1“I didn’t tell anybody,” Montgomery Scott says to Leonard the next day as Leonard climbs in through the open warehouse.
“Tell ’em what?” Leonard grunts, dusting off dirt and fresh sawdust from his jeans.
Scott leans close and, after a furtive glance at their surroundings, whispers, “About you hating gays.” He rocks back. “That’s an automatic dismissal, you know.”
Leonard purses his mouth. “Since when did I say I hated them?”
“Yesterday, you—”
Pushing past the idiot, Leonard stalks away from the docking bay. “You made an assumption. I don’t hate homosexuals.” He comes to a standstill and turns on the man. “I hate all people. Now quit following me!”
“Oh, okay. That’s different.” He beams at Leonard. “Pleased to meet you, lad! Call me Monty. Although, some people around here call me Scotty but I don’t encourage that.”
There’s a headache brewing behind Leonard’s eyes that has nothing to do with his lack of coffee this morning. “I can’t talk to you. I’m going to be late.”
“Then you should come in a little earlier! I like new people. And sandwiches.” Monty looks at Leonard with interest. “Did you bring a sandwich for lunch?”
Leonard starts to say something and decides it’s just not worth it. He waves his hand in the universal sign of just leave me alone and picks up his pace into the store until he is nearly jogging.
Monty doesn’t come after him. The fool just waves his hand in return, clearly having mistaken Leonard’s gesture to be friendly.
~~~
The boy eyes him back.
Sensing that they might already be at a stalemate, he asks, “What do you want for Christmas?”
“What are you offering?”
Leonard has encountered plenty of children in his days as Santa Claus: happy children, sad children, angry children, sweetly naive children. This is his first negotiator.
“That depends on what you want. Well?” he encourages after a pause, somewhat curious despite himself.
The child gives the Santa Claus suit and sideways cap a once-over with a very critical eye. He decides, “I am not sure that you can meet my needs. You look poor.”
Oh geez, Leonard thinks. He catches sight of the boy’s parent standing to one side, a bluetooth clip attached to one ear and her right foot tapping with impatience as she talks. Whether she is berating an assistant elf for something or speaking on the phone he cannot tell. “Is that your mother?” he questions.
The boy barely casts a glance at her. “Do you want my list or not?”
“I’ll tell you what, kid: the only thing I’m going to give you for Christmas is an attitude-check.” He scoops the boy off his lap and drops him to his feet. “Next,” he says, motioning for Janice to bring forth the slobbery-looking monster waiting for a turn.
The boy looks outraged. “But I didn’t tell you what I want!”
“Sometimes what a person wants and what a person deserves are not the same thing. Now, keep aggravating me, and I’ll bring you a lump of coal.”
The kid turns away and pelts down the steps, crying “MOM!” at the top of his lungs.
Leonard jerks the next child into his lap, drool and all, and demands hurriedly, “Ho ho, I’m Santa Claus. What you do want for Christmas?”
The boy, much younger than his predecessor, regards Leonard with wide eyes. “I’ve been good, Santa,” he says.
“I didn’t ask that, but okay. Nice to know. What do you want?” Leonard eyes the woman who has finally ended her phone call and given her attention to her upset son. “And make it quick. Santa needs a bathroom break.”
“I want Emmett.”
“I don’t know who Emmett is.”
“He’s a Lego man.”
“Okay, so you want Legos.”
“No,” the child insists, “I want Emmett!”
“Okay, okay, Lego Emmett for Christmas,” Leonard agrees hastily as the mother slowly turns in his direction with an aggressive stance. He jumps out of the chair, boy in hand, and foists the delighted, squealing child onto another adult. “Santa is taking a fifteen-minute break!” he bellows down the line and then hops off the stage, waddling as quickly as he can in his baggy red suit to the nearest exit. He doesn’t look back because he is fairly certain there is a dragon-lady in pursuit and the price for getting caught will be his balls.
~~~
“I know some of these kids can be aggravating but try to do better.”
He debates arguing with her (since Spock won’t listen to reason) but Nyota just rolls her eyes and orders an elf named Geoff to frog-march him back to his Santa’s Chair (or whatever Pavel has dubbed the damn thing).
