirk raised his eyebrows. "Think we'll get our answer today?" he asked.

"Sounds like it," Jean-Luc said, nodding.

"Good," Kirk said, but his mouth was set in a firm line. "Thanks, J.L."

"J.L.?" McCoy asked. He turned to the young man. "That's his name for you?"

Jean-Luc smiled. "With Jim Kirk and nicknames resistance is futile, I'm afraid," he said. "So if there's nothing else?"

Kirk waved his hand at Jean-Luc. "Go, go," he said. "Have fun with Beverly."

"So what's this about calling me 'the bones'?" McCoy asked, making scare quotes with his fingers.

"Well, you know, you're the bones," Kirk said. "Of the project, I mean. The script, of the movie, right?"

"Jim is fond of using sobriquets as a means of team-building among his crew," Spock said. "A nom du cinema as it were. He believes it builds morale."

McCoy cocked his head and bit his tongue; it wouldn't do to be too sarcastic too early on, but clearly Spock wasn't a writer since he used twenty words when five would do, and fifty-cent words at that. "And what is your nickname?" he asked.

"Why, Spock," he replied, as if talking to a toddler.

"Of course," McCoy said, a bit lamely. He turned to Kirk. "Do you have a nickname?"

"Not really," he said quickly, which McCoy took to mean that he did, but wasn't going to reveal it quite yet.

The conversation moved on to more general topics after that, mostly industry hubbub that Spock was surprisingly up on. McCoy would never have pegged the seemingly sober man for a gossip, but then he was a Hollywood producer and it was always best to be in the know.

Kirk's phone rang, and he reached over to put it on speaker. "Kirk here."

"Spock with you?" asked a voice McCoy recognized, but couldn't quite place.

"Yep, and Leonard McCoy."

"Bring them down to my office in about ten. I've got some news for you and someone I want you to meet."

"You got it, Chief," Kirk said, hanging up, and McCoy realized it was Pike, ordering them down to his office. "All right, that's seven minutes to finish eating."

"Seven minutes and twenty-seven seconds," Spock replied. "That is, if you do not get distracted as we walk there."

"Me, distracted?" Kirk asked, grinning. "Never."

When they arrived at Pike's office his admin was away but his door was open and he waved the three men in. "Good to see you again, McCoy," he said. "Close the door behind you, won't you?"

"Yes, sir," McCoy replied, and as he did he noticed a slim girl with a serious face sitting toward the back of the room. She had the perfectly straight back and shoulders of a dancer, but only studio-types wore suits like hers. He nodded to her, and she to him.

"So what's the number?" Kirk asked, slouching into one of the easy chairs near Pike's desk.

"Fifteen," Pike said.

Kirk sat up at that. "Fifteen? Are you serious?"

Pike sighed. "I told you last week to expect a lower number. You can't tell me you look at that script and see fifty, sixty million dollars worth of business." He turned to McCoy. "No offense."

McCoy shrugged. "None taken. It's a small movie."

"Exactly," Pike said. "Someone with some sense, good."

"How am I going to find a cast—" Kirk began.

"Oh don't give me that," Pike said. "We all know that there are plenty of name actors in this town who would jump at the chance to grab some cred by being attached to this project. And you can talk just about anybody into just about anything, Jim Kirk, so I'm not worried about you."

"I just hope some of them can act," Kirk replied.

"Speaking of your persuasive abilities," Pike continued, "and our previous conversation about Spock's intermittent ability to keep you in line, there's someone I want you to meet." He looked past them to the girl in the chair. "Nyota? Why don't you come sit up here with us."

McCoy stood and pulled out a chair for her, and she nodded her thanks.

"This is Nyota Uhura, one of our young executives," Pike said. "She'll be your Fleet liaison for this project."

"What?" Kirk asked. "But I always work directly with you."

"And that has been a delight, believe me," Pike replied dryly. "But That Which Survives isn't a two-hundred-million-dollar summer blockbuster. My doctor is already worried about my blood pressure, which I'm certain will skyrocket if I have to fight you over every dime that you try to inch over the budget. Nyota's been working on Bread and Circuses since it started, so you can't doubt her understanding of and commitment to character-driven drama." Bread and Circuses was a high-profile, high-prestige drama that had run on pay cable for three seasons so far, earning both favorable buzz and a shelf of awards.

"We certainly cannot," Spock replied. He turned to Uhura. "Welcome to the team," he said.

McCoy could have sworn he heard Kirk whisper "suck up" under his breath.

"Thank you," she said with a little smile. "I look forward to working with you all."

"And don't think you can go over Nyota's head to me, Kirk," Pike warned. "I'll back her up all the way."

"Whatever you say, Chief," Kirk said, grinning.

"All right. Run along and play nice," Pike said, dismissing them with a wave.

Just outside the door, Jean-Luc was perched atop the admin's desk; behind it sat a woman McCoy assumed was the aforementioned "Beverly." "Well?" Jean-Luc asked.

Kirk shook his head. "Fifteen."

Jean-Luc grimaced.

"Round up the usual suspects, J.L.," said Kirk as he walked out of the bungalow. "See if everyone can make a meeting tomorrow morning. We're gonna have to take apart Spock's budget at forty and rebuild it from the ground up."

"Like taking apart a script?" Jean-Luc asked.

"Yep, only this time, thanks to Bones, we won't have to do that." He grinned at McCoy, who, like Spock and Uhura, was walking along behind him. "But yeah, the room, the supplies, the food, the whole nine yards."

"I'll get right on it," Jean-Luc said, and trotted on ahead of them.

Kirk stopped walking, and turned to Uhura. "Now, Nyota, is that right?"

She crossed her arms. "Ms. Uhura."

"Oh," Kirk said, smirking, "so we're doing that whole Miss-Jackson-if-you're-nasty thing? Because I admit I'm getting a Rhythm Nation vibe off that suit." He paused, but she said nothing. "Anyway, Ms. Uhura, since my number one priority is not pissing off Pike, you don't have to worry about my going over your head. He said don't, that means don't."

"Good."

"So can we at least drop the 'mister' and 'miss'? How about I call you Uhura, and you call me Kirk?"

"I can do that," she replied. "Kirk."

"Great," Kirk said, and they continued walking back to the bungalow.

McCoy glanced at Spock. "Something tells me she won't be getting a nom du cinema."

"Perhaps not," Spock said, nodding. "However, I have yet to see a person who was not eventually won over by Jim's intelligence and ability, if not his charm. Certainly Uhura seems quite intelligent herself. I will have to ask Jean-Luc to acquire episodes of her program for me."

Back in the office, Kirk was all brisk efficiency. "I assume you've read the script, Uhura?" he asked as he sat down at his desk.

"Of course," she replied. "I also have Spock's budget."

"Then you're all set for tomorrow." He glanced up at Jean-Luc, who had stuck his head into the room. "Yeah?"

"I was just making sure—I'm not calling Carol about this meeting, am I?"

"No," Kirk said. "Huh, that's gonna be weird. Who's gonna bring the donuts?"

"Donuts?" McCoy asked.

"Carol Marcus has a weakness for donuts," Spock replied, "so much so that they are banned from the craft services table when she is on set. Generally she will bring a dozen donuts to our meetings, and take one bite from each of the donuts in an attempt to satisfy her craving without also causing her to panic about possible weight gain."

"And then she gives you half-eaten donuts?" McCoy asked.

"They're dainty little bites, Bones," Kirk said, holding up his thumb and forefinger. "Carol's big mouth is only figurative."

"'Well, I'm the new guy," McCoy said, "so I reckon I'll bring 'em. Without the bites, though."

"I could bring fruit," Uhura said.

Spock looked up. "Thank you, Ms. Uhura."

"You're welcome," she replied. "Well I should get back to my office, take care of some other things." She stood, and as McCoy stood with her she held out her hand to him. "McCoy, it's a pleasure to meet you. I was a teenager in Washington Heights when Three to Tango premiered and it meant a lot to see someone like me on TV."

McCoy smiled. "I bet you were a dancer too, weren't you? A ballerina?"

"How could you tell?" she asked.

"Nothing like ballet for getting people to sit up straight," he replied. "All the credit for the character of Zoe goes to Krish Puri, but I'm sure he would have been tickled to hear that."

"Washington Heights?" Kirk asked. "I had you pegged for a suburban girl. You know, with the Harvard degree and all."

Uhura looked at Kirk and pursed her lips. "Most people do," she replied, and walked out of the room.

"Damn," Kirk said.

"Indeed," Spock replied.

McCoy resisted the urge to laugh; it was pretty clear that Kirk wasn't used to his charm not working. He was about to take his own leave when he noticed a familiar book on Kirk's desk. "The Naked Time?" he said, sitting back down. "That's almost as beat up as my copy,"

"Yeah?" Kirk said, picking up the paperback that contained the shooting script and production notes for the small character-driven romance that launched the indie movement back in the late 80s. He flipped through the pages, and McCoy could see that they were covered with notes. "Jonathan Archer's pretty much my favorite director. He's so fucking versatile. I'd love to have a career like his. Though I'm doing it backwards, I guess—big budget to indie instead of indie to big budget."

"When I was first writing scripts I took that movie apart and put it back together," McCoy said. "It's rock solid."

Kirk chuckled. "I keep this at home, but is it clichéd that I got it back out after I read your script?"

"No," McCoy replied, smiling. "Not clichéd at all."

---

McCoy should have known that Kirk's meetings wouldn't be like anyone else's. For one thing, he didn't run them exactly, but rather threw various questions out to the room and then watched as his crew discussed them. At the moment cinematographer Hikaru Sulu and production designer Montgomery Scott (who insisted on going by "Scotty") were having a very detailed technical conversation on the pros and cons of digital video. At least, it didn't sound like an argument, though with Scotty's penchant for shouting, which made his brogue even more pronounced, it was hard to tell. Spock listened, head cocked, occasionally asking questions to keep the discussion from flying off the rails. Uhura's note-taking had slowed, and McCoy wondered if she was as lost as he was. The technical details of a television show didn't tend to change much from one week to the next even on a high-end drama like Bread & Circuses, never mind a traditional three-camera sitcom like Three to Tango.

Kirk, on the other hand, didn't seem to be paying attention at all, but was instead making his way through a Sunday New York Times crossword puzzle McCoy recognized as being from about three weeks ago. McCoy had expected him to attack the pastries but he refrained, instead taking an apple, a very large bowl of Uhura's fruit salad, and nibbling on some cornmeal thing he'd brought. McCoy's attention had been captured by Spock's incredibly precise method of eating a jelly donut: he tore the pastry in neat halves from the hole where the jelly had been inserted, then dipped small bits of donut into the two jelly craters. McCoy was idly wondering exactly what kind of childhood trauma could have produced both the desire for a jelly donut and such an insanely anal method of consuming them while listening to Spock drone on about the need for economy.

"Gentlemen," he was saying, "we simply cannot spend four hundred dollars per spool on film with a fifteen million dollar budget. That is why I suggest digital video."

"No. If we want it to look as it should it must be film," Scotty said, "or we might as well be making a TV show." He turned to Uhura and McCoy. "No offense."

Kirk looked up suddenly. "What about sixteen millimeter?" he asked. "We can get Ektachrome 100D color reversal for forty bucks a spool." He turned to Sulu. "Ever shot on that before? I picked up a couple of Arriflex 16SR2s after I got out of film school, been shooting some stuff on them here and there."

McCoy looked at Uhura, sitting opposite him, who seemed equally surprised that Kirk had even been paying attention, much less formulating a way out of their impasse.

Sulu, however, didn't so much as blink. "Yeah, I have an Arriflex 16SR at home myself and actually, I figured out how to get a nice warm vintage look from Kodak Plus-x reversal, and that's even cheaper."

Kirk smiled. "That's why we call you the pilot. Scotty, can you work with that?"

"'Course I can," he replied, sounding a bit insulted to have been asked.

"Sixteen millimeter it is, then," Kirk said, nodding, and just like that the decision was made. "What's next, locations?"

"Scouts have come back with several," Scotty replied. "Headed to Georgia next week to take a closer look."

"Excellent," Spock replied. "The sooner we secure a location, the sooner we can work with the state regarding economic incentives."

Sulu looked down at Spock's preliminary budget. "Say, Cap, who's cutting this one?" he asked.

"Oh, me," Kirk replied "No reason to bring in the team, since there aren't any effects. Can't afford them, anyway." He looked down at the very rough agenda Jean-Luc had written up. "Casting?"

"I have some suggestions from the studio for the nurse and the father," Jean-Luc said, "but I think you'll agree that none of them are quite right." He handed around copies of a list of names.

McCoy glanced at the sheet and sighed. It wasn't that there were no names—they couldn't afford them anyway—but that he wasn't sure the actors on the list were really up for the challenge.

"No, you're right," Kirk said, looking over the list.

"Kirk, if I might make a suggestion?" Uhura asked.

"Of course," he replied. "You don't need to ask."

Uhura nodded. "What about Gaila?" she asked. "I believe you know her quite well."

"I do," he replied, smiling a little.

"Could be a good change for her," Uhura continued. "And I happen to know that she's free."

"You would know," Kirk said, nodding, as Gaila was currently starring in Bread & Circuses. "That's a great suggestion, Uhura, thank you. Jean-Luc, let's get her a script. I'll put a note on it."

"Will do," Jean-Luc said. "We've sent the script to Pavel Chekov as well, and we're waiting to hear back from his people."

"That kid from the Disney show?" McCoy asked. "Charlie X?"

"Yeah," Kirk said. "Why?"

"I dunno," McCoy said, searching for a reason why it didn't feel right. "Don't those Disney kids have to sign morals clauses not to show their bellybuttons or something?"

Kirk grinned. "He's not Annette Funicello, Bones," he said. "I don't know if you've noticed, but those former-Disney kids have been making a lot of trouble the last few years."

"I guess," McCoy replied. "But doesn't he seem kinda young?"

"He'll turn eighteen a week before shooting begins," Jean-Luc said.

Sulu caught Scott's eye, and they both snickered.

"Gentlemen?" Spock asked. "Is there something humorous about child labor laws that I am unaware of?"

The two looked at each other again, then Sulu said, "Good news for the Cap. I think they call it barely legal?" He winked.

"C'mon, guys," Kirk said, laughing nervously. "You make it sound like I'm out trolling the high schools." He glanced at McCoy, then quickly looked away.

"Naw," Scotty said, "but there was Miri."

"Yeah, speaking of trouble-making Disney kids," Sulu added.

"In hindsight, Miri was a mistake," Kirk said.

Uhura looked at McCoy and raised her eyebrows. McCoy had noticed Kirk's discomfort with Miri the night of the premiere, so he wasn't as surprised at Kirk's admission.

"Actually," Spock said, "Jim has assured me that there will be no such assignation during the course of this production."

"Well," Sulu said. "That's that, then."

"So," Kirk said, "if we're done discussing my love life—and really, guys, thanks for stepping up in Carol's absence—" this earned him renewed snickers from Sulu and Scotty—"then I think we're done here."

After some further handshakes, Scotty and Sulu left to work on their assigned tasks. Uhura and Spock were comparing notes, no doubt in order to tweak the budget, and Jean-Luc began to tidy the room.

"They call you 'Cap'?" McCoy asked. "Is that for Cap Garland?"

"No, but that's kinda cool, actually," Kirk replied. "Hear that, Spock? I think that makes you Almanzo. Gotta get you a team of horses so you can find your Laura."

Spock just stared blankly, but Uhura said, "I hate to ruin this heroic picture, but Cap Garland died in a boiler explosion when he was twenty-six."

