"One to beam up!" Jim Kirk smiled as he hopped onto the base transporter stage. Any chance to board the Enterprise was cause for excitement, but this was something more. It had all happened so quickly, he almost expected to find himself dozing at his musty desk back at Starfleet Operations. The last minute business calling him here to Starbase Twelve had coincided perfectly with his favorite starship's layover. He could not resist hiding behind his mission's veil of secrecy just long enough to drop in, unannounced. Shake up Spock a little and put a chink in that steely Vulcan armor. Maybe it was Christmas in the air. He felt like a mischievous little kid.

Kirk's grin materialized intact aboard the Enterprise and widened considerably at the transporter chief's astonished gasp and the awed look on her trainee's face. Sheer reflex guided Rand's finger toward the intercom button as she prepared to announce, "Admiral on board."

"Belay that!" he cried, hopping down. "This visit is strictly private and I want to keep it that way."

Janice Rand hesitated, obviously torn between obeying an admiral and her more immediate loyalty to Spock. "Sir, the captain will be—"

"Pleasantly surprised. C'mon Rand, don't spoil my fun. I won't let him singe your tail feathers."

She shook her head, doubtful, but not touching the button. "I'll probably regret this."

"Oh no you won't," he promised, eyes roaming to the odd bits of greenery attached here and there to the transporter console. "What is that—holly?" He squinted at a wilted sprig of gray foliage above the doorway. "Mistletoe?"

"Uh…yes, I believe so, sir. You'll find the captain on the bridge. Cadet orbital training."

Kirk knew when the subject was being changed, even if he didn't exactly understand why. "Don't tell him!" he warned, wagging a finger.

It took only a moment to reconnoiter at the door, to take advantage of a break in foot traffic and dash cross-corridor for the turbolift. He entered it unseen and laughed softly to himself as the doors whooshed securely shut. So far so good. He used manual control on the chance that the computer would automatically voice print him and alert the captain. Who could tell what Spock had programmed into the system, given more than a year carte blanche? He rode out the final seconds with fingers crossed.

The turbolift doors whispered open…and it was perfect.

Directly ahead sat the unsuspecting target, Vulcan head and shoulders rising above the command chair. Spock seemed to be jotting some sort of notes while the youthful trainees worked through an orbital drill.

Kirk bit his lip. Catlike, he tiptoed down the steps, then forward into the command pit—one, two, three careful paces. Had Spock gone deaf? Standing just behind him, Kirk held his breath, studying the neat whorl of hair at Spock's crown, watching the lean Vulcan fingers wield the stylus. His insides began to jump with pent laughter. Another instant and he would give himself away.

Oh-so-gently he placed a hand on Spock's right shoulder.

The stylus went still. The dark head lifted, then turned.

It can only be said that Spock exploded from the chair. By some impossible maneuver he was suddenly upright, facing Kirk, while his stylus and Padd hit the floor.

"Jim!" he choked, then immediately attempted to compose himself. "Admiral."

Chairs swiveled all across the bridge and there was a mad scuffle to attention. Beautiful.

"As you were," Kirk said benevolently. As the youngsters settled back to their stations, he looked at Spock, who seemed to be having some difficulty breathing. "Well, Captain?"

At last Spock remembered his manners. "Admiral Kirk, welcome aboard."

Kirk's eyes were drawn to the shoulder of Spock's uniform jacket—its top buckle undone and corner flap drooping. That alone was remarkable, but it was the nosegay of holly tucked into the buckle hole that really captured his interest. "Charming," he said, all but strangling on the word, "but Spock…really…is that regulation?"

He should have known the Vulcan would take him seriously. Spock immediately stripped away the decoration and rearranged his uniform in silence.

"I was kidding," Kirk whispered.

But apparently Spock did not appreciate the admiral's concept of humor. Very coolly and quietly he said, "I was not informed of your arrival. I apologize for the negligence of my crew and…any other irregularities that you may observe." Hardly missing a beat, he added, "May I inquire as to the nature and length of your visit?"

Kirk had the uncomfortable feeling that it could not be too brief a stay for Captain Spock. Eyeing the trainees, he said, "Can you leave them on their own for a bit?"

"Safety locks are in place," Spock replied.

"Ah, training wheels." Kirk gave a taut smile. "Let's walk, shall we?"

As they strolled the corridors, Kirk said, "For starters, don't blame Rand. I bullied her into silence. My slipping aboard was meant as a nice surprise, a chance to see my friends again. This is no inspection tour—so just relax, will you? I'll pretend not to notice whatever's going on."

