Title: Never Alone
Characters: Kirk, Spock, McCoy, Uhura, Sulu, Chekov
Rating: K
Word Count: 2846
Spoilers/Warnings: No spoilers. Warnings for nonsense and cracky fluff, and a mistletoe kiss.
Summary: At Jim's request, Spock attempts to assimilate Terran holiday traditions with disastrous results.
Author's Note: A Christmas fic written for Michael and Daniel *hugs* with a self-imposed challenge to write non-slashy mistletoe for our favorite Vulcan. Gen-fic, honestly not intended as slash, but the subject just lends itself…..
Disclaimer: I don't own anything Star Trek-related, but Spock would so be on my Christmas wish-list if I did.
"Captain." The First Officer frowned, and Kirk resisted the urge to giggle at the adorableness that was petulant Vulcan. He wiped the grin from his face after a brief struggle, and straightened. The conversation was NOT going well.
"Mr. Spock," Jim tried again, in what he hoped was his best captain-voice. "The Enterprise is largely staffed by a Terran crew. The holidays mean a great deal to most of them. They're far away from home and need something familiar to help offset the homesickness that's so common around this time of year." Kirk leaned back, his hip resting against the edge of the desk. "They need to know that their fellow crewmembers are their family," he shrugged, "temporarily, at least."
"Sir,-" Behind the flat mask, a look of distaste – panic? – lingered, but the captain chose to ignore it.
"And," Kirk emphasized, "that particularly includes the Command team. Mom and Dad can't be missing from the Christmas festivities, now can they?"
An eyebrow inched up severely. "Captain, that analogy is illogical, and highly inappropriate-"
Kirk burst out laughing, and briefly laid a hand on the blue-clad shoulder, knowing that the touch was, if not welcomed, at least tolerated from him. "It'll be good for your command image, Spock," he added convincingly. "Half of the junior officers still cry when they're assigned to your pet projects." He could not hold back the grin this time. "It'll help if they see you letting your hair down."
"My…. hair…." the Vulcan answered bleakly, staring at the human he'd sworn to follow unquestioningly, and wondering yet again why said energetic human's ideas for fun always seemed to include him.
"Just – give it your best shot, huh?" Kirk answered, hazel eyes twinkling up into the Vulcan's drawn face. He turned and disappeared from the cabin, conscious that a pair of dark eyes were following his exit mournfully.
The officer's mess had lost its comforting, familiar look, each day becoming more devoured by the green and red monstrosities supplied by Uhura and her morale committee. Spock set his tray of vegetables down on the table near the captain, glancing around at the once simplistic room. Frankly, he thought in private, the changes were hideous. He watched as Lt. Uhura left off her place near the partially adorned evergreen facsimile.
"Well, captain," the Communications Officer paused at their table, resting an arm against the back of Kirk's chair, "what do you think of our Christmas tree?"
Kirk glanced back over his shoulder, scrutinizing the cheery decorations as Yeoman Ross clumsily attempted to string glowing holographic candles around the synthetic branches. "Very nice, lieutenant." He offered an infectious grin, clearly reveling in the holiday festivities. "How are the officers' party plans going?"
The black eyes sparkled. "Progressing, sir. I'll have a list of final preparations for you tomorrow."
"Good," Kirk nodded. "I'll review it after Alpha shift….Just make sure there's plenty of fruitcake," he added as an afterthought, thankful for the brief reprieve the CMO would give him from his strict diet.
"And eggnog!" McCoy piped up from across the table, settling into a seat.
Bones would think of that. Kirk rolled his eyes. "Umm, and fudge, lieutenant; we can't forget how much our favorite Vulcan enjoyed his sweets last year."
Spock flushed a dark sage, and forbore the urge to squirm at the unpleasant memory. Eggnog, Christmas carols, puddings made from Ficus shrubs….. it was as if they were all speaking an unknown language. He had somehow managed to survive through Starfleet Academy and eleven years serving under Chris Pike's command, without familiarizing himself with the overly emotional celebrations of his fellow 'Fleet colleagues. But now, he was fully regretting the massive lack of knowledge on the subject at hand.