"Yikes," Kirk replied.

---

Kirk mostly left McCoy alone the rest of the week, which was just as well as he'd wanted to finish up his previous projects anyway. The most important of those was for the actor whose commissions paid the mortgage. A bankable movie star known for his sarcastic quips between action sequences, he'd met McCoy when he did a guest spot on Three to Tango, and was the first to extend a hand when McCoy started looking for script doctoring work. Out of loyalty at least, McCoy was determined to finish his work for the action star before getting too far into production for That Which Survives.

He was in the homestretch Thursday when Kirk sent him a text.

Kirk—>McCoy
fanTAStic convo w/Chekov. having lunch next week, maybe a reading!

McCoy—>Kirk
A reading for whose benefit, since you're so gung-ho?

Kirk—>McCoy
you of course. wanna make you comf. w/him.

McCoy—>Kirk
Me, the lowly writer? Nah, there's someone else.

Kirk—>McCoy
well, Fleet, but b/c of you, so may as well be you.

McCoy—>Kirk
Maybe so

Kirk—>McCoy
trust me! say, busy Saturday? or is that a dad day?

McCoy—>Kirk
Jo's with her mom on weekends. Why?

Kirk—>McCoy
have someone I want you to meet. pick you up around 3?

McCoy—>Kirk
sure

McCoy gave his address, and Kirk replied:

Kirk—>McCoy
it'll be great. fun, laughs, good time

McCoy—>Kirk
looking forward to it, big spender

Kirk—>McCoy
better work on your frug

McCoy—>Kirk
hey, I'm not the rich man here

Kirk—>McCoy
and I'm not for hire?

McCoy—>Kirk
fine, Charity, you want me to get dinner?

Kirk—>McCoy
nah, it'll be provided. I take care of my people, Bones

McCoy—>Kirk
duly noted.

That was all—just as well as McCoy needed to leave to pick up Joanna. He glanced in the mirror to make sure his hair wasn't doing something odd—there had been incidents in the past and he had been sternly warned by Joanna, who could look unsettlingly like McCoy's own mother when she was displeased—and noticed that he was smiling. Not that it was that unusual; Joanna had been making him smile since she was born.

---

McCoy went to dinner Friday night with some writer pals who'd been calling him since the news of the deal had hit Variety. The boys got him plenty of drinks, pumping him for info on the infamous Kirk, but McCoy didn't have much dirt that they didn't. After all, he'd only actually been in the same room with the guy three times, four if you counted the premiere. Still, he didn't tell them about the noms du cinema, or that he was seeing Kirk the next day. Neither quite felt like gossip to be dined out on.

---

After that late night, McCoy decided to give himself the morning off. Well, mostly; he did manage to fix the drip in the bathroom sink. But after that, and some warmed up stir-fry leftover from Thursday night, he settled out on the front porch with a bloody mary and some Fitzgerald.

A little before three, McCoy spotted Kirk on the Triumph motorcycle he'd seen at Fleet. Kirk parked a little beyond the house, then bounded up the front steps, helmets in hand. "Flappers and Philosophers?" he asked, turning his head to read the title. "That has 'Bernice Bobs Her Hair,' right?"

"Yep," McCoy replied, getting up and gesturing for Kirk to follow him into the house. "Did you read it in high school?" he asked.

"Yeah, like everyone else," Kirk replied, "though the story about the spoiled girl and the guy who pretends to be a pirate is my favorite." Kirk picked up the book where McCoy had left it on the coffee table. "Yeah, 'The Offshore Pirate.' Always thought it'd make a good rom-com, if you could get rid of the weird racism."

McCoy checked the lock on the back door, then sat own on the couch to put on socks and shoes. "That's why most people haven't read that one. But where did you come across it?"

"Oh, college. Took a seminar in Fitzgerald."

"Thought you went to film school."

"I did, but Winona—my mother—thought I should have a regular B.A., so I got one in English."

"At the same time?" McCoy asked, looking up sharply.

"Kind of," Kirk replied. "What do you think?"

"Of what?"

"Would it make a good movie?"

"Oh." McCoy thought for a moment as he finished tying his shoe. "Yeah, it could. You'd have to expand the bit about the gigolo boyfriend and do something about the band, but yeah."

"Great. We'll make it next. I mean, if they can make something out of 'Benjamin Button'—that isn't even a very good story."

McCoy shook his head. "Let's get this movie off the ground first, okay?"

Kirk smiled. "Gotta stay one step ahead, Bones," he replied, looking around the room. "Cozy."

"We like it," McCoy said as he slipped on his jacket.

Kirk looked down the hall. "Huh, she is a fan," he said. "Or at least I assume that poster of Carol is on her bedroom door, not yours."

"No, that's Jo's." He grabbed his keys and wallet. "Shall we?"

"Oh, yeah," Kirk said, following him out and handing him one of the helmets.

"Where are we headed?" McCoy asked, getting on the bike.

"Relax and leave that up to me," he replied. "Fun, laughs, good time, remember?"

Kirk took them up the coast, seemingly in no particular hurry. He'd certainly picked a good day for it, with the sun shining brightly on the water, so McCoy just sat back and enjoyed the scenery, the rumble of the bike between his legs and yes, the feel of Kirk's body against his. McCoy figured why not enjoy it; as M'Benga had said, he wasn't in much danger. They zoomed along all the way up to Point Mugu before turning around and meandering back to Malibu. There they pulled over at one of the roadside fish places, grabbed a table on the deck and ordered beer and a bucket of shrimp.

"So, Jo's with her mother this weekend?" Kirk asked.

"Every weekend," McCoy replied. "She's with me during the week, has been since junior high. Easier for me to take her to school. Why?"

"Well, I was thinking of getting out of town next week, you and I, and working on that script."

McCoy shrugged. "I can work something out with Jocelyn. Especially if we wrap it around the weekend. I've certainly helped her out when work took her out of town."

"What does she do?" Kirk asked.

"Choreographer. Mostly those pop girls, videos and tours and such."

"You two sound pretty amicable."

McCoy peeled a shrimp. "Divorce was eight years ago now," he said, "and we have a daughter. It wasn't amicable at the time, believe me. We share custody now, and at least she married the guy." He bit into the shrimp, but Kirk wasn't saying anything, just staring. "What?"

"Eight years ago—isn't that when Three to Tango ended?"

McCoy winced, inwardly he hoped. Damn truth kept spilling out. "Yeah—job, house, wife, daughter, gone within about three months. Never rains but it pours, right? But eventually I got it all back, or close enough, anyway." He looked around the room, desperate for a new topic, and as Kirk reached forward for another shrimp he saw the glint of metal on his wrist. "Is that a medic-alert?"

Kirk looked at his wrist, then flashed a shy smile McCoy hadn't seen yet. "Yeah. Penicillin. Kinda dorky, but what are you gonna do. Also got hay fever pretty bad as a kid, but it's better now." He cocked his head. "Hope that's not because of the smog."

"So what you're saying is, despite the Triumph and the designer t-shirts and the string of partners, you're just as much of a geek as the rest of us."

"Bones, I went to film school. Of course I'm a geek."

McCoy chuckled along with Kirk. "Is that the secret to your success with the ladies?" he asked.

"I like to think it's my charm," Kirk replied.

"I hadn't noticed any," McCoy said, taking a slug of beer.

"Really?" Kirk said. "Because it works on guys, too."

"'So I've heard," McCoy replied.

Kirk snickered. "Yeah, West Hollywood is full of gossips, isn't it? I keep hearing about some hunky writer with an irritable disposition, runs around with an actor friend, never sees the same guy twice."

"Never run into anyone like that," McCoy said, his eyes twinkling. "But who goes to those places for anything permanent?"

"True," Kirk said. "And there's a time and a place for everything, including the temporary and fleeting."

"I agree," McCoy said, and their eyes locked.

And then Kirk's phone rang, ending the moment. "Hey! Ready for us? … Yeah. We're at the bar having shrimp and beer. … One beer! You sound like my nanny. … Great. We'll leave now." He hung up and looked at McCoy. "Good to go?" he asked, reaching for his wallet.

"Sure, but where are we headed?" McCoy asked.

Kirk threw some bills on the table. "Oh, sorry—Gaila is making dinner for us tonight at her place up in Topanga. She loved the script and wanted to meet you."

"And you were going to tell me this when?" McCoy asked.

Kirk grinned. "At some point after we left your house and before we got to hers. Trust in the process, Bones."

Gaila lived in a small arts and crafts-style house nestled back from the road. She met them at the door in a floor-length diaphanous purple caftan, and given that her day job required her to wear a copper bikini, McCoy couldn't blame her for covering up in her down time. She had a headful of red curls and a grin that rivaled Kirk's.

"Jimmy!" she exclaimed, giving him a big hug. "So great to see you."

"You too," he replied. "This is Leonard McCoy. Bones, this is Gaila, who needs no last name."

"Very pleased to meet you," McCoy said, extending his hand.

"Oh please," Gaila replied, and hugged him. "C'mon in, dinner's on the patio." She took them through a living room stuffed with curios from around the globe and out to a stone patio next to a modest pool. A table was set for three, a bowl covered with plastic wrap in the middle. "I'll go get the tagine; it's just heating up."

"Need a hand?" McCoy asked.

"You could open the wine," she answered as she went into the kitchen.

McCoy poured them each a glass of the Portuguese rosé that had been chilling in a bucket next to the table. Gaila emerged from the kitchen carrying a platter covered with a conical lid. "Here you go," she said, lifting the lid to reveal a dark, fragrant stew studded with olives and onions. "Tofu tagine!"

"Don't fret, Bones. Gaila is an amazing cook," Kirk said, taking the plastic wrap off the other bowl. "Ooh, couscous!"

"Quinoa," Gaila replied. "You think I'd serve you pasta?"

"Why not?" McCoy asked.

"Because Jimmy here shouldn't be eating gluten," she said, giving him a glare.

"C'mon, the intolerance is pretty mild," Kirk replied.

"Even more reason," Gaila said, "since I know you cheat."

"Not that often!" Kirk protested. "I had a corn fritter instead of a donut! Ask Bones!"

"And you had a beer today," she said. "You know you'll feel better. Honestly, if I didn't take care of you I don't know who would."

"Take care of you?" McCoy asked.

"She found me this food delivery service," he said. "They just put it in my fridge, a week of food."

"Lactose and gluten free," Gaila said.

Kirk rolled his eyes, but he still looked a bit chastened. "Anyway it's good and it's easy," he said. "I can have cheese you know."

Gaila frowned. "Not from me," she said.

McCoy looked at them both, and then burst into laughter.

"What?" Kirk asked.

"She's perfect," McCoy said.

"Oh," Kirk said, blinking. He turned to Gaila, who was smiling. "I know you can play the part. If I didn't—"

"You wouldn't have sent me Leonard's script," she said. "I know. It's about time I show that I can do something other than scheme while scantily clad."

"Great," Kirk said, pulling his blackberry out of his pocket.

"What are you doing?" McCoy asked.

"Letting Spock and Uhura know," Kirk replied.

"Now?" McCoy asked. "In the middle of dinner?"

"We haven't started yet," Kirk said. "Besides, I'm sure Uhura will be glad to know her suggestion panned out."

"How are you two getting along?" Gaila asked.

Kirk shrugged. "You pals with her?"

"Not exactly," Gaila replied. "I like her, but she's hard to get close to."

"You can say that again," he said, putting the phone away.

"I'm sure at least half of that is your reputation, Jimmy," Gaila replied. "You can't blame her for not wanting to get ensnared."

"Jim's promised his crew he isn't going to do that on this movie," McCoy said.

Gaila raised her eyebrows. "What will the gossip sites do? Defamer has had a betting pool for each of your movies."

"I don't know, go back to trying to out Clooney?" Kirk was scowling.

McCoy, hoping to change the subject, raised his glass. "I'd say this occasion calls for a toast. Thank you, Gaila. Look forward to working with you."

Gaila beamed. "Thank you, Leonard. Such a gentleman, isn't he?"

Kirk locked eyes with McCoy. "That he is."

After that they tucked into the tagine—which was so good that McCoy got the recipe from Gaila to surprise Joanna—and talked of mutual friends and acquaintances. Easy to do, as Hollywood was almost as much of a small town as the one McCoy had grown up in.

"How long have you two known each other?" McCoy asked.

"Eight years I think?" Kirk said.

"Almost," Gaila replied. "Filming started on Kobyashi Maru in July 2000."

"Huh," McCoy said. "I remember you in that, Gaila—"

"Kept woman with a heart of gold," Gaila said mockingly. "The schemers came later."

"—but I didn't realize you were involved, Jim."

"AD," he said. "So you've seen it?"

"It's infamous. Everyone in Hollywood has seen it," McCoy replied.

"Just no one else," Kirk said.

"I heard it was a rough shoot," McCoy said. "That Nero got way out of control."

"Oh, you have to tell him the story, Jimmy," Gaila said, nudging him.

Kirk grinned. "Okay. Kobyashi Maru was my first job out of film school. As first assistant director I also got to direct some second unit stuff, a pretty simple stunt that the stunt coordinator was in charge of anyway. But as I planned out the scene I realized that what Nero wanted me to do and what the stunt coordinator had planned wouldn't work together. And Nero—let's just say that it wasn't a collaborative environment on set."

Gaila shuddered. "It was my first film, too, and if I hadn't had my fellow actors telling me that it wasn't always like that I would have gone back to the theater!"

McCoy shrugged. "Nero gets results. Buys him a lot of leeway."

"So I put out the word, talked to a couple of his old ADs," Kirk continued. "Turns out, it was a set up. The studio didn't want him shooting second unit, and his producers were always fighting his tendency to get lost in the details. But he hated the idea of someone else doing any of it, so he'd set second unit up to fail, then reshoot it himself, and come out looking like a problem solver who'd given a young kid a chance."

"Nice," McCoy said.

"Isn't it just?" Gaila replied.

"What did you do?" McCoy asked.

"I went to the stunt coordinator and talked to him about what he knew and what I knew about what Nero actually needed, and we reworked the entire thing, start to finish."

McCoy raised his eyebrows.

"See, that's exactly how Spock reacted," Kirk said.

"That's not true," Gaila said. "He wouldn't talk to you for the entire two weeks before the second unit shoot."

"Okay, so he raised his eyebrows at me, and then we had a huge fight where he suggested that perhaps I needed to learn how to accept failure with grace and I said I'd already had enough failure in my life, thanks, and that I didn't believe in no-win scenarios especially when they're bullshit setups because in the real world there's always a way and you just have to find it. That's your job, as the director. You keep trying—you don't just stop, you know?" He looked up at McCoy.

McCoy nodded slowly. "Yeah," he replied. They held each other's eyes for a long moment before Kirk looked away.

"And it was after that fight, that Spock wouldn't talk to me and I spent more time in Gaila's hotel room than in ours."

"Spock worked on that film too?" McCoy asked.

"Yeah, assistant producer," Kirk said. "And then the second unit stuff came back and Nero was all set to bury me, only he couldn't without looking like an idiot because the footage was good. Meanwhile Kobyashi Maru had gone so far over budget that he couldn't reshoot anyway." Kirk grinned.

"That stunt coordinator didn't get hell for it either?"

"Who, Cupcake? Naw," Kirk said. "He's been the stunt coordinator for all the Bibi Besch films, actually."

McCoy sat back in his chair. "Well, you just make friends wherever you go, don't you?"

