Hello my wonderful readers! I am (finally) updating, but I swear I have a good reason. Last week and this week were midterms. 7 classes + 7 midterms = NO TIME TO WRITE. Or sleep, really. And then this past weekend was completely shot thanks to a Sunday night visit to the ER and an impromptu surgical procedure to take care of the MRSA that had invested in my leg. ... Not fun. Want to know the worst part? There was no Doctor McCoy to patch me up. :( Anyway, that's why this chapter is a long time coming. I'm sorry and I'll try (key word: try) to get the next chapter out to you guys soon.

Notes: This AU takes place about 20 minutes in the future in San Francisco. I'm not sure what sort of "verse" it is yet, so if anyone has any ideas, please let me know! Also, I rated this T because there's nothing too bad except for McCoy and Kirk's language. I don't think it's strong enough to warrant an M rating, but if anyone has a problem with it, I will up the rating.

Disclaimer: I own the second, third, and fourth ST movies! (Birthday gift from the best roommate in the world) But I don't own Star Trek.

In the end, it all boiled down to one question:

"If you don't tell me your new address, how the hell am I supposed to send you the damn alimony checks?"

And then the yelling ceased. On the end of his phone, all he could hear was her angered breathing, the halted breath of someone who realized she had just lost.

When she spoke again, it was clipped tones with sardonic politeness dripping from each vowel. But none of that mattered to McCoy. All that mattered was that he managed to get his daughter's new address and phone number.

To be honest, he was a bit surprised. They only fought for about fifteen minutes and he never once threatened to take her to court. They really were getting better at this whole "divorced" mess.

Her voice sounded different from the last time he spoke to her. She sounded a little older in her seven-year old wisdom and the lisp was long gone.

McCoy never realized how much he would miss that lisp. And once more, the flood of guilt that he has missed out on milestones in his daughter's life filled him beyond capacity.

But for once in his life, he didn't focus on the anger or the guilt or any of the other hateful emotions that coursed through his veins. Instead, he listened to his beautiful daughter as she talked about her new house and her friends at school.

And even if he cringed when she mentioned her new step-father, he couldn't let it show. He kept his voice light-hearted and pleasant because damned if he was going to screw up another moment in his life. This was too important. Joanna was too important.

"He'll never be you, Daddy. I'll always love you most."

"I'll always love you, too, baby."

The warmest January day in San Francisco was probably equal to the coldest winter day in Georgia. McCoy couldn't imagine how anyone would manage to live in the northern states. Sure, snow looked pretty on a Christmas card, but it was just white slush. Cold, white slush.

He tugged the jacket tighter around his body as the wind blew with a little more force against his body. The leashes in his hands were tugged as the dogs he was walking urged him forward. Cursing under his breath, he walked at a faster pace to oblige the little monsters.

Damn yapping mongrels. He could already feel the migraine coming on. Fuck.

It was all going just-fucking-swimmingly until Princess the Poodle (Really? Where the hell was the originality in that? In McCoy's opinion, stupid people should not be responsible for other life forms. Not even plants.) decided to take a shit right on someone else's property.

"God dammit," McCoy swore. He had already gone through all of his plastic baggies. He wasn't a damn boy scout, he wasn't always prepared.

There was a definite reason why he was a doctor and not a vet.

"Hey!"

McCoy turned around with a sour expression deeply etched in his face. A curvy woman with short brunette curls stood outside on the porch of her house, looking expectantly at the poodle.

"You need a bag?" she asked, glancing up to meet McCoy's eyes.

"Huh?" He had been expected her to be one of those bitchy women would couldn't rest until they knew their lawns were shit-free. Breathing down his neck until he cleaned up the dog's business. Her helpful comment took him off-guard.

"A bag. Do you need one?" she asked again, an amused expression on her face.

"Yeah, that would be damn helpful," he responded with a curt nod.

She slipped back into the house before reappearing with a yellow plastic bag in her hand. Wordlessly, she handed it to him and he kneeled down to clean the mess. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her legs in close proximity.

When he stood back up, he was fully aware of how stupid he looked with a bag full of shit and a horde of annoying dogs literally hanging off of him. But she was still standing there and she was still smiling.

"I'm Nancy, by the way."

