Work Text:
Though not strictly in adherence to the teachings of Surak, Spock has always – quietly, secretly – harbored a certain…fascination with Terran holidays. It perhaps stemmed from the tales that his mother used to tell him when he was very young, and her human illogic necessitated that she sit at his bedside in the evenings. He was familiar with the gift-giving traditions of Christmas (as well as the baffling myths regarding both the old man and his flying sleigh, and the divine infant born in some sort of barn), the tricks of April Fool’s Day, the verdant St. Patrick’s Day. He regularly participated in his mother’s observance of most Yamim Tovim as well. However, he remained relatively uninformed regarding Valentine’s Day.
While attending and lecturing at Starfleet Academy, Spock could not recall witnessing any displays of celebration. However, it seemed that this particular year upon the Enterprise, on a long sojourn to a distant colony, reminders of the impending holiday seemed to be everywhere.
Some members of Bridge Crew – Spock suspected Nyota and Lt. Sulu – had taken it upon themselves to fix small red, pink, and purple paper hearts to the chairs, walls, doors, and stations of the bridge itself earlier that week. Nurse Chapel had presented the crew with heart-shaped cookies one night, and Spock had seen multiple couples holding hands or presenting gifts to one another in the corridor. The science lab had been decked out with love-themed notes written in bacteria growths in petri dishes (“Be Mine!” and “I <3 U” were quite prominent among the sentiments expressed). And he knew for a fact that Nyota and Chief Engineer Scott were preparing some sort of musical presentation for off-duty crewmembers on the day itself. Baffled, Spock took himself to the primary source of information regarding human behavior: his captain.
“Well,” Jim said. He had been about to move one of his pawns to another level of the chess board when Spock posed his question, and now seemed disinclined to complete the movement. “Spock, I think you’ve got the gist of it. Valentine’s Day is a day humans set aside to celebrate love – whether it’s love for their significant others, for their friends, for family. Or for chocolate.”
Spock caught a flash of Jim’s warm gaze winking up at him from beneath the man’s long eyelashes. He swallowed.
“You are aware of the effect which chocolate has upon Vulcans,” Spock stated. There had been a – regrettable incident on Risa several months ago. Spock’s memory of the event was incomplete, but he felt certain that his and the captain’s fingers and minds had met, if only briefly.
“Spock, there’s nothing wrong with relaxing once in a while,” Jim said. Finally, he placed his pawn and settled back in his seat. He was wearing a startlingly revealing shirt, a green and gold-trimmed shirt with a neckline that dipped low enough that the soft skin between the captain’s pectoral muscles was well on display, along with a liberal dusting of dark hair. Spock disliked the days that Jim selected this shirt for casual wear – he found that the distraction it posed had an invariably negative effect upon his performance during their chess matches.
“Captain,” Spock sighed.
“Spock.” Jim grinned. “We’re all basically trapped at work, on a ship hurtling through space. I think it makes sense that people want to go a little crazy with stuff like this, every once in a while.”
His suntanned cheeks dimpled. Spock felt an utterly irrational surge of annoyance.
“Would it not be more logical to show one’s friends and family one’s appreciation on a daily basis rather than once per Terran year?” Spock asked. “In addition, the decorations bear little resemblance of the actual anatomical heart. Is the display a facsimile of some ancient ritual, as the Christmas tree has its root in pre-Christian tree worship?”
Jim glanced up at Spock again, and Spock knew that his captain was holding back his laughter. Unfortunate – he enjoyed the sound of Jim’s voice when the man laughed.
“Spock,” Jim said, and hesitated. Spock waited for him to continue, and instead used Jim’s silence as opportunity to move one of his own chess pieces. When he looked at Jim again, Spock found himself the recipient of a considering look.
“Spock,” Jim said again, and leaned forward. “How about I show you?”
An arresting proposal.
“Yes, Jim,” Spock replied.
After their game of chess, Jim walked together with Spock, back to their quarters – separate, save for their shared bathroom, but conjoined nonetheless. Rather than leave Spock when they passed by the entrance to Jim’s room, Jim walked with Spock to his own door. Silently, Jim placed a hand on Spock’s arm and Spock found himself awash with – warmth. A steady flow of affection.
Slowly, as if asking permission, Jim leaned upward and pressed his mouth to Spock’s. It was a human kiss, and a chaste one. Spock stood still, unsure of what to do. Jim patted his elbow.
“See you in the morning,” Jim said, and left.
That night, Spock lay awake and remembered it over again.
X
In the morning, on Valentine’s Day, Spock found a note on the bathroom mirror – heart shaped – that read, in Jim’s own practiced handwriting, “Good morning, Sunshine!”
