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In one week, the Enterprise would dock at Starbase Eighteen for scheduled maintenance. Just about every member of the ship’s crew was looking forward to some well-earned R&R of their own, creating an atmosphere of uncharacteristic levity on board. The ship’s head nurse was no exception to this happy anticipation; in fact, she felt a bit like she had as a young girl during the holiday season.
Christine Chapel had little real reason to complain. She knew that there were Starfleet assignments considerably more challenging than the Enterprise: ships run by more demanding officers or manned by less hearty crews. But she was also keenly aware of the personal cost of her position. Every day bore some reminder of her immense distance from home, of her truncated medical training, or worst of all, of Roger and his death. The loss of him, final and irrevocable, had left her feeling adrift. She had sacrificed her professional dreams out of loyalty to a fiancé who may have been dead even before she left orbit. And now what did she have in the place of Roger and the career she’d given up to find him? Well, not nothing. She had Nyota, a dear friend; M’Benga and Leonard, friendly colleagues…
And Spock.
Her love for Spock had given Christine a much-needed psychological anchor. While the probability was high that the stoic first office would not and perhaps could not ever return her affection, in a way it didn’t matter. Spock was real. He existed beyond the ephemeral realm of her memories and dreams (though he certainly appeared in both just as often as Roger did). Still, Christine had too much dignity and self-respect to let that love define her. Hadn’t she already made that mistake once when she put her dreams on a shelf and stepped fully into the role of Roger’s fiancée?
So as she learned how to be plain old Christine Chapel all over again, she simply took comfort in having Spock to love. When she woke in the night, thousands of light-years away from Earth, she was able to remind herself that the man she loved was safely asleep just down the hall. A comforting thought. The alternative—the man I loved, the one I came all this way for, died years ago. But not before he lost his mind—would only keep her staring sleeplessly into the blackness of her cabin for hours on end, leaving her exhausted and emotionally drained the next day. Loving Spock from afar was a thousand times safer and more bearable than clinging forlornly to the memory of Roger.
They were conducting annual physicals in preparation for the upcoming shore leave. Leonard had finished up the captain’s while Christine prepped Sickbay for the next group, and as usual, Leonard and Captain Kirk were still chatting. She didn’t make a habit of eavesdropping on their banter. It often became background noise as she went about her own duties. Today, however, the captain was saying something that caught her attention and held it fast.
“Amanda Grayson got in touch with me yesterday.”
Christine blinked. Amanda Grayson—she knew that name. Spock’s mother! Was something wrong back on Vulcan? Were they summoning Spock home for a death in the family or (almost as awful to consider, she thought selfishly) another arranged marriage? But why would she have gone through Captain Kirk for any of those reasons?
“Spock’s mother?” Leonard said a few moments later. “Why was she contacting you, Jim?”
“Why, Bones, because of my good looks and charm...especially compared to the ambassador!” Both men laughed. Christine had to smile, too. Spock’s father Sarek had made a strong and not altogether positive impression on the Enterprise crew. “She already knew that we’re due to dock at a starbase next week: she just wanted to find out which one and for how long.”
“For, um…diplomatic purposes?”
“Not exactly.” The captain’s tone was hard to decipher, but Christine thought he sounded…amused. She began to relax, feeling more curious than concerned now. “She was hoping to see Spock for his birthday.”
“His birthday!” Leonard exclaimed. He made no attempt to disguise the shocked delight in his voice, as if the very notion of Spock having a birthday was as alien as the man himself.
“Mhm. But the ambassador’s schedule has got them halfway across the galaxy from us. She was a little disappointed,” Kirk admitted.
“Well, damn! I am, too. That’s something I’d have liked to see.”
Christine heard the captain chuckle and the Sickbay doors hiss open. His reply was lost to her as the men headed down the hall. She lingered where she stood, thinking of how much about Spock still remained a mystery to her. Though it would be hyperbolic to call him a stranger, this wasn’t the first time that personal information regarding the Enterprise’s first officer had caught her unawares. The experience had been a lot less pleasant on previous occasions. (Unwillingly, she recalled that beautiful, very Vulcan face filling the Bridge’s view screen and the deadpan way Spock called her “my wife”… The memory alone stirred up the same overwhelming jealousy and denial within her that she’d felt at the time.)
