In this wee bit of a chapter, we'll have Spock's POV as he stresses out, poor baby.

Once more, let me thank you all for how kindly you've received this little (albeit ever-expanding) ball of fluff. I remain fully convinced that I have the most wonderful readers anywhere.

But Psalti darling, if you're reading this again, go do something useful. Like, practice or something.

Seriously.

Shoo.

~o0o~


Christmas is the time to let your heart do the thinking.
~Patricia Clafford


~o0o~

Spock sits, cross-legged, in the corner of his quarters that he has set aside for meditation – though meditation is not coming easily. It has not, in fact, come easily for several weeks, and if he wants to be perfectly honest with himself –also, something that has not come easily recently – he knows why.

He has a lot to think about, and Spock understands now that he has limited time to continue thinking, as he is in a situation that requires action.

Jim.

Nyota is right, of course – as she usually is. At the very least, he owes it to Jim to explain his behavior of late, though the thought of doing so is…

Not terrifying. Terror is a human emotion.

Daunting, then, perhaps.

But exactly what action he will take – what he will say to Jim – that is another question altogether. If he simply apologizes for how he has behaved toward Jim recently and attempts to return their relationship to their previous status of close friends, Spock is fairly sure that Jim will be curious as to why he had distanced himself to begin with. He is also fairly sure, however, that Jim would respect Spock's privacy enough not to ask him to explain himself.

Jim, he reflects, is always remarkably sensitive to Spock's needs – and how the physical and emotional requirements of a Vulcan would understandably differ from those of a human. He always makes a special effort to make sure that the rest of the crew maintains a respectful distance, and routinely does his best to make Spock feel comfortable.

With a rush of something strongly resembling guilt, Spock realizes that he has made no such allowances for Jim's emotional needs, for his comfort. When his own feelings toward Jim became too confusing – and frankly, too intense – for him to fully control, Spock made the decision to immediately discontinue all contact with Jim that was not directly related to their duties as Captain and First Officer.

He must acknowledge now that he has, quite plainly, hurt Jim badly by his actions.

Moreover, he must also acknowledge that the feelings he sought to escape have not dissipated to any significant extent, or become any easier to deal with. The only facet of the situation that has become even remotely more tolerable is that when Jim is not in close physical proximity, Spock does not need to actively resist the desire to move closer still, to reach out and touch…

Desire. Another human emotion.

And… love.

Squeezing his eyes tightly closed as in denial of having even thought of it, Spock shakes his head slightly.

He can hear Jim's voice in his memory now, with the teasing protest he always makes whenever Spock denies experiencing emotions. "After all, Spock – like it or not, you are half human."

He suspects that, even if he were fully Vulcan, somehow he would have come to love James Kirk. Everything about the man is so vastly compelling – his amazing intellect, his instinctive ability to lead others, his eagerness to learn and experience new things, his enthusiasm for life.

Spock lets himself think about Jim – truly think about him, without trying to fight it – for the first time in a while; while somewhat disturbing, it is also strangely liberating.

He thinks of Jim's strength and courage, of his fierce dedication to duty – of his kindness and generosity, his unwavering loyalty and friendship.

He is not entirely sure when his thoughts wander to the memory of the first time he had looked at Jim and really seen him for all that he was. But he recalls that in that moment – innocuous enough, really, as Jim had simply been conversing with Sulu and Chekov at the helm at the time – in that moment, Spock had found himself to be frozen in place, quite literally breathless.

As he watched, he had realized that Jim truly was like no other being he had ever encountered, and the sudden shock of awareness of the beauty of Jim's lean, muscled physique, the brilliant blue of his eyes, the ease and grace with which he carried himself…

It was, quite simply, as if he somehow had never truly seen Jim before. A sensation that could only be described as raw, visceral want had surged through Spock then, utterly without warning.

The experience had been profoundly startling; he had promptly turned away, hoping that his unusual reaction had not been noted by anyone. Of course, he had not been so fortunate; Spock had turned to his station to find Nyota's questioning, penetrating gaze upon him.

He should have known, even then, that he was lost.

He realizes that there is truly only one course of action available to him; even though he cannot be sure of Jim's own feelings, he will have to confess to Jim that the Enterprise's first officer has fallen irrevocably in love with his captain.

Knowing Jim as he does, he is not entirely without hope that his regard might be reciprocated – but he cannot be sure, and it is this gnawing incertitude that made him distance himself from Jim to begin with, and that is causing him to hesitate even now.