Doubtless he had beamed into the middle of something. Spock did not deny it, which for a Vulcan was very significant. "You've asked me how long I'm going to stay. Well, I have some time coming back at Headquarters. I'd like to deadhead awhile here on the Enterprise. At least spend Christmas."

Spock visibly paled, but kept moving. "Of course you are welcome, Jim."

Kirk could almost hear the Vulcan teeth grinding. He did not feel at all welcome. In fact, each time Spock mouthed the word, he felt a little less welcome and a little more like grabbing hold of him and demanding a straight answer. Yet he walked on, pretending. They were moving through deck three when the intercom began to pipe soft strains of music through the corridors. Amazed, Kirk stopped, listened, and promptly forgot his promise to ignore anything unusual.

"Spock. What's that?"

The captain clasped his hands behind his back and stolidly gazed at the deck. "I believe it is entitled 'Adeste Fideles'."

"I know what it is! I meant—" A slap caught Kirk squarely between his shoulder blades, knocking the wind clear out of him. He whirled, preparing to skewer the undisciplined lout, and burst into laughter instead. "Bones, you slime devil!"

Here at last was normalcy: good old Leonard McCoy, as bitingly blunt as Spock was inscrutable. But McCoy's grin seemed strangely frozen as he bounced on his toes.

"Jim," he drawled, all Georgian hospitality and bull pucky. "Jim—why, isn't this just a wonderful su-prise!"

Kirk did not remember the doctor ever looking quite so jolly…or insincere. As his own smile waned, the captain and chief surgeon exchanged a pithy glance.

Spock suddenly excused himself. "Admiral, I really must return to the bridge."

"Of course, Captain."

The Vulcan had hardly passed from sight when the muted Christmas carols came to an abrupt end.

"Hey, I liked that," Kirk protested. His eyes lit on the holly and berry boutonniere adorning McCoy's jacket. "And those. But Bones, be honest now," he finished in a secretive whisper, "is Spock completely out of his Vulcan mind?"

McCoy snorted like his old irascible self. "The Vulcan is certifiably sane, Jim. If he's lost any portion of his anatomy, it's a ways farther south."

"South…?" Kirk said, mystified.

But before McCoy could answer, Kirk pulled up short and signaled for quiet. "Wait. Listen!" McCoy looked as if he would rather not, as if he, too, were considering some matter that demanded his immediate atttention. "Hear that, Bones?"

Jingle-swish-jangle-swish it sounded, closer, louder. Jingle-jangle-swish turning the corner, and here came Commander Uhura, her shiny Starfleet boots festooned with golden bells, her eyes large as saucers as she jangled to a panicked halt. "Admiral Kirk! Oh, sir! What a marvelous surprise, "she crooned, looking both stricken and ecstatic. Her smile seemed curiously lopsided.

Kirk was in the process of clearing his throat when she pulled a quick reverse and jingled out of sight. Now he was getting annoyed. "Alright Bones, what's going on around here? And explain that crack about Spock's anatomy. Is something wrong with him?"

McCoy looked down at his sleeve and casually plucked a speck of lint. "Why, Jim…there's not a thing wrong with Spock. No, siree."

"Neither north nor south?"

McCoy nodded hard. "Yup."

So whatever was going on, they were all in on it, clear up to their brass. Kirk had half a mind to just forget the whole thing, leave them to their private intrigues and beam back down to the starbase. But the stubborn half of his mind was not inclined to give up so easily. If an admiral's rank was driving a wedge between him and his old friends, they really needed this time together.

But just now, togetherness seemed a rather dim hope. Spock had not returned, and McCoy shortly found his own excuse to bolt, leaving Kirk stranded in the corridor. Feeling downright forsaken, Kirk descended alone into Engineering, where he finally collected a genuinely warm greeting.

"Aye sir, tis good to see ye," grinned Montgomery Scott, fondly looking him up and down.

"You too, Scotty." Kirk had never meant anything more truly in his whole life. "I was beginning to think this entire ship had gone nuts. Scotty—" he almost hesitated to ask, "what's the matter with everyone?"

The chief engineer shook his head ruefully. "I canna rightly tell ye. It's Captain Spock's business, not mine. But believe me, tis nothing sinister. Lord, no."

Kirk knew better than to press Scott any further, and though he had little to go on, he left feeling somewhat reassured. As a matter of strategy he made for the recreation deck. Wherever crews gathered, there was talk. While captain, he had often mingled with his personnel, keeping his eyes and ears open to their moods. But this time proved different. It was no longer his crew, his Enterprise. He stepped from the turbolift into a furtive atmosphere of muffled voices and stealthy movements. Faces peeked out from doorways, spotted him, and instantly disappeared. Damned sentries, Kirk fumed. They were sounding the alert. But why? He stalked into the main lounge and came to an astonished halt, momentarily forgetting all his aggravation.