Kirk shrugged. "Most of them don't like me when they meet me. Cupcake didn't. Carol didn't. I don't think Spock did either."

"I did," Gaila said.

"You're the exception, Gigi," he said, taking her hand and smiling. "And anyway, that's rich coming from you, Bones. Everyone in this town at least respects you even if they do think you're a grumpy bastard. But I happen to like grumpy bastards."

"Lucky me," McCoy said.

"Damn straight," Kirk replied, his eyes twinkling.

"Well!" Gaila said, rising. "I made horchata rice pudding for dessert! With almond and rice milk!"

By the time they left Gaila's, full of easily the most delicious wheat-free, meat-free and dairy-free meal McCoy had ever eaten, it was nearly ten p.m. He was about to strap on his helmet when Kirk said, "So, I could take you home … "

"Or?" McCoy asked.

"Or, my place is just up the 101 from here." He gave McCoy a level stare.

If it had been anyone else, a one-night stand with his director would be a monumentally stupid idea. But this was Jim Kirk, so for him it was probably just another bonding experience. "Only if you take the freeway as fast as possible."

Kirk grinned. "Of course, Bones," he said, "but you'll have to hold on."

"Somehow," McCoy muttered, climbing onto the bike behind Kirk, "I don't think that will be a problem."

---

---

4: Change of Plans
Something must happen to your hero one-fourth of the way through your screenplay that will transform the original desire into a specific, visible goal with a clearly defined end point. This is the scene where your story concept is defined, and your hero's outer motivation is revealed.

All things considered, Kirk thought he was doing a good job of playing it cool. McCoy was hot, but it was just sex.

So as he rode back to the Hollywood Hills he was feeling pretty damn smug about the whole evening. He hadn't even had a plan when he suggested they get together other than some vague bonding, and now they were walking into his house together.

"Wanna drink?" Kirk asked, throwing his keys on the kitchen counter.

"Sure," McCoy replied, sitting on one of the stools.

"Whiskey?"

"Bourbon?"

Kirk nodded and grabbed glasses from the cabinet. "So," he said as he poured, "come here often?" He grinned.

McCoy raised an eyebrow. "First time," he replied. "Got a lot of folks coming in here?"

"Not as many as people think."

"Business like that doesn't last forever," McCoy said. "You'd be a fool not to make the most of it."

Kirk bowed slightly. "Thank you," he said, handing McCoy his glass. "Cheers."

"Cheers," McCoy said, and took a sip. He held it in his mouth for a moment, really tasting it, then swallowed and licked his lips. That little move had been driving Kirk crazy all night, but he held back.

"Living room?" Kirk asked.

McCoy rose and followed him. "Great view."

"Yeah. Half the reason I bought the place," Kirk said, looking at the lights twinkling in the city below.

"So you have a couch facing the view and a couch facing a blank wall?"

"Oh, no," Kirk said, grabbing the remote and activating the screen, which displayed Doris Day (in a very smart hat and cape) talking to Tony Randall.

"Is that Pillow Talk?" McCoy asked, sitting next to Kirk on the couch.

"Yeah, I was watching it this morning. It's one of my favorites."

"You do seem to live like the Rock Hudson character. Stereotypical bachelor-around-town."

"Actually I'm Doris Day."

"Really?"

"Sure. She's smart and tough but she's also blond and hot so she gets underestimated a lot."

"Huh," McCoy said. "Dunno that you get underestimated that much anymore, Jim."

"Oh, I do. You know, I think half the reason I wanted Janice Rand as my agent is that she has the same name as Doris Day in this movie."

"Same hair, too," McCoy said, and they laughed. "So you like rom-coms?"

"Classic ones, yeah. Grew up watching them on TV with my grandmother. Always identified more with the girls."

"See, I would have taken you for the Steve McQueen silent man-of-action type. You know, with the bike and the spy films and all."

"I wish," Kirk said. "But I can't seem to shut up long enough to achieve that."

"I can help you with that," McCoy said with a raised eyebrow.

Kirk grinned. "I thought your trade was getting people to talk."

McCoy shook his head, but he was smiling. "Shut up, Jim," he said, and kissed him.

Finally those lips were on his and saying "meet me halfway," a request Kirk was more than happy to oblige. As they moved closer their knees bumped and McCoy slipped a hand into Kirk's hair.

They paused and Kirk let himself stare at McCoy. "Let's take this upstairs," he said.

Shoes, jackets, jeans and T-shirts melted away but it wasn't rushed, just friendly and deliberate. McCoy was actually smiling, so Kirk couldn't stop grinning, especially as McCoy undressed and revealed just how toned that surprisingly-good-for-a-writer body of his was. Once the clothes were gone they kissed again, standing next to the bed, and then Jim said, "So what would you like?"

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

"I'm not a bossy control freak here, Bones," Jim said. "But I do know what I want."

"And what's that?"

Kirk traced a thumb along McCoy's slightly open lips, and he responded by licking at the pad of Kirk's thumb, then sucking it into his mouth. Kirk gasped at the sudden wet heat.

McCoy released his thumb with a slurp. "That what you want?"

"Y-yeah," Kirk managed.

McCoy sank down to his knees, hot and determined but not particularly graceful, and Kirk was relieved because McCoy was a writer so the body, fine, but moving like a panther would have been a bit much. He was stroking Kirk's dick, taking a moment to get acquainted, and something about his sure strokes and that fierce look in his eye told Kirk to enjoy the process and not rush him. McCoy's other hand was stroking Kirk's side and ass, as though he were a horse that needed soothing, and Kirk relaxed into his touch, resting his hands on McCoy's broad shoulders. McCoy's mouth wrapped around the head of his cock and Kirk had to gasp again at the warm, wet softness.

Kirk reached down to brush the hair out of McCoy's eyes. He looked even better than Kirk had imagined with those full lips stretched around Kirk's cock, eyes closed in concentration. He apparently wasn't a settle-into-a-rhythm kind of guy, but kept changing it up, and Kirk thought he'd probably be pretty tough to beat at tennis. While on the list of associations his mind had made during sex, it really wasn't the strangest, Kirk decided to close his eyes, give into the sensations and stop thinking so much.

Once he put himself completely in McCoy's hands, it wasn't long before he felt like he was floating, McCoy his only anchor point. When he came it was like falling out of the sky, exhilarating and sudden, and he had to grab hold of McCoy with both hands to stay upright.

McCoy let his cock slip out of his mouth and sat back on his haunches, smirking. "Work for ya?"

Kirk shrugged, "Sure," he said, still breathless, and McCoy laughed, shaking his head. "Get your ass on the bed," Kirk said.

"What happened to not being a bossy control freak?" McCoy asked as he rose to his feet.

"Details, Bones," Kirk said.

McCoy's lips were red, and that was from his cock and he had to kiss him if just to shut him up. McCoy tasted of him and it made Kirk feel wildly possessive for an instant, though that was probably just the determination to give as good as he'd just got.

McCoy sat at the foot of the bed and it was Kirk's turn to get down on his knees. McCoy's cock was almost purple, hard as a rock, and Kirk's mouth watered to look at it. He sucked it in, his hands resting on McCoy's muscular thighs to steady himself. He leaned forward, using lips, tongue and cheeks as he inched McCoy's cock slowly, steadily into his mouth. One of McCoy's big hands rested on his head, fingers in his hair, thumb stroking his temple and cheekbone. He breathed shallow through his nose until he reached his goal.

"Jesus," McCoy said.

Kirk smiled—sort of—and then set to work, listening carefully for grunts of approval and repeating the motions that gained responses, trying to get McCoy's stroking hand to move less calmly.

He could feel McCoy's breathing quicken, and when McCoy shouted "Fuck, Jim, gonna—" he quickly pulled back until only the head was in his mouth, and McCoy came across his tongue.

McCoy let go of Kirk and flopped back on the bed, panting. Jim lay beside him, on his side, head leaning against his hand, and smiled.

McCoy grunted. "Don't have to look so smug," he said.

Kirk grinned wider. "No more smug than you were, Bones!"

"Point," McCoy said, rising up on his elbows.

"Water?"

"Yeah."

Kirk grabbed a couple of bottles from the cooler in the bathroom. When he returned McCoy had turned down the bed and was sitting up against the headboard, pillows propped up behind his back. Kirk tossed him a bottle and joined him.

"What do you usually do now?" McCoy asked.

Kirk shrugged. "Talk, maybe watch a movie." He stopped and thought about who'd been in that bed lately, then said, "Okay, usually just watch a movie. You?"

"Go home," McCoy said, then took a swig of water.

"They're never at your place?"

"No."

"Huh," Kirk said. "So, we could still watch a movie."

"Sure."

Kirk reached into the bedside table for the remote and clicked on the widescreen at the foot of the bed.

"It's still Pillow Talk?" McCoy asked.

"Oh, yeah, there's a central server for all the screens in the house."

"What if people want to see different movies?"

Kirk cocked his head. "What people? I live alone, Bones."

"Oh, right."

They fell into a companionable silence, watching Doris Day sing some goofball song while Rock Hudson looked on lovingly. Kirk tried not to stare, especially at McCoy's muscular chest, but it had all gone a bit fast and he hadn't been able to explore.

"Jesus, Jim, we're not in junior high."

"What?" Kirk asked.

"Stop being coy." McCoy tossed his now empty bottle into the basket in the corner. "We could go again."

Kirk grinned. He set his own bottle on the nightstand and turned to McCoy, sliding a hand across that pretty chest. "Yeah, we could," he said. McCoy kissed him, his big hand grasping the back of Kirk's head, and Kirk thought this go around, he was going to take as much time as he wanted.

---

The next morning Kirk opened his eyes, then blinked, not sure for a moment if the events of the previous evening had actually happened. He rolled over to confirm and found an empty bed, a note on the pillow:

went SWIMMING in your pool
where's the damn COFFEE?

Kirk smiled and rose out of bed to look out his window at the pool below. Sure enough, McCoy was swimming laps.

Only he was naked. Swimming backstroke.

Kirk enjoyed the view for a bit, then went downstairs to start the coffee maker. It seemed kind of rude to put on clothes when McCoy hadn't, so he was naked as well when he brought mugs and milk out to the pool. McCoy, seeing him, swam over to the edge and hopped up onto the ledge, sitting with his feet in the water, and Kirk joined him.

"I know you take it milk no sugar," Kirk said, "but all I have is soy milk and some object to that, so I just brought it out."

"Soy's fine," McCoy said, slurping the black coffee to make room for the milk. "How did you know that?"

"We did have breakfast, Bones."

"You remembered?"

"Yeah, well," Kirk said, "I remember basically everything. It's sort of my superpower. I know it unnerves people sometimes, but it doesn't mean I've got a notebook about you or something."

"Then I'm disappointed," McCoy said, smiling.

Kirk smiled back. It was nice to see McCoy so at ease. "Didn't take you for an exhibitionist, Bones."

"Didn't exactly bring a suit, Jim."

"Yeah, but the backstroke?"

"Oh, M'Benga said I needed to loosen up my back."

"M'Benga? So that's why you have the body of an actor."

McCoy chuckled. "Geoff's an old friend—he did a half season on Three to Tango back when he was still acting."

Kirk squinted for a moment. "He played Booker, right? The one Zoe almost gets engaged to?"

"Yep. Now I get free personal training, we can hang out someplace other than a bar in West Hollywood, and he calls me a walking billboard for the gym."

"It's effective," Kirk said. "Can't think of another time I'd be offering a shirt to someone who might stretch it out."

"Huh, you know," McCoy said, "I haven't stayed over at anyone's place since Jo came to live with me. Maybe even before that."

"Really?"

"Yeah—just haven't dated, I guess. I'd rather spend time with Jo, or friends."

"So is this weird?"

"No," McCoy said. "It's not weird at all, actually."

"Good," Kirk replied. "Because I want to take you to breakfast. How's Waffle House sound?"

"Why Jim Kirk," McCoy said. "You sure know how to treat a girl."

---

In the car Kirk was mostly trying not to be distracted by how McCoy filled out the Rock Hudson T-shirt he'd lent him. After all, they'd had sex twice last night and once this morning (showers and come on, they were both naked anyway) but it wasn't like they were dating, or even like the friends with benefits thing with Carol.

After they showered they'd started talking shop anyway, so Kirk suggested Spock meet them. McCoy reminded him to call Uhura, which Kirk had Spock do because she seemed to like him better, oddly.

Kirk and McCoy arrived at the Waffle House first and grabbed a booth, sitting on opposite sides. McCoy looked out the window into the parking lot. "Huh," he said. "They came together."

Kirk looked up. "She looks different in casual clothes." He waved them over as they came in.

"Good morning," Spock said, sitting next to Kirk. "I see that McCoy is wearing your shirt."

Kirk glanced up at McCoy as Uhura slid into the booth beside him. "He is."

"Shall I presume that—"

"It's like Sulu," Kirk said, cutting him off.

"Is it?" Spock asked. "Because that was unusual."

McCoy cleared his throat. "If by 'like Sulu' you mean after some flirtation having sex the one time to clear the air so you can go on being friends or coworkers or what-have-you, then yes, it's 'like Sulu.'"

"Fascinating," Spock replied. "I have never done anything like that, though I believe many think Jim and I have." He turned to Uhura. "Have you, Miss Uhura?"

Uhura's jaw dropped. "I—"

"Spock," McCoy said, eyes flashing, "where I come from you don't ask a lady about her sex life at the Waffle House."

"Is the operative part of that sentence 'lady' or 'Waffle House'?" Kirk asked, trying to lighten the mood, and was rewarded by McCoy sticking his tongue out at him.

Spock looked confused. "Carol often invites questions about her sexual activities."

"Yeah, but Carol overshares," Kirk said. "You can't go by her."

"Very well," Spock said. "Miss Uhura, I apologize."

Uhura smiled. "It's fine, Spock," she said. "I don't generally talk about my sex life, at the Waffle House or anyplace else. But no, I've never had clearing the air sex."

Spock nodded.

"Glad we have that settled," Kirk said, and signaled the waitress.

Orders made, Kirk turned to Spock. "Okay, give me the numbers."

"Don't you get the email?" Uhura asked.

"Yeah, but I can never bring myself to open it," Kirk replied.

Spock looked down at his blackberry. "45.7," he said.

"Not the total, just Saturday," Kirk clarified.

"That was Saturday," Spock replied. "The current total is 72.3."

Kirk stared at Spock. "So what you're telling me is —"

"With Sunday and Monday to go, A Taste of Armageddon is on track for an opening weekend well in excess of one hundred million dollars."

"Ha!" Kirk said. "Excellent!"

"Hope that means breakfast's on you, Jim," McCoy said.

"Always was, Bones. Always was." He drummed his hands on the table. "So thanks again, Uhura, for the suggestion. McCoy's on board, so we're go for Gaila."

"Good," she said, taking out her smartphone. "I'll get started on the deal when I'm back in the office on Tuesday."

"Which reminds me," Kirk said, taking out his own blackberry, "we should send a gift to the Bread and Circuses people for being in hiatus so we could steal two of their lovely ladies."

"I don't think they think of me as one of their lovely ladies, Kirk," Uhura said.

"Well, they should," Kirk replied.

"No, I mean, I didn't get this position by being a lovely lady."

Kirk looked up and Uhura's face was stern. "Point taken," he said. "I'll come up with something else for the card."

"Thank you," Uhura replied.

The food came then, and Kirk immediately put his toast on Spock's plate. "What?" he asked, noticing McCoy's stare.

McCoy pointed at their plates. "That's why people think you two are fucking, Jim."

