Title: Polar Bear Plunge

Author: Gixxer Pilot

Summary: When McCoy agreed to go with Jim back to Iowa during Christmas break, Jim conveniently left out one little tradition in which participation was more of a requirement than a request. And they call Southerners crazy.

Author's Notes: This is totally a three-way gift fic (yes, I have a very dirty mind - sorry guys!) for my three favorite people: Space-Case Writer 13, Anasazi Darkmoon and Wicked Jade. You three are awesome for putting up with a crazy northerner like me. I can imagine the cultural differences (namely my love for all things Minnesota winter) between Bones and Jim being much of the same as they are between us. Hee! Win for northern snow.

Yes, I've done this. Yes, it's cold. Yes, it's totally freaking awesome! No, I'm not crazy. Well, that last one is probably debatable, but you get the point.

Disclaimer: I don't own Star Trek, nor do I own the Polar Bear Plunge. That event, at least here in Minnesota, belongs to the Special Olympics and the law enforcement community.

If McCoy never in his life, ever heard Jim say, 'Come on Bones, it'll be fun,' again, he was relatively sure he'd die a happy man.

Bones had no idea what he was thinking in the first place when he agreed to go with Jim to Iowa for Christmas break. Surely at the time Kirk offered, it wasn't a hard choice, but in retrospect, he should have known better. McCoy had carefully weighed his prospects and chosen what he thought was the lesser of the two evils. Option 'A' was that he stayed at the Starfleet dorms, wallowing by himself that he was missing the first of many Christmases with his daughter. Option 'B' would take him to Iowa, where he would more than likely have to pretend to have a good time with Jim and Winona.

While the prospect of home cooked, non-replicated food and some peace and quiet on the Kirk farm sounded like a wonderful way to relax and to forget about the divorce, Jocelyn, and the accompanying shit storm, it still didn't negate the fact that he'd screwed up his marriage, lost his private practice, and most of all, lost custody of his Joanna. Still, Christmas with the Kirks, even as eclectic as it was bound to be, was probably an infinitely better plan that sitting at his desk, doing his level best to pickle his liver through excessive bourbon consumption. So, McCoy packed a small bag, self-administered a more than mild sedative for the shuttle ride, and hoped for the best.

For three days, the mini vacation had turned out to be exactly what Bones needed. He caught up on sleep. There were no idiot instructors telling him he was wrong, when clearly there was a way to diagnose that case of lungworm without performing an invasive, unnecessary procedure. There were no screaming nurses or hospital interns to babysit. His stress level decreased exponentially, and Kirk, by some miracle of god, had managed to coax not only a true smile from his stubborn roommate, but a full-blown laugh. For an hour afterward, Jim bounced around the house with an air of accomplishment, proclaiming that he, "Now had proof those smiling facial muscles actually worked."

Why Jim could never leave well enough alone was beyond Bones' comprehension. Leonard was perfectly content to eat himself into oblivion courtesy of Winona's superior cooking while doing a whole bunch of nothing, interspersed between small batches of attempting to be a good guest. Normally, 'being helpful' resulted in Winona chasing him from the kitchen when McCoy attempted to help clean up, or to smack his hand with a spatula when she caught him swiping some cookie dough from the bowl.

The entire week was going along wonderfully until Christmas Day, when Jim introduced Bones to an old Kirk family tradition. If McCoy had known about the tradition when they were still in San Francisco, he may have seriously reconsidered going in the first place. But since Jim 'conveniently' forgot to mention it, Bones was stuck in Iowa, and duty-bound by tradition and the etiquette drilled into his head by his grandmother to participate.

'It' was quite possibly the worst tradition to ever grace Bones' ears. The medical ramifications not withstanding, the sheer idiocy of an act such as the Kirk's family insanity could only be described using large words and copious amounts of cursing. Jim had practically shoved his roommate out the door, the doctor bitching every step of the way. Without giving so much as a hit of direction, Kirk dragged McCoy outside to the middle of a frozen lake about five minutes from the farm and told him to wait patiently while the magic unfolded.

Bones' shoes crunched on the hard snow above the ice, the doctor shifting nervously from foot to foot. Kirk came up behind his roommate and clapped one hand on his shoulder. Pointing, Jim cheekily said, "It's ice, Southern man. When it gets cold enough, the lake freezes over. When enough of it freezes, it gets sturdy enough for even your ass to stand on it without falling through."