"Whatsa matter, Spock," the CMO was watching his face from across the table, and the doctor grinned evilly. "Didn't your momma ever hang up your stocking for ya?"
Spock turned his head slightly, so that only Jim could see the bewilderment behind the coffee-colored eyes. Refusing to acknowledge the silent plea, Kirk blinked innocently. "Yeah, can't you see a toddler Spock, scrambling in pajama-clad feet to watch the Vulcan sky for flying reindeer?" The thought of Baby Spock turned the captain's eyes a golden amber, and the obvious affection shining from them warmed the Vulcan's heart not a little, but even that could not erase the discomfiture Spock felt at being the object of this irrational discussion.
"Captain, doctor, if you will excuse me," Spock rose to leave, maintaining a Vulcan front of sheer, cool impassivity, until the two fellow officers suddenly burst into roars of laughter.
"Um, Spock, here," Kirk was choking on something in his throat, and he reached over to pick several strands of silvery tinsel from the Vulcan's blue-covered back. Gazing down in disgust at the flashing filaments in Kirk's palm, the Science Officer turned without a word and stalked gloomily from the room, his Vulcan ears picking up the clamor of laughter from behind the closed mess doors. The tips of his ears tinted emerald at the sound. He was quite ready for a return to normalcy on the ship – and it could not come too soon.
Spock settled comfortably before the soft, red glow from the meditation fire. Dark lashes slid down to unusually flushed cheeks as he attempted to sort through the maelstrom of data that had been hurled at him throughout the past few days. Christmas, Chanukkah, Kwanzaa…. It made his Vulcan head ache. There were so many holidays which the crew were currently celebrating, each with its own set of customs and traditions, and Spock knew the information he had been assimilating would have to be sorted and stored before anything close to a state of tvi-sochya could be achieved.
But even the most brilliant of minds from the most brilliant of species could quickly become bewildered from the vast amount of sugary striped canes, portly bewhiskered benefactors, and miniature, pointy-eared elves (he had been slightly offended by that particular fable) that he had been subjected to. Spock permitted a small sigh to escape. He was certain that at some point in distant Terran history, these customs had held some historical or cultural significance, but by now, they were little more than illogical, meaningless nonsense. Though an unfair comparison, the Vulcan momentarily contrasted the chaos aboard ship with the peaceful, calming holiday of Kal-Rekk. Brushing the thought away, his thin lips pressed together in a determined line. Jim wanted him to engage in the ship's activities, and to whatever extent he was able, he would do so.
Still, the Vulcan had to resist the urge to hide in one of his Science Department's labs until the celebrations were over. He had faced angry Klingons and god-like alien progeny – he could certainly handle this for a few days more.
The officer's party was in full swing, the upper and lower ranks mingling in the glow of holiday cheer. Spock sat stiffly at one of the rec room tables, watching the captain dance abandonly with various female crewmembers, while keeping one eye on the good ship's doctor, who was wantonly imbibing at the buffet table.
Sulu slid into a chair beside him. "Enjoying the party, Mr. Spock?" he asked affably, looking up as Chekov joined them.
"Da, there are many good wegetarian dishes Uhura selected for you," the ensign added, nodding his head towards the table laden with food.
Spock's dark eyes glanced swiftly at his two companions, then abruptly turned back to the captain, watching desperately for a look or sign that would give him a reprieve from the evening's entertainment. But no permission was forthcoming, and he settled back into his chair, brow furrowed slightly.
Sulu looked at the discontented expression on the Science Officer's face, then glanced mischievously at his friend. "Look, Pavel, the captain's almost maneuvered Lt. Anderson under the mistletoe."
Chekov snorted, but before he could reply, Spock turned bored eyes to the helmsman. "The what, lieutenant?" he asked absently, his mind already working on the solution to a chemical experiment he had begun the day before.