"Because I don't eat toast?"

"Because you give it to him and it's clearly a habit."

Kirk shrugged. "Diners don't like substitutions. I give him my toast, he gives me his hash browns."

"I'm just sayin'," McCoy replied.

"It's one thing if it's on the gossip blogs—whatever. But people who know us well enough to watch us eat breakfast?"

"Jim," Spock said, "I believe your mother erroneously assumes that we are romantically entangled."

"Yeah, well, my mother doesn't know me very well," Jim replied. "What about you, Uhura? Did you think we were?"

Uhura paused. "When anyone asked me about those rumors, I would always say that I hoped Spock had more self-respect than to be the secret boyfriend of a notorious Lothario."

"In fact, I do," Spock replied.

"And so do I," Kirk said. "I'm a serial monogamist."

"Very short run series," McCoy said.

"Don't get picked up for a second season," Uhura added.

"Never make it to syndication," Spock said.

"Ha ha," he said, feeling a little betrayed that Spock had chosen that moment to make one of his rare jokes. "Well, save the occasional special I'm on hiatus now, so could we maybe talk about the movie?"

"It is your meeting, Jim," Spock said.

"Good. I'm having lunch with Chekov on Tuesday. Uhura, what's your take on screen tests?"

"They're useful if the actor is unknown or going for a role very different from what they usually play. Chemistry tests can be crucial for series. Why?"

"I hate 'em," Kirk said, shaking his head. "They're artificial. I always found one-on-one meetings more productive, maybe readings if necessary. When it's right, you just know in your gut. I mean, as soon as you said Gaila's name it felt right."

"So what are you really asking me, Kirk?"

"Pike never made us show him screen tests after the first movie. Sure, the villains were big names anyway, but still. I'd rather not have to screen test Chekov. We know he can act; he's got some serious stuff on his resume, not just the Disney show."

"Does Spock usually come with you to these meetings?" Uhura asked.

Spock shook his head. "Casting is Jim's forte. In addition, meeting with an actor requires a social finesse that I admit I do not possess."

McCoy grunted, and Kirk raised an eyebrow at him. "Spock, old friend, you have other strengths."

"Quite," Spock replied.

"I'd like to attend the lunch with Chekov," Uhura said. "I won't get in your way and we needn't specify I'm with Fleet if you'd rather not. But I want to observe your method before agreeing to it."

Kirk nodded. "That's fair," he said, though inwardly he winced, chafing at his new bonds. Spock sensed this as usual and noted it with a soft tap on Kirk's foot with his own foot. Aloud, Kirk continued, "I'll get you the details today or tomorrow."

"Thanks," Uhura said.

"So, Spock," Kirk said, "heard from Scotty?"

"No more than you," Spock replied. "He has yet to, as he put it, 'fall in love' with any location, but remains optimistic."

"Well, if you two are good I'd like to take Bones to Iowa next weekend to work on the script. Maybe head out Wednesday for a week?"

McCoy scrolled through his iPhone. "Should be fine," he said, "but I'll have to check."

"Great," Kirk said. "See, Spock, we can absolutely have productive meetings at the Waffle House."

"Perhaps we should have all of our meetings here," Spock said, "and you can have a regular table."

"You say that like it's a bad thing," Kirk replied.

The breakfast meeting broke up not long after that, and they went their separate ways in the parking lot, Uhura climbing into Spock's Prius while McCoy came with Kirk. The drive to Venice was pleasant—no traffic, beautiful day—but when Kirk pulled up to the house it suddenly felt a little awkward.

"Thanks," McCoy said. "I had a nice time."

"Me too," Kirk said.

McCoy nodded. "All of it."

"I should hope so," Kirk replied, grinning. "I have a reputation!"

They both laughed then. "So I'll, uh, let you know about Wednesday, probably later today or tomorrow, the latest."

"Cool," Kirk replied.

McCoy hesitated, then got out of the car and waved as Kirk drove away.

Kirk turned on the radio. Completely successful Saturday in every way possible. Number one movie in the country, productive breakfast meeting, and Uhura actually seemed to be softening up a little. Life was pretty awesome.

---

The car arrived in Venice at 7:30—early, to be sure, but they'd be dropping Joanna McCoy off at school before heading to the airport in Santa Monica where the private plane was waiting for them.

"Hey, Joanna," Kirk said as she got into the car. "Thanks for lending me your dad for the week."

She shrugged. "He should get out more," she said, sliding over to make room for her father.

"Staying with your mom a little early, huh?" Kirk asked.

"Tomorrow I am," she replied, "but she's busy tonight so I'm staying with Chris and Jan."

"Girls' night," Kirk said. "Fun."

"I know, right?" Joanna said. "We're going to play video games and order in pizza."

"Wish I'd known you're a gamer," Kirk said. "Would've sent you the tie-in game for the new movie."

"No offense, but the last one kinda—I mean, wasn't that great," Joanna said.

Kirk sighed. "I know," he replied. "But the new one is better; I played it myself." He got out his blackberry. "I'll have J.L. send it over to Jan, and that way you can play it tonight."

"Wow, thanks, Jim!"

"But," Kirk said, trying to look as stern as possible, "you have to let me know what you really think about it."

Joanna nodded solemnly, looking so much like her father that Kirk had to bite his lip to keep from grinning. "I will, I promise," she said.

"Great." Kirk looked over at McCoy, who seemed half asleep. "Bones, you with us?" he asked.

"You'll be fine, Dad," Joanna said, patting his shoulder.

"Something wrong?" Kirk asked.

McCoy opened his eyes. "It's early and I don't have to drive. I'm enjoying it."

Joanna was dropped off at school not long after that, with hugs from her father, and the rest of the trip passed without incident. McCoy dozed for most of the flight and Kirk left him alone, as his posture was one of a hibernating bear—wake at your own risk. Luckily he opened his eyes as they were taxiing around the Sioux City airport.

McCoy peered at the vehicle that had pulled up on the tarmac. "This doesn't look like a rental," he said as he put his bag in the back.

"Oh I keep a car here," Kirk replied, putting on his sunglasses and attaching the car key back on his Iowa key chain, a M*A*S*H logo he'd found at a yard sale.

"At the airport?" McCoy asked.

"No, in the city, in a garage," he replied as they drove away.

"Huh," McCoy said. "I don't usually ask this, but how many cars do you have?"

"Three and the bike," Kirk replied, and really, he didn't find that excessive, especially as the Iowa car was a four-year-old Grand Cherokee. "Anyway the drive's about an hour. You hungry? Winona's probably making something but that's not 'til supper."

"No, I'm fine," McCoy said. "And Winona is?"

"Oh, sorry—my mother."

"Do you always refer to your mother by her first name."

Kirk shrugged. "It's simpler. I call her 'Ma" though."

"Simpler?"

"Let's just say that being a young widow with two little kids in the middle of Iowa wasn't really in her life plan. She tried, but—"

"Sometimes your best isn't good enough," McCoy finished.

Kirk glanced at him. "Yeah."

McCoy nodded, and they fell into a contemplative sort of silence, so Kirk turned on the radio. I hide in my music, forget the day. Kirk kept time with his fingers on the steering wheel and sang along under his breath.

McCoy turned to him. "You gotta be kidding me."

"What?"

"Boston? Really?"

"What's wrong with classic rock?"

McCoy sighed. "Nothing, except most of it was written before we were born and any song with more musical sophistication than a thimble has been banned from the format."

"Geez, Bones, tell me how you really feel."

"I just can't see how anyone with any taste can listen to it unironically. Sure, I put on the country station at times when I'm back in Georgia, but a man has to draw the line someplace. And you—you can listen to Pylon and this?"

Kirk winced. "Oh, yeah, about that—"

"What?"

"I, uh, I saw it on your shirt, so I looked it up on my Blackberry."

"That's what you were doing when I walked in?"

"Yeah, looking it up on wiki. What? I read fast. And I knew I was the director to make this movie. I just had to convince you of that."

McCoy growled.

"Hey, it worked, didn't it?"

"That the only time you've pulled one over on me?"

"I swear, Bones, it totally is."

"Well, don't do it again."

"I won't. To you."

McCoy rolled his eyes. The song changed then, a driving beat on drums and low keyboard, and McCoy turned the dial immediately. "Boston is one thing," he said, "but no Doors!"

Kirk had to laugh at that.

Winona was sitting on the front porch reading as they drove up. She shielded her eyes from the sun with one hand. "Have a good flight?" she called out.

"Yep," Kirk replied, giving her a hug. "Ma, this is Leonard McCoy. Bones, this is my mother."

"Call me Winona," she said, smiling. "A nickname already?"

"Apparently so, ma'am," McCoy replied.

"And manners too! Well, Jim'll show you up to your room. There's spare ribs in the crock pot."

"I can smell 'em," Kirk said as he walked into the house.

The men cleaned up and helped with supper. After the meal McCoy acquitted himself well against the Kirks during several rounds of cut-throat Scrabble—apparently he could be quite the charmer when he wanted to be. Once Winona had gone up to bed Kirk pulled out the nice bottle of scotch and poured them each a nightcap, and when he walked back into the living room McCoy was looking at a photo of a man in an Air Force uniform.

"Your dad?" he asked.

"Yeah."

"You look like him."

Kirk looked down at the photo. "Yeah. Made it harder on her, especially when I was a teenager." He handed McCoy a glass. "Come out on the porch? The stars are gorgeous."

---

After breakfast the next morning Kirk lead McCoy out to the barn.

"Your office is out here?" McCoy asked.

"It's not a working farm anymore," Kirk said. "But it's a gorgeous old building. It needed to be put to some use, even if just on occasion." He took McCoy past the main room, with its folding wooden chairs, old sheet for a screen, and film projector, through the door into the office.

"Pretty low tech, Jim," McCoy said, looking around the room. An old dining room table sat in the center, several chairs around it. A ceiling lamp hung over the middle, an old-fashioned metal filing cabinet sat in the corner, and a window looked out onto the fields beyond the house.

"I dunno," Kirk said. "We got 'lectricity."

"No internet?"

"Dial-up in the house, but nothing out here."

"Data service?" he asked, holding up his phone.

"I told you, cell service is intermittent at the house."

McCoy sighed. "Kinda twentieth century."

"Yeah, but it's good for team building and getting work done."

"And what will you be doing while I'm writing?"

"Cross-stitching encouraging sayings onto pillows?" McCoy narrowed his eyes, which made Kirk grin. "I'm going to start breaking down the script. Haven't had the chance, with all the promotion for the new movie."

McCoy nodded, and set his laptop down on the table. "So where's the plug?"

"Before we do that," Kirk said, sitting down opposite him, "why don't you tell me the story."

"Of the movie?"

"No, the true story. Doesn't take a genius to know it's based on the events and given how strongly you feel about casting the son, I think it's your story."

McCoy shifted in his chair. "You're a perceptive fella, Jim Kirk."

Kirk kept his face neutral and said nothing, though he was holding his breath.

"Momma died when I was small," McCoy said, and Kirk relaxed just a little in his chair. "So it was just Daddy and me for a long time. He got sick the first time my senior year of high school—lung cancer, though he'd never been a smoker—but they caught it early and he was in remission after treatment. I'd always wanted to be a doctor, even if I was better at English than science classes, and went through my first year at Ole Miss as a pre-med."

"You were inspired," Kirk said.

"Yeah," he said with a little smile. "They cured my dad and I thought, I want to do that. So I worked hard, didn't party much outside of the football games, but Jocelyn understood."

"You were already dating her then?"

"We were high school sweethearts."

Kirk nodded. "So were my parents."

"I didn't put her in the script because—"

"This isn't about the script," Kirk said, holding up his hands. "Okay?"

"Okay," McCoy replied. He tapped his fingers on the table for a moment. "I came home at Christmas and Daddy was fine, in really good spirits. Went to the Gulf Coast for spring break with some friends, so I wasn't home again until May. And then …" McCoy trailed off, looking over Kirk's shoulder out the window.

"I'm sorry, Bones," Kirk said, smiling a little. "I asked you to talk and didn't give you anything to drink." He hopped up, keeping his back to McCoy, and grabbed two bottles of water from the mini-fridge in the corner. "There you go," he said, setting one down on the table.

"Thanks," McCoy said. He opened the bottle and took a big gulp, composing himself. "Well, when I got home Gran was sitting on the front porch. Apparently Daddy had been in and out of the hospital since March, but he forbade anyone to tell me. Didn't want to interfere with my studies or something. He'd said—" and here McCoy paused and smiled a little—"he'd said he wasn't gonna die before May. He was willful like that. Guess that's where I get it from."

"Willful's cool," Kirk said. "I can work with willful."

"Good thing," McCoy replied. "So the docs said when the cancer came back it got to his heart and there was nothing they could do. And I thought, what had they done for him? Cut him open and pump him full of poison? We're in the space age and that's our cure for cancer? It's barbaric!"

"I think surgery and chemotherapy are a little better than leeches, Bones," Kirk said.

"Not by much," McCoy insisted. "Now that I was home Daddy wanted to come home, too, so we got a nurse to come by in the evenings when I was working, and keep on top of his pills. And Gran helped—she taught me to cook that summer."

"Working where?"

"A roadhouse bar down the way. My cousin owned it. Mostly bussed and cleaned glasses, though sometimes I got behind the bar. Kept me in gas money, let me put some savings away, and gave me plenty of stories to tell Daddy the next day."

"If it was anything like the bars around here," Kirk said, "I bet you did have plenty."

McCoy smirked. "And from what I've heard, I bet that you were the center of a lot of those stories in those bars around here."

"Later," Kirk said. "We're talking about you now. So you wanted stories to tell your father? Was that something you did often?"

"My grandaddy tells stories, and I used to sit next to him and soak 'em up. So he started teaching them to me, all that old family lore that his granddaddy taught him. After that, well, I was always telling stories." He paused, taking another drink. "'Bout all I could do for Daddy that summer."

McCoy sat silent for a bit after that, looking out the window. Kirk didn't want to push him, but they hadn't yet discussed the central event of the script. McCoy could be prickly, had been on their flight, but Kirk took a chance and reached his had across the table, laying it atop McCoy's. "What happened, Bones?" he asked quietly.

McCoy's eyes met his, and they were so sad that Kirk almost changed his mind. But there was a reason that McCoy had written the script, and he wanted the movie to be made as much as Kirk did.

"Whatever it is, it's okay," Kirk said.

McCoy cleared his throat. "Come August, I'd started talking about taking a term off but Daddy said, 'I don't think that'll be required, kiddo. I'll be gone by the time you go back to school.' I asked him how he knew, and he said he'd make sure of it." McCoy's hand turned under Kirk's to grasp it. "I didn't have the heart to talk him out of it. He was so tired, in so much pain despite the drugs. We did a few last things, and then I helped him take the pills he'd saved." He cleared his throat again. "When our local doc came, he had to know, but he just signed the death certificate, didn't say a word. And that was that." He took a long drink of water. "When I went back to school, I changed my major from pre-med to English, joined the magazine, and I've been writing ever since."

They were silent for a while, hands still clasped across the table. At last Kirk said, "I'm sorry, Bones."

"Yeah, me too." He released Kirk's hand. "So, did I give you what you needed, Jim?"

"What the movie needed," Kirk replied, "and yes. Right now the script is all about what the father did for the son. You left out what the son did for the father—all those stories you told him—and that's how we can get the humor back into the film." He sat back in his chair.

"Huh," McCoy said, blinking. "Well, I—yeah. Yeah, you're right."

"Of course I am," Kirk said, smiling.