“I could quit right now,” he threatens.
Nobody appears to be listening.
A child is placed into his lap. Leonard grabs the tot to still the squirming and, much aggrieved, begins his routine. At least this one isn’t so bad, despite the near-constant, excited wriggles. He listens with half an ear to a long list of toys the child wants, said with the cutest lisp, and pats the top of the child’s head at the end, declaring, “Everything—Santa will bring you everything.”
The father looks at him in horror as he retrieves his happy child, and Leonard offers up his best shit-eating grin.
Then he turns that grin onto Nyota, who is observing him, and gives her a thumbs-up. It is a long while before she decides he is capable on his own.
Later he will come to wish that she hadn’t left.
~~~
The person who plops himself into Leonard’s lap is much heavier than a child.
Leonard’s first reaction is to gape; his second reaction is to shove the grinning man to the floor.
But the fool is quick-witted enough to latch onto the armrests of the chair a second in advance of Leonard’s violent push.
“Get off,” Leonard snaps.
“Santa!” crows the man.
Somebody in the crowd gasps; others, namely the children, giggle.
Leonard lowers his voice to a menacing growl. “Get—off—my—lap.”
“Santa, I have a question,” insists his adult-sized guest.
“And I have a fist with your name on it, buddy.”
“It’s Jim.” The grinning Jim leans in to grin wider. “James Tiberius Kirk. Santa, I have a really important question for you.”
This is just the icing on the cake in a typically bad day. He can tell by the glint in James Tiberius Kirk’s blue eyes that Kirk intends to stay where he is until Leonard plays along.
And, damn it, Leonard is going to have to cave! That is pretty evident in the way Sulu, the supposedly uptight security guard, is hanging back by the giant candy cane props, smirking.
Leonard’s throat works once with internal rage, but he manages to sound polite when he asks, “What’s your question, Jim?”
“Why is Christmas special?”
It’s not. Leonard presses his mouth flat as he looks past Jim’s shoulder to the raptly attentive children.
“Why is Christmas special?” Jim repeats.
Leonard is going to throttle this man once he’s out of his Santa suit. He smiles.
“It’s a time for families—and for good little girls and boys!” he sings for the privilege of tiny listening ears. “It’s a time for presents and for joys! Now who wants to sit on Santa’s lap?”
He’s greeted by a chorus of screaming, excited children.
Beneath the din of noise, Leonard whispers for Jim’s ears only: “You’re dead, mister. Dead.“
Leonard motions for the nearest elf to remove Jim from his lap.
Jim hops off himself and then bops down the stage steps. He turns back to wave and cry, “Bye, Santa Claus! Bye!”
Leonard balls his gloved hands into fists.
If he sees that guy again, he is going to make good on the promise of punching him.
“Santa, Santa, Santa!” chants a girl-child as she is brought over to him.
Some of his irritation fades when he sees her brown ringlet curls. She grins as he takes her, revealing two missing front teeth.
Without warning, Leonard’s heart pounds against his ribs.
“Santa?” she says one more time but questioningly.
“Sweetheart,” he murmurs, shifting her stocking-clad legs to comfortably lay across his own, “tell Santa what you want for Christmas.”
She grins that gap-toothed smile at him again, and he listens to her babble, the small hurt in him finally beginning to wake up properly for the season.
~~~
“It’s that perp!” Leonard cries, pointing his finger at the figure fading into the distance through the opaque glass of the door’s window.
Hands folded and head tilted ever-so-slightly, the store manager regards Leonard with unusual interest. “Who, Mr. McCoy?”
Leonard’s eyebrows draw together. “I thought one of your lackeys would have reported it by now. A man—a full-grown idiot of a man—cut through the Santa line and sat on my lap.”
Spock says, “Hm,” which is about as vague as a reply can get.
Leonard slaps his palm on the top of the manager’s desk. “I think he’s stalking me, Spock. I want you to handle it.”
“Mr. Spock,” Spock corrects.
Leonard snorts. “Mr. Spock. My point is… either you handle it or I will.”
