Saavik was confused. So, as she always had before when she didn't understand something, she asked the person she thought most likely to know the answer—her guardian, Commander Spock.

He, however, had been no help. He had gone strangely pale—except for the tips of his ears, which turned a light emerald color—and refused to say anything other than "I have no comment on the matter".

After that, she had decided to ask the captain, but he was not helpful either. He simply blushed an interesting shade of red and hastily changed the subject.

She had then attempted to locate Ambassador Selek, thinking he might be able to give her a satisfactory response, but she hadn't been able to find him anywhere, which was why she was now in Sickbay, waiting patiently for Dr. McCoy to finish Yeoman Marks' physical.

When Marks had left, the doctor glanced up at her in mild surprise. "Morning, Saavik." The silent "what's going on?" was as clear as if he had said it out loud.

Saavik inclined her head slightly. "Good morning, Dr. McCoy," she replied politely. She hesitated for a moment before speaking again. "During the time that I have spent on the bridge recently, I have noticed that the captain touches my fa—Spock very often and, even more surprisingly, Spock lets him." She looked up at the doctor, hoping he, at least, would answer. "I do not understand. Vulcans do not like to be touched, and yet—"

"And yet Spock doesn't seem to mind," McCoy finished for her. Saavik nodded, and he laughed. "You're more observant than they give you credit for," he mused half to himself, writing something on the padd he held before putting it down and turning back to Saavik. "Did you ask your dad about it?"

Saavik nodded and then proceeded to tell the doctor about her conversation. "I attempted to ask the captain as well, but he had a similar reaction—he blushed and then tried to engage me in a different subject." She searched Dr. McCoy's face. "Do you know—" she began, but the doctor interrupted her, shaking his head in clear exasperation.

"Yeah, I do," he said roughly, sounding annoyed. "See, the thing is, Saavik, is that the captain and your dad have got it bad for each other. And I swear to God, everyone on this damn ship knows it but them." He turned away from her, swearing under his breath, clearly frustrated, and poured himself something she assumed was alcohol.

Saavik tilted her head to one side, confused. "What do they have, Doctor?" she asked, somewhat concerned. "Is it contagious?" She wasn't sure she wanted to 'not mind' people touching her.

McCoy laughed again. "Nah, that's not what I meant. It's an expression—it means they're in love with each other." When Saavik's only response was the slight widening of her eyes, he smirked slightly. "Not the answer you expected, huh?"

Saavik quickly controlled her automatic reaction to the surprising revelation. "I had surmised that they felt some level of affection for one another," she replied, "but I did not realize that it went further than friendship."

The doctor nodded, rolling his eyes. "Yeah. On the surface it doesn't," he said, his tone a little sarcastic, "but that's only 'cause neither of them has any idea what the other's feeling. Neither of them ever stops to think that maybe the other one wants them."

Saavik frowned slightly. "That is illogical. Anyone with eyes could observe their feelings for one another." She paused, thinking. "Perhaps there is some way that we could make them admit their feelings to each other."

McCoy snorted. "What do you suggest, Truth or Dare?"

She raised one eyebrow in confusion, but decided not to ask. "No, Doctor," she replied. "I was thinking that perhaps we could use mistletoe? I understand that it is a part of Terran Christmas tradition."

When Jim entered the turbolift, he almost instantly became aware of something wrong—Spock was standing next to him. He managed to resist banging his head against the wall and/or fleeing, but it was a close call on both fronts.

A few months ago, getting into the turbolift with Spock—voluntarily or involuntarily—would not have been a problem, but now...now he just could not deal with being in such close quarters with his first officer. He had never before so fully appreciated the difference between then and now, he mused wearily, leaning against the wall in a futile attempt to relax. Because there was a difference. A huge difference. A few months ago, he was just friends with Spock-just friends, and perfectly happy with that. Now...well, now, they were still just friends, but now he wanted more. And he was positive that Spock did not. After realizing his attraction, Jim had done some research and realized that Vulcans could sense strong emotions when they were close to the person emoting, which meant that Spock might very well figure out Jim's, uh, problem, and that definitely could not happen. It would be way too awkward on way too many levels.

So he had taken the easy way out. He locked himself into his quarters and attacked his mountain of paperwork for two straight weeks, only checking in with the Bridge for a few a minutes in the morning. This worked out just fine—until, of course, Spock had come to him, voicing the concern that Jim didn't like him and was attempting to spend as little time with him as possible. Well, that was what it sounded like after Jim translated the Spock-speak, anyway. He had quickly reassured his first that that was not the case, and then ushered him out so that he could panic in peace.

There was obviously no way he could keep off the Bridge without freaking Spock out, so he acted on the next good idea to enter his mind-he placed a call to his Betazoid high school psychologist, Ariana Troi, and immediately requested (well, demanded, really) to be taught some decent shielding techniques. She had complied, and he learned from her how to mentally place his feelings aside so that Spock wouldn't be able to sense them. He now employed this technique every day during his shift, but it was so mentally exhausting that he usually couldn't keep it up after he left the Bridge, forcing him to change the time of their chess games to the forty-minute break during shift.

