“...and finally, thank you for the lovely fudge. Knowing Dr. McCoy, I'll be enjoying it all year, because he won't let me eat it all now like I want to.”
“Are you still working on your holiday cards?”
Leonard had come home to his and Jim's quarters after a long shift (they all seem that way when Engineering gets involved) to find his husband at his desk hand writing out actual cards for the fifth day in a row. The stacks were getting taller and taller. It wouldn't be long before the entire desk was covered.
“I've only got a couple dozen more to go,” he said after consulting his computer screen.
“You say that as if that's not a lot,” the other man said with a raised eyebrow. “Though, looking at those towers, maybe it's not. Who are all these for?”
“We don't HAVE that many family members,” Bones argued, motioning to his desk where his own stack of cards had been sitting for six days, just waiting until they got to the next starbase to be mailed out.
McCoy's stack consisted of seven cards: one each to his mother, Jim's mother, his sister's family, Jim's brother's family, Jim's adult nephew and Bones' adult niece and nephew. He had them done and in envelopes in less than an hour with Jim hovering over his shoulder asking what he was doing. When Bones had explained and offered to let him sign his name, maybe put in a little message of his own, he'd declined, saying he'd like to send out his own. Didn't matter that Bones had explained that families usually just sent out one together, Jim had never sent out holiday cards before and he wanted to. He also mentioned there were a few others he'd like to include, which McCoy had assumed meant Pike and maybe an old professor or two. Not whatever this was.
“Honestly, Jim, who are you...” he picked the one up that Jim had been working on and stopped.
Lt. Harrison, also originally from Earth and North America, from Stellar Cartography. Her family sent her the sweetest, most godawful fudge every year. Her first year on board she let the Captain have a piece when he was visiting her department to check on the progress of a mapping mission and he had loved it. Not a surprise; the man had never met a sweet he didn't want more of. A happy Harrison had told her family how much her new Captain loved her mother's fudge and a flattered Mrs. Harrison had sent more, just for him, right away. Every year after that, the Lieutenant delivered his own personal tin of the stuff, which McCoy carefully doled out to him throughout the year.
McCoy put that one down and picked up another, and another, and another. They were all made out to various crew members. Thanking all of them for another year of service, pointing out special things he remembered them doing throughout the year and, if applicable, wishing them a happy holiday. For some of the new crew, especially the non-Earth crew members whose worlds didn't have winter holidays of their own (or whose worlds were in the middle of another season, as often as the case was), he also explained why he was sending out cards. McCoy looked at it all in amazement.
“Is this the entire crew?”
“It will be when I'm done.”
“Darl'n, that's a lot of writing.”
“Yes it is,” Jim laughed lightly, flexing his hand.
“Hey, you should let me sign them, too.”
“What? You didn't help write them. If you wanted to send ALL of our family cards you should have.”
“I didn't think of it,” McCoy argued. “Besides, I'm a doctor, you don't want my handwriting on your pretty cards. They wouldn't be able to read it.”
“Bullshit. Your handwriting is nice.”
“Not as nice as yours.”
Jim narrowed his eyes at his husband, who was smiling sweetly (what a faker) at him. A small smile ticking up the left side of his mouth, he pushed a stack towards the other man.
“OK, OK, you win. They can be from both of us. But next year when we make out cards to our family, we do it together.”
“You got it, Darl'n.”
(“You better put a special note in the cards to the people in your department. I can't believe you weren't going to send them, at least, a card this year, what with the hell you give them every day.”
“Fine. Should I also tell Engineering that if there are not fewer injuries in the coming year that next year I'm putting a little something special in their stockings, if they get my meaning?”
“Don't you dare.”)
The End (For Reals)