Space_Wrapped Fic: The Road is So Long
Title: The Road is So Long
Author: sunriseinspace
Character(s): Jim Kirk / Leonard McCoy, Christine Chapel, Geoffrey M’Benga, Jocelyn Treadway, Joanna McCoy, and Winona Kirk (the Windy-lady to Joanna) (also: cameos by Scotty, Uhura, and Spock, with mention of Deborah McCoy, Leonard’s grandmother)
Rating: PG-13
WARNINGS: minor character death (relevant to the prompt), not-entirely-accurate science and medicine. :P
Word Count: 4,723 words
Disclaimer: I own nothing about Star Trek (2009), its characters or plotlines, including any recognizable dialogue.
Summary: Of course it’s too much to hope for a fairly normal Christmas aboard the Enterprise, Leonard thinks, staring blankly at the dark vidscreen in his office.
Written for space_wrapped prompt: The medical staff is trying to keep a mortally wounded redshirt alive until midnight, so his/her family won't have to remember Christmas as the day Daddy/Mommy died.
A/N: This comes after my heat-wave!verse stories, so Leonard and Jocelyn have reconciled their differences, Jim’s completely in love with Bones’ little girl, and the families are happy to mix and mingle.
Of course it’s too much to hope for a fairly normal Christmas aboard the Enterprise, Leonard thinks, staring blankly at the dark vidscreen in his office. Not that they’re in the middle of anything life-threatening at the moment, just trolling through known space on their way to an unexplored sector on the outskirts of the nav charts. There’s not even been an accident down in Engineering in days, the lull eerie after months of once-a-week catastrophes, usually requiring medical assistance of some sort. And Jim’s decided to host a holiday party in the Mess hall tonight, has been planning it with Uhura and his yeoman for most of the month, so it’s not that there’s a lack of holiday spirit evident in the sleek halls of the ship.
No, it’s not a normal Christmas because he’s stuck in space while his daughter and grandmother and ex-wife are back on Earth, stranded in the middle of snowed-in Iowa at Jim’s mother’s house. And the comm-link with the Riverside farmhouse had cut out in the middle of Jocelyn telling him that Joanna’s runny nose and sore throat were looking like something more than just some sniffles.
Damn it.
“Bones!” Jim crows, striding into his office as though he owns the place. Then again, Leonard concedes, as Captain, he kind of does.
“What, Jim?” he sighs, bracing his elbows on the desktop and burying his face in his hands.
“Hey, everything okay?” A tentative hand lands on Leonard’s shoulder, digging carefully into the taut muscle when Leonard shifts to lean his head against Jim’s chest.
“Blizzard in Iowa,” he mutters into command-gold and feels Jim laugh softly.
“Bones,” Jim chides, carding gentle hands through Leonard’s hair, tilting his head so he looks straight into amused blue eyes, “it’s Iowa. It happens.”
“I know that,” he gripes, shoving at Jim’s stomach and leaning back in his chair. He sighs again, staring past Jim’s shoulder as the other man perches on the edge of Leonard’s desk. “But Jo’s sick and the call cut out ‘cause of interference from the storm.”
Jim’s mouth flattens out in a sympathetic smile as he leans forward to catch Leonard’s gaze, blue eyes serious and affectionate. “It’ll be all right. Mom’s dealt with plenty of winters. Sick kids, too,” he offers, pulling one Leonard’s hands between his to trace long, surgeon’s fingers with soothing strokes.
“Yeah, I know. Just wish we coulda made it home this year.”
Jim shrugs and drops Leonard’s hand, rising to his feet with a graceful stretch. “It was too soon after the last visit home. I mean, Pike tried, but he couldn’t get the Admirals to approve it, ‘specially since we were just back in the summer.” He slaps Leonard’s shoulder and leans down to press a kiss against his temple, tracing a careful thumb over his cheek before heading for the door. “We still on for dinner before the party?” he asks, pausing in the doorway.
“Yeah,” Leonard nods, eyes caught on the holopic of Joanna he keeps on his desk.
“Bones,” he looks up and meets Jim’s confident eyes, “it’ll be okay. I promise, all right?”
“Yeah,” he sighs, looking back at the holo. Jim hesitates for a second, then slaps his hand on the doorframe and nods, steps firm as he strides out of the MedBay.
Bypassing the bridge, Jim heads to his ready-room, settling into his chair with a pensive expression. He knows the way winters in Iowa work, has weathered plenty of them himself and knows that the little farmhouse in Riverside isn’t facing any real danger. And his mom really is more than capable of taking care of things, even if Joanna’s sick -- shoot, they managed fine the year Jim’d had both strep throat and an ear infection and been allergic to the only painkillers available in the house. Yeah, it hadn’t been good...
Turning back and forth idly in his chair, chewing absently at the corner of his thumbnail, he comes to a decision. Swinging around to face the console, he requests an open channel, straightening his tunic as he waits for it to connect. He plasters a charming (but not too charming) smile on his face as the screen lights up with a familiar face.
“Chris. I need a favor, sir.”
He’s out in the main room, seated at a biobed with Christine, killing time before dinner by helping her string replicated popcorn into garlands for the tree Scotty’d made for the party, when the call comes in.
“Engineering to MedBay!”
He’s out of his seat in a flash, popcorn scattered on the floor and bed behind him from where his hand knocked the bowl, and across the room, hand on the button for the communication terminal. The knot of sudden worry in the pit of his stomach warns him that things, as always, have gone from peaceful and easy to FUBAR in a heartbeat.
“McCoy here.”
“There’s been an overload!” someone shouts through the speaker. “Commander Scott and a team were working on replacing relays and the panel blew!” Leonard turns and waves a hand at Christine and she jumps to her feet to start organizing nurses and supplies, switching on the display panels for several biobeds and running to another console to call Geoff to the ‘Bay. “Hastings’s got burns up his arms, Simmons fell over the rail, landed on her feet on the lower level, but twisted her ankle, and Commander Scott’s tryin’ to put out the fire, but Flanagan--Flanagan,” and the kid’s voice breaks off on a ragged sound.
“We’re on our way,” Leonard promises, not bothering to sign off properly as he grabs a medkit and the team gathered to head down to Engineering.
So much for a quiet Christmas.
When the end of Beta comes and Bones doesn’t show up to drag him to dinner, Jim decides to head down to the MedBay himself and get him, thinking that Bones is probably just worrying about Joanna, closed up in his office with his melancholy.
