Author's note: I just managed to get this finished in time for Christmas. Unbeta'd, so any mistakes are mine.

After many Christmases in space, a tradition had evolved on Enterprise. A party for the entire crew always marked the occasion, but smaller groups began to form that hosted their own festivities. One such group was the senior staff.

For the past several years, the senior officers had all sat down together with the captain in his private mess to eat dinner on Christmas Eve. The first time they'd done this, the captain had given each one a small gift. Since none of them had thought to get a gift for him, or each other for that matter, it had been a pleasant surprise. Hoshi still cherished the book the captain had given her at that first gathering -- a tiny compendium full of conversational ice-breakers titled "Small Talk" -- that had provided a number of opening gambits she'd found useful for tedious diplomatic functions following first contacts.

The next year, anticipating the captain would again present them with tokens of his esteem, they each had tried to come up with an appropriate item to give the captain in return. It wasn't easy, for resources aboard a starship are small. Hoshi had been sure that her gift -- a small light that could be clipped onto a book -- would be appreciated by the captain, because she knew he often stayed up late reading in bed.

But her gift had been overshadowed by that of Doctor Phlox, who had formulated non-indigestion-producing dog treats. For weeks afterward, the captain couldn't stop talking about how much Porthos liked them. Of course, since the captain had liked that gift so much, Phlox had continued to give the treats in the following years. Hoshi was a bit jealous. Phlox had found a sure-fire gift that he could give every year, which meant he didn't have to agonize about coming up with a present.

At least she tried to give the captain a useful item, unlike some crew members. Trip immediately came to mind. He would tinker around in engineering and manufacture something, although Hoshi did envy his ability to actually make something from nothing but scrap metal. Trip's first gift, a small metallic replica of Enterprise, had been charming. The next year, the scale model shuttlepod had been cute. But by the year Trip had whipped up a tiny captain's bridge chair, Hoshi thought the theme was getting a little old, not to mention tacky.

Also in the useless category were Travis's presents. His gifts never worked, nor did they have any practical use. The helmsman always managed to get his hands on some piece of old technology, like a gyroscope or a fifty-year-old transponder relay. But the captain seemed delighted with those gifts, not because he enjoyed antiques, but because he valued the history attached to the pieces. In some of her darker moods while wracking her brain for an idea of what to give the captain, Hoshi believed Travis had an unfair advantage in that he had a source for those items from his family's cargo ship.

Then there was Malcolm, who always seemed to have a bottle of the captain's favorite whiskey. She couldn't deny that such a gift was appropriate as well as traditional. She wouldn't be surprised, however, if the tactical officer had a case of it stashed in his quarters, untouched but for the annual gift-giving to the captain. Malcolm did have a talent for long-range planning.

There was one member of the senior staff with whom she didn't have to worry about competing in the present department. T'Pol had to have the significance of gift-giving at Christmastime explained to her before she'd take part. Then, each year, she presented the captain with some weighty Vulcan tome on logic or sets of meditation candles. The captain always accepted her gifts graciously, but Hoshi suspected it was more in keeping with the spirit of the season than in appreciation of the gift itself. That T'Pol had gone to the trouble of getting him a present was enough to make him happy.

So, after her gifts of the reading light, a volume of Rigellian poetry (which she had translated herself), a framed picture of Porthos (Phlox wasn't the only one willing to stoop to impress the captain by pandering to his affection for his dog), and a matching set of Andorian ale goblets she'd gotten from the communications officer aboard Commander Shran's ship, Hoshi had run out of ideas. Christmas was getting closer and she had no idea what to get the captain this year.

Then it hit her: If Trip and Phlox could make something, so could she. Of all the senior officers, she was the only one who was a decent cook. To make her gift more special, it would be something that could be enjoyed not just by the captain, but by all the senior staff. She would make something for their Christmas Eve dinner. Not the whole dinner, certainly, for Chef would probably not allow her that much latitude in his domain, and she wasn't sure she wanted to tackle a project that size, but dessert would be perfect. Something sweet and decadently rich.

So it was that on Christmas Eve morning, with Chef's permission, Hoshi was in the section of the galley set aside for baking. After preliminary research in the ship's culinary database as well as checking the supplies available, she had decided a rum cake would be appropriate. Rum was not a staple in the ship's food supplies, but her decision had been influenced by the fact that Malcolm always gave the captain whiskey. After checking with the tactical officer, she found that not only was he giving the captain whiskey again, but that he did indeed have a bottle of rum as well.