The Vulcan missed the brief widening of Sulu's eyes as the lieutenant turned his head slowly back to the navigator. "You've never heard of mistletoe, Mr. Spock?" Sulu leaned forward on folded arms in a relaxed position. "It's an Old Earth custom, from Europe, I think. It's…. well, it's an expression of holiday goodwill and friendship." Sulu took a drink from the eggnog in his hand, avoiding Chekov's eyes studiously. "When someone is standing underneath the mistletoe, it is customary for that person's friends to acknowledge them with a kiss."
"Da," Chekov nodded, "it vas started long time ago, in Russia-"
Sulu cut him off with an eye-roll. "The captain's standing under it right now, Mr. Spock. You really should extend the greeting to him, since you're his First Officer – he'd appreciate the gesture." The helmsman kicked the Russian under the table as a giggle almost escaped the younger man's lips.
Indeed. Spock eyed the green leaves and pale berries warily and sighed. He knew from his time spent in Starfleet that many Terran cultures considered a kiss to be an acceptable and expected greeting between acquaintances. And while the physical contact would be uncomfortable, he had learned long ago that any discomfort was well worth the security and stability which that same touch provided to the captain. His eyes flicked back to the mistletoe. It seemed an absurd custom, but then, so did most of the traditions he had been observing on the ship. But if it would make his Jim happy – the captain had said he wanted him to participate…
Perhaps if the Vulcan had not indulged in one (or four) of the brightly wrapped chocolate truffles Uhura had secured at their last supply checkpoint, he would have more readily noticed the manic, evil gleam in Sulu's dark eyes. But Spock ignored the extreme feeling of discomfort (feelings were illogical, and therefore non-existent) as he stood and leaped headfirst into the sea of human irrationality. Even so, he was not prepared for the yelp of surprise when his lips brushed the captain's boyish cheek under the greenery hanging from the ship's overhead.
The captain's slightly horrified look, face flushing a dull red, was quickly replaced with an expression of dismay, and Spock straightened, realizing that perhaps, he had not quite gotten the custom right. The room suddenly quieted, as the captain's eyes softened, a smile rapidly spreading across Kirk's face. Spock looked around him, conscious that he had again made a misstep in his experimentations with humanity, but the Vulcan was uncertain why the still flushed and grinning captain looked as if he were about to asphyxiate, why Sulu had run quickly from the room, his face working horribly, or why Chekov sat limply at the corner table, head down and squealing in a panicked voice about a nosebleed. And McCoy – the surgeon's face was currently frozen in apparent shock, and Spock banished the thought of future taunting that would be sure to follow.
The Science Officer repressed a sigh, unable to decipher these illogical humans and their puzzling reactions. Swiftly gathering the shredded remains of his aloof dignity, the tall Vulcan left the Rec Room while he still could safely escape, knowing that Kirk would stop by his quarters later to explain where he had gone wrong. But it did not matter, the Vulcan thought grimly, he was through with the experiment for good.
As the actual holiday approached, the Enterprise unexpectedly received orders from Starfleet to stop over at Starbase Nine for much needed repairs. Kirk took the news cheerfully, pleased for once to be pulled out of an active mission in order to provide the crew with a well-timed break from their duties. The ship docked at the space station two days before Christmas, and Kirk ordered leave for all but a skeletal crew; the majority of the ship being overseen by the Starbase repair crew.
Christmas Eve morning, Kirk and McCoy joined the last of the crew to beam down, the captain anxious to complete the final holiday preparations for the next day.
"Are you sure you don't want to join us, Mr. Spock?" the captain asked hopefully, looking across the transporter console at his XO. "You wouldn't want to miss out on the Christmas tree, and the holiday dinner we have planned, would you?"
Spock's mind flickered back to the past few weeks, culminating in the somewhat disastrous officers' party. "No, sir," he declined firmly, his lips set in a decided line. "Vulcan rest requires actual rest, captain; I have been on shore leave with you before."
