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Chapter Text

“Spock!” the Captain exclaimed, bursting into his First Officer’s quarters with barely more than an announcement, not even waiting for Spock to grant him entry.  Spock looked up from where he was kneeling on the floor, incense burning next to his meditation mat. 

                “Captain, may I enquire as to your intrusion upon my meditation?  I assure you, I would have been available for discussion if you had only –"

                “Come on, Spock, I’ve got big news,” the Captain interrupted, a wide grin stretching across his face.  Spock felt illogically pleased at the Captain’s obvious happiness, and rapidly repressed the emotion.  Pleasure was unbecoming of a Vulcan. 

                Spock extinguished the incense and stood, rolling up his meditation mat and storing the materials for later, when he would again attempt to clear his mind.  It had been difficult for Spock to obtain the deepest level of Vulcan meditation in recent weeks, as his thoughts had been constantly straying back to the man standing in front of him.  Jim was an ever-present distraction to his mind, a fact which troubled Spock, but one that he chose not to examine too closely. 

                “How may I assist you, Captain?”

                “Spock,” the Captain began again, piercing blue eyes lighting up with something of a manic fire, “I got us shore leave.  On Terra.  For Christmas.”

                Spock merely stared at the Captain, unsure of how to properly respond to his enthusiasm.  Spock had never celebrated Christmas as a child, as his father had wanted to raise him in traditional Vulcan fashion; his mother’s cultural celebrations, while important to her, were kept to a minimum in Spock’s home. 

                Hoping that it was an appropriate response, Spock raised one eyebrow and said, “I am gratified that the Enterprise has found a suitable planet for shore leave over the Terran holiday season.  I trust you will be beaming down at your earliest convenience?”

                The Captain crossed over to Spock’s desk chair and sat down heavily.  “Does that mean you’re not planning on going, then?” he asked, running a hand through his hair, which somehow still shone like Terran wheat in the dim light of Spock’s quarters.  His eyes betrayed an emotion Spock could not discern, but he suspected it was one of disappointment, judging by the crestfallen expression on his Captain’s face.

                “It is illogical for me to be planetside for holidays which I do not celebrate, Captain.”

                “It’s Jim, Spock, we aren’t on duty,” the Captain corrected, leaning back in Spock’s chair and surveying him over his folded hands.  If Spock’s gaze lingered just a second too long on the smooth lines of Jim’s hands, he could not be blamed. 

                “Jim.  I shall remain here with the skeleton crew over the Terran holiday season.  There are several experiments that must be run during that time, particularly concerning the flora we discovered on Aurelius IV-"

                Jim waved his hand to cut him off, and Spock shut his mouth with an audible snap.  “I understand, yeah, yeah.  Experiments.  Science stuff.  It’s just, the entire bridge crew is going to be headed planetside, and I was planning on inviting everyone to my place on Christmas Eve, and we could have a proper Christmas party, maybe cook dinner together on Christmas day.  You know, a way to get together with the whole gang, celebrate the season and all.  We’ve completed an entire year of our mission, Spock, and none of us have died yet – don’t you think that deserves a bit of a celebration?”

                Spock does not correct Jim, does not remind him of the incident with Khan, because he knows Jim remembers, even if he chooses to make light of the situation. 

                “Indeed, Captain, we are 1 year, 3 months and seven Terran days into our mission, and none of the bridge crew has been deceased within that time.”

                Jim beamed at him, absently playing with the hem on his shirt.  “Anyways,” he continued, validated, “I was sorta hoping you might choose to come down with the rest of us.  Celebrate, and all.”

                “Captain-"

                “Jim, Spock, it’s Jim.”

                “Jim, it would be illogical of me to spend a week on Terra alone simply for the purpose of celebrating Christmas day with the senior staff.  If you desire, I will attempt to find time to attend Christmas dinner.”

                “Spock, you’re not getting it,” Jim said, standing and beginning to pace, a practice Spock observed with increasing frequency when he was anxious about something.  Spock could not fathom why his Captain was experiencing these emotions, and felt an illogical need to comfort him, to soothe his agitation.  Instead, Spock merely folded his hands behind his back in a perfect parade rest position, and prepared himself for whatever Jim was about to say.

                “Look, I wasn’t just inviting you to Christmas at my place.  I was hoping maybe you would be up for staying with me, you know, for the week.  I’ll be on my own, and since you don’t have any family on Terra anymore, I figured maybe you’d like to come back to Riverside with me.  My old home’s there, but it’s – well, I don’t have the best memories of the place, and going back there alone would be pretty tough, and I was sort of hoping for some company, to, you know, maybe brighten it up a bit.  I, I mean, I understand-“

                “Jim,” Spock interrupted this time, cutting off his Captain’s ramblings.  “If you wish, I shall accompany you to Riverside.”

                Jim paused his pacing in front of Spock’s desk.  “Are you sure you’re saying that because you actually want to come, or do you feel like you have some kind of obligation to accompany me as my First Officer, to make sure I stay out of trouble?”

                Spock considered Jim’s question, and found that, for once, he truly did wish to go with Jim – as a friend, not merely as a First Officer.  “Negative, Jim.  While I regret the time that will certainly be lost on my experiments in the lab, your company is infinitely preferable.”

                Jim’s jaw dropped open 1.76 centimeters at Spock’s statement, and Spock raised one eyebrow at Jim’s apparent shock. 

                His Captain seemed to realize that his mouth was hanging open, and his cheeks flushed red as he closed it and ran one hand distractedly through his hair again.  It was now thoroughly mussed, even more so than the Captain usually preferred, and Spock wondered briefly if he should say something before deciding that this was neither the place nor the time. 

                “Right, then,” Jim stammered, recovering quickly.  “Um, well, want to help me set up some duty rosters after shift today?  Maybe if we finish early we can play a game of chess?”

                Spock neglected to mention that he had already formed duty rosters with this precise shore leave outcome in mind; the Captain had been hinting for several weeks that he was attempting to get shore leave on Terra, and very rarely does Jim not get what he desires when it comes to favors.  Being Starfleet’s youngest, brightest, most aesthetically pleasing Captain did have its advantages; in addition, the public had not yet forgotten how Jim risked his life to save others during the Narada and Khan incidents.  Spock felt a stab in his lower right abdomen as he recalled a recent mission to a Federation planet – a standard, routine mission, but the Captain practically had the alien life hanging on his arms: he, and his fame, were highly desirable.  Spock suppressed the painful throb in his side at the thought, and returned his attention to his Captain, who was staring at him with an expectant look.

                “Certainly, Captain.  That would be most agreeable.  If you will excuse me, I have several experiments running in the labs that require my urgent attention.”

                “Of course, Spock,” the Captain said as he followed Spock out of his quarters.  As Spock began to walk in the direction of the turbolift, he heard the Captain call out behind him, “Oh, and it’s Jim!  How many times do I have to remind you?”

                Spock did not reply, but allowed himself a small quirk of his lips as he entered the turbolift and entered the command for the science labs.  He was not entirely sure what had just transpired between himself and the Captain, only that these would certainly be the most interesting holidays he had ever celebrated. 

                The weather, of course, would be quite cold in Iowa, Spock mused as he walked down the long, brightly lit hallways of the Enterprise towards the sanctum of the labs.  He would have to consider that while packing for the trip.   A few passing ensigns tossed him murmured “Commanders,” and he responded with curt nods, still focused entirely on Jim. 

                Why Spock?  Why would Jim invite Spock to spend time with him at his house in Riverside?  Surely McCoy, Jim’s oldest friend and college roommate, would have been a more logical option.  Still, despite the oddity of the situation, Spock felt himself looking forward to the upcoming trip to Terra.  He had only seen snow four times in his life, and he was aware that Iowa was generally cold during this time of the Terran seasonal cycle, perhaps lending itself to frozen forms of precipitation.  He wondered if the Captain would obtain a gift for him, and if he should give the Captain a gift in return – was it not customary Terran tradition to give gifts on this particular holiday?  He was not sure – he had never celebrated Christmas while at the Academy, and Nyota had respected his cultural boundaries too greatly to force him into the festivities.  What type of gift would be appropriate?  Spock deemed it necessary to ask Nyota later, so as to gain her advice on the matter.

                Ever since he and Nyota had terminated their romantic relationship, their interactions had returned to a more comfortable state.  Spock had not been able to give Nyota the emotional support she required, and because of this, she suffered.  After the incident with Khan, Nyota had finally “called it quits” – she had ended their courtship, her only explanation being, “Oh, Spock.  You still don’t see it, do you?  Someday, Spock, when you get it, you’ll thank me.”  She had kissed him on the cheek and departed his quarters.  Spock had known it illogical to mourn the loss of a failed courtship, especially when he agreed with her judgment of the relationship: something had been restraining him, holding him back from committing completely to Nyota.  Their sexual congress had not been lacking in pleasure, but he still found himself unable to meld with her, an intimate Vulcan act between partners demonstrating an extreme trust in the other party and deep affection on both ends.  Although Nyota had been willing, he had refrained, the action feeling wrong somehow, like he was betraying someone – although the feeling was, of course, utterly absurd.  T’Pring, his bondmate, had perished with Vulcan; although he had mended the severed bond to the best of his ability, there was still a gaping hole in his mind where hers had been, a situation he greatly desired to remedy. 

                As Spock entered the labs, his crew of scientists greeted him and quickly busied themselves with work.  Spock crossed over to an experiment he had begun two ship’s nights before, and immersed himself in the scientific process.  It would do no good to think of his Captain – Jim would only prove a distraction to his mind.  Still, as he carefully plucked flowers from one of Sulu’s shrubs that the helmsman had brought back from Aurelius IV, he could not help but be reminded of the blue of Jim’s eyes, bright with excitement, the color of a Risian ocean.  

Chapter Text

After the conclusion of Alpha shift, Jim stood from the Captain’s chair (a spot he had scarcely inhabited for the past eight hours – he and Spock had conducted rounds of the ship’s departments, informally “checking in” with each area) and indicated with a slight tilt of his head that Spock was to follow him into the turbolift.  Relinquishing the science station to his replacement, Spock trailed the Captain into the lift and listened as he relayed the command for senior staff quarters. 

                “Captain, are you not-" Spock began, intending to inquire as to why they were not first stopping at the mess. 

                “I’d rather just eat in my quarters, if that’s okay with you, Mr. Spock,” the Captain said, subtly sagging against the walls of the turbolift.  It became clear to Spock that the Captain was, indeed, physically exhausted, and may not have possessed the energy necessary to interact with a large amount of crew members at dinner. 

                “I am amenable to that suggestion, Captain,” Spock said as the turbolift slid to a halt. 

                “We’re off-duty, that means I’m Jim now,” the Captain laughed as they fell in step. 

                “Of course, Jim,” Spock said as the Captain keyed in the passcode to his quarters and strode into his living area.  Spock had never paid particular attention to the sparse furnishings in Jim’s quarters, but now, faced with the daunting task of purchasing Jim a Christmas gift, he furtively wished Jim had been more expressive with his interests. 

                “Sit down,” Jim said, indicating a chair by his desk as he pulled out his PADD.  “We should probably get started on these duty rosters,” he continued, rubbing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose.  “I wish I’d received confirmation on plans earlier; two days’ notice isn’t the greatest when trying to arrange shore leave for over 500 crew members,” he said, grinning tiredly, the expression not reaching his eyes. 

                “Jim, I have already made a duty roster that should be compatible with this scenario,” Spock said, holding out his PADD for Jim to peruse.  “I believe you shall find the arrangements satisfactory, particularly as I have removed myself from those remaining aboard the Enterprise.” 

                Jim simply stared, and reached out to take the PADD with an arm that seemed to be functioning on some form of autopilot.  As he grasped the device, his fingers barely brushed Spock’s; Spock nearly dropped the PADD at the rush of gratitude and affection he felt emanating in strong waves from his Captain, and his cheeks began to flush a faint shade of green.  He quickly moderated the reaction, gratified that Jim had appeared not to notice, as he was flipping through the roster. 

                “Wow, um, this looks great, Spock,” he said, handing the PADD back.  Their fingers did not touch this time, and Spock felt an odd sense of loss, although he knew it was inappropriate for him to desire such contact with his Captain.  “Thank you, I really appreciate it.”

                “Jim, if you are too fatigued to play chess tonight, I will understand if you wish to postpone our match until a later date,” Spock said as the Captain yawned so wide that his jaw popped several times.

                Jim sat up a bit straighter and visibly shook himself.  “Too tired for chess? Nah,” he said, grinning and standing to retrieve the tri-d chessboard.  “I’m never too tired to beat your ass at your favorite game.”

                “Vulcans do not have favorites, Cap- Jim,” Spock replied, knowing the reaction his response would garner.  True to form, Jim’s face lit up with his words, and his laughter filled the room, a sound just as golden as the rest of him, and a sound of which it seemed Spock could not quite get enough.

***

                The following morning, with only one day until his departure for Terra, Spock found Nyota at breakfast, drinking a cup of coffee while picking at a piece of toast. 

                “Lieutenant,” Spock said, pausing at the table with his own tray of fruit and Vulcan tea, “would you be averse to company?”

                Nyota looked up from her coffee, surprised, and gestured at the seat across from her, indicating that she was, indeed, amenable to Spock’s presence.  Spock sat down, scanned the mess for Jim, and, not finding him, turned back to Nyota. 

                “What’s up, Spock?” she asked, taking another sip of her coffee and surveying him with sleep-clouded eyes; she looked as if she had not received an adequate amount of rest. 

                “Jim has invited me to spend shore leave with him in Iowa.”

                A slow grin spread across Nyota’s face, for reasons Spock could not fathom.  “He has, has he?”

                “I believe I just stated as such,” Spock replied curtly.  “May I inquire as to the source of your apparent amusement?”

                “Not amused, Spock, just decidedly unsurprised,” Nyota sighed heavily.  “So what’s your dilemma?”

                “I understand it is customary for Terrans to exchange gifts on Christmas.  Will I be required to procure gifts for the senior staff, as there are plans in place to celebrate the holiday together?”

                At this, Nyota frowned.  “Well, I mean, you don’t have to get any of us gifts, but I would recommend at least getting one for the Captain if he’s hosting you for the week.  It’s just polite.  I’ve already bought gifts for the entire senior staff; if you’re unsure of what to get people, you could maybe ask Jim.  I’m sure he’d be willing to go splits with you.”

                “I see,” Spock said, retrieving information on other crew members in addition to the Captain.  While he thought his other coworkers would be easy for whom to purchase gifts, he was still troubled by the prospect of finding something suitable to give to the Captain.  For reasons he could not explain event to himself, Spock felt as if he needed to do something special for Jim.  “Do you have any intelligence on what the Captain may prefer as a suitable gift?”

                Nyota laughed, and the sound was like silver.  “I can’t tell you what to get him, Spock,” she said, still giggling.  “Look, I can tell you he likes books.  Literature, the classics.  I’ve heard he has a collection stashed away somewhere, but I have no idea what he already owns.  I’m sure he’ll be happy with whatever you get him.  You know what they say,” she added, smiling, “it’s the thought that counts.”

                “A fascinating sentiment,” Spock said, finishing his breakfast and rising from his seat.  He may not have another chance to see Nyota before the crew beamed down for shore leave; Alpha shift’s staff had been moved around slightly to accommodate the holiday celebrations of other species on board the Enterprise.  “May I ask as to where you will be spending your shore leave?”

                “Hm?” Nyota said, glancing up from her toast.  “Oh, Scotty’s booked us some sort of retreat in Scotland.  It promises to be very cold and full of expensive booze – I’m sure it will be a good time.”

                Spock dipped his head in farewell.  “I hope your experience is enjoyable.  Goodbye, Nyota.” 

                As Spock began to walk away, she called after him, “Make sure to pack warm clothes!”  He looked back at her, nodded once, and proceeded to dispose of his plate and cutlery.  When he turned to exit the area, however, he noticed Jim underneath the entrance to the mess, kissing a young female ensign.  Something ugly and dark flared in Spock’s side, and he attempted to repress the emotion, similar to the one he had experienced on countless away missions when the Captain was wooing the locals. 

                “Captain,” Spock said, striding up to Jim after the ensign had released him.

                “Oh hey, Spock,” the Captain stammered, looking flushed and embarrassed.  Spock came to a halt in perfect parade rest 5.78 feet away from the Captain, and leveled his gaze at him.  “What’s up?”

                “I must request that you refrain from public displays of affection while surrounded by the crew, Captain.  I am certain you are aware-“

                “Whoa, Spock, hold it right there,” the Captain cut in, brow furrowed.  He simply pointed above his head, and Spock looked up to find a small sprig of mistletoe affixed to the ceiling.  “Mistletoe, Spock.  If you get caught underneath the mistletoe with someone, it’s Terran tradition that you have to kiss them.  It didn’t mean anything,” he added, laughing nervously at his feet. 

                “I see,” Spock said shortly.  “In that case, Captain, I shall see you in the transporter room at 0800 tomorrow.”

                “No chess tonight?” the Captain asked, looking genuinely crestfallen. 

                “Negative.  I must pack, a process which will be much more intensive for me, considering my Vulcan biology and sensitivity to cold temperatures.”

                “Oh, of course,” the Captain said, understanding lighting his eyes.  “In that case, Mr. Spock, I’ll see you tomorrow at 0800.”  The Captain walked away, a small smile on his face; this time, it was one that reached his eyes. 

Chapter Text

                Spock was standing in his quarters, surveying the amalgamation of cold-weather clothing he had managed to unearth in his closet.  There were a collection of thick sweaters, appropriately colored in varying shades of blue and brown.  The one he was currently wearing had been given to him by his mother before his departure for Starfleet – it was dark brown and quite warm.  Spock had also found several pairs of jeans, although he still packed three pairs of thermal regulation pants in case Jim desired to do activities outside, the chance of which Spock measured at 99.98%. 

                Spock pulled on his Starfleet regulation thermal jacket, fully prepared for the snowy conditions in Riverside, gathered his belongings in a duffel bag, and proceeded to the transporter room. 

                As he entered, he noticed Jim standing by the control panel.  The Captain was sporting a black leather jacket, jeans, and cowboy boots, an ensemble which Spock found incredibly aesthetically pleasing.  He tore his eyes away from Jim’s buttocks; he was leaning over the console as he conversed amiably with the young ensign working the controls. 

                At the sound of the door swishing closed, the Captain turned to Spock with a broad grin on his face.  “There you are, Spock!” he cried out, spreading his arms slightly in a gesture of welcome.  “Early, as usual,” he added, smirking slightly as he turned back to the ensign, wished him happy holidays, and stepped onto the transporter platform. 

