Part One

It had already been a busy day at the clinic when Leonard got the notification that Jim Kirk had just been admitted to exam room five.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” he muttered as he reviewed Jim’s chart. He’d known the kid for less than six months, and in that time, the younger man had managed to wiggle his way into Leonard’s life. Even though the two were on separate tracks at the academy – and despite Jim being a first-year cadet – they seemed to be forming an unlikely friendship. At first, it had been coffee in the commons or lunch in the mess, but eventually, it had evolved into dinner invitations and calls between classes – usually one-sided, with Jim rambling on endlessly about esoteric topics like thermodynamics and astrophysics, as if the kid didn’t have anything better to do with his time than try to pique Leonard’s interest.

Leonard strode into the examination room. Jim sat on the biobed, his legs dangling, holding a blood-soaked pressure bandage over his left forearm while he flirted shamelessly with the Lela, the day nurse. That behavior was nothing new; the kid thought he was god’s gift to women. And Leonard admitted grudgingly, for the most part, women seemed to agree.

“So, you could have gotten killed?” Lela asked dubiously.

“Command-track cadets risk their lives every day,” Jim said with exaggerated bravado. “I’m lucky I survived with only a knife wound to my arm. Some people would call it a miracle.”

Leonard snorted, drawing their attention. “It’s a miracle your stupidity hasn’t gotten you killed.” He stopped and stood in front of Jim. “Why are you here again?”

“It’s your lucky day, Bones,” Jim said with an impish grin. “Taking care of me keeps you from having a boring shift.”

“Fat chance of that with you at the academy.” He tapped Jim’s chart, emphasizing his words. “Two weeks ago, it was a dislocated shoulder.”

“That was Domi’s fault,” Jim interjected. He turned to the nurse. “I won that match in our hand-to-hand class, by the way.”

“Four weeks ago it was cracked ribs and a bruised pelvis.”

“I had to break my record time on the obstacle course. If it hadn’t been raining, I wouldn’t have slipped off that wall.”

 “And before that, a grade level 2 concussion.”

“That one really wasn’t my fault,” Jim protested. “The simulator malfunctioned.”

Leonard looked up from the chart to pin Jim with a penetrating stare. “Because you reprogrammed it to hit V-2, moron.”

“It was Delta-V, Bones. And it would have worked just fine if the engineer hadn’t disengaged my override.”

“Whatever. My point, Jim, is that you’ve been in this clinic more times than the rest of the first-years put together. You’re either terminally clumsy or taking more risks than you should.” He handed the chart to Lela, freeing up his hands in order to examine Jim’s latest injury. “Let me see what you’ve done to yourself this time.”

Leonard carefully released the pressure bandage, holding Jim’s arm steady with a gentle touch. The nurse quickly took the soiled bandage from him as he leaned in to examine the long laceration that stretched ten centimeters across the top of Jim’s forearm. From an initial precursory examination, it didn’t look too deep. Fortunately for Jim, it also seemed to have missed severing any arteries or ligaments. “Wiggle your fingers for me.”

Jim complied, moving his fingers as if playing an invisible piano.

Leonard touched the ends of Jim’s fingers. “Can you feel that?”

Jim rolled his eyes. “Yes, I can still feel my fingers, Bones. Trust me, I’ve cut myself worse shaving.”

“That one I’d believe,” he said sarcastically, dismissing Jim’s attempt to minimize his injury. He turned to the nurse. “Get me a sterilizer and a suture kit. I want to clean off the blood and take a closer look, before I close the wound.”

“Yes, Doctor.”

Jim twisted his torso to follow the path of the nurse, inadvertently tugging at the hold Leonard had on his arm.

“Stop moving around or you’re going to start seriously bleeding again.”

Leonard had barely finished speaking when a rivulet of blood began to flow from the laceration, trickling down Jim’s blood-caked skin to drip silently on the pristine floor.

Leonard grimaced, glaring at his cocky friend. “See?” he said curtly. “I swear to God, Jim, you couldn’t sit still if your life depended on it.”

