"Captain, I fail to see the logic in attending a 'Christmas Party'."

Spock stood in front of the Captain with his arms folded across his chest. He wore an expression which, were he not Vulcan, would best be described as a petulant pout. Spock, however, was Vulcan. Vulcans do not pout, and neither are they petulant. Not even when their superior officers request that they pursue wholly irrational and undignified courses of action.

"The logic, Mister Spock, can be found in the proven benefits of team recreational activities on the mental and emotional well-being of participants, as well as in boosting overall morale, and in the evidence that intermingling across ranks within an informal environment reinforces the trust and loyalty of junior crewmembers towards their superior officers. And vice versa. All, I am sure you will agree, most beneficial to the efficient running of a starship, and, therefore, quite illogical to avoid purely on the basis of personal dislike for social events."

At the end of this characteristically theatrical speech, Kirk's eyes widened in a gesture of friendly challenge. His mouth twisted slightly in a clear attempt to stop a triumphant grin from lighting up his face.

Spock emphatically did not roll his eyes.

"Captain, I do not 'avoid' social events because I 'dislike' them. I merely fail to see the logic in their purpose."

"Ah! But now I have shown you the logic, Commander. Problem solved." Kirk laughed, breezily. "I believe that would be checkmate, Mister Spock."

"We are not playing chess, Captain, I do not see the relevance of -"

Kirk held up his palms and offered Spock a conciliatory smile.

"Look Spock, I understand your reluctance to attend these things. I feel the same way most of the time. Those 'diplomatic soirees' put on by Starfleet? Not exactly my idea of an enjoyable night. But as a representative of the Federation, it is part of my duty to attend, whether I like it or not. Just as it is part of your duty as my First Officer to attend certain events with the crew."

Spock stared at the floor. Kirk paused, then added, self-consciously,

"And, honestly, I need you there. The crew are still not communicating across departments as much as I'd like, and it's affecting ship efficiency. I think it's in part due to people not really knowing each other, this is an opportunity to display a top down image of cohesion and unity. If the ranking officials on the ship can communicate easily with every crew member, from senior lab technicians to yeomen, then it might encourage them to do so among themselves. I need you to attend this party, Spock."

When Spock still did not respond (or even look up from his boots), Kirk stiffened, and held back a sigh.

"That's an order, Commander."

#######

Spock was sitting, deep in thought, in the smaller crew dining area of Deck at the furthest edge of the room, fingers steepled in front of his face, Spock cut an intimidating figure. The few crewmembers who dared to remain in the room with their foreboding First Officer, did so very quietly.

Spock was… disconcerted. He would never admit that to anyone else, of course. But to deny the truth to oneself, however distasteful, was wholly illogical. And the truth was that he was not comfortable with the idea of attending this Christmas party. Spock did not like parties. He did not understand Christmas. The Captain had made a relatively rational case for why he should attend, and although unsure, Spock did trust his Captain's judgement in such matters.

He did however doubt the trust Kirk placed in him. Jim - "the Captain…" Spock mentally corrected himself - frequently overestimated Spock's ability to interact competently and effectively with other people. Whilst it was true that he was an excellent diplomat, Spock found that his attempts at informal interpersonal communication were not always well received by others. He had long given up even trying. Spock was not at all confident that his presence at this party would provide any benefits to anyone. Quite the contrary. He didn't even know what he was supposed to wear, let alone -

A bright voice interrupted his brooding.

"Well hello there, Mister Spock."

Blinking away his disturbed contemplations, Spock shifted in his seat, straightening his back and lowering his hands to rest in his lap. An image of patience and cool condescension.

"Nurse Chapel."

"Christine, please," she replied with smile. She gestured to the empty seat opposite Spock with her cup of coffee. "Do you mind?"

Spock did not understand why humans always asked such questions. If one answered truthfully, they would inevitably react in a highly negative and emotional manner. He had learned from experience that the best option was simply to reply 'go ahead'.

"Go ahead." Spock replied.

Content the interaction had been adequately concluded, Spock re-steepled his hands, and settled back to his problem.

