Christmas. James Kirk regarded his crewmates gathered around the table, basking in the happy glow of holiday cheer. Home, he was home, the place he was born to be. All was right with his universe. It was hard to believe that only two years ago he'd been lost, floundering. Bones had retired and opened a small private practice in the backwoods of Georgia. Spock resigned his commission and returned to Vulcan to pursue the Kohlinar, the ritual purging of all emotion, without so much as a word of parting.
With his two closest friends gone, and his ship confined to Spacedock for refitting, Kirk had, for the first time in years, felt uncertain about the path of his life. He never should have accepted the promotion to Admiral. He was born to command a starship, not a desk. Nothing had been able to salve the aching loss of his ship and crew. He'd tried in vain to fill the emptiness in his soul with Lori: the failure of their marriage and her senseless death still haunted him.
But he couldn't dwell on the past. Miraculously he'd gotten his life back. His ship, his crew, Bones, and Spock—he and Spock were making real progress rebuilding the bonds of friendship and trust that had made them such a great command team. Though he was ashamed to admit it, he'd had a hard time letting go of the anger and resentment he had toward Spock. How could Spock have seen so little value in their friendship that he'd been willing to simply wipe those feelings away as if they meant nothing? He understood now that had not been the case. Spock had been wresting his own, uniquely Vulcan demons.
"Chris! Over here!"
Kirk was roused from his musing as Uhura stood and waved her arms. He turned to see Chapel waving back as she moved across the rec hall to join them. Even after nearly three months, he was still caught off guard seeing Christine Chapel. The starry eyed, gangly young nurse with her heart on her sleeve had blossomed into a confident, and strikingly beautiful, woman. She'd abandoned the myriad shades of blond hair she'd adopted over the course of their first mission in favor of a deep chestnut brown color that accentuated her alabaster skin and sapphire blue eyes.
As she drew closer, he noted that she appeared somewhat rumpled and, based on the annoyed frown on her face was not particularly feeling the holiday spirit.
"What happened to you?" Nyota asked as she rose and embraced Christine.
"Just stay away from the punchbowl," she responded with a roll of her eyes. "Not only has Kevin Riley spiked the punch again this year, but he's put mistletoe up overhead as well, and is manhandling every single woman who walks by."
Kirk watched Christine as she made her way around the table, chatting and handing out small packages to her friends.
"Jim." The uncharacteristic insistence in Spock's tone made Kirk realized that he'd been speaking to him for several minutes.
"Sorry, Spock," Kirk responded.
"I do not understand significance of mistletoe? How does this mistletoe give leave to Mr. Riley to 'manhandle' the single women? It does not seem proper. Is there not some regulation against such a substance?"
"It's an ancient Terran Christmas custom, Spock. When a couple stands underneath the mistletoe they are expected to kiss one another. It's considered…romantic. Men and women often make a game of maneuvering someone special under the mistletoe to get a kiss."
"Romantic? Kissing many partners, in public, it sounds quite vulgar."
"It's just harmless fun, Spock. Now if he starts singing I'm calling Security."
"I believe that there are certain of your human customs and practices that I will simply never understand."
"Where's that crotchety old boss of yours?" Kirk asked as Christine came back around to their side of the table. "He was supposed to be here half an hour ago."
"He'll be down in a few minutes. I called in every favor I had at Fleet and got a vidconn set up for him and Joanna."
"What a wonderful gift. Maybe a holiday chat with his daughter and grandkids will put some holiday spirit into the old grump. Have seat Christine."
"Thanks, but I really didn't intend to stay. I've got several experiments set up in the lab."
"It's Christmas Eve, Doctor, do I need to make it an order?"
"No, sir," Chapel said and took the chair next to Spock. "I can stay for a little while."
To Kirk's surprise Christine placed a small package wrapped in shiny silver paper on the table in front of Spock.
"I'm glad you're here, Mr. Spock. I was going to take this by your office later."
Spock raised a wary eyebrow at the package in front of him, and then looked to Kirk, his discomfort palpable.
"I know that Vulcans don't celebrate Christmas—but, well I thought this would be something you would appreciate."
"Come on Spock, open it," Uhura said, flashing a bright smile that was equal parts mischief and Saurian brandy.
Hesitantly he picked up the small package and meticulously opened each of the fastenings. Kirk watched as Spock removed what appeared to be some sort of crudely woven black material.
"It was a first effort," Christine said with a soft laugh. "I had no idea knitting a pair of socks would be so complicated."
"I cannot-" Spock stood abruptly and dropped the socks onto the table, his expression grim. "Such a gift…it is not proper."
"Not proper?" Nyota asked, then shifted her gaze from Spock to Christine.
"For a woman to make such a personal gift to a man who is not hers? It is most improper…I can not accept this."
