Title: A Celebration in Infinite Combinations
Characters: (this chapter) Spock, Kirk, cameo of McCoy, Scotty, Uhura
Pairings: (this chapter) unrequited Chapel/Spock, hints at Scotty/Uhura
Rating: K+ for violence and minor character death, etc.
Summary: The first year of the five-year mission is a critical time for the crew of the starship Enterprise. A new chain of command, a new crew; and a new captain who must prove himself to both - all must work together and learn to function, not as a crew, but as a family.
Warnings/Spoilers: Liberties with early TOS canon, nothing beyond the usual. Spoilers and specifics are footnoted.
A/N: Twelve mini story arcs revolving around twelve sets of characters, all converging in the last chapter. Holiday and gift-giving themed story; every even chapter containing main characters and odd containing minor characters with nods at main characters. This is definitely a character exploration piece, with a holiday flavor - because we all need more holiday fluff and hope this time of year.


Chapter Six

Spock of Vulcan.

In those three words lay the acknowledgement of his greatest strengths, and his greatest weaknesses.

He was Vulcan; possessed the training, intelligence, and abilities of a Vulcan, was on the books of Starfleet has having Vulcan citizenship. He identified as a Vulcan, was regarded as a Vulcan, and many did not even know of his dual parentage. Ironic, that he was only accepted as a Vulcan among humans, was rejected as one on his home planet itself.

But he was a child of Terra as well, but with none of the attributes human expected of a half-human. More importantly, he had no desire to possess such unbridled, uncontrollable elements as made a being human; had never had such a desire. As a Vulcan, he was content, content to live amongst humans above such transient emotions as they showed regularly, content to remain superior, content to live reclusively apart, content to never make a gesture which might indicate more than the detached interest of a scientist.

And then he met James Tiberius Kirk, and everything he knew about himself: his heritage, his desires, his contentment, his control – changed.

Thoughts turned over like an upset cart of valuables now strewn across a heavily-traveled road, innate elements he did not even know he possessed now set adrift in a stormy sea without the benefit of a sextant or even stars to steer by – his life was upended without his permission, his sanction, his desire, or consideration for the same.

And yet, he could not find it in himself to resent this unusual human who had, somehow, some way, by some unknown and inexplicable method, charmed his way into what had until now been a perfectly logical, calm Vulcan heart.

James T. Kirk was a volatile element, an unpredictable variable in the ongoing experiment which was his life among humans; and any scientist knew how dangerous unknown elements could be in experiments. The consequences for introducing such elements could be destructive, disastrous – or they could produce the most fascinating and unexpected results, bring new discoveries that could revolutionize thought processes and scientific principle.

And one evening, when he found himself sitting opposite this unique individual over a chess board and discovered to his horror that he actually was wishing he could find some way to indicate his pleasure in the man's company as easily as Kirk's smile indicated the same to him – his world disintegrated.

The mental beakers of his life-experiment shattered into slivers of painful, broken thoughts, sending the elements which comprised his mind pooling in a diluted mess of horror and dismay and rejection of principle and shock, intermingled with the terrible, indescribable, beckoning thrill of freedom.

Jim was puzzled, and worried he knew, about his sudden retreat from the half-finished game: but had he not retreated, the consequences would have been disastrous. He was in dire need of meditation, and set about to do so immediately. Eight hours later, he emerged, not having reached a successful conclusion to his inner turmoil.

He stood at a divergence of paths; continue as he had been for many years, especially the last fifteen in which he had been enrolled in Starfleet, and remain as all expected him to be – Vulcan, without question, without distinction, without a second glance. Emotionless, flawlessly detatched, embracing only that which enhanced the mind and rejecting all aberrations of Logic.

Or, he could attempt – and the key term there was attempt – to explore that part of himself which had been locked away in mental prisons for so long he was not quite certain he knew the location of the cell's key. Vulcans did not form casual relationships, for they had no need of transient friendships or dalliances. Humans thrived on casual interaction and conversation; Vulcans had no need for such.

Vulcan friendships, even romantic relationships, were rooted in the minds first, and then and only then the emotions; for those emotions were permitted between individuals, but only if the mind – both minds – could control the unpredictable impulses that were the risk of such relationships. Human friendships, on the other hand, were based upon feelings, upon a mutual give-and-take of opinions and advice and casual conversation and gestures.

They were polar opposites.

And yet, scientific principle stated that opposites attracted.

