"To perceive Christmas through its wrapping becomes more difficult with every year."

~E.B. White

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~o0o~

Jim's senses don't all wake up at once.

For instance, right now he can smell the distinctive combination of antiseptic and the baby shampoo that Bones has never stopped using because it reminds him of Jo-Jo; his best friend is somewhere very close by, and that's reassuring enough to Jim that he lets himself be pulled further back into sleep again.

...

He's not sure how long he's been asleep when he wakes up this time; there's a familiar sensation of being somewhat – for lack of a better term - fuzzier than usual. That's typically his first clue that Bones probably got to him last night with one of his hypos or something similar.

Interfering bastard.

Bones has stayed nearby, he knows; Jim can still smell him, and now he feels the gentle pressure of a warm hand on his shoulder, and strong fingers softly carding through his hair.

Jim's awake enough by now to smile at that, just a little; first of all, because it feels really damn good – and secondly, because Bones is shooting his hard-ass image all to hell right about now.

"You're petting me again, Bones," he mumbles into the pillow, eyes still closed. His voice – not much more than a whisper right now – is a little gravelly from lack of use, but try though he might, he's totally unable to sound even remotely grumpy.

Sleepy, yes. Grumpy, not so much.

Because in addition to being a little fuzzy, Jim's also aware of feeling much more rested than he has in days. And that really does feel pretty awesome – so he probably can't fault Bones too much.

Not that he won't bitch about it later, anyway – because he so totally will.

Jim's smile grows at the sound of Bones' uncharacteristically warm chuckle in response to his "complaining"; seriously, if people had any idea of what a complete marshmallow he could be when nobody was looking, his CMO might never live it down.

"Merry Christmas, kid." He hasn't opened his eyes yet, but Jim can hear the lingering smile in Bones' voice. "How're you feelin' this morning?"

Jim sighs and burrows even more firmly into his pillow by way of reply. "Good," he murmurs. "Slept. So… yeah. Good."

"Glad to hear it. You needed it." The fingers stop stroking Jim's hair, and the hand on his shoulder squeezes a little. "But you're gonna need to wake up now, 'cause there are some folks waitin' to have a Christmas morning with you."

That is totally unexpected – Jim's eyes fly open, and he rolls toward Bones to see if he's really serious.

Holy fuck.

Bones is in – really?

A Santa hat?

But the shock of that only lasts for a fraction of a second, as the rest of the room behind his friend comes into focus all at once – only it really isn't focusing; Jim is squeezing his eyes shut and blinking them open again, because he can't possibly be seeing this.

Yeah, he'd done a pretty good job in years past of making his and Bones' quarters at the Academy look like Christmas had staggered into the room and thrown up – it had driven Bones fucking crazy, but it had been fun in spite of that.

Hell, it had been fun because of that.

This, though…

Somehow, there isn't a surface in this room that hasn't been bedecked in one way or another, and it's insane.

There's a fucking fireplace – with stockings, no less – over in the corner where his desk is supposed to be. His desk isn't anywhere to be seen – and that could be a problem.

And… holy shit, is that a Christmas tree? Well, no – on second glance, not really – but it's doing its damnedest to impersonate one, and is absolutely covered with what might be ornaments, and what definitely used to be landing strip lights from the shuttle bay.

The room – the whole damn room – is just absolutely dripping with garlands, and wreaths, and tinsel, and bows, and twinkling little lamps designed to look like candles. It's all so completely overdone, so over-the-top garish, that it's terrifying and awesome at the same time – and it puts his efforts at the Academy to shame.

Now Bones is laughing, just a little – and Jim realizes that he must have a pretty shell-shocked look on his face. Closing his mouth again – not having really noticed that it had dropped open to begin with – he shakes his head in disbelief.

That's when he sees them – and shoots up in bed so fast that for just a moment he has little flashing lights in his field of vision. Because there, just inside his doorway, is…

…Well, pretty much fucking everybody. Scotty's there, and Chekov, and Sulu.

So, all right, not everybody – but certainly not who Jim's expecting in his room when he wakes up on Christmas morning.

On any morning, really.

"Merry Christmas, Keptin!" God love him, Chekov sounds just like the kid he still is, really – he's just 18, after all – and is looking almost unbearably excited.

Jim finally finds his voice – though it's not easy. "Merry Christmas yourself, Ensign." He gives them all what he knows must be a pretty half-assed grin; he still can't wrap his brain around what the fuck is going on here. "Like the outfit, Mr. Chekov."

Because as he looks again, he realizes that with the exception of Bones – who looks as though he probably slept in the sweater and jeans he had on last night – they're all in their pajamas. Sulu and Scotty have on outfits that are similar to his own – old t-shirts and baggy flannel pants – but Chekov? Holy shit. Chekov has gone all out in honor of the holiday; or at least Jim sure as hell hopes that's the reason why the kid is wearing red and green footie pajamas with a pattern of polar bears and penguins.

"Thank you, Keptin. They are my Christmas pajamas."

"In answer to the unspoken question I see in your head, Jim, no – he doesn't usually wear them. Promise." Sulu is taking this whole situation in with what seems to be quiet amusement – and for all that Jim is still just confused as all hell, it's nice to see Sulu looking happy. It's been a while.

Jim crawls out from under the covers to sit on the edge of his bed, and Bones throws an arm around his shoulder. "So, infant – this is payback for all the Christmas mornings I woke up with tinsel hanging from places that we won't mention."

