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“But, Sir, it’s Christmas.”
Admiral Komack’s eyes narrowed on the vid screen. “Are you questioning my orders, Kirk?”
Jim Kirk struggled not to roll his eyes. They both knew full well that there was no reason that an ice sample needed to be collected from Floe I this decade, let alone today. “Of course not, Admiral. I just…”
“Good. I’ll expect reports on my PADD by 1900. I won’t be there to personally receive them as I’ll be at a Christmas party, but my yeoman will be eagerly awaiting the data. Komack out.”
Jim sneered and made an obscene gesture at the now-darkened screen. He could feel his first officer’s disapproval without needing to turn around. Of course the Vulcan wouldn’t understand the human need for a holiday break. He probably hadn’t celebrated a holiday in his life.
“Well? Out with it, Spock.”
“You should not have contradicted Admiral Komack, Captain.”
Jim whirled on him. “He’s being ridiculous! And did you hear him work in that even he was going to be celebrating Christmas? And he’s making his yeoman work on top of that? What an asshole. No, worse than that. What a Scrooge.”
“I am not familiar with that reference, Captain. However, I would be remiss not to point out that you questioned a direct order from a superior officer. Had you persisted, there would have been grounds for court martial.”
“Don’t be so dramatic. Komack just has it in for me. Other ships don’t…”
“Other ships do not have the scrutiny afforded the youngest captain in Starfleet history.”
“So, what, it’s my fault that my crew - who been working without leave for the last seven months, by the way – are now going to be forced to work on Christmas, too?”
“Technically, the situation we are in is a result of your youth and inexperience. Rightly or wrongly, the admiralty views you as arrogant, reckless, erratic, and in need of discipline. Your questioning orders only serves to reinforce their belief that punitive measures are necessary.”
Jim stared at Spock in disbelief. “Okay, me asking if it was my fault was supposed to be rhetorical. Are you seriously saying that it is?”
Spock hesitated. “From a certain point of view…”
“Come on, Spock. Even you have to see that this assignment is unnecessary.” He rested a hand on Spock’s arm. “You can at least admit that, right?”
“I am confident the admiralty has their reasons, Captain.”
Jim removed his hand from Spock’s arm and straightened his stance. He suddenly felt very alone. “Thank you for your input, Commander. As I have already granted the majority of the crew permission to wrap up their work and start preparing for tonight’s festivities, I wouldn’t want to seem ‘erratic’ by revoking that permission. Why don’t you start preparing to beam down and collect those samples?”
“As I am certain you are aware, Captain, per regulations, a crew member cannot beam down unaccompanied into an unknown situation. I shall select another science officer and a security officer to accompany me.”
“No, let the rest of the crew have some peace. I’ll go with you.”
“I am not certain that would be advisable given…”
“That’s an order, Commander. Suit up.”
Spock blamed mistletoe for the demise of his relationship with Lieutenant Uhura.
Such an assignation was, of course, completely illogical, but this knowledge did little to temper the highly negative reaction he had towards the plant.
The previous year, Nyota had held a sprig of Viscum album above their heads and had explained the Terran tradition of kissing whosoever one found oneself with underneath it. Spock had scoffed at this, pointing out that it was highly illogical to utilize a poisonous plant as a symbol of romance and holiday cheer. The smile had faded from Nyota’s face and the hand holding the spring dropped to her side.
Vulcans were often accused of lacking the capacity to understand human emotion. Spock found, to the contrary, that his sharper senses allowed him to better observe the micro-expressions and vocal modulations that were the prime indicators of such states. It was presently clear to him that Nyota was struggling to repress a mixture of sadness and frustration.
In that moment, Spock had realized that their romantic relationship could not sustain itself in the long term. He loved Nyota, in his own way, but he ultimately knew that she required a level of emotional intimacy from a partner that Spock was simply incapable of providing.
He and Nyota ended their relationship that night and had remained cordial ever since. Due to an underlying knowledge that the relationship would have never been mutually satisfactory in the long term – or, perhaps, to Spock’s attempts to distract himself by increasing the frequency of his chess games with the captain - he had not experienced the intense negative emotions he had been led to believe accompanied the termination of a romantic relationship. Still, Spock could not help himself from harboring a good deal of resentment towards the plant that had been the catalyst of this termination.