The danger lay in the unpredictability of uncharted space – this void, this unlit black hole of danger which could easily destroy everything he was, everything he ever had been, everything he ever envisioned himself being. He faced a choice, and once embarking on the path chosen there would be no course adjustment or turning back.

James T. Kirk was dangerous.

The man had the ability to destroy his Vulcanity, his mind, his lifestyle if the human chose; the amount of power the man would have made the venture a most dangerous one indeed. If he were to relinquish some of his Vulcan nature in favor of experimentally dabbling in that human emotion known as friendship – love, affection, camaraderie, companionship, whatever term the humans affixed to it – then he was placing his entire mind, his entire being, all of who he was and ever would be…in the hands of a human.

And even a Vulcan could feel fear at the gravity of that.

Still, if he were to even keep this man as a peripheral acquaintance, he must learn to make concessions to the human way.

And so, for one thing, he listened and attempted to learn, to learn all he could about this most unique of species. For the first time in his life, he actually had a desire to explore what precisely drove these humans to accomplish such ends as they were capable of, to learn all there was to know about them, their habits and strengths and idiosyncrasies and vices.

In his service in Starfleet as Science Officer and now as First Officer to the most famous captain in the 'Fleet, Spock had seen and been part of many strange things. He had been participant in alien rituals which defied scientific principle, been asked to explain the inexplicable, watched the humans with whom he interacted contradict themselves most illogically, tolerated the natural distrust and sometimes bigotry which resulted from his mixed heritage, attempted to study and understand the myriad of emotions which seemed as integral components of humanity as their molecular structure.

And yet, even after eleven years aboard the Enterprise under Captain Pike and not quite a year under Captain Kirk, he was no closer to understanding the human emotions of physical attraction.

Captain Pike had made it quite clear that the only woman in his life was his Number One, and so James Kirk was a considerably different personality in that regard; and yet, this human's reputation was highly exaggerated, as Spock well knew. Kirk was undoubtedly attractive to many – there was enough physical results to prove sufficient evidence on that grounds – and he could see the human's magnetic charisma and charm working amongst his crew from his first day aboard. To be attracted to a brilliant personality – and a brilliant mind – was not an incomprehensible thing to a Vulcan; the mind, after all, was the key component in a relationship for his species. The attraction lay in the mental compatibility, pure and simple; not in the physical attraction or compatibility. Species, gender, race, personality – none of it mattered as much as complete acceptance within the mind of the bond-mate or family member with whom one engaged in the relationship. Human, being non-telepathic, had only the physical to form an attraction, and yet he could not see how they could possibly do so on such transient ideals as coloring and physical fitness.

His own bond with T'Pring, muted though it was at present due to time and space (and, if he were to be completely honest with himself, due to the fact that he cared not enough about it to properly nurture it), was his only experience with what humans would equate a romantic relationship; and yet how could it qualify as such, when he had not been given choice so much as informed that his seven-year-old promised was simply the most mentally compatible with his hybrid mind? It was not the Vulcan way to bring other factors into the matching process, and he accepted that with perfect equanimity; as a not-yet-mature Vulcan, he had no physical needs to satisfy, no desires to satiate, and certainly no need for the feelings associated with what humans referred to as love affairs.

Spock quite simply therefore did not understand, to use the Terran expression, what roughly half the known galaxy seemed to see in Captain Kirk.

Kirk had always welcomed his questions regarding the complexities of human emotions and actions; and so, one evening, Spock observed as much to his dining companions, when the daughter of an aging diplomat whom they had been ferrying to a conference twelve hours distant flounced off in a huff due to the captain's kind yet firm refusal of her not-subtle advances.

Upon Spock's casual observation, Doctor McCoy inhaled one of his chow mein noodles and began choking on it. The captain only stared at him incredulously, face turning a peculiar shade of dark crimson. This was indicative on humans of embarrassment, and he began to wonder what it was he had said which might cause such a reaction.

He could not tell if the strangled noises emanating from Dr. McCoy's portion of the table space were hoots of laughter or indications of impending asphyxiation, and it was only when Kirk elbowed the other man in the ribs that he realized it was the former.

"That's awfully harsh, Spock," Kirk finally managed, taking a hasty drink of water and then setting the cup down, only to fidget with it. The human looked as if he could not decide whether to laugh or hide in mortification. "I mean I'm aware that Vulcans don't really have sexual preferences, due to being above the more shallow emotions, but –"

"Captain, I am unaware of what I have said which could be construed as 'harsh,' by any standards," he replied blankly. "I merely observed that I do not in any way comprehend the concepts of human attraction based upon physical appearance…?"