What greets him as he walks through the MedBay doors is nothing short of chaos. Nurses are running back and forth for supplies while Bones barks orders and M’Benga focuses on wrapping bandages around Ensign Hastings’ arms, Chapel nearly vibrating as she tries to be in two or more places at once. Scotty’s hovering worriedly in the corner by the biobed where Bones is working and Jim works his way in that direction, carefully staying out of everyone’s way.
“What happened?” he asks quietly, eyes on the patient on the ‘bed as Scotty rakes shaking hands through his hair, smearing the soot-stains on his face.
“I dinnae see exactly what happened, it was all so fast,” he says, shaking his head. Jim lays a firm hand on Scotty’s shoulder, attention on the Engineer but eyes on the patient. “Just simple replacements, Cap’n, I promise, but somethin’ went wrong and the panel blew up in our faces. Simmons went over the rail -- she’s okay, they’ve already patched her up -- and Hastings there got his hands fairly scorched.”
“Who’s this?” Jim asks, pointing with his chin at Bones’ patient.
“Flanagan. Lad was buried under the debris, took us a bit to dig ‘im out.” Scotty wrings his hands and hisses, shaking them gingerly before crossing his arms. Jim notices bandages wrapped around both of the Engineer’s palms before they’re tucked out of sight and realizes that Scotty probably did most of the digging, heedless of sharp edges in his haste to get to his man. “He’s not said a thing. The Doc was right frantic by the time we got him free.”
Jim watches Bones for a few minutes, reading the concern and desperation in his features as he grabs hypos and regenerators from the nurses, still calling out commands as he tries to staunch the bleeding. Frowning, Jim realizes Bones seems to be having a harder time of it than usual and turns to ask Scotty one more question.
“Which panel--?”
Scotty’s eyes are shadowed with misery as he answers.
“The radiation conduit.”
Jim looks back at the bed and sees everything with new eyes.
“Shit.”
“Shit!” Leonard curses, watching the laceration he’s trying to close unseal, the skin around it blistering under the regenerator.
“Surgical glue and bandages!” Chapel calls over her shoulder, reaching over to pinch the laceration shut. “Crap,” she hisses, stretching to reach under her left arm for the bandages already on the tray.
“Heart rate’s dropping,” Geoff snaps as he rounds the end of the ‘bed, leaning for a hypospray and jabbing it against Flanagan’s neck.
“He’s lost too much blood. Set up for a transfusion!” Leonard orders, reaching for more bandages as they finally manage to keep the kid from losing any more blood. He straightens and rolls his shoulders, catching sight of Jim in the corner with Scotty as he glances up at the display over the ‘bed. “All right, we’ve got to get him stabilized and neutralize the radiation. I’m not likin’ those readings.”
Christine and Geoff both glance up and scan the screen, each reaching for a different tool as they start diagnosing in their heads. Deciding it’s safe to leave them to it for a moment, Leonard strips off his gloves and heads over to where Jim and Scotty are standing, the Engineer looking more than a bit frazzled, Jim’s eyes creased with worry.
“How is he?” Jim asks immediately, blue eyes somber as he studies Leonard’s face.
“He-- I--” He shakes his head, strangely unable to give Jim a plain answer. “It’s not good,” he finally settles on and Jim nods in understanding, even as his mouth thins -- every lost crew member weighs heavily on him and for one to be so injured due to a simple accident in Engineering obviously weighs heavier than most. “There’s not much we can do until the radiation is dealt with, but I don’t know that that head wound will last that long.”
“Jesus, Mary and Joseph,” Scotty curses prayerfully, hanging his head. He scrubs a bandaged hand through his hair and sighs, shoulders sagging and his face mournful as he lifts his head to face them again. “He’s got a wife and children back home, and neither of the wee ones yet five.”
Leonard feels something in him freeze in horror, barely registering Jim’s sighed curse as he stares at Flanagan. It’s so precarious, the condition the kid’s in, and so likely to turn bad in an instant, that by all rights Leonard should be planning ways to keep the kid comfortable until the end. There is literally nothing they can do for him until the radiation is neutralized and there’s only a small window open for them to fix that head wound before it’s fatal. Leonard rakes a hand through his hair, a groan caught in his throat as he considers Flanagan’s situation and makes a choice.
“Bones,” Jim murmurs, blue eyes concerned, though his voice is warm with understanding.
“I’ve got to try, Jim,” he says, already turning back to the biobed. “You go on to the party. Don’t--Don't ruin the day for everyone else.” Scotty’s shoulders sag with relief, his eyes lighting up as he gives a grateful nod and scurries back to Engineering. Jim’s more circumspect, though, stepping close to lay a gentle hand on Leonard’s shoulder and brush a kiss to his temple.
“Are you sure?” he whispers, resting his chin on Leonard’s shoulder for a second, until Leonard pulls away and offers a bittersweet smile.
“If we delay it long enough, his kids won’t have to think of Christmas as the day Daddy died.”
Jim’s eyes are bleak, stricken, but he nods and steps away, shoulders straight as he walks out of the MedBay without looking back. Leonard sighs, soul-deep and weary, and throws himself back into the frantic activity around Flanagan’s biobed, just as the kid tries to die on them again.
The door hisses shut behind him as he stands aimlessly in their quarters, staring blankly at the tiny Christmas tree glittering in the corner. His mind is a chaotic swirl of images, thoughts, and feelings -- Christmases from his childhood filled with laughter and smiles but with that little undercurrent of loss threading through every action, Flanagan’s slack features as Christine pressed a bandage to a seeping gash on his forehead, Joanna’s burbling laughter and Bones’ gruff affection.
The last thing he wants to do is go to the party, but he’s been making such a fuss about it for the past few weeks, it’ll raise flags if he doesn’t go and he promised Bones he wouldn’t ruin anyone else’s Christmas. He scrubs a hand over his face and moves to the closet, tugging off his command tunic and shuffling through the hangers in search of something to wear. Toward the back of the closet, he finds a thick burgundy sweater, one he’s pretty sure is Bones'. He’s equally sure it’s one his mom made for Bones, a past Christmas or birthday gift and tangible proof of her approval. He smiles and pulls it off the hanger, dragging it over his head before trading his black trousers for his favorite pair of jeans.