Lela exited the room, and Jim turned his attention back to Leonard in time to catch Leonard’s glare. “Why are you so grumpy today?” he asked innocently. “I thought you liked taking care of people.”

It was classic Jim Kirk. He was the only person Leonard knew who could completely ignore the fact that he was bleeding all over the floor, as if the pain of his injury didn’t even register in his brain.

“You’re a moron,” Leonard repeated. “And for the record, I prefer to take care of patients who value their hide. Not gung-ho cadets who think they’re immortal.”

Lela returned with a small tray laden with everything Leonard needed and set it on the rolling table within easy reach. Leonard picked up the sterilizer. “This may sting a little,” he warned, and ran it over the wound.

Jim hissed, and his arm tensed, but he didn’t try to pull away from Leonard’s grasp. As Leonard ran the instrument over the laceration, the blood evaporated, exposing the open wound. As he’d first suspected, the cut wasn’t dangerously deep, missing any critical structures.

“Congratulations,” Leonard drawled. “You’ve managed not to sever an artery.”

Jim blinked, then rolled his eyes. “Bones, if I’d severed an artery, I’d have bled to death getting across campus.” He grinned. “The human body can bleed out in three minutes if a major artery is severed.”

“It alarms me that you know that.” He returned the instrument to the tray and retrieved the slender auto-suture. “How in the hell did you do this anyway? Or don’t I want to know?”

“Combat training,” he said, giving Leonard an incredulous look. “I told you we would start using advanced weapons this semester.”

As if Leonard had nothing better to do than memorize Jim’s schedule.

Leonard shook his head as Lela placed Jim’s arm on the sterile-draped, adjustable table she had prepped and moved over to the biobed, efficiently anticipating Leonard’s needs.

“What’s that?” Jim asked, eyeing the instrument.

“Don’t tell me that big brain of yours has forgotten what an auto-suture looks like. God knows you’ve had it used on you enough.” He held up the gleaming instrument. “This one is the latest model. Just got them in this week.”

Jim frowned. “It’s not bleeding that much. Can’t you just bandage it?”

Leonard grimaced. He knew why Jim was concerned. Sutures meant twenty-four hours of no physical activities, and Jim was pushing hard to finish in the top five percent of every class in his jammed schedule. Frankly, Leonard didn’t know how he managed the crushing load, much less excel as he was doing.

“No, genius, I can’t. You might not have severed an artery, but you lacerated enough veins and muscle tissue to need sutures. Now hold still or I’ll sedate you.”

Leonard moved the instrument expertly over the laceration, placing tiny sutures, closing bleeders and bringing the torn edges of the wound back together, leaving a neatly stitched line in the auto-suture’s wake. He mentally groped for a suitable subject to distract Jim from the procedure. “I’m sorry I can’t go with you to the ceremony tomorrow, Jim, but I’m working the day shift here in the Emergency Room.”

Jim shrugged one shoulder. “No problem, Bones. It’s no big deal, but thanks for telling me.” He gave Leonard a half-hearted smile. “Now I know not to save you a seat.” He frowned, then brightened. “It’s only an hour, so I’ll be fine without you. Maybe I can even get Uhura to keep me company, considering the day and all.”

Leonard guided the auto-suture over the last centimeter of open tissue, focused on completing the closure without any puckers. He might be at Starfleet General now, not the prestigious Georgia Trauma Center, but he’d be damned if he’d lower his personal performance standards. “I’m sure you will – although I think you’re dreaming if you expect Uhura to succumb to your blandishments.”

The laceration was now fully closed, and a neat pink scar had replaced the raw, open wound. Leonard switched the auto-suture for a dermal generator, and ran it over the incision, sealing the skin to ensure Jim wouldn’t have a permanent scar.

