Lace and Furs

Spock stepped off the transporter pad in a somewhat pensive state of mind. Ordinarily, he wouldn't have been ordered to go on an away mission so soon after Nyota had given birth, but the mission was a diplomatic one, and the First Officer of the Enterprise was expected to be present. She had waved off the inconvenience at the time, even though she was only just able to get out of bed, and T'Nasha and T'Nara were not yet sleeping through the night.

"Chris or Jan can come and help me - they'll understand," she had said. And indeed, the Other Dr. McCoy, and Mrs. Janice M'benga were both excellent women and mothers he would, could, and did trust with his own offspring already. . .

But. . .

Nyota had sensed his hesitation, and had waved it off as his own "special brand of jitters", as she often termed it. And, in part, it was.

But it was in far greater part a sudden and visceral sense of loss. He had been there for nearly every moment of the first two months for both T'Ashal and Solkar. He was loath to miss at least two whole weeks of moments with the twins. Already they were so different from each other, and yet still so radically the same. They were fascinating to observe.

Nevertheless, duty was duty. And even last week, their anniversary had come and gone without them being in the same room with each other. A critical negotiation was in progress on the planet, and he had not been given leave to do more than talk to her over the comm. He had told her where in their quarters was hidden a book and set of supplies necessary to begin learning how to crochet lace - his gift to her. She had sent down a small and gloriously impractical lace-hemmed handkerchief, sprigged all over, and inscribed with his initials in one corner. Her gift to him. It was payback, he supposed, for the penny he had given her six years ago - or perhaps it was simply for every impractical gift he had ever given her.

He sighed a little as he came up to the door of their quarters, hefting the small crate he carried with a reluctant shrug. Speaking of impractical gifts. . .

A moment later, the light in her eyes and the kiss she gave him made up amply for the days they had spent apart.

"The treaty's sighed, then?" she asked, eagerly.

"Yes. And delivered. The Federation is now trading partners with Fao'mel Three."

She grinned, then turned swiftly to deal with her suddenly whistling pot of tea. Clearly, the children were either at school, or asleep.

It was just as well.

"Nyota?" he said, slowly setting down the little crate she had yet to notice.

"Yes?"

"Do you remember our conversation regarding the anniversary gifts we would give this year?"

She laughed her remembering laugh, "Of course. I wanted to give you something ridiculous, you wanted to give me something practical - neither of us wanted anything to do with fur. Even replicated, we both decided it would be. . well. . . creepy." She came back over to the couch, and handed him one of the mugs of tea she held. "Why? What. . ."

Her eyes fell on the crate. Her face clouded with suspicion. "Spock? What. . .?"

He flipped open the crate with a sigh. Out leaped two small balls of fluff, purring and gurgling as they landed on his knees.

"No!" said Nyota with intense vehemence. "NO more tribbles. Mm-MM!" She reached out to sweep them back into the box.

He sighed again, even as he stopped her arm. "No, Nyota, they are not tribbles. They are Melool Gennets."

"Meloo. . . what?"

"Gennets. From the continent of Melool."

Nyota's face took on the look it did when Solkar would not eat his rice. "Gennets, then. Are they different from tribbles in ANY way?"

"Indeed." He held one out to her for her to examine more closely, "Tribbles reproduce asexually, and have a cellular structure of the sort that is particularly difficult to neuter effectively."

Nyota scowled at the gennet he was holding. "Oh really? I hadn't noticed."

Once again, he sighed. "Neither of these things are true of gennets, Nyota."

She blinked a few times. Her look softened, but did not relent. "Oookaaay. And just WHY do you have two of them in a crate?"

"The Premiere of Fao'mel found out I was the father of newly born twins. Apparently gennets are traditional gifts to very young children. He insisted I take this pair."

Now Nyota sighed. "The twins are much too young for pets, Spock!"

"I agree."

"And yet, here are two tribble-looking things in our quarters!"

"Nyota. . ." he paused before giving her the excuse she knew she really wanted, "We do have two other children. . ."

She looked at the ball of fluff purring on his knee. The one in his hand had gone to sleep.

"Fine," she said, glibly, scooping up the purring one with a grab so fast he barely had time to react, "But they get to share that one. This one is mine." She leaned back into the couch cushions, holding the fuzzy gennet to her cheek and cooing softly at it. It purred in response, and cuddled up into her neck.

Holding the other gennet gently, he went to the replicator to dial up an appropriate holding tank for the two creatures. He let his lips make a small smile. He knew his Nyota.

But it was strange. Despite their resolution, they had both been given fur gifts anyway.

"What will you name yours, Nyota?"

"Hmm?" she murmured happily from the couch, "Oh, I haven't even thought about it yet. . ."

"Because I am naming mine I-Chaya."

Her shout of laughter nearly woke the twins.