The Mess Hall is just starting to fill with people when he walks in and the festive air is both a relief and an irritant. There’s laughter and smiles all around, with Chekov looking like a Christmas elf, his cheeks sprinkled with glitter as he wanders through the partiers, a holocamera in his hands as he captures picture after picture to send home to family. Jim smiles fondly, feeling affection and pride in his crew war against the concern for those working in the MedBay tugging on the back of his mind. Glancing down at his feet for a second, he takes a deep breath and scrubs a hand through his hair, pulling himself together so that, maybe, he can get some enjoyment out of the party. Bones’ is the best doctor he’s ever seen; he saved Pike’s legs - there’s bound to be something he can do for Flanagan.
Looking up again, he spots Uhura and grins boyishly, composing a plan on the spot to steal a kiss from her under the mistletoe.
It’s been hours spent doing little to nothing as the medicines and machines work to remove the radiation slowing Ensign Flanagan’s treatment, hours Leonard’s spent torturing himself by reading through the Ensign’s jacket. Yet another among the young geniuses making up the crew, Denny Flanagan graduated in the top percentile of his class and was immediately granted a position on Scotty’s crew in Engineering. He married his childhood sweetheart before enrolling at the Academy and their youngest child was born just before he shipped out for his stint on the Enterprise -- as Scotty said, neither of his two children have turned five yet. Leonard sets down the PADD and buries his head in his hands, scrubbing his eyes hard with the heels of his hands.
Sighing heavily, he raises tired eyes and searches out the chronometer and the readout on the biobed. He’s disheartened to find it’s still three hours to midnight and Flanagan’s vitals are still falling, slowly but surely. Studying the readout, he picks up a hypospray and gently presses it against the kid’s neck, eyebrows furrowing as he watches the minimal effect it has. Shaking his head, he braces his hands on the biobed and sighs again, wishing he hadn’t told Jim to go on to the party -- the distraction of his presence would have been more than welcome.
“Any change?” Christine asks, coming to stand at his side.
“Not enough.” He rolls his shoulders, trying to shake out the tension and aches.
“Maybe we should just--”
“No,” he bites out, targeting her with a glare over his shoulder. Her eyes are red-rimmed with exhaustion and her neat ponytail is falling into disarray, but the glare she returns for his shortness is every bit as potent as normal. “There’s still a chance he’ll make it through the night. We owe his family that much.”
“Do I need to get Commander Spock to tell you how small that chance is, Leonard?” she questions, raising one delicate eyebrow in challenge.
He bites down savagely on his cheek, not wanting frustration and desperation and exhaustion to twist this into something uglier than it already is. “His kids should be happy on Christmas day, not grieving for their father,” he says, thinking of Joanna and her Christmas excitement.
“Will one day really make that much of a difference?” The question is softly voiced and painfully logical.
“A day can make all the difference in the world,” he answers.
”Where’s Len?” Uhura asks, sipping at her glass of eggnog, one arm wrapped comfortably around Spock’s waist.
“There was something he had to take care of,” Jim says, eyes scanning over the crowd. Chekov’s abandoned his ‘camera in favor of a glass of punch and Sulu’s company, the two of them standing closer than friends normally would. Jim bites back a smile and glances back at Uhura. “What?”
“Nothing,” she shakes her head, jingle bell earrings chiming softly as her ponytail swings behind her. “I’m just surprised you didn’t drag him down here anyway.”
“Well,” he mumbles around the lip of his own glass, “he assured me it was important.” He wants to wince at how much of an understatement that is, but to do so would trigger all of Nyota’s internal sensors. As it is, her eyes narrow in suspicion but she lets it go, leaning up to kiss Spock on the cheek and waving to Janice as she threads her way through the crowd. Jim barely resists the urge to sigh in relief.
He downs the last of his punch and finally forces himself to meet Spock’s solemn gaze. “Something on your mind, Spock?”
“I trust you will inform me of any changes in the ship’s status or in the status of its crew,” Spock states, turning to face the same direction as Jim, both watching as the crowd seethes and roils as people dance and mingle.
“Just as soon as there’s something to report,” Jim replies, hand tightening on his glass as he glances at the chronometer -- 2330. Spock follows his gaze but says nothing, holding a silent vigil with him as he waits with a sinking feeling in his gut for the call from the MedBay.
He’s not dozing, but he’d be lying to say he’s completely awake, lulled into a drifting state of inattention by the steadily beeping biobed monitors. It’s set to alert him when the course of treatment for the radiation is finished and, by the last check, they should finally be able to start treating Flanagan’s head injuries within the next ten minutes. He’s not sure it’ll do much good -- it's been too long since Flanagan was brought in for him to be optimistic about very much anymore -- but he’d promised himself he’d try.
He jumps to his feet, abruptly alert, when the ‘bed starts wailing, five minutes before the treatment alert. All of the readouts have gone red, Flanagan’s vitals dropping faster than the ‘bed can account for and the medical team is left scrambling to stop the downward spiral, pulling out every trick in the book and creating a few off the cuff. Leonard sees the resignation in M’Benga’s eyes when more sophisticated methods fail and they have to resort to CPR; he sees it in Chapel’s when the first rib goes.
“Get a Goddamned hypospray!” he barks, hands working over Flanagan’s chest as the monitor continues to wail over his shoulder. Christine reaches over the bed and presses a button, dropping them into a silence broken only by Leonard’s own harsh breaths. He thinks of the pictures in Flanagan’s folder, of the two painfully innocent, brutally young children who’ll never know their father, and he presses harder, feels another rib go as tears flood his eyes and M’Benga’s firm hands settle on his shoulders to pull him off the biobed.
“T...Time of death: 2345,” Christine chokes out, the only one with enough focus to mark it down, the only one with tears streaming down her cheeks -- for all her bluster and backbone, Leonard knows she cries for every patient that doesn’t make it out of their care and he respects her more because of it.
“God damn it,” he growls, his chest aching with the silence in the ‘bay, hands clenching into useless fists at his sides. He glances once at Christine’s stricken face, at Geoff’s bleak eyes, and storms out.
He runs to the MedBay as soon as he gets Christine's message, skidding sideways through the doors before they're fully open. "Bones--"
"He left, Captain." Christine's cheeks are pink, her eyes swollen, as she gathers up used hypos and bandages, wiping down surfaces as she goes. M'Benga's typing something at a nearby console, eyes red-rimmed, but he glances up at Christine's voice.
"He didn't say anything, but... This really hit him hard, Captain."