Or at least he tried to. He felt Nurse Chapel's gaze fall on him several times during the few minutes since she had sat down. Out of the corner of his eye he could see her smiling at him. If he were not Vulcan, it would have been a most annoying distraction.

"Penny for your thoughts?"

Spock closed his eyes, and breathed out heavily (it was not a sigh, exasperated or otherwise. He was merely exhaling. With force).

"A penny is an antiquated form of Earth currency. As such currency is no longer of any practicable use within the Federation, and neither am I a collector of archaic monetary artefacts, I fail to see why I would be offered such an object, in what I presume is a trade of some kind for 'my thoughts'. A trade, I might add, which would appear most illogical even if it did not involve an obscure archaeological relic."

Christine just smiled patiently, and said, "You seemed quite lost in thought, Mister Spock. Anything bothering you?"

Spock considered over-articulating the general idea of "Vulcans do not get 'bothered' by things". But as his valiant attempt at misinterpreting Christine's idiom had failed in deterring her, Spock doubted repeating the action would have any different effect.

He leaned back in his chair, folded his arms across his chest, and regarded the human sitting across from him.

Spock did not dislike Christine Chapel. In the dealings he had had with the Enterprise's Head Nurse, Spock had found her to be an intelligent, calm, accomplished individual, who could at times be quite logical. In some ways she reminded him of the Enterprise's previous First Officer, Captain Pike's Number One, whom Spock had held in high esteem.

Perhaps that is why he said,

"I do not understand Christmas parties."

Spock waited, gauging her reaction, anticipating mocking, scorn, or derision. When he was met instead with an interested smile, silently beckoning him to continue, Spock unexpectedly found himself doing so.

"I do not understand why anyone finds it desirable to attend arranged events in the company of others whom they routinely avoid throughout the rest of the year, in an environment of manufactured merry-making filled with meaningless, insincere small talk, punctuated only by the excessive consumption of alcohol. All for the ostensible purpose of celebrating the birth of a human child thousands of years ago."

"Well, when you put it like that, I'm not sure I understand Christmas parties, either!"

Christine laughed warmly, and then tilted her head to one side.

"Maybe I can help. I know a little about Christmas, and a little about parties, and a lot about people. What do you want to know?"

Spock frowned slightly.

"At present, I am less interested in the psychology of Christmas parties, and more in gaining a heuristic understanding of the social behaviours and interactions typically observed and initiated at such events ."

"Always good to start with the basics," Christine smiled. "Could you be a little more specific?"

Spock thought for a moment, then replied,

"What is the typical attire worn to such events?"

"Well, there isn't really any particular rule, as such, and it can vary from party to party, of course… But I would say that a decent general rule would be 'smart-casual'..."

Spock's slight head tilt and confused puppy-dog expression prompted Christine to further explain, without missing a beat.

"...which would consist of clothes not formal enough to wear to work or to, I don't know, a wedding, but more formal than clothes you would lounge around in binge-watching holovids and eating ice cream."

Christine's silvery laugh rang out as Spock lifted a solitary skeptical eyebrow.

"Oh!" She suddenly exclaimed. "Christmas jumpers!"

"Christmas jumpers?"

"Christmas jumpers! They are an excellent example of Christmas-specific clothing."

"A 'jumper' is a knitted garment with long-sleeves, worn on the upper body." Spock said, with the barest hint of a question in his tone.

"Precisely. A Christmas jumper is a jumper decorated with Christmas motifs. Let me see if I can find any pictures on my PADD… Ah, yes, here we are."

She leaned across the table to show Spock the collection of images. Spock scrolled through the images slowly.

"...'I'm Sexy and I Snow It'?"

Coffee sprayed from Nurse Chapel's mouth as she tried in vain to stop herself from giggling uncontrollably.

When she had recovered, she explained to Spock that whilst some Christmas jumpers were decorated with seasonal puns and wordplay, most others had Christmassy images, or more, let's say conservative, text emblazoned on them.

"This has been most illuminating, thank you." Spock said.

"Don't mention it. Is there anything else you'd like to know about?"

