What Do The Lonely Do At Christmas?

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Captain Kirk stepped into the turbo lift and was immediately bombarded with the syrupy sound of a Christmas song blaring from the ship's intercom. Just great! He winced. The cheerful tune filled the small space, each note grating against his nerves. With a growl of frustration, he twisted the handbrake and metal groaned in protest as the lift came to an abrupt halt. He quickly exited the tube and marched through the ship's corridors like a man on a mission.

"Someday at Christmas..." a falsetto voice warbled as he walked past the open door of a rec room. Inside, voices sang along with the music, their laughter spilling out into the hallway. Kirk put his hands over his ears. Not that song again! The lyrics mocked him with their naïve hope. Someday? Nothing had changed since the song was written and that magical "someday" had never arrived. Men still played with bombs as if they were toys. The galaxy was still scarred by war, still bleeding from conflicts and the destruction didn't stop for anything not even Christmas day. To Kirk, Christmas was just another stardate, nothing special.

He marched on and was soon hit by the scent of gingerbread and cinnamon rolls permeating the air – a cruel reminder of the holiday cheer he was determined to avoid. He saw glimpses of the crew inside the mess hall, their faces alight with a joy he no longer recognized. Nurse Chappel laughed as Dr. M'Benga playfully held a sprig of mistletoe above her head, planting a quick kiss on her cheek. Kirk's eyes lingered briefly before he turned away. When had those two become so chummy? he wondered. But it didn't matter. The sight of their happiness brought a pang to his chest.

"Merry Christmas, Captain!" an ensign called cheerfully as he passed.

"Christmas? Meh!" Kirk grumbled as he strode away.

Everywhere he went crewmen gave their well wishes and season's greetings but he didn't return them. He just kept going. That was his life's motto lately: Just keep going.

But going where? To what end? He'd already lost most of his family. What was there to celebrate? The holiday had become a cruel reminder of everything he no longer had—everything he'd never had. Family. Lovers. Home.

Kirk thought he'd found a family of sorts on the ship in Spock and Bones, but that didn't last. He remembered the days when the three of them had been an inseparable unit, their camaraderie forged in the fires of countless dangerous missions, bound by a shared history of triumphs and tragedies. Now, those days seemed to belong to a distant past, a fading memory. Spock had reconciled with his parents, and now he even had a wife and child on the way. Even Bones, a previously confirmed bachelor, had fallen in love with Natira. Soon, when this five-year mission ended, they'd both be gone. And Kirk? He'd be left here. Alone, again.

Finally, he reached Sickbay. The doors slid open with a soft hiss, and blessedly there was no Christmas music, only the soft hum of the life support systems. McCoy was hunched over his desk, his brow furrowed in concentration as he reviewed medical logs. He looked up as Kirk entered and his eyes narrowed seeing the grim set of Kirk's jaw.

"Jim," McCoy said, a hint of concern in his voice, "To what do I owe the pleasure? You don't usually darken the sickbay door unless you're bleeding or unconscious."

Kirk didn't respond right away, ignoring the playful banter. Instead, he stalked to the nearest counter, leaning heavily on it. His gaze was drawn to a small, framed halopic on McCoy's desk. It showed McCoy, younger and thinner, beaming beside a radiant young girl with fiery red hair. Joanna. McCoy's daughter. Suddenly he felt a pang of…something… a feeling he couldn't quite name. His voice was clipped when he finally spoke. "I need brandy."

McCoy blinked, caught off guard. "Brandy? Since when do you raid my stock for personal use? You know it's reserved for special occasions."

Kirk shot him a glare sharp enough to pierce hull plating. "Then this is a special occasion. Do you have it or not?"

McCoy frowned, leaning back in his chair. "Of course I have it. But I didn't think it was regulation to—"

"Bones," Kirk interrupted, his voice low and edged with warning. "Don't lecture me. Just give me the bottle."

McCoy regarded the captain, his doctor's intuition sensing a deeper turmoil beneath the captain's demand. He stood, crossing to a cabinet and retrieving a bottle of Saurian brandy. Instead of handing it over immediately, he grabbed two glasses and set them on the counter.

"How about we share a drink?" McCoy offered in a friendly tone, trying to hide his growing concern. "Call it a little holiday camaraderie."

The word "comradery" hung heavy in the air and Bones realized he'd said the wrong thing as he watched Kirk's jaw tighten and his hands turn into tight fists.

"I don't want holiday camaraderie. I just want the brandy, and I'll be out of your hair."

McCoy hesitated, but he could find no reason to deny the captain. He held out the bottle. "Fine. But if you ever decide you want to talk about it, you know where to find me."

Kirk snatched the bottle, his fingers trembling with tension. "Thanks, Bones," he muttered his voice wavering with barely containing his emotions. Then he turned on his heel and marched out of Sickbay.

McCoy watched him go, a mixture of concern and frustration etched into his features. "Happy holidays to you too, Jim," he grumbled under his breath before returning to his desk.

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Kirk sank into the chair of his dimly lit quarters and poured himself a generous glass of brandy. The liquid burned a path down his throat, offering little solace and before he knew it the bottle was half empty. The festive hum of activity aboard the Enterprise seemed impossibly distant now, muffled by the thick walls of his quarters, but he knew just outside his door he'd find the bustle and hum of an excited crew.

He wished he could join in that excitement, but he just didn't feel it. Christmas. Meh! Christmas had never worked out for him... No, that's not true. There had been a time when he enjoyed Christmas. A time when he had spent the day with someone he cared for, whiling away the hours in peaceful bliss. But that was long ago.

Now he spent the holiday alone. He swirled the amber liquid in his glass, staring into it as if it held the answers to questions he couldn't bring himself to ask. How did it all end up this way? What had brought him to this lowly state?

He brought the glass up to his lips and drank deeply, the warmth of the brandy doing little to thaw the cold knot in his chest. Memories flickered at the edges of his mind—long-buried regrets, faces of people lost, and the weight of command that never truly lifted.

He thought of all the bad luck and struggles he'd endured on his journey to become a captain. People often left him, and friendships faded, but he always had his ship. The Enterprise had never let him down, not once.

Christmas? Meh! Christmas wasn't for people like him; it was for people with families and loved ones to share the warmth of the season with. He was a captain, a legend, a man who had faced down supposed gods and monsters and explored the unknown. Outside his cabin, the crew laughed and sang in celebration of their lives. Inside, Kirk sat alone, the weight of the galaxy on his shoulders.