Disclaimers, warnings, thanks in chapter one.
~Part Three of Four: Let Nothing You Dismay~
The Saturday before Christmas, I walked into my dorm room to discover that Gaila had decorated. There were lights everywhere; huge plastic ornaments hung from the ceiling on ribbons; red and green material was draped in huge swaths from the ceiling to shoulder height. Stepping in a straight line had somehow become hazardous.
This is what I think Orion looks like.
In true Gaila fashion, everything was overdone, but in a freakishly organized way. Every ribbon was the same length. Every ornament tied with a perfect knot. The lights and the swaths were perfectly balanced; I was sure that if I bothered to measure them, there wouldn't be a variation of a hundredth of a millimeter.
"You're certainly embracing Christmas," I pointed out.
"It was Kelly's favorite holiday," she said. "Even though records state she was Hindi and her husband was Jewish and he preferred Hanukkah." She tipped her head and crinkled her nose in a way that had helpless cadets falling at her feet. "Ny, what's a latke?"
I readied to answer her, but her attention had already drifted.
"Oh! Look at this!" She flipped on the vid screen; a video of a merrily burning fire appeared. "I can also do falling snow and a tree."
"Wow that sure is something."
She nodded, her face wreathed with an enormous smile. "And I wrote something for the occasion. Check your PADD."
With a sense of foreboding, I did as she asked. "What is this?"
"A Christmas song."
My eyes scudded in horror across the screen.
Ny, you better watch out
You better not cry
Better not pout
I'm telling you why
Santa Claus is coming for Gaila
He's making a list
And checking it twice;
And because I've been more naughty than nice
Santa Claus is coming for Gaila
He can see me when I'm sleeping
so he'll wait for me to wake
And he'll offer me his candy cane
So tasty.... for goodness sake
Big candy cane's pulled out
And my name he will cry
Too turned on to pout
Ny, I'm telling you why
Santa Claus is coming for Gaila
Santa Claus is coming for Gaila
"That's not what a candy cane is," I squeaked.
"I thought you sucked on candy canes," she said, frowning at the song.
"No," I said, tossing the PADD on the bed and looked at the vid screen – she'd switched it over to a snow scene.
"Fine, since you don't want to sing festive Christmas songs…" she groused. She put her own PADD down, then bent forward – her long curls were brushing the floor – and rummaged under her bed. She emerged with a box wrapped in paper decorated with stylized snowflakes. "I guess we can move on to the next part." She thrust the box at me.
"Lala?" I asked, staring at it.
"I know it's early, but I want you to see it!"
With a sense of foreboding, I took the box from her. It was remarkably light. I looked at the thin metal wrapped into a bow around the outside.
"Tinsel," Gaila said proudly. "I had Mi'ch'l make it specially in the lab. He probably could've gotten kicked out for misusing Starfleet property – but he didn't seem to care. You know, after I explained things to him." The emphasis she put on the word "explained," well, explained everything.
"Tinsel usually goes on a tree," I pointed out.
She shuddered expansively. "No trees. Now quit stalling and open!"
Santa please let this be the credits for Dr. Meister's book. Please let this be a hairbrush. Please let this be anything other than what I think it's going to be.
Taking a deep breath, I tore through the tinsel and the paper - being very careful to put the pieces in her open hands. The box was white and rectangular and very full of a big red bow that looked vaguely familiar.
"You liked the green one when we went shopping," she said, her voice vibrating with excitement.
"What? When?"
"When we were replacing the dress that was sacrificed on the altar of your Human/Vulcan sex orgy."
I stared at it, remembering very clearly that I had never said I liked the green one.
"So?" she demanded.
"It's very nice," I started.
"Hey! You asked for it," she interrupted.
"I did not ask for ling…," I began to point out before she shoved something at me.
"My" letter to Santa had appeared. I sighed, took it from her and glanced down. Right between "stick removal" and "less talking, more boinking" were the words "sexy lingerie that will drive The Commander out of his Vulcan/Human mind." I also noticed "shoes," and "actual, big girl makeup" before she grabbed the list back.
"You left off A Complete History of the Romulan Language," I pointed out.
"No, I didn't. I put 'big, boring book that only three people will find interesting.'"
"Three?"
"You, The Commander and Dr. Mister."