“Hm,” Spock says again, but this time he steeples his fingers and sits back in an expensive-looking leather chair. “Has this person accosted you?”
“He SAT in my lap.”
“Perhaps he paid to sit in your lap like everyone else.”
Leonard sputters and stands up. Deciding he will get nowhere if his bastard of boss is going to purposefully play evasive, Leonard stomps to the office door and tears it open.
“Mr. McCoy,” Spock calls from behind him.
Leonard only grunts, a maybe I’ll listen and maybe I won’t.
“If Mr. Kirk does prove to be distracting, I will take care of the issue. I give you my word.”
Leonard narrows his eyes. There’s something weird about that promise, but he can’t quite put his finger on it. He is a bit grateful, however, to know that his employer isn’t simply going to ignore his concern. So he nods and politely (well, as polite as he is capable of being) shuts the office door on his way out.
~~~
He plays the voicemail left on his cell phone which he discovers during his ride back to the motel. At first, he assumes it must be his mother calling to check on him and maybe to beg him to come home for the holidays.
But when the message starts to play, Leonard’s fingers freeze over the phone buttons.
“…Len,” a woman says, her voice all-at-once as weary as he remembers and ironically somehow more alive, “don’t… don’t hang up. You probably already figured that your mother gave me this number. Don’t be mad at her, okay? You know how tenacious I am when I want something.” She laughs a little, the sound so familiar that Leonard lets his head hang forward, suddenly too tired to keep it upright. “Sorry. Len—Leonard, it’s just—I wanted to wish you a happy…” She stops, starts again. “Sorry. I’m thinking of you. I hope you don’t mind. Keep in touch.“
The voicemail ends. Leonard lets the cell phone sit between his hands for a long time before he plays the message again.
That, more than anything, more than the season and the little girl with brown curls, is what finally breaks his control.
~~~
Leonard chokes on it (the stuff tastes like licorice and old shoes) but Monty isn’t letting him go until all of it is down his gullet.
“There you go,” says the man, patting Leonard’s back as he coughs and spits afterwards. “It’s a nasty taste, all right, but it’ll sober you up in five seconds flat.”
Leonard already feels too sober for his own liking. He spits one last time before straightening his spine and glaring at his unwanted helper. “I was fine as I was!” he snarls.
“You weren’t walking a straight line,” counters the other man. “Must of hit a bottle or three last night.”
And maybe one this morning. Once the corner is turned, it’s like a tidal wave sweeps Leonard away. But he doesn’t care. He’ll sober up later, much later. When summer is waning.
Instinctively he reaches into the back pocket of his jeans. His hand comes up empty.
Monty is watching him too closely so Leonard wipes his palm on his thigh.
“I’m late,” he mutters.
Monty sighs and turns away. “Aye.”
Surprising himself, Leonard calls out to the retreating man. When Monty looks back with a question on his face, Leonard clears his throat and hazards a thank you.
“Don’t mention it.”
Leonard nods.
Monty breaks into a grin. “No, really, lad—don’t mention it. It’d be my head!”
“The boss lady?” Leonard guesses, having figured out at some point that ‘boss lady’ refers to the somewhat terrifying Uhura.
“Eh,” Monty says, shrugging a shoulder. “Yes and no.”
Not explaining that any further, Monty leaves Leonard to find his own way to the employee locker room.
~~~
At least, that is, until he is completely useless. Then things can start again, even if that occurs months later.
He doesn’t remember starting the cycle. The behavior just made sense at the time. It fed his despair. It pushed him to the brink, and when he had finally climbed back up to the edge again, those first few times, he realized he wasn’t ever going to make it farther before he fell again. That’s the curse of addiction, he has been told. The moment he figures out how to go beyond the edge, the moment he wants to, will be the first real step towards recovery. Until that time, it’s all lies.
Leonard rubs the material of his scratchy red sleeve against the skin of his cheekbone and wishes Santa in Florida could be the cool Beach Santa who wore sunglasses. The bright overhead lights of the department store are particularly painful to a man with a hangover. The eye drops he took that morning have at least cleared up some of the redness.
