A/N: Here is my Christmas collection: short stories set sometime after season four, ignoring the finale.
Disclaimer: I don't own what you recognize. But I can dream, right?
T'Pol: Mistletoe
Taking into account human sentimentality, the arrangements made for Christmas were logical. Due to escalating conditions with the Romulans, and the omnipresent threat of war, it seemed unwise to have a Christmas partywhich would distract the entire crew. This was simply unacceptable, especially to her bonded husband. So T'Pol had suggested rendezvousing with the Columbia. On Christmas Eve, the Columbia would host a Christmas party for half of each ship's crew. Then on Christmas Day, Enterprise would host a party for the rest of the crews.
She and Trip, along with Dr. Phlox, were the members of Enterprise's senior staff who pulled "Christmas Eve" out of the Santa hat. After several Christmases spent with humans, T'Pol was no longer surprised by Santa hats.
Nor was she surprised by mistletoe. Therefore, she stopped before entering the mess hall. There was no mistletoe over the door, so she entered. Despite the swags of garland that hung from the ceiling, she was able to locate the mistletoe quickly.
"So, where is it?" asked Trip, who found her aversion to mistletoe – or rather, what it signified – somewhat entertaining. He knew that she meant every word of their marriage vows, both human and Vulcan. She was discomforted by public kissing, however.
"In each of the four corners," she replied. "Is this a usual place for mistletoe?"
"Well, there aren't any specific rules about where mistletoe goes, but stickin' it in the corner isn't my favorite place."
She raised an eyebrow slightly and allowed him to lead her to the drinks. In carefully labeled pitchers were holiday drinks: eggnog and mulled cider, both available in alcoholic and non-alcoholic varieties. Trip, aware of her preferences, poured her a cup of non-alcoholic cider. He then proceeded to pour himself alcoholic eggnog.
"Please remember that it is most unpleasant for me when you are inebriated." It strained her mental control nearly to the breaking point when he had overindulged at Lieutenant Reed's 'bachelor party.'
He set down the pitcher and picked up the non-alcoholic eggnog. "One cup of half 'n' half, then I'll switch to plain, okay?"
She nodded. It was an agreeable compromise. Taking a sip of her cider, she surveyed the room. Columbia's mess hall was draped in many meters of garland, and she wondered how they managed to justify having such an amount. Christmas decorations on Enterprise were largely makeshift.
Soft instrumental music was playing, and although she did not recognize the music, it was presumably Christmas-oriented. T'Pol wondered if many of Columbia's crewmembers opted not to attend either Christmas celebration. Only two people from Enterprise had chosen to forego the celebration. Even crewmembers with no strong attachment to religion were enthusiastic about Christmas.
Over the table containing various snack foods hung a wreath. It appeared to be fashioned out of scraps from the quartermaster's stock, and the blue of Starfleet uniforms dominated the color scheme.
Trip selected a cookie in the shape of a snowman. T'Pol had never seen a snowman, and in truth it was not high on the list of things she would like to see in her life. Nonetheless, Trip was excited by the detail of the decoration, so she looked at the cookie in an attempt to appreciate it.
"Even the coal eyes are realistic!" he exclaimed.
"I am surprised that this many cookies are available, considering the detail put into the individual decoration," she said after a moment.
"Of course, you don't even want a sugar cookie."
"Not especially."
"You can't just eat the veggie platter at a Christmas party!"
Although only Trip would know, she found his indignation amusing. "I believe," she said after a moment, "I will try a small gingerbread man." Other than the occasional thin slice of pecan pie, she did not embrace sugary foods as Trip did, but she had never eaten a gingerbread man, and Ensign Sato insisted that they were 'scrumptious beyond belief.'
She selected a cookie. It had raisin eyes, a thin frosting mouth, and a substance she did not recognize arranged as boots. "Trip?"
"Hmm?" he replied through a mouthful of sugar cookie.
"What is this?" she pointed to the unknown substance.
He swallowed and bent over for a closer look. "Chopped up dates. You might like 'em. They're sorta like raisins, only, well, not."
"That is not a very helpful description, but I will try it." Carefully, so as not to touch other cookies, she picked up her selection.
Trip watched while she bit off a foot and tasted the dates. "Whatcha think?"
"It is," she said after swallowing, "an agreeable cookie."
"Commanders!" Dr. Phlox called out. "Happy Christmas!"
"Have you been talkin' with Malcolm again?" inquired Trip in his mock serious voice. "'Cause the rest of the world says 'Merry Christmas.'"
"That is yet another subject on which they cannot agree," added T'Pol.
"Ah, yes. Well, are you enjoying yourselves?"
"Yep. We sure are," replied Trip. A new song began to play, and he smiled. "'Hark the Herald Angels Sing.' We sang this a lot when I was a kid. Never could hit the high notes after I was thirteen, though."
"This is a pleasant party. I recommend the mulled cider," suggested T'Pol.
Phlox took a cup and poured some non-alcoholic cider for himself. Seeing this, Trip feigned horror. "You're missin' the good stuff!"
"I assure you, Commander, that this is perfectly 'good stuff.'" With that, Phlox was off to greet new arrivals.
"Let's get this party started!" announced a lieutenant from Columbia whom T'Pol did not recognize. "Alright folks, we've got our first victims!"
Suddenly T'Pol found that all eyes were on her and Trip. "Are we under mistletoe?" she asked him, allowing him to sense her trepidation.
He looked up. "Clever. It can roll on the garland."
"That may be clever, but it is also nefarious."
He chuckled. "Well, that may be takin' it a bit too far."
"Alright, you two," called out a voice from the crowd.
T'Pol began to utter her refusal, but Trip spoke instead. "We're gonna kiss, alright," he said. His mental assurance calmed her somewhat, but she was still concerned. "But," he continued, "we're gonna do it Vulcan style."
While she had never before appreciated the expression 'Vulcan kiss,' T'Pol was glad that Trip had coined the term. Lifting her hand, she extended two fingers to meet Trip's. Onlookers were disappointed, but the crewmembers from Enterprise were hardly surprised. Brushing their fingers, she sensed his amusement and consideration for her concerns more strongly. Contact strengthened their bond, and when they broke their fingers apart, she found that she had not minded their turn under the mistletoe very much after all.