"…Ah," was the response he received, which was hardly enlightening. However, some of the color began to leave the captain's face, which he took as an encouraging sign. "…then," Kirk added, "you weren't talking about me personally?"

He regarded the human in astonishment, eyebrows climbing into his hairline. "Negative."

"Well, now that you've patched up his deflated ego, Mr. Spock, I'm gonna get some more fruit salad and get back to the labs to finish those tests," McCoy chuckled, skillfully evading the dangerous glare and the elbow Kirk was sending his direction "Want anything before I leave?"

"Negative, Doctor."

"You going to unlock my meal card so I can have hot chocolate?"

"Nope."

"Then get lost," Kirk grinned, not truly put-out, and jerked a thumb over his shoulder.

The doctor clapped the man on the shoulder in commiseration and moved toward the food selectors, leaving them to finish their meal.

"So," Kirk began conversationally, "another lesson in illogical human behavior, is it, Mr. Spock?"

He gave a minute eyebrow-shrug, which he was aware the human would take as an affirmative.

"Physical attraction," the captain continued, eyes pensive. "I take it that Vulcans are, what…attracted to intelligence, then?"

"Essentially, that is correct. The mind is the basis for any relationship, romantic or otherwise, as without the power of the mind there is no controlling the emotional turbulence which might be elicited from the relationship of two individuals. This does not surprise you," he observed, as the human only nodded, smiling a little.

"It does not," Kirk replied.

"May I ask why?" he inquired curiously. "Most are quite shocked to find that a race such as mine would acknowledge the possibility of emotional compromise at all."

"Mr. Spock, Mr. Spock, you are a very precise, extremely precise, speaker," Kirk replied, pointing an empty spoon his direction for emphasis. "And you have always chosen your words with almost ridiculous precision."

He inclined an eyebrow, indicating for the man to proceed.

"And," Kirk continued, smiling at him, "you've almost always said you do not feel emotions."

"That is correct."

"Therefore," the human added, eyes narrowed, "you've made the point that you don't necessarily feel them – but that doesn't mean they don't exist, that you don't have them, that they aren't somewhere within some part of you. No being can truly exist without the acknowledging of at least some emotion, Mr. Spock," Kirk added when he would have interrupted to correct the erroneous hypothesis. "What about curiosity? That's an emotion, one that is permitted in any scientific field. And," the man looked at him, leaning forward intensely, "it only makes sense that any Vulcan relationship would have to be first and foremost founded on the power of the mind, because only then will that power keep that relationship from spiraling out of control as so many human relationships do. It's quite…logical, to coin a phrase."

Had he been less tolerant of this one human's teasing, he might have resented the half-jesting tone – but the words were spoken seriously, and to some extent Kirk was correct and they both knew it.

"One thing you might want to try to understand about humans, Mr. Spock, is that we want that which we know we can't have, the unattainable. It's just the allure of the unknown; you as a scientist can understand that, surely."

He nodded slowly, as his mind processed this idea.

Kirk drank from his water glass, and amusedly eyed his First over the top of the cup. "Especially women, they seem to be allured by not just physical attractiveness, but the idea that the object – or person – in question is utterly unattainable…or, more mysteriously, chooses to be so."

He sent the human a blank look, and then had no idea why the captain chuckled softly. "And that right there, is exactly why half the Science staff can't focus when you're around, Commander."

He had assumed it was due to his exacting requirements to work directly under his supervision; he expected no less than the best from his people, and had no qualms about informing them of the fact and requiring work to match. Now, Kirk was trying to tell him that his staff was…

Though unacquainted with human emotions, he was no fool; the realization startled him.

Kirk sent him a longsuffering look as a yeoman approached their table, obviously reluctant to disturb them, and handed the human a padd to sign off on.

"Sorry, sir," she murmured.

"No apologies necessary, Yeoman. There you are."

"Thank you, sir." The young woman hastily went around their table in her efforts to exit as quickly as possible, and in the process jostled the padd in her arms. The stylus, dislodged from its clip, went rolling across the floor, amid a smattering of impolite titters from a nearby table of junior lieutenants.