"I do not wish to monopolize your time…"

"Oh it's no problem, honestly." Christine gave Spock a gracious smile which belied, despite her best efforts, the deep-rooted affection she held for the Enterprise's dashingly stoic First Officer. "I'm happy to help."

"I am interested to learn more about the types of activities most commonly undertaken at Christmas parties."

Christine nodded contemplatively.

"Well… Again, there aren't really any set activities, as such… Honestly, when I attend parties, I mostly just mingle. I don't get much time during work to actually talk with many people, except Leonard. Christmas parties are a nice opportunity to catch up, and to introduce yourself to anyone you haven't yet had chance to. And to just have a good old chat."

"What topics would one 'chat' about?"

"Oh you know, anything really. Nothing too sombre or serious, unless the conversation naturally falls that way, I suppose. What you've been doing in your downtime, what your hobbies and interests are, that kind of thing. Finding common ground, I guess."

Spock nodded slowly.

"Christmas parties are mostly comprised of people wearing novelty christmas jumpers, discussing their more frivolous interests?"

Christine laughed again.

"Basically. Against the background of free food, alcohol, and singing christmas songs, it pretty much is simply people in christmas jumpers chatting."

Spock's ears pricked up metaphorically.

"Could you elaborate on 'Christmas songs'? I am aware of the various Terran traditions of seasonal music, but I am not acquainted with any specific examples of Christmas songs. Are these to be sung at Christmas parties?"

Christine's expression changed to one of open sympathy and surprise.

"Why, Mister Spock, did your mother not sing or play any Christmas music to you when you were growing up?"

Spock shifted uncomfortably in his chair. He did not like discussing his mother. Or his childhood. Or… well, anything about himself, really. All it ever seemed to do was elicit negative responses in others, and uncomfortably persistent emotions in him. He preferred to just… not.

But before he had time to formulate an adequate response, Christine apologised.

"I'm sorry, you don't have to answer that, Mister Spock. I shouldn't have asked."

Whether he was moved by her consideration, or had deemed it illogical to show reticence over merely stating facts, even Spock himself couldn't answer definitively. Either way, he found himself saying,

"My mother is of Jewish heritage. Christmas was not a large part of her own personal or familial culture. As Christmas is neither part of any Vulcan tradition, she did not feel the need to pass that aspect of Earth culture on to me."

Christine's face softened. Her heart melted just a little bit at this voluntary offering of personal information by the usually guarded Mister Spock.

"I understand."

Realising she had been gazing with heart-eyes a little too long, Chapel cleared her throat and continued.

"So! Christmas songs. Really they aren't a phenomenon you can describe. They have to be experienced."

She grinned conspiratorially.

"How about I send you a holoplaylist, and you can have a listen yourself? My tastes tend to be more towards the old fashioned side, but the 20th century really was the golden age of Christmas music. And nothing can help you truly get a feel for Christmas like listening to good old fashioned christmas songs!"

"A useful avenue of research, and one I expect to be most informative. Thank you."

"Oh, any time, really." She collected her now empty coffee cup and stood to leave. "I suppose I'd better be going…"

She hesitated.

"Can we expect to see you at the Christmas party tomorrow, then?"

Spock did sigh, this time.

"Regrettably so."

He could still hear her laughing even after the automatic doors had swished shut behind her.

Illogical.

#######

The Christmas Party had officially started thirty-five minutes ago. Kirk stood near the drinks table with Mccoy. The Doctor was making short shrift of the alcohol, and Kirk watched dubiously as his friend poured himself two glasses of mulled wine and a tall glass of spiced cider. Well, it was Christmas, after all.

The Captain was too preoccupied to drink right evening was not going as he had hoped. The crew were not mixing well, sticking in their pre-existing cliques and getting quietly drunk. And Spock still hadn't shown. Truthfully, Kirk wasn't convinced that he would come at all, even though he had given him a direct order.

"Was that culturally insensitive?" He thought to himself. "Maybe it was straight-up every kind of insensitive. I shouldn't have ordered him to come. But if I didn't order him, he wouldn't have come. Not that he is here, anyway. Should I have respected that decision? It's not officially mandatory that he attends… Why isn't he here? I gave him an order! God, I'm such an asshole why did I -"

Kirk's inner conflict was interrupted by Mccoy making a sound like he was being strangled. Kirk shot a perplexed look to his friend who, still choking on his drink, pointed in the direction of the door.