"Goddammit, Jim. I know what ice is. But in the sane world where I come from, the one where you don't freeze your nuts off by just walking out the door, we use it in our drinks to keep them cool. We don't use it as something to stand on. We also stay indoors when it's cold outside." He tapped his foot a couple of times nervously against a large crack in the ice, as if to test its durability. The prospect of standing on nothing but hydrogen and oxygen whose molecules were slightly confused was a thought that wasn't comforting to the doctor. What if the ice cracked? How much ice needed to be frozen before it was safe? Turning, McCoy shoved the egregiously large hood out of the way of his face. "And furthermore, what the hell are we doing out here?"

Smiling, Jim answered, "We're participating in a Kirk family tradition. We do it every year as a way to ring in the new year properly. Everyone does it, even guests. That'd be you."

"Well, I think I'd feel a little better if you'd tell me what this tradition is. And why did you insist I wear loose fitting clothing and swim trunks, of all things? What are you up to, Jim?" McCoy asked suspiciously, attempting to read Jim's face for any clues. He'd learned, over the course of the past three months, not to trust Jim any farther than he could throw him. Complacency around Kirk was a bad, bad thing.

"Ever heard of the Polar Bear Plunge, Bones?" Kirk's face was practically splitting in two. In fact, McCoy was certain if Jim smiled even one more millimeter, his face would start to cleave down the middle.

In one effortless eyebrow raise, McCoy answered the entire question to the negative, admonished Jim for even thinking he'd know what it was in the first place, and told him to stop getting so many bright ideas.

Kirk, of course, ignored all three.

Instead of speaking, Jim quirked on finger at Bones while he walked toward a small shed set up in a small bay of the lake. "Come with me, and it'll all make sense."

Muttering under his breath, McCoy grudgingly acquiesced. "As soon as my ex isn't a bitch, you'll make sense."

Kirk kicked the piled up snow clear of the door so it could swing free. The hut was small, measuring, by McCoy's estimates, to be just a hair over two and half meters square. The south wall had a tiny window to let in some natural sunlight, but there was no other light source. The floor was carpeted with the most hideous pattern McCoy had ever seen. It looked as if some carpet designer used the leftover bits of black and red flannel to fashion the pattern, and then, deciding flannel wasn't fuzzy enough, made the carpet even plusher than the shirt of origin.

"Christ, what the hell is this? Your childhood doghouse?" McCoy asked, ducking under a support beam.

"My mom only wished this place could have been a punishment. Kirk nudged a panel in the floor with his toe. It came loose easily, exposing the ice directly below the structure. "This is a ice fishing house, Bones."

"Ice fishing house?" McCoy's eyebrow began to climb his forehead again.

"Well, you don't think we only fish when the water's open, do you?" Kirk retorted, his incredulous nature matching Bones' epic eyebrow raise.

The doctor snorted. "Apparently, it's foolish of me to think that fishing would be relaxing under the sun, when it's warmer than a donkey's balls outside. You really fish in the winter? What's wrong with you people? Haven't you ever heard of comfort?"

"Of course we have. That's why we have ice houses with heat," Jim answered. "Come on. We have work to do."

Traipsing around to the back of the shed, Kirk grabbed a armload of wood, made his way back through the door to the shed, and dropped the wood in the corner next to an old wood stove. Striking a match, Jim lit the small kindling with some dried brush. He checked the piping carefully to be sure the smoke was being vented out the chimney and put his hands on his hips.

"What the hell is this, Jim? I'm cold. It's snowing. I'd rather be eating or sleeping. Or both. Can we just do this tradition thing and be on our merry way? Fishing isn't my thing, especially in the middle of frozen lake during an Iowa winter," McCoy complained loudly as Kirk reached for an ancient looking device near the back wall. As if he were claiming a prize, Jim took his find out the door and began fiddling with it outside.

Bones quirked a quizzical eyebrow at the rusted old tool Jim plucked from the corner of the shed. A shade under a meter in total length, there appeared to be a small engine at one end, and a longish, flat club-shaped piece sticking straight out from the engine. Around the flat part was a metal chain, fastened together in links about two centimeters long. The tool appeared as if it were designed for a right-handed person, as the handles that supported the bulk conveniently placed as if the user would support it with the left hand and guide it with the right. McCoy had no doubt Jim knew what he was doing as he watched Kirk deftly pop the metal casing off the engine and add a few fluids. "What the hell is that, Jim?"

Kirk searched for the small rope he knew was located under the handle. Flicking the choke, he stopped and looked up at McCoy's question. "It's an chainsaw. Ever seen one before?"

"A chainsaw? No. What does it do?"