To: j-money gmailcom

From: yahoocom

Subject: GREETINGS FROM THE CITY OF LIGHTS

Hey Old Man!

Or should I say bonjour, vieil homme? Yeah, you read right. I'm in France. Like I mentioned before, Spock's mom was from the countryside. Uhura's a girl, so naturally, it didn't take much to convince her to go along. Because really, what's better than winter in France? In Paris, the city of lights! (Click the link, Bones!)

Rolling his eyes, McCoy opened the link provided within the e-mail and a new window popped up, revealing a picture of Jim and two other people.

There was snow on the ground and bright lights illuminating the city around them. They stood outside some non-descript building with French writing that McCoy couldn't understand scripted on the sign behind them. Jim had one of his huge, open mouthed smiles, complete with crinkled eyes, and McCoy wondered if he had been mid-laugh when the picture was taken. His hands were shoved into the pockets of his charcoal pea coat and a brightly colored, striped scarf hung loose around his neck.

McCoy grinned to himself for a moment, noting the ease and humor in Jim's eyes before he caught himself. With a grunt and a shake of his head, he turned his attentions to the others in the picture, assuming them to be Spock and Uhura.

Letting out a low whistle, he realized Jim hadn't been kidding when he said Uhura was gorgeous. She was an African woman with cheekbones that could cut glass. Black eyeliner wings decorated her eyes in an elegant fashion that matched the scarlet coat around her slender form. Long dark hair in loose curls spilled over her shoulders and she seemed to be leaning slightly into the other man, presumably Spock.

While the other two in the picture had bright smiles on their faces, Spock seemed almost stoic with a prematurely lined face. He couldn't have been much older than Jim, but his skin was taunt against his face in a very distinguished way. His mouth formed a thin line and his hands were folded behind his back. Like Uhura, his cheekbones were highly defined. Along with his slanted eyes, no doubt due to his father's heritage, his entire face seemed to sweep upwards. He wore a double-breasted pea coat similar to Jim's, however his was longer and a deep shade of royal blue.

McCoy glanced back at the e-mail to see what else Jim had written.

Told you she was hot. ;)

He blinked at the e-mail with disbelief and then wondered to himself why he was so surprised by Jim's antics. This was just basic Jim-behavior.

We were outside the Chat Noir. Uhura wanted to go and apparently Spock is a cat-person, surprisingly enough. He won't admit to it, but Uhura swears it's true.

Anyway, I started to get the impression that there was something going on between them (I'm his friend and I didn't even know he likes cats. So, yeah. Something was clearly up.). So! Like the perfect James-Bond-Spy that I am, I followed them! …Well, I mean, we were walking around the city in a group anyway, but still!

(I know you're probably laughing at my "stupidity" right now, but whatever, old man.)

We were walking around and visited the Eiffel Tower because honestly, you can't go to Paris and NOT see it. Srsly.

"Dammit, Jim. You're not a thirteen year old girl," McCoy muttered under his breath, staring with slight disgust at Jim's internet-speak.

They were looking at the tower and I told them I had to take a leek. Uhura said I was crude and Spock said, "Indeed. I must agree with Miss Uhura." Because he's a prick. And whipped.

So, I walked away and then when they thought I was actually gone, I set my master plan into action! *cue maniacal laughter* I snuck up behind in them in my most stealthiest spy-mode and managed to take this super-sweet picture. (Ahem. Click the link.)

Dimly wondering why the hell he complied with Jim's crazy notions, McCoy idly opened another window and another picture met his view.

Jim must have been behind a plant or something because there was a green blur in the one corner. But beyond the blur, McCoy could see Spock and Uhura from behind. Though the picture had been taken from a few feet away, it was clear that two of his long, pale fingers connected lightly with two of her smaller, darker fingers as their hands hung between them. Their distance was nearly non-existent, though they kept their faces forward, not facing each other.

Aren't they just too damn cute? I thought it was precious. 3 And I was right. Clearly, that is the most important part of this story. I. Was right.

Well, I don't really have much else to say. I kinda miss San Francisco, so I'll be back soon. Not sure when. I'll let you know? Haha, we'll see! Later Bones!