Nonetheless, Spock also knows that even if Jim does not feel the same way toward him, he will be kind – and they can eventually find a way to rebuild some sort of a relationship.

But just the thought of telling Jim – of making himself so shockingly vulnerable…

Yes, terror is a human emotion.

"After all, Spock – like it or not, you are half human." The memory of Jim's voice is almost taunting him.

And Nyota is correct – again. He is, in fact, terrified.

At any rate, Spock's discussion with Jim will have to wait for at least a while; at this moment, he can hear the raised voices and laughter coming from the captain's quarters in the adjoining suite as their colleagues prepare a Christmas surprise for Jim. Dr. McCoy has evidently administered a potent sedative to the captain without his knowledge, so that everyone could enter Jim's room and make the necessary arrangements without fear of disturbing him.

Spock is not entirely sure that he approves of Dr. McCoy's actions; after all, rendering the captain unconscious without his consent – and without medical justification – seems more than a little unethical and definitely counter to the Hippocratic Oath. However, he knows that he must also allow for the deep and abiding friendship that has obviously existed between Jim and Leonard McCoy for years – and for Spock's own certain knowledge, born of repeated experience, that McCoy would never allow harm to come to Jim.

The doctor obviously feels that he is acting in Jim's best interests – and whether or not Spock agrees with McCoy's treatment of Jim at any given time, he has to admit that the doctor's instincts regarding his best friend are usually very nearly flawless.

Though he has willingly allowed his own quarters to be used as what his colleagues are referring to as their "staging area" for this surprise, Spock has respectfully declined to join them in decorating Jim's quarters – feeling sure that this activity is best left to the others, who have a much better idea of what they are trying to achieve.

The idea of Christmas itself is not entirely unfamiliar to Spock – on the contrary, in fact. His mother had always managed to find some small way to observe the holiday, even in the face of the disapproval – manifesting itself in the form of the subtle, sneering derision that Vulcans seemed to have turned into an art form – of their neighbors and his father's associates.

Sarek himself had neither condoned nor condemned Amanda's quiet celebration of Christmas – but it had been made abundantly clear to Spock at an early age that the idea of taking part in any sort of "holiday" was not appropriate for a Vulcan. Nonetheless, Spock also knew that he could expect a small gift of some sort from his mother – usually an article of clothing that she had made for him herself, or something else that was eminently practical – every year in observance of Christmas day.

Looking back, he is certain that her solitary celebrations must have been difficult for Amanda; hearing Jim's quiet confession to Scott about his disappointed hopes for the day has brought painful reflections about how similar his mother's feelings might have been.

That going to Vulcan and living in the midst of such a different civilization was a choice Amanda had made gladly – yes, that thought helps Spock, just as it always does. His mother had chosen a life with Sarek, knowing full well what that life would entail – and she had never regretted it.

Jim had been allowed no such opportunities to choose his family circumstances, much less how to celebrate the Christmas holiday, Spock knows. Spock is hit with the irony of their respective situations; for all that Spock had always taken his mother's observation of the holiday for granted – and, yes, he may have regarded it with typical Vulcan dismissiveness on more than one occasion – he actually had experienced more family Christmas celebrations on Vulcan than Jim ever had on Earth.

This reflection proves to be painful, as well.

He wonders briefly if the others have interpreted his absence from the frenzy of decorating Jim's quarters as disapproval of their actions before dismissing such thoughts as unproductive and unnecessary. In fact, he does not disapprove – though he finds the methods used by his colleagues to be highly illogical and somewhat dubious ethically, it is plain that everything that is being done tonight is motivated by a profound and very sincere love for Jim on the part of his friends.

That said, he also suspects that he would be next to useless in this situation; Spock is well aware that his limited experience with the holiday has given him no idea of what "real" Christmas decorations should look like – and he is fairly sure that the decorating that the Command crew is doing in Jim's quarters right now is significantly more than what would normally be considered tasteful or appropriate even by human standards.

And if he wants to be truthful with himself – which is, of course, only logical – Spock must admit that he finds himself feeling like an outsider just now in this little group. At moments such as this – when they are engaging is what is so thoroughly a Terran ritual – he experiences the sensation of being different from the other members of this tightly-knit Command crew. That feeling – of being neither fully human nor fully Vulcan, and therefore truly belonging to neither culture – is something that he has nearly never experienced since joining the crew of the Enterprise.

Because of Jim. From the very beginning – before they were friends, before they had even developed a comfortable working relationship as Captain and First – Jim had made Spock feel accepted. More than that – he had made Spock feel valued, respected… necessary.