“Don’t do anything strenuous with that arm – my definition of strenuous, mind you – for the next twenty-four hours.” Leonard traced a thumb over the scar, satisfied with the smooth line. “How about dinner on Friday at my place? You can let yourself in if I’m not back before you arrive. We’ll order Chinese, or your favorite take-out.”

“Sounds good, Bones.”

Leonard applied a final layer of liquid bandage to help protect the incision as it healed. When he was finished, he stepped back and looked at Jim, “Okay, you’re good to go, kid. Just be careful with things that have sharp edges because I don’t want to see you back here again anytime soon. You hear me?”

“I hear you, Bones.” Jim hopped off the biobed. “I’ll take the most stringent of precautions. Promise,” he said, grinning.

Jackass.

Leonard picked up Jim’s chart to document the encounter. “Out. I have other patients to see.”

Jim gave Lela a final, charming smile and swaggered out of the room as if he’d just negotiated a peace treaty with the Klingons.

Leonard shook his head as he began making his notes. “That kid has never turned down a dare – or exercised caution, stringent or otherwise – in his life.”

“I think he’s doing pretty well for a first-year cadet,” Lela said as she cleaned up the tray. “He’s nowhere near the clinic record for ill-considered judgement injuries.”

That was a fucking alarming thought.

“Christ, whatever you do, don’t tell him that. He’ll take it as a personal challenge. I see him far too often as it is.”

She smiled softly. “Go a little easy on him, Dr. McCoy. It must be hard to have the entire academy honoring your father’s death and knowing everyone’s eyes will be on you. Especially when it’s also your birthday.” She shook her head. “Talk about mental whiplash.”

Leonard looked at the empty doorway. He’d completely lost sight of the fact that Remembrance Day was also the day Jim had been born.

Why hadn’t Jim mentioned that Friday was his birthday? The kid usually loved talking about himself.

As he was contemplating his friend’s odd behavior, his comm alerted.

“Doctor McCoy to room seven, stat. Dr. Zeta needs your assistance.”

Leonard rolled his eyes. The senior resident seemed incapable of making any decision without consulting him.

“On my way,” he responded.

He might have just enough time to do something special for Jim… if he could get out of this place before midnight.

Part Two

It was dark by the time Leonard entered his assigned dorm building. The fresh air and exercise afforded by the walk from the clinic to his room was a much-needed balm from the controlled chaos of the ER and the stressful demands of the patients and medical staff. He usually took his time crossing the campus, decompressing while he breathed in the cool ocean air in an attempt to get the scent of antiseptic and blood out of his nose.

But tonight, he was walking fast, juggling his medical bag in one hand and a small, pink bakery box in the other. He wanted to get to his apartment as soon as possible. Jim was probably already there, waiting for him.

He glanced at his chronometer, swearing under his breath.

He’d had the misfortune of having Zeta on his shift again. The senior resident wanted an in-depth consultation on every patient before making any decisions – which made the day twice as long as it needed to be. Zeta should be more confident by this point in his career, and he’d said as much to the man today before submitting a more thorough review to Boyce.

Leonard rode the lift up to his floor, mentally setting aside his duties as an attending physician. Separating the demands of his job and his personal life had never been his strong suit. When he’d joined Starfleet, he’d thought he’d never need to worry about finding that balance again. And yet here he was, late for another celebration. His ex-wife would smile mockingly at him if she were here. By the end of their marriage, Jocelyn had had little patience left for the demands of his career.

Leonard tapped his code into his room door keypad, gingerly balancing the bakery box he’d picked up before his shift as he did. He might be late, but at least he wasn’t coming home empty-handed.

The door slid open, and he walked in. The apartment lights were on, and he immediately spotted Jim sitting at the small kitchen table, beer in hand. Jim looked lost in thought, his expression pensive. His face brightened when he looked up, his bleak introspection instantly disappearing as Leonard entered.

“Celebrating without me?” Leonard chided gently. “I see you found the beer.” He saw an empty bottle sitting on the kitchen counter. Realizing Jim must have been here for longer than he’d thought, he silently cursed Zeta. “Sorry I’m late.”