Which was why, standing in the turbolift next to his first officer, Jim was currently contemplating means of escape. Making a quick sweep of the lift with his eyes, he suddenly noticed something on the ceiling. Frowning, he tilted his head up to the ceiling, only to squeeze his eyes shut with a groan a moment later. "Why me?" he muttered under his breath, annoyed.

Spock, of course, heard him. "Is something wrong, Captain?" he asked, raising one eyebrow quizzically.

Jim abruptly shifted his gaze from the ceiling to his first officer, which, he quickly realized, was a mistake. Spock's beautiful dark brown eyes were firmly fixed on his, and it took him a little too long to respond. "Uh, yeah, kinda," he replied, trying to keep his voice nonchalant. "It's just, um, well...the ceiling's covered with mistletoe." He winced internally as he finished. He so did not want to be in this situation right now.

Spock's eyebrow rose again. "I am not familiar with Christmas traditions surrounding mistletoe," he said, confusion lightly coloring his voice. "What purpose does it serve?"

Oh, so awkward. "Well, when two people are under the mistletoe, they...they have to kiss." Jim glanced up at Spock apologetically, mentally cursing whoever had put up this damn mistletoe.

This was not good.

That was the only thing Spock could think, standing next to his captain in the turbolift underneath a veritable canopy of mistletoe.

Not good at all.

He had never intended for Jim to discover his attraction, but if he had been forced to choose a way for him to find out, this most certainly would not have been it. Unsure of what else to do, Spock started to speak, not paying particular attention to what, exactly, he was saying. "In that case, I suppose it would be necessary for us to kiss," he said softly, and immediately wished he could take it back. He was not in the habit of stating the obvious, and he hadn't intended to start now.

He tried to stop himself from saying anything else, knowing that it probably wouldn't be particularly intelligent, but his brain appeared to have lost control of his mouth. "After all, it would be illogical of us to ignore such a tradition given that you are yourself human. I do not celebrate Christmas, but your own heritage dictates that you follow this tradition, and—"

Spock suddenly found himself rather unceremoniously interrupted by the press of soft, cool lips to his own. It was a chaste kiss, soft and sweet and so utterly perfect that, despite the tidal wave of emotions it evoked in him, Spock almost did not want it to end.

Jim slowly pulled away, and Spock quickly pressed his lips together to keep them from clinging to his captain's. Jim took a step back, and sent him an apologetic smile. "Sorry," he said. "But—you were rambling." Spock desperately wanted to say something about Vulcans not rambling—but he had been.

Jim shifted slightly, avoiding Spock's eyes. "I'd kinda like to try again, if that's okay with you," he said, glancing momentarily up at Spock and then back at the floor. "I mean...it's supposed to be mutual, you know? I wasn't trying to take advantage of you, I just-it's a tradition, and I figured if you kept analyzing and-well, I'd like to..."

"Jim," Spock interrupted. He walked over to his captain, tilting his face up so he could look into the deep blue eyes. Jim stared up at him, looking vaguely nervous. "Yeah?" he asked, swallowing.

"I would quite like to repeat that, if possible," Spock replied after a moment's hesitation. "I found it...quite enjoyable, especially considering the initiator of the kiss."

His captain's eyes widened. "Seriously?"

Spock felt the corners of his mouth twitch upwards slightly in amusement. "Seriously," he replied. "However, I would like to participate a little more in a subsequent kiss. I must admit, I was far too surprised by your actions to respond properly. I wish to remedy that, if this is agreeable to you."

"Definitely," Jim said quickly. They moved closer together, so close that their bodies were nearly touching. Spock had a moment to admire his captain's beauty up close before Jim's lips were moving against his again, deliciously, torturously slow, the taste cool and sweet. After a moment he began to respond in kind, using his hands on Jim's back to pull him closer, their tongues tangling together, but somehow it wasn't as fierce or urgent as it should have been.

Quite suddenly, and far too soon, the turbolift doors whooshed open, and the two of them quickly jumped apart. Jim ran a hand through his hair, trying (rather unsuccessfully) to look casual, and Spock winced internally when he saw who was outside the turbolift.

"Good evening, Dr. McCoy, Nyota," he said coolly, inclining his head slightly to the two, both of whom appeared to be on the verge of laughter.

"Hey," McCoy replied, slightly breathless. Jim exchanged a quick look with Spock. "You two are so childish," he said, shaking his head incredulously. The doctor and Nyota only laughed in response. Jim shook his head again.

"Whatever," he muttered. "Turbolift's all yours, guys." Still laughing hysterically, the two of them somehow managed to make their way into the lift. As the doors closed, Jim turned back to Spock. "Nuts, those two."

"Indeed."

"Why do I get the feeling that they had something to do with that little, uh, incident back there?" Jim asked, starting to walk down the hall. Spock followed him.

"I do not know, but I believe you are right. However, I think you should be somewhat comforted by the fact that they are now in the same predicament as we were."

Jim grinned. "Yeah. Serves them right." He stopped outside the door to his quarters. "Wanna play some chess?" he asked, and something about his demeanor suggested to Spock that, were he to follow the captain, they were not likely to actually play chess. His heart skipped a beat.

"I would be happy to."

Jim's answering smile was positively radiant.