So when Spock, already struggling to maintain a lack of feeling in the aftermath of his argument with the captain, noted the mistletoe hanging over the transport pad, he was dismayed to feel his mood sour further. Some crewman must have placed it there as a practical joke, though Spock felt that whoever it was had highly overestimated the humor of the situation.
Choosing to ignore the offending plant, Spock stepped onto the transporter and stood at parade rest as he waited for the Captain. When Kirk arrived, his eyes darted quickly between Spock and the mistletoe hanging over Spock’s head. A strange smile quirked on Kirk’s face and was gone in an instant, but he made no comment save ”energize.”
Spock had hoped that Floe I would be more interesting in person than the preliminary reports had made it out to be, but this was not to be. They appeared in the midst of a snow-covered mountainous region that had been marked by Starfleet as an “area of potential interest for settlement.” Spock highly doubted that such interest would remain after their report, had it ever truly existed in the first place.
Kirk seemed to have arrived at a similar conclusion, if the disgusted look on his face was any indication. “Well this is just great. Totally worth our time, right, Spock?” He reached down and scooped up a glove full of snow. “Look, we have our sample. All done. Let’s get out of here.”
Spock commended himself for keeping the exasperation out of his voice when he replied, “Captain, we are both well aware that you possess sufficient intelligence to comprehend the basic methodology of specimen collection, despite your numerous attempts to provide evidence to the contrary.”
“Whatever, Spock. Do your thing with the kit. I’ll be here standing guard and freezing my ass off.”
Spock unpacked his specimen collection kit and then glanced over at Kirk. He was gratified to see that, despite the lackadaisical attitude his captain insisted upon projecting, Kirk had his phaser at the ready and was scanning their surroundings, pursuant to Standard Safety Protocol 24.4.
It wasn’t that Spock failed to comprehend Kirk’s annoyance; it was simply illogical to dwell on it in the face of direct orders from Starfleet Command. Better to accomplish the admittedly low-priority task with optimal efficiency so as to return to the ship in as timely a manner as possible. Then Kirk could occupy himself with the holiday party for which he was so eager.
Spock understood the human need to create occasions in which it was socially appropriate to “let loose,” but personally, he felt something akin to dread at the idea that he would be obligated to attend the event. The captain, of course, was in his element in crowds and noise and chaos, his bright eyes and charming smile attracting others to him like a gravitational field. Any time they had both attended a party, Spock stood awkwardly in a corner while Kirk drank and danced and, when the night began to wind down, approached some attractive stranger to whisper in their ear and take their hand and lead them to a more private location. Spock was certain tonight would be no different and the thought made him uncomfortable for reasons he preferred not to explore.
“I think it’s safe to say it’s on securely by now, Commander.”
The captain’s voice startled Spock from his reverie. Spock came back to himself to find that the samples had been collected and he was in the midst of screwing the lid on the container so tightly that the plastic was beginning to strain. Kirk was smirking at him and Spock chastised himself for allowing his mind to be so unfocused while completing an official task.
He rose abruptly and said in a clipped tone, “Perhaps I would not be required to overcompensate if I had even the slightest bit of help. Alas, my commanding officer did not see fit to provide me with the aid I requested.”
“Oh, come off it, Spock. If you’re going to call me an incompetent brat, man up and say it straight out.”
“That was not my intention.”
Kirk raised an eyebrow. “So much for Vulcans not being able to lie. Come on, pack it up, I’m calling Scotty to get us the hell off this icy deathtrap.
The captain flipped open his communicator to contact the ship. After three failed attempts that resulted only in static, he began pacing angrily.
“Are you certain the signal is correctly calibrated, Captain?”
“Yes, Commander, I know how to operate a damn communicator, thank you. Did you check the atmospheric conditions beforehand to ensure we wouldn’t have a problem like this?”
“As you well know, Captain, there is no way to account for the potential of certain natural phenomena, such as ion storms.”
Kirk tried the communicator again and, this time, there was a burst of static and then Montgomery Scott’s voice came through, sounding tinny and far away.
“It’s happened again, Captain. The ion storm knocked out the transport capabilities and is workin’ it’s way to surface communications. We’re doin’ everything we can to get her back online...” He was interrupted by a loud crash in the background. “Dammit Keenser! Sorry, Captain. It may take, um, a while. Ye may want to consider findin’ some shelter for the time being.”
