"God, I hate the cold," he muttered as he climbed fully dressed into the bed, and lay there, shivering, with the blanket clenched tightly in both hands.
He sighed noisily and thought, I don't care what Jim Kirk says it's not complaining, it's a simple truth. The only time I've been warm since arriving on this hell ball was today, drinking whiskey by the fire. And that wasn't real. Alcohol doesn't make you warm; it just lets you think you are. Still, it felt good. Probably lucky Scotty brought such a little bottle. No sense in making people too merry, especially considering it's apparently Christmas. How the hell is that possible? Time is confusing out here. I supposed Jocelyn gave Jojo her present this morning, or whenever this morning was on Earth. I wonder if she liked it.
He'd sent the package months ago. It took that long to get anything to Earth. Physical mail calls only occurred at starbases. Jocelyn had told him many times to stop, that under the circumstances credits would be a perfectly reasonable gift, but he wanted his daughter to know he'd he'd gone to the trouble of picking out something for her.
It had been easy when Joanna was young. Then, every time they'd stopped at a planet, he'd hustled down to the local markets and gotten an exotic toy. But she'd stopped thanking him with any real enthusiasm several Christmases ago. This year he'd given up and asked Joss what to buy. She'd suggested jewelry.
He'd been confident walking down the promenade at the starbase. But when he'd gone in the store, he'd realized he had no idea what a girl Joanna's age might want. He'd slunk back to the ship.
It had taken a few hours and acknowledging he needed to buy something quickly to force him to find Nyota Uhura and ask for her help. She'd been her usual gracious self. They'd returned to the shop, and she'd picked out earrings with glowing stones. He'd had them shipped to Jocelyn who, he supposed, had wrapped them up and placed them under her tree.
They hadn't been happily married, but Joss had always been good about helping him maintain a relationship with their child. She never undermined him. Of course, she didn't have to. He wasn't much of a threat from so far away.
Sulu will find out; it's hard to love a child from a distance. More and more I find Christmas is nothing but a time marker, just a reminder that another year has come and gone. Forget celebrate, I'd prefer not to acknowledge it at all. Even if everything goes perfectly, if I get a transmission, and it's clear, and she loves my gift, it doesn't matter. The ship eventually moves out of range, and that screen goes dark, and the silence seems deader after the noise. Christmas means pulling yourself together and going back to work. Otherwise, it's too easy to be overcome, thinking about how you're alone, and she's light years away, growing up every single day without you.
He rolled over fretfully. The blanket pulled up, exposing his back. He sat up angrily and tucked the covers around him. I shouldn't be here. It's too cold. Spending your childhood in Georgia permanently thins your blood. This room is like a tomb, dark and cold and far too quiet: Par for the course, the whole planet's miserable. We've spent most our time like bugs with stick pins through them, going nowhere and doing nothing.
He lay back down and waited for the sensors in the blanket to go to work. As the fibers finally tightened, making a thicker mat, he felt more comfortable. But he still couldn't sleep, he felt nervous, like he had forgotten something. Should I check on Spock? Fool Vulcan won't admit it, but he wasn't bred for a soggy, cold place like this. It would be just like Spock to try and use mind over physical discomfort until he collapsed. Then what am I supposed to do, on lockdown in the backyard of a place where the natives meditate on problems instead of solving them?
But he didn't go. The first officer was the one member of the crew that seemed to rest well on Aderiel. Each night he bid the rest of them a very formal good night and disappeared into his chamber, sealing the curtains neatly and emerging after a silent eight hours looking crisp and unwrinkled.
The prospect of disturbing Spock was not appealing, especially as he was uncertain how he could explain his concern. Spock had never complained or mentioned any symptoms of illness. He had introduced the topic of the weather several times, trying to get the first officer to say how he felt. Spock had deflected every attempt to discuss the cold. He doubted Spock would respond positively to extra attention, especially if it woke him.
That crazy Vulcan has an amazing ability to resent assistance.
He flipped his pillow and closed his eyes, but couldn't settle down. If I check on anybody, it should probably be Sulu. He wasn't himself all day.
He sighed and stared into the dark. Sulu thinks today was hard? Wait until he experiences watching Christmas on a screen, and hearing his daughter call somebody else daddy. Then he'll know what a bad Christmas is.
He rolled over. He told himself to stop but kept thinking. He misses his baby. The weather here isn't helping, neither is all the inactivity. On Aderiel, depression isn't pathological, it's appropriate. I should probably offer to talk.
He wriggled out of the blanket and shoved the curtain back. He set his feet on the floor, but in the darkness across the room, he heard Chekov speaking softly, then Sulu's staccato laugh. Quietly, he pulled the curtains and lay back down.
I shouldn't worry. Sulu's too sensible to brood about things he can't control. Tomorrow I'll find Chekov and make him tell me what they talked about. I'll know then if I need to get involved.
He itched his chin. Although, what will I say? I understand? I don't. Some people lack the sense to know they've had it easy. I wished I'd lived the sort of life that would allow me to imagine this was the worst Christmas ever. I could tell him some stories.
He wouldn't though. Some memories he didn't even share with Jim. Like, that last Christmas before he'd enlisted. He never talked about it.
He'd been on his way to his mama's for the holiday. He'd stopped for a drink. He could remember meeting a young woman, but not agreeing to leave with her. Although, he had evidently done so. He'd woken up in a strange bedroom with the woman beside him. He'd decided not to stay for breakfast.