-James T. Kirk, badass extraordinaire

P.S. I don't foresee this ever happening, but don't be a bastard and tell Spock and Uhura that I took that picture. Spock would probably lecture about the merits of privacy and if you've ever been lectured by a half-Chinese, half-French logical man with a stick up his ass (He's my friend and I love him, but sometimes he makes me want to grab his shoulders and scream "Life's too short!"), then you know how awful it can be. And Uhura… she's sorta scary. Like in the beautiful and dangerous way. To be honest, I'm a little worried about what she would do if she found out I took that picture.

Can you do that for me, Bones? Can you keep my secret?

To: j-money gmailcom

From: yahoocom

Subject: Change your e-mail address, you dumbass

Glad to see you're having fun. Spock and Uhura seem pretty decent and damn altruistic for putting up with you. And you weren't kidding. She really is a looker. So keep your damn paws off her. I know a nice girl when I see one and dammit, don't be your usual ass-self.

France looks wonderful. The ex always wanted to go, but one thing led to another and we never got around to visiting. Thanks for the pictures. It's good to see you so happy. Not that you aren't usually happy, but hell, you know what I mean.

And yes, I'll keep your secret. I think it's damn stupid, but you seem rather resistant. Although, it might be pretty amusing to see Uhura whoop your sorry ass.

Well, nothing much is happening here. I finally called Joanna. Oh God, Jim. You should meet her sometime. She's perfect. And beautiful. She's got the McCoy charm and, I swear, I'm going to have to chase the boys off with a shotgun in just a few years. And she's smart. She's so smart, already one of the top in her class. She and I talk every Thursday night after her tap dance lessons. She calls me sometimes because she says it makes her feel important.

Chapel's been asking about you. She wants to know you're coming back. I think she misses you. I have to admit, it's been pretty damn quiet without you here. Talk to you later, kid.

-Bones

P.S. I met a woman named Nancy. Normally, I wouldn't say anything, but I like her. She might be around for a while and I figure you'd want to know. We've been on a few dates so far, but nothing too serious. She's a high school teacher. Teaches English, actually. I think you'd like her.

Highlight and delete. Try again.

To: j-money

From: yahoocom

Subject: Change your e-mail address, you dumbass

Glad to see you're having fun. Thanks for the pictures. Don't worry, I won't say a word about your "spy" work.

Well, nothing much is happening here. I finally called Joanna. She and I talk every Thursday night after her tap dance lessons. Otherwise, nothing new in my life. We don't all get to travel to France at the drop of a hat.

Talk to you later, kid.

-McCoy

P.S. I met a woman named Nancy. We haven't sleep together yet, so get your filthy mind out of the gutter. And it's none of your damn business anyway.

Eh, it wasn't perfect, but it was better. He hit "send" and sat in front of his glowing computer screen for a few minutes, wondering why he felt so disconnected from everything in the world. With a sigh, he lifted himself from his chair and slumped on to his bed.

Ah, sleep.

"Tap dance is so much fun, Daddy!"

Joanna's bubbly voice filled his ear, causing him to smile softly as he looked down at the framed picture of her that he held in his hand.

"I'm glad to hear it. Lindsey's in that class with you, right?" he asked, remembering that she mentioned something about her best friend last week.

"Uh-huh," she agreed. McCoy could imagine her nodding as she spoke, her brown pigtails bobbing around her round face. "The teacher says we might get a duet in our recital next month if we keep practicin'."

"Well, then you better practice," he answered with all the excitement of a proud father.

"That's what Mommy says!" Joanna squealed cheerfully into the phone. She giggled for a moment before sobering up and adopting a more serious tone. "Are you gonna be able to see my recital?"

"Oh, baby," McCoy started, feeling his heart break within his chest. "I don't know."

"It's alright," she said bravely. There was a silence and McCoy wondered if maybe she was chewing her bottom lip like she used to do when she was younger. "Maybe Mommy will videotape it? And then I can mail it to you?" she suggested hopefully.

"How 'bout you save it and then the next time I see you, we watch it together?" McCoy offered, trying to give her the best that he could from hundreds of miles away.

"I like that idea," she approved, a smile clearly evident in her voice. "You have the best ideas, Daddy."

"Thank you, baby," he said gently, still painfully aware of the guilt he felt too deeply.

"When you gonna visit next?" she inquired innocently.