Jim sighs and rubs a hand over his face. "I know, Geoff," he replies, moving to stand behind the doctor so he can see the paperwork Geoff's working on completing. "This the time of death?" he asks, pointing at a field on the form. M'Benga nods, dark eyes trained on the captain's face as Jim considers the numbers printed in the box. Reaching out with hands that don't shake at all, Jim erases what M'Benga wrote and fills in the current date and time - 0005, 2259.360.
"Look," he says in a quiet voice, completely unrepentant despite his breach of medical protocol, "he made it." M'Benga's wide-eyed and Christine's especially pale, but they both nod, tears flooding Christine's eyes again as she turns back to her work. With a nod of his own, Jim turns and heads out of the MedBay, relatively sure there're only a couple places Bones could be.
He finds him sitting in the dark in the Captain's quarters, hands limp on his thighs as he stares blankly at the wall. Carefully, unsure of exactly how to comfort the man he loves, Jim settles next to Bones on the couch, close enough that the warm length of his thigh presses against the other man's.
"Bones?"
"Never fails to astonish me. You're alive. You're dead - no drums, no flashing lights, no fanfare. You're just dead." His face crumples, shoulders sagging as he curls in on himself, tears running down his face. Jim wraps his arms around Bones' shoulders, pulling his head down onto Jim's chest, cradling him reassuringly as Bones digs desperate fingers into Jim's sweater.
They fall asleep curled around each other on the couch, Bones' face buried into Jim's neck and Jim's arms holding Bones as close as possible.
The console’s chiming pulls him abruptly out of sleep. With a start, he snaps to awareness, the muscles in his back and neck protesting the position he’d slept in. Jim mumbles against his neck, rolling his face into Leonard’s shoulder and tightening his arms around Leonard, still deeply asleep despite the now-painful position. With a groan, Leonard nudges Jim off him, settling the other man out flat on the couch and stumbling to his feet, myriad aches hampering his movements across the room.
The console tells him there’s an incoming communication, high-priority but not an emergency and addressed to the both of them. Sighing, he scrubs a hand over his face, feeling stubble and the grit of dried tears. With the reminder, his shoulders sag a little, yesterday’s strain still weighing heavily and cruelly augmented with the knowledge that he failed to save Ensign Flanagan. He sucks in a breath and holds it, putting on a calm face before answering the call.
“Dr. McCoy speak--”
“Daddy!” He blinks, eyes going wide as he stares in wonder at his little girl’s face. Joanna’s cheeks are lightly flushed, but her smile is radiant, eyes sparkling excitement, and the barely contained energy he can see thrumming through her speaks to the absolute absence of any serious illness, despite her occasional sniffle.
“Jojo,” he breathes, touching the screen with shaking hands. It’s wonderful to see her after all of the worry and stress of yesterday. “Hi, baby, how’re you feeling?”
“’m fine, Daddy,” she assures him. “The Windy-lady made me tea and hot chocolate all day yesterday and Dr. Phil says I’m not sick ‘nymore and my throat doesn’t hurt at all. So don’t worry, Daddy,” she admonishes, grinning at him, hazel eyes sparkling.
“That’s good, baby-girl, I’m--Wait,” he pauses, mentally rewinding what she said and picking out the oddity for dissection. “Dr. Phil?”
“Mm-hmm, he’s Uncle Chris’ friend,” she chirps, fiddling with something in her lap, giggling occasionally and squirming in the seat.
“Uncle Chris--Pike’s there?” Leonard shakes his head, glancing up from the console to stare longingly at the replicator across the room. Coffee would go a long way to making this conversation make a whole hell of a lot more sense.
“Yeah, he came in yesterday for Christmas’n brought a friend. The Windy-lady was surprised to see him,” she says, looking back up at her father, eyebrows furrowed in a mirror of her dad’s confused expression. “Daddy, why would the Windy-lady’ve been laughing about Cap’n Jim bein’ a worrywart?”
And Leonard finally puts all of the pieces together, smiling to himself as he looks over his shoulder at the man still sleeping peacefully on the couch. Trust Jim to call in favors to Chris to make Leonard feel better. Aw, hell, kid. He shakes his head, thumbing at the moisture gathered at the corner of his eye.
“I wouldn’t know, baby,” he tells her, though he does, pulling out the desk chair and settling into it instead of hunching awkwardly over the desk. “So, d’you get anything interesting yesterday?” he asks, a small smile tucking into the corner of his mouth as he waits for her answer -- he already knows what the big gift of the day was.
“I got a kitten, Daddy!” she squeals at the camera, hoisting the cat out of her lap to show her father, a huge grin splitting her face. “He was waitin’ under the tree yesterday, after Christmas dinner! ‘n I don’t even know how he got there, ‘cause we’d opened all of the presents already!” She’s so excited as she tells him about her presents, smooshing the kitten’s face under her chin as she rambles on, and he can’t help but laugh at her exuberance.
“What’re you gonna name him?”
“Bones!”
He stares blankly at the screen, not quite sure what to say. A presence slides up behind him, arm snaking around his waist, and Jim’s chin settles on his right shoulder.
“I think that’s the perfect name for him,” Jim tells Joanna and her hazel eyes go wide when she notices him.
“Cap’n Jim! The Windy-lady wanted me to tell you she loves you and that ‘he’s cute when he worries, even if there’s no good reason for it,’” she quotes, eyebrows dancing as Bones-the-kitten worms his way out of her hands. “Hey, get back here!” she growls at him and Leonard shares a smile with Jim.
“Hey, Jo-girl, didja have a good Christmas?” Jim asks.
Leonard’s never seen his baby girl smile so brightly. “Yep! The best one ever!” she calls at the camera, ducking down to haul her kitten back into her lap.
“Hey, Jo, lemme talk to your mama, huh?” Leonard requests.
“Okay,” she chirps, sliding out of view. “MAMA!” they hear seconds later, followed by a quiet conversation held off-camera.
“Thank you, Jim,” Leonard murmurs, nuzzling against Jim’s sideburn and planting a kiss at the corner of his jaw. “Calling Pike and Boyce... You didn’t have to but--”
“Yeah, I did,” he whispers back, forehead resting against Leonard’s temple. He shrugs. “Besides, I was worried, too. And I didn’t call Boyce -- Pike must’ve dragged ‘im along for the ride,” Jim says with a grin.
“Thank you,” Leonard says again, pressing the words against Jim’s lips.
“Ahem,” Jocelyn clears her throat, smiling at them on the screen. “Enjoying your Christmas?”
