A/N: This is my first TOS fic, and it hasn't been betad, simply because I haven't been able to find one. If you would be interested, please let me know. Some of the facts in this story might be wrong, the rest is conjured up from my imagination. If you spot any errors, mistakes, or have any critique I'd really appreciate it. I can't improve if I'm never told what I'm doing wrong. Thanks.

Disclaimer: I do not own TOS or any of the characters featured in this fic.

"We'd live the life we'd choose
We'd fight and never lose
Fore we were young
And sure to have our way" - Sons of Maxwell

It begins, for McCoy, in his Sickbay—, there are no patients, and Christine is off on her lunch break. He is alone. He sits at his desk, chin in hand. He allows himself, in his free time, to revisit fond memories of friends and family, and as he does this, he realises something: today is just like any other day. Also, the thought begins to dawn on him that these things, familiar and routine, are no longer a comfort to him.

He rises and looks out over his office, and as he does so, it startles him to know that the only ever time he's done this is when he first came aboard—But why would he? He ponders. Sure, the technology is new, as is the equipment, but he's mastered it all. So then why does he feel so unwelcome all of the sudden; that these things are no longer a part of him? He remembers a time when the only thing he lived for himself was the preservation of life. The importance has never wavered, but these days he doesn't preserve much aside from a seat at the latest christening of a ship and an occasional spot on the bridge. No, things have changed, and so has he. In this moment, he decides something that has been nagging at the back of his mind for months.

He drags himself back to his desk and reaches for the intercom button. Just as he's about to switch the intercom on, but he catches sight of the tremble in his fingers and frowns. Arthritis. It isn't serious, not does it impede his abilities or get in the way of his work, but it is a very somber reminder that he is not as young as he once was. He presses the intercom button.

'McCoy to the Captain.' Captain. It still sounds strange to him. Admiral did at one time, too, though, he supposes.

"Yes, what is it?" There is a smile in Jim's voice that, despite McCoy's mood, is contagious.

'Could you stop by my quarters later?'

"Everything all right?" Jim routinely asks.

'Fine. I'd just like a word with you is all.'

"All right then. I'll see you later. Kirk out." The intercom cuts off sharply, a result of Jim using his fist to disconnect. He's been doing it since day one. To McCoy, it feels like a hundred years has passed since he first met that stubborn, amazing man, but he knows that isn't true.

Again, he seats himself, allowing his spine to slouch. Determination, both exciting and frightening, sinks into his bones, and he thinks back to the little girl sound asleep, snug against this chest. He laces his fingers behind his head and smiles, intent on staying in this moment for as long as he's able.

* * *

Sensing the presence outside his door, McCoy inclines his head and says, 'Come'. The doors hiss open and Jim greets him with his most dazzling smile, and for the first time since making his mind up, McCoy almost regrets his decision. Almost.

'Saurian Brandy,' he comments, spotting the two glasses in McCoy's hands. 'What's the occasion?'

'No occasion,' McCoy answers, inviting him to sit. He hands the glass off and smirks as Jim inspects it.

'You're lying,' Jim answers, as the glass leaves his lips, his eyes light up and he adds, 'but I don't care. This is good.'

'I thought you'd like it,' he grins.

'You know me too well. Anyway, what's this about?'

'How long've we known one another, Jim?'

'Too long,' Jim admits, obviously taken aback. They share a laugh. 'Something on your mind, Bones?'

'As a matter of fact, yes, there is something on my mind. Has been for a while now.'

Jim leans in, his chin low and his eyebrows climbing. 'Well?'

'I'm not exactly sure how to say this.'

'If I haven't court martialed you yet, I'm not about to now. Now what is it?'

'I've decided to resign.'

'You're joking.' Jim stars to laugh again but stops, noticing for the first time the seriousness in his friend's eyes. 'No you're not,' he realises, dully.

McCoy lamely shrugs a shoulder, not meeting his Captain's gaze.

'Bones. Why?' The hurt in Jim's voice is almost too much for him, but he manages to stay composed.

'I'm old,' he offers. Seeing the red-hot retort fresh on Jim's lips, he grumpily adds, 'I outgrew my usefulness decades ago.'

'You? Useless? Really, what's gotten into you?'

'Jim, I've been a doctor, a psychiatrist, a mechanic—Hell, I've even had a Vulcan katra in my head. I've travelled all across the galaxy—and I know it's a little late,' he deflates, his voice becoming softer, 'but all I want to do now is be a father.'

'Joanna,' Jim verifies.

McCoy nods. 'Did you know she's a nurse now?'

'I had no idea.'

'She's all grown up now.'

'I'm sure she turned out wonderful.'

'I missed everything,' he sighs. 'Everything, Jim. What the hell kind of a father was I, only seeing her every couple of years? My father would'a had my ass if I tried to pull a stunt like that.'

'I'm sure she understood.'

'Doesn't make it right, though. Ya can't substitute a couple'a visits and letters for a parent. I know that now. I'm not gunna make the same mistake twice.'

Jim seems to ponder this. 'Does she know you're coming?'

'No. I'm gunna make it a surprise. Did you know I'm a granddaddy?'

'Are you now?' He flashes that devilish smile.

McCoy nods proudly.

'Congratulations, that's wonderful!'

A smile creeps onto his face. 'Yup. I'm gunna try to get home right before her birthday.'

Jim's head suddenly shoots up. 'Have you told Spock yet?'

'Not yet,' he confesses, 'but I'm planning on doing it soon.'

Spock will take his absence easily, he assumes, and go about his business, perhaps with the occasional visit. He doesn't anticipate very many, though; despite how close they are, Spock is not a sentimental person. He has an inkling that once it's had a chance to sink in that Spock will perhaps miss their bickering, at least, and the thought warms him.

Jim, on the other hand, will want to keep in contact. He has no doubts about it. They will write back and forth, possibly squeezing in a few visits every couple of years; but Jim is a busy man, and he knows the letters will eventually slow.

Jim pulls him back to the surface with a very cheerful, 'I propose a toast.'

'A toast?' he repeats, raising an eyebrow. 'To what? Old age?'

'Mmm... How about something less... depressing?' MCcoy snorts. 'How about: to New Beginnings? New Beginnings and...' he trails off, leaving a spot for McCoy to jump in.

Which he does, adding, 'and old friends. Very old friends.'

'You're really hung up on that, aren't you?' Jim jokes. He raises his glass and leans forward. 'To New Beginnings, and old friends, then.'

Their glasses clink together and they both sit back and enjoy one another's company as they have many times in the past. McCoy cherishes every second of it, knowing that soon, Jim will be called back to the bridge. Then he will have the gruelling responsibility of hunting Spock down, beginning back at square one. The farewell party, he's assured himself, will be magnificent, and everyone will enjoy themselves. They will miss him, but life will go on as it always has, always does, and always will.

For now, he pushes these thoughts from his mind and relaxes, letting Jim remind them of how young they once were; and if he's honest with himself, it's the most comforted he's felt in years.