This revelation, on the other hand, was as sweet as that one had been bitter. Spock would have a birthday during their leave... Christine sank onto the closest biobed, the upcoming physicals entirely forgotten. His mother was upset that she would be unable to visit him. That was understandable. As far as Christine knew, Spock was Amanda’s only child. She wondered how often Spock’s parents had even seen him in person since he’d enrolled in Starfleet Academy. But if Amanda had been in touch with the captain rather than her son, she must have wanted her visit to be a surprise.
A surprise… An idea began taking shape in Christine’s mind. If she could talk to the captain about it, she was sure he’d agree to help. Spock would neither want nor enjoy a huge celebration with lots of fanfare. What about a small one, though? An intimate gathering of Spock’s closest friends and colleagues aboard the Enterprise: the Bridge crew, Leonard, and of course Christine herself, since she was a member of the Science division, and he was the Science officer.
And anyway, who else on board knew anything about Vulcan cuisine?
“Captain, I still fail to understand why you require my presence at this meeting. You are on shore leave. Therefore, logic dictates that its purpose cannot be official.” Spock sounded wary.
“I’m quite familiar with your opinion on shore leave, Mr. Spock,” said Captain Kirk, airy and upbeat in contrast, “and since you consistently refuse to take any, consider yourself present on my orders.”
The door slid open to reveal the captain and first officer. From where she crouched beside Nyota, Christine saw Spock’s brow furrow. She wished that she could peek into his well-ordered mind and find out what he was thinking. Before he could question Captain Kirk further, however, light flooded the darkened room. It revealed two walls draped with deep red cloth in an homage to Spock’s quarters aboard the Enterprise. The décor gave this ordinary starbase conference room a warmer, cozier feel than it would otherwise possess.
The assembled guests all leaped up from where they’d concealed themselves behind chairs and tables, crying, “Happy birthday!” in unison.
Spock stood frozen in the doorway, his hands folded behind his back and his brows raised in an expression of mild astonishment. Christine watched him take it in—the wall hangings, his grinning colleagues, and the generous spread of Terran and Vulcan dishes—much the way he would an alien culture he was studying. She thought she also saw an olive-green flush creeping across his high cheekbones.
“This is...,” Spock began—only to be cut off by Leonard, who exclaimed, “Dammit, Spock, don’t say it’s ‘illogical’!” They all laughed, and even Spock smiled through his pursed lips.
“I was going to say that I find this fascinating, doctor…and flattering, if I understand the meaning of that word.” He finally took a step inside. When his gaze swept the room again, Christine could have sworn that it lingered for a single extra second on her. She dismissed the idea as wishful thinking. “Thank you all.”
They cheered in collective triumph. Captain Kirk’s smile, always sunny, now threatened to split his face open and to blind them all with its wattage.
The heady, aromatic spices of Vulcan filled the air as the celebration got underway. Everyone gathered eagerly around the table, which all but groaned beneath the weight of so many curious offerings. Chekov wanted to know if plomeek soup was anything like borscht, and Spock conceded that there were some similarities between the two dishes. The other partygoers sampled the unfamiliar Vulcan fare with varying degrees of enthusiasm. Leonard, despite knowing that his head nurse had prepared most of the food herself, showed by far the most reluctance. When she saw that Spock had loaded his own plate, however, Christine felt a rush of satisfaction. He was (in her strictly medical opinion) too thin by half.
More than an hour passed in comfortable camaraderie. Almost all of them had a question (or ten) about Vulcan that they’d never found an appropriate time to ask while on duty. The guest of honor humored them with characteristically dispassionate, straightforward answers. Eventually, once most plates had been cleared, the chatter subsided to a low hum. Christine and Nyota were taking turns keeping an eye on Spock, who was now deep in conversation with Scotty.
“What do you think they’re talking about?” Christine asked in a low voice.
“Technical journals, probably! They’re Mr. Scott’s true love,” Nyota whispered back. She giggled and covered her mouth with one perfectly-manicured hand to muffle the sound. “You know, Chris, as much as I hate to interrupt, he really could go on for hours. Let’s grant the birthday boy a reprieve.”
The communications officer stood and clinked her fork delicately against her glass of spice tea until silence descended. With every eye on her, no one, not even Spock, appeared to notice as the captain and Leonard slipped out of the room.
“Mr. Spock, on Earth we have some old traditions when it comes to birthdays,” Nyota announced, “and both because you’re our friend and your mother comes from Earth, we want to share them with you.”