What he saw left no room for anything but wonder. His eyes strained to gather in all the beauty at once, scarcely blinking as they darted from sun-dappled snowdrift to frozen pond to leaf-stripped birch. Common sense told him this was mainly an illusion, but an artful illusion that stretched impossible distances to mountains full of frosted timber. He held his breath as a herd of mule deer filed out of the trees to forage in a snowy meadow. He breathed again, remembering they could not possibly see him—they were only holographic projections of some sort. Finally his eyes settled on the magnificent reality that rose center stage, almost touching the blue sky-ceiling. It was better than Rockefeller Center, every branch of the conifer laden with shiny balls and birds and fruits and little Christmas figurines, all liberally interspersed with twinkling multicolor lights. There was just too much to see all at once.

"Well sir, what do you think?"

Kirk inhaled a realistic pine scent as he turned to Commander Sulu. "Delightful. Utterly amazing." How in the world had Spock managed this? And why? His attention shifted to the mounds of beribboned presents surrounding the tree, to a table of decorated cookies and gingerbread houses dripping candy icicles. Helping himself to a star-shaped confection, he leaned nearer the gifts.

"Admiral." Sulu's voice held an edge of panic. "Perhaps you'd like to come this way and—"

"Wait a minute." Kirk began reading nametags—some familiar, many not—but one appearing twice as often as any other. The name sounded Vulcan. "T'Beth," he pronounced. "Who's…T'Beth?" There was no answer, so he glanced up at the ship's first officer. Sulu looked downright pallid. "Maybe I didn't say it right, Mister Sulu. Who is T-apostrophe-B-e-t-h?"

"I am." The bold, girlish voice seemed to come from the tree itself. Then a branch swayed aside, creating an opening in the decorated foliage. A young girl emerged, wearing an old-issue perscan device at waist level. Her dark hair was cut short, almost pixyish. A child aboard ship? "You must be Admiral James Tiberius Kirk," she primly declared. "Pleased to meet you, sir."

Kirk stared hard at the strange yet oddly familiar little face, curiosity slowly giving way to disbelief. Could it be…? Was this the reason for all the bizarre secrecy and irregularities aboard a Vulcan's ship? He gave a short, less than humorous laugh and said, "Well, hello…"

ooooo

All day Kirk held onto his patience. After all, there was no particular hurry. Checking the captain's schedule, he knew when Spock would most likely be in his quarters. As a perk of rank, Kirk used his security clearance to access the captain's own shipboard monitoring system and confirm the Vulcan's presence, and the fact that he was alone.

Kirk took great satisfaction in slapping the doorchime, and he was not surprised when the door slid right open. Spock never had been one to "dally". How fitting that such a word should pop into his mind just now. Inside, Spock stood solemnly awaiting to collect bloody hell. Oh yes, his second-in-command had duly warned him.

The door snapped shut, locking them into their first private moment in months, and it should not have been like this, not between old friends.

"Admiral," Spock said stiffly, his angular features as impervious as stone.

But Kirk was not fooled by appearances. Now, more than ever, he knew the frailty of that Vulcan mask. "The girl—she's yours, isn't she?" Spock's dark eyes refocused on empty space, shutting out Kirk completely. Jim's temper flared. "A full-blown conspiracy! Bones, Scotty, Uhura, Sulu—all that shushing and scurrying and creeping around!"

Silence descended, and Spock seemed to struggle with himself. At last he said, "I call the child T'Beth. But you would more likely recognize her legal surname—Lemoine. Cristabeth Janis Lemoine…of Ildarani."

"Lemoine…Lemoine." And there it was, though the incident had happened some years ago, under Kirk's command. He recalled bringing aboard two Ildaran colonists, one a lovely halfling who was desperately ill. Most memorable of all, he had brought them aboard at Spock's request. "I can think of two Lemoines from Ildarani. Justrelle—the bad-tempered one with a French accent—and the daughter with some kind of rare disease. Audrey? Andrea?"

"Adrianna."

Spock's gaze shifted, and Kirk tracked it to the hologram of a golden-haired lady, incredibly beautiful and jarringly out-of-place on a Vulcan's Spartan desktop. Walking over, he picked up the crystal image for closer inspection. It was her, alright. The name may have eluded him, but he would not likely forget a face like that.