“Of course this is happening now, today of all days. Why am I even surprised?” Kirk grumbled.
“Captain, there should be…” There was another loud burst of static. “…cave just….” More static. “…klicks northwest. We’ll…” His voice was then completely overtaken by static and Kirk ended the call. When he tried to raise the chief engineer again, there was no response.
“Well, then. I guess we’re walking.”
Spock followed Kirk as he picked a path along the frozen, uneven terrain. After walking for 1.7 hours, he reflected that it was truly unfortunate that Mr. Scott had not been able to convey the exact distance they were required to walk before finding shelter. By Spock’s calculation, they had travelled 3.5 kilometers and his body temperature had already dropped a not insignificant .9 degrees Celsius.
When they finally found the cave an additional .68 kilometers away, the captain immediately removed his gloves, took a firestarter kit from his pack, and set to work. Without the gloves, Kirk’s hands were shaking too violently to hit the recessed switch on it.
After multiple attempts, Kirk rose abruptly and turned, punching the wall of the cave in frustration. The chapped skin on the back of his hand started bleeding.
Without comment, Spock knelt and concentrated on keeping his hands still so that he could depress the tiny lever. Flames sprang up from the disk.
Kirk shook his head in seeming disbelief. “Showing me up, huh?” he chuckled.
“As you seemed incapable of performing the task, Captain, I completed it for you so as to avoid unnecessary discomfort on both our parts.”
“Wow. Ok. Look, I don’t know what your problem with me is lately…”
“I have only been attempting to look out for your best interests, Captain."
“To save me from myself, you mean. How noble.”
Spock suppressed a frown. He could not comprehend why Kirk insisted on reframing Spock’s statements as derogatory when Spock had only endeavored to help his Captain perform to the best of his ability.
“You know what, Spock? I don’t need saving. By you or anyone else. I am who I am and it’s gotten me this far. And if that’s not good enough for you, maybe it’s time for us to accept that this just isn’t going to work out.”
“This, Captain? Please clarify.”
“This.” Kirk stepped closer to him and gestured between them. “You and me. We’re supposed to be this epically great team and for a while, I thought there really was something here, but lately…” He glanced down at the foot remaining between them as if it was something tangible. “How are you feeling about all this?”
“Vulcans do not feel anything, Captain. Please step back,” Spock requested as mildly as he could.
Kirk shifted closer. Spock took active control of his breathing to prevent the unusually rapid intake of air that threatened to present itself in response to the captain’s closeness. Vulcans most assuredly did not fantasize, but half-Vulcans, when they had not yet fully returned to consciousness, were apparently susceptible. This precise situation – electric blue eyes peering into his own, soft lips close enough that he could feel warm breath on his skin – had made an appearance in such idle imaginings more times than Spock was comfortable admitting. But now there was something hard, almost cold, in those eyes that had never featured in Spock’s imaginings. Kirk almost seemed to be enjoying Spock’s discomfort, though Spock could not fathom why.
”I requested that you place more distance between us. Please comply.”
“Or what? What are you gonna do, Spock? Choke me again? Maybe finish the job this time, get rid of the dumb farmboy who took your ship once and for all?”
Spock felt his composure shake. “You will step back, Captain.”
“Make me.”
They were so close they were nearly sharing the same breath. So close Spock could not think clearly. Vulcans did not panic, but Spock was hard-pressed to find a logical reason for why he placed his hands on his captain’s chest and shoved. Spock had not meant to harm him, but the combination of Vulcan strength and Kirk’s relaxed stance resulted in Kirk flying backwards and hitting the cave wall with a soft thud.
There was a moment of utter silence where Kirk just gaped at him before reaching up to gingerly rub the back of his head.
For the first time in recent memory, Spock found himself struggling to find his voice. “Are… Are you injured, Captain?”
“Yeah, I’m fine, Spock.”
“I apologize. My outburst was completely unprofessional and I understand if you wish to file…”
Kirk held up his hand to stop him. “Had it coming. Leave it alone.” He then busied himself with attempting to reprogram his communicator.