Kirk turned.

And saw...

Spock.

Illuminated by the glitterball that was spinning over the dancefloor.

Spock.

Wearing a ridiculously elegant black and silver Vulcan robe around his shoulders, his expression as solemn and enigmatic and alert as ever.

Spock.

His incredible, intelligent, dignified Vulcan First Officer...

...Wearing a bright red and green knitted jumper, decorated with a fluffy kitten in a gift box.

It said Meowy Christmas.

Jim would have blamed the spiced wine if he had drunk any yet. Instead he just stood slack-jawed, staring across the room at Spock. Mccoy was still doubled over, spluttering with laughter.

"He looks like a goddamned Christmas elf!"

Kirk elbowed him in the ear. He had aimed for his ribs, but folded in half Mccoy's head currently occupied their usual space.

Spock scanned the room and caught the Captain's eye. Small groups dissipated and larger crowds parted as Spock swept across the busy hall. He moved far more elegantly than any man in a kitten sweater had a right to.

"Captain." Spock inclined his head in greeting, before shooting a sidelong glance at the red-faced and still giggling Mccoy. "...Doctor. My apologies for my lateness. I had matters requiring my attention."

"Spock, you came!" Jim exclaimed happily.

"Of course, Captain. My presence here was ordered, was it not?"

Jim's smile faded. He tucked his chin sheepishly and winced slightly.

"Jim, you ordered Spock to come here? Can you even do that?"

"Doctor, according to regulation the Captain is permitted to order any action which he or she believes to be in the best interest of the mission, irrespective of whether that order is fully understood by his or her subordinate officers."

Spock adjusted his robes and fluffed the fur of his kitten sweater delicately.

"Now, if you will excuse me I have duties to which I must attend ."

And with that Spock glided away, leaving Kirk and Mccoy to stare open-mouthed after him.

Spock knew, and rightly so, that he was displaying an image of perfect poise and self-assurance. He silently wished he were actually as confident as he appeared. He chastised himself internally. It was illogical it was to wish things other than they were.

"Kaiidth," he thought to himself, as he marched up to a rambunctious group of junior engineers.

"Good evening." Spock said. "When I am not engaged in my duties about the ship, around 42.7% of my off-duty time, except for the duration in which I am sleeping or meditating, is spent playing chess, or reading."

This deadpan introduction was met with nervous silence. Some of the ensigns tried to look at each other for reassurance, but found they were too terrified and confused to move. At least a dozen wide eyes were locked onto this inscrutable Vulcan who had interrupted their drinking game.

Agonisingly long moments passed. Spock, straight backed and straight faced, was about to turn tail and calmly walk out of the party, and possibly out of the nearest airlock, when a small voice broke the uneasy silence.

"I thought I saw you with a genuine paperback copy of Emma, a few weeks ago…?"

Spock's focus landed on the owner of the shy voice; an Andorian science technician from one of the chemistry labs. She was peeking over from the huddled science department clique who had been emphatically ignoring the uncouth engineers. She smiled nervously, but expectantly.

Spock cleared his throat (not nervously).

"Indeed. I have been working my way, once again, through the monoliths of classic Terran literature. I have found that great works of any kind are best appreciated on the returning visit."

The tension released almost audibly. Amidst growing murmurs, another brave voice piped up, encouraged by whispered dares.

"What's your favourite Austen, then?"

Turning to face the speaker, Spock replied,

"I do not have 'favourites'." He paused in consideration. "However, I do hold a particular apprecation for the aforementioned Emma. I have recently been able to procure a copy in traditionally printed paperback, as Ensign Zh'akithet astutely observed."

Ensign Zh'akithet blushed a shade of deep purple, and instantly fell a little bit in love with the Enterprise's Chief Science Officer.

"Personally I prefer Pride and Prejudice, myself. Who can resist Mr Darcy?"

