Captain Kirk paced aimlessly on the Bridge. Occasionally, Spock would glance over and provide what he intended to be encouragement, through a stiff nod.
Kirk was grappling with a decision; a detour.
"Helmsman," he said, after the fourth of Spock's nods.
Sulu turned.
"Yes, Captain?"
"How badly would it delay us if we stopped by Earth at, say, about 1930?"
The navigator considered the time readings, on display in the center of his console.
"Nineteen-hundred hours, Sir?"
"Not quite," said Kirk, "Mister Spock?"
"I understand, Captain," he stepped between the two officers, already prepared to adjust their heading.
"Mister Scott," Kirk began, sighing over the speaker, "Prepare for three to beam down."
"I don't know if I like this, Jim," muttered Doctor McCoy, into the captain's shoulder.
Spock watched them, reeling in breaths of the new, earth air. Although tinged with smoke, it was invigorating.
They heard the calm noise of the transporter beam, slipping quietly away through space andtime.
"I know," Kirk said, "We're not going to touch anything. We're going to watch."
"May I remind you, Captain, that our very presence here may alter the timeline of the entire planet? Our collective future."
"Yes, Spock," Kirk pressed his communicator to the side of his face. As long as it worked, he was sure their future was perfectly unharmed. He heard Scotty, giving orders regarding their orbit, and was content, "Come on."
He reached down, resting one hand over Spock's forearm and one over McCoy's. He led them purposefully across the street, nearly dragging them to keep a uniform pace.
Spock and McCoy knew better than to argue. They had each tried, once, and failed to convince the captain to return home. Free of this formality, they would follow every order he gave.
The wind gradually quickened, spiraling around them. Gently, it placed snowflakes on their coats and hats as they dashed around street-signs.
Captain Kirk stopped before a bright, foggy window. Spock explained the frame of flickering electric lights, exposing it as a holiday tradition. Warm, savory smoke billowed from the house's chimney, and lodged softly into their lungs.
Within a crowd of men in patched sweaters, they found Edith Keeler. She doused mismatched mugs with coffee, tugged at her scarf, and tended to the fireplace.
The room was friendly and steeped in laughter. Kirk pressed his forehead to the window, waiting for Spock or McCoy to drag him away. Neither did.
Instead, the doctor reached for Spock's knitted hat, pulling it down to properly cover his ears. Kirk continued staring forward.
"I wish I could…" he placed one hand pensively against the glass, "hear her voice."
He dropped his hand to his side, to trace his fingers habitually over the communicator.
"We cannot go inside, Captain," Spock informed him.
"Yes, I know."
They watched the men indoors, eagerly sipping their coffee, and crowding around a table set before the fireplace. Edith Keeler was barely visible, as she set out a tray of food; pumpkin pie, already sliced and counted to accommodate every guest. The men clamored for forks, plates and cloth napkins.
"How long can we stay, Jim?"
Although they all wore gloves, Doctor McCoy rubbed his hands together, then cupped them to catch his breath. Snow continued falling.
"Sorry, Bones," he said, still fixated on the scene indoors, "Not much longer."
"You know I didn't mean it like that. Take your time."
Edith Keeler's eyes fought through the waves of brown and grey coats, and made the mistake of catching Jim's. He stepped away from the glass.
The others spoke at once:
"Captain."
"Jim."
"I know," he repeated.
Another step back. His fingers tightened around the communicator, forcing fibers of the glove into the speaker.
The door opened, tipping back the head of a decorative bell. It chimed lightly, as Edith Keeler approached them. She extended her hand, offering a mug of coffee and then a handshake, once Kirk accepted the drink.
"Won't you come inside?" she made sure to look at all of them, as she spoke, "It's much too cold for loitering. Come in and have some coffee."
The mug was passed to McCoy. He took one prescribed sip, when Edith looked back at him.
"You're all welcome," she assured, "I don't ask questions."
"That's… very kind of you," Kirk said, "But you don't need to worry; we're on our way home."
He felt for the communicator in his pocket, ensuring it was adequately hidden. Her eyes did not follow his hand.
"Maybe some other night," he added.
Above them, the Enterprise flashed a beam of light; the signal to leave. Edith Keeler stared longingly up at it, and compared it to the lights in her doorway. The bell was silent and still, by now.
"Which way is your home?" she asked, as Kirk finally managed to tear himself away. He had taken one step toward the street, while Spock looked for oncoming automobiles.
"It isn't far," he said, tucking his hands into his pockets. Doctor McCoy caught his shoulder, so he could not turn to face her.
"I do hope you'll stay together, safe and warm."
"Safe and warm," echoed Kirk.
"Merry Christmas," she called after them. The words drifted over their shoulders.
"Merry Christmas," Kirk repeated.
The captain spent the evening alone in his cabin. He was slow in changing back into his uniform, gloved hands lingering over every thread Edith Keeler had brushed against, or even breathed on.
Outside of his door, he heard footsteps.
"Come in."
Doctor McCoy joined him, and sat on the end of his bed. Quickly, Kirk tugged off both gloves, and dropped them in a pile on the floor.
"Brought you something," McCoy said. He set the coffee cup on the bedside table, while Kirk watched with wide eyes.
His smile was hesitant.
"Don't let Spock see," he began, "what if that changes our future, because you took it?"
"Jim," he turned his hands, "It's an old trick, and you know it. She gave it to you. You're supposed to bring it back."
"What a woman," he said, "I'll be sure to do that."
There's a happy feeling nothing in the world can buy,
When they pass around the coffee and the pumpkin pie.
These wonderful things are the things,
We'll remember all through our lives.