Kirk looked at the twinkle in the expressive (how could anyone not see that?) eyes and the ghost of a smile on Spock's face, and grinned. But if the Vulcan did not notice, McCoy at least was able to detect the disappointed look behind Jim's now green-tinted eyes.
"Oh, well, okay then," Kirk shrugged. "Mr. Spock, you have the conn – but let me know if you change your mind," he added wistfully.
Kirk and McCoy turned to step onto the transporter platform. "Come on, Bones, let's get this party started. You won't believe what I got you for Christmas!"
"Aww, Jim-boy, I told you not to…" the voices faded as the two bickering friends de-materialized. Spock waited for confirmation that Kirk had transported safely, then left the transporter room to return to the now-empty bridge.
The next morning, Spock awoke and opened one eye, instantly sensing that something was wrong. Both dark eyes flew open in alarm, until he rapidly deduced the change on the ship. It was too quiet. The First Officer remained immobile, listening. It was not just the absence of crewmen scurrying past his door in the corridor beyond, nor was it the lack of swearing coming from the adjoining bathroom as the captain shaved. After a moment of careful consideration, the Vulcan realized that the ship's repair crew were too few, and too spread out to cause the normal psionic battering he was accustomed to. Spock lay still for 11.4 seconds, indulging briefly in the contented calm to his often harried mental shields, then swung out of his bunk to begin the day overseeing repairs.
Exchanging his sleepwear for Starfleet Blue, Spock programmed the replicator in his room to dispense a cup of Vulcan herbal tea. As he waited for the drink to appear, he noticed a curious sense of unrest settling in his stomach, an unrest that was most certainly NOT an indicator that he missed the loud, emotional, often foolish crew. Spock shrugged off the impression; a day or two away from his human colleagues would undoubtedly be beneficial in restoring a Vulcan sense of balance to his recently disrupted life. Sipping the dark brew, he left his quarters for a quiet breakfast in the Mess before heading down to Engineering.
An hour later, Spock was still in Engineering, engrossed in repair updates and assisting the Starbase crew. The Vulcan glanced around at the disarray of tools and equipment scattered throughout the Main Engineering room, and thanked nameless deities that Kirk had ordered Scotty off the ship for a brief shore leave.
"Hey, Spock!" Dark brown eyes raised from the datapadd in hand to stare blankly at the opposite wall. He knew that voice. Turning, he looked across the room to see the captain approaching.
The Vulcan frowned, puzzled. "Captain," he hesitated, trying to understand, as his C.O. neared, "is something wrong?" He scanned the captain's face for any sign of trouble, but Kirk looked exuberant.
"Not a bit, Spock," Jim answered cheerily. "Merry Christmas!"
The frown deepened, the Vulcan at a loss to comprehend his friend's presence on the ship. "But, captain," he began again, "What about your Christmas tree, the gifts, the dinner you had planned for the crew?" He inclined his head slightly. "Is it not illogical to plan and prepare for so long, and then not to participate?" His eyes met the captain's patiently, waiting for another lengthy explanation of yet another tradition he had overlooked.
"Well, yes," Kirk admitted, "but Christmas is more than turkey dinners and holiday parties." Jim waited for the Vulcan's wandering attention to turn back from observing the working crew. "You've missed the most important tradition of all," Kirk added softly, watching his Science Officer's face. "We also spend the day with the ones we love most."
Assimilating… processing… The Vulcan froze. Wait…. Oh. This last was murmured aloud with eloquent simplicity. Brown eyes pulled from their gaze at the floor to look into twinkling hazel eyes, a shy grin tugging at Kirk's mouth. Spock returned the stare silently, but Jim didn't need to hear what the dark eyes were already saying all too clearly.
Raising a hand to the XO's shoulder, Kirk nodded to the door. "Come along, my friend. Let's go mind the store."
"And that, of course, is the message of Christmas. We are never alone." – Taylor Caldwell