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Jim surveyed the main lounge of the Enterprise, admiring the tinsel and lights decorating the walls. Crew members milled about the room, enjoying the festive atmosphere. It was Christmas Eve—a welcome respite from the stress of their recent mission.
A few midshipmen wearing red uniforms wandered by, muttering “Merry Christmas” as they passed. Jim returned the sentiments while glancing toward the door for what felt like the hundredth time. Spock had something pressing to attend to in the chemistry lab, but he had promised to be here.
“And then when I was 12, my aunt Gertrude showed up the family Christmas party uninvited—”
Jim smiled to himself, only half-listening to Bones’s story. All day today, he and the other senior officers had been chatting about past Christmases and various Christmas traditions they had upheld back on Earth. Spock had listened intently, occasionally remarking, “Fascinating.” Jim found this habit of Spock’s quite adorable.
Seemingly right on cue, the door to the main lounge slid open, and Spock walked in.
“Spock!” Jim called out, waving. “There you are.”
Spock made his way over, acknowledging Jim and Bones with a polite nod.
“Good of ya to join us, Spock,” said Bones. “One might say you’re fashionably late.”
“I apologize for my tardiness, gentlemen. I was delayed by a group of crew members, apparently led by Lieutenant Uhura, blocking the hallway.”
“Blocking the hallway? Why?” asked Jim.
“It seems they are going to each living quarters in turn, and serenading whoever opens the door. When I encountered them, they were singing a song about bells.”
Jim laughed, now understanding. “Oh, that’s called caroling. On Earth, groups of carolers visit others’ houses and sing Christmas songs to whoever opens the door.”
“Of course Uhura would put that together, that woman sings more than she talks,” quipped Bones. “She's got a helluva voice, too. Say, Spock, you should try this eggnog.”
“Eggnog, Doctor?”
“It’s a traditional Christmas drink.”
The doctor poured a glass from the bottle standing on a nearby table and handed it to Spock. Spock took a sip of the drink, and raised an eyebrow.
“Curious, but not disagreeable.”
“It’s nothing like the real thing, of course, but it’s alright as replicated drinks go.” Bones took a swig from his own glass.
“So, Spock, what were you working on in the chemistry lab?” asked Jim.
He barely understood the highly technical explanation that followed, but he didn’t care. He contented himself with listening to the melodic timbre of Spock’s voice as he gazed into his eyes, black like the void of space, but warm and full of life. Despite all of Spock’s claims that he had no emotions, Spock’s eyes had always been easy for Jim to read. The enthusiasm he saw in them now almost made them sparkle—or maybe that was just the reflection of the string lights on the wall. Either way, it was one of the most beautiful things Jim had ever seen.
“Merry Christmas, Cap’n, Doc, Mr. Spock!”
The sudden loud greeting yanked Jim’s attention away from admiring his First Officer.
“Scotty! You finally get sick of reading those technical journals?” asked Bones, playfully nudging the Chief Engineer. “Want some eggnog?”
“Aye, ah heard ya were drinkin’ that sad replicated stuff, an’ I jus’ had ta do somethin’ about it.” Scotty held up a bottle of scotch. “Can I tempt any o’ ya gents?”
“Ooh, don’t mind if I do!” Bones eagerly held out his half-empty glass of eggnog. Scotty filled it up to the top with scotch.
“Is this concoction a traditional variation on the Christmas beverage you call ‘eggnog?’” asked Spock.
“Yeah, it’s the fun variation,” replied Bones, holding up his now very-spiked eggnog. “Cheers.”
“Cheers,” echoed the other men. They all clinked their glasses together.
The conversation turned back to Bones’s Aunt Gertrude, with Scotty occasionally adding his two cents about his family in Aberdeen. The room around them got progressively noisier, until the men had to practically shout to be heard. Spock dutifully listened to the conversation, continuing to take small sips of his eggnog, but stayed silent.
Jim leaned in and asked, “Are you alright, Spock? You haven’t said anything in a while.”