“Hurry up, Bones. You’re one behind me.” Jim tipped his beer bottle up in a small salute.

“I see that.” Leonard set the small bakery box down on the far side of the counter, out of Jim’s sight.

“How was the ceremony?” Leonard asked as he unboxed the item inside. It was only a small vanilla cupcake with a swirl of lemon icing. Nothing fancy, but it looked artfully crafted. He set it on a small plate.

“Fine. A lot of speeches. Mostly a waste of time. Everyone was relieved when it was over.”

With his back to Jim, he fished out the thin, tiny candle he’d managed to finagle from the bakery.

“A candle?” the baker asked incredulously. “Like a wax candle?”

“Yeah, a wax candle. Something you can light. A birthday candle.”

The baker looked at him like Leonard was asking him to teach lobsters to dance in a conga line.

The baker scratched his head. “Well, I could replicate something, I suppose.”

“Thanks,” he said. “Make it blue and white if you can.”

The baker rewarded his request with an aggrieved look before slowly moving to the back of the store. When he finally returned, he had the tiny candle in hand, holding it as if it were a live explosive. “I made it self-lighting,” he warned, “so be careful not to tap it too hard before you’re ready to use it.”

Grateful, Leonard had quickly snatched it out of the man’s hand and tucked it into his shirt pocket for safe-keeping.

 With the candle set in the center of the cupcake, he lit the wick with a flick of his finger and went to retrieve a beer from the refrigerator. With the beer in one hand and the cupcake in the other, he turned and walked out to the kitchen table.

“Happy Birthday, kid. Make a wish,” he said as he set the dish in front of Jim, catching him in the midst of taking a sip of beer.

Jim froze with the bottle at his lips. He stared intently at the frosted confection as if it were a threat, his expression unreadable.

Leonard took the first sip of his beer, watching Jim closely. The kid looked stunned.

His comm beeped suddenly, drawing a scowl from him. He looked down at the device, knowing instantly who was intruding on his evening.

“I gotta take this,” he said, setting down his beer and heading for his bedroom. The small room was more private than the kitchen. “I’ll be right back, Jim. Eat up. I made sure the cupcake doesn’t contain anything you’re allergic to.”

Jim nodded jerkily.

“Dr. Zeta, how can I help you?”

Listening intently, Leonard walked into the bedroom and shut the door behind him. There was no reason Jim had to be subjected to a one-sided conversation with the insecure resident.

“I’m sorry to bother you, Dr. McCoy,” Zeta said, “but I’d appreciate a second opinion on a patient I’m having trouble diagnosing.”

The overused, familiar apology – Zeta’s standard conversation opener –

irritated Leonard. “Presenting complaint?”

“Agitation and trouble concentrating. He says he’s not sleeping well.”

“Tell me about the key findings from your history and physical exam.”

“...no obvious distress other than he’s having a hard time sitting still on the biobed,” Zeta said, after recounting a comprehensive list of his findings.

“Current medications? Any allergies?”

“None, sir.”

“Not surprising, since he’s still in his early thirties. Any recent illnesses?”

“Negative, sir.”

“What labs did you order?”

“Chem panel and CBC. They were all normal, except for his ALT, AST, and GGT, which were slightly elevated.”

“Run a drug screening panel.”

“Why, sir? He denies excessive alcohol use or drug abuse.”

“Why? Because patient’s lie, Dr. Zeta. Run the panel and see what you find. He’s having the classic signs of withdrawal, either drugs or alcohol. Drugs are more likely, since you didn’t note any odors of alcohol.”

 A long fifteen minutes later, he closed the comm, shaking off his irritation with the young resident as he walked out of the bedroom. “Sorry, kid. Did you make your wish? Hope it was for something—”

Leonard broke off. The kitchen table was unoccupied. There was no sign of Jim except for his bottle of beer, still nearly full, and the cupcake, which was now wearing a crown of melted wax.

“Jim,” he called, wondering if he had gone to the bathroom.