---

Kirk's idea to come out to Iowa was the right one, as the week was productive. Of course McCoy was used to working with others around, having cut his teeth in sitcom writing rooms. And so was Kirk, given that he was usually working with Spock, or Scotty and Sulu. Mostly Kirk sketched storyboards—McCoy said it was "too damn early, Jim" but it was the best way for him to sink his fingers into the script, and it wasn't like they couldn't be easily changed. McCoy was changing small things here and there, though he did upend one scene, and what he added was often hilarious. And he seemed lighter somehow, as though he'd fallen into a groove and stopped worrying so much.

At night they watched movies Kirk had brought as inspiration. He hadn't directed something so internally focused in a while, so he'd brought mostly indie films, especially those of Jonathan Archer. Though he couldn't deny that after the conversation they'd had about it, it was also "any excuse to watch The Naked Time with Bones."

And then on Monday morning Sulu called the house and said Scotty had found the perfect location, so he was heading there with Spock and would stop off in Iowa to pick them up. Kirk and McCoy agreed they'd gotten what they needed to out of the retreat anyway, so they packed up, said goodbye to Winona, and headed to the airport.

It wasn't until they were on the tarmac that Kirk realized he'd left out a crucial piece of information in letting McCoy know what was going on. Or really McCoy had, because he took one look at Sulu's plane and dug in his heels.

"Oh no," he said. "No way I'm getting in that thing."

"Bones, it's the same kind of plane that we took out here," Kirk replied.

"Yeah, but that was flown by a professional, not Plays with a Camera over here." He looked at Sulu. "No offense."

Sulu shrugged. "None taken."

"I assure you that Mr. Sulu has logged thousands of hours of flying time since receiving his license," Spock said. "He is more than fully qualified. To be more afraid because Mr. Sulu has another profession is illogical."

"Logic has fuck all to do with it!" Bones shouted.

Kirk cocked his head, and thought about their car ride and flight out to Iowa. "What did you take, Bones?"

"What?"

"To get out here," Kirk said. "What did you take?"

McCoy averted his eyes. "A Xanax. And I only have one left."

"So you could—"

"How would I get back to LA?"

"He does have a point," Sulu said.

"Well," Kirk said, pulling out his blackberry, "we can get a commercial flight—"

"No," McCoy said, shaking his head. "I'll cowboy up. Guess I'll have to do this the old fashioned way." He reached into his duffel and took out a flask. "But I ate breakfast, Jim, so I may throw up on you."

Kirk grinned, trying to exude as much confidence as humanly possible, and patted him on the shoulder. "It'll be great, Bones!"

McCoy grunted, though Kirk was learning that a grunt was about as close to acquiescence as he generally got, so he took it, and led McCoy up the stairs into the plane.

After takeoff, during which Kirk held McCoy's hand and Sulu played McCoy's iPod over the sound system, McCoy calmed down a bit. He continued to get quietly drunk throughout the flight, landings apparently being worse than takeoffs for him, but the rest of the journey went without incident. Still, Kirk was unsurprised to see McCoy snoozing in the back of the van soon after Scotty came to pick them up.

Scotty, on the other hand, was almost vibrating with glee. "Wait 'til you see it, Cap," he said, grinning. "It's perfect. Plenty of space to set up and the flow of the rooms—as though we'd built it, truly."

"And you have ensured its availability?" Spock asked.

"The bloke living there is renting from his cousin," Scotty said, "who apparently works in the business, so it's unlikely he'll put up too much of a fuss. The cousin's been away for the week but I reckon when he's back from his trip the Cap can convince him."

"One hopes," Spock replied.

After about an hour of driving further back into the Georgia woods Scotty turned onto a rutted unpaved road. "It's just at the end here," Scotty said.

The jostling of the van must have woken McCoy, as he stirred then, and Kirk turned to him, smiling. "Welcome back, Bones," he whispered, resisting the urge to brush the hair out of his eyes.

McCoy blinked and sat up straighter. "Where are we?" he asked, looking out the windows.

"Somewhere in Georgia?" Kirk asked. "Almost there, anyway."

"Aye, this turn here," Scotty said, and as he turned into the drive a simple white house came into view.

And then McCoy, oddly, started to giggle.

Scotty scowled. "Don't judge 'til you've seen her insides!"

Spock leaned into Kirk. "I believe he is still under the influence of alcohol," he said.

"Like hell I am," McCoy replied, jumping out of the van as soon as Scotty came to a stop.

A man was walking out of the front door of the house, smiling. "Lenny!" he said, and they hugged warmly. "Been trying to reach you. These movie folks wanna use your house."

"Your house?" Kirk asked.

"So I see," McCoy said, nodding. "Don't wanna put you out, Bobby."

"Nah, I'll be fine," he said. "I spend most of the summer out on the boat anyway."

"Great!"

"Wait," Kirk said. "Wait, so this is—"

"My house," McCoy said. "Well, technically it's in trust for Joanna, but this is the house I grew up in." He and Kirk looked at each other for a moment, and Kirk could tell he didn't want to say out loud what else had happened in this house.

"Well, how about that," Scotty said.

"No wonder it's perfect," Kirk replied. "So can we use it?"

McCoy looked up at the house, then back at Kirk. "I think I can give you a deal on it," he said.

---

---

5: Progress
For the next 25% of your story, your hero's plan seems to be working as she takes action to achieve her goal.

Joanna spotted her father the second she came out of her school building and made a beeline for him.

"Dad!" she said, giving him a hug.

"Guess you missed me," McCoy replied, holding her close.

"Maybe," she said, her voice muffled against his chest.

"Well, we've got all of this coming weekend to make up for it. In fact, whadya say we take a walk on the beach before dinner?"

"Did anything happen?" she asked, looking up at him suspiciously. The beach was where they had Important Family Talks.

"No," he replied. "Nothing's happened. I just wanted to tell you about your grandfather McCoy."

He'd been putting it off long enough, but now that there were locations and a pretty firm shooting script and actors attached, it was probably time to stop assuming that the deal would fall through any day now. It was easier than he'd anticipated, probably because he'd just told Kirk the same story less than a week ago. Of course, in a way Kirk had already known—he'd read the script—and Joanna needed different details. But McCoy managed not to cry, so that was something. Certainly being able to stare out at the endless ocean and feel the breeze in his hair helped.

When he finished Joanna was silent, so McCoy let her be and tried not to nervously play with the sand at his feet. After a while she said, "You just did what he wanted, Dad."

"Yeah," he replied, looking at her. "But it was the hardest thing I've ever done."

She teared up then, and threw her arms around his waist. "I think you were very brave."

"You know, your mom said that too," McCoy replied, and hugged his daughter a little tighter.

---

Friday evening McCoy was looking forward to spending a rare weekend with Joanna. She was having a few friends over for an impromptu beach-day-and-sleepover on Saturday, so they'd hit the Costco after he picked her up from school to make sure they had all the makings for her great-grandma's sweet potato waffles. They were just putting the groceries away when McCoy got a text:

Kirk—>McCoy
hey Bones you home?

McCoy—>Kirk
yeah, I'm here, what's up?

Kirk—>McCoy
got something to show you. can I swing by?

McCoy—>Kirk
sure, got no plans to go out

Kirk—>McCoy
GREAT see you later.

McCoy couldn't think of what would be that urgent. He'd sent a revision to Kirk earlier that day, but Kirk gave his notes via email so it couldn't be that. He didn't give McCoy much time to brood on it—he was knocking on the door five minutes later.

"Were you texting me from my street or something, Jim?" McCoy asked as he opened the door.

"Kinda," he admitted. "I came over and then realized you might not be around." He shrugged. "It's not really a problem with Spock."

"Why does that not surprise me? Well, come on in."

"Thanks. Oh, hey, Joanna," he said, waving to her in the kitchen.

"Hi, Jim! Thanks again for the game," she replied.

"No, thank you for the review," he said.

Joanna nodded. "Any time, really."

"It was very perceptive and also hilarious." Kirk turned to McCoy. "Seems like writing funny runs in your family."

"Yeah, that apple didn't fall far," McCoy replied, smiling at Joanna. "So what did you want me to see?"

Kirk handed him a DVD, which he put into the player.

"This had better be kid-safe," McCoy said.

"Oh, it is," Kirk replied.

McCoy hit play on the remote, and after a moment of black came a scene from a TV show, about fifteen years old, that was all too familiar to McCoy. "Jim, where did you get this?"

Kirk started giggling. "C'mon, Bones, it's on your IMDB. It's not like it's obscure."

"What is it?" Joanna asked, coming into the room.

"It's me," McCoy said, just as a younger, blonder version of himself came on the screen. McCoy sat on the couch and put his head in his hands.

"Wow," Joanna said. "Even your beard is blonder. And—are those wings?"

McCoy groaned.

"What even is this?" she asked.

"Your father," Kirk said, and McCoy could hear the smirk in his voice, "was in an old sci-fi show for a few episodes back in '94. What are you, an angel or something?"

"Cupid," McCoy said. "I was Cupid."

"I didn't know you acted, Dad," Joanna said.

"It was just the one time," McCoy replied, slumping back on the couch. "Your mom was carrying you and we needed a little extra cash to cover the doctor, things you needed, especially since it wasn't like she could get dance work. A pal of mine was working on this show and an actor dropped out last minute and he asked if I could come in as a favor to them, since I'd helped work on the script, so I jumped at it." He chuckled. "Your mother hated the blond hair by the way. Made me dye it back."

"I don't blame her," Joanna said, looking at the screen.

"So Jim, was this just about making me look a little foolish in front of my kid?" McCoy asked. "Because I do that pretty regularly without any outside help."

"No, Bones; I didn't even know Joanna would be here," Kirk said. "I brought it because you said that Chekov was 'all eyes and hair' and I just wanted to show you that you were, too." He cocked his head, looking at the screen. "Well, eyes and hair and cheekbones."

"What do you think, Jo?" McCoy asked.

"Chekov like, Pavel Chekov from Charlie X? To play you?"

"Well, not actual me. Fictional me."

Joanna bit her lip, thinking. "You could do worse. A lot of the girls like him."

"Not you?" Kirk asked.

"He's not my type," she said, shrugging.

"Joanna doesn't like actors, only musicians," McCoy said.

"Oh?" Kirk asked. "Such as?"

"Ezra Koenig? Lead singer of Vampire Weekend?"

"Wow, Bones, she's a music snob like you," Kirk said.

"I dunno," McCoy replied. "They're kinda poppy."

Joanna crossed her arms. "Dad, we agreed to disagree."

"You're right. Sorry." He looked at Kirk. "Fine, I give. I dunno why you need my approval, Jim, but if Chekov is your man, then he's my man."

"Great!" Kirk said. "Well, I guess I should get out of your hair—"

"Stay for dinner?" McCoy asked. "We've got plenty, and it'll balance out the slumber party Jo's having tomorrow night."

"Slumber parties are for little girls," Joanna said. "I have some friends staying over."

"What's the difference?" Kirk asked.

"We're not going to crank call boys or play with a ouija board or any of that," she explained. "We're going to spend the day at the beach and the night playing video games and listening to music and maybe watch a movie."

"Gotcha," Kirk replied. "Well, if you're sure it's no trouble."

"None at all," McCoy said, getting up from the couch. "Besides, I found out in Iowa that you know how to chop an onion and wash a dish, so you can't get out of helping in the kitchen."

"Geez, Bones," Kirk said, smiling at Joanna. "Don't expose all my secrets!"

---

Monday afternoon Kirk called a status meeting at Fleet. Everything sounded great, all moving forward to that June 30th start date, and McCoy was impressed at how quickly Kirk could get his people mobilized. And then Uhura mentioned something that had entirely slipped McCoy's mind.

"What's happening with the casting of the father?" she asked.

Kirk sighed. "Everyone we've talked to so far either isn't interested, wants too much money, or isn't available. It's frustrating."

"Deanna Troi in casting tells me there's been some reluctance on your end with one of the names on the list," Uhura said.

"What name is that?" Spock asked.

"It doesn't matter. It's untenable," Kirk replied.

"I really think you should reconsider," Uhura said. "He's read the script and he's interested."

"And who sent him the script?" Kirk asked.

"The studio," Uhura replied.

"You mean you did."

"No," Uhura said, sharply. "Deanna had the idea, and I think it's a good one."

McCoy leaned over and whispered to Spock, "Who are they talking about?"

"Khan," Spock whispered back.

McCoy winced. "I see."

"Quite."

Kirk tapped his pencil on the table. "And he wants to work with me?"

"If he's over your little spat," Uhura said coldly, "why shouldn't you be?"

"Little spat?" Kirk said.

"Ms. Uhura," Spock said quickly, "I believe that you lack a sufficient understanding of the conflict between Jim and Khan."

Uhura turned to Spock. "Enlighten me."

"Very well," Spock said, nodding. "As you know, Khan appeared in Space Seed, the third Bibi Besch movie, as the villain Ricardo. He was somewhat forceful, and butted heads with both Carol and Jim, but as Carol and Jim often argue with each other on set it wasn't particularly notable. He acquitted himself very well in the role and, I believe, gained some good notices for the film."

"And stole my assistant," Kirk said.

"I believe the correct term is 'married', Jim," Spock said.

"Marla was a great assistant. I was sorry to lose her."

"You liked her because she never said no to you," Sulu said.

"Yeah," Kirk said, smiling. "Great in an assistant. Not so great in a girlfriend."

"So that's what this is about?" Uhura asked. "He stole your girlfriend?"

"No, no, we'd long since broken up by then," Kirk said.

"Marla was the girl of the second movie, Balance of Terror," Scotty said. "By the third movie Jim was dating the actress that played Carol's contact at the agency, Edith Keeler."

"You dated Edith?" McCoy asked.

"Yeah?" Kirk said.

"I dated her too, right after the divorce. Nice girl. Very idealistic."

"Very," Kirk said. "She's in New York now, doing off-Broadway. Talented but, you know, no claws."

"Interesting as this is," Uhura said, "can we return to the matter at hand?"

"Of course," Spock said. "Some months later, Khan contacted Jim, having heard that Jim's friend Clark Terrell was about to direct Moby-Dick as a cable movie. Khan had long wanted to play Captain Ahab."

"He was always quoting from the book on set," Sulu said. "It was weird."

Spock nodded. "So he asked Jim to put in a good word for him with Clark."

"Which I did," Jim said. "But at the time I was in the middle of trying to get Specter of the Gun off the ground, so while I did what I could, I didn't exactly pester the guy. Clark knows what he wants, generally."

"Clark decided to give Khan a screen test for the role," Spock said. "Unfortunately that test did not go well, and Khan did not get the part."

Kirk shuddered. "Clark showed me the test later. I think Khan had such a fixed idea of Ahab, had been thinking about him for so long, that he couldn't let go, couldn't be in the moment, couldn't even take any direction from Clark. His test was mannered, like a silent actor—wildly overplayed and all over the place. I couldn't blame Clark for not casting him."

"Khan was understandably upset," Spock continued. "But he blamed Jim, decided that Jim had actually advised Clark against casting Khan, when of course Jim did no such thing. He began to disparage Jim's professionalism around town, and some of the things he said eventually ended up in a profile Vanity Fair was doing of Jim, which was published during the publicity period for Specter."

"And then all hell broke loose," Sulu said.

"So to speak," Spock said. "We had to physically restrain Carol from taking out an ad in Variety saying that Khan was, as she put it, 'a lying bastard.' Khan's statements overshadowed much of the promotion of the film, including the interviews with Carol and Jim, though happily it did not seem to have any effect on the success of the film itself."

