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“Bones,” Jim said, “I need your help.”
“No,” Bones said. “I don’t care what harebrained scheme you’ve come up with this time. I am not helping you.”
“I want to get Spock and Sarek drunk.”
Bones froze for a moment. Then he glowered. Then he grinned. “That I wouldn’t miss for the world.”
Jim grinned. “I thought you might say that."
§§§
Jim could feel Spock’s irritation.
“Jim,” Spock said, “Why is the replicator including a bar of chocolate with everything I replicate?”
“I don’t know,” Jim replied. “You’ll have to ask Scotty. I haven’t had a problem. Good thing, too. I’d be too tempted.”
“So you have refrained from consuming chocolate?”
“Yes, Spock. I wouldn’t do anything that might hurt Wa’, Cha’, and Wej. And even if I were to try something, you and Bones wouldn’t let me. Our daughters are safe,” Jim assured his husband.
“Fine. I will ask Mr. Scott to rectify the problem.”
“Aw, not now, Spock. He’s off-duty, and the man doesn’t relax nearly enough.”
“Fine. But—”
“No one is going to force you to eat it, Spock. Just give it to Mike and Seb.”
“I don’t believe Drs. Marcus and McCoy would appreciate that,” Spock answered.
“How often does Bones give Bump things we’d prefer she not have?”
A glint appeared in Spock’s eyes. “You’re right. I shall deliver the chocolate immediately.”
Jim got the sense that he should feel a bit guilty for playing his husband and best friend off one another like this. Especially considering he’d recruited outside help in the form of Scotty and Keenser. But he didn’t feel guilty at all.
Tomorrow was New Year’s Eve—based on the Terran calendar—and Jim was two months pregnant with quarter-Vulcan triplets. And that meant no alcohol and no chocolate for him. He had to find some way to entertain himself.
§§§
“You’re stressed, and it’s stressing Jim out,” Bones barked. “And that’s bad for the babies. So tonight, you’re going to have a chocolate martini or three.”
Spock opened his mouth—likely to argue the necessity of such a thing—but Bones beat him to the punch. “Doctor’s orders.”
“A physician shouldn’t be subscribing intoxicating and potentially harmful substances,” Sarek interrupted.
“We do it all the time,” Bones muttered. Then louder, he added, “Besides, I’m just a country doctor. There ain’t a lot a few shots of good whiskey can’t cure. Since alcohol doesn’t work for Vulcans, I figure chocolate will have to be the best substitute. You too, Grandpa. You need to relax also.”
“I do not believe—”
“Doctor’s orders.”
Bones winked at Jim as he left, shouting over his shoulder, “And stop giving Mike and Seb candy, both of you! Eat your own damn chocolate!”
§§§
The next evening, Jim handed Spock a glass.
Spock looked at the drink and then at Jim. Jim almost laughed at his obvious skepticism. “Doctor’s orders,” Jim reminded him.
Spock’s lips tightened. “I should warn you that I have never partaken of chocolate. I have no idea what effect cocoa will have on my inhibitions or behavior.”
That’s what Jim was counting on. “It’ll be fine.” He lifted a second glass. “This one is for your father. I better go find him before he tries to escape without taking his medicine.”
§§§
“Spock?” Uhura asked, “Sarek? Are you… are the two of you drunk?”
The two of them had been babbling in mixed Vulcan and English—meaning Jim and Uhura were the only two at the party who understood everything being said.
At Uhura’s question, Spock stood up straighter and declared, “Drunk is a Human emotion. As I am not Human, I cannot possibly be drunk.”
“You are half-Human,” Sarek argued. “So I believe what you are trying to say is that you are only half-drunk. I, on the other hand, am one hundred percent Vulcan. I am therefore unable to experience the Human emotion of drunk.”
Oh this was better than Jim had anticipated. They were only two and a half drinks in. All he could do was laugh.
“What did you do?” Uhura demanded.
Jim shrugged. “I’m pregnant. They’re doing my drinking for me this year.”
Uhura’s eyes flickered to Jim’s still-flat belly and then stated, “So they are drunk.”
“Oh yeah. And I intend to see them both completely hammered before the night is over,” Jim answered.
“You’re horrible.”
Jim noticed that Uhura made no move to prevent Spock and Sarek from downing the last of round three. He clearly wasn’t the only one who wanted to see drunk Vulcans.
§§§
Scotty had volunteered to DJ for the evening, something everyone had agreed to because no one else wanted to do it. Given Scotty’s apparent love for mid- to late-twentieth century music, Jim was beginning to rethink that decision.
Well, he was until Scotty played a song called “If I Said You Had a Beautiful Body” by a group called the Bellamy Brothers.
Because that was when Spock came up to him, grinning broadly. “Come dance with me.”
Even getting Spock drunk hadn’t made Jim plan on this. “You don’t dance,” he objected, even as Spock dragged him to the middle of the room. Hell, they hadn’t even danced the night Jim got pregnant with Astraea. Or they day they got married.
“To this song, I do,” Spock said, pulling Jim tight against him. “This was one of my mother’s favorites. It’s why I asked Scotty to play it. It was the one song Sa-mekh would dance with her. And now I wish to dance it with you.”