Looking away, Spock sat on the cave floor in lotus position and attempted to ignore the cold. He was in dire need of meditation.
They should have been in and out in an hour.
Jim should have known that things wouldn’t be that simple. They never were with him and Spock.
He sighed and continued pacing in front of the fire. It had been nearly two hours. He and Spock had coexisted in a strained silence, only communicating when they realized it would be more effective to use their jackets to rig a flap over the cave’s mouth to block out the wind.
Sure, Jim probably should have been more respectful, though he did believe he had every right to be pissed off at his first officer. He had learned early on that getting up in Spock’s personal space was the fastest way to get a reaction out of him – he still had the ghosts of bruises on his throat to prove it. He tried not to use that knowledge to his advantage too often, so doing it twice in one day had been asking for trouble. But there was something perversely satisfying about being able to cause such an emotional response. Of course, anger wasn’t what he’d prefer, but Jim could handle anything from Spock so long as it wasn’t indifference.
Jim walked to the side of the fire opposite Spock and slumped down against the cave wall. He took his communicator from his pocket and placed it next to him, face up so he would know as soon as communications were restored.
He pointedly did not look at Spock.
He leaned his head back against the wall and closed his eyes, willing himself to relax enough to sleep. The fire provided enough heat to stave off any fear of hypothermia, but nowhere near enough to feel any kind of comfort.
His mind drifted back to the last time he’d been forced to take shelter in a cave. That had also been with Spock, though that version of him couldn’t have been more different than his first officer if he tried. It was in that cave that Jim had been promised a friendship that would define them both, one so vital that the elder Spock had deemed it worth subjecting his younger self to emotional torture to ensure it.
Jim had listened to that Spock, trusted him, and where had it gotten him? Back in an icy cave, still not speaking to this Spock, who apparently hated his guts.
Jim had tried. He’d done his damndest to shift their dynamic. Four months ago, he and Spock had taken up playing chess every few days. As they’d gotten to know one another better, they spent more and more time together. Jim had thought there’d been a breakthrough. For once, he’d felt understood and respected by someone whose opinion he actually gave a shit about. There had been Pike, of course, but his relationship with Spock was different. He wasn’t entirely ready to admit to himself why, but it felt inextricably tied to the morning he’d accidentally walked in on Spock in the shower and found himself arrested by the way the drops of water clung to the sharp lines of his cheekbones, his broad shoulders and slim hips and…
Not that any of that mattered now. Clearly, Jim had been wrong. Spock had made it perfectly clear this morning that, despite everything, he still saw Jim as a spoiled child, a screw-up who’d been given too much too soon and would inevitably fail, probably getting people killed along the way. Any perceived closeness and warmth between them had likely never existed. This was just the latest in a long line of lessons – when he let people in close enough to see the real him, they’d inevitably end up disappointed. He shouldn’t have thought Spock would be any different. He’d been stupid to let himself believe it.
His train of thought was interrupted by an odd clacking sound. His eyes snapped open, his hand went to his phaser, and he glanced around the cave until his eyes came to land on Spock. In spite of Spock’s best effort to control them, his teeth were chattering and his skin had a faint flush of blue. His eyes were closed as if in meditation, so Jim kept his voice to a whisper. “Hey, Spock?”
Spock’s eyes opened instantly. Not in meditation, then. It wasn’t a surprise – Vulcans had evolved for the desert and Jim doubted even Surak himself could have simply chosen to ignore all this cold and wet. Jim also couldn’t help but notice that Spock was sitting a few feet back from the fire, clearly trying to maintain a healthy distance between Jim and himself in the aftermath of their fight. Jim shifted guiltily.
“Um, you should scoot closer. To the fire, I mean. You don’t look too good.”
“I fail to see how you insulting my appearance mitigates the situation.”
Jim blinked. Was that… a joke? Sure, the effect was ruined by the teeth chattering, but Jim Kirk knew a peace offering when he saw one. “Oh, shut up and get next to the fire,” he said petulantly, but he couldn’t help cracking a smile. Spock raised an eyebrow at him, but did move closer, so Jim counted it as a win.
“Captain…”
“Seriously? Captain? Now?”