"It was a touchy few weeks," Jim said. "Reporters kept asking, and I just kept saying that I was surprised that Khan had such a different takeaway than I did, and that he was a pleasure to work with. Eventually it all died down, but I've never been so glad to get to Spain as I was that year."

"Of course," Spock said, "Clark Terrell knew the real story, and he told it to anyone who asked—not the press, of course, but insiders. Once that story got around town, many directors decided they did not want to work with Khan, and he has worked very little since the incident. He moved out to Taos, where sadly Marla died about a year ago."

"I sent flowers," Jim said. "Maybe that's why he's decided he likes me again. Or maybe it's the part—it really is a fantastic part, and he could do a lot with it, only …"

"Only?" Uhura asked.

"Only obviously I can't trust him, and I'm not sure if he'd listen to a damn thing I said on set. When Carol's around, that's one thing; Bibi Besch movies are always kind of a circus. But That Which Survives ain't that kind of party."

Uhura was silent for a moment, staring at Kirk. "Is this why you don't like screen tests?" she asked.

"One of the reasons, yeah," Kirk replied.

"Would you agree to meet with him? Give him another chance?" she asked. "You're clearly open to the idea."

"All right," Kirk said, "but I'm not going alone." He looked at Spock for a moment, then back to Uhura. "Since the lunch with Chekov went so well, Uhura, would you accompany me?"

"Of course," Uhura replied. "I'd be happy to."

The meeting broke up shortly after that, Sulu and Scotty wandering off and Spock striking up a conversation with Uhura.

Kirk watched them go, then turned to McCoy. "Hey Bones," he said, "when do you have to go pick up your daughter?"

McCoy looked at the clock. "In about an hour, why?"

"Come back to my office? No point in going over there now, right?" He smiled.

"Sure, Jim," McCoy said, and followed him and J.L. back to the bungalow. Really, after having fucked the guy, and spent a week with him in the middle of nowhere, hanging out for an hour in his office should be no big deal.

J.L. scurried off to do whatever it was an assistant to Kirk and Spock did, while Kirk and McCoy sat down in his office and busied themselves for a few minutes with the usual checking of emails and messages that happens after a meeting.

"So I looked up your IMDB," McCoy said.

"Oh?" Kirk asked. "Find anything interesting?"

"I did, actually. A camera credit from when you were thirteen? On an Oscar-winning documentary?"

"You never heard that story?"

McCoy shook his head.

"Back when Chris Pike was an independent producer, he worked on a doc about the last men who died in Vietnam. One of them was my father, so he came out to Riverside to interview Winona and my grandfather Tiberius about him."

"Your father died in Vietnam?" McCoy asked. "But you couldn't have been more than—"

"Two days old," Kirk said. "Mom got a call through to him the day after I was born, and they named me and stuff, and then the next day he was shot down over Saigon. He was a pilot, giving air cover to the evacuation."

"Wow, Jim," McCoy said. "I'm sorry."

"Yeah," Jim replied. "So growing up without a dad, I was already a bit of a handful at the time, but seeing these guys show up with cameras and lights and all that, I'd just stand there and stare."

"I can just see you," McCoy said.

"I know, my eyes must have been huge. So Pike handed me a camera and told me to get some shots of the farm and the fields for them to edit in. Some of that b-roll footage made the cut and I got a credit." He smiled. "And then for a while after I got out of high school I was running around getting into some trouble, so I sent him a letter and asked him how to go about getting an actual job as a cameraman and he said, why don't you come out here and learn how to make your own movies." Kirk turned and picked up a small movie camera that sat on a table behind his desk. "Still have the camera he gave me, when they were done filming my mom. It's a relic now, but, I dunno, it's kinda cool." He set it down and McCoy noticed just above it on the wall was pinned a rubbing of George Kirk's name, likely from the memorial wall in Washington.

"It is cool," McCoy said. "It lets you go to Spain on vacations."

"Yeah, I usually go to Costa del Sol for a break after we've finished promoting a film," Kirk said. "Recharge, all that."

"So ordinarily, you'd be there now," McCoy said.

"It's only for a week," Kirk said, shrugging. "This year I went to Iowa and Georgia instead. Not such a bad tradeoff, really."

Spock walked back into the office then.

"Hey," Kirk said. "More money stuff?"

"I'm sorry?" Spock asked.

"With Uhura."

"Oh, yes," Spock said, nodding. "Making sure that Scotty's last few requests can be covered."

"How are we doing?" Kirk asked.

"We are well within parameters," Spock said.

"You make it sound like a machine instead of a movie, Spock," McCoy said.

"I have often felt that a production is not unlike a very complicated mechanical system, such as a submarine or a ship," Spock replied. "A careful balance of forces, enough give and take to allow for unexpected circumstances, and the ship stays afloat."

"This is a creative medium, Spock," McCoy said, "not a damn machine."

"The more smoothly running a production, the more emotional energy appears on screen, where it belongs, and not wasted behind the scenes," Spock replied.

"You're not gonna win this one, Bones," Kirk said, "but if it makes you feel any better, he's never actually achieved that. At least, not with Carol around."

"It is true that Carol is very … excitable," Spock said.

"I think you mean stubborn and prone to tantrums, Spock."

"Perhaps," he replied. "I am surprised, Leonard, at your outlook. Were you not a producer for some time?"

"I was," McCoy said, "and we did keep a pretty loose set, but then, there's a lot of routine in television, especially a sitcom."

"I am afraid I am not a regular television viewer," Spock said. "Could you remind me of the premise of your show?"

McCoy allowed himself a small smile. "I'm sure Kirk could do that for you," he replied. "After all, he's read all the scripts, and I'd be interested to hear what he made of them."

"Geez, it's like an oral exam," Kirk said, but then plunged ahead. "Three to Tango is one of those '90s young people in the city sitcoms about three dancers who share an apartment in New York. Zach is big-hearted and goofy; Chris is intellectual and a little full of himself; Zoe is no-nonsense and ambitious. The kinda big deal about it at the time was that Chris is gay and Zoe is black. Good so far?" he asked.

"You're doing fine," McCoy replied, nodding.

"Anyway," Kirk went on, "as the show opens they've all just graduated from the same school and are dancing at a ballet company in New York. Partway through the first season Chris gets injured, which turns out to not be all bad because he falls for his orthopedic surgeon, Karl, and decides to quit the ballet company to dance on Broadway. Gotta say, McCoy, pretty ballsy to change the set-up in the first season."

McCoy shrugged. "It was always part of the outline," he said. "Remember, this was before Will & Grace, even before Ellen's Puppy Episode, and having a gay main character running around dating was too much for the network. Puri had to sell it in as an adorable love story, and that Chris and Karl would be settled and monogamous for the duration of the show."

"That is unsurprising, unfortunately," Spock said. "Continue."

Kirk nodded. "Zach and Zoe become frequent pas de deux partners and rise to become stars of the ballet company. Then in the last episode of the fifth season, Chris moves in with Karl and Zach and Zoe finally get together, and stay together for the last two seasons. The movie, Tango at the Wedding, is about Chris and Karl's wedding, and at the end of the movie Zach asks Zoe to marry him." Kirk paused, then turned to McCoy. "Did I miss anything?" he asked.

"No, you hit all the high points," McCoy said.

"Krish Puri was the creator and executive producer I believe?" Spock asked.

"He was, and my mentor as well," McCoy said. "I was a writer, only my second job, but eventually I became a producer and by fifth season I was the show runner."

"And Puri died after that season?"

"Yep," McCoy said, tapping Kirk's desk with his middle finger. "I took over, saw the show through, and wrote the script for the movie."

"I recall there was a good deal of praise for you, in taking over for Puri and managing so well under such difficult circumstances," Spock said.

"Well, like I was saying, you gotta have some feel for the emotions of the crew," McCoy replied. "They were running pretty high, and we just found a way to channel them back into the work."

At that moment Kirk's phone rang. McCoy welcomed the interruption; he wasn't fond of talking about those days after Puri died.

"Yes, Uhura?" Kirk said. "Let me check—yeah, Thursday is fine. … I say let him pick; if he's on home turf maybe he won't be too defensive. … Exactly. Okay, great, thanks." He hung up the phone.

"Khan?" Spock asked.

Kirk nodded.

"If he's taking the initiative, maybe he's softened a bit," McCoy said.

"I hope so," Jim replied. "Well, this project is all about pushing me out of my comfort zone, right?"

"You did say you wanted a new challenge," Spock said.

"Famous last words," Kirk replied.

---

McCoy had meant to contact Kirk on Thursday afternoon, to find out what happened with his lunch with Khan and Uhura, but Kirk texted him before he had the chance.

Kirk—>McCoy
—>so that happened.

McCoy—>Kirk
How did the lunch go? is Khan still angry?

Kirk—>McCoy
it was weird. he doesn't seem angry.

McCoy—>Kirk
Maybe he didn't want to look like an ass in front of Uhura?

Kirk—>McCoy
maybe. definitely the right call to bring her. she kept things calm

McCoy—>Kirk
Glad you and she are figuring yourselves out

Kirk—>McCoy
so is spock. anyway khan wants the part.

McCoy—>Kirk
He have interesting ideas about it?

Kirk—>McCoy
yeah actually. so much that I think we have to use him.

McCoy—>Kirk
Have to? Still up to you, jim

Kirk—>McCoy
uhura says yes.

McCoy—>Kirk
What do you say? Think you can work with him?

Kirk—>McCoy
I think you don't get your statue taking the easy way, is what I think

McCoy—>Kirk
Doesn't mean you have to make things hard on yourself.

Kirk—>McCoy
true. though that often ends up happening.

McCoy—>Kirk
So he has good ideas? Is he the guy?

Kirk—>McCoy
yeah. yeah I think he's the guy. or I'll make him the goddamn guy.

McCoy—>Kirk
Ha that's the spirit.

Kirk—>McCoy
you ready to do this, bones?

McCoy—>Kirk
You bet I am.

---

Kirk decided that they should all go out one night before heading to Georgia, some kind of group bonding thing. Khan begged off, surprising no one, but Gaila and Chekov joined the crew for sushi that, Kirk insisted, would be followed by salsa dancing. McCoy couldn't quite imagine Kirk out on the dance floor, but he was certainly looking forward to seeing that.

And so the next Saturday night found them in a private room at some high-end sushi place, all around one of those low tables with the cut out beneath (which McCoy was thankful for, his knees not being what they once were) and making their way through an enormous platter and a rather large bottle of saki. McCoy found himself seated between Kirk and Gaila, Scotty opposite. These bonding dinners were apparently nothing new, and Scotty had a firm idea of what stories needed to be told to the new people, which reminded McCoy of the "fraternity history" portion of pledging at Ole Miss, only even more drunken. But there was a piece of Kirk-lore that he didn't have the entire story of.

"Okay Scotty," McCoy said. "Tell me how he got the nickname 'Cap.'"

Kirk groaned, but Scotty beamed. "An excellent story for this occasion, Leonard," Scotty said, "since it has to do with Khan, and the shooting of Space Seed. So Khan, being a fan of Moby-Dick, often quoted from the book. He liked Ahab, and so tried to make himself into a bit of a captain. Which annoyed me no end."

"I believe Carol said it made her want to 'kick him in the teeth,'" Spock added. "Luckily the script eventually called upon her to do so, albeit to his stunt double rather than Khan himself. That said, she did play those scenes with rather more gusto than usual—a very good conduit for her personal antipathy."

"Be that as it may," Scotty continued, "I felt that if anyone on set was the captain of the ship it was James Tiberius Kirk, not Khan Noonen Singh. So at the wrap party I recited a poem that made that clear."

"But also implied that I had died," Kirk said.

"It was stirring!" Scotty said.

"You recited a Whitman poem?" McCoy asked. "Really?"

Scotty stood up from the table, one arm extended, the other across his chest, and began to recite in a melodramatic nineteenth century manner, each "for you" punctuated by a gesture toward Kirk:

O Captain! my Captain! rise up and hear the bells;
Rise up—for you the flag is flung for you the bugle trills,
For you bouquets and ribboned wreaths for you the shores a-crowding,
For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning

Scotty stopped suddenly. "It's all blood after that," he said, and sat back down to much applause and laughter from the table.

"After that we started calling him Captain, or Cap," Sulu said, "and it stuck."

"It's better than 'fearless leader', which is what they called me before," Kirk said. He was smiling, clearly pleased despite his protests. "But I appreciate the loyalty."

"You've always been loyal to us, Cap," Scotty said.

Sulu raised his glass. "To the captain!"

Everyone followed—even, McCoy noticed, Uhura. Kirk smiled even wider, and raised his glass. "And a better crew I could not have," he said.

The table broke up into smaller conversations after that, and Kirk leaned in to whisper to McCoy, "You don't have to call me that, Bones, if you don't want to."

"No?" McCoy asked, smirking.

"Nah. I mean, Spock only uses it when he's feeling particularly pissy."

"Well," McCoy replied, "I'll keep that in mind." He glanced around the table and noticed that Sulu and Chekov seemed friendly. He leaned over to Kirk. "Say, what's going on there?" he whispered.

Kirk looked up. "Chekov helped Sulu with some camera tests," he replied. "I'm glad they're talking; Sulu tends to get tongue-tied around actors—even Carol. But he wants to direct someday and you can't direct if you can't work with actors."

McCoy nodded. "Chekov seems like a nice enough kid."

"That kid is a pro, Bones."

"That kid is less than four years older than my daughter, Jim."

"Point," Kirk said.

---

McCoy wasn't familiar with the club Kirk had selected, but then it had been a long time and salsa clubs were not generally long-lived. It certainly had all the markers of a club-of-the-moment, with lots of young people, a hot band, a line out the door, and a VIP section reserved by Kirk. Since there weren't many women among them McCoy was happy to sit and watch; maybe it was the presence of Chekov but he was feeling just a little old, suddenly, remembering when he and Jocelyn had been as young as the couples on the floor that looked like kids to him now.

Kirk, naturally, had other ideas. "I want to see everyone out on that floor!" he shouted as the drinks came. "That includes you, Spock."

"We shall see," Spock replied.

"Well, I'll get us started," Kirk said, standing. "Miss Uhura?" he asked, holding a hand out to her.

Uhura smiled. "Why not?" she said, and followed Jim onto the floor. Scotty and Gaila soon joined them.

"I don't know," Sulu was saying. "I've never danced like this before."

"It's easy!" Chekov declared. Up close, he was even more eyes and hair than on television, and McCoy frankly hadn't thought that possible. His head full of light brown curls and big blue eyes screamed barely legal, and McCoy was glad Kirk hadn't taken it into his head to go to some gay dance club; it would have taken all of them to keep the wolves away.

"It doesn't look easy," Sulu replied.

Chekov jumped up. "Here, I will show you," he said, moving the empty chairs out of the way and pulling Sulu out of his.

McCoy turned away, so he wouldn't be making Sulu even more self-conscious, and looked out on the floor. Scotty and Gaila were game beginners, getting the hang of the dance pretty quickly, and were at least able to move around on the floor without getting in anyone's way. Kirk was pretty good, of course; McCoy suspected that Kirk didn't suggest activities that he didn't excel at. But his style was more cowboy manly than Latin machismo—his hips were a little stiff, which wouldn't have been bad in itself except that Uhura's movements were so fluid. It struck McCoy as a bit of a waste.

"Miss Uhura is quite a good dancer, isn't she," Spock said.