She took her seat again, pulling a Vulcan lyre very much like Spock’s own from beneath her chair. Captain Kirk and Leonard returned right on cue as Sulu dimmed the lights. They were carrying a rather impressive three-tiered cake ringed with candles that were already burning. Nyota strummed her lyre to find the key she wanted, and once the cake had been placed carefully in front of Spock, she sang: “Happy birthday to you…happy birthday to you…”
Then the rest of them joined cheerfully in the centuries-old melody: “Happy birthday dear Spo-ock! Happy birthday to you!”
“And many more,” Christine murmured with feeling…and she thought—no, imagined—that she saw Spock’s eyes dart towards her.
Silence filled the room after the strains of Uhura’s music fell away; Spock was clearly at a loss as to what they expected of him. Leonard came to the rescue, calling, “Now you make a wish, Spock, and blow out the candles.”
Predictably, Spock lifted one angled brow. “For what reason, doctor?”
“So that we can all have some of that damn cake!”
Looking skeptical, he proceeded to blow out each candle individually. (“Ach!” Scotty cried in dismay. “Not like that, lad! You’re supposed to get ’em all at once or else your wish willna come true!”)
When the final candle was extinguished, Spock’s shipmates cheered him again.
Apart from Scotty and Chekov, who left the party together to resume their longstanding debate on the superiority of their native liquors at the starbase bar, all of Spock’s guests had beamed back to the Enterprise together. The captain invited Spock and Leonard to the nearest rec room for a game of chess and a drink, respectively. Meanwhile, Nyota linked arms with Christine, and they wandered off in the direction of their quarters.
“Thank you for all your help today,” Christine told her friend. “The music was great. It made it special.”
Nyota laughed. “Hey, anytime! But come on, Chris, be honest: you made it special. I think it’s really sweet, you doing all that for Spock.”
“I didn’t do it alone,” she demurred.
“You suggested it, and you planned most of it. Not to mention everything you cooked!” Nyota nudged her, smiling. “And you know what? I bet he loved it, even if he’d never say so. He must feel like such an outsider sometimes, being Vulcan. It was nice to show him that we care.”
“But he’s not just Vulcan,” Christine said, so quietly that she could barely hear her own voice. She understood that Spock, regardless of his stoic facade, was in fact a delicate, disciplined combination of both Vulcan and human natures. She’d been on duty when he had confessed as much to Leonard early in their mission, and his words had stayed with her ever since. “I have a human half, you see, as well as an alien half,” he’d said, “submerged, constantly at war with each other…” Hearing him admit it had made her feel validated. It echoed what she had told him when she confessed her love—that she saw him as neither an alien nor a biological anomaly, but as himself: “I do love you. Just as you are. The human Mr. Spock. The Vulcan Mr. Spock.”
The women stopped in front of Christine’s door. “Maybe tomorrow we can go have some fun away from this old tin can,” Nyota said.
Christine had to smile. As dedicated to her duties as Nyota was on the Bridge, Christine knew that she lived for shore leave.
“Don’t let Scotty hear you say that!”
Both of them giggled, and Nyota gave her a one-armed hug. “’Night, Chris.”
“Goodnight, Ny. See you at breakfast!”
Christine took her time getting ready for bed. She changed into a pair of silky cream pajamas and even indulged herself with a clay face mask. After washing it off, she let down her carefully-coiffed blonde hair and brushed it out until it shone before twisting it into a loose braid. If only all that pampering could relax her mind, too. Alone in her quiet cabin, her thoughts could easily wander down any number of thorny paths, none of which she ever wanted to explore again. She willed herself to think of Spock instead.
Rather than dwell on how high and impenetrable the walls around his heart seemed to be, she focused on his inconspicuous smiles at the party and the hilarity of watching him blow the candles on his cake out one by one… She thought in particular of his plate piled high with food and heard Nyota’s voice reminding her: you did that, Chris. You made it special.
She was so absorbed in these thoughts that she nearly didn’t hear the soft beep announcing someone’s presence at her door.
Unexpected late-night visitors weren’t unheard of for the ship’s head nurse. It could be Nyota coming back, or an injured crew member who preferred to ask Christine for help while she was off-duty rather than going to Sickbay. There was even a small chance that Leonard or M’Benga needed her help with some kind of emergency. In any case, she didn’t think twice about face any of these possibilities clad only in a thin layer of satin.