"Dr. Meister," I corrected weakly. I couldn't take my eyes off of the bow. It was big, but nowhere big enough. And it was very red. I could feel my face flood with blood. I couldn't even begin to imagine wearing this for Spock. I couldn't even imagine how he would respond to it.
A raised eyebrow; a hesitant "Nyota;" his questions as to where his normally modest girlfriend had gone.
Gaila cleared her throat; she wanted some sort of input.
"Thank you," I said, focusing on the adage that it was the thought that counts.
"You're welcome. I figured you could wear it for The Commander – not that you'd wear it for anyone else because of that whole monogamy thing – and it would be your Christmas present to him, because I know you aren't going to buy him anything – even though Kelly has never steered you wrong. Never, never, never."
"Thank you," I said again, cutting off her Dr. Flenderson-centered lecture as I counted the ways I was never going to wear the bow.
"He's going to love it," she said, her enthusiasm almost a physical force. She took a deep breath and looked expectantly at me.
"I don't think Spock's really into this kind of stuff."
"He's a man."
"He liked the white nightie, but he's never asked me to wear it again."
"He's a man."
"He seems to be just fine with my regular clothes."
"He's a man."
"I know he's a man." I took a deep breath. "Thank you."
"You're welcome," she said, clasping her hands daintily on her lap and twiddling her thumbs.
"So….," she began.
"So?"
The awkward silence stretched on as she raised her eyebrows and looked pointedly at the – I guess we were calling it a gift – sitting on my lap.
Then it hit me: obviously, the letters to Santa had really been a message to me, and I'd missed it entirely.
My mind raced. I could get her shoes. Or that toy. She'd already seen my boyfriend sweaty, and I was never going to let that happen again.
Or, I could give her something she was always pestering me for; something she'd forgotten to ask Santa to get her. "Ask me a question," I said.
"What?"
"That's your gift. Any question and I'll answer it as long as you never let Spock know that I talked to you about this."
"Christmas gifts aren't supposed to come with conditions."
"Well this one does. Do you agree?"
"Any question?"
"Any question."
"A real answer?"
"A real answer."
She took a deep, shuddering breath and her eyes lit up. "Okay. Okay. Okay. Let's see. Does his hair move? No! I don't really care. Does he let you get on top?"
"That's the question?"
"Yes. No! Wait. I need to think."
I waited while she thought. Out loud.
"Toys? No, not that – I know the answer to that one: no way. Does he close his eyes or keep them open? Do you guys do role plays - the teacher and the student – the farmer's daughter and the traveling salesman?"
What is she reading?
"No! I don't care about that. Oh! Has he bent you over the console in the language lab yet?" She paused, then flapped her hands at me, "Don't answer that – I know he has. You guys have probably sent out declarations of war to a half-dozen planets while you were bumping around."
I waited patiently – and nervously.
Maybe this wasn't the best idea I'd ever had.
"How green? No…" her eyes went unfocused and she grabbed her PADD and began typing, "How green is his peen, Nyota my queen? Oh that's good. That's real good."
Where the heck does she come up with these things, and what's a "peen?"
I sat quietly and waited, eventually she'd circle back to me.
Finally, she stopped, stared at me, and said "How big?"
There was no way I could pretend not to know what she was referring to. I gulped and asked, "You're sure that's the question you want answered?"
She nodded, her curls bouncing and her eyes sparkling.
I'm sorry, Spock. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry.
I bit my lower lip, jammed my eyes shut and held my hands out a goodly distance apart.
She blew out an impressed breath. "Good job, Commander's mom and dad."
I popped my eyes open. "And now we're done."
"And he really, really knows what he's doing with all that?" She waved her hands towards mine, which were clutched tightly in my lap, already regretting the actions of the last five seconds.
At least this time my brain had been involved in the misdeed.
"I said one question."
"My question is a question with multiple parts."
"Nope."
"Three parts?"
I shook my head slowly.
"One related part?"
I sighed and gave in. "Yes. He knows exactly what to do."
"With all that."
"Yes, with 'all that.'"
"You are so lucky, Nyota."
I know.
"I think I need a little more information. You know, to make sure that your idea of knowing what to do is the same as mine."
"The gift part of the day is done," I said.
"Mmmhmm," she said tentatively. "So, have you heard of the Earth tradition of birthdays?"
Santa, I could use that strength anytime now.
