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Even at medical, Leonard McCoy couldn’t escape the glitter of the tinsel that hung in arcs down the wards. Tinsel that constantly became unstuck from the walls and tumbled down upon patients and doctors alike who laughed it off because hell, it was that time of year where no one was unhappy.
No one but Leonard. The damn carollers with their jingle bells and their fa la la la la-ing weren't helping his mood either; he wanted to deck them never mind the damn halls. As for Rudolph and his red nose, well, he probably ought to see a vet because that ain't damn natural.
He didn’t see the point of Christmas; to him it was going out and spending money on twinkling lights and shimmering baubles, and as far as he was concerned that was money to be saved for something he’d actually probably need.
And everyone laughed and smiled and hugged, and people patted him on the back and wished him a happy holiday. Several unopened cards laid upon his desk in his office and he tossed a handful more onto the pile before he shrugged on his coat, grabbed his belongings and the cards and made for his dorm.
Snow blanketed the ground and he trod lightly as he crossed the quad less his foot completely disappear under the white covering. He’d be happy to see a place that wasn’t strung in lights and tinsel; he figured Jim hadn’t had the time to turn their dorm into a shabby Santa’s grotto since he had two exams and a sim today.
But, like with most things concerning James Tiberius Kirk, he was wrong; not wholly wrong, but just a little.
Jim wasn’t around when he walked in, but the room was dark and lit gently by the glow of white fairy lights that snaked around the top of the bed with a length of gold tinsel.
As he turned to hang his jacket over his chair at the desk, he almost toppled a small potted tree that glittered with blue and gold baubles whilst, at the very top a, Starfleet insignia gleamed; he supposed he had to give Jim points for being inventive.
Another set of lights outlined the desk and gave the room a warm glow as McCoy turned back to the bed and crossed his arms with a sigh; he might have disliked Christmas, but Jim didn’t.
He knew Jim would have wanted to go over the top with lights and music and a massive tree that swallowed half the space in their dorm, but for McCoy’s sake he kept it sweet and simple.
Turning back to the tree, Leonard saw a gift beneath it wrapped shoddily in cobalt blue paper with a tag taped to it un-neatly. The gift was penned to him, love Jim.
Of course it was; the kid couldn’t help himself no matter how many times McCoy had told him ‘Jim, I don’t want a gift, I don’t need anything’ or how many times Jim had argued ‘but it’s the thought that counts Bones.’
As McCoy mulled over the quite frankly terrible wrapping of the small gift, he decided it definitely was the thought that counted and that he should feel happy that Jim was even thinking about him at Christmas because lord knows, no one else was.
He donned his jacket again and wandered into the kitchenette to grab a drink before leaving; he definitely had to get Jim a gift now otherwise it wouldn’t be fair. He passed the small table where a plate was laid showing a stack of sugar cookies with a note sitting on top:
‘Be back late, Merry (early) Christmas!’
He recognised Jim’s childish handwriting and the god awful piece of art that looked like it ought to be a Christmas tree after his words, and he caught himself smiling a little.
With Jim out until later and a last glance back at the tree, Leonard buttoned up his coat, stole a cookie or two (maybe even three), and left the dorm in search of a gift for Jim.
He didn’t think he was doing too bad to say he didn’t enjoy the holidays.