And without realizing it, Jim himself had, in the process, become entirely necessary to Spock.

Breathing deeply and trying to shut out the muffled clamor from the next room, Spock resumes his attempts at meditation – and tries to figure out how to explain to Jim just exactly how necessary he is.

~o0o~


~o0o~

Approximately 55.4 minutes later, Spock realizes that his meditation tonight has, in fact, been more successful than it has been in the recent past; he had indeed managed to block the noise from the room next door from his awareness and to achieve some measure of calm – a sensation which is most welcome just now.

He is somewhat surprised to note that there is currently no sound coming through the door; the crew seems to have left Jim's quarters. Spock would not have imagined that the remarkably elaborate plans they had formulated during the course of the day could have been implemented in barely more than one hour, but of course, the crew of the Enterprise always exceeds expectations – and this situation would be no exception.

For all his reluctance to take part in the decoration of Jim's room, Spock finds himself feeling an unusual curiosity to see what, in fact, his colleagues ended up doing in the way of making the captain's quarters suitably festive for the Christmas holiday. He looks up at the chronometer – McCoy had warned the crew that they had a limited window of opportunity to work without waking Jim. "Maybe an hour and a half, two hours at the outside," he'd said.

That had been approximately 77 minutes ago – still comfortably within the time frame specified by the doctor. If Spock wishes to satisfy his curiosity, he can, he supposes, go quietly into Jim's quarters and observe the work that has been done there without fear of waking his captain.

He does indeed wish to satisfy his curiosity. Rising gracefully from his spot on the floor, Spock walks through the bathroom that he shares with Jim and opens the door into the captain's room.

For all that he had expected a great deal of change in the appearance of the familiar room, he is nonetheless taken aback by the transformation that has been wrought by his colleagues in such a short time. What looks to be a working fireplace – but which, on closer observation, turns out to be a well-crafted hologram – crackles cheerfully in one corner.

Over the "fireplace" are what Spock recognizes as Christmas stockings. He had had one himself as a small child, before he had been convinced of the inappropriateness of such a whimsical idea. Of course, they had never had a fireplace in their home on Vulcan; Amanda had improvised, hanging their stockings from a windowsill. One Christmas, she had even hung a stocking for Sarek – and Spock could still recall his father's consternation at that gesture. He had been almost angry, and Amanda had obviously been hurt by his reaction. Spock wishes now that he would have defended his mother's desire to share her cultural background, or at least that he had gone to console her after Sarek's rebuke.

A wave of pain – the same one that has been his since he lost his mother – goes through Spock now, as he thinks of his parents. He has no doubt – none whatever – that his father would give anything to have one of Amanda's Christmas celebrations now, and that he would gladly have a stocking hung from every window in his home if it meant that he could have his wife back again.

From his vantage point in the doorway, he looks more closely at the stockings, and notes with some surprise that there seems to be one hanging there for each member of the Command crew – even, amazingly, one for Spock himself. He finds himself wondering if Nyota had been responsible for including him – and feeling unexpected gratitude at having been made a part of the celebration even though he had not been involved in its creation.

Spock can see from the various flora that adorn the room that Lt. Sulu has made ample use of specimens from the Botany lab – though the evergreen garlands that hang from nearly every surface are, at second glance, actually artificial. That comes as a relief to Spock, for though he does not disapprove of the decorating of Jim's quarters, he would have to have issued a reprimand if anyone had destroyed living plant specimens for the purposes of using them as ornamental objects.

Of course, he should have known that Sulu would behave responsibly, especially regarding the lab and the plants therein. He is a scientist as well as a pilot, and would not jeopardize any of the current experiments taking place in the lab.

The oversized Arfillian ficus which stands in another corner of the room is also from Botany, Spock realizes – but it is no longer being used in experiments, and has long been moved off to one side of the lab and regarded as more or less an ornamental plant.

In its current state, it is certainly more than ornamental; small, sparkling baubles of various shapes and colors are tied to the branches of the small tree with bits of wire, and the entire plant is wrapped in strands of what Spock recognizes as the same lights that are used to illuminate the landing pads in the shuttle bay. The lights – small and white – have somehow been programmed to flash now, though the flashing seems to come at disconcertingly irregular intervals.

If Mr. Scott was responsible for that programming, Spock thinks, he should certainly have known better; the random flashing of the lights in the room, regardless of their relative dimness, could disturb Jim's rest.

Jim.

