Summary: "Jim, why is it whenever you plan a vacation, even when it's CHRISTMAS, everything goes wrong?"

Warnings: total crack.

Author's note: I know it's a bit after Christmas, but I thought I'd put it up here anyway for you guys to read. Hope you enjoy it! And a very (belated) Merry Christmas!

oOo

Singing reverberated around the room, drifting over to a dark corner where one solitary, stoic figure hid themselves away, sensitive ears trying to deal with the sudden cacophony of noise. It was hard to believe that such a hardworking crew could turn into such – for lack of a better description – out of control hedonists. The pointy eared figure mentally cringed as his mind backtracked over this thought. Apparently their logical demeanours weren't the only ones getting thrown out the airlock tonight.

He sighed, nursing his eggnog as though it was whisky. Though of course he would never admit to this action...hugging eggnog in such a fashion would be illogical, of course.

"Heeeeeeeey!"

Without warning a drunken slur drawled into his ear and then the voice promptly burped. He wrinkled his nose ever so slightly. "Doctor, I must respectfully request that you avoid over-indulgence of sauerkraut in the future. The resulting odour is most unbecoming."

"N'aaah," McCoy slurred, leaning drunkenly across the bar beside Spock. "I 'ave mints."

"Then perhaps it would be logical to use them." McCoy hiccoughed and Spock frowned. "Doctor-"

"Firs' Officer."

An eyebrow rose. "One would believe that, as the individual 'in charge' of the festivities, you would present a more respectful and dignified image."

"No one's s'posed to be dignified at Christmas," McCoy explained seriously, not noticing that he'd tipped his drink into Spock's lap as he straightened up.

"I see."

McCoy nodded his head for no apparent reason and Spock sighed in a rare expression of mental exhaustion. "Ev'ryone should get the joy of Christmas."

"Doctor, I have never understood the 'joy' in the practice of Christmas. In my opinion-"

"But your mom was human-"

"Indeed she was, Doctor," Spock said dryly. "Nevertheless, she was required to adhere to Vulcan practices while residing on our planet."

McCoy gaped at him for several long moments. "Ya can't be ser'us!"

"I assure you, I rarely endeavour to be anything else."

"HEY JIM!" Spock winced as McCoy suddenly bellowed from his position right next to him. "GETCHYER ASS OVER HERE!"

Kirk extricated himself from a dancing group wearing antlers with an apologetic expression on his face, weaving his way through the crowd to find the two officers alone by the bar.

"Spockie here's never had a good ol' fashioned human Christmas," McCoy announced.

"Nor do I feel the immediate need to experience one..." Spock trailed off as McCoy's statement registered completely in his mind. "Doctor I must request that you cease referring to me as 'Spockie'."

"He's never," McCoy repeated pointedly, "had a proper Christmas, Jim, and I," he thumped his glass onto the counter, cracking it in the process, "think he should."

"Right," Kirk replied, glancing between the two of them. "I think that can be arranged."

"Captain-"

"We insis'," McCoy interrupted, grinning widely. "You need a damn good Christmas, Spock, and we're gonna give it to ya!"

"Looks like Bones has spoken," Kirk said in amusement even as said surgeon seemed to stare at Spock.

"Doctor is there a reason behind your current fascination with my nether regions?"

"You need ta get tha' sorted out," McCoy decided, nodding in the direction of the damp patch on Spock's pants. "Come see me t'morrow in Sick Bay, an' I'll give ya medication." With that, he sauntered back into the crowd, leaving a steadily blushing Spock attempt to explain the situation to a highly amused Captain.

oOo

"I must protest-"

"You ain't protestin' nothin'!" McCoy snapped back, his accent thickening in his anger as he shoved pieces of clothing into a travel bag at random. "You're going to have a good old fashioned human Christmas with us or my name's Rudolph!"

"...I beg your pardon?"

"Never mind," McCoy sighed, to Spock's eternal confusion. He lifted up a blue long sleeved shirt and eyed it with exasperation. "You also need a new wardrobe."

"My current wardrobe is perfectly functional, Doctor. However, I must request that you cease your ministrations – you are wrinkling my clothing."