                “Ready for your first proper Christmas?” he teased, smile growing wider as he gently nudged Spock with his elbow. 

                Spock raised one eyebrow.  “Indeed, Captain, I believe it will be an enlightening experience.” 

                “It’s Jim, dammit!” the Captain said, laughing, and turned to the ensign.  “Energize!”

                Spock felt the familiar sensation of his base atomic structure being disassembled and rearranged, and suddenly he and Jim were standing in the Riverside ship yard.  Nyota had been right: it was bitterly cold, and Spock noticed the transporter room was even sheltered from the elements.  He spied falling snow through the open door at the end of the hangar, and shivered involuntarily. 

                Beside him, Jim had noticed the nearly imperceptible shudder, and let out a soft “oh” of realization.  “Spock, I forgot – here, I made you something,” he said, reaching into his pocket and producing what appeared to be a bundle of yarn.  “C’mere.”

                Spock stepped close to the Captain, who reached up and carefully fitted the hand-knit beanie onto Spock’s head.  It was black, made well out of thick yarn, and exceptionally warm.  Spock detected an increase in the temperature of his exposed ears almost immediately after the hat covered them. 

                “Thought the tips of your ears might get cold, so I made it for you,” Jim said, stepping back to examine Spock.  “You look sexy, Spock,” he added, clapping Spock’s shoulder before stepping off the transporter pad and moving away to rent a hovercar for the week.  Slightly bewildered, Spock followed him.  The phrase “sexy” carried with it explicit sexual connotations, although Spock could not be certain if Jim’s etiquette was not commonly used amongst human males.  Spock knew that Jim was not purely heterosexual; the Captain’s frequent ventures with aliens of all sexes had made that abundantly clear.  Jim had not, however, shown even the most remote interest in Spock.  He was unsure what to make of the sudden advance – if, of course, it was really an advance at all. 

                Jim procured keys from an Andorian working the counter, and after a brief discussion over who would drive (Spock was the better driver, but Jim knew the area intimately), Jim was seated at the helm and they were cruising through the Iowan countryside in near white-out conditions.  Visibility was next to zero, and as such, it was beneficial that Jim knew the route so well.  It was not long before Jim turned down a nearly invisible side road, and after another few minutes, the pair turned into the driveway of an old farmhouse.  To Spock’s surprise, the windows were warm and bright, indicating that many of the lights had been turned on prior to their arrival. 

                “Jim, why-“

                “I called our neighbors, had them stop by yesterday and tune up the appliances, check on the heating and hot water, the replicators, that sort of thing,” Jim said, reluctantly opening the door of the hovercar to the hostile conditions.  Spock hesitated a second longer before moving from the warm interior of the car, only to find that Jim had already retrieved their bags and was moving slowly up the drive to the house.  Spock caught him up and retrieved the house key from underneath the “Welcome Home” mat that lay innocuously on the large porch.  With deft fingers, Spock unlocked the door, and then they were inside.

                Spock was hit with a blast of heat that made his skin tingle unpleasantly before he could moderate the reaction.  The temperature of the house was set several degrees above ship’s standard, which was adjusted to reflect the temperature at which the crew would function with optimum efficiency.  As a Vulcan, the Enterprise was always kept colder than Spock would have preferred, and to a human, Spock’s quarters would have most likely felt like a sauna.  It was a surprise, then, that the temperature of the house was set where it was.

                “Jim, are you certain there was not some sort of malfunction with the heating device?  The house is considerably warmer than your quarters.”

                “Hm?” Jim turned away from where he had been hanging his coat to dry.  “Oh, yeah, I had them set it a few degrees higher.  I wanted to make sure you were comfortable.”  Jim smiled warmly, and then bent down to remove his shoes. 

                “Jim,” Spock began, mimicking the Captain’s actions, “it is not necessary to accommodate me.  I would not wish to cause you any discomfort, and as I work in temperatures lower than those preferred by-“

                Jim interrupted him with a laugh as he straightened up and moved towards their bags.  “Seriously, Spock, it’s all right!  I’d rather you be able to walk around without full thermals on all the time, thanks.  Don’t worry about it.”  Spock opened his mouth to protest, but Jim ruthlessly cut him off, a wicked glint in his eye, “No, you don’t.  Come on, let’s go put our stuff away – I’ll show you your room.”

                After Spock had deposited his belongings in the guest room (Jim was staying in the room right across the hall) he returned to the kitchen to make a cup of tea.  Jim was already there, staring out the small square window that sat next to the replicator and stirring a cup of coffee absentmindedly.  The snow was still falling in sheets, but Spock found he could not devote a significant amount of attention to the weather when Jim raised the spoon to his mouth and sucked on it before depositing the utensil in the sink.  It was, oddly, a very sexual image, and Spock dispelled it immediately.  He would aspire to cease thinking about his Captain in such a way: it was inappropriate and against fraternization regulations.  Still, as he moved forward to see that Jim had already made him a cup of Vulcan tea, he was seized with an almost overwhelming urge to share the mind of the man in front of him, to discover if his affections were reciprocated. 

                Illogical.

                Spock’s movement seemed to wake Jim from some sort of stupor, and he shook himself slightly before handing Spock the cup of tea.  “It’s that spice stuff that you like,” he said offhandedly.  “I had the neighbors pick some up when they were out.”

                Spock did not comment, but he also knew that Jim was not telling the truth.  Vulcan spice tea was not an easy commodity to obtain since the destruction of Vulcan, and Jim must have ordered it specifically for Spock; he knew for a fact that the Captain was not overly fond of the tea, and infinitely preferred coffee. 

                “Thank you, Jim,” he said instead, and they quietly drank their beverages for several minutes, looking out at the storm.  It was was abating now, and Spock observed how the branches of the deciduous trees in the garden were coated with a powdery covering of snow.  Everything seemed magnified, slightly bigger than it should have been; the bench by the lilac trees showed an accumulation of approximately 9.87 inches, by Spock’s estimation.  It was peaceful, serene, as he stood there companionably with Jim, shoulder to shoulder in the small farmhouse kitchen.  The pale winter light glanced off the yellow walls, so that the room almost seemed to glow around them. 

                Setting down his empty coffee mug, Jim turned to Spock and smiled.  “All right then,” he said.  “Time to get started.”

***

                1 hour, 32 minutes and 47 seconds later, Jim and Spock were driving north in the hovercar; Jim claimed they were heading to an area in the upper part of Minnesota, where they would be seeking a Christmas tree.

                “Jim, I still do not understand why we must drive hundreds of miles to procure a coniferous life form used purely for decoration.”

                “It’s tradition, Spock,” Jim said for the third time since he had announced the plan.  “Well, driving hundreds of miles isn’t exactly a tradition, but I wanted you to get the full experience of cutting down a tree!”

                Spock thought Jim’s enthusiasm seemed slightly excessive, given the labor-intensive nature of the exercise which they were about to perform. 

                “Captain, I-“

                “No, don’t you dare go back to captain-ing me now, we just got past that, Spock,” Jim laughed, patting Spock’s leg with his right hand.  Spock’s eyes tracked the movement, remembering how it felt when their fingers had touched during chess, how warmth had suffused his cells, how something in the back of his mind had just-

                “Hey, we’re here!” Jim exclaimed, pulling into a deserted lot.  Spock glanced out the window to find an assortment of evergreen trees of all shapes and sizes, positively covered in snow. 

                “Let’s do this,” Jim said, grinning, clapping Spock on the shoulder and exiting the car, handsaw in tow.  Spock checked the laces on his boots and pulled down the hat Jim had given him, bracing for the bitter cold, and followed Jim from the car. 

                “Jim,” he called after the Captain, “may I inquire as to the precise kind of tree for which we are looking?”

                “I dunno, Spock,” he laughed, turning back and waiting for his first officer to catch up.  “A good one!  Sturdy, nice needles.”

                Jim’s cheeks were flushed red with the cold, and Spock thought it made him look exceptionally attractive.  They trudged through the snow for a while, rapidly losing sight of the car, when Jim stopped quite suddenly. 

                “This one,” he said without further explanation, and began to shake the snow off a medium-sized evergreen tree.  The smell of pine from broken needles drifted to Spock, and he found it a not unpleasant scent.  “What do you think?” Jim asked, looking back at Spock, his face split into a broad grin.

                “I believe the appropriate human phrase would be, ‘It’s perfect,’ Jim.”  

Chapter Text

                “Jesus fucking Christ!” Jim swore for the twenty second time, the front portion of his body completely buried in the Christmas tree now standing obstinately in the middle of the farmhouse’s living room.  Spock watched dubiously as Jim attempted to string the tree with lights; extra strands lay clumped in heaps at his feet.  Spock began to untangle the dark green wires, taking care not to crush the fragile bulbs by accident. 

                Spock, as a Vulcan, had three times the strength of the average human, and as such, he had volunteered to cut down the Christmas tree and carry it to and from the hovercar.  These were tasks that seemed simple to Spock, but even to a fit human such as Jim they could be taxing.  Jim had believed it was only fair for himself to undergo the difficult process of putting lights on their tree, bringing boxes of Christmas decorations out from the basement of the house as Spock made tea at his Captain’s insistence. 

                He glanced over at the remaining boxes: one was still full of lights, which Spock gathered were somehow meant to be affixed to the house; the other was packed to the brim with wrapped packages, all relatively small in size.  Spock did not know what these parcels contained, and he presumed that, when the time came, Jim would inform him of their purpose. 

                “Hey Spock,” Jim said, and Spock looked up from the strand of lights, which he was in the process of coiling into a tight roll so as to ensure easy unraveling.  “You wanna string some of those extra lights on the staircase?  Just – just coil them around the bannister,” he added, grunting with effort, head buried back in the tree.  “Super easy, then maybe throw up that wreath we picked up?  It – fucking damn it – hangs on the hook that’s attached to the top part of the door.”

                Spock briefly surveyed the staircase, and nodded, before realizing Jim could not see his actions.  “Affirmative, Jim,” he said, and picked up a strand of tangled lights, beginning to work through the mess as he made his way to the staircase.  Seventeen seconds later, Spock had the lights straightened out, and he began to wind them carefully around the bannister as Jim had instructed.  It was quite a pleasant effect, he thought, as he looked over his handiwork. 

                The wreath was propped against the wall next to the front door, and Spock retrieved it in order to hang it as Jim had instructed.  As he stepped outside, the wind bit at his exposed skin; he had neglected to put on outerwear, and as such, was only in his thermals.  His fingers, already growing cold, fumbled the wreath, and he swore quietly in Vulcan.  After finally affixing it properly, Spock stepped inside and worked to regulate his blood flow so that more would flow to the tips of his fingers. 

                “You all right, Spock?” Jim said, his head popping out from behind the tree, where he was putting the finishing touches on lights. 

                “Quite,” Spock replied, moving towards the tree.  “What else do you require of me, Jim?”

                “I was thinking we should probably put up the lights on the outside of the house – I wanted to wait until it stopped storming, but I don’t see that happening anytime soon.”

                “Agreed.  If you are amenable, I would be willing to perform that task.”

                “Two man job, Spock, I’m not gonna make you stand out there alone,” Jim replied, smiling broadly and picking up another box of lights.  “Come on, then.”

                Ten minutes later, Spock was standing atop a stepladder while Jim held it steady at the bottom; the wind was howling such that it made it difficult to hear anything over its noise.  Luckily, the area which Spock was required to cover with lights was a relatively short distance, and as such, they were almost done; Spock was losing feeling in his fingers.  He had begun to attempt to moderate his reaction to the cold 8.67 minutes before, with middling success.  Now, however, Spock was keenly aware of the dullness of his reactions, and the way his fingers seemed to be moving excruciatingly slowly. 

                As he carefully hung the last section of lights, Jim yelled something that sounded like, “You okay up there?” but Spock did not quite catch it.  He looked down for a brief moment in order to respond to Jim’s query when the ladder gave a dangerous wobble.  Spock’s foot slipped on the icy rung, and, unable to catch himself due to his impaired reflexes, Spock fell to the earth, holding out a hand to catch his fall. 

                The snow, now over a foot deep on the grass, broke the fall, and Spock knew that he was not injured.  His hands, however, already cold, were now devoid of feeling and turning a violent shade of green. 

                “Spock!” Jim’s hand was on his shoulder, and his Captain’s arms snaked around his torso to help him to his feet.  Spock could feel Jim’s breath warm on his cheek.  “Are you all right?”

                “I am satisfactory, Jim, although I may need to go inside,” Spock said, holding out his hand.  “I am afraid I am losing circulation in my fingers, which happen to be particularly sensitive nerve areas in Vulcans.”

                “Christ, Spock, come on then,” Jim said, tugging Spock inside the farmhouse and settling him down near the fireplace on a small loveseat.  Jim then retrieved logs and kindling from a small cupboard next to the hearth, and within a minute, he had started a fire. 

                “All right, put your hands close to that,” Jim said, waving his hands at the fireplace most unnecessarily.    

                “Thank you,” Spock said, and moved closer to the fire; Jim came and sat next to him. 

                “Here, let me see,” Jim murmured, gently taking one of Spock’s hands in his own.

                Spock’s breath caught in his throat, and he felt his cheeks flush; the reaction was beyond his control, and he tried to regulate his suddenly uneven breathing, lest Jim notice.

                “Fuck, Spock, your fingers are freezing! I’m so sorry, I should’ve just done it by myself, that was so stupid of me,” he added, and then his fingers closed around Spock’s own, presumably to share his body heat. 

                Jim’s emotions rushed into Spock’s head, mingling with his own: comfort, warmth, contentment, affection.  Spock gasped, and his hand twitched in Jim’s grasp.  “Sorry, I know it probably stings,” Jim said apologetically.  It took Spock a second to realize what the Captain was talking about, before realizing the warmth from his hand did sting slightly against Spock’s skin.  He hurried to fortify his mental shields, a fortunate maneuver, as Jim chose that moment to begin rubbing his fingers against Spock’s. 

                Logically, Jim’s actions were perfectly sound.  Friction was a source of heat, and as such, his Captain was merely helping Spock regain feeling in his extremities.  That did not, however, alter the fact that Jim’s current ministrations were considered obscene in Vulcan culture, as hands were a primary Vulcan erogenous zone.  Spock choked back a moan: the sound stuck halfway up his throat.  His body, unaccustomed to such contact, began to respond to Jim, and he found himself leaning closer to his Captain unconsciously: the way his Adam’s apple moved when he swallowed was mesmerizing.  It was then that he noticed Jim was speaking.

                “Anyways, I’m super sorry about the cold.  I mean, I know Vulcan is a desert planet, I know that, I guess it just didn’t occur to me that you didn’t have gloves.  I’ll pick you up a pair when we go into the city tomorrow to shop.  It’s the wind that’s brutal, I guess, I mean, the wind chill factor is astronomical here; they can pick up so much speed with the plains and all.  We don’t have to go out for the rest of the day, either, I mean, we still have to dress the tree-“

                “Forgive me, Jim, but I fail to understand your meaning; why must we ‘dress’ an inanimate object?”

                “Spock,” Jim said, taking Spock’s other hand in his own.  Spock clenched his teeth briefly, relaxing his jaw gradually and with reluctance when he realized Jim was not going to cease his actions.  “You gotta put ornaments on the tree!”

                “Jim, the tree is,” Spock paused as Jim dragged the pad of his finger along the back of Spock’s index finger, and he fought to repress a full-body shiver, “quite aesthetically pleasing as is.”

                “It’s another one of those silly human traditions, Spock,” Jim laughed, and even through his shields, Spock could feel fondness roll off his Captain in waves.  “Humor me.  How are your fingers?”

                “They are adequate, Jim.” 

                “Good,” Jim said, and held Spock’s hand for two more seconds before withdrawing his touch.  Spock felt inclined to follow Jim’s fingers, to grasp his hand and cling to it.  He did not.

                “All right then, Spock,” he continued, gesturing towards the box filled with small packages.  “Let’s get started.”

Jim’s cooking had not proved inadequate, Spock thought as he prepared for meditation.  After they had finished hanging the requisite ornaments on the tree, Jim had insisted on making their meal as Spock read science reports by the fire.  The atmosphere was quite pleasant, as was the vegetarian meal Jim had prepared: it included many Vulcan ingredients, and reminded Spock of the meals his mother had made when he was a child.  It had taken his mother many years to achieve proficiency with preparing traditional Vulcan fare; Jim must have had previous training on the matter, or he was a very quick study. 

                Spock knelt down on his meditation mat and began the process of clearing his mind.  The house was quiet, and the only sound that reached Spock’s ears was that of Jim breathing in the room across the hall.  Spock measured his breathing to match Jim’s, which was even and slow with sleep. 

                Suddenly, after what seemed like all too short a time, Spock was brought out of one of the deeper levels of meditation by an unusual sound.  Jim’s breathing, which had been steady and smooth, was now coming in short, ragged gasps.  Spock could hear obvious sounds of distress emanating from the room across the hall, coming in the form of whimpers and quiet cries. 

                Unsure of whether or not to intervene, Spock stood and crossed to the entryway of his room, gazing intently at the small crack between Jim’s door and the door frame.  Upon hearing a low shout, however, Spock moved swiftly into Jim’s room, careful to prevent light from spilling into the Captain’s quarters. 

                Jim was thrashing in his bed, his blankets a twisted mass around him as his fists clenched in his sheets.  His chest was heaving, and then he was speaking.

                “Spock, Spock, no no no please not Spock, SPOCK!” The Captain’s voice broke on the last iteration of Spock’s name, and he moved quickly to Jim’s side, intending to wake him. 

                He sat on the edge of the bed, hand hovering uncertainly over Jim’s shoulder, whose muscles were tensing, clenching under his bare skin.  The Captain slept without a shirt, a fact which Spock did not have time to appreciate at the moment.

                “Jim,” he said, softly at first, and then louder when Jim did not respond.  Growing concerned, he finally grasped Jim’s shoulder.  “Captain!”

                Jim jerked awake, eyes flying open.  As he took in Spock, who was currently sitting on his bed, his expression changed to one of confusion.

                “Spock?” he whispered, rubbing at his eyes, which were cloudy with sleep.  “Oh god, did I wake you?  I’m sorry.”

                “Negative.  Vulcans do not require as much sleep as humans, Jim.”

                “Oh.  Still, sorry.  Stupid nightmares,” he added, clearly attempting to shrug off the incident entirely.  Spock realized his hand was still on Jim’s shoulder, and withdrew it slowly. 