"The child, Spock. This…is her mother?"

Spock gave him a cold look. "I do not care to discuss it."

Kirk could not contain the rush of irritation. His fingers clutched the holo—this hunk of crystal that seemed to embody all the tension between them—and commenced to slam it down. Spock moved fast. Kirk's arm was in mid-swing when the Vulcan seized his wrist. This caused the holo to catapult from his grip, but suddenly Spock's other hand appeared at desk level, making a perfect catch. All this maneuvering left them in an awkward tangle. Kirk was still trying to sort out the action when Spock unhanded him, and with a dark look, placed the hologram out of his superior's reach.

"Admiral," he said in a dangerous tone, "I must respectfully ask that you leave my quarters."

Kirk could scarcely believe his ears. Stretching to his full, somewhat lesser height, he said, "Captain. Are you dismissing me?"

Just as dangerously, Spock replied, "Leave, Jim."

"So now it's 'Jim'. You play the friendship card when it's convenient, don't you? Spock, do you even know what a friend is?"

It was with more frustration than anger that Kirk left the captain to his damnable Vulcan privacy. Another man might have thrown up his arms and jumped ship, but not him. Instead, he put his surging adrenaline to productive use by transferring his travel kit from Starbase Twelve to the Enterprise V.I.P. cabin. It had all the feeling of an entrenchment.

With his belongings unpacked, he programmed some hot coffee from the cabin dispenser and settled down to brood. All those years, and not a word to him about T'Beth. A word to Bones, to Sulu, a word to the helmsman trainee and the assistant chief of housekeeping. But to James T. Kirk? No. Never mind that Kirk had told Spock about fathering his son, David. Friends confided in friends, didn't they?

Well, it seemed that Spock saw things a little differently. But why care? Why even waste time thinking about it? Let the son-of-a-bitch handle his own affairs. Let the overgrown leprechaun play superVulcan to his green heart's content.

Kirk was doctoring his second cup of coffee with something a bit more potent when his cabin doorchime sounded. Had Spock come to apologize? Tucking his flask under the chair cushion, he lowered his boots from the game table.

"Enter," he said hopefully.

The cabin door opened to reveal a Spock miniature in pink velour. Kirk nearly spilled his coffee. He set down the mug. "Yes? What do you want?" The words came unintentionally harsh, but the girl did not seem intimidated by an admiral-in-the-flesh.

Boldly she walked in and took a seat, riveting him with those penetrating Spock-eyes. "I'd like to talk to you, sir, if I may."

"Proceed," he said, equally formal. So this was the child who had turned a stoic Vulcan and his starship upside-down. That fact alone made her interesting. It remained to be seen exactly how she had accomplished such a wonder.

Forty minutes later, Kirk's head fairly spun with impressions of the girl. All hint of formality was gone. Curled up in a chair, she chattered away as if she had known him and everyone aboard the Enterprise for years. It was not so much what she had to say, but the way she said it. Or did he have that backward? How strange it seemed, watching emotion play freely over those Spockian features. And that oh-so-innocent smile of hers—somehow it did not quite match the look in those hazel eyes. But no doubt about it, she was a real charmer in that feminine jumpsuit, with glossy dark hair and holly berries tucked over an ear—a rather oddly shaped ear, from what he could see of it. Adorable. Absolutely. Would she never leave?

When the doorchime sounded again, Kirk welcomed the interruption. Easing his collar with a fingertip, he called, "Come in!"

Spock swept in like a prowling LeMatya, and Kirk's muscles tightened. "Captain."

"Admiral Kirk." The Vulcan coolly passed him over, the predator eyes settling on T'Beth, and softening. "I am sure you are disturbing the admiral. Have you finished your lessons?"

T'Beth ducked her head and admitted, "Not quite." She rose to her feet so that Kirk saw them side by side for the first time, and their resemblance was even more telling. Equally telling was the child's glowing eyes as she looked upon her father and promised, "I'll go now. But are we still having dinner together? Just the two of us?"

It was clear that she loved Spock—fiercely, possessively, with an almost romantic zeal. It was more love than any father could rightfully expect, an embarrassing wealth of love for a logical-minded Vulcan. Such concentrated affection should have made Spock uncomfortable, but incredibly he responded to it.

Awe-struck, Kirk watched Spock gaze fondly upon his daughter and say, "In my quarters, just the two of us."

With a happy smile T'Beth took her leave, and Spock turned to Kirk, more pussycat than LeMatya.