“Jim. Barring a scenario in which I deem myself so miserable that I ‘scoot’ directly into the fire, no proximity will be sufficient to increase my body temperature to normal levels. Until the crew determines how to fix the transporters, the best I can do is to ignore the cold. I attempted meditation, but found myself unable to reach any state resembling peace of mind under the present conditions."
“Well then,” Jim mused. “Let’s think of some other ways to distract you.”
Spock gave him a pointedly blank stare and Jim winced. “I did not mean that as a come on. Obviously. Not that it would even be enjoyable in these conditions. I mean, not that you’d even be considering something like that…” He trailed off. He was definitely only making things worse. “What I meant was, just sitting here in silence is clearly not working for either of us. And, while I totally intend to finish arguing with you as soon as I can feel my toes, it’s probably not super helpful now.”
“What topic of conversation do you propose as an alternative?”
“Well… it is Christmas. You probably didn’t have that on Vulcan, but you had to have celebrated some sort of holiday, right? There have to be some warm memories from that.”
Spock looked at him skeptically and did not respond.
“Right. Um… Here, I’ll go first. My mom… she, uh, wasn’t around too much. Usually, Christmas was just me, Sam, and Frank – that’s my stepfather – exchanging socks under a fake tree and pretending not to hate each other. But one year – I must have been 8 or so – Frank had to be off-world on business the whole month of December. Mom took a week of leave and decided we’d have a real Christmas for once. So we went out and bought a real tree and stockings and one of those lawn angels made of tiny lights.
“We decorated the tree and hung the stockings and then came outside to set up the angel in the front yard. Mom was trying to let Sam and I do it ourselves – she never missed an opportunity to make us more self-reliant. As you’d expect, we were struggling to do it and then one of our neighbors, this older truck driver, came over and offered to help the ‘little lady’ and her sons. Man, you should have seen the look on my mom’s face.
“So she decided we were going to show him what was what. We went back to the store the next morning and Mom bought every light-up holiday-themed lawn ornament she could find. The bigger and tackier, the better. We spent the entire day setting them up – there were so many you could barely see the grass – and it was silly and ridiculous but the three of us couldn’t stop laughing.
“We finished as the sun went down and I figured out how to wire the lights so all the decorations could go on without blowing the fuse. That may have been the proudest my mom’s ever been of me. So Sam hit the switch and all those lights came on and… Man, Spock, I wish you could see it. I don’t even know how to describe…”
And then Jim got an idea. Like many of his biggest ideas, he wasn’t entirely sure if it was inspired or insane, but he charged ahead anyway/
“I can show you, can’t I?”
Spock tensed the instant he realized what Jim was suggesting. Any mind meld would be intimate, perhaps unbearably so. A meld with Jim Kirk would be… The words “intriguing,” “scintillating,” and “arousing” flickered through Spock’s mind before he settled on “inadvisable.”
“No, Jim.”
“Oh, come on, Spock. I know melds can be intense, but I’ve read a lot about them since the one with the other you. I know you don’t have to push in that deep… Gods, how do you people talk about this without it sounding insanely dirty?”
Spock composed his face into a stern expression and chose to assume that question was rhetorical. “A meld is quite a serious matter…”
“Right, it can be, but you can do one where we only share things we want to share, right?”
Spock remained silent.
“Come on, Spock. All I want to do is show you some Christmas lights so you can feel warm inside. It’s not a big deal.”
It was a big deal. And Spock knew that, under all the bluster, Jim was intelligent enough to understand what he was really offering. A piece of himself, a private memory of one moment in his life when he felt accepted and valued and loved. Spock was honored that Jim would share such an experience with him and that, more than anything, made him nod in assent.
He and Jim moved closer to each other, sitting cross-legged and close enough that their feet were touching. Spock lifted a hand towards Jim’s face, pausing before his shaking fingers could connect with skin. He hesitated. He wanted this too much, especially considering all that had transpired that day. He watched a light tremor run through his fingers and knew it was not solely a result of the cold. Spock shifted his gaze, which turned out to be ill advised, as his eyes instead met Jim’s and then Spock was lost in bright, almost preternatural blue. Before he could consciously catalogue the action, Spock’s fingers moved to rest against Jim’s psi-points.