                “Spock,” Jim said, when Spock made to leave the room.  “Could you… could you stay?” 

                “Of course,” Spock replied immediately, unthinkingly.  Jim made room for him and lifted the blankets so that Spock could climb in to his bed.  When he did, Jim moved his hand so that their fingers were touching; Spock was uncertain if the maneuver was accidental. 

                Spock worked on regulating his breathing – he would be unable to achieve any form of meditation, but sleep may serve him well.  He checked his mental shields, ensuring their strength, and then closed his eyes, marveling at the feeling of Jim’s cool fingers pressed against his own. 

                “I saw you,” came the hushed whisper from his right.  “It was you, in the chamber.  We were older… we had on these ugly red uniforms, you should’ve seen them, Spock.” 

                Silence followed Jim’s statement, but Spock let it stretch on, knowing the Captain had not yet finished. 

                “You were dying.  And it – it was like, my whole world had narrowed down to that exact point.  And all I could think was that it should’ve been me.  It should’ve been me.  And you know, Spock,” Jim turned on his side to face Spock, whose head was tilted towards the Captain, “I’m happy it went down the way it did.  If I’d had to see you die in that radiation chamber, well, I…” he trailed off and flopped back down onto the bed. 

                “Jim,” Spock murmured.  “You are my Captain.  You are an irreplaceable member of Starfleet, and if I could have reversed our positions, you can trust that I would have taken that chance.  I have been, and always shall be, your friend,” Spock added with a small smile.  Taking a chance, he gripped Jim’s hand in his own, and pushed through his shields the sense of peace he felt in Jim’s presence, dispelling the negative emotions from the nightmare.  Jim sighed in contentment and squeezed Spock’s hand gently.  Ten minutes later, the Captain was asleep, and Spock considered letting go of Jim’s hand.  Before he had the chance to, however, Jim rolled over into Spock.  Surprised, he was unsure of how to handle the way the Captain had curled one fist into his sleeping robes, how his cold nose was pressed against Spock’s neck.

                Instead of obeying Vulcan norms of propriety, Spock followed Jim’s advice for once, and listened to his instincts.  As his arms wrapped around Jim’s torso, they fell into a comfortable sleep.

Chapter Text

                Spock awoke the next morning to warm breath against his neck, and what felt like a heavy, cool, and very solid blanket draped over him. Opening his eyes, he realized his estimations were correct: his Captain was covering the right half of his body, legs entwined with Spock’s, and an arm thrown over Spock’s torso.  Jim’s breath was hot on Spock’s neck, and the he suspected he could feel his Captain’s lips pressed to his collarbone. 

                Unsure of how to handle the situation, and judging the chances of the Captain being mortified if he woke to discover he had cuddled his First Officer to the point where it was becoming difficult for Spock to breathe at 96.78%, Spock carefully began to move out of Jim’s embrace.  Jim’s limbs tightened stubbornly, as if insisting that Spock was not permitted to leave because his chest was serving as Jim’s pillow.  Firmly, Spock disentangled himself, and took care to cover his Captain with blankets before departing the room.  Jim continued to sleep. 

                After using the sonics in their shared bathroom, Spock went to the kitchen, intending to prepare breakfast for Jim.  He discovered bacon in the refrigerator, and, remembering it was one of Jim’s favorites, looked online for instructions on how to properly prepare the meat.  Spock, as a vegetarian, did not have much experience preparing meat, but the bacon was sizzling pleasantly in the skillet in 4.43 minutes.  Pleased with his success, Spock set about slicing fruit for himself: the Captain would most likely decline it, an action with which Doctor McCoy would have argued.  Spock determined it was not his place to mandate the Captain’s diet while he was on shore leave, and began to scramble eggs. 

                Slow shuffling down the hall alerted him to the fact that Jim was awake, and Spock began the brew sequence on Jim’s coffeepot: the Captain often complained that the coffee on the Enterprise tasted “like dirt” and Spock was aware that brewing real coffee was a luxury Jim treasured.  When Jim entered the kitchen, dressed only in the sweatpants in which he had slept, he looked at the stove in obvious surprise. 

                “Did you make breakfast?” he asked, crossing the small space to stand at Spock’s side.  “Bacon?  Wait, really?” he said as Spock picked the bacon off the skillet and moved the pieces to a plate.  He slid the finished eggs next to the meat, and handed the meal to Jim. 

                “There is also coffee.  I hope you will find this meal acceptable; I am afraid I do not possess adequate knowledge on how to properly cook meat.”

                Jim looked up from where he was pouring his coffee and smiled.  “Spock, come on.  You’re good at everything.  I’m sure it’ll all be great.” 

                “It is mathematically impossible to ‘be good at everything,’ Jim, seeing as-“

                “Aw, c’mon Spock, can’t you just accept a compliment for once?” Jim interrupted as he made his way into the farmhouse’s eating area.  Spock raised one eyebrow, but said no more on the matter, gathering his tea and fruit and sitting down at the kitchen table.  Jim had not mentioned anything about the night before; perhaps he was embarrassed, and wished to pretend the entire incident had never occurred.  Spock would acquiesce to Jim’s wishes, although his own feelings were remarkably different on the matter.  He recalled the way Jim’s skin had felt against his own, the distinct pleasure of holding his Captain close, protecting him. 

                “Damn, Spock, this is amazing!” Jim moaned through a mouthful of eggs.  “You should make breakfast for me all the time.”

                “That would be impractical, as-“

                “Joke, Spock, it was a joke,” the Captain said, smiling; Spock dutifully ceased speaking and took another bite of pear.

                “You done much Christmas shopping yet?” Jim asked, pushing his empty plate to the side and focusing his full attention on his coffee. 

                “Negative.  I was unaware until recently that I would be required to procure gifts for the entire senior staff.”

                “Yeah, I figured,” Jim said.  He cracked his neck twice, then stood up from the table, taking the dishes to the sink to wash them by hand.  “Well, we can go shopping today,” he said as he began to lather soap onto his plate.  Spock watched the motion of Jim’s hand as it gripped the sponge, white soap bubbles seeping out between his fingers.  “You should probably get dressed though, wouldn’t want you to freeze again,” Jim added, and Spock tore his eyes away from his Captain’s hands to find that Jim was watching him, a broad grin on his face.

                “Certainly, Jim.  I will be ready in approximately seven minutes.”

                As he turned to leave, Spock heard the Captain murmur fondly, “I’d expect nothing less.”

***

                Spock had never been to Chicago; in fact, he had been to very few Terran cities outside of San Francisco.  He had not deemed it necessary to visit any other metropolitan centers, as San Francisco housed Starfleet Academy and possessed adequate recreation opportunities to fit Spock’s needs.

                Jim was, evidently, appalled that Spock had never been further inland than the Sierra Nevada Mountains.  As such, he had insisted on traveling into “the big city” to shop for holiday gifts, preaching about the “holiday shopping experience.”

                So far, Spock was having difficulty understanding Jim’s fascination with said experience. 

                Chicago was blanketed with a thick layer of snow, and although the accumulation was markedly less than was present in Riverside, Spock still found it distasteful.  The winter storm that had covered much of the Midwest had not relented, and Chicago was no exception to the rule.  Snow flurries continued to drive down onto the streets of the Windy City, and Spock was aware the wind chill put the external temperature at approximately thirteen degrees Fahrenheit. 

                It was bitter, and Spock was cold.

                The walk from store to store was a constant cycle of freezing and thawing, and Spock’s nose and cheeks were raw and flushed green from the process.  As he browsed around a jewelry shop that touted wares from across the galaxy, Spock carefully removed the gloves he had purchased at Jim’s insistence and began the arduous process of warming his hands back up.  The gloves were enough to prevent serious nerve damage to his hands, but they were still less than entirely effective against the omnipresent chill. 

                “What’d you say her favorite color was, again?” Jim asked, browsing through a rack of earrings.  They were attempting to procure a gift for Nyota: Jim insisted that human females were often receptive to jewelry as gifts. 

                “I did not.”

                “What, you never thought to ask her what her favorite color was when you were dating?” Jim said incredulously. 

                “I find it a rather illogical topic of conversation,” Spock replied, beginning to look through rare and exotic gemstones from Terra. 

                “Well, I guess we could always call Scotty if we get really stuck,” Jim said, joining Spock and standing so close that their shoulders brushed. 

                “I do not think that will be necessary,” Spock said, and pointed to a pair of earrings that lay behind a glass barrier.  “Would those prove satisfactory?”

                Jim followed his gaze.  “Malaya garnet. Origin: Kenya,” he read aloud, and turned to Spock, who was suddenly very aware of how close Jim’s face was to his own.  “Spock, that’s fucking perfect.  You’re a genius.”

                Jim and Spock split the cost of the earrings: one did not join Starfleet for the money, and Spock found it difficult to justify spending hundreds of credits on gifts for his fellow crew members.  Jim seemed more than happy to give joint gifts, and he made his sixth remark about “really, how great are we as a Command team,” as they exited the store. 

                The small package for Nyota joined a fifty-year old bottle of scotch for Scotty, a galactic botanical encyclopedia for Sulu (stored, of course, on a data chip, as that much information would be impossible to condense into one volume), and a fifth of authentic Russian vodka for Chekov.  Jim and Spock had already arranged for Doctor McCoy’s gift earlier that morning on the train: they contacted Starfleet Command and arranged for an extra week of leave for the Doctor to spend with his daughter, Joanna.  Leonard had spent the previous Christmas with his daughter, meaning his ex-wife would be with her for Christmas day, but Joanna would be traveling to visit him the day after Christmas.  Jim was exceptionally pleased with this particular gift, and seemed largely unconcerned that the Enterprise would be without it’s CMO for a week.  “Milk runs, Spock, that’s all they’ll be giving us when we get back,” he had said, seemingly convinced.  “It’s always milk runs.”

                Spock could find no reason to disagree with the Captain’s statement, so he had agreed with Jim’s plan.  Of course, an absent Doctor McCoy also meant a missing Carol Marcus, so Jim had found tickets to a concert that the couple would enjoy.  Spock did not understand the appeal of country music, but he deferred to Jim’s good judgment. 

                “How ‘bout we grab some food?” Jim asked, grinning at Spock.  During the present shore leave, Spock had observed that Jim had been smiling an average of 45.78% more often than he did aboard the Enterprise.  Spock was unsure of the reason for this development, but welcomed it: illogically, he enjoyed Jim’s smile. 

                “That would be agreeable,” Spock said, and then burrowed his chin back into his scarf, attempting to keep it warm. 

                “Awesome, let’s go find something to eat.”

***

                They walked back to the train station along the river.  Ice had formed on the surface of the water, and the large pieces creaked as they rocked together, tossed gently in the waves caused by the wind.  The snow was still driving down, gathering on the railing and the sidewalk, on the tops of the small ice floes. 

                It was dark, the street illuminated by orange-hued lights, the city stretching far behind them as they trudged through the snow.  Jim was oddly silent, which was in dramatic contrast to the rest of their day, where he had proved to be animated and easily excitable.  Spock recalled in particular Jim’s enthusiasm at explaining the figure named “Santa Claus” to him as they passed a photo booth where children were waiting to obtain a picture of an overweight man dressed in a red and white suit. 

                Jim stopped quite abruptly, leaning on the railing.  He looked up at the cloud-laden sky, snowflakes landing on his face. 

                “I miss seeing the stars.”

                Spock joined him, pressing his arm alongside Jim’s.  “As do I.”  It was not a lie.  Spock, however, missed what accompanied the stars: the Enterprise, missions, duty, first contacts, exploration, late night games of chess in Jim’s quarters.  He longed for the bridge, for the science station, for Jim in his command gold tunic sitting in the Captain’s chair, the easy way he would gesture for Spock to accompany him from the bridge.  How they would spar at the recreational facilities, discuss matters of ship’s business in Jim’s quarters, watch the galaxy pass from the comfort of the Observation Deck.

                “The Observation Deck,” Jim murmured, nearly inaudibly, as if he had heard Spock’s thoughts.  “Sitting there, with you, after a tough mission, and just… letting the stars fly by.  Forgetting about everything, even if it’s only for an hour.  Just space, and silence.  It’s so quiet up there, you know?  The engines thrumming in the night, the mellow hum of our ship, but beyond that? Just us.”

                Jim’s shoulder moved until it was pushed against Spock’s, seemingly unknowingly.  Jim was still staring at the sky, orange with the city’s artificial light.  They stood in silence for another minute, and then Jim turned away from the railing.

                “Sorry, Spock,” he said, laughing.  “If I keep distracting us, we’re gonna miss the train!” he added, and continued up the sidewalk. 

                Spock followed, and the silence was companionable; snow was falling and the world was hushed.

                Twenty minutes later, they were on a train bearing them back to Riverside.  Spock had taken a seat near a window, and Jim the one directly next to his; as they rode, Jim began to doze, and his head dropped onto Spock’s shoulder.  His Captain slept through the train ride, and his features were peaceful in repose.  His muscles were relaxed, mouth open just slightly, pink lips full and inviting.  The strong curve of his jaw dug into Spock’s shoulder, but he did not mind; instead, he examined the Captain’s hair, bronzed by the dim light of the train and tousled by the ferocious wind of Chicago.  When had this man, this human, begun to occupy such space in Spock’s life?  Why could Spock only breathe properly when Jim was near, and out of danger? How had it happened that he constantly yearned to touch, to seek, to explore the man on his shoulder, in more than a purely mental capacity? 

                Somehow, in between the Kobayashi Maru and the beginning of their mission, Jim had managed to garner not only Spock’s respect, but his friendship.  Spock did not form friends easily, but with Jim, it had seemed natural, inevitable.  And why?  Why James Kirk?

                "Then why did you send Kirk aboard, when you alone could have explained the truth?”

                “Because you needed each other. I could not deprive you of the revelation of all that you could accomplish together, of a friendship that will define you both in ways you cannot yet realize.”

                As Jim settled further into his side, Spock felt that he was finally beginning to realize what his counterpart had meant.

***

                That night, when Spock was preparing for bed after a light meditation, he heard Jim cry out again.  This time, he did not hesitate: climbing into Jim’s bed, he wrapped his arms around the Captain, pressing Jim’s back to his chest.  He fell asleep quickly and painlessly, the tip of one finger touching the Captain’s wrist, projecting calm and affection through the contact. 

                Spock’s last thought before he drifted off was, “T’hy’la.”

Chapter Text

                “Jim, I fail to understand why this is seen to be an enjoyable activity by members of your species.  What is the purpose of it?”

                “Come on, Spock, don’t give me that Vulcan superiority bullshit right now.  You’re half-human, remember?  Deep down, beneath all your sensibilities, you totally think this is fun.” 

                “Jim, I-"

                “Save it, Spock!  I don’t want to hear it!” Jim laughed, pausing to breathe.  “I invited you to spend Christmas with me, and I promised you an authentic experience.  Snowmen definitely qualify as part of that experience.”

                Spock looked down at the ball that he had rolled out of snow from the Kirk’s backyard.  Jim was standing approximately 10.6 feet away, in the process of creating his own “snowman,” a wide grin stretched across his face, which was flushed with the cold. 

                That morning, when Spock had awoken and disentangled himself from Jim, he had entered the kitchen to prepare breakfast to discover the sun shining weakly through clouds that were, nevertheless, blue with imminent snowfall.  Jim had slept quite late, but upon waking, he insisted on going outside before the storm began again.  A few flakes fell intermittently from the sky, but on the whole, the weather was pleasant compared to what Spock had experienced in previous days. 

                Spock began to roll a second ball of snow, per Jim’s instructions, to set atop the first.  His Captain was singing softly under his breath, a tune which appeared to be a Christmas carol.  Spock listened to it in silence; Jim had a pleasing singing voice, husky and low.  Several minutes passed, and Jim moved onto a new tune as Spock began to roll more snow to create the snowman’s head.

                Setting his third and final ball atop the snowman’s body, Spock looked over his creation.  “Jim, this “snowman” does not in any way resemble a human male.  Have I followed your instructions inadequately?”

                “They’re not meant to resemble real people, Spock,” Jim sighed, but his voice was fond.  “It’s just a thing kids do on Terra.  A way to pass the time, I guess, when there’s a snow day.”

                “Snow day?” 

                “Yeah, you know,” Jim paused to place two stones onto the face of his snowman, “when it’s snowing too hard for kids to attend school.  Sometimes children in outlying areas of the district can’t get to the campus, ‘cause of the storm, so they’ll cancel classes.  It used to be a bigger deal than it is now, with hovercars and all, but I guess some traditions have stuck around.”

                "Fascinating,” Spock said, considering the outlandish concept that classes would ever be cancelled.  Vulcan education, known for its rigidity and strenuous nature, would never have allowed for weather to interfere with scheduled meetings. 

                “Back in grade school, when the first snow of the season came around, kids would go batshit,” Jim said, affixing several other smaller stones below the eyes of his snowman.  “We’d all run to the windows, just to watch the snow fall down, even if we knew it wouldn’t stick ‘cause it was too warm.  Just another illogical human thing, I guess,” he added, sticking a frozen carrot onto the snowman to form a nose.  “Watching that first snowfall – you know, it was, like, magic.  To us, each snowflake was a star falling to the earth – and that stillness you get when it snows… I’ve only ever felt that in space.”

                Spock placed the finishing touches on his own snowman, and glanced over at Jim, who was busy carving a Starfleet insignia onto his snowman’s torso. 

                “It’s stupid, I guess,” Jim said, straightening and looking over his handiwork.  “Look, Spock, it’s you.”

                Spock surveyed Jim’s creation skeptically.  Its mouth was a straight line, mimicking Spock’s Vulcan expression, and it bore a Starfleet sciences insignia on its left breast.  Its eyebrows were made out of twigs, and made straight, severe lines away from its gray eyes.  Spock did not see any resemblance between himself and the snowman, but he humored Jim.

                “The resemblance is uncanny,” he said, lifting his left eyebrow.

                The Captain howled with laughter and examined Spock’s snowman, which, Spock realized, may have “resembled” Jim.  Its smile was broad and sunny, and Spock had unconsciously mirrored Jim and drawn an insignia on the snowman’s chest. 

                Belatedly, he realized it was a command star. 

                “Look at that, Spock,” Jim said, bending down to put his face next to the snowman’s, “you made me!”

                Spock’s gaze moved from Jim to the snowman, and he huffed in amusement.  “Fascinating.”

                “C’mon, it’ll keep,” Jim said, brushing his hands on his parka.  The snow was beginning to fall heavily again, and Spock glanced at the sky, where the steely clouds were bearing down upon the sun, blocking out the light. 