Today’s children don’t seem to care that he looks like death and smells of too much cheap cologne. They are as enthusiastic as ever, clinging to his coat and pulling at his fake beard and asking curious questions. Because he isn’t in his topmost form, he makes the effort to be inconspicuous. He plays a rather nice Santa, even once and a while tweaking one of the tykes on the nose (if said nose isn’t runny).
Then it all comes to a screeching halt when he catches sight of one face.
Santa tucks his current child into the crook his arm and leans partially out of his chair to grab the attention of his helper elf. “Hey, do you see him?”
“Huh?”
“Him,” hisses Leonard, pointing out the blond head near the back of the line.
“Who?”
“Him, damn it! Jim Kirk!”
“Eheheh!” giggles his child. “You said a bad word, Santa!”
“Santa has forgotten his manners, sweetie,” replies a not-so-thrilled-looking mother as she pulls her offspring away from Leonard. “Time to go now.”
“No!” comes the cry. “No, I wanna stay with Santa!“
Leonard winces because the high-pitched shrill is a little too close to his ear to be tolerable. He waves at the elf to escort the mother and upset child far, far away.
Somehow, in that moment of inattention, his nemesis has made it to the front of the line and has hurried up the steps.
Leonard jumps out of his chair. “No, you don’t!”
“Aw,” says Jim Kirk. He crowds in close. “Can’t I sit with you?”
“Listen up, you pervert,” Leonard says, his voice low but intense. “Security is going to be here any second. Why don’t you do the smart thing and walk away?”
Jim taps a finger against his chin in thought. “Why?” He answers his own question with “I suppose that would be because you just told me to.”
“You son-of-a—!” Leonard catches himself but has already garnered some unwanted attention from a few parents.
He gives everyone in the line a jaunty little wave, then takes Jim aside in a very mean grip.
“Get lost,” he hisses sharply, pushing Jim to the exit side of the stage before he sits back down in his designated Santa’s Chair.
Jim comes sauntering back not a minute later with Leonard’s prior child-customer in his arms.
Jim presents the child to him. “You didn’t finish with this one.” Then, to Leonard’s outrage, he sits himself down in Santa’s lap with the child in between them.
“Santa, I’m back!” cries the gleeful little tot.
“How nice,” Leonard replies through gritted teeth, reaching around behind Jim to grip a handful of hair and yank it.
Jim’s eyes go wide but he doesn’t utter a single word of complaint.
“Now tell old Santa Claus,” Leonard urges the child, “every little thing your heart desires for Christmas. Everything.” He meets Jim’s eyes. “Santa can sit here all day listening just like this.”
The child claps and begins to list by heart every item in stock at the local Toys ‘R Us.
Jim starts shaking. It takes Leonard a while to comprehend that the idiot is laughing silently.
He determines in that moment that they might be evenly matched, he and this fellow.
For some reason that helps in dispersing the last of his hangover.
~~~
Mr. Spock turns to look at him, querying, “What did you figure out?”
“You knew his name when I never said it.”
“Ah.” Spock pauses. “My error.”
“Damned right,” Leonard growls. He glares at a lady who starts to approach the sales counter and she wisely backs up, likely confused as to why Santa Claus is there to begin with. “I want an explanation! Did you sic him on me?”
Spock gestures for Leonard to follow him into the back, where there are extra stores of shoes on racks that tower impressively towards the ceiling. They go to a particular spot that Spock seems to think is best to discuss the situation.
“Mr. Kirk,” he tells Leonard, “is a regular here.”
“A regular what? Customer? Loiterer?”
“Neither.”
A thought occurs to Leonard. “Oh god, he’s not the owner, is he?”
“No,” Spock replies a bit too quickly. “Jim is not the owner.”
Leonard eyes him with suspicion. “You sure? ‘Cause you skimped on those details during my interview. I didn’t think you were going to actually hire me, so I didn’t make a point to call you out on it. But now I’m curious, Spock.”
“Mr. Spock.”
Leonard ignores that. “Who’s your boss? It’s not like you’re running a chain here. It has to be privately funded, at least to some extent.”
“If you become a permanent employee, I will gladly share those details with you.”