Really, she thought as she tied on an apron over her uniform, she hadn't realized that Malcolm was such a big drinker. Or maybe he wasn't. As in times of old when mankind was limited to sailing upon water, sailors often kept special items to trade when they needed things. Rum fit the tactical officer's British navy background. Maybe it was just sentiment on his part, keeping a bottle of rum to remind him of the good old days. That still didn't explain the whiskey he kept giving the captain, though.

She shrugged to herself. It didn't matter. What she needed to do now was concentrate on making the cake. She checked the directions. It was the least complicated recipe for rum cake that she could find. It wouldn't do to tackle something complicated only to have it flop. Then what would she give the captain?

She'd just greased the pan when the galley door opened and Trip walked in. He approached her, stepping around some of Chef's staff who were cleaning up after that morning's breakfast.

"Malcolm told me you were making dessert for our dinner tonight with the captain," the chief engineer said as he joined her at the work table. He spotted the large bottle of rum sitting next to the mixing bowl. "Gee, Hoshi. You going to put all that in there?"

The last thing she needed was an audience, especially since she'd never made this type of cake before. It wasn't like she went down to engineering and looked over Trip's shoulder while he was tinkering with his present for the captain. She laughed self-consciously. "No," she said with as much confidence as she could. "It's only going to take a cup of rum between the batter and the glaze."

"Good!" Trip said.

His comment puzzled her, but only until he found a drinking glass in one of the cabinets. He opened the bottle of rum and poured a stiff shot into the glass.

"Hey!" Hoshi exclaimed as the engineer downed the shot. "Don't you think it's a little early for that?"

"What's the problem? It's Christmas Eve. A little Christmas cheer is in order." As Hoshi spluttered, he added with a smile, "I'm not on duty. I've got the day off, just like you. Besides, you said you only needed a cup of this stuff."

When he reached for the bottle a second time, Hoshi slapped at his hand. "Stop that! I told Malcolm I'd give him back what was left."

"Come on, Hoshi," Trip wheedled. "Loosen up a bit. A snort of this stuff might help you relax." He rubbed the back of his hand where she'd slapped him. "And you seem like you need to relax."

Trip was right, she thought. She was too uptight about this. She was bound to screw something up just because she was anxious. When he reached for the bottle again, she let him take it. This time after he poured some rum into the glass, however, he handed it to her. She looked at the clear liquor. Like he said, it was Christmas Eve. She should get into the spirit of things, or, she thought wryly, get some spirits into her. One drink wouldn't hurt. Closing her eyes, she tossed back the alcohol.

And immediately started coughing.

"Are you all right, Hoshi?" Trip asked in concern as she gasped for breath.

She had to cough a few more times before she could speak. "How can you drink this stuff without choking?"

"Practice makes perfect."

Before her disbelieving eyes, Trip poured another shot and downed it without any sign of difficulty. He wiped the back of his hand across his mouth and sighed contentedly. "I think I could develop a liking for rum." He eyed the bottle.

Hoshi snatched the bottle away. "Aren't you supposed to be working on your present for the captain?"

"It's finished."

"What is it this year?"

"A replica of the Suliban cell ship."

Hoshi smirked. "Running out of things to make?"

"Well, it was either that or a miniature torpedo, and I don't think Malcolm would have liked me horning in on his territory, so to speak."

"He'd probably want to put real explosives in it," Hoshi said with a laugh.

"You're probably right," he said, joining in her laughter. "I'll let you get back to work. I'm looking forward to trying some of that at dinner tonight."

After he left, she sprinkled pecans over the bottom of the greased pan. She had just finished mixing all the ingredients in a bowl when Chef approached her.

"Try this," Chef requested, holding a punch cup out toward her.

The cup contained a reddish liquid. Hoshi could smell both fruit and liquor. "What is it?" she asked as she took the cup from him.

"A new punch recipe I've developed for the Christmas party tomorrow," Chef replied. "I'm not sure I have the proportions quite right."

Hoshi was flattered that Chef was asking her opinion. The galley master was nothing if not territorial. The only reason he'd allowed her to use the kitchen for her project, she knew, was that he was still trying to make up for that time she'd volunteered to take over cooking when he'd been ill and she'd wound up making pot after pot of odon. Not that that had been her fault, but if he hadn't been indisposed in the first place, it never would have happened. She raised the cup to her lips and took a sip. It was deliciously cool and refreshing, in direct contrast to the shot of room-temperature rum she'd knocked back a few minutes earlier. She made an appreciative sound and took another, larger sip. "I like it."