                “Fucking hell, it seems like it gets dark so early, you know?” Jim said as they moved back inside.  “I’ll start up a fire, you’re probably freezing.”

                Jim was correct; Spock’s fingers were cold, and once the fire had lit, Spock settled on the loveseat, just a few feet from the flames. 

                “Hey,” Jim said after 4.56 minutes, reentering the room bearing two steaming mugs.  “Brought you some tea, thought it might help to warm you up.”

                “Thank you, Jim,” Spock said, accepting the cup gratefully as Jim sat next to him.  Spock mourned the 13.57 inches between their bodies, but made no move to shift closer.

                “When I was a kid, my brother and I used to make snowmen all the time,” Jim said, staring pensively into the fire.  “We’d go outside, make snow angels, you know – sometimes, if the snow was high enough, we could go sledding off the roof.”  He glanced at Spock, who had raised one eyebrow in what was obviously disapproval, and laughed.  “I know, I know, disregarding my own safety since I was four, don’t even go there.”

                Spock did not. 

                “We’d stay out ‘til it got dark – not like mom was ever home to stop us.”  Spock rarely heard Jim talk about his mother, despite the long hours they had spent in each other’s company.  He gathered they were not on particularly good terms. 

                “She would come home, sure, when she could. But she never seemed to be able to pull herself away from the stars.  She drowned herself in them.”  Jim laughed bitterly and took a sip of his coffee.  “Guess I kinda did, too.”

                “I was accepted into the Vulcan Science Academy,” Spock said, the words spilling from his mouth involuntarily. 

                “Isn’t that a huge deal, though?  The VSA’s competitive,” Jim said, leaning forward, his blue eyes sparkling in the firelight. 

                “It is.  They informed me that my academic record was an accomplishment, despite the disadvantage of having a human mother.”  Spock paused.  “I disagreed with their evaluation of my situation; therefore, I declined their offer.”

                Jim burst out laughing.  “Damn, I bet that was something to see.  Probably wiped the Vulcan stoicism right off their faces.”

                “Indeed, no candidate has ever before declined admittance.  I had been advised by my father to cultivate multiple options, and as such, I accepted Starfleet’s offer.  All my life, I saw my mother as a burden.  I was ashamed of her.”

                Jim shifted closer to Spock until they were only inches apart. 

                “When I was a child, she used to display human signs of affection quite regularly.  She would often kiss me on the forehead or the cheek, or give me a hug.  Vulcan parents did not perform these actions, and I requested that she cease her ministrations.  As you know, Vulcans have eidetic memories.  As such, I can still remember her face in that moment.  She was hurt, although I did not have the experience with human emotion necessary to understand that.  There are times when I wish that I could see her again, to apologize for my impertinence.  My mother did not deserve such a child.”

                “Spock-"

                “I have tried all my life to be purely Vulcan.  I performed my kahs-wan early, and I told myself it was in effort to show my schoolmates I was just as capable as they.  At the time, I truly believed it was.  Now, however, I realize it was an attempt to convince myself I was adequate.  My pet sehlat, I-Chaya, accompanied me into the desert.  He was loyal, and he died saving me from a le-matya.  If I had simply waited to undergo the trial, he would have survived.

                “I-Chaya died due to my own mistakes.  As I was unable to save him, I was unable to save my mother.  I live with the guilt every day.” 

                Spock breathed heavily, and stared down at his tea.  He was uncertain where the words had come from, for he had never admitted such things, even to himself.

                Moving very slowly, Jim placed his hand on Spock’s thigh.  He could feel the cool temperature of Jim’s skin through the fabric of his jeans, and determined that Jim’s touch was not at all unwelcome or unpleasant. 

                “I’m sorry, Spock,” Jim said, giving Spock’s thigh a light squeeze. 

                Spock looked up at his Captain, puzzled.  “For what are you apologizing?”

                “I just realized – I never said sorry.  For what I said to you that day, on the bridge.  About your mom.”

                “It was only logical.”

                “Maybe,” Jim conceded, “but it was low.  I don’t think you’re emotionless.  Never did.”

                “What I did was inexcusable.  I should never have physically attacked you.”

                Jim laughed again, rubbing his neck where Spock’s fingers had wrapped around it.  “Don’t even worry about it, I would’ve done the same thing.  If I were you, I might not have stopped.”

                “You forget, I almost did not.”

                “Well, I’m glad you didn’t. Kill me, I mean.  Think about it.  No boldly going, no missions, no bridge crew.  No family,” Jim added, smiling, and he stood up.  “Hold up a sec, I got something else for us to do.”

                Spock sighed, almost inaudibly, just a small, exasperated breath.

                “I heard that,” Jim called back as he walked towards the kitchen.  “You know,” he continued, voice slightly muffled, “you said you wouldn’t complain about all the traditions.”

                “I do not believe I ever made such a promise, Jim,” Spock said, drinking the last of his tea. 

                “Well, it was definitely implied!” Jim walked back into the room, bearing a box in one hand.  “Gingerbread house.  Even you can’t resist this.”

                Spock failed to agree with the Captain’s assertion.

***

                Spock surveyed their combined efforts on the candy-based house.  The smooth brown walls were decorated with windows and cinnamon pieces, and Jim had piped the roof with white icing to resemble snow.  A small yard surrounded the house, replete with what Jim called “gumdrops” along the base of the house walls, and candy canes forming fence posts.  Jim had scattered small, gum-based bears throughout the yard, laughing when Spock mentioned that his sehlat loosely resembled a teddy bear – albeit, with very long fangs. 

                “So, Spock,” Jim said, propping his feet on the coffee table and settling back into the sofa.  He was holding what he had referred to as “two fingers of Jack,” and when Spock asked him to clarify, he rephrased as, “Whiskey, Spock, true Tennessee whiskey.  Let’s save the Romulan ale for the party, yeah?”  Spock was unsure if the Captain really had managed to procure Romulan ale, but decided that it was best not to ask.  “Wanna know where we’re gonna be headed tomorrow?”

                “I take it, then, that we will be traveling to our destination?”

                “Last day we’ve got alone together, Spock; I wanted to make it special,” Jim said, draining his glass and getting up to pour himself more.  Spock was drinking Altair water that Jim had found in the fridge. 

                “So?  Aren’t you curious?” 

                “I trust you, Jim,” Spock said as Jim approached the couch.  Without warning, his captain rearranged himself so that his legs were lying across Spock’s lap, and Jim’s head was settled against the armrest. 

                Spock’s muscles tensed in surprise, but he forced himself to relax, recalling the way he had slept with Jim tucked in his arms the past two nights. 

                Seventy minutes and four glasses later, Jim’s eyes had glazed over and he had begun to talk with increasing frequency, not expecting a response.  Spock did not mind; he found Jim’s voice pleasing. 

                “D’you ever feel like you just can’t do enough?” Jim asked slowly, as if he was choosing each word with care. 

                “I fail to understand your meaning, Jim.”

                “It’s like, no matter what I do,” Jim paused to take another drink of whiskey, “I always let people down.”  He propped himself onto his elbows, looking Spock in the eye.  “Disappointed Pike.  Wasn’t good enough.  Almost got the crew killed.  Let you down.  Can’t do anything right.”  He drained his glass and let it slip from his fingers onto the carpeted floor, where it landed with a dull, fatalistic thud.  “Even on Tarsus… couldn’t save ‘em.  Kodos won.”

                Spock had, of course, gone through Jim’s files before he accepted the position as First Officer aboard the Enterprise.  Tarsus had not been recorded there.  Considering Jim’s prowess at accessing systems to which he did not have clearance, however, Spock should not have been surprised.  He had learned of the massacre on Tarsus IV, like every other cadet to go through Starfleet, and as such he knew that the survivors were few. 

                “You were a child.  You survived.  That is all you could have done.”

                “I wasn’t a child after that,” he whispered, glassy eyes staring unseeing at the ceiling. 

                “Jim, when I melded with Admiral Pike at the time of his death, I felt more than just his emotions.”

                “Yeah?”

                “Yes.  He felt as if he was leaving behind his son.  He was proud of you, Jim.  He believed in your ability to command, and so does your crew.  They would do anything for you.  As would I.”

                “S’sweet, Spock,” Jim slurred, rubbing a hand across his face.  “Even if you are lying-“

                “Vulcans cannot lie.” 

                “Hmm…” Jim closed his eyes.  “I’ve heard that.”

                Silence fell for 3.34 minutes before Jim mumbled something that, if Spock’s hearing had not been so keen, he would not have caught. 

                “S’ry I died.  Heard you went crazy.  Must’ve been… hard… losing control like that.”

                “Perhaps you forget, but Vulcans were a warrior race before the days of Surak, Jim.  The old instincts are still there, although they are constantly controlled by logic.  When you died, I felt as if I had lost a part of myself.  I went after Khan in the only way I knew.  All I wished was to break him, to make him pay for what he had taken from me.  From the crew.” 

                “Still… Spock…” Jim sighed, but his breath had started to slow, indicating he neared sleep.  “What’s t’hy’la?” 

                “There is no proper translation into Standard,” Spock said quietly, watching as Jim’s eyes slid shut.  When Jim did not inquire further, Spock briefly touched his Captain’s wrist – he had lapsed into a liquor-induced sleep.  Carefully, Spock moved off the couch, picked up Jim in a bridal carry, and took him to his room.  Spock tucked several blankets around Jim, conscious of the draft coming in from the north-facing window.  Aware he would most likely not be needed for comfort tonight, due to the heavy sleep Jim generally experienced while under the influence of alcohol, he crept quietly out of the room. 

                Before he closed Jim’s door, he looked back at his captain’s sleeping form.  Jim’s mouth was slightly parted, and his chest rose and fell steadily under a red wool blanket. 

                “It means you,” Spock whispered into the still silence, darkness swallowing his words as he moved out of the room.

                Spock left the door open in case he was needed, and retired for the night.  

Chapter Text

                Snow was falling steadily from deep gray clouds and the weak sunlight was rapidly fading as Jim and Spock leaned on the cold metal railing, pressed close for warmth, staring out at the river before them. 

                The East River, Spock recalled, stretching to meet with the Hudson at the lower end of the isle of Manhattan, their joint waters pressed up against a tiny island bearing a famous figure on its surface.  It was at this statue that Jim and Spock were currently looking; Lady Liberty stood proud over New York City, proclaiming the values of the United Earth and, to a greater extent, the United Federation of Planets. 

                The City on the Edge of Forever.  Spock knew the phrase.  Every Starfleet student studied Terra’s World War III and its devastating effect on one of the planet’s most prominent cultural centers.  Destroyed by ICBMs during the war, the borough of Manhattan had been rebuilt, brick by laborious brick, until a fairly close replica remained.  Lady Liberty had not escaped the fate of the city, but she had also been remade, and again stood proud and defiant of tyranny in all its forms. 

                Spock wondered why Jim had brought him to this place: the bridge on which they now stood, according to Jim, was called the Brooklyn Bridge, and tourists of all species ambled slowly up and down its length, staring out at the cold waters of the river and the gloomy horizon beyond.  Jim’s breath billowed out in clouds, his hands folded in front of him.  Spock wished he could reach out and take Jim’s hand, wished that he could hold it while walking along the bridge, a place that had been a meeting spot for lovers in old Terran films before the destruction of the city.  Jim had informed him of the bridge’s significance in centuries-old Terran media, presumably to explain to Spock the high frequency of couples along the walkway. 

                Slowly, quietly, such that Spock would have thought he was not meant to hear, if not for the fact that Jim angled his head, Jim recited:

                                Not like the brazen giant of Greek fame
                                With conquering limbs astride from land to land;
                                Here at our sea-washed, sunset gates shall stand
                                A mighty woman with a torch, whose flame
                                Is the imprisoned lightning, and her name
                                Mother of Exiles. From her beacon-hand that
                                Glows world-wide welcome; her mild eyes command
                                The air-bridged harbor that twin cities frame.
                                “ Keep, ancient lands, your storied pomp!” cries she
                                With silent lips. “Give me your tired, your poor,
                                Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
                                The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
                                Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me,
                                I lift my lamp beside the golden door!”

                “That is beautiful,” Spock said when Jim had finished. 

                “It’s “The New Colossus,” by Emma Lazarus,” Jim replied.  “It’s mounted in first level of the pedestal.  Fitting, I guess, to go with Lady Liberty.  Beautiful piece of writing, though,” he added thoughtfully, shrugging.  “Guess it always spoke to me, you know?  That message of freedom.  Growing up, sometimes it felt like American ideals didn’t live up to reality.”

                “Mother of Exiles,” Spock murmured, looking at the statue with a new intensity. 

                “Yeah,” Jim said, smiling.  “Sometimes I think the Enterprise became my own sort of Statue of Liberty.  It’s dumb, I know,” he said, laughing and pulling off the railing.  “She was being built in the Riverside shipyard when I left for Starfleet.  Isn’t that what we are, after all?” he continued, turning somber.  “Exiles?” 

                “For my part,” Spock said.  He felt Jim’s surprise almost as clearly as if he had been touching the Captain’s skin – a prickle in the back of his mind.  Jim said nothing, however, so they continued walking back towards Manhattan.  When Spock turned his head to look back at the Statue of Liberty, it had disappeared behind the city skyline.

                By the time Jim and Spock crossed the bridge, dusk had fallen, and the lights of the city began to come on in earnest.  Trees were wrapped in strands of Christmas lights, and they twinkled as Jim turned their course towards midtown Manhattan.  They walked very close together on the sidewalk, Jim’s shoulder consistently brushing his; Jim made a conscious effort to keep Spock as far away as possible from any people passing by. 

                Although it was still relatively early in the day, not quite 17:00 hours, neither Jim nor Spock had eaten since the breakfast Spock had made that morning.  They had, again, taken a train from Riverside to New York, catching up on work for the duration of the ride.  Jim, typically, had let what he referred to as “paperwork” pile up during the week before leave.  As the Enterprise had not been engaged in any strenuous missions during that week, Spock could not determine what had caused the Captain to procrastinate so severely.  Regardless, Spock had been able to review the latest reports on the Enterprise’s ongoing science experiments; his team was making good progress in its investigations into the plant life on Aurelius IV. 

                Jim seemed to have a destination in mind, and they continued past the historical area of Chinatown into a district Jim referred to as “Little Italy.” 

                “You like Italian, right?”  Jim asked, turning down a street that brought them close to the river. 

                “I have never tried it.”

                “You’ll love it,” Jim laughed, grabbing Spock’s gloved hand and pulling him along at a jog until they reached a restaurant two blocks east of their origin point.  Spock found himself dragged inside, and Jim released his hand in order to pull off several layers of outerwear; Spock did the same. 

                The host seated them at a table, atop which sat a single candle and two wine glasses.  As Spock looked around the restaurant, he noticed that the 93.6% of the patrons appeared to be couples.  Once again, Spock was uncertain of Jim’s intentions, and therefore said nothing on the matter. 

                A young woman, with traditionally aesthetically pleasing features, approached their table.  Her dark blonde hair was tied back, and she wore a tight-fitting black dress.  Instantly, Spock felt protective of his Captain, and worked to repress the emotion.  It was illogical.

                “Good evening,” she said, and her tone sounded sultry to Spock’s ears, “my name is Jenny and I’m going to be your server today.  Can I get you two gentlemen started with anything to drink?”

                “Yeah, we will take a bottle of the Montrachet Chardonnay, thanks,” Jim said without so much as a second glance at the waitress. 

                She glanced down at Spock, as if to confirm Jim’s statement, and started when she met his eyes.  Remembering Jim’s frequent comments about his eyes (“You know, people say Vulcans have no emotions, but they’re wrong.  Sometimes I can look at your eyes and know exactly what you’re thinking”), Spock looked away from her, down at the menu which she had placed on the table in front of him.  

                “So,” Jim said, flipping through the menu until he reached the meats section, “seems like the whole crew is hooking up.  I swear, I signed like, five relationship announcement paper things this morning, stating that the participants’ performance wouldn’t be “adversely affected by the establishment and continuation of a romantic liaison” or however the fuck Starfleet words it.  Already all been signed off on by Bones, of course.  And the bridge crew!” Jim said, looking up briefly, grinning widely.  “I mean, if Pasha and Hikaru think they’re being subtle, they’re not.  It’s like, everyone knows they’re shacking up at ‘Karu’s place for the week.”

                “Indeed, their actions while off-duty do not leave much doubt as to their involvement,” Spock said, curious as to why Jim chose this particular topic of conversation.  “I recall in particular an instance 17 days ago where I entered the locker rooms after one of our sparring sessions to find-“

                “I’m gonna stop you right there, Spock, I think I walked in on that one, too,” Jim said, but his voice was light and his eyes were smiling.

                The waitress returned with the bottle of wine, quickly poured two glasses and then departed with a nervous glance at Spock, leaving the bottle in a wine cooler at the table.

                “It’s good, try some,” Jim said, gesturing towards Spock’s glass, which remained untouched where the server had left it. 

                “Vulcans do not drink,” Spock said, looking skeptically at his glass. 

                “Humans do,” Jim replied, gently pushing the wine glass across the table to Spock’s hand.  “Try some.”

                Spock did as his Captain suggested.  The wine was, indeed, excellent, and he found he quite enjoyed it. 

                “Told you so,” Jim said smugly, leaning back in his seat.  “But really, though.  Uhura and Scotty… does it bother you?”

                “Negative.  Nyota and I were not compatible.  She required more from me than I could give.  I could not compromise who I was for a relationship.”

                Jim nodded slowly.  “I didn’t even know you guys weren’t together until she started going out with Scotty.  When did you end it?  If you don’t mind me asking, of course, sorry if I’m prying.”

                Spock raised one eyebrow in amusement.  “Not at all.  Nyota ended our relationship shortly after the incident with Khan.  It appears she saw something I did not.” 

                “Yeah?” Jim said, and this time his smile was warm, genuine, and Spock felt something shift in the back of his mind, something similar to –

                “Are you ready to order, or do you need a bit more time?” their server asked, suddenly appearing next to their table.  Jim and Spock both jumped, as they had been so engaged in conversation that they did not notice her approach. 

                Jim ordered steak; Spock, the pasta primavera.  He was pleased to find that the menu included ingredients from across the Federation’s planets, although there were no vegetables from New Vulcan.  This was only logical, as traditional Vulcan crops were destroyed with the planet, and seeds had to be recovered from various colonies and starbases before they could be cultivated en masse again. 

                “I was rather surprised when Doctor McCoy began seeing Doctor Marcus,” Spock said, steering the conversation away from Uhura. 