Leonard takes a step into Spock’s personal space. “What are you hiding?”
Spock’s eyes become partially hooded. “I do not appreciate your intimidation tactic, Mr. McCoy.”
“Yeah? So whatcha gonna do about it?” he challenges.
Spock holds up two fingers. “Penalize you, of course.”
A muscle ticks in Leonard’s jaw but he closes his mouth and puts a suitable distance between them. “I backed off. No points.”
“Two.”
“Just one,” he argues. “Two, maybe, if there had been physical violence.”
Spock’s eyebrows shoot up. “In that scenario I would be less concerned with points for misconduct, Mr. McCoy.”
Leonard snorts and turns away. “Whatever,” he says carelessly. “It doesn’t even matter if you did put Kirk on my ass. Tell him to stay away from me. This is my final warning.”
“I see. And if he refuses to do as you wish?”
Leonard says to the shadows of the store room darkly, “Then it’s no more Mr. Nice Claus.”
He pushes out into the brightly lit shoe department. The lady he had scared off earlier is standing with a sales clerk named Christine. The lady points at him. Christine says something with a knowing nod.
Leonard ignores the women and stomps out of Shoes, unable to properly express his ire.
Why they start to laugh, he can’t fathom, and that makes him more unhappy. Sulking in Lawn & Garden until his break is over does little to change his mood.
~~~
“Eight years,” he mutters.
They haven’t seen each other for eight years. Why the hell is she thinking of him now?
Why hasn’t he thought of her?
She could be married again. She could have another…
He crumples the cup and throws it at the mirror. It bounces off the glass and rolls harmlessly from the dresser to the floor.
The truth hurts. The world is moving on without him. It has been for years.
~~~
Leonard gags on the foul brew that has been poured into his mouth.
Monty tsks. “And I thought I had problems. My friend, you need to rethink your life choices.”
“We’re not friends,” Leonard says when he can talk again.
Monty pats Leonard’s back, arguing, “Sure we are. Who else would work as hard as I do to keep you sober and employed?”
Leonard twists his head to the side to glare at the man. “I’ve only known you for four days. You need to stop bothering me!”
“Are you still worried that I’m attracted to you?”
He’s in Hell. That is the only possible explanation.
Wait. There may be one other explanation:
“The loony bin.”
“What was that, lad?”
Leonard straightens his spine and sighs. “I think you’re crazy. All of you. How did I get stuck here?”
Monty blinks at him. “You applied.”
“Oh yeah.”
The two men stare at each other for some time.
Then, having not solved any mysteries, Leonard says, “Thanks,” and turns to leave.
“How about lunch?” Monty asks, causing Leonard to pause in his retreat.
“Lunch?” Leonard repeats dumbly.
“Yeah. I brought sandwiches. I’ll give you one if you eat with me.”
Leonard eyes him. “I thought you didn’t like me.”
“I like everybody,” Montgomery Scott claims. “Since you hate everybody, I think we’re a good match. It’s a turkey sandwich.”
Leonard likes turkey. And it’s free.
“Okay,” he decides before he can think better of it. “See you on break.”
“Awesome!” comes the pleased reply. “Keenser will be joining us too. He’s a little weird but you’ll get used to him.”
Leonard snorts. Everybody is weird in this place, and no one can convince him otherwise.
~~~
“Don’t you have a mannequin to dress?” he complains once Pavel is within earshot.
“That is Ms. Nyota’s work,” Pavel explains. “She buys everything, and she picks what to display. I decorate!”
“Okay,” Leonard says, although he doesn’t understand the distinction.
“I made this for you,” Pavel goes to say, sweeping his hand in a grand gesture at the chair, sleigh, and assortment of giant Christmas knick-knacks.
Leonard is even more confused. “Okay?”
Pavel beams. “You are ze perfect Santa, Mr. Leonard! I knew Ms. Nyota would pick a good one, and see? I am showing you off!”
“Wait, wait, wait,” says Leonard. “Uhura hired me?”
“With Mr. Spock’s approval, of course.” Pavel leans in to whisper with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes, “But Mr. Spock approves everything Ms. Nyota wants.”