"Spock." Jim said his eyes darting between Spock and the now bright red face of Christine Chapel. "I'm sure—"
"It is not proper for a female to make such a gesture, it is most… unseemly!" Spock said. "It dishonors the woman to do so, and it dishonors the man who allows her to bring such dishonor upon herself."
The excruciatingly awkward silence was broken by the sound of muffled laughter nearby. Kirk watched as Christine turned and made eye contact with the group of nurses at the next table.
"Captain," Christine said nodding crisply, and then nodded to the rest of the officers around the table. "Happy Holidays, enjoy your evening," she added as she left."
"What in the hell is wrong with you?" Uhura asked Spock as she rose from her chair.
"You do not understand. Such an overture toward other than a mate is… shameful. It is the act of … of a…harlot."
"Socks, Spock?" Kirk shook his head. "The harlots on Vulcan give socks? My aunt Clem used to give George and me socks every Christmas-and she was eighty five years old."
"I don't care." Uhura said moving toward Spock. "In case you haven't noticed we're not on Vulcan! Where is the damn logic in humiliating her like that? And in front of Ames and Blaylock- it will be all over the ship by gamma shift."
"As I live and breathe, a Vulcan at a Christmas party," McCoy said with a chuckle as he walked up behind Uhura and set a plate of food down on the table. But his broad smile quickly faded as he saw the faces of his friends around the table. "What's wrong? Y'all look like someone died"
"Chris gave Mr. Spock a pair of socks." Uhura said before downing the rest of her drink.
"The famous socks?"
"Famous socks?" Kirk asked.
McCoy picked up the socks and grinned broadly. "These babies are going to be on the cover of the next Starfleet Quarterly. They're made out of a special heat synergizing fiber that Christine developed by cross-pollinating the Vulcan t'raval plant with a Terran Night blooming Icharus plant. She came up with a process to extract a fine thread from the filaments. It's the dangdest thing, when she knit it into fabric it was able to maintain the wearer's ambient body temperature at up to sixty degrees below zero indefinitely."
"Sixty below zero, Bones? That's amazing."
"And it's light as a feather. Fleet's going to incorporate it in all of our emergency gear by the end of next year."
"A discovery like that must be worth a fortune?"
"Well you know Christine, Jim, she could care less about the money. She's set up a foundation to channel all of the profits into building a new pediatric medical center in San Francisco. You know, I kind of lobbied for her to give those to me, but she wanted the old green Grinch here to have them because they keep this ship so much cooler since the refit. Guess she was afraid he'd catch cold or something."
"If you will excuse me?" Spock said as he snatched the socks from McCoy's hand. "I believe that there is a fence that is in need of mending."
Chapter Two
Christine stormed across the dance floor making a direct line for the bar.
"What's your pleasure, Doctor?"
Christine recognized the young man tending the bar as one of the new food service techs they'd picked up at Starbase Ten.
"A fully charged phaser set on kill."
The young man responded with a perplexed stare.
"Sorry, I'll have a Deltan Cruisio, neat."
The young ensign smiled as he set the small glass of garnet colored liqueur down in front of her.
"And you, sir?" Christine turned and was startled to see Spock standing behind her. "Is there anything I can get for you?"
"Do you have good manners back there?" Christine asked, setting the now empty glass back down on to the bar with a decisive thump.
"I am not presently in need of refreshment, ensign, thank you."
Christine closed her eyes for a moment in anticipation of the pleasant rush of the potent Deltan drink as it entered her bloodstream. But the bliss of the Deltan serenity potion was short lived as she opened her eyes to find Spock's eyes upon her.
"I…" he began tentatively.
"Yes you-you, it's always about you isn't it?" She tapped her glass on the bar signaling for a refill.
"I didn't know what I should do with this?" He held out the black socks, scraps of silvery paper still clinging to them.
She downed the second drink then snatched them away from him.
"Were I not loathe to spend Christmas in the brig, I'd tell you exactly what you could do with them."
She rotated the small crystal goblet, watching in fascination as it reflected the sparkling lights. She briefly considered a third drink, but was beginning to doubt that there was enough liquor on the entire ship to grant her the serenity she was seeking.
"Another?" the bartender asked as she set the glass down.
"Thanks, but I've got work waiting for me in the lab."
"Merry Christmas, Doctor Chapel."
"Thanks, you too-hey, do you have feet?"
"Last time I looked," he answered with a laugh.
"Merry Christmas," she said and tossed him the socks. She turned to find Spock still standing behind her. "And just to be clear, I simply want him to have the socks. I'm not planning to have sex with him."
"Doctor…Christine, you are not giving me a chance—"
"A chance?" she said laughing bitterly "A chance at what, Mr. Spock? A chance to humiliate me in front of half the crew?"
"You don't understand—"
"I don't understand? Me? I'm the one who doesn't understand? Oh, believe me I understand plenty. God knows it took me five years but I finally see you for what you are. And you know what I see? A cold, self centered, heartless jerk."