Any sensation of cold left him as his mind was suffused with warm light. He would not describe it as peaceful – Jim’s mind was far too dynamic for that. Still, he found himself enticed by the effortless connection of their minds and the electric hum that sparked between them. It took Spock a moment to return to himself, to draw back and establish boundaries, ensuring that they would each only see what the other chose to reveal.
He mentally invited Jim to share what he wished, uncertain whether a psi-null individual would receive such a message clearly, and then…
He is surrounded by lights. He is standing on a lawn in Riverside, Iowa and darkened farmland stretches out as far as the eye can see and it’s dark and vast and still somehow stifling but right here, right now, there is light.
He blinks and the lights come into focus. A Santa Claus nearly as tall as the house sparkles in red. Angels and reindeer and snowmen shine white. Between them is a cacophony of other shapes, some so close together that they are indistinguishable, lit up in blues and greens and pinks and oranges. The lights all twinkle and their colors bounce off the snow, leaving the ground aglow.
And underneath the lights and frames are yards of wiring, set up precisely so the electricity flows through in ordered channels, each insulated and grounded so that the surge is never so great as to trigger a shut off. He had done that. All of this is possible because of him.
He glows with a pride he is unaccustomed to.
He looks at his brother, running around and excited enough to forget his earlier claim that he was too old for all of this.
He looks up at his mother, holding his hand and smiling a smile that actually reaches her eyes.
He never believed in magic – life never gave him the chance to. But for just one moment, he wonders.
The memory flickered and faded.
“Thank you, Jim. I am gratified that you shared that with me.”
He began to withdraw from the meld when Jim covered Spock’s hand with his own, keeping it pressed against his face.
“Hey, not so fast. It’s your turn, now.”
Spock hesitated before deciding that trading one memory for another was a fair exchange. Seeking to share similar “warm” sensations to those Jim had granted him, he selected a memory he had not revisited in some time. Memories of his mother could sometimes bring grief, but in this time and place, with this person, Spock could think of nothing he would rather share.
It was logical, of course, to take periods of rest. Such a period had occurred on the winter solstice since long before the time of Surak. It no longer held the religious significance it once had, but generations of Vulcans had seen no need to expend undue effort on selecting an alternate date for a planetary cessation of work.
It is for this reason that Sarek is on planet and is sitting with Spock and Amanda in their common living area. Spock is aware that it is illogical to be grateful to long-dead ancestors, but he finds himself suffused with gratitude, regardless.
This year, his sixth, he informs his mother that gifts are unnecessary. He knows that some Vulcans indulged in them, justifying themselves by claiming they were a way of strengthening bonds. But Spock is not Vulcan and he knows that, to be accepted as such, he must be even better at being Vulcan than those who lacked human blood.
Amanda looks hurt, but as she so often does, she quickly brushes it aside and smiles fondly at him instead. “Surely,” she says. “You can accept a story?”
Spock deems this acceptable and his mother begins to tell him the story of a child born on the Terran Solstice who was half-human, half-divine. The boy was torn between his opposing natures, but ultimately he came to understand that he could not be the man he was meant to be without both. His dual nature allowed him to be an intermediary, showing the best of the divine to humanity and the best of humanity to the divine.
Spock interrupts her to state that he very much doubts the historical accuracy of this story and does not comprehend the purpose of relaying falsehoods. His mother begins to answer, but he interrupts to explain that he is perfectly aware of the concept of allegory; he simply fails to see the logic in not stating plainly what one means.
Amanda smiles that sad smile again and says, “Some truths are deeper than words.”
Spock looks to his father, unsure if he should consider this answer acceptable. To his surprise, his father is looking at his mother and touches two extended fingers to hers in a Vulcan kiss before looking back to Spock. For the first and only time in his life, Spock sees his father smile.
Spock slowly withdrew from the meld. He blinked his eyes open and found himself staring once again into Jim’s eyes, deep and blue and full of an understanding that made Spock’s heart clench in his side. They were close, close enough for Spock to feel the heat radiating out from Jim’s body, and Spock found himself at a yet another uncharacteristic loss for words.
He reflected on his mother’s lesson and opted to utilize the only logical means of expressing himself. He pressed his lips to Jim’s. After a moment of startled stillness, Jim began to kiss him back. They kissed slowly, tentatively, until leaning together over crossed legs became uncomfortable. Spock pulled back and Jim gazed at him, looking a bit dazed, and then came back to himself. Jim looked away, awkward, and it occurred to Spock that Jim might take his withdrawal as regret.