Leonard gives her a small smile. “It’s getting better.”
Author: sunriseinspace
Character(s): Jim Kirk / Leonard McCoy, Christine Chapel, Geoffrey M’Benga, Jocelyn Treadway, Joanna McCoy, and Winona Kirk (the Windy-lady to Joanna) (also: cameos by Scotty, Uhura, and Spock, with mention of Deborah McCoy, Leonard’s grandmother)
Rating: PG-13
WARNINGS: minor character death (relevant to the prompt), not-entirely-accurate science and medicine. :P
Word Count: 4,723 words
Disclaimer: I own nothing about Star Trek (2009), its characters or plotlines, including any recognizable dialogue.
Summary: Of course it’s too much to hope for a fairly normal Christmas aboard the Enterprise, Leonard thinks, staring blankly at the dark vidscreen in his office.
Written for space_wrapped prompt: The medical staff is trying to keep a mortally wounded redshirt alive until midnight, so his/her family won't have to remember Christmas as the day Daddy/Mommy died.
A/N: This comes after my heat-wave!verse stories, so Leonard and Jocelyn have reconciled their differences, Jim’s completely in love with Bones’ little girl, and the families are happy to mix and mingle.
Of course it’s too much to hope for a fairly normal Christmas aboard the Enterprise, Leonard thinks, staring blankly at the dark vidscreen in his office. Not that they’re in the middle of anything life-threatening at the moment, just trolling through known space on their way to an unexplored sector on the outskirts of the nav charts. There’s not even been an accident down in Engineering in days, the lull eerie after months of once-a-week catastrophes, usually requiring medical assistance of some sort. And Jim’s decided to host a holiday party in the Mess hall tonight, has been planning it with Uhura and his yeoman for most of the month, so it’s not that there’s a lack of holiday spirit evident in the sleek halls of the ship.
No, it’s not a normal Christmas because he’s stuck in space while his daughter and grandmother and ex-wife are back on Earth, stranded in the middle of snowed-in Iowa at Jim’s mother’s house. And the comm-link with the Riverside farmhouse had cut out in the middle of Jocelyn telling him that Joanna’s runny nose and sore throat were looking like something more than just some sniffles.
Damn it.
“Bones!” Jim crows, striding into his office as though he owns the place. Then again, Leonard concedes, as Captain, he kind of does.
“What, Jim?” he sighs, bracing his elbows on the desktop and burying his face in his hands.
“Hey, everything okay?” A tentative hand lands on Leonard’s shoulder, digging carefully into the taut muscle when Leonard shifts to lean his head against Jim’s chest.
“Blizzard in Iowa,” he mutters into command-gold and feels Jim laugh softly.
“Bones,” Jim chides, carding gentle hands through Leonard’s hair, tilting his head so he looks straight into amused blue eyes, “it’s Iowa. It happens.”
“I know that,” he gripes, shoving at Jim’s stomach and leaning back in his chair. He sighs again, staring past Jim’s shoulder as the other man perches on the edge of Leonard’s desk. “But Jo’s sick and the call cut out ‘cause of interference from the storm.”
Jim’s mouth flattens out in a sympathetic smile as he leans forward to catch Leonard’s gaze, blue eyes serious and affectionate. “It’ll be all right. Mom’s dealt with plenty of winters. Sick kids, too,” he offers, pulling one Leonard’s hands between his to trace long, surgeon’s fingers with soothing strokes.
“Yeah, I know. Just wish we coulda made it home this year.”
Jim shrugs and drops Leonard’s hand, rising to his feet with a graceful stretch. “It was too soon after the last visit home. I mean, Pike tried, but he couldn’t get the Admirals to approve it, ‘specially since we were just back in the summer.” He slaps Leonard’s shoulder and leans down to press a kiss against his temple, tracing a careful thumb over his cheek before heading for the door. “We still on for dinner before the party?” he asks, pausing in the doorway.
“Yeah,” Leonard nods, eyes caught on the holopic of Joanna he keeps on his desk.
“Bones,” he looks up and meets Jim’s confident eyes, “it’ll be okay. I promise, all right?”
“Yeah,” he sighs, looking back at the holo. Jim hesitates for a second, then slaps his hand on the doorframe and nods, steps firm as he strides out of the MedBay.
Bypassing the bridge, Jim heads to his ready-room, settling into his chair with a pensive expression. He knows the way winters in Iowa work, has weathered plenty of them himself and knows that the little farmhouse in Riverside isn’t facing any real danger. And his mom really is more than capable of taking care of things, even if Joanna’s sick -- shoot, they managed fine the year Jim’d had both strep throat and an ear infection and been allergic to the only painkillers available in the house. Yeah, it hadn’t been good...
Turning back and forth idly in his chair, chewing absently at the corner of his thumbnail, he comes to a decision. Swinging around to face the console, he requests an open channel, straightening his tunic as he waits for it to connect. He plasters a charming (but not too charming) smile on his face as the screen lights up with a familiar face.
“Chris. I need a favor, sir.”
He’s out in the main room, seated at a biobed with Christine, killing time before dinner by helping her string replicated popcorn into garlands for the tree Scotty’d made for the party, when the call comes in.
“Engineering to MedBay!”
He’s out of his seat in a flash, popcorn scattered on the floor and bed behind him from where his hand knocked the bowl, and across the room, hand on the button for the communication terminal. The knot of sudden worry in the pit of his stomach warns him that things, as always, have gone from peaceful and easy to FUBAR in a heartbeat.
“McCoy here.”
“There’s been an overload!” someone shouts through the speaker. “Commander Scott and a team were working on replacing relays and the panel blew!” Leonard turns and waves a hand at Christine and she jumps to her feet to start organizing nurses and supplies, switching on the display panels for several biobeds and running to another console to call Geoff to the ‘Bay. “Hastings’s got burns up his arms, Simmons fell over the rail, landed on her feet on the lower level, but twisted her ankle, and Commander Scott’s tryin’ to put out the fire, but Flanagan--Flanagan,” and the kid’s voice breaks off on a ragged sound.
“We’re on our way,” Leonard promises, not bothering to sign off properly as he grabs a medkit and the team gathered to head down to Engineering.
So much for a quiet Christmas.
When the end of Beta comes and Bones doesn’t show up to drag him to dinner, Jim decides to head down to the MedBay himself and get him, thinking that Bones is probably just worrying about Joanna, closed up in his office with his melancholy.
