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During the last night on the Enterprise, the sleep patterns of James Kirk had improved considerably. In fact, there were no more nightmares or any reoccurring dreams. Therefore, when he awoke this particular morning, he felt rested and refreshed.
In the darkened room it was difficult to tell where he was. On a chance, he called for a computer to activate the lighting. It worked and, in the light, the room became both familiar and yet unfamiliar at the same time.
The familiar part centered on the display of antiques which dominated all four walls. It represented a good portion of his personal collection. But the room was definitely not his apartment. This particular bedroom was much smaller than his own and, aside from the familiar antiques, it was very sparsely furnished. In fact, the bed was the only piece of furniture.
Kirk stood slowly and made his way to the only door in the room. As the door opened he saw a series of rooms along a hall, terminating in a traditional galley kitchen. Kirk recognized the form hovering over the counter, busily mixing up some gastronomic disaster, as usual.
"Bones, what is that awful smell?"
The doctor turned to his friend, surprised at his presence. "I thought you'd be asleep for at least another couple of hours, Jim. Go back to bed. I'm not ready for you."
"No chance, I couldn't get back asleep with that odor. What is it?"
"Well, if you must know, it's an old family recipe for hangovers." McCoy held up a tall glass with a genuinely disgusting looking liquid inside. "Guaranteed to cure the worse-case of 'morning after' you have." McCoy was beaming with pride.
"How, by killing them?" Kirk said dryly.
McCoy became agitated. "Now wait just a minute. I rescued you last night and now all you can do is insult my family cure?"
Kirk approached his old friend, "Sorry, Bones. I guess you must be in pretty bad shape if you'd take that willingly." He pointed to the mixture in the doctor's hand.
McCoy gave him a disapproving look. "It's not for me. It's for you!"
"Why? I feel great! Good Lord, Bones, I only had one drink and most of it wound up on the floor! That's hardly a reason for that stuff. I really feel good, honest."
McCoy put the strange concoction on the kitchen counter and eyed his friend suspiciously. "You sure you're okay? Last night you went down like a sack of neutronium bricks. It took several people to get you here."
Kirk was genuinely surprised. "Really? The last thing I remember was the reception. I was talking to Walking Bear, then that's it."
The doctor harrumphed in his usual manner. "Well maybe it was just fatigue at that. No dreams and no nightmares?"
"And no headache either." Kirk grinned. "What's wrong, you want me to get sick so you'll feel needed?"
"Something like that, I guess. Would you like to eat?"
"Only if I can cook it myself,,,,,"
"Okay, Jim, but I'll help."
The two worked together and, during the food preparation process, they continued their conversation.
"Bones, how come you don't have a food synthesizer?"
"I decided they were too much like transporters. All that storing and scrambling molecules, it just wasn't natural. Reconstituted anything can't be good for you. Besides, I come from a long line of good cooks, it's a McCoy tradition. It goes all the way back to the American Civil War." His statement was filled with a great deal of pride.
Kirk suspected it was also tinted with just a little bit of imagination as well. However, Kirk did not challenge his friend's statement. Instead, he changed the subject. "Why are my belongings in your guest room? Is it part of a welcome home for me?"
McCoy sighed and turned so he could rest against the long countertop. "It's what's left of your collection, Jim."
Kirk blanched but remained quiet.
"After you disappeared, I paid a visit to the manager of your building. I gave him enough credits to keep your apartment intact until Starfleet declared you dead. Afterwards, I had your things removed and stored. Then I was approached by Starfleet Museum personnel. They wanted some of the items to set up a display on the 'great Admiral Kirk.'
"I agreed as long as it was a loan and not a permanent gift. Carol Marcus never could deal with your relics. She was glad I took care of them. She always trusted me, although I'm not sure why."
James stopped working. "She was always a very perceptive lady, Leonard. Carol and I talked about you many times and almost all of it was good."
"Dare I ask what wasn't?
"You may ask," Kirk said dryly. "I wouldn't want you to change this late in life." He continued his work with a flair and a real sense of accomplishment.
McCoy was pleasantly surprised. "Okay, have it your way. Anyway, after the museum people took some of your belongings, I put the rest of them in my spare room. Oh, yes, the Academy has a few items as well, all on display in the James T. Kirk Building."
Kirk blushed, slightly on that note. "Just about done, you want some of my Royal Kirk Omelet?"
"I guess I'm game." McCoy finished setting the table as Kirk gave his omelets a final flip onto two plates. Once done, the two old friends sat down to eat.
"Mind if I stay with you until I can find a place of my own?" Kirk didn't look up, concentrating instead on his food and thoughts.
Finishing his first mouthful, McCoy asked, "Why do you think I brought you here, Jim?" He rested both elbows on the table edge and stared at his friend's face. "I want to keep an eye on you, plain and simple. You're doing much better than I thought, but last night's little problem is proof that you still need my personal supervision."
Kirk attempted to speak but the doctor held up a hand to cut him off. "It's no use trying to protest, Jim. I've already cleared it with Starfleet and until I certify otherwise, you're mine! Besides, you're still 'dead' until Starfleet officially 'revives' you. If you need anything, I'll go with you. You can borrow however many credits you need. I'm going to keep a close eye on you, mister, so resign yourself to it." McCoy scooped up another forkful of the omelet and popped it in his mouth.
The former captive sat back in his chair, "Thanks, Bones... I guess you're right. But don't worry. I'll pay you back no matter how many credits I borrow."
"With what?" McCoy folded his arms across his chest in a defiant manner.
Kirk smiled broadly. "Are you kidding? Starfleet owes me eight years of back pay!"
The two broke into laughter and then began to enjoy the eggs in earnest.
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© 2024 Brad McDonald / U.S.S. Kitty Hawk
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