In the mess hall, he found Jim at their customary table, with two trays before him instead of one. Jim grinned, touched his elbow once again, and introduced Spock to heart-shaped waffles with chopped strawberries, scrambled eggs, and a mug of Spock’s favorite English Breakfast tea.
“Jim,” Spock said, suddenly uncertain. “What-“
“It’s not logical,” Jim said. He shook his head. “Just let me show you today, all right? Like we talked about.”
And then Jim launched into a story, some rehashing of an early-morning call from a harried admiral that he’d been pulled into that morning.
Spock listened, and ate his waffles, and offered advice and condolences when necessary.
In the elevator, on the way to the bridge, Jim leaned into Spock’s side. The back of his hand brushed Spock’s. A rush of something that might have been bravery filled Spock as the lights of the ship flashed through the elevator’s window.
He took Jim’s hand, and listened as Jim’s breath caught in his throat. Jim tightened his grip around Spock’s palm, and leaned a little heavier on Spock.
“It’s not that it’s today,” Jim murmured into Spock’s ear as the elevator slowed, then stopped. “It’s just that I couldn’t think of a better time to start this.”
“Why?” Spock asked. They stepped together from the elevator and onto the bridge. Jim pulled away.
“Because,” he said, voice still soft enough that no one else on the bridge would hear. “I knew once we started, we’d never stop. So why not start on a day that’s already made for love?”
Spock watched Jim descend the steps that led to his captain’s chair. He turned and made his way over to his own station, and for the rest of the day he made sure to run his equations twice over, just in case he’d been distracted when he ran them the first time.
Eight infinite hours later, Jim signed off and retrieved Spock from his post. They rode the elevator together again. They stopped by the med bay together, and Spock watched McCoy growl and grumble about how he was on duty when they weren’t, while Jim teased him about how he’d known the doctor had a date.
They went together to the mess hall and Jim again insisted on procuring their food himself. This time he returned with two bowls of replicated Plomeek soup, and one small, square box wrapped in shimmering pink cloth and tied with a red ribbon. A gift.
“I have nothing for you in return,” Spock said, surprised.
“Doesn’t matter,” Jim shrugged. “I wanted to. Open it!”
Spock undid the ribbon and carefully set it aside. Jim watched as Spock carefully, carefully opened the hinged lid.
“I thought,” Jim burst out suddenly, “What do you get the man – the Vulcan - you love, who probably isn’t, technically, supposed to want anything, but who-“
“Jim,” Spock breathed. “Jim.”
“You get him a promise,” Jim finished, rather loudly. “that’s what it is, it’s a promise. That I’m with you, always. Okay? Okay, Spock?”
Spock touched the stone there, nestled in the same soft cloth that wrapped the box. It was dark, and speckled.
“A lunar rock,” he said. “Mare basalt, if I am not mistaken. These have high levels of titanium, Jim.”
“I know,” Jim said.
“Vulcan does not have a moon.”
“Well, you do now,” Jim insisted. “I-I’ll be your moon, and we’re going to be in each other’s orbits for a long time.”
Spock removed the rock from its bedding and held it, cool and heavy, in his palm. He knew where he would put it: on the narrow table, beside his bed, where it would be plainly visible to him at all times.
“Jim,” Spock said. “I am in love with you.”
Jim reached out and snatched Spock’s hand, gripping it and the rock it held so tightly.
“I know that, Spock,” Jim said. And he smiled.
X
Later, after slipping away during Nyota and Chief Engineer Scott’s performance of Wild Mountain Thyme in order to have what Spock considered some of the best sex he had ever experienced, they lay in Jim’s narrow bed together.
“Your mind is so sexy,” Jim said. He lay on his back, eyes closed, though his hands seemed reluctant to stop exploring Spock’s body. “We should never stop holding hands. We should always be in each other’s heads like that, I want to be with you like that always, I want to know you so deep that –“
Spock rested his head on Jim’s shoulder and listened to Jim’s words. In the morning, when he had recovered his energy, he would broach the subject of a mental link with Jim. If Jim agreed, Spock would take him to Vulcan and they would mate together in the sands of his home planet. If Jim agreed, Spock would take him home and introduce him to his mother, and the two would get on like two old friends. If Jim agreed, then they truly would become two satellites, orbiting one another, trading signals in and out of time, for the rest of their being.
It had begun today, Spock thought, but tomorrow it would continue on, and the day after that, and so on, and so forth. And perhaps that continuing gravitation was what Jim had been trying to show him – the circling in of love.
Yes, he thought as he drifted into sleep. Tomorrow.