"You should ask her to dance, when Jim's through," McCoy replied.

But when the song ended it was Gaila who claimed Spock for her next dance, giggling all the while, and that was probably for the best as Gaila and Spock were old friends and she might loosen him up a bit. So it was McCoy who led Uhura back out onto the floor.

"Wanna show them how it's done?" he asked her.

She gave him an appraising look. "All right," she said.

Salsa dancing was like riding a bike, all the old moves still in his muscle memory, though Uhura's style was different enough from Jocelyn's to prevent flashbacks. As he spun her across the floor he was very much in the present, and if he was showing off a little, well, there was nothing wrong with that. And it was just fun; he realized he hadn't been out dancing like this since the divorce. He was probably grinning like a damn idiot. Uhura worked out that McCoy knew what he was doing pretty quickly, and trusted him to lead her in a way she hadn't with Kirk, and by the end of the song they'd pulled off some pretty complicated moves and gotten impressed looks from the regulars.

He brought Uhura back to the table after one song; after all, she'd barely been able to enjoy a cocktail. Kirk, predictably, was all over him.

"Where did you learn how to dance like that?" he asked, wide-eyed.

McCoy felt all kinds of smug, but tried not to show it. "What part of 'my ex-wife was a dancer' do you not understand, Jim?" he asked, signaling for the waitress.

"Just because she danced doesn't mean you did," Kirk replied.

McCoy shook his head. "And let someone else dance with her all night, especially like that?" he asked. "No way. If someone's with me, they're with me."

"I'll keep that in mind," Kirk said, grinning.

Suddenly, out of nowhere, McCoy had a vision of Jim Kirk in his arms on the dance floor so strong that it made his heart race. He could almost feel Kirk's body under his hands as he led him through the dance, getting his hips to sway just ... like ... that.

"Bones?" Kirk asked. "What is it?"

McCoy blinked, realizing he'd been staring at Kirk. "Oh, nothing," he replied quickly, looking around the table for a distraction. "Where's Sulu and Chekov?" he asked.

"Gaila's got Sulu," Kirk said, "and Chekov was going to—uh oh, I guess someone found him."

McCoy saw Chekov being pulled onto the floor by very determined woman who was not inclined to let Chekov lead. It wasn't the usual thing, but at least she knew what she was doing. Chekov went along, though not much was being asked of him other than to be a body she could hang onto, but he didn't seem to mind. At the end of the song she moved in for a kiss, but Chekov very gracefully turned his cheek to her, then pulled away to drop a kiss on the woman's hand.

"What did I tell ya, Bones?" Kirk said. "The kid's a pro."

"Yeah," McCoy said. "Guess we don't need to worry about him."

They practically closed the club, staying until two a.m. As they stood at valet parking waiting for cars to come around, Kirk said, "Hey Bones, did you notice that the only one of us who didn't dance with Uhura was Spock?"

"Huh," McCoy said. "I didn't."

"Weird. I thought they were really getting along." Kirk shrugged. "Well, I'll see you at the airport in a week."

"Yeah," McCoy replied. "Wow, this is really happening."

Kirk clapped him on the shoulder. "Of course it's happening, Bones! What did you expect?"

---

---

6: Point of No Return
At the exact midpoint of your screenplay, your hero must fully commit to her goal. Up to this point, she had the option of turning back, giving up on her plan, and returning to the life she was living at the beginning of the film. But now your hero must burn her bridges behind her and put both feet in.

Nothing was working.

Kirk sat in one of the chairs in his hotel room, jiggling his knee. A drink wouldn't do, as he wanted to be clear-headed for the start of shooting the next day.  He'd already worked out, already tied up lingering loose ends, already gone over the schedule.  And he knew this wasn't about anything other than the usual fear of failure, exposure as a fraud, all the nonsense that, come tomorrow, would melt away, and he would walk onto the set in the morning completely self-assured and in command, like every other movie he'd made.

He just had to get through tonight.

Kirk managed to kill twenty minutes playing a game on his phone, but games were for when he wanted to think, not when he desperately didn't.  He'd thought that his problem was that he'd eliminated his usual means of allaying the pre-opening-night jitters, but he'd masturbated an hour ago and that didn't help either.  He wished he'd thought to bring some fashion mags, like Carol always did.  They'd lie in bed flipping through Vogue and GQUK and talk about what they'd wear to the premiere.

When he started wishing he had some cigarettes, he hopped up, grabbed his room key, and got out.  It wasn't that late—only about nine—so he thought he'd take a walk to work off some of his nervous energy.  This didn't explain why his feet took him as far as three doors down the hotel hallway and stopped, but he knocked on the door before he could think about it too much.

The door swung open and McCoy gave him a confused look.  "Hey Jim," he said. "Come on in."

"Thanks," Kirk replied, and joined McCoy in front of the TV. "What are you watching?"

"Joss.  Well, actually some dancers on a television show doing her choreography.  That's why she can stay in LA with Jo while I'm gone this summer, because she got this show."

"Oh," Kirk said.  "If I'm interrupting—"

"Nah," McCoy said.  "Unless you hate dance, which I suspect you don't.  It's the opening number; we don't have to watch the rest of the show."

"Okay, cool," Kirk replied, sinking down into a chair and trying to seem relaxed, though if McCoy's sidelong glance was any indication he wasn't fooled for a minute.

The credits started, some kind of percussive music with silhouetted dancers flashing across the screen.  The show cut to the dancers posing on a stage while the crowd cheered, and then the music kicked in, R&B pop by the girl of the moment.  The dance itself was upbeat and full of energy and the dancers seemed to be having fun even though their movements required precision and timing.  It was—well, it was exactly what McCoy had described his ex-wife doing, the kind of dance seen in pop videos, only without a star to center it around the movements were freer, more about the group.  When the dance ended the host emerged from backstage—a giraffe of a girl, all long blonde hair and legs—and shouted out her thanks to "Jocelyn Darnell!"

The camera cut then to a woman sitting in the audience who must be Jocelyn.  Kirk had had a hard time picturing her, as Joanna so strongly favored her father, but he hadn't expected a Hitchcock blonde, the kind of woman who was a lot of fun right up until the moment she was no fun at all.  "Wow, she's really hot, Bones."

"Yeah, she is," he said absently as he typed on his iPhone.

"You said you grew up with her—how old were you when you met?"

McCoy finished up his typing and set the phone down.  "We met the day she came home from the hospital, when I was ten weeks old.  Jo has a picture of it in her room.  I guess we imprinted on each other.  You know, like ducks."

"That's so Jack and Diane."

"Yeah, except that we hated this stupid little town and couldn't wait to get out and never go back.  And yet here I am."  He chuckled softly.  "So, what did you need, Jim?"

Kirk thought about lying or evading, but he was too tired and too anxious to think of anything, or to deal with McCoy's sarcasm about it.  "Oh, you know," he said, smiling a little.  "Last-minute jitters."

McCoy nodded.  "I'd think you'd go to Spock about this.  You've been working with him a long time."

"Long enough not to go to him," Kirk replied.  "He's my best friend, but comforting he is not.  He just sits there, impassive, and says I'm being illogical."

"So what do you usually do?"

"Fuck Carol," Kirk replied.  "Well, I spend time with Carol, which includes fucking, among other things."  Kirk figured McCoy didn't need to know about the fashion mags, at least right now.

McCoy looked at him, head cocked, considering, and it was all Kirk could do not to fidget under his gaze.  "Well, Jim," he said at last, "since I'm pretty sure you didn't come here to fuck me, let's try something else."  He stood up and walked over to his bag, from which pulled a deck of cards.  "My grandmother used to calm me down with rummy when I was little.  Distracted me from my worries.  You play?"

"Of course," Kirk said, and sat down at the little corner table opposite him.  "So you were a worried kid?"  Kirk could just picture a little McCoy scowling away.

"Gran calls me 'fretful,'" McCoy replied, shuffling the cards. "Says I came out of the womb that way.  But I bet you aren't."  He handed the deck to Kirk to cut, then took it back and began to deal.

"Not when I can do things.  When the pre-pro is finished but filming hasn't started, or the film is done but hasn't been released yet, that's when I worry."

McCoy looked up at Kirk through his eyebrows.  "So the entire month that I've known you, you've been worried about one thing or the other."

"I guess?  But the pre-pro distracted me from worrying about Armageddon's numbers, so."

"So," McCoy replied, setting down a run of hearts.  "So you dated Edith?"

Apparently McCoy had decided to distract Kirk with talking about girls.  "Yeah.  Smart lady.  I think I got her on the rebound from you, actually."

"Oh?"

"Yeah, sometimes she'd mention a writer she'd dated who'd dumped her for her own good?"

McCoy chuckled.  "I know, it sounds like it's-not-you-it's-me bullshit—"

"That's what I told her," Kirk said.

"But at the time we were together I really had no business dating anyone because I was so unhappy.  Failed pilots, and I wasn't seeing Jo as much as I wanted to."

"She didn't live with you then?" Kirk asked.

"No.  I hadn't gotten into the script doctoring business yet.  And I was still angry at myself for losing Joanna and pushing her mother away.  But I got my life under control eventually.  Edith helped, though I think she saw me as some kind of project."

"Me too," Kirk said.  "Reform the bad boy.  She wanted to get married, I didn't, so she moved to New York."

"That's the thing: you help a sick animal, it's not gonna stick around.  She got me through the worst of it, but I wasn't very fair to her.  I guess I wanted her to heal me."

"Gotta heal yourself," Kirk said, grabbing the six of clubs McCoy discarded to lay down a set.

"Pretty much," McCoy agreed.  "So it's true, you really have had a different girl for each movie you've made?"

"I guess," Kirk replied, noting again how McCoy would change the subject whenever a conversation touched upon that time right after his divorce.  "I'm not fantastic at keeping track."

McCoy put down another set, and now had only one card in his hand. "Well, there's Gaila."

"Kobyashi Maru, yeah."

"And then the Bibi Besch movies—and I'll say up front, I know them a ll in order because of Jo."

"Duly noted."

"So. What Are Little Girls Made Of?"

"Carol."

"Of course.  Balance of Terror, your assistant who married Khan."

"Marla."

"Space Seed, Edith.  Specter of the Gun?"

"Lenore."

"Oh, god, I remember that—you two got a lot of press."

"Yeah," Kirk said, scrunching up his nose.  "Me and the paps don't exactly get along.  Luckily I've stopped being all that interesting and can go to the Coffee Bean in peace again."

"I remember seeing photos of you giving them the finger," McCoy replied.

"Lenore fed off the attention," Kirk said, shrugging.  "And she was brilliant in the film as a witness Bibi protected.  I guess I ended up wanting to protect her too."

"Gotta heal yourself," McCoy said.

"Yeah.  I hear she's back in rehab now, but with a father like Karidian—"

"You knew her father?" McCoy asked.

"He was one of my professors at USC.  If he liked you—and he liked m e, thought I was the future of film or something—then you were i n.  He'd throw little dinner parties at his house, introduce yo u to important people.  But if he didn't like you, he could make things pretty tough.  It took me a few months to realize what he was do ing."

"Which was?"

"Let's just say," Kirk said, "that he loved me, would probably like you and Chekov, didn't care much for Spock, and would have hated Uhura or Sulu."

McCoy made a face.  "Seriously?  In this day and age?" he asked. "Hell, in Los Angeles?"

"I know, right?  When I figured it out I kept bringing students in the program he expressly didn't invite as my guests.  Kinda pissed him off but I didn't really care.  He's not there now, anyway. Students started comparing notes and he was brought before the disciplinary committee."

"I bet you were one of those students 'comparing notes,'" McCoy said.  "In fact, I wouldn't be surprised if you started it."

"Well," Jim said.  "I had a role," he said, laying down another run.

McCoy grunted, then looked at what Jim had done.  "Aha!" he said. He picked up a card, laid down what was in his hand on Jim's run, and discarded.  "Out!"

They tallied up, then Kirk took up the cards and shuffled.  "The odd thing was, when Lenore came to audition for me, I didn't know who her father was.  Didn't make the connection until we were trying to get her into rehab.  He refused to believe his perfect little girl needed some help.  And after he died she really lost it.  It's too bad; she's a talented girl."

McCoy shook his head.  "People keep circling back into your life, Jim.  Pike, Karidian, now Khan."

"Well at least Pike likes me," Kirk replied.

"Khan will," McCoy said.  "How can he resist all that charm?"

"Uhura does a good job of it," Kirk said.

"You trying to make her the girl of this movie?" McCoy asked.

"No means no, Bones," Kirk replied.  "I mean, I would?  She's the type who forces you to be a better man by the power of her stony disapproval.  I do like a challenge."

"That's obvious," McCoy said.

"But she's not interested.  And anyway, no fling this film.  Or, my fling will be the film."

"You really think you can do that?" McCoy asked.

"Gonna try," Kirk said.  "It's just—there's enough on my plate, with out that.  And Miri was a huge mistake.  A real wake-up call.  I can 't be running around like this anymore.  I don't even want to."  He paused.  "Besides, gotta do right by you, Bones."

McCoy looked up and their eyes met and held, long enough that Kirk started to wonder if they really were going to fuck.  After all, here they were in his room, and Kirk had come unannounced, and he still wasn't exactly sure why his feet had led him here.  For all his protests of not having a girl-of-the-movie, McCoy was the last person he'd fucked, and Carol wasn't here.  Kirk bit his lip.

Then McCoy said, "Thanks, Jim.  But I wouldn't be here if I didn't think you were the man for the job."

Kirk grinned, relieved and just a little disappointed at the same time.  "Thanks, Bones," he said.

"So," McCoy said, his attention back on the game, "if you're this serial monogamist with a woman for every movie, how do you find time to fuck half of West Hollywood?"

"Word is exaggerated," Kirk replied.  "I've maybe seen two or three guys in the last few years.  And anyway you can be bisexual and be monogamous."

"I know that.  Hell, I used to be married."

"Oh, right.  Sorry.  Well, I won't date most actors, because of all the sneaking around and the hiding and the closet bullshit.  I get why they feel they have to do it, but I am uninterested. So that lets out men I meet on set.  I mean, I'm not going to date someone on the crew; I'm their boss."

"Hence fucking Sulu."

"Hence fucking Sulu, exactly.  And since the Bibi Besch movies took off honestly I don't meet that many other people.  I dated a guy at USC, though."

"A fellow film student?"

"No," Kirk said, flatly.  "Two directors?  It's like two tops bumping against each other."

McCoy cocked his head.  "Gotta say, Jim, you don't strike me as being that much of a top."

Kirk rolled his eyes.  "It was a metaphor.  Anyway no, Gary Mitchell was at the law school.  Great guy; we had a lot of fun.  He's my lawyer now, actually."

"Convenient," McCoy said.  "But you do seem to stay friendly with your exes."

"Says the man who just watched a reality show to support his ex- wife," Kirk replied.

"Touché.  So it didn't work out?"

"Gary saw no reason why being gay meant he had to give up on his white picket fence dream of a future and while I agreed, I was never going to be that guy.  He got it, though—lives in the valley, had a couple of kids through a surrogate.  His husband is a painter he met through Janice Rand."

"No white picket fences for you?"

"Probably not," Kirk replied.  "Though I have to say, it doesn't look too bad on you."

McCoy smiled.  "Thanks.  Feeling better?" he asked.

"Yeah, actually," Kirk replied.  "Guess your Gran is on to something with this rummy thing."

"Good," he said, "because I won again."  He laid down several cards.

"Geez, Bones," Kirk said.  "You're a secret card sharp, aren't you? This is all a con!"

