"Why doesn't Father say 'I love you' to me, or you, or Papa?"
Kirk looked down at her, from between the two cups he carried. He set one down within her territory of the dining table, marked by scattered crayons and samplings of stuffed animals from Earth and Vulcan.
"He does," Kirk said, setting a chair across from her. He sipped the lemonade, until Stella sighed and did the same.
"He has never said it to me."
"I won't question your memory," her Daddy decided, "But you know that he does. He shows us."
"How?"
"There are lots of different ways."
…
Whenever McCoy was in a rush to meet a patient, Kirk made him coffee.
If he had misplaced some necessary tools or documents, Spock would list all the places he had not seen them, while Kirk searched.
Kirk caught the collar of his jacket, smoothing the creases then patting his chest.
"Need anything else?"
"No," he said, brushing Kirk's shoulder as he left, "Thanks."
…
The Vulcan did not require as much sleep as his human counterparts.
When Jim fell asleep in the midst of Federation paperwork, head against his desk, Spock would run both hands slowly through his hair. This transferred no thoughts, but Spock's repressed humanity saw it as comfort and escape. Although Jim sometimes accused him of counting grey hairs, Spock's eyes were always shut during the interaction.
McCoy usually fell asleep in one of the recliners, with a book Stella had assigned to him. Spock would take the chair across from him, lean in, and tuck one hand beneath his shirt. Spock's connection with the doctor was strongest when his fingertips met the skin just beneath his collarbone. He did not connect with McCoy for memories, but for feelings. He enjoyed the dramatized depictions of their daughter, secondhand.
Each time either awoke, they agreed to greet Spock with a human kiss. He would brush their lips with his fingers, as they departed.
…
Stella liked to watch them play chess; Father and Daddy.
"You used that last time," she said, catching Daddy's bishop and returning it to its home.
"Oh? Did I, Spock?"
"I saw no need to tell you, since you did not ask."
"Hmm…" he considered his remaining pieces and rested his chin on one fist, "I think I may call that cheating."
"I must disagree, Admiral."
Stella had asked about their other names, once, and received a lengthy story. Now, she just nodded and understood.
"I did not repeat my move, which was instrumental in my previous win."
"Ah."
"Would you like my advice, Admiral?"
"I think, after thirty years playing you, yes. I would."
...
Kirk took his showers at night, after they all agreed that Stella was asleep. McCoy's were always in the morning, preceding either a day at work or with Stella.
Spock found this human custom wasteful, but eventually accepted them as an occasional indulgence. He tested both traditional timeslots, settling for the morning. After McCoy.
He stood and waited on the other side of the door, listening to the cascade of water and the doctor's frequent humming.
One morning, they met. McCoy tugged at his robe, and draped the towel over his shoulders. Spock reached for the familiar meld-point; it was cold. Even to prepared Vulcan fingers.
"Doctor?"
"Hmm?"
The water could still be heard, tapping against the glass-paneled shower.
"You are w—"
"I didn't want it to be too cold for you," he admitted, rustling his hair with the towel, "It should be plenty hot, by now."
…
Spock always knocked before entering Stella's room, although her door was usually open.
"Have you completed your assignments?" he asked, standing beside her bed. She kicked up both legs, but kept her face pressed into her tablet.
"No."
"I assumed not, as you have not joined us for dinner. You may find it constructive to 'take a break,' as the others say."
"I don't understand it."
"What do you not understand?"
"The questions."
He sat down beside her, extending a patient hand and accepting the device.
"I see," he said, scrolling through the equations, "Let me help you."
…
"Do you want me to list some more?" Kirk asked. Stella always enjoyed his stories, and was tempted to nod.
"He loves all of us," she agreed.
"Really," Kirk continued, eager to tie the tales up with a bow of values, "the words don't matter that much. What matters are the actions… the hugs, and kisses, and games, and dances."
"I still like the words."
"I know you do."
That night, Spock said them to her. He required some coaxing – verbal from Kirk and physical from McCoy – but he sat at the foot of her bed, leaned close to her ear, and said them.