Kirk stood. "Fatherhood suits you," he said by way of a cautious peace offering. He was still plenty sore, but this tender, paternal Spock intrigued him. Where had this Vulcan been hiding all these years? And where in stars had he been hiding his daughter? "It's plain to see that you suit T'Beth just fine, too. That kid is crazy over you."

Spock finally looked embarrassed. "I apologize if she intruded on your privacy. At times she can be rather…foreword.'

"She wasn't a pest," Kirk said generously. "And don't worry, I didn't pump her for any personal information. There is, however, one thing I'm wondering about." In light of T'Beth's conversation, he could not resist saying, "I get the idea that she's an old hand around here. Exactly…how long has she been living aboard the Enterprise?"

Clasping his hands behind his back, the Vulcan assumed a faraway expression. "Three months, one week, and five-point-seven standard days."

Kirk let out an explosive breath. "Three and a half months?"

Now Spock was standing at attention. "I offer no excuse, Admiral. I am fully aware that regulations only allow for civilian transport under extraordinary circumstances, and then only to the first suitable port. I chose to disregard those regulations." An eyebrow rose slightly. "One might, however, deem T'Beth's circumstances extraordinary…and no port is suitable for an unaccompanied minor."

Kirk stared at him. "You said you offer no excuse."

"None worth considering."

"So you did ignore regulations."

The Vulcan was silent.

"Spock, it's me—Jim Kirk. I'm famous for shredding the rulebook. But you! This is absolutely amazing!" Some of the tension left Spock's shoulders. "Of course, you can't have her on board indefinitely. You are working on some other plan. Right?"

Spock met his eyes. "After warp-out tomorrow, we are proceeding to Ceti-Mega Four. Vulcan lies directly en route."

Kirk did some quick figuring. "We'll roll in on Christmas day."

"I will personally deliver her to the Northern Encampment at Pashir, where she will remain with her grandparents."

"With Sarek and Amanda. And what about T'Beth's mother? Adrianna?"

A muscle twitched at Spock's jaw line and he shook his head in surrender. "Perhaps we should sit down."

Kirk listened to the brief story, intent on every word. Spock had met T'Beth's mother while taking part in a research project on Ildarani. They were planning marriage when she became ill. The finest doctors at Starfleet Medical Center were unable to save her, but by sustaining her brain-dead body, she was able to carry a baby to term. Adrianna's mother actively disliked Spock and claimed the girl for her own. Spock quickly pointed out to Kirk that it was within the woman's rights, and that she had provided the child with a stable home. But he had not laid eyes on his daughter until Justrelle suddenly visited the Enterprise three and a half months ago. As it turned out, Justrelle was dying, and concern for Cristabeth's welfare had brought about an apparent change of heart. And so Spock took charge of his daughter.

The Vulcan's concise phrases stripped the tragic tale of any romance, but if that protective leap for the hologram were any indication, he had shared more with Adrianna than a few blissful nights of intellectual affinity.

Kirk hardly knew what to say. "Spock, I'm sorry. I didn't know she died." And he might have added, it seems there are a lot of things I didn't know.

Spock merely nodded. "Since taking custody of T'Beth, I have had some difficulty determining how best to proceed."

"I can't say I'd be in a hurry, either," Kirk agreed, "seeing that your father is involved."

The Vulcan eyes sparked. "I assure you, Sarek's opinion did not figure into the delay."

"Not in the least?" Kirk raised his hands in surrender. "Okay, then. My mistake. You wanted the kid with you. She wanted to stay. It makes perfect sense to me. Good job, Spock. For once you've done the human thing."

Spock abruptly rose. Looking daggers at Kirk, he said, "Admiral, you may use this information any way that satisfies your conscience, but I see no reason for you to insult me." And he headed for the door.

"Hold on!" Kirk left his chair and faced Spock with his own share of anger. "I'm not finished talking to you." Spock turned, a lifetime of discipline showing in the smooth, impassive maneuver. But his eyes were still smoldering. "First the holly," Kirk said, biting off each word, "then the carols. And now this…this attitude of yours. You're bound and determined to cast me as some kind of Scrooge, aren't you? And if you don't know what that means, look it up. Shall I spell it for you?"

That jarred the Vulcan mask, but only a bit. Spock considered a moment before saying, "Charles Dickens, A Christmas Carol. Jim, you are a Starfleet admiral, sworn to carry out your duties."

"You have a hell of a nerve talking duty to me, Spock. If your conscience is smarting, turn yourself in. You've done it before. Meanwhile, I'd appreciate it if you'd put things on this ship back the way they were."

Spock narrowly eyed him. "Is that an order?"

Kirk sighed in frustration. "No Spock, it's only a damned request."