"It's old school, man. Back in the 20th and 21st centuries, this is how they used to cut down trees or saw wood," Kirk said, holding up the contraption as if he was handing it over for inspection. He smiled as he gave the cord one good, hard yank. The motor vibrated and sputtered, spitting out more smoke and noxious fumes than something that small had any right to produce.

McCoy waved one hand dramatically in front of his face. "Good lord. Now I know why they don't use these things any more, and it has nothing to do with being ridiculously inefficient." Bones cringed when Jim turned off the choke and let the chain spin to its top speed. Grumbling and covering his ears, the doctor amended, "Or dangerous in more ways I'd care to count. What's wrong with a phaser? It'd be easier, safer and a lot less noisy!"

"But it wouldn't be as fun!" Kirk hollered over the noise of the chainsaw. Jim's grin widened as he walked out from the shed and placed the tip of the saw on the ice, about fifteen feet from the small shelter. He braced his feet safely as to not cut open his leg and powered it up to full, the small contraption rattling and banging away as it the teeth chewed through the solid layer of frozen ice pack. Water and snow flew in every direction, making Bones wish he'd brought a pair of safety glasses. Five minutes later, Kirk had a perfectly square hole sliced in the ice. He repeated the process three more times to widen the space of open water, drilling through nearly eighteen inches of solid ice while McCoy looked on skeptically. With a shovel that had apparently been leaning up against the icehouse as well, Kirk scooped all the floating chunks out of the way, leaving a perfectly open space of water about two meters across and one meter tall. Satisfied with his handiwork, Jim finally killed the machine and leaned it up against the outside of the shed.

"That should be good," Jim nodded. "Now, all we have to do is let the fire warm this place up, and we'll be good to go."

"'Good to go' for what, exactly, Jim? I don't like when you get secretive like this, because it means either you're in trouble or you're about to prank me. Neither of which, let me remind you, I find very goddamn amusing," McCoy grumbled, his arms crossed over his chest. His action was partly a reflex of habit when admonishing Kirk, and partly to keep in what little body head he thought the outside temperature had yet to leech from his body. Bones' thin Southern blood was certainly not accustomed to the below freezing weather, and really not used to the wind chill that rippled across the lake. It stung his face and made his eyes water. Furthermore, McCoy never realized that was physically possible for one's nostrils to freeze shut, but apparently it was commonplace in the Midwest. How or why people voluntarily lived in a place that did a decent impression of the frozen tundra was something Bones had yet to figure out. Even more so, they seemed to like it.

"Just wait. It'll all make sense in a few minutes," Kirk said, pulling off his glove with his teeth. To the contrary of McCoy, Jim seemed completely unaffected by the ten degree Fahrenheit temperature, the native Iowan's jacket unzipped and without a hat or hood. He dug through the deep pocket of his parka for his communicator. Into it, he said, "Mom, we're all set to go here."

Bones muttered something vile under his breath, shaking his head and cursing his own stupidity for agreeing that he needed the vacation in the first place. Finally, the doctor threw a dramatic hand in the air and, with his back still to Kirk asked, "Your mom? What does she have to do with this?" Bones gave Kirk a couple of seconds to formulate a response by bitching some more, but when no answer was forthcoming, he turned. Kirk was nowhere in sight. Sighing and rolling his eyes in absolute irritation, McCoy hollered, "Jim? Hello? JIM!"

Kirk poked his head out of the shed door. "Bones! Over here!"

"Goddammit." The doctor wrapped his jacket tighter around himself and trudged over to the fish house. He squinted when he saw Jim laying out some rubber mats in front of the As he rounded the corner, he spotted Winona Kirk making her way toward the pair, her arms laden down with a large bag, contents unknown.

Jim stepped out and gave Winona a hug, accepting the bag with a certain childish glee. "Is everything here?" he asked, barely letting his mother and Bones back in the door before various items that had previously occupied the bag began flying about the small space. Jim rifled through the contents with the same gusto as he completed almost all of his tasks. Kirk pulled out two large, fluffy towels, two pairs of cheap running shoes, two gigantic blankets and a holo recorder. Setting the items on the ledge, he sat down in one of the three folding camp chairs placed in the house.

Winona shot her son a look of warning when she saw the utter confusion plastered all over McCoy's face. "Jim, you haven't told him, have you?"

Bones narrowed his eyes. "Told me what?"

Kirk laughed good-naturedly. "Thanks, Mom. I was looking forward to telling him, but since you ruined the fun, I suppose you can."