Before Jim could speak, Spock rose to his feet and reached out a hand to pull Jim up after him. From the look on Jim’s face, it was not just Spock who felt a jolt like electricity run through him at the touch of their hands. Before Spock could react, Jim had stepped forward and begun to kiss him again, with more urgency this time. The cold was forgotten.
Seemingly of their own volition, Spock’s hands moved. One rose to grip the side of Jim’s neck while the other wrapped around Jim’s back and pulled him closer. Jim’s hand was on Spock’s cheek, thumb rubbing along his jawline, and Spock felt a strange buzzing sensation. He chose to ignore it, wanting to devote all of his attention to cataloguing every aspect of this moment. Jim felt even better in his arms than Spock had dared to dream and he was suddenly desperate to know how he tasted. Spock moved to deepen the kiss but was interrupted by a soft coughing sound emanating from somewhere to his right.
He and Jim broke apart and turned to find themselves standing in the transporter room, facing Mr. Scott and Dr. McCoy, both of whose faces registered poorly concealed shock. Spock could not help but notice that he and Jim were standing directly under the mistletoe. He stood completely frozen, all of his attention focused on maintaining a neutral expression and attempting to halt the green flush he felt rising on his face.
Jim recovered first and barked out a laugh that even Spock could tell was forced. “Ha, got you. Took you guys long enough to figure out how to beam us out of there. Thought we’d give you a little shock in revenge. Man, you should see the looks on your faces.” With another brittle laugh, Jim cuffed Spock on the shoulder and walked out of the transporter room, shaking his head.
McCoy watched him go, then turned back to Spock and crossed his arms. “‘Practical joke?’ That’s the excuse we’re going with?”
Spock ignored both the question and McCoy’s gaze as he clasped his hands behind his back and gave a curt nod. “Thank you both for a successful rescue. I will recommend that the Captain makes a special note of it in each of your files.”
He then exited with as much dignity as he could muster, pointedly ignoring McCoy’s grumble about “damned emotionally stunted idiots.”
To dwell on feelings of embarrassment was illogical, Spock reminded himself as he made his way back to his quarters. Jim had made it quite clear that he regretted the incident the instant he had a moment to process it. As a result, Spock’s attention was best focused on purging himself of any unfortunate after-effects of this kiss – curiosity, joy, desire, an unbelievable feeling of rightness at the touch of their minds and bodies – as he needed to re-commence treating his captain as nothing more than his commanding officer in as timely a manner as possible.
Once inside his quarters, Spock began preparing to enter into meditation. And if he found his mind drifting to thoughts of blue eyes and soft lips as he rolled out his mat and lit the incense, he was certain it was of no consequence.
“Gods, Bones, I’m an asshole.”
“Yeah, pretty much.” Bones’s only response to Jim’s glare was a shrug of his shoulders. “Oh, I’m sorry, did you mistake me for someone who was going to be all sympathetic and tell you, ‘no, Jim, you’re, like, totally in the right here.’"
“Okay, I don’t even know whose voice you’re supposed to be doing there,” Jim muttered, pouring himself another tumbler of Andorian whiskey. “Look, I know I’m a fuck up, okay? Not much to be done about it right now. At least everyone else seems to be having a good time.”
The holiday party was, by all accounts, a huge success. All common-use rooms had been cleared out and decorated with lights and tinsel. Sulu and Chekov had arranged for food and drink to be brought in via shuttle from the nearest starbase and the crew was reveling in the non-replicated refreshments. The speakers blared a medley of holiday music from across the Federation and enough alcohol had been consumed that people were beginning to dance. To avoid all of this, Bones had ducked behind the bar where Jim had pulled up a stool.
“You could be having a good time too, you know,” Bones was saying. “Instead of moping at the bar and making us both miserable."
“You go ahead. It wouldn’t feel right for me.”
Bones’s eyebrows lifted nearly to his hairline. “Dammit, Jim. I thought this was just another one of your ill-advised, short-lived crushes that got out of hand. But you really have it bad for him, don’t you?”