                “Yeah, they’ve definitely got something special,” Jim said as he traced the top of his wine glass with one finger.  “Wait, why were you surprised?”

                “I was under the impression you harbored romantic interest in her,” Spock confessed.  It was something about which he had been curious for a while. 

                “Oh, no, I mean, she’s hot, but she…” Jim trailed off, seemingly searching for words.  “Yeah, no, Bones was into her from day one, and I’m not the kind of guy to steal someone else’s girl.  Plus I had other shit to be doing, like coming back from the dead and running a ship,” he added.  Spock flinched at the way he casually referenced the Khan incident, but remained silent. 

                From there, their conversation turned to Scotty’s most recent alterations to Engineering (“Spock! Come on, with just a few improvements, we could breach the transwarp threshold!”  “Jim, a warp speed that great would endanger and possibly destroy the ship.  It would be structurally unsound”), and the various underground betting pools of the Enterprise.  Both Spock and Jim knew of these activities, but Jim did not see the point of enforcing regulations (“They’re just having fun, Spock, let it happen”).  The food, when it arrived, was excellent, and the wine paired quite companionably with Spock’s meal. 

                After their plates had been taken away, Jim checked his watch and called the server to ask for the bill.  Spock thought this uncommon, as generally, customers could swipe credit chips at the table.  Like many things in New York, however, the restaurant was designed to reflect Terra’s past. 

                “When you’re ready,” the server said, placing a small black folder on their table.  Before she could walk away or Spock protest, Jim had placed his credit chip in the folder and handed it back to her with a winning smile and a murmured “thanks.”

                “That was not necessary,” Spock began, but Jim cut him off. 

                “’Course it was, Spock, so stop that.”  The server brought back the folder, Jim added a tip, and they left the restaurant.  The snow was coming down more thickly now, and Spock drew his regulation coat closer to him, arms wrapping instinctively around his torso. 

                “You cold?” Jim asked as they began walking again.  His cheeks were flushed but otherwise he looked quite comfortable. 

                “Yes,” Spock admitted.

                “C’mere,” Jim said, and linked arms with Spock, so that they were sharing body heat.  Spock found the arrangement very tolerable, and they continued on in companionable silence through the streets of the City on the Edge of Forever.

***

                Spock would have found the experience of riding the subway quite unpleasant if he were not with Jim.  The pneumatic underground transportation system preferred by thousands of New Yorkers was clean, new, and above all, crowded.  Jim and Spock had been forced to stand, holding onto one of several metal poles that stretched from the ground to the ceiling for balance.  Knowing Spock’s aversion to casual touch from strangers, Jim had shielded him with his body, and Spock had made the journey with Jim’s warm form pressed against his back.

                It was not at all disagreeable.

                Spock was currently sitting on a bench in what was known as Rockefeller Plaza, lit by thousands of tiny Christmas lights wrapped around every available surface, including the massive tree that stood at the top of the plaza.  A band was playing holiday music on the opposite end of the ice rink, which Spock was currently surveying with trepidation.  The blades of the skates Jim had rented for him seemed much too thin for appropriate balance, and he suspected several falls would be imminent. 

                “Give me those,” Jim said, kneeling down in front of him and taking the skates from Spock’s outstretched hand. 

                “Jim, are you certain this is a safe activity?” Spock asked as he saw a child fall to the floor of the ice rink and hit its head. 

                “Of course, Spock, people do it all the time,” Jim said, strapping Spock’s skates onto his feet and lacing them tightly.  “There you go, all set.  Come on, you’ll be great at it.  Don’t Vulcans have superior balance or something?”

                Spock said nothing, as Jim had led him onto the ice and he immediately was forced to focus on keeping his balance. 

                “All right, come on, it’s kinda like you’re walking, but you’re pushing your foot backwards.  Here,” Jim said, and grabbed hold of Spock’s hand. 

                Spock was not wearing gloves, as he had been about to lace his shoes when Jim performed the action for him, and as such, emotions flowed into Spock like a waterfall before he could reinforce his shields.  Affection and warmth suffused his bones, and he felt a small spark in the back of his mind – right where his bond with T’Pring used to be.  As Jim led him around the rink, the spark grew into a flame, and the flame solidified into something more, something concrete, something like –

                Jim released his hand.  “I think you’ve got it,” he said, laughing at Spock’s bewildered expression.  A wave of guilt swamped him instantly, and Spock was careful to keep his distance from Jim’s bare skin – until he had figured out what had formed between them, he would try to minimize contact with the Captain.  Jim could not want a bond between them, Spock reasoned.  He did not feel the same way that Spock did. 

                “So, have you ever heard of Carnegie Hall?” Jim asked 15 minutes and 23 seconds later as they exited the ice rink. 

                “Affirmative.”

                “Perfect.  That’s where we’re going next.”

                Spock stared at Jim.  His Captain was no great lover of the fine arts, and made no secret of his boredom at most forms of theater and opera when they were required to attend them for diplomatic missions.   

                “Surprised you, huh?” Jim teased, handing in his skates.  “Seriously, I can be cultured when I want to be.  We gotta get going, or we’re gonna be late.” He raised his eyebrows, blue eyes simultaneously intense and joking.  Spock returned his skates as well, and they began the short walk to Carnegie Hall, which was only fifteen minutes away from Rockefeller Plaza. 

                “What are we seeing?” Spock asked as Jim pulled two tickets from his breast pocket.  Spock was grateful Jim had told him to wear at least semi-formal clothing: he was in his dress uniform, and still felt slightly underdressed.

                “Look at the ticket.”

                New Vulcan Symphony Orchestra: Classical Songs from Vulcan and its Colonies.

                Spock found he was quite unable to speak. 

***

                For the second time that week, Jim fell asleep on Spock’s shoulder on their way back to Riverside.  Spock’s mind was still alight with the music of the concert hall, and with the knowledge that Jim had tailored the visit to New York with a particular design. 

                Spock was 87.13% sure that his Captain felt romantic affection for him, but anything less than positive was not enough for Spock to act on.  He did not wish to tarnish their working relationship or, more importantly, their friendship, by making an unwanted advance.  Spock also knew that liquor was likely to loosen Jim’s tongue, and the Captain had indicated his desire to throw a “proper Christmas party;” Spock was certain there would be plenty of alcohol at the gathering.  Surrounded by so many couples on Christmas Eve, Spock suspected that, under the influence, Jim may feel emboldened to make his affections known.

                He would wait.

                By the time they reentered the farmhouse, it was 04:30 hours.  Jim, exhausted, was stumbling slightly; Spock helped him into bed and turned to leave. 

                “Spock,” Jim whispered, already succumbing to sleep.  “Stay.”

                Spock removed his clothes, with the exception of his thermals, and climbed into bed beside Jim.  His Captain nestled into Spock’s side, tucked his head under Spock’s chin, and fell asleep.  Spock lay awake for a while longer, thinking about what he felt when Jim touched him. 

                Jim was t’hy’la, and their relationship one highly prized among Vulcans.  The bond was ancient, rare, and predated Surak.  A t’hy’la was everything to a Vulcan: friend, brother, and in some cases, lover.  In Standard, it may have been translated into soul mate.  Did Jim know, as Spock knew?  And if not, how would he react when he learned of their connection? 

                To Spock’s horror, it felt as if a deeper bond between himself and the Captain may already have formed.  He did not know a significant amount about t’hy’la bonds, or if they could be formed without a meld, but what he had felt on the skating rink had very nearly confirmed his suspicions.  It would require him to meld with Jim to be certain.  Would the Captain want this bond, one that may have been formed without his consent?  Spock felt guilt threaten to engulf him again, but pushed aside the emotion.  He wished vainly that he could seek advice from someone.

                Of course.  His counterpart.  Spock would contact him as soon as he rose for the day.

                Spock attempted to clear his mind, but was only partially successful.  He fell into a fitful sleep, shielding from Jim, anxious about what the coming day would bring. 

Chapter Text

                Spock woke before dawn, the sky outside of Jim’s window free of clouds, at least for the present.  The impenetrable black of night had been replaced with an indigo tinged with cerulean near the horizon, which was marked by the beginning of a vast expanse of white.  Fields of snow stretched in every direction, dark, pristine and untouched.  Spock sighed and resigned himself to moving from the bed; he would need to contact his counterpart before Jim awoke in order to obtain the answers he sought. 

                He gently pried himself from the grip of his Captain, last of all moving Jim’s head from where it had rested, pillowed against his pectoral muscle.  After he saw that Jim was properly situated, positive the Captain would not wake for the foreseeable future, Spock moved through the darkened house into the kitchen.  He made himself tea and retreated further away from the bedrooms to the small study, where he knew Jim kept a computer terminal.  

                The machine on the desk looked to be something Jim had crafted himself; it was clearly innovative and processed commands more quickly than similar equipment on the Enterprise.  After placing his request for a comm to New Vulcan, Spock relaxed and stared out the study window, which faced east.  The sky on this side of the house was lighter, spattered with pale pink.  A faint purple exposed a waning crescent moon, which Spock examined with great interest.  Vulcan did not have moons, and as such, Spock was largely unaccustomed to seeing one in the early hours of the morning.  Despite his time living at Starfleet, Spock had found himself too busy to study the constellations of Terra, and he remained unfamiliar with many of the celestial designs that could be found in the Terran sky. 

                Spock had enjoyed stargazing on Vulcan, and as a child, he would often stare at the night sky and imagine traveling to other planets, other stars.  It was the wonder instilled in him by space that drove him to first consider Starfleet as a career.  Once, during a late night chess game after a difficult mission wherein six crew members died, he expressed as much to Jim.  His Captain had leaned back in his chair, considering Spock’s words, and responded in kind:

                “The first time I went camping, I was seven.  We went north, to the mountains up in Alberta, the Rocky Mountains.  It was a big trip at the time: Sam and I, Winona, Frank.  Me and Sam were gonna have our own tent and everything.  I remember, though, after living on the plains my whole life, the mountains seemed alien.  I kept asking Sam, how could something so big exist – how could the world have created something so beautiful, a testament, I guess, to the power of nature?  But we went up in these mountains, right, and we pitched our tents, and night fell.  There was this little stream running past our campsite, I remember it really clearly because I couldn’t sleep.  So I got up, all careful not to wake Sam, and I went outside to the banks of that stream. 

                “And when I looked up through those trees, it was something else, Spock.  I could see the Milky Way, running like a river across the sky, just blazing with light.  The stars seemed to have multiplied overnight: I swear, I’d never seen so many before.  I remember looking at the sky that night, and feeling so small, so completely insignificant, like I was nothing, the world was nothing, compared to what was out there.  I think that was the first night I understood: I had to get out, someday, somehow.  I had to see those stars, try to shrink the galaxy down to size.  You look at something like space, and it can drive you crazy.  It can be inspiring.  Or, you can do what I did when I looked at the sky that night.”

                “Which was?”

                “I ran,” Jim had said, smiling and moving his rook.  “And I never looked back.  Never stopped.  Ran all the way out here, all the way to the stars.”

                Suddenly, the picture on the terminal flickered to life, displaying the image of Spock’s counterpart.

                “Commander Spock,” the old Vulcan began, “I apologize for the delay; your call caught me in the middle of meditation.  To what do I owe the pleasure?”

                “I wished to inquire about the relationship between you and the Jim in your timeline,” Spock said, no time for pleasantries.   

                Realization dawned on the Ambassador’s face.  “What is it you wish to know?”

                “Were you t’hy’la?”

                “Yes.”   

                “At what point did you discover the connection?”

                The Ambassador looked down at his hands, which were neatly folded upon the desk at which he was sitting.  “It took me several years to come to the realization that the Captain and I were more than simply friends.  My life took a different course from yours, Spock,” the Ambassador said, meeting Spock’s eyes again.  “I was never engaged in a romantic liaison with Lieutenant Uhura; Jim was the first true friend I made.  When I was forced to confront my feelings for him, I felt deeply ashamed.  It was difficult for me to accept the depth of emotion I felt towards my Captain.”

                Spock considered the Ambassador’s admission, then asked, “Did you ever act on those emotions?”

                A small smile graced the Ambassador’s features; it was odd for Spock to see himself (albeit, a much older version of himself) smiling.  “I did not; however, Jim was more than willing to make his affections known.  I believe you could say that he “made the first move.””

                This news startled Spock.  “So the affection was mutual?”

                The Ambassador nodded.  “Indeed.”

                “Were you bonded?”

                The Ambassador fingered a pendant that hung around his neck, and Spock wondered if it had been given to him by his Captain.  “We were, but it took many years for us to reach that point.  Our friendship was more tentative than yours.  We performed a formal bonding ceremony on Vulcan.”

                Spock opened his mouth, found he could not form the proper words necessary to ask his counterpart about spontaneous bonds, and closed it again.  The Ambassador waited patiently until Spock was ready.

                “I am afraid I may have formed a bond with the Captain without his consent, and without a full meld.  I was unaware of the possibility, and would appreciate any insight you may provide.”

                The Ambassador’s eyes sparkled with unbridled interest.  Spock wondered if his own eyes were, indeed, as expressive, as Jim so often told him.  “It is nearly unheard of for a bond to form without a proper meld.  Pre-Surakian lore, however, holds that members of a t’hy’la bond were often able to recognize their compatibility without even so much as a light meld.  There are legends of warriors meeting on the field of battle, who would fight each other only to see that they had a bond whose power surpassed even that of a marriage bond.  In such circumstances, a light mental link could be formed from mere skin contact, although to complete the bond, a meld or formal ceremony was required.  Would you describe this connection as similar to the one you shared with T’Pring?”

                Spock remembered the flame that had engulfed the chasm where his marital bond used to reside, and shook his head.  “Negative.  It is only possible to feel the connection while I am touching the Captain’s skin.”

                “Then you have not formed a full bond – you are just feeling the link meant to indicate that you have found your t’hy’la.  You have not betrayed his trust.”

                Spock relaxed, comforted.  “Thank you, Ambassador, for your assistance.”

                “You are most welcome, Spock.”  The elder Spock’s eyes grew dark, then, obviously mournful.  “Do not waste your time with Jim.  My Captain and I had altogether not enough time together, and I often regret my failure to approach Jim regarding my feelings sooner.  I would not wish the same pain on you.”

                “I will take that under advisement,” Spock said, glancing at the sky outside.  The sun was rising, which meant that Jim would soon be awake.

                “Do you miss him?” Spock asked involuntarily.

                The Ambassador’s hand returned to the pendant.  “More than words can tell.  Farewell, Spock.”

                Spock watched as the viewscreen went dark.  Distantly, across the house, he heard the distinct sounds of Jim awakening, and Spock went to the kitchen to prepare coffee for his Captain.  

***

                 Placing a final pinecone on the mantle of the fireplace, Spock stepped back to examine his work.  Jim had set him the task of decorating the house as he cooked, and Spock had spent the past hour stringing lights up around the farmhouse and garland across the bannister of the porch.  The mantle now bore a strand of lights meandering through several pinecones and sprigs of cedar that Jim had purchased at a local store, and Spock felt it looked aesthetically pleasing, especially content with the symmetry in the display.  He heard Jim swear from the kitchen, accompanied by a large bang that sounded like a pot falling to the linoleum floor. 

                Christmas Eve dinner, according to Jim, was not meant to be a grand affair.  As such, his Captain was in the kitchen making some variation of soup and bread, although he would not disclose the type of soup to Spock and had commanded on numerous occasions that he refrain from entering the kitchen. 

                They had spent a considerable portion of the day on what Jim called a “supply run.”  Spock thought this little more than a thinly veiled excuse to procure excessive amounts of alcohol, which Jim had purchased with enthusiasm at the local liquor store.  The Captain had also referenced his supposed stash of Romulan ale for a second time, leading Spock to believe that Jim had actually managed to procure the illegal substance; evidently, the Captain was intent on intoxicating the entire bridge crew to the point of alcohol-induced amnesia.    

                Spock glanced at the sprig of mistletoe he had hung in the archway of the entrance to the living room and allowed himself a moment of satisfaction.  Jim had explained the tradition of mistletoe to him: if two people were caught underneath it, they would have to kiss, or risk having bad luck in the coming year. 

                Unknowingly, Jim had given him the perfect opportunity to “make a move.”  Spock would wait, however, until the Captain was intoxicated: the amnesia would be more likely to work in his favor, if Jim reacted negatively to Spock’s affections.  Despite his counterpart’s reassurance, Spock found his stomach twisting with an emotion he identified as equal parts anxiety and desire.  He wished to touch Jim again, to feel his Captain’s skin against his own, but he feared the loss of Jim’s friendship above all. 

                “Okay, come here!” Jim yelled, and Spock finally entered the kitchen.  There were two different pots on the stove, and Spock could identify the smell of chicken emanating from one of them.  “What do you think?”

                Jim was holding out a spoon, which was ladled with what looked like –

                “C’mon, plomeek soup, don’t Vulcans love this stuff?” Jim asked when he saw Spock hesitate.  “Go on, I even ordered the ingredients from off-world, it’s all authentic.”  He gestured again with the spoon, and Spock moved closer, allowing the Captain to feed him the soup. 

                Spock closed his eyes as the flavors hit his tongue; the soup tasted exactly as his mother had made it, and he wondered again at Jim’s prowess with Vulcan cuisine.  He swallowed but did not open his eyes, simply enjoying the taste.

                “What do you think?” Jim repeated, and this time his voice was nervous.  Spock opened his eyes to see his Captain staring at him, face lined with concern. 

                “It is incredible, Jim,” Spock said, crossing to the stove to inspect the two different soups Jim had prepared.  Beside the plomeek lay a rich chicken stew, appropriate for the members of the crew who may not like Vulcan cooking.  “Where did you get the recipe?”

                Jim shrugged, and Spock could tell the Captain was about to lie before he even began to speak.  “Found it on the nets, thought it looked good.” 

                Spock had a nagging suspicion that Jim had contacted his counterpart and persuaded him to disclose his mother’s recipe for plomeek soup: there was no other way Jim could have so closely mimicked the taste. 

                “Did you get the house all set up?” Jim asked, checking on the progress of his breadsticks, which were rising on top of the stove.  

                “Yes,” Spock said simply, turning his attention towards the small bar Jim had set up on one counter.  There were nine different types of alcohol represented, and Spock raised one eyebrow at the different mixers and toppings Jim had set out.

                Jim noticed his gaze, and smirked.  “Don’t think I’m leaving you out, Spock.”

                “I fail to discern your meaning.  Vulcans cannot become intoxicated from alcohol, a fact of which you are aware, Jim.”