Somehow, Spock has managed to stand in this doorway for nearly four minutes without directing his attention to the captain – as if he had known that, once he looked at Jim, he would not be willing to look away again.

And of course, this is entirely true; for all his purported curiosity to see the decorations in Jim's quarters, Spock has to admit to himself that he had come in for one reason, and one reason only. His eyes move to the still figure lying quietly on the bed, and he looks at Jim as though he could never get enough of looking.

He is reasonably sure that, in fact, he truly could never tire of watching Jim – and his own actions in the past few weeks have deprived him of many of his usual opportunities to see his captain, and his friend. If Jim has missed Spock, then Spock has missed him every bit as much – even if it is he who has imposed the distance between them.

So now, tonight – the opportunity to simply see Jim, to watch him unobserved and without fear of any repercussions, has proven to be simply irresistible. Spock finds that yet again, he is frozen in place by the sheer beauty of Jim.

Usually, Jim is constantly in motion – walking, running, or simply (in McCoy's words) fidgeting. Spock has never minded this; he has only recently admitted to himself that has always enjoyed watching Jim move. But now, in this moment, Jim is almost entirely still – the only observable motion being the gentle rise and fall of his chest corresponding to his respiration. The graceful body is completely at rest – the brilliant blue eyes closed – and yet Jim is still utterly beautiful.

He would object most strenuously, Spock muses, to my current line of thought; Jim is self-effacing and – yes – somewhat endearingly self-conscious about his appearance.

But Jim is unaware of his presence at the moment – unaware of anything at all, for as long as McCoy's medications remain effective. And to use still more of McCoy's words, what Jim doesn't know won't hurt him.

Spock sighs, slowly shaking his head; it has come to this.

His thought processes have become so thoroughly disrupted by his emotional turmoil that he is borrowing words from Leonard McCoy.

But then, finally, his thought processes slow to almost nothing, and Spock loses himself in simply watching Jim lying quietly in front of him, listening to the soft, steady sounds of his breathing, observing the play of light and shadow across the familiar and well-loved features of that perfect face…

And finally, finally – he allows himself just to stand there and to love Jim without reservation, letting the feeling crash over him in waves. The sensation is overwhelming – but, for the first time, Spock is not afraid of what he is experiencing.

He is learning the lesson that his father never taught him, but could have; that love is worth risk, worth pain, worth sacrifice.

Amanda was worth all of those things – and so much more – to Sarek.

Jim is worth everything – everything – to Spock. For just a moment, he wishes that Jim would awaken now, so that Spock could tell him all of the truths he so badly needs to hear. If he were to walk the few steps over to Jim's bed right now, reach down and touch him…

But, no. Jim has been exceptionally tired of late, and requires his rest. Anything Spock has to say to Jim can certainly wait until morning. With a start of surprise, Spock sees that he has been standing motionless in Jim's doorway now for nearly two hours; though he is entirely sure that he could gladly stand there all night and observe Jim, he also knows that it would prove awkward if Jim were to awaken and see him doing so.

Then, a soft sigh makes Spock start yet again; the sound had very clearly been that of a sleeping man, but had not come from Jim.

Of course. McCoy would not have left Jim after having administered sedation – and Spock does not know why that had not previously occurred to him. Looking briefly around the room again, he realizes that the doctor has been concealed in the darkness behind the garishly-lit ficus tree – and that his own preoccupation with Jim has kept him from noticing his presence earlier.

He wonders briefly if McCoy had known he was here – but, of course he had. Spock has known the doctor long enough to know that, for all that his logic is sorely lacking, he is highly perceptive for a human. Under other circumstances, Spock might have felt somewhat embarrassed at having exposed his emotions so thoroughly in front of someone else; tonight, however, he cannot bring himself to care.

Moreover, he is reasonably sure that for whatever reason, Jim's best friend is not overly concerned about the situation; if he had been, he almost certainly would have made his presence known, demanded that Spock leave the room. Instead, he had sat quietly, concealed in the darkness, until he had fallen asleep along with Jim.

Spock does not attempt to interpret McCoy's reactions, or lack thereof; there will be sufficient time for that later, should it become necessary. For now, Spock determines that he should at least attempt to sleep for a while as well.

In the morning, however, he will find an opportunity to get Jim alone – and Jim will finally hear the truth from Spock.

~o0o~


I've forgotten to mention something important: Of course, I don't own any of these characters. Though sometimes I wonder if they might own a bit of me...

And (this is not news): I'd love to hear from you, as I am pretty much all about the reviews.