Silence. Leonard looked down at the cupcake. The amount of melted wax was worrying. Had Jim left as soon as he’d gone to his bedroom to take the call, abandoning his beer and leaving the candle burning?

Maybe Jim had been called away temporarily. Although Leonard couldn’t think of a good reason for that to happen. Classes were finished for the day, in deference to the hallowed date.  As squirrelly as the kid was, it wasn’t like him to just disappear. Why hadn’t he commed Leonard or texted him if that were the case? Leonard checked his device, but there were no messages waiting.

Leonard frowned, his unease growing.

After contemplating his next move for a minute or two, he finally tapped Jim’s private number. The call went directly to voicemail.

Jim had shut his device off.

Leonard pocketed his comm, contemplating the melted cupcake and unfinished beer. He’d give the kid a few minutes to take care of whatever had come up – or come to his senses and realize the cupcake was harmless, that it was fine to celebrate his birthday despite it also being Remembrance Day.

Taking a seat at the table, Leonard sipped his beer and waited.

Part Three

Leonard had finished his second beer and there was still no sign of Jim. He’d tried the kid’s comm several times in the vain hope that Jim had turned it back on. He half-expected to have Jim answer his comm with a cocky “Miss me, Bones?” each time Leonard tried to reach him.

But Jim’s comm remained off.

Over an hour had gone by with no contact, and Leonard finally abandoned his hopes that Jim would return voluntarily. Leonard was now convinced that the abandoned cupcake was the catalyst behind Jim’s abrupt departure from the apartment. What else could it have been? Beer and take-out were nothing unusual for them.

Had he made a mistake by celebrating Jim’s birthday, or had the day’s solemn events been more impactful than Jim had let on? Leonard knew enough about Jim’s psychology to know that disappearing the way he did meant trouble. Jim could be braggadocious and arrogant as hell, but he consistently avoided sharing his private thoughts, rarely revealing anything personal. From the moment they’d met on the shuttle, Leonard had strongly suspected the kid was running from something – or several somethings. But getting Jim to open up about his past had proved difficult.

Now, Leonard’s gut was telling him that he needed to find Jim and make sure he was all right.

Where would I go if I were Jim? Leonard asked himself as he put on his jacket.

First, Leonard tried the obvious place a cadet would hide – their dorm room. But Jim’s sleep-deprived roommate told Leonard that he hadn’t seen Jim all day. The teen-aged cadet didn’t look like he’d be able to find a monkey at the zoo, much less keep track of a volatile Jim Kirk. From what Jim had told Leonard, the two were virtual strangers, and it was unlikely the cadet even cared when or whether Jim returned to their room. Still, Leonard left instructions for him to comm Leonard, if Jim made an appearance.

Next, he moved on to the library. Jim was as voracious a reader as Leonard had ever seen, and the ornate building was a favorite destination of Jim’s.

The library was busy, full of studious cadets taking advantage of the early cessation of classes today. Leonard knew instinctively that Jim wouldn’t be here. It was too crowded. The kid was looking for privacy. Isolation. Still, he checked in at the front desk, using his medical authority to inquire if Jim had checked in.

As suspected, Jim had not been in the library at all today.

Running out of easy options, Leonard quickly walked across the campus to the Hall of Archives, where much of the celebration had taken place. The shining corridors were empty and echoing, the memorabilia back behind their protective shields.

Leonard stood in the deserted hallway and swore under his breath. He had never been good at hide and seek. It was closing in on 23:30, and curfew began in less than an hour. All cadets were required to be back in their dorms by midnight, or risk incurring demerits.

He was running out of likely places to search.

If I were Jim, where would I hide? Someplace quiet...someplace no one was apt to visit this late on a Friday night...

The flight simulation lab.

The idea popped unexpectedly into his mind.