He gives Jim another quick squeeze before letting go. "What do you think of our decorating?"

"Amazing – no other word for it." Jim shakes his head. "Well, actually – there are probably quite a few other words for it, but none that I'd want to use on Christmas morning."

He gives Scotty a suspicious look. "Tell me that you didn't pull up the lights in Shuttle Bay B to put them on the tree."

"I'd never do such a thing, Captain – you wound me." Scotty clasps a hand to his chest as though to staunch the flow of imaginary blood before giving Jim an exaggerated wink. "It was Shuttle Bay F – and you know yourself they were due for replacement anyway, so there's no harm done."

"No harm done." Jim finds himself shaking his head again and again – as though somehow he's going to clear it, and this is all going to make sense somehow. It doesn't, though. Not yet.

"So I suppose you're going to tell me that you all managed to come in here and do this while I was asleep last night?" At their gleeful nods, Jim reaches up and delivers a satisfying thump to the side of McCoy's head. "I knew you slipped me something last night, you bastard – it must have been pretty heavy-duty."

Bones is rubbing his head, but still grinning unrepentantly. "Oh, absolutely. 'Course, didn't hurt that you were already so damned exhausted that you were probably almost comatose anyway – I just speeded up the process a little."

It still doesn't make sense – not any of it. Not that it isn't fantastic – it is, and Jim loves it, really he does. But none of the pieces fit together; this is more than just unexpected. It's a little weird, and the same instincts that have gotten Jim out of more scrapes than anyone would believe who hadn't seen it for themselves – well, those instincts are telling him that there's something going on that he doesn't get yet, but that's important all the same.

"What about Uhura?" Bones is talking to Chekov now. "She coming soon?"

"Da – she said there was something she needed to finish, but that she will be here a few minutes after we are."

Jim can only imagine the expression he'd gotten on his face during that exchange. "Uhura? Coming down here? For – for Christmas?" God help him, that last question had actually ended on a little bit of an embarrassingly unmanly squeak. Because unless she's secretly coming to poison him or something, he can't imagine a reason for her joining them for a holiday celebration.

All at once, the klaxons start going off in his head – something is way, way off. And if he looks again, now that the first confusion of the surprise has passed, Jim can see Scotty looking at him with what is definitely self-consciousness, and might be a hint of… is that guilt?

Sulu and Chekov are paying more attention to him – and to one another – than he's seen either of them do for weeks, now. Which isn't bad – of course it's not – but...

Something doesn't add up, and he doesn't know yet what it is, but Jim is sure that he's justthisclose to figuring it out.

He turns then to glance at his best friend. And Bones – well, behind that cheesy "Merry Christmas" smile he's working right now, Bones looks a little too concerned. Even for him.

All of these thoughts have been rolling through his head at warp speed, and nobody's really even paying attention to Jim when the light bulb goes off for him.

Because... yeah. Jim knows that his behavior's been far enough off-kilter for the past few days that his closest friends might have noticed, even if they hadn't said anything.

But… oh, God.

If they've done all this Christmas stuff out of some misguided notion that they need to feel sorry for him – well, then that's nothing less than humiliating. Horrifying.

And, no doubt, exactly what has just happened.

Jim feels his stomach starting to churn a little, and hopes he's not flushing with the embarrassment that has totally overwhelmed him all at once. Embarrassment, anger – and a sudden, almost irresistible urge to just go off on all of them, and to start throwing things.

He recognizes immediately, though, that if they went to all this trouble – regardless of what motivated them – he simply can't throw a fit about it, not now. It'd ruin Christmas for everybody, and… well, shit. He can't fault them for trying to be friends.

But the last thing – the very, very last thing – Jim ever wants is their pity.

This – the blinking lights, the omnipresent fucking tinsel, the nervousness behind the holiday cheer... all of it – it's just too much right now. Jim knows he's going to have to go through with this whole Christmas morning, but at just this moment, it's more than he can handle, and he feels the walls of his quarters start to close in on him.

Somehow, he's got to get out of here, and fast – at least long enough to pull his head back together. That, however, is going to take some doing, as there aren't too many ways to do that without arousing at least a little suspicion.

After all, it is his room.

Then inspiration - or as close as he's probably going to get to it this morning - strikes.

"Not to be anti-social, guys," Jim does his best to project nonchalance, "but if I don't get up and hit the john pretty soon, you're all gonna have a Christmas surprise that none of you will want."

As he'd hoped, they all laugh – but even now, he sees Bones looking at him funny out of the corner of his eye, seeming to realize all at once that, yeah – Jim's figured out what's really going on. Seriously – the guy's his best friend. Did he really think Jim was that clueless?

Hoisting himself off the bed, he makes his way across the room and into the bathroom, where he immediately closes the door that leads to his quarters – quietly sealing it with the code that only he as captain can override. He's a grown man; he's a fucking Starfleet officer, for Christ's sake. And he's locked himself into the toilet like a five-year-old.

And for the moment, Captain James Tiberius Kirk doesn't really know how long he can get by with hiding in his bathroom – but he's willing to try to find out.

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Yes, I know. Very short, and I apologize - however, the chapter wanted to end there, and I wasn't in the mood to argue with it..

In our next installment, we'll find out exactly how our intrepid Captain Kirk escapes from The Bathroom of Doom...