Is Pavel implying they are a couple?
“Hikaru says he owes Ms. Nyota.”
That sounds like an interesting story, but unfortunately one of the subjects in question is making her way over to their little gathering. Pavel proceeds to drape a string of garland around Leonard’s neck and admire it, pretending like they hadn’t been in the middle of spreading a rumor.
“Pavel,” Nyota calls to him, “we just received the shipment of fiberglass reindeer. Monty’s waiting for you in the warehouse. You need to approve them before he can take them off the truck.”
“The reindeer are here!” Pavel jerks the garland from Leonard, nearly strangling him in the process, and hurries off through the store, presumably to his precious reindeer.
Rubbing his neck, Leonard tells Uhura, “We don’t need reindeer.”
“Pavel thinks we do.” Nyota moves past him, continuing on her way.
Leonard goes after her, catching her by the arm. “Wait a minute, I have a question.”
She lifts one perfectly shaped eyebrow.
“Why me?”
At least she doesn’t pretend not to understand the question, but rather than offering the short answer, she turns him around and points to the blonde-haired saleswoman from yesterday counting cash in a register drawer. “Christine has a son whose father left them nearly destitute.” She inclines her head in the direction in which that Pavel had just run. “Pavel is artistically gifted but no company who took him on was willing to sponsor his green card. Hikaru, whom you seem to think is overzealous with his handcuffs, couldn’t finish the police academy because an injury he sustained in an accident disqualified him. Monty is just… special.”
Sulu is disabled? Leonard hasn’t noticed anything physically unusual about the man. And why is she more cautious when speaking of the resident ‘engineer’?
Yet despite these things he wonders, Leonard does catch her meaning—and he is not certain that he likes it.
“So you’re saying that you think I’m a charity case.”
“No,” the woman replies. “That’s not the point, Leonard. We all need help from others at least once in our lives. The owner of this store tends to support those who have difficulty supporting themselves. Before you take offense, think about that.”
She gently removes his hand from her arm and leaves him where he stands to do exactly that.
It is a strange thing that she said, he concludes much later. Looking at the others around him whom Nyota had not mentioned, he cannot help but imagine what circumstances might have brought them this place. And what about the uptight Spock? What makes that man in need of others?
What about Jim?
That puzzles Leonard most of all. If not to drive him crazy, why is Jim Kirk really here?
~~~
“Who, me?” inquires the devil.
Leonard purses his mouth. “Didn’t the boss give you my warning?”
Jim shrugs, then reaches into his pocket. “Hey, I—”
“No,” Leonard says firmly. “I don’t want to hear anything or want to see anything if it’s coming from you.”
Jim takes his hand out of his pocket, crosses his arms as he regards Leonard. “You’re, like, the grumpiest person I’ve ever met.”
Leonard flips Kirk off, grabs the Santa coat he needs from his locker, and proceeds to the break room door.
“Hey, McGrumpy!”
Leonard stops mid-push against the swinging door and snorts at Kirk. “Is that supposed to be a funny play on my name?”
Jim grins. “Is it really that funny?”
“No,” Leonard tells him flatly. “And quit following me.”
“Who says I am? I’m working.” Jim grabs a mop and bucket leaning a wall.
“So you’re a janitor.”
“It’s a dirty job but someone has to do it,” Jim says, saluting Leonard like the maniac he is.
Leonard just doesn’t understand this guy. He walks away thinking that not understanding Jim might be a good thing.
Later, Leonard finds his missing token in his locker. He doesn’t remember putting it in there but he is oddly glad to realize that he didn’t lose it. He makes certain to place the token into his back pocket before he goes home.
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this is a intriguing group of individuals that you have created……….the world they live in………….I am finding that department store employment is much more enticing than I would have perceived. Seems as though Bones is fascinated and exasperated and annoyed with one James Tiberius Kirk……….so in other words business as usual……..LOL At first I thought this was going to be a strictly humorous story but as is often the case……….there is a lot of pain beneath the humor…. Loving it so far……..it is like the Island of misfit toys within a department store or As the Santa and his elves turn..LOL