"Oh, no she won't." Turning to Winona, McCoy said, "Mrs. Kirk, with all due respect, you're a lovely lady, but this is Jim's problem. If he's trying to get me to do something nefarious, he's going to have to convince me himself."

Instead of the speech McCoy was sure he was going to get from Kirk, listing the litany of reasons he should participate in whatever crazy ass stunt Jim had in mind this week, Jim stood and started stripping until he was down to the swim trunks he was wearing under the cargo pants he'd thrown on that morning. Kirk remained quiet, waiting for Bones' brilliant, logical mind to put the pieces together.

The wheels in McCoy's head began to turn, the doctor eyes darting around the icehouse. Kirk's shit eating grin, the extra heat, the towels, the blankets, the mat leading to the…

Giant, gaping hole in the ice.

Bones' eyes widened, his face contorting into a repulsed snarl. He threw his hands up over his head and turned his back on Kirk. "You're fucking insane, Jim. Pardon my French, ma'am."

Winona threw back her head and laughed. She was a military wife, and she'd heard far worse than McCoy's foul mouth. "Leonard! You don't have any crazy traditions like this back in Georgia?"

"Not one that could actively kill me!" Bones shrieked.

"Oh, you won't die. Besides, the water here is only about four feet deep. Your head doesn't even have to go under if you don't want it to," Kirk responded. He looked like he was ready to bolt for the door, and into the water, an idea of want that was still baffling to McCoy.

"You just assume that I'm going to do it. Why is that, Jim? Why do you always think that, just because you tell me to, I'm going to participate?" Bones asked, deadpanned. His facial expression was fear warring with horror, though Jim knew there was no way to permanently disengage the doctor part of his brain. Bones was probably listing the specific ways taking the plunge could be detrimental to his health.

"I assume because you bitch and you moan, but you always end up doing it, just to prove me wrong." Kirk's voice dropped into a surprisingly good impression of McCoy's Georgian accent. "'Dammit, Jim, I'm going to do it to keep you out of trouble,' or, 'Dammit, Jim. Just because you say I can't does not make me old.' Sound familiar?"

McCoy seethed quietly. Kirk was right, and he knew exactly how to play his best friend to achieve maximum results.

From his left, Winona added, "Leonard, this is a tradition Jim has been doing for the past twenty years. His father used to believe that the Polar Bear Plunge brought us good luck for the next year. George always did it Christmas Day. Every year, like clockwork, I knew he'd be here. In fact, the only year I can remember him not doing it was the year he before died. He had pneumonia that Christmas, and the doctor forbade him to take the Plunge," Winona said, averting her eyes as she remembered all the fond times she'd had, laughing as George sputtered and cursed when the frigid water hit his bare skin. "This was his fish house, you know. And when I told Jim when he was a kid, it became a tradition of sorts."

McCoy hung his head. There was no way he could say no to a tradition with that much history, not when the only time George didn't do it, he died a few short months later. Swearing up and down in his head, McCoy stripped his jacket and shirt. Tugging off one boot, he undid his belt and yanked off his pants, exposing the Hawiian print board shorts underneath.

Kirk raised an eyebrow while Winona stifled a laugh. The bright blue, yellow and green shorts certainly did not fit McCoy's rather dour personality. "Go a little overboard on the shorts there?"

"It's all I have, Jim. I wasn't going to buy new ones just to go do laps in the Academy pool," McCoy growled, feeling the heat rise up on his cheeks a bit.

"I think they're lovely," Winona assured him with a pat on the leg. She stood and exited the icehouse, presumably to give the boys any privacy should they require it. Jim noticed his mother snag the holo recorder off the ledge before she left, the simple action eliciting a happy grin from the blonde man.

McCoy rolled his eyes. With conviction, he barked, "Whatever. Let's do this shit." He shoved his feet into the pair of provided tennis shoes took a deep breath. There was one thing he really needed to ask Jim, something of a more personal nature. Grabbing Kirk by the arm before Jim practically bounced out the door, McCoy asked tentatively, "Jim, what about…shrinkage?"

Kirk didn't miss a beat. "Well, I don't know. You remind me constantly that you're the medical professional, and that I need to defer to your better, more mature judgment. It's cold water, Bones. Below freezing, really. What do you think is going to happen?"

"I'm going to die, or develop a vagina. One of the two," McCoy groused.

"Look at me, Bones. Jumping into this lake every December 25th for the last twenty years hasn't done me any harm. And my parents got me and Sam, so it can't have been too detrimental to their health, either, if that's what's got you concerned," Kirk said, a flash of excitement rocketing through his blue eyes.