Spock turned to see his Captain smiling up at him, posture full of swagger, eyes full of affectionate amusement. Spock raised an eyebrow.

Before he could quip a retort, other voices began to spill into the rapidly expanding conversation.

"Nah, Jane Austen is alright, but if you want a real good read, the Brontes are where it's at."

"Are you serious? The Bronte's are so melodramatic, all 'oh my god everything is bleak and the weather is always bad and I'm really really angry all the time and everyone is dead or dying'. You want some Tolkien, my friend. You don't get all that melodrama in Lord of the Rings."

"You are Tolkien nonsense, buddy. 'Oh look I'm a hobbit and I must destroy jewellry and harp on with allegorical warnings against the corrupting power of evil" blah blah blah… No, if we are really talking here, we gotta be talking about Dickens!"

"Oh I love Dickens! A Christmas Carol was my favourite book when I was little!"

"Mine too!"

Kirk watched as a new groups coalesced, comprised not of individual departments, cliques, or shirt colours, but of everyone and anyone wanting to get involved in the quickly derailing cross-conversations. Somehow Spock had managed in 30 minutes to do what Kirk had spent the last 3 months trying to achieve. Everyone was finally talking to each other. And enthusiastically, too.

Before he could steal Spock away and engage him in conversation himself (he really wanted to hear Spock's opinions on Jane Austen…), Kirk realised he was in serious competition for the Vulcan's attention. A veritable swarm had began to buzz around them.

"Excuse me, Mister Spock, um… I was wondering if you might give us your thoughts on Dr. Daystrom's latest research…."

"Commander Spock, what do you make of the latest hostilities between the Klingons and the Federation? Do you think it will impact on the research in the Delta quadrant?"

"Um, do you have any advice on chess strategy? My roommate keeps beating me no matter what I do, it's driving me crazy…"

#######

Kirk soon found himself the Pluto to Spock's Sol, hovering on the outer reaches of the crowd now orbiting the Vulcan. Jim sighed and retreated with resignation back to the drinks table. He poured himself a cup of the terrible tasting but thankfully quite strong mulled wine. Who knew Spock was so popular? Even Bones was hanging around him. Mostly because he was trying to get a closer look at that cat jumper, but still.

Not that Kirk minded, of course. He was quite glad that Spock was having such an easy time socialising. And he was doing an outstanding job of getting the crew to mix outside of their usual social groups. Kirk had just been counting on getting the Vulcan a little more to himself, tonight.

Jim suddenly found his melancholy internal soliloquising rudely interrupted.

"Captain Kirk, I'm surprised to see you all the way over here on your own. You look like you could use some company."

A pouting brunette had insinuated her way over to his side. She held out her hand and tilted her head coquettishly.

"Dr. Helen Noel."

Kirk shook her hand absent-mindedly, still glancing over at the throng surrounding Spock.

"James Kirk." He replied. She laughed.

"Well I know who you are, obviously! I've been dying to get you alone, to meet you one on one, you know? It's not every day a girl gets to have a drink with a starship Captain, let alone one as famously charming as Captain James T. Kirk."

"I wonder if he's alright." Kirk thought. "Maybe I shouldn't have left him. He doesn't like large crowds of people. It's my fault he's here in the first place. I shouldn't have ordered him to come. Maybe I should go and rescue him…"

His attention was brought back to the woman. Hannah, was it?

"Sorry, what was that?"

"I said 'What's the T'? You want some more of this wine? It's really good."

Kirk furrowed his eyebrows.

"Huh?"

"James T. Kirk. What does the T. stand for?"

"Oh, uh, Tiberius…"

"He's probably fine. He's definitely fine. Is he fine? Ugh, it's so arrogant of me to assume he needs me to go rescue him. Oh here comes Captain James T. Kirk, centre of the universe, saving the day once again, barging in where he isn't needed. Or wanted. As usual. As always..."

"It's so refreshing to speak with such a good listener."

The girl (Elena?) was now attached to Jim's arm. He tried to tactfully pull away, but she was surprisingly strong for someone so short.

"Hm?"

