AN: The fabulous TheSouthernScribe invited me to join herself, Hairsprayfashionista, ImAmandJulius, ejectingthecore, Aphrodite420, TalesFromTheSpockSide, Vulcan Hybrid, Lyricoloratura and NerdieLady in a seasonal challenge. This is my contribution.

Mistle-what-now?

Spock was a Starfleet science officer.

Being a Starfleet Science officer meant that he was an elite deducer of scientific, hard core, logically based, no-room-for-shenanigans facts.

Spock liked facts.

Spock didn't like shenanigans.

Which meant that he was at a complete and utter loss as to what to do with the shenanigan-flavoured situation he currently found himself in.

He found himself leaning very slowly away from the female ensign who was standing in front of him, her entire weight hoisted up high onto her tip-toes as she waved a small plant over her head. Her proximity to him was not the problem, nor was her unorthodox stance. The problem was the highly-glossed pucker sitting smack dab in the middle of her face; the problem was that said pucker was coming straight for him.

With the sort of agility usually reserved for Suus Mahna, he dodged the lips as they passed through the space where his head had just been.

"Ensign, what are you doing?"

The pucker became a pout that Spock was used to seeing on Nyota's face when he refused to take her 'dancing'. He shuddered inwardly, her idea of dancing was certainly not in line with his.

"It's Christmas, Sir."

Spock raised an eyebrow and fought the urge to roll his eyes as she stated the glaringly obvious.

"Yes, Ensign, I am aware of that fact."

The pout morphed into a sly smile and she waved the plant still clasped in her hand.

"Do you not know what this is, Sir?"

He tilted his head and eyed it briefly.

"It appears to be a sample of terran Santalaceae, a hemi-parasitic plant native to the European continent."

The sly smile widened.

"That's correct, Sir, do you know what this plant means?"

Innocently sensing an opportunity to flex his encyclopedic muscle, he drew himself up and launched into the many and varied used and references to the santalaceae plant. While he was absorbed in his task, he failed to notice the ensign slowly moving closer to him again. She cut him off just as he was getting into the use of the plant in earth paganism and druidism.

"Yes, yes, but do you know what it is?"

Spock blinked, returning his figurative ecyclopedia to its shelf and looked down at her, noting how close she had become.

"I'm afraid I do not follow, Ensign."

"It's mistletoe."

Spock frowned, the alien, untranslatable word getting stuck in his mouth.

"Mistle... mistletosis?"

He started mouthing the word, trying to get it to sit right on his tongue, so preoccupied with getting it right that he did not notice her sag with disappointment. This was not the reaction she had been hoping for. How could he not know what mistletoe was? He was half human wasn't he? His mother was from Earth, surely she'd told him about it?

Watching him wrap his lips around the new words rather than wrapping them around hers, she suddenly became impatient and grabbed his shoulders to stop him. He immediately stopped miming and looked at her in surprise at her manhandling.

"This is what mistletoe is used for."

She pulled on his shoulders and planted her lips on his.

Then fell unconscious to the deck plating.

Spock removed his fingers from the junior officer's neck and blinked rapidly. That had been a must unorthodox way of making a point known.

Stepping over the prone body, Spock continued on his original path down the corridor towards Nyota's quarters, his pace quickening as he suddenly remembered that she had attached some of the same plant to the ceiling of her rooms.

This morning he had not known what it meant, now he fully intended to exploit it every chance he got.

It was a small mercy for tolerating this most irritating of terran holidays.