Proper manners were taught to all species, especially to a diplomat's son, and so it was mere reflex; Spock sent the lieutenants a frosty look which silenced them instantly, and retrieved the errant stylus. He was somewhat mystified to see the young woman turn a similar shade to the captain's coloring a few minutes ago, stammer a hasty word of thanks, and then move more hastily toward the door than she had been previously; perhaps it was embarrassment, though over such a trifle?

Upon returning to his seat, he found James Kirk laughing into his water cup.

"Sir?"

"That right there, Mr. Spock. That. Right. There."

"I am unaware of to what you refer, Captain."

"I know," Kirk replied, grinning as he finished off his drink. "And that utter cluelessness is part of the allure, you can take my word for it."

"…You are implying that Yeoman Tamura is…harboring romantic thoughts regarding my person?"

"You do have a wonderfully pretty way with words, Mr. Spock," and yes, he was capable of recognizing Kirkian sarcasm when it hit him. "Yes, she is, along with half the crew I'll wager."

This simply did not make sense, even less sense than usual when dealing with this most illogical of species. "Simply because I exercised proper courtesy in retrieving a fallen object?"

"That's part of it, yes."

"I would have done the same for you or anyone else, Captain," he pointed out.

"Yes, but I don't have a crush on you, Commander," the human retorted.

"…Right, an' I walked by on th' wrong end of that conversation," an amused Montgomery Scott shot over his shoulder as he passed their table.

Spock watched in absent fascination as Lieutenant Uhura swatted their Chief Engineer upside the head with a disposable napkin; the action was utterly futile, as the weapon would barely be felt – it must be a human tradition, the functional purpose of which escaped him.

Kirk only shot the both of them a tolerant glare, making a shooing motion with his hands.

Once the two were out of earshot, Spock turned his attention back toward his captain, who was watching the pair with fondness. From what he knew of human behavior, the conclusions were obvious. "…I had not been aware of the relationship between the Chief and Lieutenant Uhura," he ventured cautiously.

Kirk glanced back at him. "I'm not so sure there's actually a relationship, so much as the wish for one but the knowledge that this voyage really isn't the best time or place for one, in their positions," he replied softly. "They've both shown an uncommon common sense regarding their understanding of stations and rank, and the example that has to be shown to subordinates."

He nodded in complete approval; both Scott and the Lieutenant were exceptional officers, and he had no complaints with either of them in any fashion. "Not all officers are so sensible, which in turn makes for ease of communication and a lack of tension between them," was his final observation as his finished his soup.

Kirk turned his attention from eavesdropping on two shifty-eyed crewmen at the next table, to eye him with barely-concealed amusement, tempered with only a dash of sympathy. "Chapel stalking you again?"

"Captain," he reproved, for it was not only disrespectful of the woman but also far too crude a term for the action.

"Sorry."

Spock was not being stalked, as the humans put it; the Head Nurse was nothing if not professional, despite the awkwardness which had resulted recently from the events of the Psi2000 epidemic. She had never since then spoken a word in any way inappropriate toward him, nor given more than the usual vague signs of her attraction toward him. Chapel was an exceptional officer, and a professional to the core – and yet, he remained uneasy in her presence, and he could not fully explain why.

"She has done nothing to warrant such accusations, Captain."

"I said I was sorry, Spock, geez," the man grumbled, flushing slightly. "But everyone can see how she's mooning over you. I don't want you to feel that you have to accept the attention, if she ever gets out of hand."

"I appreciate your concern, Captain, ill-founded though it may be. Nurse Chapel is a consummate professional."

Kirk gave him an odd look, a spark lighting in the back of his golden gaze. "That's high praise, coming from you, Mr. Spock," said he slowly, smiling.

He sent the human a withering look, for he could sense enough of Kirk's emotions to know exactly where the man's thoughts were heading. "I am incapable of romantic interest toward a member of this crew, sir."

"Of course, Mr. Spock." Kirk did not sound fully convinced, but the human was wise enough to know that teasing had its place and this was not it.

However, Spock would be the first to admit that he was completely out of his depth in this particular area; and yet he rebelled stubbornly at asking for assistance. But then, conversely, was it not logical to enlist the aid of a human, when attempting to understand another human?

He was still mentally debating the point, when he became aware that the captain had picked up on the fact that he was withholding something, and in true Kirkian fashion the human addressed it without preamble.

"All kidding aside, Mr. Spock, is something bothering you about her? Sorry," the man amended, at the inclined eyebrow he received. "I mean, let's see…is something causing you mental distraction regarding the problem of her unrequited, if professional, attraction toward you?"