"I said most men are so busy talking about themselves, trying to impress me, probably, they don't actually listen to what I have to say. I suppose you just know how impressive you are, you don't need to brag…"

Her laugh was quite annoying. She poured herself another glass of spiced wine. Jim craned his neck, trying to see his friends.

"What is Bones doing? Spock is going to nerve pinch him if he keeps pulling at that jumper like that. It really is a terrible sweater. Where did Spock even get it?! He is so adorable. ...Did I just think that? I meant the sweater is adorable. The kitten. That's probably what I meant. It's an adorable kitten. That's definitely what I meant. It's just this stupid Christmas wine making me mix up my words. Making me think about adorable Vulcans. Kittens. Vulcan kittens? Do they have cats on Vulcan? Maybe I'll ask Spock..."

Jim sighed.

"Oh, I know, sounds so romantic, doesn't it? I thought so too. S'why I said yes, you know? Swept off my feet. But it all went up in smoke."

"What?"

"In smoke! POOF!"

Her hands flew up in the air theatrically, spilling her drink and nearly hitting Jim in the face.

"And you know what, I just about cried my heart out. He didn't deserve me. I deserve someone who's, you know, good. A good listener. Someone who understands me. Someone th'doesn't break my heart. But you know, everything happens for a reason, you know, that's what I always say. You know? You know. I know you understand. You understand me. S'a'reason for ev'rything... "

Jim looked down to see a perfectly manicured hand now stroking the front of his shirt. The rest of her body was pressing up uncomfortably closely to Kirk's own. Big, shiny, slightly unfocused brown eyes looked up at him under long lashes.

"Um… Yes… That's a, uh, very good attitude…" Jim gently removed her hand and pushed her away from him. She swayed slightly.

"I tell you what, Angela, why don't you go and have a sit down over there. And maybe have something to eat. Or… go to sleep... "

"S'Helen. Maybe I'll go lie down if you come over with me, wink-wink." She blinked both of her eyes at him, lasciviously.

"Did you just say 'wink-wink'?" Kirk closed his eyes wearily and shook his head. "You know what, never mind. You enjoy the party, Helen. Maybe lay off the mulled wine for a bit. Go… eat some christmas cake or something." He attempted to wave goodbye to her, but ended up making a "shoo" motion instead.

"Cake? Huh? Hey, where are you going? …. Call me!"

########

Spock was trying to think of ways to remove himself from the crowd which now surrounded him without breaking any of the unwritten social rules that were apparently obvious to everyone but him. Spock did not enjoy being the centre of attention in social situations. He didn't even enjoy being in moderate proximity to the centre of attention. It was exhausting.

He had been hoping that the Captain would come back and take over, giving him the opportunity to escape, but Jim was nowhere to be seen. "Illogical to rely on another person to rescue oneself from such situations." Spock thought.

"Spock, why won't you tell me where you got this jumper? Not very logical to lie about it, is it. I've been trying to get the replicators to make one of these all week but I couldn't get the damn programming right. How djya do it? Ow!"

Christine smacked the back of Mccoy's hand as he tried to pull one of the pompoms off of the kitten's christmas hat.

"It is a very well made christmas jumper, Spock," Christine chimed in. "Better than the ones I showed you. You're a model student."

"Wait, you're behind this, Christine? Here I was blamin' Jim for the holly jolly Christmas elf, when it was you all along!"

Spock was actually relieved when he heard Uhura start tapping a glass and shouting over the crowd.

"Dear friends," she called out. "Because you have been such good little boys and girls and non-binaries this year, we have an extra special Christmas performance for you…"

Mccoy stopped pulling at the glittery snowflakes on the back of Spock's jumper and looked up.

"Christmas performance? Jim didn't mention planning any performances. Who's performing?"

Uhura's gaze found Spock. She smiled brightly.

"Maestro, if you please…"

The crowds once more parted as Spock glided effortlessly towards the makeshift stage. Uhura handed him his lyre. The room buzzed with quiet excitement. A few braver (or more inebriated) crewmembers whooped and shouted words of encouragement.

Kirk had finally managed to push and elbow his way through the crowd to Chapel and Mccoy.

"What's this? Bones, Christine? Spock is performing?"