Leonard hated the building where the small, enclosed rooms were set up with displays and software that artificially recreated the interior of a shuttle cockpit. The Academy used the simulators to train cadets to pilot a shuttle without actually leaving the ground. Jim had tried to get Leonard to join him on several occasions, but the experience inside the simulation room was far too real for his liking. Leonard had made it clear that he wanted nothing to do with any piloting simulations, real or not.

“I’m not asking you to pilot the shuttlecraft, Bones. Just sit in the co-pilot’s chair and keep me company.”

“I’m a doctor, not a damn flight attendant, Jim.”

At this hour, the simulators were shut down, and the cubicles were locked. Normally, no one was allowed access without proper authorization and a supervising trainer present on-site, but if anyone could get inside despite those barriers, it would be Jim Kirk.

The simulators were on the far side of the campus, not far from the shuttle hanger. The area around the low-slung building was deserted, its interior lights off, and Leonard’s hopes of finding Jim fell.

But as he scanned the area, he saw that the building’s entrance was ajar. After cautiously checking for security personnel, he strode quickly to the door. He slipped inside, not sure what he was going to find.

The shuttle simulators were positioned along each side of a central hallway. Above the gimbaled cubicles, a long catwalk ran the length of building, punctuated at intervals with computer stations for monitoring and observation, allowing the trainers and supervisors to monitor the cadets’ performances.

Leonard had been called here only once for a medical emergency and the memory made his stomach clench. A third-year had been practicing take-off maneuvers from a planet during a simulated ion storm, lost control of the shuttle, and crashed. Despite being buckled into her seat, the cadet had sustained a fractured skull and a broken shoulder.

I hate this place.

As his eyes adjusted to the near-dark, he realized that a dim light was leaking from one of the shuttle simulator doorways halfway down the hallway on the right. Someone was here, inside, when they shouldn’t be.

Praying it was Jim, Leonard made his way over and peered inside. The lights from the large simulation screen illuminated the small space. A familiar figure sat in the pilot’s seat.

Leonard stepped into the room, moving forward cautiously until he was directly behind Jim’s seat. He couldn’t see Jim’s face from where he stood, but the unnatural stillness in the young man’s body told him everything he needed to know.

“I’m sorry, Jim,” he said, sure that Jim would know he was referring to the cupcake and his awkward attempt to celebrate Jim’s birthday.

“She always hated this day,” Jim said softly, in a tone Leonard had never heard from him. He sounded forlorn and despondent. “For her, it was always just the day Dad died.”

It had never occurred to Leonard that a birthday would be anything but a joyous celebration. Elaborate cakes, parties with balloons and games, a pile of birthday gifts... He suddenly realized how little he knew of Jim’s life before the young man had joined the Academy.

“A tough day for all of you, I imagine,” he said awkwardly. “And having your birthday and Remembrance Day coincide... that’s a raw deal.”

Jim shrugged. “I’ve managed this day just fine for most of my life, Bones. Well, since I was five, anyway.”

“Five? What happened when you were five?”

“It’s the day she decided she’d finally had enough.”

“I’m not sure I understand.” He wished he could see Jim’s face, but he didn’t want to spook Jim by making a move toward him. Something told Leonard to remain still. It was a fragile moment, easily disrupted.

“What do you think Starfleet did every year on this date?” Jim’s voice was matter-of-fact and eerily calm. “The head of Starfleet PR called her every year, pressuring her to make a speech about her dead, hero husband. Three days before my fifth birthday I heard her arguing on the phone with them. I heard her say, ‘You bastards need to let George rest in peace. If you insist on celebrating the death of my husband, you can do it without me.’”

“Jesus, Jim.” The full meaning of today and the history Jim had with it – wholly personal and wholly devastating – hit Leonard like a punch to the gut.

“After that day, Sam was the only one who ever acknowledged my birthday.”

Leonard frowned. Jim had never mentioned the name Sam. Leonard took a firm hold on his curiosity, and instead of asking who Sam was, asked instead, “Where was your mom?”

Surely, his mother hadn’t ignored his birthday altogether.