Chef beamed. "I was worried it was too strong."

"It seems just right," Hoshi said. She took another sip. It was actually quite good. She could drink this all day. "What's in it?"

"Various fruit juices, a little ginger ale, and some vodka."

Hoshi raised her eyebrows. Vodka, huh? Not an alcoholic beverage she particularly cared for, but the fruit juices almost completely masked its taste. She finished off the contents of the cup. "Very nice. I think it will be a big hit with the crew."

"That's what I'm hoping," Chef said.

As Chef walked away, Hoshi set the cup aside and returned her attention to the batter for the rum cake. She stuck a finger in for a taste. Licking her finger, she was surprised to find that she could hardly taste the rum in it. After only a moment's contemplation, she opened the bottle of rum and poured in a bit more. She was starting to enjoy this, she thought happily. Then her good mood took a nosedive as she heard a familiar voice from the mess hall proper. The captain was out there, and if he came into the galley, he'd see what she was doing. She didn't care that the other senior officers knew what she was up to, but this was the captain's present, and it was supposed to be a surprise.

The door the galley swung open. Rum bottle still in hand, Hoshi stepped in front of the work table, hoping to keep Jon from seeing what was behind her. She could always tell him she'd been helping Chef with the punch recipe, which technically wasn't a lie.

But it was Travis who walked in. Hoshi placed her free hand over her rapidly beating heart. "It's only you," she said, slumping in relief.

"If I didn't know you were in here making a cake for the captain, I'd be really hurt by that," Travis said with a grin. He gestured with his thumb over his shoulder. "I intercepted the captain out there. He was going to come in and check on something with Chef, but I told him I'd take care of it."

"Thanks, Travis," she said. She let out a long breath, then raised the bottle to her lips and took a swig.

"Hoshi!" Travis exclaimed with a grin. "What are you doing?"

"Oh!" She stared at the bottle in her hand, then laughed. "I didn't mean to do that. I was just so relieved that you weren't the captain."

"Some day, maybe," he said with a cheeky grin. As she put the bottle on the table, he advised her, "You better save some of that for the cake." Then he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small bottle. "I guess you won't be needing any of this."

Hoshi squinted at the label on the clear glass. "Peppermint schnapps?"

"You can put just about anything in this type of cake," he said. "My dad once made a peppermint rum cake. I was kind of hoping..."

His voice trailed off as he became lost in memories. Hoshi recalled that the helmsman's father had done a lot of the cooking on their family's cargo ship. No doubt the memories were making Travis melancholy.

None of her friends were going to be sad on Christmas Eve if she could help it. "Here, let me have that," she said, making a "give me" motion toward the small bottle. "If I have time, I'll try to make something with it."

A brilliant smile lit Travis's face. "I'd appreciate that, Hoshi. Thanks!"

As he went off to find Chef, Hoshi opened the bottle of schnapps. After a cautious sniff, she took a tentative sip. Another, larger sip helped her decide not to put any of it in the cake. Maybe some cookies.

With a long exhalation, Hoshi set Travis's bottle aside. She was willing to overlook the helmsman's rather snide comment about saving some of the rum for the cake since he'd prevented the captain from stumbling onto her Christmas surprise. One potential catastrophe had been averted. Now all she had to do was make sure that the cake turned out all right. She checked to see if she'd set the oven to the correct temperature. Then, as she was pouring the batter into the pan, spilling only a tiny bit onto the table because, for some reason, her aim was off, the galley door swung open yet again.

It was getting to be like the bridge in here, she thought peevishly. Was every senior officer going to traipse through while she was working? This time it was Malcolm. He headed straight for her. No doubt he felt something of a proprietary interest in what she was doing since his rum was involved.

"Hoshi," he greeted her. He looked at the table. "A cake? I was rather hoping you'd be making rum balls."

She glared at him. His rum or not, he wasn't going to dictate what she did with it. And if these interruptions didn't stop, she was never going to get this cake made. "It's supposed to be dessert, and balls are more of a snack."

As she continued to glare at him, she saw the corner of his mouth twitch. Was he trying not to laugh at her? He was amused by something, that was certain, for there was a twinkle in his eyes. She suddenly realized that he thought she had made some sort of double-entendre. She felt the corners of her mouth start to lift. She fought the impulse to smile as hard as she could, but lost the battle when he asked with a straight face, "Balls are more of an appetizer, aren't they?"