Before she could continue Christine's attention was drawn to the small knot of giggling young women. She was not in the least surprised to find Nurses Andrews and Blaylock at the center of the group. They appeared to be laughing at something on the ceiling of the recreation room. She followed their gaze and was horrified to discover the source of their amusement.
"Mistletoe, damn Riley."
"Mistletoe?"
"It's a human cultural thing. Trust me, you really don't want to know."
"The cultural things, they can be difficult to overcome. They become so ingrained within us that we no longer see the ways in which they shape our view. My reaction to your gift was-"
"Asinine, boorish-"
"I was going to say regrettable."
"Ill mannered, rude, jackassardly—"
"I do not believe 'jackassardly' is an actual word."
"For the love of heaven, you stupid jerk, it was a damn pair of socks."
"I know that, Christine. Won't you please give me a chance to explain?"
"Fine, explain."
"In the earliest times of my people—before the times of Surak—"
"Okay, I've got projects in the labs that need tending, so the operative phrase here is 'short version.'"
"Among my people, the giving of a gift of food or clothing, particularly handmade clothing, is considered a sign of a certain intimacy, an intimacy that would be part of a bonded relationship between those who are mated. For a woman to be as a mate to a male who is not hers, it is considered most improper."
"Yeah, I pretty much got that whole I'm the sock whore of the Enterprise thing."
"I could not bear to think of you being dishonored in such a way at my expense. The very thought of you being diminished in such a manner made me realize the depths of my admiration and respect for you and your accomplishments. I realize now that my reaction was based on Vulcan culture and tradition. You are not Vulcan and I was in error to judge your action in that context.
"You're right. The cultural differences can be problematic, even among humans. My gift…it was not intended to impose upon your tradition. Maybe we could both forgive each other?"
"A most agreeable solution."
"I really do need to get back to the lab."
"Did you wish for me to kiss you?
"What?"
"We are standing under the mistletoe, is it not incumbent upon us to kiss one another?"
"Thanks, Mr. Spock, I think I'll take a pass on that."
"Oh," he said. "I…I thought perhaps…"
"Perhaps what?"
"Since my experience with V'Ger I have found my self more…open to certain possibilities."
"Possibilities?"
"You, Christine, I have found myself considering the possibility of…us."
"Us? What—oh, wow, yeah. Seriously, I really didn't see that coming."
"We would be a logical match. I have always greatly admired your intellect, and your sense of duty and honor, and—I have not been unmoved by your physical beauty."
"You…and me—a logical match?" she stammered. Apparently she'd gravely misjudged the effect of the Deltan liquor.
"You love me," he said arching an eyebrow. Damn, she'd forgotten how freaking annoying that was.
"Yeah, you might want to work on your verb tenses there. I loved you, but that was a long time ago. I've had something of an epiphany myself recently, and I've found my self open to a certain new possibility as well."
"I see." Spock's bearing stiffened. "I am sorry to have imposed upon your evening."
"It's been an interesting evening to say the least. I really do have a project I need to finish." She was about to turn and walk away when she leaned close to him and gave him a quick peck on the cheek.
"Merry Christmas, Commander."
"Peace and long life, Doctor."
Chapter Three
James Kirk poured a second glass of wine.
"Thanks," Christine said with a soft smile.
"Shall I open this now?" he said, gesturing to the small package on the table in front of him.
"It's a Christmas gift, and it's Christmas."
"It's not socks is it?" Kirk asked with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes.
"Socks," Christine replied, as she unsuccessfully attempted feigning outrage. "Captain, I'm not that kind of girl."
Kirk undid the fasteners on the opalescent wrap and removed what appeared to be a narrow black tube, similar in composition to the infamous socks.
"You made this yourself?"
"I did."
"Where's the other one?" he asked.
"There's only supposed to be one," she replied, and her face had taken on a brazen, almost wanton expression that made Kirk's heart beat faster.
"So one of my feet will just have to freeze I guess?"
"I told you, it's not a sock." She laughed. The sound was silky and melodic. Kirk decided that he like that sound, and would like to hear it on a regular basis. "Think more northerly."
"I see. Not socks."
"Not socks."
"I still can't believe Spock made such a scene over a damn pair of socks. I hope he apologized to you."
Christine rose from her chair and moved toward him. "I really don't want to talk about Spock right now. I was rather hoping you might try on your gift so I can see if it fits."
"I'm not sure it would fit right now."
"It stretches."
"It would need to stretch…a lot."
"Fascinating, maybe we should do something about that?" Christine asked as she licked her lips and nodded toward his sleeping alcove.
Kirk pulled her down onto his lap and into a ravenous kiss. She responded with a passion more than equal to his own. Hands caressing, lips teasing, nimble fingers struggling with clothing fasteners, tongues frantically tasting and desire building into an unquenchable fire. He was not certain of how they'd made it into his bed, nor was he certain of how many times they'd made love, however there was one thing of which he was entirely certain; it was the best damned Christmas of his entire life.