                “True,” Jim said, turning back to the stove and stirring the soups again before covering them and turning them down to a low simmer.  “Maybe alcohol doesn’t get you drunk.  But I know what does.”

                Spock raised one eyebrow; he doubted Jim could have come by that information anywhere-

                “So I got you some hot chocolate,” Jim finished, turning the full heat of his gaze on Spock, who felt himself shrink. 

                “Jim, I would prefer-“

                “Spock, come on, you aren’t gonna be the only sober one at the party.  Trust me, that’s not fun for anybody,” he laughed, and nudged Spock with his elbow.  “You’re with friends; you can put away that Vulcan control for one evening, can’t you?”

                Spock, deciding that humoring Jim would mean an easier time avoiding the hot chocolate later, raised one eyebrow and replied, “Perhaps, but only for one evening.”  A knock from the front door punctuated his last two words, and Spock turned involuntarily towards the entrance to the house.

                Jim just laughed at Spock’s reluctance, and went to answer the front door.

Chapter Text

                “Scotty!” Jim cried out as he threw open the door.  “Nyota!” he added enthusiastically, hugging the pair of them, snow gusting into the house on the breeze. 

                “That’s Lieutenant Uhura to you, Jim,” Nyota teased, hitting the Captain playfully on the shoulder.  Jim simply laughed, and ushered them into the main living area.

                “Spock!” Nyota nearly shrieked, throwing down her bags and running to hug Spock.  He returned the embrace warmly, pleased to see his friend again; he would have appreciated her advice on how to properly interpret Jim’s actions over the course of Spock’s stay in Riverside.  As it was, Spock had been reluctant to contact her due to the fact that she was spending shore leave with the Enterprise’s Chief Engineer. 

                “How are you?” she asked, pulling away quickly.  “Has Jim been good to you?”

                “Affirmative,” Spock said, raising an eyebrow.  “It appears there are a great many holiday traditions about which you neglected to tell me.”

                She shrugged.  “Well, I can’t think of anyone better for you to share them with than Jim.”

                She turned back to the Captain, who was talking animatedly to Lieutenant Commander Scott.  “Hey, host, care to show us our room?”

                “Yeah, sure!” Jim said, gathering their bags despite Scotty’s protests.  Before he led them to the bedrooms, he approached Spock. 

                “Hey,” Jim whispered, glancing back at Scotty and Nyota.  “Hope you don’t mind, but I moved your stuff over into my room.  That way there’ll be room for everyone and nobody has to sleep on the couch.  Not that I’d have cared, but you know, I figured…”

                “I am amenable to that arrangement,” Spock said, completely unsurprised.  He had heard Jim moving his things around earlier in the day when the soup was simmering on the stove, and assumed the Captain had neglected to tell him due to unfounded fear that Spock would refuse.

                “Great,” Jim said, relief crossing his face clearly before he masked it again.  “Ok, keep an ear out for the door, I’ll be right back.”

                Spock did not have time to comment on Jim’s odd colloquialisms before the Captain had moved down the hall.

                There was a knock at the door, and Spock moved quickly to answer it, aware of the sub-freezing temperatures outside. 

                “Ensign Chekov, Lieutenant Sulu,” Spock greeted the couple on the doorstep; Sulu was shivering violently, clutching at his coat, but Chekov appeared quite comfortable as he ushered his partner inside. 

                “Spock, how’s it going?” Sulu asked as he pulled off his coat.  Chekov glanced nervously at Sulu; Spock had always thought the ensign seemed slightly intimidated by him, although he did not understand why.  Jim would have said it was Spock’s Vulcan indifference, his high standards, and his inability to give praise for exceptional work.  Spock would have agreed with Jim only on the accusation of indifference; he was aware that to many humans, he appeared cold and expressionless, utterly devoid of emotion.  Spock did not, however, believe that his performance standards were unattainable.  With hard work and dedication, any of his subordinates would be able to produce quality work: acceptable work, moreover, need not be praised, and what Jim found exceptional, Spock regularly found only adequate.  

                “I am well, thank you,” Spock said courteously, and then turned to Chekov.  “Ensign Chekov, how have your holidays been?”

                Chekov’s eyebrows shot up to his hairline, and he threw a quick glance at Sulu, who smiled encouragingly.  “Wery good, sir, spasibo,” he stammered. 

                “Hikaru!  Pasha!” Jim’s voice boomed from the other end of the room.  He picked up Chekov and swung him around once, then gave Sulu what may have been referred to as a “bear hug,” laughing throughout the entire process.  Spock found that he had a difficult time repressing a smile as he watched the Captain interact with his crew. 

                “Just waiting on Bones and Carol,” Jim said, responding to Sulu’s inquiry about who had arrived.

                “Good, we wouldn’t want to be the last ones,” Sulu said, a huge smile stretching across his face as he slung his arm around Chekov’s shoulders.  The ensign looked slightly sheepish, but did not shrug it off.  As Jim led them away, Spock went to find Nyota, who he assumed would be in the kitchen with Scotty. 

                He was right: Nyota was leaning against the counter drinking a glass of wine, talking to Scotty, laughing as she did so.  Spock felt a sudden rush of joy, realizing as he watched her that she had finally found that which she lacked in their relationship.  The Lieutenant Commander was good for Nyota in a way Spock never could be, and as Scotty leaned forward to kiss her, Spock was unable to identify even the slightest feeling of jealousy towards him. 

                “I see you found the booze, Scotty,” Jim said, coming up behind Spock and clapping him on the shoulder.  Spock was surprised at the touch; Jim had not been speaking to him, and he did not remove his hand. 

                “Aye, Jim, I see you got the good stuff,” Scotty said, lifting up his glass in a toast.  “We still missin’ Len and Carol?”

                “Yeah, Bones messaged to say he’d be a bit late, and then we can all eat.”

                “And then drinking?”

                Jim laughed again, and Spock could feel happiness rolling through their touch.  It was only a shadow of emotion, as Jim was not touching his skin, but Spock felt the t’hy’la bond respond to Jim: it created a feedback loop, causing Spock to feel happiness in turn.   

                “Yeah, Scotty, and then we can all get plastered!”

                Jim helped himself to a beer out of the fridge, finally releasing Spock’s shoulder.  His eyes followed Jim as he crossed the small kitchen, lingering on Jim’s buttocks as he leaned down to grab a bottle from the bottom shelf.  Spock did not notice that Jim hesitated in that position for just a bit too long, but as he turned his gaze to Nyota, he did notice the grin that stretched across her face as she looked pointedly from Jim to Spock and back again.  Spock raised one eyebrow and ignored the implication. 

                Chekov and Sulu joined them in the kitchen and had just poured themselves drinks when the doorbell rang. 

                “Bones!” Jim shouted, running to the front door and throwing it open, practically flinging himself onto his best friend. 

                “Get off me, you damn octopus,” Bones grumbled as he stepped into the house, Carol directly behind him.  After discovering that Jim harbored no affection towards her, Spock’s opinion of Doctor Marcus had increased dramatically, and he was pleased to see she looked happy as Jim gathered their bags and led them to their room. 

                “You are late!” Jim said to Bones as they entered the kitchen. 

                “Damn snowstorm almost ran us off the road,” Bones said as he laid a bottle of wine down on the counter.  Nyota and Carol were quick to open it; evidently, it was of excellent quality, originating from celebrated wine regions in California. 

                “All right, Jim, where’s the food?” Nyota laughed as she looked at the empty table. 

                “You’re all vultures, my god, go get it yourself!” He gestured towards the stove, and added, “Left pot is home-style chicken noodle, and the one on the right is traditional Vulcan plomeek.” 

                “Cooked up a whole separate dish for the hobgoblin, Jim?  Wouldn’t have thought you capable of it,” Bones said, ladling chicken soup into his bowl with gusto.  Jim set two large salads on the table along with the breadsticks Spock had seen rising earlier. 

                “Come on, Bones, quit calling him that,” Jim said, touching Spock’s elbow briefly before going to the stove to serve himself plomeek.  “And it’s really not bad at all, you might even like it if you tried it.”

                “No thank you, I’ll stick to what I know,” Bones replied, seating himself next to Carol. 

                “Spock, right here,” Jim called from the table, indicating a spot directly to his right.  Spock sat down next to Jim and felt his Captain’s leg immediately press against his own, a comforting weight even though he could not discern any emotions or thoughts. 

***

                “One word – two! Three words!” Carol yelled excitedly as Pavel held up three fingers. 

                Pavel made a pendulum motion with his arms and moved his legs similarly to the way Spock was taught to ice skate. 

                “Skiing!” Hikaru shouted.

                Pavel made a “go on” movement with his hands.

                “Cross country skiing!” Carol shrieked, her accent even more pronounced with her voice raised.

                “Da!” Pavel said excitedly, and his team erupted in cheers, liquor sloshing from glasses as they raised them in a toast. 

                “Suck it, Captain!” Hikaru said as Jim walked back into the room, bearing a glass of bourbon for himself and a steaming mug of what Spock assumed was hot chocolate.  He had so far managed to avoid drinking any substance that would intoxicate him, merely focusing on keeping Jim’s glass full.  His Captain was pleasantly drunk, although not nearly to the point of impairment. 

                “What!  What did I miss?”

                “Cross country skiing, to us!” Bones said, expression smug as he threw an arm over Carol’s shoulder and brought her in close to his side.

                “God damn it, guys, we need to get our shit together!  Scotty, you have the next one,” he added, handing Spock the hot chocolate and flopping down on the couch next to him.  There was very little seating space, as the couch was also occupied by Nyota and Scotty, and Jim had insisted on Spock sitting by the armrest so as to minimize the chances of him picking up thoughts from random contact with others. 

                When Pavel and Hikaru had suggested they play an old Terran game called “charades,” Spock had been less than enthused.  The prospect of acting out words without using speech was illogical and wholly unappealing, but he agreed to play nonetheless, due to the overwhelmingly positive response to the suggestion.   Jim, sensing his discomfort, had offered to act out Spock’s share of words, such that his First Officer could better enjoy the game.  They had subsequently discovered that Spock’s ability to guess Jim’s bizarre movements was uncanny, to the point where the opposing team was claiming the pairing was unfair. 

                “All right, let’s go, Scotty!” Nyota shouted amidst the noise of drinking and laughter. 

                Spock took a tentative sip of his hot chocolate and found the flavor extremely pleasing.  Then, as if it was nothing, common and ordinary, Jim threw his arm around Spock’s shoulders.  His fingers, bare, tickled Spock’s neck, and he moved them absentmindedly across the skin there. 

                Spock realized his body had gone rigid and forced his muscles to relax one by one, barely seeing the odd hopping movements Scotty was currently performing.  He could feel Jim laughing – it reverberated through his body, seeped into his skin through Jim’s fingers, accompanied by emotions strong and deep.  Spock felt fondness, a sense of belonging.  He sensed distantly a powerful affection towards the members of the bridge crew: Scotty for his brilliance, Nyota for her level-headedness, Carol for her dedication, Hikaru for his wit and talent, Pasha for his growth in the first year of their mission, Bones for remaining by his side through everything, a brother. 

                But there was something beyond that, and as Spock leaned into Jim’s touch, and drained the rest of his hot chocolate, he identified it. 

                It was love for Spock.  Vast, unbridled, rooted in the very depths of Jim’s mind, in an area Spock recognized as, in a sense, belonging to him – it was where their link would grow, manifest into a bond, if Jim would let it.

                Spock stood in a daze, his vision unfocused, and he was unsure if it was an effect of the chocolate or Jim’s touch.  He made his way towards the kitchen, intending to mix himself another cup of hot chocolate, as he had quite enjoyed the taste of the first.  Dimly, out of the corner of his eye, he saw Jim throw back the last of his bourbon and follow him. 

                Spock paused to replicate a mug of steaming hot water, and added Jim’s hot chocolate mix to it, stirring slowly as Jim entered the room behind him, making for the bar.

                “I take it you like it, then?” Jim asked, voice light as he poured himself a double scotch. 

                “Indeed,” Spock said, not trusting himself to remain silent on what had just occurred in the living room. 

                “Buzzed?”

                “I believe so,” Spock replied, turning to face Jim, only to find that the Captain was mere feet away.  He blinked once, hard, attempting to repress the urge to find Jim’s lips with his own. 

                “We should probably get back to the game,” Jim said, turning away from Spock after exactly 3.47 seconds of silence.  “Wouldn’t want to let our team down, huh?”

                “Negative,” Spock said, but it felt as if his body was vibrating, like he needed to reach out and touch Jim immediately.

                “Come on,” Jim said, pausing in the entryway to the kitchen, waiting for Spock to catch up. 

                As Spock reached him and Jim started to move forward, there was a loud, “Hey!” from the living room.  Jim and Spock paused to see every eye trained on them, and it took Spock an additional .34 seconds to determine it was Nyota who had yelled. 

                “Do you want bad luck, or what?” Nyota asked, her eyes glinting wickedly, pointing to a spot above Jim and Spock’s heads. 

                Hanging in the kitchen entryway was a single sprig of mistletoe.  Spock, as a Vulcan, possessed an innate sense of time, but in that moment, it felt as if seconds were hours. 

                Spock was distantly aware of his mug falling to the ground with a crash, shattering all over the wooden floor of the farmhouse.  His hand, moving seemingly on its own, reached up and lightly brushed the meld points on Jim’s face, and sparks were flying through his mind; Jim was the Terran sun, he was gold, he was Iowan wheat before harvest, he was the warm sands of Vulcan.  

                As Spock’s lips met Jim’s, and as Jim’s index and middle fingers met his in a Vulcan kiss, Spock knew:

                Jim was home. 

Chapter Text

                “God damn it, Uhura, you’re a fucking menace!”

                Sulu’s loud exclamation ripped Spock and Jim from their isolated mistletoe bubble, although Jim’s hand did not leave Spock’s; their fingers continued to linger, pressed together, sending sparks of heat up Spock’s spine. 

                “What?” Jim asked, staring at Sulu, confusion clear on his face.  Spock was finding it difficult to concentrate, due to the sexual arousal currently emanating from Jim through their touch, but he turned to face the crew as well. 

                “Hand it over, boys,” Nyota said, a smug expression on her face, her palm upraised, arm outstretched. 

                “You were” Jim spluttered, “Were you – were you guys-”

                “Betting on when and where you two would finally make out?” Bones finished the thought, digging through his pockets and flinging a credit chip at Nyota.  “Yeah, we were.”

                “’Karu had fifty credits on the transporter room,” Pavel said, leaning back into his boyfriend. 

                “Yeah, well, it made sense,” Hikaru said.  “Think about all the times the Captain’s been hurt or something on an away mission!  There was totally gonna be a time when-”

                “Wait, wait, wait,” Jim said, leading Spock back over to the couch.  Spock’s head had not yet ceased its spinning, and he barely managed to avoid treading on the shattered mug that still lay on the floor.  Jim’s hand was firm around his own, a fact that remained comforting, as it meant Jim had not yet rejected him.  “Is this what the huge betting pool was?  The one you all wouldn’t let me or Spock know about?”

                Silence met Jim’s question, and Spock answered for the bridge crew.  “Jim, I believe that much is evident.” 

                “You two have been all doe-eyed since the Khan incident,” Carol said, standing and retrieving glasses. 

                Spock felt anxiety flood his link with Jim, and his Captain’s fingers tightened nearly imperceptibly.  “I believe it is our team’s turn to perform, Nyota,” Spock said hastily, attempting to turn Jim’s mind towards something more lighthearted. 

                “You’re right, Spock,” Jim said, squeezing Spock’s hand affectionately and standing up.  Spock felt the flush in his cheeks deepen.  “I got this, team.” 

                Carol reentered the room, bearing a tray with refilled glasses for everyone, including a fresh mug of hot chocolate for Spock.  “Oh, you’ve got to be joking, right?  Don’t let them pair up again, it’s just unfair, Spock hasn’t missed a single one!”

                “You can’t do anything about it,” Jim said, plucking a tumbler off the tray and draining half its contents in one go.  Spock mimicked the Captain’s actions with the hot chocolate, enjoying the heat that suffused his veins.  As he turned to face Jim, he found the world sliding out of focus, and he shook his head slightly to clear it.

                “Mkay, Spock,” Jim said, pulling a piece of paper from the bowl on the table, glancing at it, and throwing it to one side.  “Ready?” 

                Without waiting for a response, the Captain began a complex series of movements that resembled fighting with an imaginary melee weapon.  In his intoxicated state, it took Spock an additional two seconds to identify the particular fighting style Jim was employing.

                “Lirpa.”

                “Yes!” Jim shouted, punching the air. 

                “How do you do it, Commander?” Scotty asked Spock incredulously as Jim drained the rest of his glass.  “I cannae understand what he’s doing half the time!”

                “Freaky Vulcan voodoo,” Bones grumbled as Jim approached the couch, stumbling slightly as he did so. 

                “Can it, Bones,” Jim said, leaning down to kiss Spock.  It was not prolonged, but as Jim threw himself down on the couch next to Spock, he slurred, “Y’r lips taste like chocolate.”

                Spock had nothing to say, so he remained silent, but ran his index and middle fingers over Jim’s.  His Captain shivered visibly and reciprocated the action. 

                “Spock,” Jim whispered, underneath the noise of the party, which had largely degraded around them.  “Is this okay?”  He flipped Spock’s hand over and ran his fingers along Spock’s palm. 

                “Affirmative,” Spock said, his eyes busy tracing the shape of Jim’s exotic, round ear, a curve he greatly wished to map with his tongue. 

                “Want to get out of here?” Jim asked, moving close enough to Spock so that he could feel the warm puffs of Jim’s breath against his skin. 

                “I would be-” Spock’s voice broke as Jim’s nails lightly scraped the pads of his fingers, “quite amenable to that suggestion.” 

                “God, you two, get a room,” Nyota giggled as she and Scotty stood up.  “We’re heading to bed.”

                “Us, too,” Hikaru said, supporting Pavel with one arm.  “Pasha’s pretty wasted, he drank the entire bottle of vodka that was in the kitchen.”

                Pavel laughed and allowed himself to be supported by Hikaru.  As they walked out of the room, he yelled behind him, “My sobirayemsya zanyat'sya seksom!”

                “Dammit man, I’m a doctor, not a translator!” Bones called after him.  “C’mon, Carol, how ‘bout it?”

                Three minutes later, Spock and Jim were alone in the small living room. 