What greets him as he walks through the MedBay doors is nothing short of chaos. Nurses are running back and forth for supplies while Bones barks orders and M’Benga focuses on wrapping bandages around Ensign Hastings’ arms, Chapel nearly vibrating as she tries to be in two or more places at once. Scotty’s hovering worriedly in the corner by the biobed where Bones is working and Jim works his way in that direction, carefully staying out of everyone’s way.
“What happened?” he asks quietly, eyes on the patient on the ‘bed as Scotty rakes shaking hands through his hair, smearing the soot-stains on his face.
“I dinnae see exactly what happened, it was all so fast,” he says, shaking his head. Jim lays a firm hand on Scotty’s shoulder, attention on the Engineer but eyes on the patient. “Just simple replacements, Cap’n, I promise, but somethin’ went wrong and the panel blew up in our faces. Simmons went over the rail -- she’s okay, they’ve already patched her up -- and Hastings there got his hands fairly scorched.”
“Who’s this?” Jim asks, pointing with his chin at Bones’ patient.
“Flanagan. Lad was buried under the debris, took us a bit to dig ‘im out.” Scotty wrings his hands and hisses, shaking them gingerly before crossing his arms. Jim notices bandages wrapped around both of the Engineer’s palms before they’re tucked out of sight and realizes that Scotty probably did most of the digging, heedless of sharp edges in his haste to get to his man. “He’s not said a thing. The Doc was right frantic by the time we got him free.”
Jim watches Bones for a few minutes, reading the concern and desperation in his features as he grabs hypos and regenerators from the nurses, still calling out commands as he tries to staunch the bleeding. Frowning, Jim realizes Bones seems to be having a harder time of it than usual and turns to ask Scotty one more question.
“Which panel--?”
Scotty’s eyes are shadowed with misery as he answers.
“The radiation conduit.”
Jim looks back at the bed and sees everything with new eyes.
“Shit.”
“Shit!” Leonard curses, watching the laceration he’s trying to close unseal, the skin around it blistering under the regenerator.
“Surgical glue and bandages!” Chapel calls over her shoulder, reaching over to pinch the laceration shut. “Crap,” she hisses, stretching to reach under her left arm for the bandages already on the tray.
“Heart rate’s dropping,” Geoff snaps as he rounds the end of the ‘bed, leaning for a hypospray and jabbing it against Flanagan’s neck.
“He’s lost too much blood. Set up for a transfusion!” Leonard orders, reaching for more bandages as they finally manage to keep the kid from losing any more blood. He straightens and rolls his shoulders, catching sight of Jim in the corner with Scotty as he glances up at the display over the ‘bed. “All right, we’ve got to get him stabilized and neutralize the radiation. I’m not likin’ those readings.”
Christine and Geoff both glance up and scan the screen, each reaching for a different tool as they start diagnosing in their heads. Deciding it’s safe to leave them to it for a moment, Leonard strips off his gloves and heads over to where Jim and Scotty are standing, the Engineer looking more than a bit frazzled, Jim’s eyes creased with worry.
“How is he?” Jim asks immediately, blue eyes somber as he studies Leonard’s face.
“He-- I--” He shakes his head, strangely unable to give Jim a plain answer. “It’s not good,” he finally settles on and Jim nods in understanding, even as his mouth thins -- every lost crew member weighs heavily on him and for one to be so injured due to a simple accident in Engineering obviously weighs heavier than most. “There’s not much we can do until the radiation is dealt with, but I don’t know that that head wound will last that long.”
“Jesus, Mary and Joseph,” Scotty curses prayerfully, hanging his head. He scrubs a bandaged hand through his hair and sighs, shoulders sagging and his face mournful as he lifts his head to face them again. “He’s got a wife and children back home, and neither of the wee ones yet five.”
Leonard feels something in him freeze in horror, barely registering Jim’s sighed curse as he stares at Flanagan. It’s so precarious, the condition the kid’s in, and so likely to turn bad in an instant, that by all rights Leonard should be planning ways to keep the kid comfortable until the end. There is literally nothing they can do for him until the radiation is neutralized and there’s only a small window open for them to fix that head wound before it’s fatal. Leonard rakes a hand through his hair, a groan caught in his throat as he considers Flanagan’s situation and makes a choice.
“Bones,” Jim murmurs, blue eyes concerned, though his voice is warm with understanding.
“I’ve got to try, Jim,” he says, already turning back to the biobed. “You go on to the party. Don’t--Don't ruin the day for everyone else.” Scotty’s shoulders sag with relief, his eyes lighting up as he gives a grateful nod and scurries back to Engineering. Jim’s more circumspect, though, stepping close to lay a gentle hand on Leonard’s shoulder and brush a kiss to his temple.
“Are you sure?” he whispers, resting his chin on Leonard’s shoulder for a second, until Leonard pulls away and offers a bittersweet smile.
“If we delay it long enough, his kids won’t have to think of Christmas as the day Daddy died.”
Jim’s eyes are bleak, stricken, but he nods and steps away, shoulders straight as he walks out of the MedBay without looking back. Leonard sighs, soul-deep and weary, and throws himself back into the frantic activity around Flanagan’s biobed, just as the kid tries to die on them again.
The door hisses shut behind him as he stands aimlessly in their quarters, staring blankly at the tiny Christmas tree glittering in the corner. His mind is a chaotic swirl of images, thoughts, and feelings -- Christmases from his childhood filled with laughter and smiles but with that little undercurrent of loss threading through every action, Flanagan’s slack features as Christine pressed a bandage to a seeping gash on his forehead, Joanna’s burbling laughter and Bones’ gruff affection.
The last thing he wants to do is go to the party, but he’s been making such a fuss about it for the past few weeks, it’ll raise flags if he doesn’t go and he promised Bones he wouldn’t ruin anyone else’s Christmas. He scrubs a hand over his face and moves to the closet, tugging off his command tunic and shuffling through the hangers in search of something to wear. Toward the back of the closet, he finds a thick burgundy sweater, one he’s pretty sure is Bones'. He’s equally sure it’s one his mom made for Bones, a past Christmas or birthday gift and tangible proof of her approval. He smiles and pulls it off the hanger, dragging it over his head before trading his black trousers for his favorite pair of jeans.