“Perfectly, Captain. I merely have nothing I wish to contribute to the conversation. I find Doctor McCoy’s and Engineer Scott’s anecdotes sufficiently entertaining.”
“Well, in that case, I’m going to step out for a while.” Jim turned to the rest of the group. “If you’ll excuse me, gentlemen.”
Jim made his way toward the door, wishing crewmates a merry Christmas as he passed. Once outside, he spotted Uhura’s posse of carolers making their way toward the main lounge. He set off in the opposite direction, heading for the observation deck.
The observation deck was blissfully quiet. The hum of the engines provided a kind of white noise that Jim found almost meditative. As he gazed out at the stars, he wondered what Sam and his family were doing. Peter was likely in bed by now, but Jim doubted his nephew was asleep. Jim never could sleep the night before Christmas when he was that age.
He tried to recall the last time he had spent Christmas with his family, back in his academy days. Jim missed his brother, of course, but he didn’t envy Sam his more… settled life. Jim had known from a very young age that he belonged among the stars. To be able to spend Christmas among them was the best gift he could ask for.
"Is everything alright, Captain?"
Jim blinked, brought back to reality by the sudden question. He turned to see Spock standing in the doorway to the observation deck.
“Quite alright, Mr. Spock. I just… Needed a moment.”
“Understandable. I, too, find crowds exhausting after some time.” Spock’s gaze flicked up to a point above Jim’s head. “Are you aware there is a plant attached to the wall above you?”
Jim looked up. Sure enough, a sprig of vegetation hung above the large window, its leaves fluttering in the air flow from the adjacent vent, its white berries seeming to glow in the starlight filtering in from outside.
“Mistletoe,” he muttered.
“I suggest you distance yourself from it, Captain, it may be dangerous.”
Spock strode quickly over to also look up at the plant. Jim chuckled at the gravity of the Vulcan’s declaration.
“It’s not dangerous, Spock, it’s just mistletoe. And we’re off-duty. Please, call me Jim.”
“As you wish.” Spock nodded. “It appears you are correct in your assessment of the plant, Jim. 'Mistletoe' is the common term for a group of obligate hemiparasitic plants in the Earth order Santalales. I am, however, at a loss as to why it is here.”
“I imagine it's some crewman's idea of spreading holiday cheer. You see, mistletoe is another Christmas tradition back on Earth.”
“Attaching this plant to indoor surfaces is a tradition?”
“Yes, and when two people find themselves standing under it”—Jim was glad for the dim lighting of the observation deck as he felt his face go red—“they have to kiss.” He was suddenly very aware of how close to him Spock was standing.
Spock said nothing, apparently considering this new information.
“A most illogical tradition, but I suppose it demands to be upheld regardless.”
“Now, Spock,” sputtered Jim, “it's not exactly a binding contract, nobody has to kiss if they don't want to.”
There was a beat of silence. Then—
“I want to.”
Jim’s train of thought screeched to halt. He had been harboring feelings for his First Officer for a long time now, but hadn’t fully considered how deep those feelings might go. Now, with the gorgeous man in front of him telling him he wanted to kiss him, Jim found that his feelings for Spock went deeper than he had dared to imagine.
He must have looked absolutely flabbergasted, because Spock's expression shifted to something distantly resembling alarm.
“Jim, forgive me, I didn't—”
“There’s no need to apologize,” Jim gently cut him off. “I… also want to.”
The Vulcan’s eyebrows shot up. “Oh?” was his only response.
“And there’s no need to look so surprised,” said Jim as he placed his hands on Spock’s shoulders and stepped closer. “May I?”
“Yes.” Spock’s voice was barely above a whisper.
Getting up on tiptoes to reach, Jim pressed a soft kiss to Spock’s lips. Spock’s hands came to rest on Jim’s waist as he kissed Jim back.
The two separated after a few seconds, still holding each other. Jim’s mind raced with all kinds of questions, the loudest one being Does this mean he likes me back? He asked none of them out loud, however. They could all wait.
“Merry Christmas, Spock,” he simply said.
With the slightest hint of a smile, Spock replied, “Merry Christmas, Jim.”