McCoy waggled his eyebrows and chuckled.  "And what if it is?"

---

Kirk walked on set in the morning as confident as anything.  McCoy had been right—playing cards worked as well as anything else had, plus he'd gotten more sleep than usual.  He'd already been on set the day before, checking out the work that Scotty had done—amazing, as always—and still couldn't quite believe that they'd ended up in McCoy 's actual house.  But McCoy was as good as his word, giving it to them for cheap, and when a film's budget was fifteen million every penny counted.

He rode to the set with Spock, as he always did, chatting in the car about the shooting schedule—ambitious but Kirk was pretty sure they could do it as the set ups were simple and the actors had the benefit of a whole two week's rehearsal back in LA.  Spock was a little worried, but then, that was his job.  Jean-Luc was there, too, taking copious notes as usual.

When they arrived Kirk noticed McCoy standing at the craft service table talking to Uhura.  Kirk was glad to see she was wearing the usual set gear of jeans and a t-shirt under a very large flannel shirt.  Her hair was up in its usual ponytail, but the effect was sporty rather than severe.  She didn't even scowl as she said good morning, so maybe she was warming up to him a little.

"Hey, forgot to say last night—" Kirk began.

McCoy turned to Uhura.  "We were playing cards."

"Rummy," Kirk added, "and that isn't even a euphemism."

Uhura picked up a peach. "Whether it is or not isn't really any of my business," she said.

"Anyway," Kirk continued, "I meant to say, if Spock orders everyone to clear the set, you stay."  He put a hand on McCoy's shoulder. "Don't go unless I ask you to go."

McCoy nodded.  "Okay," he said.

"Um, you too, Uhura," Kirk added.

Uhura crossed her arms.  "You don't have to—"

"No, I mean it," Kirk said, suddenly realizing that he actually did.  "Stay unless I tell you otherwise."

She looked at him, assessing, and then nodded.  "All right."

Kirk rested his other hand on her shoulder.  "Great!" he said, grinning.  "Because we're a team, right?"

"Yep, Jim, we're a team," McCoy said.  "Now go run off your energy someplace useful."

"I'm on it!" Jim said, fake-saluting as he walked away toward the makeup trailer, where Chekov and Gaila were getting ready.

"Hello, Captain!" Chekov said, grinning.  He'd picked up the nickname from Sulu and was always gleeful in his use of it, as though it meant he was part of a secret club or something, though with Chekov's slight accent it came out sounding more like "keptin."

"Pavel," Kirk said, shaking his hand firmly.  If the kid—hell, he couldn't think of him as that; it sounded like something McCoy would s ay—had taken the role to make the transition from child to adult act or, then Kirk figured the best way to talk to him was man-to-man as much as possible.  Even if Kirk was almost old enough to be his father.

He gave Gaila a big hug.  She looked downright formidable in her nurse whites, her hair in a severe bun.  "Well, are you a nice nurse or a naughty nurse?" he asked.

"Jimmy!" Gaila giggled. "We have to be serious; we're the grown-ups."

"I am also a grown-up!" Chekov protested.

"Oh Pavel," Gaila said, resting her hand on his, "I didn't mean that!  I meant that when Jim and I met, he was the AD and I had a small role, so we could fool around.  You're the lead; of course you're one of the grown-ups."

"Well, now that we have that figured out," Kirk said, "are you two ready?  We'll probably call you in about twenty."  He cocked his head and looked at Gaila.  "Are you wearing makeup?" he asked.

She nodded.  "It takes a lot of makeup to make you look like you're not wearing makeup."

"Hmm.  Come outside?"  He led her outside the trailer into the natural light.  "No, no, I don't like it."  He looked up at the makeup artist leaning out the doorway of the trailer.  "Can we take all of this off and just give her a little powder or something?" he asked.

"Of course," the woman replied.

Gaila's eyes flew open.  "Oh, I don't know …"

Jim set down his clipboard and put his hands on Gaila's upper arms. "Gigi, you took this part because it isn't a glamour role. There're plenty of scenes in Bread and Circuses where you're half-naked to put on your reel."

"I know," Gaila said.  "It's just—sometimes there's problems with color balancing."

Jim squinted, scrutinizing her skin.  "Okay, so you're a little sallow, but that's nothing we can't light just fine.  Trust me, Sulu and Scotty would never allow even one frame that isn't gorgeous."

She smiled a little.  "You talk like it's their movie more than yours," she said.

"Sometimes I wonder," Kirk replied.  "I just tell them where we're headed, and they get us there.  If it doesn't work, we can always go back to what you've got now.  It's fine, it just isn't perfect."

"Okay, Jim," she said.  "I trust you."

"Fantastic!" Kirk said, smiling broadly.  "Okay, I'll see you both shortly."

He walked over to where Sulu was setting up the first shot, where Chekov's character Walter comes home from school to find Nurse Rachel, played by Gaila, on his porch.  Jean-Luc was with Sulu, storyboards in hand, and Scotty stood nearby.

"Hey, Cap," Sulu said.

Kirk looked around.  "Light's good," he said.

"Aye," Scotty replied.  "It's a good day for it.   A little fill and we should be fine."

Kirk listened as Sulu took him through the proposed angles for the two-shot and the close-ups, though they were starting with a longer establishing shot of Chekov getting out of his car and walking across the yard.  "You've got it," Kirk replied.  "Let's just make sure we go in pretty tight on Chekov in those close-ups.  It's all going to be in his eyes."

Sulu nodded.  "He can certainly take a close-up," he replied.

Kirk resisted the impulse to raise his eyebrows.  "Yes," he replied, neutrally as he could.  "He's quite a photogenic actor."

Scotty showed no such restraint.  "Skin as tight and soft as a baby's arse," he said.

"I didn't say anything like that," Sulu protested, scowling.

Kirk held up his hands.  "Gentlemen, the task at hand?" he said. "J.L., let's get everyone on set for a moment."

"I'm on it, Cap," he said.

Kirk found his chair and sat down, taking a slug from the water bottle he'd grabbed from the craft service table, and waited for Jean-Luc and the PA's to gather the crew together.  Once they were all in the clearing in front of the house, Kirk stood up and started talking.

"Amazing to see so many familiar faces here," he began.  "This film is a departure for all of us, including me, and I couldn't imagine taking this leap without my crew with me.  But even though the film is different, my way of working isn't, so keep on taking the initiative and asking questions, and we'll all figure it out together like we always do."  He turned and saw McCoy and Uhura sitting together, a few feet back from the camera set up.  "I want to introduce two new members of our crew.  Nyota Uhura is here from Fleet, a studio that's always treated us well, and Leonard McCoy wrote this fantastic script so we thought we'd try something new and have a writer actually on set.  Let's welcome them," he said, leading the crew in a little round of applause.  "Okay, J.L."

While Jean-Luc started the crew moving to the first set-up, Kirk walked Chekov and Gaila through the scene, working out the blocking and getting the marks put down.  As they finished he saw Sulu gesturing to him, and walked back over to the camera.

"Problem?" Kirk asked.

"It's Gaila," Sulu said, gesturing to the camera.  "I can't—look for yourself."

Kirk looked through the lens, then out at Gaila, then through the lens again.  "She's—"

"She's green," Sulu whispered.  "I've never seen anything like it."

"No wonder she wanted to wear all that make-up," Kirk said.  He called out to Scotty.

Scotty came over and looked into the lens.  "Ah, we can fix that, Cap," he said.  "No problem."

"You're sure?" Kirk asked.

"Positive," Scotty replied. He grabbed O'Brien, the lighting director, and they wandered off in the direction of the equipment trailer, emerging a few minutes later with filters that they affixed to the light focussed on Gaila.

"So it was me," she said, shielding her eyes from the sun with her hand.

Scotty smiled at her.  "Don't you worry, lass," he said.  "It's an easy fix.  You should see how we have to light Carol Marcus."  He winked.

Gaila giggled.  O'Brien adjusted the light, then called out, "How's that, Cap'n?"

Kirk took another look.  "Perfect!" he replied.

"See, there you are," Scotty said, patting Gaila's arm.  "Not a thing to worry about."

Gaila smiled broadly and held out her hand.  "Good lighting is an actor's best friend, so thank you, Mr. Scott."

Scotty shook her hand, suddenly looking a little awkward.  "Er—Scotty.  That is, the Cap'n, he calls me Scotty."

"Scotty it is then.  Thank you, Scotty."

Kirk sensed Spock watching over his right shoulder—that was Spock's thing, materializing out of nowhere like a ghost, and Kirk had long since stopped being startled by it.

"It would appear, Jim," Spock said, "that the sexual energy you have denied yourself has spread to the crew."  He nodded at the car, where Sulu and Chekov were talking.

"If that's what keeps us going, it's fine with me," Kirk said, and he was pretty sure he even meant it.

---

Shooting did go well, for four entire days.  The collaborative spirit from rehearsals and pre-production continued.  Chekov settled into his role and Kirk could see him growing with every take, while Gaila kept the mood light and professional.  McCoy was tweaking dialogue as needed and had revised a few future scenes based on what they'd shot so far.  And Spock was working his usual silent magic, keeping everyone on track and most importantly, on schedule.  Even Uhura seemed pleased.

Kirk was actually looking forward to Khan's arrival.  He'd been remarkably open and present during their weeks of rehearsal, kind to Gaila and treating Chekov like a protege.  With Kirk's enthusiastic endorsement he'd decided to wear his usually dark hair silver for the part, though they would need to hide his muscular physique with wardrobe.  He arrived on the set five days into the shoot, notably free of entourage.

But Kirk had forgotten, in Carol's absence, what that movie star aura was like.  (Chekov wasn't quite there yet, though Kirk knew it was only a matter of time.)  Khan smiled, shook hands, asked the name of every person on the crew, working the room like a pro.  But there was something just a little different in Khan's affect from the way he'd behaved in rehearsal, and Kirk couldn't quite put his finger on it.

Then they got to work.  Kirk had to give Khan some credit, as it started slowly and seemingly innocently.  "James, I had a new idea about this scene," he'd say, and Kirk would reply that of course they could do it both ways.  After all, Carol usually knew exactly what she wanted to do, and when they didn't agree they could work it out.  They had time enough for all these alternate takes, and maybe this was just part of the process.  Maybe the rehearsals hadn't gone as well as Kirk had thought, or weren't as useful for the actors as he'd hoped.  Maybe Khan only felt free to express his little, constant dissatisfactions once they were on set, rather than back in rehearsals.

"James, I'm not sure about this shirt."

"James, does the makeup have to make me look quite this sickly?"

"James, don't you think this scene would work better as just a close- up of me?"

It grew to Khan making suggestions to Chekov that conflicted with both what Kirk had said and the work they'd done in rehearsal.  The poor kid was confused: listen to the old pro, or the still-young director?  He was also a sponge, soaking up everything around him, and therefore very suggestible.  Kirk really didn't need Khan being a bug in the kid's ear.  Carol might argue and raise a fuss and be difficult generally, but at least she did it openly.  She never undermined him with other actors; she just stood her ground and had it out with him.  And while their fights were infamous in Hollywood, they didn't actually have more than two or three per movie.  But this—Kirk could feel his control of the production, and worse, his own vision of McCoy's script, slipping through his fingers.

At the end of the fifth day Kirk collapsed onto his bed, too mentally exhausted from the constant chess-playing to even think about preparing for the next day.  Spock had said nothing in the car on the way back to the hotel, but he'd looked concerned.  He had every right to be, as they'd watched the dailies and while what Kirk had wanted was still there, they had a lot more chaff than wheat. The worst thing was, for once Kirk wasn't even sure what to do.

A knock on the door shook him out of his brooding, and he was glad of any company so long as it wasn't Khan.  He opened the door to see Spock, with Uhura and McCoy, all looking pretty serious.  "Hey, guys, come on in," he said, smiling to cover his sudden nerves.

McCoy sat down on the corner of the bed, and as soon as the door shut he said, "What the hell, Jim?"

"Bones?" Kirk replied.

"That Khan is going to steer the goddamned car off the road if you don't do something about it," McCoy continued.

"So you noticed it too?" Kirk asked.  "It isn't just me?"

Uhura nodded.  "I'm sorry for my part in this, Kirk," she said, sitting in the chair opposite Spock.  "Looks like you were right about Khan."

"No," Kirk said flatly.  "You were right, too.  He's perfect for the part, if only he'd play the part instead of playing mind games with me.  In rehearsal he seemed to be the Khan I'd worked with before, but I guess I was fooled."

"When it was a matter of alternate takes, it was not a problem," Spock said, "but now that Khan wishes to interfere with the set-ups we may run into delays that will put us over budget."

"Plus Khan's messing with the kid," McCoy said.  "Ain't fair to him."

"Nor to Gaila," Uhura said.  "You can see how stressed she is, trying to keep her positive energy."

"Fuck." Kirk started to pace in the small open space in the room, trying to think.  He could feel their eyes on him, but it was oddly not uncomfortable at all.  "I just hate pulling rank like this. There's always been another way."

"Demanding the respect due to you isn't pulling rank, Jim," McCoy said.  "Aren't directors supposed to be dictators?"

Kirk wagged his finger.  "I'm a leader, not a tyrant," he said.

"You are the captain on that set, Jim," Spock said.

Kirk looked at them, and it was as though the fog had suddenly cleared.  "That's it," he said, sitting down next to McCoy.  "All this time I've been trying to think about how to go to his room or his trailer and talk to him.  Didn't want to do it in front of everyone, since he already thinks I shamed him in public.  But it has to be on set.  Spock?"

"Yes, Jim?"

"If he starts up with this business tomorrow—"

"When he starts up, you mean," McCoy said.

Kirk nodded to him, smiling a bit.  "When he starts up," he said, "be ready to clear the set on my signal."

"What signal?" Spock asked.

"I don't know yet," Jim admitted.  "But you'll know it when you see it."

"What will Khan have to do?" Uhura asked.

"I don't know that yet either, but I'll know it when I see it.  Trust me?"

"Of course," Spock replied.

"Sure, Jim," McCoy said.

"Uhura?" Kirk asked.

"I've always said it's your set, Kirk," she replied.  "You should do whatever works."

Kirk pressed further.  "But do you think it's a good idea?"

She paused, then said, "I agree with you.  It has to be on set."

"Great," Kirk said, nodding.  "Thanks.  I really appreciate this. All right, let's get some rest.  Tomorrow might be a very long day."

As Uhura and McCoy walked out, Kirk put a hand on Spock's shoulder. He turned.  "Jim, you have a question?"

"Just one," he replied.  "Was this your idea, coming in to see me?"

"I must admit it was not," Spock said.  "I was going to wait to talk to you in the morning, during our ride back to the set.  But when Ms. Uhura and I were discussing the dailies I suggested that she bring her concerns directly to you, and she said that it was McCoy who pointed out to her that something should be done straight away."

"I see," Kirk replied.

"I did not realize that he would be so … emotional."  Spock titled his head slightly, his usual means of expressing slight confused disapproval.

"Come on!  He's a creative, of course he's excitable.  But you have to admit he helped."

"He is an integral part of the team, yes," Spock replied.

Kirk had to laugh at that.  "All right, I'll see you in the morning."

"Yes, see you in the morning, Jim," he said, and left.

Kirk turned to his notes for the next day with renewed energy. Looking at the shooting schedule he pinpointed exactly where the trouble would be, and even though he wasn't sure how he'd react, he had his confidence back and team behind him.  When the moment came, he'd be ready for it.

---