The Mess Hall is just starting to fill with people when he walks in and the festive air is both a relief and an irritant. There’s laughter and smiles all around, with Chekov looking like a Christmas elf, his cheeks sprinkled with glitter as he wanders through the partiers, a holocamera in his hands as he captures picture after picture to send home to family. Jim smiles fondly, feeling affection and pride in his crew war against the concern for those working in the MedBay tugging on the back of his mind. Glancing down at his feet for a second, he takes a deep breath and scrubs a hand through his hair, pulling himself together so that, maybe, he can get some enjoyment out of the party. Bones’ is the best doctor he’s ever seen; he saved Pike’s legs - there’s bound to be something he can do for Flanagan.
Looking up again, he spots Uhura and grins boyishly, composing a plan on the spot to steal a kiss from her under the mistletoe.
It’s been hours spent doing little to nothing as the medicines and machines work to remove the radiation slowing Ensign Flanagan’s treatment, hours Leonard’s spent torturing himself by reading through the Ensign’s jacket. Yet another among the young geniuses making up the crew, Denny Flanagan graduated in the top percentile of his class and was immediately granted a position on Scotty’s crew in Engineering. He married his childhood sweetheart before enrolling at the Academy and their youngest child was born just before he shipped out for his stint on the Enterprise -- as Scotty said, neither of his two children have turned five yet. Leonard sets down the PADD and buries his head in his hands, scrubbing his eyes hard with the heels of his hands.
Sighing heavily, he raises tired eyes and searches out the chronometer and the readout on the biobed. He’s disheartened to find it’s still three hours to midnight and Flanagan’s vitals are still falling, slowly but surely. Studying the readout, he picks up a hypospray and gently presses it against the kid’s neck, eyebrows furrowing as he watches the minimal effect it has. Shaking his head, he braces his hands on the biobed and sighs again, wishing he hadn’t told Jim to go on to the party -- the distraction of his presence would have been more than welcome.
“Any change?” Christine asks, coming to stand at his side.
“Not enough.” He rolls his shoulders, trying to shake out the tension and aches.
“Maybe we should just--”
“No,” he bites out, targeting her with a glare over his shoulder. Her eyes are red-rimmed with exhaustion and her neat ponytail is falling into disarray, but the glare she returns for his shortness is every bit as potent as normal. “There’s still a chance he’ll make it through the night. We owe his family that much.”
“Do I need to get Commander Spock to tell you how small that chance is, Leonard?” she questions, raising one delicate eyebrow in challenge.
He bites down savagely on his cheek, not wanting frustration and desperation and exhaustion to twist this into something uglier than it already is. “His kids should be happy on Christmas day, not grieving for their father,” he says, thinking of Joanna and her Christmas excitement.
“Will one day really make that much of a difference?” The question is softly voiced and painfully logical.
“A day can make all the difference in the world,” he answers.
”Where’s Len?” Uhura asks, sipping at her glass of eggnog, one arm wrapped comfortably around Spock’s waist.
“There was something he had to take care of,” Jim says, eyes scanning over the crowd. Chekov’s abandoned his ‘camera in favor of a glass of punch and Sulu’s company, the two of them standing closer than friends normally would. Jim bites back a smile and glances back at Uhura. “What?”
“Nothing,” she shakes her head, jingle bell earrings chiming softly as her ponytail swings behind her. “I’m just surprised you didn’t drag him down here anyway.”
“Well,” he mumbles around the lip of his own glass, “he assured me it was important.” He wants to wince at how much of an understatement that is, but to do so would trigger all of Nyota’s internal sensors. As it is, her eyes narrow in suspicion but she lets it go, leaning up to kiss Spock on the cheek and waving to Janice as she threads her way through the crowd. Jim barely resists the urge to sigh in relief.
He downs the last of his punch and finally forces himself to meet Spock’s solemn gaze. “Something on your mind, Spock?”
“I trust you will inform me of any changes in the ship’s status or in the status of its crew,” Spock states, turning to face the same direction as Jim, both watching as the crowd seethes and roils as people dance and mingle.
“Just as soon as there’s something to report,” Jim replies, hand tightening on his glass as he glances at the chronometer -- 2330. Spock follows his gaze but says nothing, holding a silent vigil with him as he waits with a sinking feeling in his gut for the call from the MedBay.
He’s not dozing, but he’d be lying to say he’s completely awake, lulled into a drifting state of inattention by the steadily beeping biobed monitors. It’s set to alert him when the course of treatment for the radiation is finished and, by the last check, they should finally be able to start treating Flanagan’s head injuries within the next ten minutes. He’s not sure it’ll do much good -- it's been too long since Flanagan was brought in for him to be optimistic about very much anymore -- but he’d promised himself he’d try.
He jumps to his feet, abruptly alert, when the ‘bed starts wailing, five minutes before the treatment alert. All of the readouts have gone red, Flanagan’s vitals dropping faster than the ‘bed can account for and the medical team is left scrambling to stop the downward spiral, pulling out every trick in the book and creating a few off the cuff. Leonard sees the resignation in M’Benga’s eyes when more sophisticated methods fail and they have to resort to CPR; he sees it in Chapel’s when the first rib goes.
“Get a Goddamned hypospray!” he barks, hands working over Flanagan’s chest as the monitor continues to wail over his shoulder. Christine reaches over the bed and presses a button, dropping them into a silence broken only by Leonard’s own harsh breaths. He thinks of the pictures in Flanagan’s folder, of the two painfully innocent, brutally young children who’ll never know their father, and he presses harder, feels another rib go as tears flood his eyes and M’Benga’s firm hands settle on his shoulders to pull him off the biobed.
“T...Time of death: 2345,” Christine chokes out, the only one with enough focus to mark it down, the only one with tears streaming down her cheeks -- for all her bluster and backbone, Leonard knows she cries for every patient that doesn’t make it out of their care and he respects her more because of it.
“God damn it,” he growls, his chest aching with the silence in the ‘bay, hands clenching into useless fists at his sides. He glances once at Christine’s stricken face, at Geoff’s bleak eyes, and storms out.
He runs to the MedBay as soon as he gets Christine's message, skidding sideways through the doors before they're fully open. "Bones--"
"He left, Captain." Christine's cheeks are pink, her eyes swollen, as she gathers up used hypos and bandages, wiping down surfaces as she goes. M'Benga's typing something at a nearby console, eyes red-rimmed, but he glances up at Christine's voice.
"He didn't say anything, but... This really hit him hard, Captain."