Jim downed the rest of his glass and moved to pour himself another, hoping his flush would be blamed on the alcohol. “You don’t know what you’re talking about, Bones. Spock and I hate each other’s guts, remember?”
“Look, I want this thing between you two to become an issue even less than you do. You’re not the one who has to put up with you when you’re either infatuated or heartbroken. I’m actually not sure which is worse. That said, you don’t think it’s telling that you, Jim ‘Tomcat’ Kirk, are at the first party we’ve had in months and, rather than dancing, flirting, or fucking, you’re here at the bar pining for that pointy-eared hobgoblin?”
“I am not pining.”
“You are too pining, jackass.”
“And I like his ears.”
“I rest my case.”
Scotty and Uhura walked over to join them at the bar. Scotty clapped Jim on the back. “Welcome back, Captain. The party’s goin’ great.”
Uhura nodded agreement. “I tried to drag Spock here, but no luck.”
Jim floundered for a response.
Uhura rolled her eyes. “As a platonic guest. Don’t have a heart attack.”
“Hey, it’s none of my business.”
“Really? From what I hear, you’ve had far greater luck with him and mistletoe than I ever did."
Jim shot Scotty a betrayed look as Uhura covered a laugh. “Did you guys come here solely to mess with me, or is that just a fun side effect?”
“Actually,” Uhura corrected. “We come bearing tidings of great joy.”
“We?”
“Scotty, Bones, and I."
It was Bones’s turn to receive a glare of betrayal. He simply shrugged. “I promised I’d wait for them.”
“Fine, fine. Okay, guys. Out with it.”
Uhura grinned. “So, when we were sending a status report update to Komack to inform him the mission was delayed because you guys were stranded, we just might have accidentally transmitted it over an open channel…”
“And,” Scotty chimed in. “Some news outlets just might have been given a heads up by a certain bitter yeoman that happened to be listenin’ in…”
Bones continued. “And then Komack was pulled from his Christmas party to deal with the public outcry over the treatment of the flagship that saved Earth. When he contacted the Enterprise to make sure you were back safely, someone just might have suggested that, for the sake of both good publicity and crew morale, we should all be granted shore leave on Rigel II through New Year’s day."
Grinning, Jim clapped Bones on the back. “You’re the best, man.”
“I’m aware, but that wasn’t actually me.” He nodded in the direction of the Vulcan who was now standing awkwardly next to the punch bowl.
Jim tried not to gape. “Spock got everyone a week of shore leave on the planetary equivalent of Las Vegas?”
“Aye, that he did, Sir.”
Jim downed the rest of his drink, gave his friends a parting nod, and rose from his barstool. He crossed the room, nodding pleasantly to the dancing crewmembers he has to push past, before arriving at where Spock was standing with his back against the wall and making careful observation of his surrounds. Jim came to stand next to him and mirrored his position.
“Hey.”
Spock nodded formally but did not turn his head. “Captain.”
“Look, Spock, I’m really sorry about…”
“There is no need for an apology, Captain. It is the best to, as you put it, ‘leave it alone.’"
“Yeah, it probably is,” Jim agreed readily. “But, here’s the thing, I kind of don’t want to.”
Spock somehow managed to stiffen even more. “I take it you will be requesting my official transfer?"
“What? No! Spock, we’re doing the thing your mother was talking about. Letting words fuck things up.”
“I am quite certain my mother spoke no such words.”
Jim groaned in frustration, drawing some curious glances from nearby crew. Clearly more drastic measures were called for.
As casually as he could, he shifted closer to Spock and allowed his knuckles to brush against Spock’s. Spock startled, but did not move away.
He focused hard on sending “Is this okay?” and received the equivalent of a nod in response, though Spock did not turn his head to look at him. Jim felt the link between them open up and he sent the feelings that were too deep for words. He sent sorry, so sorry and he sent waves of friendship and loyalty and he sent peace and acceptance of what they had, coupled with joy at the new potential of what they could be.
And when he felt a shiver of answering joy, he was filled with the sudden urge to grab Spock and kiss him right there, in front of everyone. He shifted his hand and slid two fingers against two of Spock’s, mirroring the gesture he’d seen in Spock’s memory. He felt that electricity spark between them again and couldn’t suppress a grin.
And, though nothing changed on Spock’s face, somehow Jim knew he was smiling.