This illogical human's way of rephrasing emotions into extremely skewed logical statements was far more distracting, but he did not say so. Instead, he decided that to not avail one's self of an offer of assistance was not logical, and so he slowly nodded.

After making certain no one around was close enough to hear their conversation, he spoke. "It is not Nurse Chapel's attentions which are disturbing, Captain, as she has always been professional and quite competent. But I am a Vulcan, sir," and here he emphasized the words earnestly, mentally prompting the human to grasp what he wished to say but his Vulcan half would not permit him to.

As he had illogically hoped, Kirk's unique ability to understand him filled in the gaps, and a sudden understanding flickered between them. "And as such, you know even if you were inclined to do so you'd never be able to…love her, like she wants you to," the captain prompted gently.

"As she deserves someone to," he agreed, relieved that he did not need to be more specific. Christine Chapel, he had discovered upon both their being infected by the Psi2000 virus, had an extremely interesting mind; that much he had seen instantly upon their contact. She was a very strong, admirably intelligent woman, and while he harbored nothing close to interest in her beyond that of purely intellectual kinship, he was aware that in human circles saying so was not the compliment it would be among his people – rather, an insult to Chapel as both a woman and a friend.

Humans. Their ideals were at such odds with Vulcan principle that his best intentions sometimes could be interpreted as insults he would never even think of giving. How did one build any sort of relationship, professional or otherwise, upon such a quicksand?

"And you don't want to hurt Chapel's feelings by telling her so, to make her drop the torch she's carrying for you, is that it?"

"…Drop the torch?"

Kirk waved the metaphor away (he had the vague idea it was slightly mixed anyway), not wanting to bother with explanations, and after a puzzled moment Spock nodded. "That is correct, Captain."

"That's a whole lot easier said than done," Kirk sighed, leaning back in his chair with an expression of deep thought.

"I am aware, sir," was his ironic reply, and a smile twitched at the human's mouth. "She is a valued colleague, and I would no more willingly do harm to her mental or emotional state than I would to yours or any other member of this crew."

"Except Bones," the captain added, grinning.

"I believe the phrase is, he brings it upon himself."

Kirk laughed, and stood to return to the Bridge. He picked up his empty tray and began moving toward the disposal units, Spock three paces behind him. It was not until they were in a more private location, namely the turbolift, that the captain turned to him to finish their conversation.

"My advice, Mr. Spock, for what it's worth to you, would just be to be yourself around her," the man said, and he could see that there was no levity in the human's expression, only a sincere desire for things to, as they said, work out among his officers. "She's a very smart woman, Spock," Kirk added unnecessarily, but then explained, "and she's perfectly capable of drawing the same conclusions you just indicated to me. If she has any sense about her at all – and I believe she does – then she'll grow accustomed to the idea and just be happy to accept what you're able to give her."

He raised an eyebrow. "I was given to understand that humans rarely think so logically when their emotions are concerned, Captain."

"Yes, but then again I don't think you'd be quite so careful about hurting her feelings unless you respected her a great deal – and as far as I've seen, you respect the mind the most, isn't that right?"

"Correct," he admitted, for he had not thought of it like that before. From his brief contact with the nurse from their joined hands, he had sensed that logical mind and had been intrigued by it…possibly, actually probably, Jim was correct.

"Conclusions?"

"I shall bow to your much superior experience with such matters," he returned, quite gratefully; but he could not understand why the human's face increased in coloration again, nor why Kirk shook his head and placed a despairing hand over his eyes just before the doors opened to deposit them on the Bridge.

"Please, Mr. Spock," the human said in an muttered sigh as they moved across the Bridge, though he could hear an undercurrent of wry amusement in the words, "do me and my ego a favor, and have our resident rumor mill explain a thing or two to you about human reputations and the tactful ways of addressing personal issues?"

"Sir?"

"Status, Mr. Sulu?" Kirk asked, much louder, and completely ignored his bewildered query.


Spock would never be certain if it had been entire random chance (highly unlikely; the odds were exactly one thousand, four hundred and eighteen to one against), or simply the fact that this personal matter had been occupying a deal of his meditation time as well as his working hours – but if the latter, then he had only his own subconscious to blame for the fact that his programmed computer script apparently assigned him the name Christine Chapel for this ludicrous human holiday gift exchange in which he had so rashly agreed to participate.

This could not possibly end well.