Jim sighs and rubs a hand over his face. "I know, Geoff," he replies, moving to stand behind the doctor so he can see the paperwork Geoff's working on completing. "This the time of death?" he asks, pointing at a field on the form. M'Benga nods, dark eyes trained on the captain's face as Jim considers the numbers printed in the box. Reaching out with hands that don't shake at all, Jim erases what M'Benga wrote and fills in the current date and time - 0005, 2259.360.
"Look," he says in a quiet voice, completely unrepentant despite his breach of medical protocol, "he made it." M'Benga's wide-eyed and Christine's especially pale, but they both nod, tears flooding Christine's eyes again as she turns back to her work. With a nod of his own, Jim turns and heads out of the MedBay, relatively sure there're only a couple places Bones could be.
He finds him sitting in the dark in the Captain's quarters, hands limp on his thighs as he stares blankly at the wall. Carefully, unsure of exactly how to comfort the man he loves, Jim settles next to Bones on the couch, close enough that the warm length of his thigh presses against the other man's.
"Bones?"
"Never fails to astonish me. You're alive. You're dead - no drums, no flashing lights, no fanfare. You're just dead." His face crumples, shoulders sagging as he curls in on himself, tears running down his face. Jim wraps his arms around Bones' shoulders, pulling his head down onto Jim's chest, cradling him reassuringly as Bones digs desperate fingers into Jim's sweater.
They fall asleep curled around each other on the couch, Bones' face buried into Jim's neck and Jim's arms holding Bones as close as possible.
The console’s chiming pulls him abruptly out of sleep. With a start, he snaps to awareness, the muscles in his back and neck protesting the position he’d slept in. Jim mumbles against his neck, rolling his face into Leonard’s shoulder and tightening his arms around Leonard, still deeply asleep despite the now-painful position. With a groan, Leonard nudges Jim off him, settling the other man out flat on the couch and stumbling to his feet, myriad aches hampering his movements across the room.
The console tells him there’s an incoming communication, high-priority but not an emergency and addressed to the both of them. Sighing, he scrubs a hand over his face, feeling stubble and the grit of dried tears. With the reminder, his shoulders sag a little, yesterday’s strain still weighing heavily and cruelly augmented with the knowledge that he failed to save Ensign Flanagan. He sucks in a breath and holds it, putting on a calm face before answering the call.
“Dr. McCoy speak--”
“Daddy!” He blinks, eyes going wide as he stares in wonder at his little girl’s face. Joanna’s cheeks are lightly flushed, but her smile is radiant, eyes sparkling excitement, and the barely contained energy he can see thrumming through her speaks to the absolute absence of any serious illness, despite her occasional sniffle.
“Jojo,” he breathes, touching the screen with shaking hands. It’s wonderful to see her after all of the worry and stress of yesterday. “Hi, baby, how’re you feeling?”
“’m fine, Daddy,” she assures him. “The Windy-lady made me tea and hot chocolate all day yesterday and Dr. Phil says I’m not sick ‘nymore and my throat doesn’t hurt at all. So don’t worry, Daddy,” she admonishes, grinning at him, hazel eyes sparkling.
“That’s good, baby-girl, I’m--Wait,” he pauses, mentally rewinding what she said and picking out the oddity for dissection. “Dr. Phil?”
“Mm-hmm, he’s Uncle Chris’ friend,” she chirps, fiddling with something in her lap, giggling occasionally and squirming in the seat.
“Uncle Chris--Pike’s there?” Leonard shakes his head, glancing up from the console to stare longingly at the replicator across the room. Coffee would go a long way to making this conversation make a whole hell of a lot more sense.
“Yeah, he came in yesterday for Christmas’n brought a friend. The Windy-lady was surprised to see him,” she says, looking back up at her father, eyebrows furrowed in a mirror of her dad’s confused expression. “Daddy, why would the Windy-lady’ve been laughing about Cap’n Jim bein’ a worrywart?”
And Leonard finally puts all of the pieces together, smiling to himself as he looks over his shoulder at the man still sleeping peacefully on the couch. Trust Jim to call in favors to Chris to make Leonard feel better. Aw, hell, kid. He shakes his head, thumbing at the moisture gathered at the corner of his eye.
“I wouldn’t know, baby,” he tells her, though he does, pulling out the desk chair and settling into it instead of hunching awkwardly over the desk. “So, d’you get anything interesting yesterday?” he asks, a small smile tucking into the corner of his mouth as he waits for her answer -- he already knows what the big gift of the day was.
“I got a kitten, Daddy!” she squeals at the camera, hoisting the cat out of her lap to show her father, a huge grin splitting her face. “He was waitin’ under the tree yesterday, after Christmas dinner! ‘n I don’t even know how he got there, ‘cause we’d opened all of the presents already!” She’s so excited as she tells him about her presents, smooshing the kitten’s face under her chin as she rambles on, and he can’t help but laugh at her exuberance.
“What’re you gonna name him?”
“Bones!”
He stares blankly at the screen, not quite sure what to say. A presence slides up behind him, arm snaking around his waist, and Jim’s chin settles on his right shoulder.
“I think that’s the perfect name for him,” Jim tells Joanna and her hazel eyes go wide when she notices him.
“Cap’n Jim! The Windy-lady wanted me to tell you she loves you and that ‘he’s cute when he worries, even if there’s no good reason for it,’” she quotes, eyebrows dancing as Bones-the-kitten worms his way out of her hands. “Hey, get back here!” she growls at him and Leonard shares a smile with Jim.
“Hey, Jo-girl, didja have a good Christmas?” Jim asks.
Leonard’s never seen his baby girl smile so brightly. “Yep! The best one ever!” she calls at the camera, ducking down to haul her kitten back into her lap.
“Hey, Jo, lemme talk to your mama, huh?” Leonard requests.
“Okay,” she chirps, sliding out of view. “MAMA!” they hear seconds later, followed by a quiet conversation held off-camera.
“Thank you, Jim,” Leonard murmurs, nuzzling against Jim’s sideburn and planting a kiss at the corner of his jaw. “Calling Pike and Boyce... You didn’t have to but--”
“Yeah, I did,” he whispers back, forehead resting against Leonard’s temple. He shrugs. “Besides, I was worried, too. And I didn’t call Boyce -- Pike must’ve dragged ‘im along for the ride,” Jim says with a grin.
“Thank you,” Leonard says again, pressing the words against Jim’s lips.
“Ahem,” Jocelyn clears her throat, smiling at them on the screen. “Enjoying your Christmas?”
Leonard gives her a small smile. “It’s getting better.”