A snort slipped out of her. That's all it took for a grin to spread across Malcolm's face, and they both burst out laughing. Soon tears were running down her cheeks. Holding her sides, she said, "All this laughing has made me thirsty. I could use some more of the new punch Chef is making."

That caught Malcolm's interest. "New punch?" He gazed around the galley until he spied a large bowl full of reddish liquid on a counter by the refrigeration units. Next to the bowl, cups were stacked on serving trays, ready to be taken to the mess hall before the party tomorrow. After checking to make sure no one was nearby, he winked conspiratorially at Hoshi, who was wiping the tears from her face, and sauntered over to the bowl. Chef had left a ladle next to the bowl. In a matter of moments, Malcolm had filled two cups.

When he returned, he handed one of the cups to her. "Here's to the best rum cake in the galaxy."

"I don't know about that," Hoshi said. She took a long drink and sighed. "But this is definitely the best punch."

Malcolm took a healthy swallow. "Very drinkable," he agreed. He eyed the bottle of rum on her work table. It had been full when he'd given it to her. Now more than half of it was gone. "How much of that did you put in the cake?"

Hoshi followed his gaze. "Wow! I didn't realize I'd used that much. Well, not all of it's in the cake." This statement was followed by a slight hiccup on her part.

"I'd say a good part of it might be in you," Malcolm guessed.

She shook her head vigorously in denial, then had to grab with her free hand for the edge of the table to keep her balance. "Trip had some, too."

Malcolm hastily took the cup from her other hand before she could spill the punch. "You need an assistant."

Hoshi gaped at him as he donned an apron over his uniform. "You're going to help? But you already have a present for the captain. You give him whiskey every year."

"I could make the argument that the cake is part mine," he said, gesturing toward the rum bottle. He frowned as he saw the other bottle next to it. "And peppermint schnapps?"

"That was Travis's idea. He wanted a peppermint schnapps rum cake, but I told him no."

A thoughtful look crossed Malcolm's face. "I wonder if Chef has any pineapple."

First Travis, now Malcolm. What was it about people trying to tell her how to do this? "No! It's just a plain old rum cake." At his crestfallen expression, she added more kindly, "I'll make you a pina colada when we get done with this."

"If you can still stand," Malcolm muttered with a smirk.

Hoshi asked suspiciously, "What was that?"

"I said, 'That would be grand.'"

After a gesture for her to be seated on one of the galley stools, Malcolm put the cake pan in the oven. She sat, watching him putter around, and thought that it was sweet that he wanted to help. Not that she couldn't do it herself, but she suddenly felt lethargic. A short break might do her good. She'd rest a while, then start on the glaze. She reached for the padd with the recipe, and had to blink several times to see the screen clearly.

She'd just managed to get her eyes to focus on the padd when the galley door swung open yet again. This time it was T'Pol. To Hoshi, the Vulcan first officer looked uneasy. Or maybe it was the fluted glass in her hand that was making T'Pol uncomfortable. It was half full of some bubbly golden liquid. Vulcans supposedly didn't drink alcohol. Or it could be that T'Pol hadn't been able to come up with yet another treatise on logic to give to the captain, Hoshi thought. The Vulcan might be looking for a last-minute gift idea.

T'Pol looked around the galley, nodded in greeting to Hoshi and Malcolm, and walked gracefully to one of the sinks. Hoshi realized her first surmise had been correct.

"Commander! What are you doing?" Hoshi called out as T'Pol started to tip the glass to pour its contents into the sink.

T'Pol halted, the glass only a fraction away from spilling out its contents, to gaze at her. "The science staff insisted I join them for a seasonal toast at the annual departmental Christmas party. I took the obligatory taste--" She indicated the glass with a nod of her head. "--then made my departure as soon as possible. However, I did not wish to provide offense, so I took this with me when I left, with the intention of disposing of it."

"Ensign Markwell brought his karaoke console, didn't he?" Malcolm asked.

"Yes," T'Pol said shortly.

"I would have left, too," Hoshi said. "Your staff may know science forward and backward, but they don't know how to carry a tune."

"Indeed," T'Pol agreed, turning back to the sink.

"Wait!" Hoshi called out. "You shouldn't waste anything out in space. Bring it over here. I'll--" She hiccuped loudly. "--take care of it."