"Apparently. You'll have to ask Cindy-Lou Chapel here about that, with her schemin' to get the Grinch to come play in Whoville. Well look who's stealin' Christmas now, Cindy-Lou!"

Mccoy descended once more into a fit of giggles.

Christine shushed him, and shot Jim a look that warned "don't even ask".

Suddenly everyone's attention was whisked exclusively towards the stage, as the delicate music of a Vulcan lyre began glittering through the air.

Spock began plucking some ethereal chords, falling like snowflakes into the hushed quiet of the room. Then he held the silence for one beat, two beats… Uhura grinned. Spock came in with the true beginning of the song.

Jim took a short, sharp breath.

"Bones!" he whispered, eyes never leaving the stage, "Bones, this is my favourite christmas song!"

Uhura began singing. Spock's rich baritone joined her with the harmonies.

He's gone, oh oh oh oh oh,

2,000 miles,

It's very far...

Jim's eyes shone brighter than the star on top of the christmas tree. He was beaming from ear to ear like a child at a really good Santa's Grotto.

The snow is falling down,

Get's colder day by day,

I miss you…

Spock looked out into the crowd and locked eyes with the bewitched Captain, just for a moment.

I'll think of you

Wherever you go, oh, oh...

Mccoy nudged Christine with an elbow.

"Look's like you've got some competition for the hobgoblin's affections…" he whispered playfully.

"Nyota and Spock? Hmm… No, I don't see it."

Mccoy narrowed his eyes and glanced sidelong at Christine.

"Uh… Yeah Uhura... I guess not..."

He looked back over at the starry-eyed Captain, and shook his head softly, rolling his eyes and laughing quietly to himself.

##########

The end of the performance was met with raucous cheers and shouts for encores. Spock gracefully declined, but Uhura was more than happy to acquiesce. From somewhere a guitar had inevitably appeared, and soon half of the crew were singing together, hamming it up to Santa Baby, getting teary eyed over I'll Be Home For Christmas, and raucously dueting to Fairytale of New New York (the Denebian alternate version, of course).

Spock had finally relented in the face of Mccoy's impressively persistent badgering, and given him the Christmas jumper with which he was so enamoured. Christine had called it a night shortly after, and Mccoy had left them to join in with the carolers.

Kirk and Spock stood in companionable silence at the edge of the room. The floor was strewn with coloured paper and discarded decorations, the lights had dimmed, and one solitary couple remained slow-dancing under the glitterball, serenaded by a handful of tipsy, merry revellers.

Watching Spock as Spock watched the room, Jim smiled softly. Sensing his stare, Spock turned to look at his Captain. He raised his eyebrows a little, and pressed his lips together in his particular amused pseudo-smile.

Jim sighed deeply and looked around the room, nodding absentmindedly.

"Yeah, I think we can deem this party a success, Spock."

"Certainly it appears to have yielded the results you had intended."

Jim looked up at Spock, full of admiration.

"Thanks to you," he said.

Spock stared out at nothing in particular.

"My endeavours to follow your command were met with greater success than I had anticipated, admittedly."

Jim laughed quietly.

"You were exceptional. As always."

Spock looked down, and smiled that almost imperceptible smile which only his Captain ever seemed to recognise. Jim wasn't sure how his heart was able to simultaneously beat in his ears and melt into a puddle at his feet.

Realising he had been staring at Spock for entirely too long, he feigned a yawn and loosened his stiff shoulders.

"Right, I think it's time I called it a night."

Spock nodded.

"I believe I shall also retire. Unless.." He paused.

Jim looked at him and raised his eyebrows, tilting his head in invitation.

"One game of chess?" Jim asked with a lopsided grin.

As they left, Jim paused to glance back at the dying embers of the party. A few people were still haunting the room, the stubborn carolers (including Mccoy…), the free-food scavengers . Ghosts of christmas present fading into ghosts of christmas past.

"D'you think it's illogical to find Christmas parties more exhausting than charting new worlds, and discovering new life and civilizations?"

Spock looked at his friend over his shoulder. Raising an eyebrow he replied, emphatically,

"Negative, Jim."