He'd found his shoes and started sneaking towards her front door. He'd been concentrating so hard on being quiet he'd nearly fallen over a tiny boy in red and white pajamas.
"Santa?" the child had asked, gazing up at him with brown eyes.
He'd frozen, trying to decide how to answer. A bedroom door had opened and a little girl, older than the boy, maybe 9, shot out. She was dark-haired, and in his state, for a horrible second, he'd mistaken her for Joanna. She'd looked at him with loathing, then grabbed her little brother's arm and pulled him back into the room, closing the door firmly behind them.
He'd stood there, wanting to explain, but knowing there was nothing he could say that would make any of it alright.
He'd hurried to the door and tugged hard to open it. In the shabby little apartment, the heat had come from a wall unit. There had been two Christmas stockings nailed up next to it. When he'd opened the door, the wind had sent one tumbling to the ground.
He'd closed the door and hurried over to scoop it up, then stood there with it in his hand, studying it. It had been a cheap little thing, but someone had personalized it with a glitter pen. Curtis, it had said, in a childlike script. Probably the sister, he had thought, and looked at the other stocking. Annie, it had read in the same shiny letters.
He'd searched on the ground till he'd found the tack. Then he'd used it to pin Curtis' stocking against the wall. He'd stepped back, stared at the two deflated looking little things, then reached into his pocket and started pulling out everything he had. Money, candy, pen lights, he'd shoved it all into the stockings until he'd had nothing left.
He'd backed away, hoping they'd have a better Christmas than it appeared they would.
He had been careful not to let the door slam. He'd had vague plans of going back, of buying some gifts and leaving them on the porch. Instead, he'd fallen asleep at the transport station and woke up about noon, sick and stinking, and riddled with guilt. He'd called his mother, and assured her he was working. Then he'd called Joss, who hadn't picked up. He'd left a message for Jojo and gone looking for a bar.
Couldn't explain that to Sulu.
He blinked hard. He didn't recall the woman's name or the name of the town where they'd lived, but he remembered those empty little stockings. He thought of them every year.
He rolled over and said a quick prayer, just as he had that night, that the children's mother had been able to get them a few things.
Children deserve good, but they don't always get it. Even when you try, even if you want nothing more than to take care of them, lots of times you fail.
He remembered lifting the baby from her carrier, and how light it had seemed. "I have her," he'd said. "Are you alright?"
"I'm fine, just be careful with Joanna," Jocelyn had replied, but he'd waited anyway, and offered her his arm. There hadn't been any sidewalks, and she had been a city girl.
She'd smiled at him when she took his arm. "My prince," she'd said, sarcastically, but not unkindly. They'd still been in love then, that first year.
Mama had been waiting at the door, hands clasped. "Give me that baby Len," she'd said, and he had carefully transferred Joanna to her grandmother, feeling proud in a way he never had before.
They'd gone into the house, which had smelled of turkey, and sage, and peach pies. His father had been in the living room, still looking reasonably well, thinner, but relatively hale. His mother had gone to sit by him.
"Look, David, isn't she beautiful?" she'd said, pulling off the baby's cap.
"Oh, you sweet little princess," his father had said, and reaching out, had taken the baby.
"Joanna," he had cooed, "Hi sweetheart. It's Granddaddy. I know you've been waiting to see me." He'd looked up and added, "She's bigger already. You two are doing a fine job with her."
He had looked over at Jocelyn, and she had been smiling at him. He had felt tender, and lucky, and proud, and even then, he had wished it would last forever.
"I think you dodged a bullet, Len," his daddy had said. "She appears to favor Jocelyn. Now all you got to worry about is did she get your temper?"
They'd all laughed, and Davy, his younger brother, had heard them, and run in from the yard. The dogs had come too and gone nuts when they'd seen him. Joanna had awakened, but not cried. She had raised one eyebrow and stared at them with the grumpiest baby face, and everyone had laughed and insisted that she had learned it from him.
The rest of the afternoon had been a noisy, happy mess, and the only specific he could recall was Jocelyn's face when she saw the locket, the one he'd had engraved with the initials she and the baby shared. Inside, he'd put in Joanna's first picture, and the words, "Thank You, L." Joss had stuttered that it was perfect and that he had spent too much. Then she had kissed him, and he'd held her, and after all these years, he could still remember how it had felt.
Whatever became of that locket?
Joss had probably set it aside, for Joanna to have someday. Joss was good about that too. Despite all the things they'd done to hurt each other, she always wanted Jojo to know she'd been conceived in love, and was a blessing.
He blinked again in the dark and told himself to stop thinking about it. There was no point. They'd hung on a few more years, but that had been their one perfect Christmas. They'd been too young. She hadn't been used to being poor, and he'd been far, far too busy. His Daddy's problems hadn't helped, and neither had everything he'd done to drown the guilt he'd had about how that ended. All of it had eaten away at them until there hadn't been enough left to hold on to, and she'd found someone happier to love.
You think this was a bad Christmas Sulu? I could tell you about bad Christmases.
He rolled over restlessly.
I don't even know which one was my worst.
It was impossible to pick. Was it the horrible Christmas that could still make him blush with shame? Or the perfect one, that left him teary when he remembered it alone? It was everything Sulu wanted, but it was only one, and that was the problem.
Be careful what you wish for brother, he said softly, to Sulu, and to himself. Then he turned to the wall and told himself to lay still. He was used to long, sleepless nights, and he knew he'd be less cranky in the morning if he lay still and allowed his body to rest.