T'Pol obligingly brought the glass to her. As Hoshi took it, the Vulcan regarded her closely. "Are you sure it is wise for you to consume this?"

"What's that supposed to mean?" Hoshi asked irritably.

T'Pol merely raised an eyebrow. She looked at Malcolm, who shrugged and said, "She's not on duty."

"I will see you -- both of you," T'Pol said pointedly as she moved toward the door, "at the captain's dinner this evening."

As T'Pol left the galley, Malcolm asked, "Hoshi? Have you had anything to eat today?"

Hoshi stared unseeingly into the distance as she tried to remember. "I don't think so. I was in such a hurry to start on this." She waved vaguely in the direction of the oven. A crooked smile crossed her face as she looked at the glass of champagne. "I've had a lot of liquid, if that qualifies."

"Alcohol typically isn't a breakfast food," Malcolm said as she quaffed what was left in the glass.

Hoshi loved champagne. All those bubbles tickling her nose, and this champagne tasted wonderful. Nothing like that nasty rum she had to use in the cake.

Hoshi put down the empty glass with a sigh. All she wanted right now was to finish making this darn cake and maybe get a nap before the dinner tonight. "Set the timer," she mumbled as she lay her head down on the table. "The cake needs to come out in an hour."

She wasn't sure, but she thought she heard Malcolm chuckle softly as her eyes closed.

Some time later, Hoshi's shoulder was gently shaken. She didn't want to open her eyes, but the hiss of a hypospray against her neck brought her immediately awake. Her eyes snapped open and she sat straight up to find Phlox hovering over her. Malcolm, a concerned yet amused expression on his face, was standing behind the physician. She took a deep breath and smelled the aroma of something sweet baking. She was still in the galley.

She must have fallen asleep while the cake was in the oven. If it was ruined because it had burned while she was sleeping--! She jumped up, not sure what she was going to do except get the cake out of the oven, when her gaze fell on the cooling rack on the counter next to the oven. Sitting there, perfect as you please, was the cake, complete with a coating of glaze. She raised a hand to her head, wishing that the galley would quit spinning.

"It will take a few moments for the medication I gave you to work," she heard Phlox say behind her.

She slowly turned to face him. "What was the hypospray for?" she asked.

"Overindulgence," Phlox cheerily informed her. "I always carry several hyposprays with me at this time of your Earth year." He paused, his expression sobering. "You surprise me, Hoshi. You're not usually one of the people who need my services. And definitely not before you've even started celebrating. Most of the crewmen who have too much to drink come see me after the shipwide party on Christmas Day."

"You weren't in any danger," Malcolm put in. "I just thought you might appreciate having a clear head for the captain's dinner tonight. And since it was only ten hundred hours when you passed out, I called the doctor."

"I did not pass out," she said defensively. "I was just taking a little nap."

"Semantics, as Commander T'Pol might say," Phlox said. He looked appraisingly at her. "Feeling better?"

When she stopped to think about it, she did feel better. She felt wide awake and refreshed. She looked at the Denobulan and smiled faintly. "Yes, I do, Doctor. Thank you."

Phlox smiled back at her. "Take my advice, Hoshi. Go easy on the alcohol, at least until after dinner tonight."

"I will, Doctor," she assured him.

After he left, Hoshi went over to look at the cake. It seemed to have turned out well. She glanced at Malcolm, who was watching her look at the cake.

"Thank you for finishing this," she told him. "It looks wonderful. I don't know what I would have done if it had burned."

"I was just looking out for my interests," he said.

Something in his tone of voice made her peer at him. Yes, he'd let her have some rum to make the cake, but she got the feeling that wasn't the only reason he'd checked on her in the galley and had wound up hanging around. As she continued to stare at him, he began to fidget under her scrutiny and looked away. With a flash of insight, she realized what the reason was.

"You're out of the captain's whiskey, aren't you?" she said.

He looked back her, a pleading expression on his face. "I was hoping you'd offer to let this present be from both of us. I didn't want to bring it up, but--"

She shifted her gaze to the cake. She had to admit that he had done a good job with the glaze. And he had kept the cake from burning. She turned back to him.

"All right. Just this once." Before he could thank her, she added, "But I get to keep the rest of the bottle of rum."

"But I thought you didn't care for rum," he said.

"I don't, really, but somebody I know was hoping I might make rum balls."

--the end--