"I still can't believe," McCoy ranted, ignoring Spock's request completely, "that all you have is uniform – don't they wear clothes on Vulcan?"

Spock started to turn a peculiar green colour. "It would be highly illogical not to."

"Then you should have brought some with you, you insufferable Vulcan!"

"It did not occur to me that clothes other than uniform would be required while serving with Starfleet, Doctor."

"And they say Vulcans are logical."

"We are."

McCoy sighed once more. "Is there anything else you need?"

"I am perfectly capable of retrieving my own possessions."

"Oh really," McCoy drawled sarcastically. "That would be why you're completely packed already and have no need for me whatsoever. I must be packing someone else's bags."

"They are mine."

"What?"

"The bags," Spock repeated patiently, giving McCoy a weird look, "belong to me."

"Sarcasm, Spock. Remind me to explain the concept to you one day – and no, don't tell me you already know what it is – just... get what you need before you give me a headache."

"Very well."

Spock left McCoy's side and the surgeon glanced briefly to the heavens before running his hands through his hair, inadvertently creating a mini-Mohican. If he had ever known that packing with smart-ass Vulcans was so difficult, he would never have done it. But it was only a few hours until they were due at their cabin, and Spock had failed to pack. Apparently because the 'entire endeavour' was 'illogical', and he did not 'believe that the offer was made in sincerity' due to 'the level of your intoxication, Doctor'.

Needless to say, McCoy had not been in the best of moods when they had finally started packing, and his mood was rapidly deteriorating.

His thoughts were interrupted when Spock reappeared at his side holding a strange looking instrument – a cross between a harp and a guitar, from what he could see, and he raised a perplexed but slightly amused eyebrow.

"Music, Spock?"

"Indeed."

There was a brief pause as Spock simply stood there holding the instrument. "Well? What is it?" McCoy finally demanded.

"It is what you would call a Vulcan harp, Doctor, first employed in the year-"

"Never mind," McCoy said loudly. "Forget I asked – I don't want its life story. Is that all you need apart from what I've put in there already?"

"Affirmative."

McCoy rolled his eyes. "Alright," he said, grabbing the instrument and stuffing it into the last available space, to Spock's horror, before lugging the bag out of Spock's quarters and beginning the long journey down the corridors to the transporter room.

"Doctor, perhaps you would allow me to carry the bag. I am, after all, more physically able."

"Are you calling me puny?" McCoy flared.

"Negative. I am merely stating that my Vulcan physique is more suited to heavy lifting."

"So you're calling the human race puny."

"I am doing no such thing," Spock protested, raising an eyebrow.

McCoy snorted. "Sure you're not. But I'm going to carry it, insults or no, because I don't trust you with it. Knowing you, you'd just run back into your quarters and lock yourself in until the end of vacation."

"It would be illogical to attempt to evade you whilst on this craft, Doctor, as your tenacity and audacity would lead to you opening every room you see until you find me, regardless of the inconvenience to others."

"That is definitely one of the perks to having a medical over-ride code," McCoy admitted, grinning impishly as the turbolift juddered to a halt and they spilled out into the corridor. "You'd just better hope that you don't get on the wrong side of me," he warned in mock-ominous tones. "I can be a force you wouldn't want to reckon with."

"I find that believable."

Any retort that McCoy was about to make was cut off by their reaching the transporter room and seeing Kirk inside, looking slightly impatient.

"Spockie here," McCoy drawled, "seemed to think this was all a joke. I had to force him to pack and then lug this damn bag all the way down here-"

"I did offer you aid, Doctor."

"- so that he wouldn't run off and ruin the point of this trip."

"Well, now that you're both here, we should get going," Kirk stated, grinning in amusement as McCoy batted Spock's hands away from the bag. "Unless of course you haven't got your own luggage, Bones?"

McCoy blinked once, twice, opened his mouth and then shut it. "I was so busy worrying about the damn hobgoblin," he snarled, glaring at Spock, "that I forgot my own stuff."

"You'll either have to get it quickly or go without, Bones. We have to be there in ten minutes."

But McCoy was already out the door, a blue streak of swearing uniform, bellowing over his shoulder, "I'm going, damn it, I'm going!"

In the silence that followed, Kirk chuckled. "Typical."