"Oh," he stalled, drawing out the single syllable as he racked his mind for a suitable answer. "I don't know. I'll have to talk to your momma."

"I hope it's real soon. I miss you lots."

"I miss you, too," he promised before his voice trailed off into a whisper. "More than you could ever know."

In the distance, he could hear Jocelyn's voice call out.

"Joanna-monster, it's bedtime! Tell your father you have to go."

"'Kay, Mommy!" Joanna answered, accidentally yelling into the phone, causing McCoy to cringe slightly. Then she addressed her father once more. "Mommy wants me to go to sleep now. Can I stay up a little longer and talk to you?"

If he had been there in person, he was sure he would be unable to give in to her pouty face. But he wasn't there. He couldn't see her. And so he managed to say no.

"Mind your momma," he stated regretfully. "Good night, doll. I love you."

"I love you, too, Daddy," she answered sweetly.

"Hey, let me talk to your momma," he said quickly, before Joanna turned off the phone.

There was a rustling noise and then silence. A breath on the other end.

"What?"

Ah, there was the woman he knew and loved so fucking dearly. Bitch.

"Joss," he began quietly, using his old nickname for her in the hopes to offset her anger. There would be no good in upsetting her.

"Leonard, don't," she pleaded with a hard edge to her voice.

"Joss, you have to let me see her," McCoy insisted. "She's my daughter. I love her more than anyone in the world."

"I know. Trust me, I know," she practically yelled back into the phone before her voice broke off. A pause settled between them before she spoke again in a much quieter voice. "Look, we'll talk about this later. I need to get Joanna to bed."

There was a click and the connection was over before he even had a chance to respond.

Ripped from his deep sleep, McCoy sat straight up in bed as he heard his phone start to ring on his desk. Bleary-eyed, he tried to get out of bed. Tangled up in sheets, he fell to the ground and just stayed there as he grabbed his phone.

"Bones!" came the impossibly chipper voice on the other end.

"Dammit, Jim!" McCoy swore, falling onto his back on the floor and glancing at the nearby clock. "It's four in the morning here. You fucking woke me up."

"Huh," Jim responded with obviously fake confusion. "It's ten in the morning here in France."

McCoy growled under his breath and draped a heavy arm over his eyes. "You're like a fucking genius, aren't you? I'm sure you were perfectly aware of the time difference when you called."

"I figured you'd be more willing to answer my questions if you were half-asleep and not entirely aware of what you were saying," Jim answered matter-of-factly. McCoy could picture that smug look that seemed to perpetually decorate the younger man's face.

"Bastard," he muttered.

"Even you admitted that I was a genius," Jim pointed out, the smugness creeping into his voice.

"Bastard."

"Aw, there's the witty comeback I was waiting for," he answered, dripping with saccharine endearment. Then his voice took on a much more business-like tone when he spoke again. "Anyway, I'm calling about that e-mail I received from you."

"What about it?" McCoy gruffed into the phone. It was his life, dammit. He never should have told Jim.

"Nancy," Jim stated simply as though McCoy was an idiot for asking.

McCoy sighed and figured that the sooner he answered Jim's questions, the sooner he would able to go back to sleep before his twelve hour shift later in the day.

"I met her when I was walking those damn dogs. You know, I swear, I'm—"

"Going to kill that yipping mongrel," Jim finished in a bored tone, cutting off the beginning of McCoy's rant. "Yeah, yeah. Heard it all before."

McCoy was pretty sure Jim just rolled his eyes and if he hadn't been so tired, he would have chuckled. Seemed some of his mannerisms were starting to rub off on Jim.

"So, what's she like? Is she hot?" Jim pressed, teasingly, lecherously.

"She's very pretty, you little fucker," he grouched. He stared at the bed just a few feet over from where he rested on the floor. It seemed really far away.

"Is it serious?" Jim asked. If McCoy didn't know better, he'd think there was some sincerity in the younger man's tone.

"Not really," he shrugged. He began wondering how much energy it would require to get off of the floor and back on his mattress. Sure, it was lumpy, but it had to be better than the hard floor. He was too old for this shit.

"Do you want it to be?" Jim continued, curious.

"I don't know," McCoy muttered after a moment's thought.

"Still angry about Jocelyn?"

"No. Well, yeah," McCoy admitted after thinking about it. "But that doesn't bother me when I'm with Nancy."