                “Guess that’s our cue,” Jim said, standing unsteadily.  He tried to take a step in the direction of the hallway and promptly tripped over the coffee table, falling face-first onto the floor.  Feeling as if he was moving through molasses, Spock went to kneel beside his Captain.  The floor seemed to roll uncontrollably, and Spock gripped Jim’s shoulder to anchor himself.

                “Jim, are you harmed?”

                Jim simply laughed.  “Help me up, Spock, need,” he sighed, apparently attempting to find the proper words, “need your lips.  Yeah.” 

                Raising one eyebrow, Spock helped his Captain to his feet and supported him until they reached the bedroom.  As soon as Spock closed the door behind them, Jim’s hands were on his shoulders, then his biceps, and he was being pushed back towards the bed. 

                “Spock,” he said, and the name sounded like a prayer spoken softly against his neck.  “Do you,” lips sucking his collarbone, “have any idea,” the lips migrated to Spock’s ear, pulling at the lobe and nipping the tip, “how long,” small bites back along his jaw, “I’ve wanted you?” 

                Spock was about to respond when Jim’s lips found his for the third time that night, but all coherent thought disappeared from his intoxicated mind.  Jim’s hands buried themselves in Spock’s hair as their lips finally slotted together after a clumsy beginning, moving with increasing fervor as Spock’s hands gripped Jim’s back. 

                Rapidly losing all semblance of control, Spock flipped their positions, careful to keep most of his weight off Jim for fear of crushing him.  Suddenly, nothing was more important than feeling Jim’s chest underneath his own, and then fabric was tearing underneath Spock’s fingers, and Jim’s shirt was in tatters on the bed.  Spock forgot entirely about his own shirt as Jim’s tongue trailed along the roof of his mouth.

                “Spock,” Jim moaned as Spock broke the kiss, his lips traveling down Jim’s throat, pausing to suck a bruise into his Captain’s collarbone before proceeding to Jim’s left nipple.  Spock licked a slow circle around it before gently biting down, rewarded by a low cry. 

                “No, Spock, wait,” Jim panted, grasping wildly for Spock’s hand.  “C’mere.  Wanna try somethin’.” 

                Spock crawled back up the bed and lay, panting, next to Jim.  Time seemed to be moving very irregularly, Spock thought, as Jim leaned forward to kiss him again.  Before he could respond, Jim pulled away, his blue eyes dark, intense, and surprisingly clear. 

                “Want you…” he took Spock’s hand and led it to his face.  “Want you to.”  He formed Spock’s fingers into a crude approximation of the points necessary for a meld. 

                “Jim,” Spock said, hesitating.  Based on the conversation with his counterpart, a meld with his t’hy’la could form a spontaneous bond.  The link that Spock had been so carefully guarding could become something much more, all without Jim’s consent.

                “Spock,” Jim said earnestly, “you need to listen to me.  I know what you’re thinking right now.  You’re thinking that I’ll regret this in the morning.  You’re wrong.  I’ve been in love with you for ages.  I… I don’t even know when it happened, honestly.  Before Khan.  I think it might’ve been from the second I saw you in that courtroom when you brought me up on charges of academic dishonesty.  But you need to know, that’s what I meant.” 

                “I am unsure of the meaning of your last statement, Jim.”

                “Then let me show you.  Words are too… complicated right now.”  Jim led Spock’s hand to his meld points again.  “Please.” 

                Spock closed his eyes and felt Jim’s desire through the touch of their bare skin.  And he relented.

                “My mind to your mind,” they whispered together.  Spock did not ask how his Captain knew the ritual words.

                My thoughts to your thoughts.

***

                Jim’s mind was like a pool of sunshine, warm and inviting and so familiar it felt like Spock’s own. The meld was at once new and old, like walking down worn paths long left untrodden. 

                All around him was Jim, a presence that reached out and enveloped him in tendrils of love and affection, clinging like stray beams of light.  Spock shielded his bonding cortex, hoping to avoid any possibility of Jim’s mind discovering it and forming an accidental bond, and continued deeper into the fire that was James Tiberius Kirk. 

                Images flashed past Spock – a child, his sandy blond hair mussed with wind, driving a car off a cliff into an old quarry; a youth, struggling to survive a massacre on a planet deprived of its humanity; a man in a bar, throwing back shots of whiskey and hitting on a young Starfleet Cadet with glowing skin and hair like silk; the Enterprise, still being built in the Riverside shipyard, her hull incomplete and yet undoubtedly the most beautiful thing in the galaxy; Spock, posture rigid with frustration, dressed in a dashing Starfleet uniform; Spock, standing on a transporter pad, having lost the only thing that made him human; Nibiru, complete and utter relief at seeing Spock alive, safe on board; a father, dying in Spock’s arms; the entrance to the warp core, seeped with radiation, knowing his sacrifice would cost him his life, knowing with absolute certainty that he would die alone.

                Time seemed to slow in Jim’s mind, and then Spock could see himself, and he realized he was about to watch Jim’s death – from his Captain’s point of view.

                “How’s our ship?”

                I saved her, I saved them, I saved him

                “Out of danger.”

                “Good…”

                “You saved the crew.”

                no ship should go down without its captain

                “You used what he wanted against him.  That’s a nice move.”

                “It is what you would have done.”

                haven’t I done it before?

                “And this… this is what you would have done.

                you have done this before, but now it’s me, it always should have been me, and it’s good that you’ll survive because what good is a universe without its Spock?

                “It was only logical.  I’m scared, Spock.  Help me not be.  How do you choose not to feel?”

                “I do not know.  Right now, I am failing.”

                Spock watched as tears began to fall down his cheeks.

                “I want you to know why I couldn’t let you die… why I went back for you…”

                because I love you I love you please understand that please don’t hate me for it I know you’re with Uhura but Spock we could be so much more, no time left, Jim, if you’re gonna say it you need to say it now

                “Because you are my friend.”

                at least it wasn’t him, at least he’s safe, he loves Uhura, there was never a chance, Jim, never a chance

                Spock, came Jim’s last, dying thought, as he struggled to form the Vulcan salute with his hand, fingers forming the symbol for the traditional “live long and prosper.” 

                T’hy’la.

***

                Sand stretched away before Spock in an endless desert, rolling dunes marking distances too far to measure.  It was dark, but there was no light pollution, and the sky was moonless, illuminated only by the light of seemingly infinite stars.  The sand beneath his toes still held some warmth, so it was not long after sunset, and as Spock spied a canyon off to his right, he identified the place as Vulcan. 

                Footsteps led away from him, down towards the canyon, and, compelled, he followed them.  Even the stars, so magnificent, seemed insignificant compared to what was waiting for him at the end of his path, when the footsteps ran out.  There was a figure, small and hunched, at the edge of the canyon, and Spock made for it out of instinct, only realizing as he grew nearer that it was a man. 

                Spock felt no surprise to find that the man was James Kirk, although what his Captain was doing on Vulcan in the dead of night was a mystery to him.  Unthinkingly, Spock sat beside him.

                “I never went to Vulcan before it was destroyed,” Jim whispered into the still silence, moving closer to Spock until their sides were pressed together.  “I didn’t realize how beautiful the stars were from this part of space.  Your sky was beautiful, even without a moon.”

                “This was my home,” Spock said.  “Sometimes, it is painful to remember.  This is one of my favorite places to visualize when I meditate.  It is calming.”

                “I wish I could have seen it,” Jim said wistfully, gazing around in wonder. 

                “You are seeing it presently.  This is the Vulcan Forge, where I underwent my kahs-wan.”

                They were silent for a while; Spock did not know how long, for time seemed to be absent.

                “Spock?”

                “Yes, Jim?”

                “You never answered me, when I asked you what t’hy’la meant.  What does it mean?”

                Spock took Jim’s hand.  “There is no translation for it in Standard.  It is a word that has several different meanings: friend, brother, lover.  Its closest Standard translation might be “soul mate.”  A t’hy’la connection is one highly prized among my people: it surpasses any familial or marriage bonds, and has been a part of history since Vulcans were warring clans.  It is ancient and precious.”

                “And that’s what we are.”  It was not a question.

                “Yes.”

                “Well,” Jim said, turning to face Spock.  “Guess we’d better make the most of it.” 

                Instinctively, Spock leaned forward to receive Jim’s kiss, and when their lips touched, his bonding cortex was as the creation of a star – burning, building, Jim’s golden threads latching into place with surprising tenacity, forming a bond between their minds that grew until Spock did not know where he ended and Jim began.  Spock did not break the meld; in fact, he was not altogether certain he could still feel the outside world, where he consciously knew he and Jim lay, half naked, on top of wool blankets in the middle of a cold Iowan winter.  To Spock, they were one person, limbs entangled on the warm sands of Vulcan, under the infinite wonder of space.  

Chapter Text

                Spock came to consciousness slowly, unwilling to accept the reality of daylight and a chocolate-induced hangover.  As his mind awoke, Spock began to feel it – a steady, thrumming link, tangible and purely Jim, tucked in the back of his mind, dormant with sleep.  Aware that a heavy, warm shape was molded into his arms, he opened his eyes carefully, allowing his vision to adjust to the brightness of the room. 

                Weak sunlight was streaming in through the bedroom window, falling on the man wrapped in Spock’s embrace.  Jim’s hair, mussed with sleep, shone like burnished gold, and his lips were slightly parted against Spock’s collarbone.  They were wrapped in a warm cocoon of blankets, and Jim was sweating slightly against Spock’s hot skin.  The arrangement was incredibly pleasant. 

                Jim stirred underneath Spock, dragging his lips against Spock’s neck as he twisted towards the ceiling.  The bond stirred, and Spock quickly established light shields so as not to alarm Jim with his mental presence when his Captain awoke. 

                As Jim became fully awake, he let out a low moan.  “Oh my god,” he croaked, voice raspy with dehydration; he opened his eyes but quickly shut them again at the sunlight, curling back into Spock and burying his face in Spock’s chest.  “What even happened last night?”

                Spock felt as if his veins had frozen, the quiet contentment of a few minutes before replaced with sheer terror and overwhelming guilt.  Jim did not remember what had happened – the kiss, the meld, the bond that had formed between them as they lay on the sands of Vulcan in a shared mindscape. 

                “Whoa!” Jim said, pulling away from Spock abruptly, his eyes clouded with sleep but his brow furrowed with worry as he leveled his gaze at Spock.  “What the hell is that about?  Are you feeling bad about last night?”

                Spock blinked in surprise.  “I do not understand-”

                “Spock,” Jim said, interrupting him.  “If I – if I crossed a line, oh my god, I took advantage of you, you were drunk, what was I thinking-”

                “Jim-”

                “I am so sorry, Spock, I completely invaded your space, I mean, you hadn’t even been drunk before, how were you to know-”

                “Jim-”

                His Captain stood and began to pace the room.  At some point in the night, Jim had managed to remove his pants, and was only wearing regulation boxer shorts, which merely worked to accentuate his legs and ass. 

                “I’ll – I’ll just – I’m gonna go back to the Enterprise, we can figure it out from there, we can – I don’t know, it’s not like I can transfer, and I don’t want to transfer you, you’re the best First Officer in the ‘Fleet; way to go Jim, really fucked it up this time-”

                “Jim!”

                His Captain stopped directly in front of the window so that the sunlight outlined his frame, emphasizing his broad shoulders and muscular torso.  Spock wanted nothing more than to have Jim back in his arms.

                “Yeah?”

                Spock took a deep breath.  “I wish to apologize for invading the privacy of your mind last night.  It was unacceptable, and I completely understand if you are upset with my actions.  I will submit myself for disciplinary action, and-”

                “Wait,” Jim interrupted Spock again, crossing back to the bed and grasping Spock’s hand painfully.  “You’re not mad at me?”

                Spock raised one eyebrow.  “I have no reason to be mad at you, Jim.” 

                “Oh, thank god,” Jim whispered, then kissed Spock hard.  The advance, although not unwelcome, surprised him, and Spock felt his mental shields drop for a brief second before he could reestablish them. 

                Jim broke the kiss with a gasp.  “What was that?”

                Spock looked down at their entwined fingers and said nothing, unwilling to face Jim’s reaction to the true depth of his transgressions.  Suddenly, he felt a small prod on the walls of his shields.  It possessed nowhere near the force necessary to break them, but Spock could tell that the consciousness attempting to break in was Jim’s. 

                “Are you – that’s you, isn’t it?” Jim said, his tone hushed, nearly reverent.  Spock looked up to see Jim’s expression alight with wonder.  “It’s like – I know you’re there, but I can’t feel you.”  The jabs at his barriers came harder and faster now as Jim grew accustomed to maneuvering through his own mind. 

                “Let me in,” Jim whispered, eyes imploring. 

                “Jim, I am not certain you-”

                “Please.” 

                For Jim, Spock would move planets.  He dropped his shields slowly, intending to allow Jim to grow accustomed to his presence, but tendrils of Jim’s mind enveloped his without warning, and Spock was instantly immersed in warmth. 

                Is this acceptable, Jim?

                “Yes,” came the whispered reply, but Spock could sense Jim’s confusion at the fact that he had not spoken aloud.

                You need not speak; merely project what you wish me to hear, and I will hear it.

                Surprise, and then: That’s pretty much the coolest thing ever.  Can you go deeper?  I remember sand last night.  And stars.

                That would require a meld.

                I’m game.

                Spock gently placed his fingers over Jim’s meld points and allowed their minds to join completely.  The feeling was no less familiar than it had been the night before, but Spock was more adept at maneuvering Jim’s mind, and they quickly formed a shared mindscape.

                It was not Vulcan at nighttime, but they were not lacking for stars.  Their minds had settled on the familiar contours and surfaces of the Observation Deck of the Enterprise, and Jim stood at the vast viewport, staring out at the infinite beauty of space.  A nebula swirled in the distance, blazing green and blue, and the Enterprise was moving slowly, only at cruising speed.  As Spock approached Jim, he felt the low thrum of the engines underneath his feet and sensed Jim’s deep contentment at being back aboard his ship.  Spock’s childhood home was Vulcan, as Jim’s was Terra, but the Enterprise was theirs.  

                “I miss her, Spock,” Jim whispered, taking Spock’s hand as he reached his Captain. 

                “As do I,” Spock replied, squeezing Jim’s hand gently as they looked out at the stars.  It was quiet, peaceful, on the Observation Deck, and Jim allowed that silence to continue for a time before speaking.

                “So now that we’re over the freaking out, what the fuck did happen last night?  I’m a little fuzzy on the details.”

                “We were intoxicated, and kissed under mistletoe.”  Spock relayed the sensory details of the encounter, and he felt Jim grow aroused through their bond.  “After the party had concluded, we returned to your bedroom, and you asked me to perform a meld with you.”

                “Is that all I said?”

                Spock paused.  “I was reluctant to meld with you.  You informed me that you were in love with me.  I was uncertain, although I believed I could feel the depth of your affection through the bond.”

                “You love me, too.”  It was not a question.

                “Yes.”

                “Took you long enough to figure it out.  Didn’t you ever wonder why the hell I invited you to Iowa to spend shore leave with me?”

                “I must admit, I found the request confusing.”

                Jim laughed heartily, the sound reverberating throughout the room.  It was the most pleasant music Spock had ever heard.  “Of course you did.  I meant what I told you last night, you know.”  He paused.  “When I saw you in that courtroom, I hated you.  Absolutely couldn’t stand the sight of you.  And I think I felt that way because I knew, even then.  I had spent all my life trying not to depend on people.  Bones was the first person in a long time who I allowed in like that, who I let become more than just a passing acquaintance.  All the stories about me being an intergalactic playboy?  Yeah, I couldn’t hold down a relationship – not because I didn’t want to, but because every time someone got too close, I would panic, and I’d end it.  Guess you could say I have trust issues,” he added, laughing again, but this time the sound was sad, and he flashed Spock a rueful grin. 

                “Point is, from the first time I set eyes on you, it was like, my – god, this sounds so corny and if you repeat it to anyone I’ll cut off your pointy Vulcan ears – but it was like my soul recognized you, or something.  Like, it knew that you were gonna be there for me.  By my side, like you always had been and always would be.  And I didn’t even know you yet!

                “But then we became friends and damn it if I didn’t have the worst crush ever.  Bones has been teasing me about it since he heard about it – I was drunk and it kinda slipped out.  But I kept quiet.  You had Uhura, and all that mattered was that you were happy.  That’s what I told myself, anyways.” 

                Spock could feel the pain Jim’s unrequited love had caused, and instinctively reached through the bond and sent waves of affection towards his Captain.  The feelings abated, and Jim continued.

                “And then you and Uhura broke it off, and I thought, this is my chance.  I’m gonna make my move.  But… you never showed any indication that you were into me.  At all.  And I thought, well fuck, if he isn’t into guys, I’d rather have his friendship than his resignation.  So I didn’t say anything.

                “But then… a whole week on Terra?  More than enough time to figure out the perpetual mystery of my XO.”  Jim gave him a playful nudge in the side, turning away from the viewport, towards Spock. 

                “So I read up on Vulcan xenobiology.  Did everything I could to figure out how to get any sign of attraction from you.” 

                Realization began to dawn in Spock’s mind.  “You are saying-”

                “That every time I did this,” Jim ran his fingers over Spock’s, causing the Vulcan to shudder with pleasure, flashes of heat spreading from his hand into his bloodstream, “I knew exactly what I was doing.  Yeah.  Of course I did.  How could I resist the opportunity to see what you would do? 

                “So the first time I did it, when you didn’t reject me, when you didn’t tell me, I knew.  But I wanted you to come to the realization by yourself.”

                Spock stared, astonished, at his Captain. 

                “You don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to,” Jim said, turning back to the stars.  “I know it’s a lot.  Too many feelings, I might just overwhelm that emotionless Vulcan brain.”  He said it teasingly, with a small smile on his face. 

                “During my courtship with Lieutenant Uhura, she often requested that I perform a mind meld,” Spock said softly, taking Jim’s hand in both of his and mapping the skin.  “Every time she asked, I was forced to refuse.  It did not feel appropriate to meld with Nyota.  I now understand why.”

                “Why?”

                “When you antagonized me on the bridge, during the Narada incident, my instincts dominated my actions.  Surakian principles of logic held no bearing on my mind, and I reacted in the way that my Vulcan ancestors might have; by doing so, my mind was able to recognize our bond, one often formed between the Vulcan warriors of old on the field of battle.  A link was created between our minds, and that is what prevented me from melding with Uhura.  You had already rooted yourself in the bonding cortex of my mind, although I did not yet understand the connection.

                “I was yours from the beginning, Jim.  I apologize that it took me so long to understand the feelings I held for you were more than platonic.”