“Mr. Spock!”
Christine’s cheeks burned when she discovered Spock at her door. She longed to retreat and shrug on her robe—an objectively ridiculous desire, since he saw her in her no-less-revealing uniform dress almost every day.
“Good evening, Miss Chapel,” he said. He appeared as unfazed by her state of undress as she was flustered. “I wanted to thank you for the kindness you showed me today.”
“Oh—oh, Mr. Spock—you’re welcome, and that’s awfully nice of you, but I didn’t do any more than anyone else,” she said in a rush.
He raised one slanted brow, tilting his head ever so slightly to one side. The innocuous gesture only played up his strange, somewhat elfin beauty, and Christine’s heart took up an even faster pace in response.
“That is demonstrably untrue. Firstly, someone aboard this vessel prepared a great deal of excellent Vulcan cuisine.”
He’s teasing me. And giving me a compliment as well, Christine realized. Her imagination must have truly run away from her if it had conjured up this scene!
Before she could form a coherent reply, Spock added, “And secondly…Jim told me that the party was your idea.”
Her eyes widened, if possible, further still. Spock referred to Captain Kirk as “Jim” only rarely, and she had never heard him do so to any other member of the crew.
“Well—yes, I guess it was,” she admitted.
He nodded. Was she was also imagining the way his tall frame curved towards her or the relaxed arc of his shoulders? They were subtle but distinct departures from his usual perfect posture. She had the absurd thought that maybe, after all this time, some of the captain’s effortless charm was finally rubbing off on him. In a ponderous tone, he said, “My mother tried to persuade my father to hold a party on my birthday several times throughout my childhood. He objected, and while I must agree with him that many Earth traditions are quite illogical...”
“But they’re not meant to be logical. They’re meant to be fun and to show how much you care about the person whose birthday you’re celebrating!” she cried, echoing Nyota’s words from earlier that evening.
With all her medical knowledge, Christine wouldn’t have believed that a smile could affect someone the way Spock’s—small, unexpected, but unmistakable—affected her now. Seeing that smile, knowing that she had put it on his face, left her feeling as buoyant and light-headed as if she’d drunk half a bottle of champagne. She actually reached for the door frame to steady herself.
“Precisely,” he said.
Spock’s dark eyes could be intense and intimidating. She’d seen ensigns and officers alike shrink beneath his exacting gaze. Tonight, however, they were filled with such warmth that Christine felt a bit feverish. Some part of her longed to reach towards him, to actually feel that secret Vulcan smile beneath her fingertips, and to remind him of just how much she adored him. But no force in the universe could have compelled her to shatter the magic of this improbable, unforeseen moment. And hadn’t he already gotten a heartfelt reminder of his friends’ love when they’d raised their voices in song for him? As for herself, Christine could no more earnestly say I love you than by perfecting pots of plomeek soup and pok tar.
Yet he was standing so tantalizingly close and wearing that uncommonly open, tender expression. This is the part where he kisses me, she mused before smiling wistfully at her own foolishness.
“So…‘excellent Vulcan cuisine’?” she said at last in lieu of acting on any of her desires. “You really thought so?”
“Vulcans don’t lie, Christine.” He offered her yet another smile (surely he couldn’t be drunk!) and this time, she was tempted to kiss him—and also to warn him that his face might get stuck that way if he kept it up.
The warmth and subtly spicy scent of him reminded her suddenly of a previous fraught encounter in Spock’s quarters just before they had delivered him to Vulcan. The memories crashed over her like a cresting wave: the electric tension that had crackled between them, the gentle concern with which he’d brushed her tears away…the way it had all come crashing down as soon as she mentioned their destination.
In the present, Spock reached out just the way he had then—but only to tuck a strand of platinum hair that had escaped its braid behind her ear. Her skin tingled where his fingertips made had contact. She bit down gently on her lower lip.
She probably imagined the way his eyes followed curve of her braid over her shoulder the same way she’d imagined so many other things today.
“Christine…,” he murmured again.
For a split second, he looked vulnerable and faintly unnerved, like he wanted to say something more but he feared what it might be. Then he swallowed and straightened back to his full height. As he did so, his inscrutable Vulcan mask slid back into place.
“Thank you.”
Spock turned on heel without giving her the chance to say anything more.
Christine watched him disappear down the hall and wondered, as she had so often in the past, what was going through his mind. She lingered there for a while longer, willing her heart to come out of warp and resume its normal sublight rhythm.