"What is it then?"

McCoy stared out the small window, watching cars drive by in the night with their lights clearing the way ahead. He wondered how much longer until the sun would start to rise. Jim was silent on the end of line, further away than McCoy could imagine. He just waited patiently until McCoy was ready to speak.

"Just doesn't feel right," he finally said, almost surprised by his own response. "I don't know. I'm not good at this feeling thing."

"Really?" Jim started, his voice saturated with blatant sarcasm. "Because you've always come across as such a people-person."

"Shut it, asshole," McCoy snapped as he finally started to free his legs from their sheeted prison.

On the other end, Jim chuckled softly, the sound low in his throat. McCoy was nearly back in his bed and ready to end this uncomfortable conversation when Jim spoke again.

"Hey, Bones?"

"What?" he groaned, leaning back onto his pillows and silently hating time differences.

"If it doesn't feel right, just…" Jim paused, "don't do it."

"What?" McCoy repeated, this time with confusion. His eyes were starting to flutter shut as sleepiness began to win against his efforts to stay awake.

"Just don't do it, okay?" Jim reiterated with a hint of frustration in his otherwise neutral tone.

"Whatever," McCoy mumbled, too tired to try to understand. "Don't see what it matters to you, but whatever."

"Night, Bones."

"Mornin', Jim."

Click. Dial tone. Silence. Sleep.

"I'm telling you, get a lawyer! You have rights to see your daughter," Nancy told him adamantly. Her plump cheeks were flushed with righteous indignation.

She slipped an arm through his and looked up at him expectantly.

"Trust me, I've thought of that," McCoy assured her as they rounded the corner to her house. "But I don't have enough money. Besides, judges always side with the mothers. I'm lettin' a little more time pass before I start forcing some changes."

She nodded understandingly, but pursed her lips momentarily before opening her mouth once more. "I just don't want you to let too much time pass."

"I know," he sighed wearily. "For now, I'm just happy that I get to talk to Joanna on a weekly basis." His voice gathered a little strength. "Sometimes she even calls on the weekend if she's finished her homework on time."

They walked up the porch steps in front of her house and stood before the door.

"That's really sweet," she responded quietly, clearly interpreting the pride and happiness in his voice.

He looked down at her with a slight grin. She was a little older than him, with little laugh lines around her eyes, but she had a youthful smile and an indomitable spirit. He reached a hand out to stroke her short, soft curls.

"I learned that it's better to appreciate the little victories," he told her with all the charm his momma taught him back in Georgia.

"Oh, Doctor McCoy, you are pulling my leg," she laughed. She swatted at him lightly with a sparkle in her eye. "I seriously doubt that you have ever believed that in your life. It's too optimistic."

"Calling me grouchy?" he answered in mock offense.

"Well, I'm only telling the truth," she answered demurely as the distance between them closed.

The night air pressed around them as her lips moved gently against his. His hands tightened on her hips, pulling her flush against her body. Her hands slid up his shoulders, neck, to rest in his hair.

They pulled away after a few moments and she smiled coyly at him, twirling his short strands between her fingers. She moved in closer, her lips trailing across his cheek. He shut his eyes and leaned into her touch.

"Do you want to come in for the night? Get your mind off your problems?" she suggested, lips brushing against his clean-shaven cheek.

Something cold struck his core and he pulled away slightly from her touch. She looked at him with confusion, but he smiled regretfully at her.

"Actually, I have work in the morning," he lied, internally hating himself and wondering why the hell he was refusing sex with a beautiful woman.

"Oh, I understand," she answered in a tone that suggested that, indeed, she did understand. She gave a half-hearted smile and stroked his hair a final time before letting her hands slip back to her sides. She pressed a chaste kiss on his lips which he returned, his stomach churning with guilt.

"Well, good night then."

"G'night, Nancy."

He walked down the steps, down the path to the main sidewalk. He heard her open the door, but he did not turn around to look at her again. For the rest of the short walk back to his apartment, he debated with himself about why he had done that. Why had he given up something that could have been really wonderful? And if he couldn't manage a night with her, how would things continue between them?

Why?

In the end, the only answer he could come up with was that she was too soft in all the wrong places.

As always, I am very curious to know what you thought! Please review!