“She wasn’t around,” Jim said with no remorse or anger. “She made a deal that day. Told the brass she’d speak at the ceremony, but only if they gave her the deep space assignment of her choice. She left the farm a week later and never came back, except for the odd day or two every couple of years.”

Christ, what a damned mess. Through no fault of his own, Jim had been left behind by both parents.

Jesus, kid. No wonder you didn’t eat that damned cupcake.

“Was that the last time you and your mother attended a Remembrance Day ceremony together?” Leonard asked.

Jim scoffed softly. “Fuck, Bones. Today was the first ceremony I’ve ever attended.”

Leonard was stunned. Like an oblivious jerk, he’d made one wrong assumption after another about Jim. Leonard was just beginning to see how complex and fraught the Kirk family tree was, and what it must have been like for Jim to grow up under the shadow of his father’s death.

“Mom was never home on this day again,” Jim said.

“So, who celebrated your birthday when your mom was away? Was it the person taking care of you?”

“Frank?” Jim huffed out a cynical-sounding breath. “Not a chance. It was Sam.”

There was that name again.

“Who’s Sam? Your brother?” he asked, making an educated guess.

“Yeah.” Jim’s tone suddenly changed, from impassive and distant, to one of soft yearning. “Sam couldn’t manage a real birthday cake, but he always replicated a cupcake for me.” Jim smiled humorlessly. “It had the same cheap, blue and white-striped candle that yours did. We’d share the cupcake bite for bite. It was our tradition.”

“Shit, Jim.” He’d been so stupid. “I didn’t know.”

Jim breathed out a small laugh, one that sounded more like a weary sigh than amusement. “It’s okay, Bones.” He turned his head at last to look at Leonard. “Now you know why I don’t celebrate my birthday.”

“You haven’t really had a chance to, have you?”

Jim stared at him blankly.

“Look, kid, I’ll respect your preferences, but I’ve seen a lot of death. It’s not a crime to celebrate life while you can.”

Jim’s blue eyes suddenly looked haunted, shiny with unshed tears, and Leonard knew his words had struck a chord.

McCoy wished he’d never bought the cupcake in the first place. He hadn’t meant to drive Jim away, make a difficult day even harder for him.

“Jim—”

“You’re right, Bones,” Jim said, cutting Leonard off. He smiled and stood up out of the pilot’s seat. “Let’s get out of here. You still owe me dinner. Plus, I don’t want any demerits on my record for breaking curfew to keep me from getting my choice of posts after graduation.”

Leonard studied Jim, trying to read his blue eyes in the dim light. In typical Jim Kirk fashion, the kid had just handed him a bunch of bull. But maybe that was enough for tonight. Now wasn’t the time to push Jim’s boundaries.

“Sure, kid. Let’s not risk your sterling reputation.” Leonard hooked an arm over Jim’s shoulder, turning them toward the door.

Leonard knew how to play the long game. Some food, another beer or two, and some easy conversation was the smart move right now.

The cupcake, now tucked away, was no longer important. If Jim asked about it, it was easily retrieved.

But Leonard suspected that, like much of Jim’s personal history, it would remain hidden, its existence ignored.

This year, that had to be okay. With Jim, small moves were the wisest option. But next year... With twelve months to plan, Jim’s next birthday would be different, Leonard silently vowed.

“So,” Leonard said, as they slipped out of the building, “what’s it going to be? Chinese? Thai? Indian? Or does something else appeal?”

“Anything is fine,” Jim said.

“Nope. It’s your birthday, Jim. Birthday boy gets to choose his birthday meal. That’s the law.”

“Really?” The hint of light brightened his blue eyes.

“Really.”

“Well, I wouldn’t want to break any laws...”

“Of course not,” Leonard replied dryly.

“How does pork dumplings, Kung Pao chicken, and sweet and sour pork sound?”

“Perfect.”

Nodding, Jim quickened his pace. “Then get a move on, Bones. I’m starving.”

Relieved, Leonard complied, smiling.

THE END