“Happy birthday, Spock,” she whispered at last.
Maybe a glass of wine was in order. She would toast to Spock’s health and let her imagination run just a little wilder before she had to return to reality in the morning.
The next day, Amanda Grayson received a reply from Spock to the birthday message she’d sent him. Her son had been much on her mind in the past few weeks. She missed him and, despite herself, often worried about him. She knew very well that he was grown, a Starfleet officer (second-in-command no less), and that he could look after himself even without the additional support of an entire starship behind him.
Yet while Amanda took great pride in Spock—no mother could ask for a smarter, more capable son—she sometimes dreaded hearing about his latest brush with death, as so many of his interstellar adventures seemed to be.
Her hope to see Spock for his birthday had been dashed by his and Sarek’s conflicting schedules. She kept her disappointment to herself. It was altogether illogical, as her beloved husband would not hesitate to point out: less than a year had passed since they had traveled aboard the Enterprise, and being apart from him had become their status quo ever since Spock had left Vulcan to join Starfleet against his father’s wishes. Nor had Sarek ever pretended to comprehend, much less appreciate, the significance that humans assigned to the anniversary of a person’s birth. Amanda knew that from experience.
“The day Spock was born was the best day of my life!” she’d explained many years earlier. “I want to celebrate that. I want to celebrate him. He’s our little miracle.”
She beamed down the child in question as she held him on her hip. Spock grinned toothily back at her. He would turn three in a week—(“But isn’t he small for his age?” her mother always asked, and Amanda would gently remind her that Vulcan years were shorter than those on Earth.)—and she had proposed hosting a small gathering to mark the occasion. It was among the first of many battles Amanda and Sarek would fight over the nature of their son’s upbringing, almost all of which she would ultimately lose. She lost this one in particular multiple times during Spock’s childhood. Sarek pointed out that Spock’s conception was not miraculous, nor did he see any logical purpose in throwing a party for a toddler, especially for a Vulcan toddler, and that was that.
Amanda sighed over the memory and turned back to her viewscreen. An adult Spock appeared there, looking as handsome and stoic as ever. Just seeing his dear face made her heart ache a little. He extended his wishes for his parents’ good health before thanking Amanda for her gift. Birthday gifts were one of the very few Terran traditions that she’d successfully insisted on keeping with her half-human son. This year, she’d sent him a collection of crystals from the quadrant in which she and Sarek had most recently been stationed. Spock declared them to be “quite fascinating” and even “rather beautiful”. His mother smiled fondly at his image on the screen.
When he paused, she assumed that he was about to sign off, his filial duty complete.
Instead, he lowered his eyes for a moment, then glanced up with a furtive half-smile. It made him look younger and a bit mischievous. Amanda sat up straighter in her seat, intrigued by the sight.
“Mother…today my friends held a party in my honor. Earth notions regarding birthdays are rather fanciful, as you must know.” His dark eyes seemed to dance in the low light of his cabin. “I find the concept of blowing out candles on a cake to be especially curious. But I nonetheless enjoyed myself. I was...” He hesitated and appeared thoughtful, as if putting a name to his emotion was akin to solving a challenging mathematical equation. “I believe the correct word is ‘touched’.”
He faced the screen once more. In his small smile she caught a glimpse of the amiable baby he’d once been before years of Vulcan training had buried his joie de vivre beneath many layers of strict self-control. “Farewell, Mother. Dif-Tor heh Smusma.”
“Peace and long life, little one,” she replied in a tremulous voice.
Amanda sat in the still room and considered the crew of the Enterprise, Spock’s friends: the gregarious captain, the gruff doctor and headstrong nurse who had saved her husband’s life, and the other officers she’d never met but had occasionally heard about in Spock’s correspondence. In that instant, nothing could have convinced her that they were anything less than the finest people in the galaxy. If only there was a transporter beam powerful enough to send her straight to Starbase Eighteen! She wanted the chance to thank them all personally for loving Spock in her place.
And even more than that, she wanted to wrap her arms around Spock and hold him close.
She didn’t realize that her cheeks were damp until she heard Sarek’s voice calling her name from another room.
“Here, Sarek! I’m here.”
Wiping the tear tracks away, she smiled once more at the now-blank screen. Then, with her secret knowledge glowing warmly within her chest, she rose to meet her husband.