Jim wasn’t about to argue the point any further.
He held Spock close as they danced, Spock’s movements nowhere near as fluid and graceful as they usually were.
As they danced, Spock pulled Jim closer and closer, singing softly in his ear, “If I said you had a beautiful body, would you hold it against me? If I swore you were an angel would you treat me like the devil tonight?”
Yes. Getting Spock drunk was quite possibly one of the best ideas Jim had ever had.
§§§
“I’m startin’ to think this was a terrible idea,” Bones muttered to Jim. “It’s clear neither of them can hold their cocoa.”
Jim laughed. “That’s what makes it great! It’s an experiment.”
“I sure hope they see it that way tomorrow.”
Jim grinned. “Maybe they will, maybe they… oh my god.”
“What?”
“Look.”
Jim pointed to the other side of the room, where Sulu was doing body shots off of Chekov. “Is this the kind of thing I miss when I’m the one getting blackout drunk every year?”
Bones grimaced and then said, “I think it’s worse than usual this year. Probably because your uptight first officer is drunk off his ass as well. Not to mention Mr. Ambassador over there.”
“Spock isn’t uptight,” Jim objected. “Someone uptight wouldn’t tie me to the bed and remove my panties with their teeth.”
“Are you sure you haven’t been drinking?” Bones asked suspiciously. “Because I seem to remember a decade-old promise that you not tell me about your sex life. A promise I got in writing when you married the hobgoblin, remember?”
Jim waved it away. “Is my sex life that important when Chekov and Sulu are about one button and two zippers away from having sex right in front of everyone?”
Bones turned a bit green when he looked back at Sulu, who had his tongue in Chekov’s mouth and his hand in Chekov’s pants. “I think it’s my turn to get drunk,” he muttered before wandering off in search of alcohol.
“I think it’s hot.”
Jim jumped when the words whispered across his ear. “Spock. What’s hot?”
“Pavel and Hikaru,” Spock replied. “Just imagine if it were us. Hikaru doesn’t know Pavel’s body like I know yours.”
While Jim wasn’t opposed to a bit of exhibitionism, he knew Spock would never forgive him, were he to allow such a thing when he was sober. “Spock, honey, how many martinis have you had?”
“Four point—no, five point… something. And some candy. Chocolate covered caramel is delightful. You should try it. But not while you’re pregnant. That’s bad for our little girls,” his Vulcan said. “Now, are we going to show them how it’s done?”
“One minute to midnight!” Scotty announced.
“We need to kiss at midnight,” Jim reminded Spock—the one concession he’d been able to wring out of Spock over the years regarding PDA; chaste Human or Vulcan kisses were allowed any time, but passionate ones were reserved for New Year’s Eve or the privacy of their quarters.
“Ten… nine… eight… seven…”
Spock began kissing him well before the count reached one, but Jim wasn’t exactly in a position to complain—after all, by the time the clock reached midnight, Jim had Spock’s tongue in his mouth and his leg hiked up around Spock’s hip.
“Sa-fu, James,” Sarek interrupted. “Such behavior is improper. Spock, it’s unbecoming of a Vulcan to touch his mate outside the privacy of his bedroom.”
“I caught you and Mom having sex on the dining room table when I was thirteen,” Spock said bluntly. “And it was not your time.”
Jim choked in surprise. “Spock, let’s go christen our table. We haven’t done that in several weeks.”
As much as Jim wanted to hear the rest of that conversation, Spock and Sarek would both be pissed if Jim allowed them to air any more of their dirty laundry.
“Very well, Captain,” Spock said.
Oh god. Mutinous first officer seducing him. Jim loved it when Spock played that role. Chocolate had been a very, very good idea.
§§§
Jim woke up with an excruciating headache.
“Daddy!” Bump said eagerly, “Wake up! It’s the New Year!”
Jim groaned and covered his face with a pillow. When had Astraea’s voice gotten so high-pitched?
“Astraea,” Spock grunted from next to him, “Please lower both the decibel and the pitch of your voice.”
“Why?” their daughter asked. “Sa’mekh’al said the same thing. Then he said some words I’m not supposed to say and told Keenser he was still on babysitting duty. But I’m not a baby! Can’t I come to the party next year? Keenser can watch Wa’, Cha’, and Wej, and Mike and Seb and I can come to the party with you guys and Uncle Bonesy!”
“Absolutely not,” Spock said.
Astraea immediately refocused her efforts on Jim. “Please, Daddy?”
Jim thought of the party the night before. Of how plastered Spock and Sarek had been. Of how explicit Chekov and Sulu had been. “Absolutely not.”
“Daddy,” she whined.
“Later, Astraea. Go to your room. We don’t feel good,” Spock ordered.
Jim sighed in relief once Astraea was gone. Then he groaned. His head fucking hurt. Almost like… “Am I feeling your hangover?”
“Apologies,” Spock answered. “My head hurts too much to shield properly right now. It’s taking all my effort to keep Astraea from feeling it as well. I determined that, as you are partially responsible for my condition, you can ‘damn well deal with it,’ I believe Dr. McCoy would say.”
Jim groaned. A hangover. He had a hangover and he hadn’t even gotten to enjoy being drunk first.
Chocolate had clearly been a very bad idea.