"Your parents I can understand. They seem just fine. You, on the other hand, are debatable," Bones snarked, pushing one finger into Jim's chest. Sighing, he added, "You're not going to let me out of here without doing this, are you?"

"Nope. Tradition. And I know you're not willing to piss off my mom by saying no. she might withhold the pecan pie I know she was making last night," Kirk answered. He had a smug smile of satisfaction on his face that Bones was itching to wipe off with the nastiest hypo he could possibly think of.

"That's low, Jim." McCoy's mouth started salivating at the thought of the pie he saw cooling earlier on the baker's rack. "Low on both counts."

"I know. Now let's go!" Kirk flung open the door, and immediately the blast of cold air hit the pair. Both men involuntarily shuddered. Bones hesitated, his complete aversion to anything even slightly cold making him recoil. He started to sink back into the ice house when Kirk grabbed his arm.

"The longer you wait, the worse it gets!" Winona called from the side of the icehouse. "Just jump, you two!"

Later, when McCoy's brain wasn't still in the thawing out stage, he'd wonder just how the hell Kirk managed to convince him to take the Plunge. He preferred to stay wrapped up and warm under a blanket, especially while on the bitter cold plains of the Midwest. Why he'd jumped into a frozen lake during the middle of winter was beyond his comprehension.

Oh right. Chivalry.

Taking a deep breath, Bones started reciting the Starfleet Medical Code of Ethics in his head to distract him from the pain and cold he knew was coming when he jumped in. unfortunately, it didn't really work. As soon as his back foot left the solid ice and his body immersed in the icy water, all conscious ability to think fled McCoy's brain. It felt like little knives were trying to cut and poke at his skin, and that the water was literally pulling the breath from his body. McCoy felt the diving reflex kick in, slowing his heartbeat, even though the adrenaline was surging through his body. He couldn't think, he couldn't feel, and the only reaction he was able to muster was a small squeak of displeasure. In his ears, it sounded like a full shout, but on the ice, Winona was doubled over in laughter as she listened to her son's hearty cursing and McCoy's little squeaks as the two made their way hastily to the ladder Jim installed on the side of the ice pool.

Jim hauled himself out of the water with practiced ease, forgoing the ladder and instead just hopping up on to the rubber mat. Winona met him with a towel and blanket, wrapping her son in it as soon as his feet his solid ice. Bones scrambled as fast as he could for the side, thinking only of the warm icehouse he was going to be able to go back to when he got out. He shakily grabbed the ladder and tried to put one foot on the first rung. Cold and confused, McCoy's fine motor skills were rapidly diminishing, so much so that Kirk just reached down, grabbed both Bones' forearms and hauled him out of the water.

The doctor landed with a wet splash on the deck, the contact with the ice and snow turning his already pink skin a lovely shade of cherry red. Jim quickly hoisted him up while Winona bundled him in blankets and towels. The three moved as quickly as possible back to the icehouse, which turned out to be the longest fifteen feet of McCoy's life. Bones' teeth were chattering so hard, he couldn't even manage a vocal insult. Making matters worse was that Kirk seemed largely unaffected by the cold; the only visible symptom a slight tremble to his frame.

Winona opened the door to the icehouse and both men stumbled inside. Bones got as close as he could to the stove without lighting any of the blankets of fire and flung the wet shoes across the room at Kirk's head.

"Hey? What'd I do?"

"The next…time you want…to take me on…vacation,…remind me…of this shit. You Midwesterners…are goddamn insane!" Bones ranted through shaking teeth and a nearly convulsing body. McCoy cocooned himself as far as he could into the blankets and set his jaw, purposely avoiding Jim's gaze.

"Well warm up fast, old man! We do presents and pie after this, and I don't want to wait," Kirk ordered, already up and dressing.

Bones glared at Jim's ability to assimilate to the cold climate. He still couldn't feel his hands properly, nor could he string together a coherent sentence. "You're thinking…about pie when I still…can't feel my face? What's…wrong with you? Child! Presents? Jesus."

"You know it, Bones, and you wouldn't have it any other way." Kirk bit down a laugh when McCoy's eyes rolled for the third time in an hour. He looked up over McCoy's head and caught his mother's eye out the small window. She gave him a hearty thumbs-up and held up the holo recorder.

Score one more video for the McCoy file.

"Hey Bones? I think next year you should actually go under the water," Kirk said, smirking as he dressed.

"Like hell."

-FIN-