                “So last night, when we were on Vulcan…” Jim’s mind helpfully supplied an image: their bodies entwined on the sand, moving together under the vast reaches of space, warmed only by each other’s skin and residual heat from the earth.  Spock’s cheeks flushed.  “We bonded, didn’t we?”

                “I take it you know what a Vulcan bond entails.”

                Jim smiled.  “I may have spoken to the other you.  For advice.  Among other things,” he said, and Spock’s suspicions concerning the plomeek soup were confirmed. 

                “Yes, it appears that the mind meld solidified our link.  To formalize the bond, however, we would need to attend a bonding ceremony on New Vulcan.”  Spock paused before saying his next words, because they pained him deeply.  “If, however, you do not wish to be bonded to me, we may consult a Vulcan healer to determine how to properly dissolve it.”

                Alarm flared from Jim, and suddenly, they were back in the small bedroom of the farmhouse, and Jim was staring at him in shock. 

                “You don’t want this, do you?” Jim asked, pulling further away from Spock’s hands, which had fallen to rest on his Captain’s chest.

                “Negative.  I have desired to bond with you since I first discovered you were my t’hy’la.  You must understand, Jim, that Vulcans bond for life.  If you do this, it would be my expectation that you would not-”

                “What, that I wouldn’t sleep around?  What do you take me for, Spock?  I’ve been in love with you for over a year!  I don’t want to be with anyone but you.  Trust me,” Jim said, cupping Spock’s cheek with his left hand.  Spock unconsciously leaned into the touch.  “It’s only ever been you.”

                I trust you.

                Jim smiled.  Good.  He kissed Spock quickly, yet thoroughly, and stood.  “It’s still pretty early – let’s make breakfast for everyone!  Sounds like we’re the only ones awake.”

                “That is acceptable,” Spock said, following Jim’s example and finally getting out of bed.  The meld with Jim had helped to relieve his headache slightly, and the pleasure of possessing a bond with Jim was fueling a slow-building euphoria that was spreading throughout his veins.  His bondmate was there, in the back of his mind, and as he reached for Jim’s presence, his Captain reached back.

                “That’s amazing, you know,” Jim called behind him as he walked into the bathroom.  “Having you there.  It’s like having a sun in the back of my mind.”

                Spock found Jim’s assessment accurate, although lacking.  “Will you be showering?”

                “Yeah,” Jim said, head poking around the entrance to the bathroom.  “And you’ll be joining me.”

                Spock allowed himself a small smile before complying with his Captain’s request. 

Chapter Text

                “Jim, I must ask that you cease your actions.  Any member of the bridge crew could enter this kitchen and-”

                “Not gonna stop,” Jim mumbled against Spock’s neck, where he was slowly sucking a hickey into Spock’s pale green skin.  Spock was frying bacon, an action which Jim had requested he perform since “that bacon you made for me the other day was the best food I’ve ever had.”  Spock was doubtful that Jim was telling the truth, but had complied nonetheless.  Jim had taken up a position behind him, his arms wrapped around Spock’s waist, chest tight against Spock’s back. 

                “You’re like a space heater,” Jim added, breathing in deeply.  “Plus you smell good.  And anyways, it’s not like the crew doesn’t know about us.”  He paused to nip playfully at Spock’s ear.  “I mean, we made out in front of them last night.  Full-blown.  And then continued to make out, Vulcan-style, in front of all of them on the couch.”

                Spock blushed furiously, his cheeks turning an alarming shade of pale green.  “You need not remind me.” 

                “Mmm,” Jim hummed, and craned his head to kiss Spock’s jaw.  “And then, we went back to my room, and they can probably guess what happened from there-”

                “Jim, we did not engage in coitus last night,” Spock said, surprised, turning his head slightly so that he could see his Captain. 

                “Spock, mind sex totally counts.  Also, I’ve been meaning to ask you, how exactly did that work?  I swear I came like, three times in the span of thirty minutes, but that definitely isn’t possible.”

                Spock sighed, a short huff of breath that he knew Jim could feel.  “During a meld, and now with our bond, I am able to manipulate the pleasure centers in your brain to a certain extent; that is what you experienced last night.” 

                “Well, it was amazing, and we should definitely do it again,” Jim whispered as he sent a rush of lust racing across the bond. 

                Spock’s heart rate increased by 67%, and he felt his body respond to Jim’s arousal.  “Captain,” he said sternly.  Jim laughed and the influx abated, although Spock could still feel Jim’s desire thrumming in the back of his mind. 

                “Besides, I think that the shower earlier more than makes up-”

                “Dammit, you two, that’s disgusting!” a gruff voice cried from the entryway to the kitchen.  Jim hurriedly pulled away from Spock, and they turned to see Bones, whose expression closely resembled that of a person who had just seen a decomposing corpse. 

                “Suck it up, Bones,” Jim laughed, pouring the Doctor a cup of coffee as a peace offering.  “At least we’re making everyone breakfast.” 

                Bones looked down at the coffee and shrugged.  “Guess I’ll have to get used to it, one way or another,” he grumbled. 

                “That’s the spirit!” Jim said cheerily, and returned to stand next to Spock at the counter, holding out his index and middle fingers.  Spock met them with his own, and a spark of pleasure shot up his spine. 

                “Doesn’t mean I have to like it.  Now, where’s the food?”

                “Drink your damn coffee, Bones, it’ll be done when it’s done,” Jim said, and began to prepare pancakes. 

                Really, though, that thing you did with your tongue-

                Jim.

                All right, all right, I’ll stop. 

                Jim ceased speaking, but Spock was rewarded for his efforts with a very graphic fantasy that included the Captain’s chair and a deserted bridge.  Jim had quite an active imagination, Spock realized, as the Captain flipped blueberry pancakes and carried on a conversation with Bones without interrupting the obscene fiction that was flowing through their mental link.  Spock wrenched his mind away from the very appealing image of his Captain flushed with lust, head angled back against the Captain’s chair and mouth slightly agape, in time to take the bacon off the stove. 

                Carol had arrived in the kitchen, and Sulu and Chekov soon appeared, followed closely by Nyota and Scotty.  By the time the entire crew had amassed in the small space, Spock had just finished cutting fruit and Jim was sliding a mass of eggs off a pan and onto a platter. 

                “Coffee’s in the pot,” Jim said, gesturing towards a fresh-brewed carafe: Spock had not noticed him set it to brew, but he suspected Jim had performed the action while Spock had been otherwise distracted.  “Help yourselves!”

                The crew dug into breakfast, some with little enthusiasm: Hikaru looked slightly ill, and took only a small helping of eggs.  Pavel made a joking comment about his alcohol tolerance, but ceased teasing at the look he received in return. 

                Jim ate with gusto, and Spock could feel happiness radiating through their bond.  His Captain was nearly glowing with it, and it was clear that the entire senior staff noticed the difference.

                “I guess someone got lucky last night,” Nyota whispered to Spock as she helped him clean dishes.  The others had retired into the living room to place gifts underneath the Christmas tree, and it was the first time Spock and Nyota had been alone together since he had eaten breakfast with her on the Enterprise.

                “That is not my place to say,” Spock replied courteously, unwilling to “kiss and tell,” as Jim would have said. 

                “Come on, just a few details?” she asked as she rinsed a plate, eyes imploring. 

                Spock glared at her, but relented.  “We kissed.”

                Nyota rolled her eyes.  “Yes, Spock, I saw that.  I caused that.  Tell me something I don’t know.”

                “We melded.”

                She dropped the bowl she was holding, and it fell into the sink with a clatter.

                “You performed a mind meld with James Kirk.”

                Spock belatedly realized how it must have sounded to Nyota: that her mind had not been adequate for Spock to meld with her, despite months of courtship, but Jim was suitable for an act so personal after mere hours of intimacy.  He gently placed the mug he had been drying on the counter and turned to face Nyota.  “He is t’hy’la.”

                Her eyes lit with understanding.  “Oh, Spock,” she whispered, taking his hand.  “I’m so happy for you.”  She laughed, released his hand, and finished washing the last bowl.  “Suddenly our relationship makes much more sense.  You would always talk about him, you know,” she added, handing the bowl to Spock.  “Even when we were alone, it was always “The Captain” this, “The Captain” that.  Sometimes, all you did was complain about him – but everything was about Jim.” 

                “He has always been there, Nyota.  Our minds recognized each other even before we were properly acquainted.”  Spock paused, unsure of how much he should tell Nyota.  As he heard rich laughter bubble from the other room, he found Jim’s good mood lift his own spirits through their link.  Waves of contentment flowed from his Captain, and Spock was emboldened.  “When we melded, we formed a bond.  It was spontaneous, but Jim and I have decided that the arrangement is mutually beneficial.  Jim does not wish to dissolve it.”

                Nyota simply stared, her mouth hanging open slightly.  “Spock!” she cried at last, flinging her arms around his shoulders.  “Congratulations!” 

                Spock returned her hug, his shock undisguised. 

                “Are you going to make it official?  If you clear it with Command, they may even give you shared quarters – it’s enormously difficult to break up couples if they’re officially married by Federation standards, and you’re already technically hitched by Vulcan-”

                “Whoa, there, Nyota, slow down,” Jim said from the archway that led into the kitchen, where he and Spock had kissed for the first time the previous night.  Spock and Noyta turned to him in surprise; neither of them had heard him approach.  “We can figure all that out later, but I wouldn’t be opposed to a formal bonding ceremony,” he continued, crossing over to Spock and touching his fingers to Spock’s.  “I came in to see what was taking you two so long,” he said, laughing as he ushered them out of the kitchen.  “We’ve got presents to open!” 

                “You’re such a kid, Jim,” Nyota laughed.  “But if you make Spock happy, I guess I can’t complain.”

                There was a small mass of gifts underneath the tree, all wrapped in bright paper that sported various Christmas designs.  Spock and Jim had wrapped their gifts to the crew as a team, although Jim did not wrap the presents so much as distract Spock with entertaining anecdotes concerning working in the Terran retail sector over the holiday season. 

                As they began to open gifts, it became clear that Spock and Jim were not the only couple that had purchased their presents jointly.  Nyota and Scotty gave Jim a bag of coffee from an extremely well-known region in East Africa, about which Jim seemed very excited, and Hikaru and Pavel “threw in” for a new lirpa for Spock (“Now you can teach me that fighting style you keep taking about!”). 

                Jim retrieved Nyota’s gift from underneath the tree, and tossed it to her, saying, “Here, Nyota, from me and Spock.” 

                Spock felt Jim’s anxiety as Nyota unwrapped her present: he was unsure why it was so important to Jim that she be pleased with the gift, but he sent reassurance through the bond nonetheless.  He was rewarded with the relaxation of Jim’s muscles and an arm thrown affectionately over his shoulders.

                Nyota gasped softly as she opened the box.  “Jim, are these-”

                “Garnets, yeah,” Jim said, “from Kenya.”

                “Thanks, you two,” Nyota said as she examined them more closely.  “They’re gorgeous!”

                Jim let out a sigh of relief and moved impossibly closer to Spock, relief evident in his expression.

                Jim, you are aware that she likes you, are you not?

                What?  Well, yeah, I mean, of course, Jim thought, mentally shrugging.  I guess it just still feels a bit awkward, since you two were dating and all.  I know she’s happy with Scotty, but still. 

                A loud laugh went up from the crew as Bones unwrapped a cowboy hat.  “And you’d better wear it at least once!” Nyota yelled as Pavel looked gleeful. 

                Jim, Nyota cares deeply for you.  When I beamed down to Terra in order to track down Khan after your death, I was unable to answer my comm during the physical engagement that was necessary to subdue Khan.  Had Nyota not beamed down and told me that the only way to save your life was to save Khan’s, I would have killed him, and in doing so, I would have killed you.  I would not have been able to live with myself, Jim.  Nyota risked her life to save yours because of the sacrifice you made for your crew, because you would do the same for any of your subordinates.  But she also saved you because she knew what you meant to me.  You need not worry about Nyota.

                All right, all right, Jim conceded.  Still want her to like me, though.

                Spock sighed and devoted his full attention to watching his crew open their gifts.  Both Scotty and Pavel were thrilled with their alcoholic beverages, and Hikaru nearly cried when he unwrapped a new katana. 

                “Here ya are, Spock!” Scotty yelled, throwing a letter-sized envelope across at Spock, who caught it deftly.  He opened it to discover sheet music, designed for the Vulcan lyre and a vocal accompaniment. 

                “I thought maybe we could perform it together,” Nyota said, leaning forward earnestly. 

                Spock enjoyed playing the lyre; it was an activity they had often shared during their time in a relationship.  “Affirmative,” he said.  “I would appreciate the opportunity to perform with you again, Nyota.”

                “Bones, Carol, this is for both of you,” Jim said, passing a small envelope to the couple, who were curled up on the loveseat closest to the fire, which was crackling in its grate. 

                Carol took out the tickets and passed one to Bones, who glanced at the small piece of paper.  His brow immediately furrowed in confusion.  “Jim, these tickets are for a show that’s in four days.  We’re already back aboard the Enterprise.”

                “Not you two, you aren’t,” Jim laughed, returning to Spock’s side and sliding underneath Spock’s arm, which was resting on the back of the sofa. 

                “But…” Realization dawned on Leonard’s face.  “You didn’t… did you?”

                “’Course I did.  Couldn’t pass up on an opportunity for you to see her, could I?  It’s all cleared with Command, you’ll rejoin us at a starbase in a week.” 

                “Dammit, Jim, you bastard,” Bones exclaimed, standing up and crossing the room to hug the Captain.  “Thank you.  You’ve no idea how much this means.”

                “Of course, Bones,” Jim said, returning the hug.  “Just make sure to tell her that Uncle Jim says hello, okay?”

                “That I can do,” Bones said as he returned to Carol’s side, wiping at eyes, which had welled slightly with tears. 

                As Spock studied the dwindling stack of gifts underneath the tree, he came to realize that crew members engaged in relationships must have already exchanged gifts, or would be giving them later, in a private location.  This worked in accordance with his own plans for Jim, and as such, he made no comment. 

                By the time the last present had been opened, snow was falling steadily again outside, and the sky had darkened to a steely gray.  Although the sun was some hours from setting, the storm made it appear to be close to dusk, and Spock added another log to the fire as Jim cleared the wrapping paper from the coffee table. 

                Hikaru stood up quite abruptly and clapped his hands. 

                “So… snowball fight, anyone?” 

Chapter Text

                What is the purpose of this? Spock asked Jim as he ducked behind a makeshift wall their team had created out of snow; he had narrowly avoided a snowball thrown by Bones. 

                “I’m comin’ for you, hobgoblin!” he heard the Doctor call. 

                “It’s fun, Spock!” Jim shouted in reply to his query as he joined Hikaru behind the bench. 

                “Captain!” Hikaru handed Jim a snowball; Jim grabbed it and threw it quickly at the opposing team before dropping back down behind the bench.  Spock heard a dull thud, indicating that the snowball had met its mark. 

                “Come on, Jim!” Nyota yelled.  Spock heard her footsteps recede as she walked off the playing field to join Pavel, who had been the first to get hit.  He had jumped in front of a snowball for Hikaru, who was ultimately the better shot. 

                Cover me? Jim asked, but before Spock had time to reply, Jim had stood and was dashing across the yard to reach Spock at their temporary snow wall.  Spock was successful in fending off the other team, and Jim joined him, pressing their sides close together. 

                Okay, how do you want to do this? Jim asked, forming snowballs and setting them down at their feet. 

                Spock relayed a brief visual of his intended battle plan, which included a flanking maneuver by himself and a head-on attack by Jim.  Spock did not think it was a particularly good plan, as it was not well organized and the two teams were evenly matched, but he did not have the time necessary to think of another strategy.  As soon as he received Jim’s agreement, they gathered several snowballs into their arms and took off running across the yard.  The other team, not having heard any shouted directions, was confused as to their tactic, particularly because Hikaru had also chosen that time to make an attack.  As Jim charged, yelling furiously, Spock and Sulu ran to the outside and pelted snowballs at Scotty and Bones, who quickly went down.  Jim halfheartedly hit Carol with his last snowball, and a cheer went up from their team. 

                “Nice one, Captain, Commander,” Hikaru said as he gave Jim a high-five.  “That was crazy, I was watching you the whole time and you didn’t speak a word – how did you know Jim was gonna run, Spock?”  Without waiting for an answer, he continued, “Guess that’s why you’re the best Command team in the ‘Fleet!”

                “Or they cheated,” Nyota stage-whispered, looking skeptically between Spock and Jim.  Spock knew she was merely teasing; her eyes were not angry.

                “Just a bit!” Jim joked, clapping her on the shoulder as the crew made their way back inside.  “Okay, who’s helping me cook dinner?” 

                A grumble went up from a few members of the crew, although Spock could not determine who had protested.  He would, of course, assist Jim with the preparations for Christmas dinner, and he communicated as much through the bond. 

                “Well, I mean, I kind of assumed so,” Jim said aloud, turning towards Spock as he removed his boots.  Both Nyota and Bones were standing close and looked up at Jim in alarm.  The Captain, of course, appeared to have been responding to a remark that nobody had said. 

                “What?” Bones asked, standing up fully, concern clouding his features. 

                “Hm?” Jim asked, removing his coat and looking at Bones. 

                “Who were you talking to, just then?” Bones said, schooling his expression into something resembling professional and producing a tricorder seemingly from nowhere (although Spock knew he had taken one outside, in the event of injury). 

                Spock hesitated in the entryway, uncertain as to whether or not he should leave Jim alone with McCoy. 

                Go on, go get started on the potatoes.  I gave you the recipe this morning, right?  I’ll deal with Bones. 

                Spock brushed his hand against Jim’s and proceeded to the kitchen.  He found Jim’s mind open to his; however, he did not wish to intrude on Jim’s conversation with his friend, and refrained from eavesdropping. 

                Nyota and Carol offered to help cook the ham, and set to preparing the recipe which Jim had laid out.  Their hands were soon coated with maple glaze, and Spock was grateful that Jim had assigned him a relatively simple part of the preparation process. Scotty and Chekov had taken over preparing the myriad of vegetables Jim had purchased, and Sulu had agreed to attempt to bake a pecan pie.

                4.56 minutes later, Jim finally reentered the kitchen.  Spock mentally reached out for Jim and found a black mass of confusion, anger, and concern.  Spock recoiled slightly, unwilling to approach Jim if his Captain was upset with him.  As he retreated, however, he was met with resistance: Jim’s conscience was clinging to his, drawing him into the festering pool of dissatisfaction in his bondmate’s mind.  As Jim moved to stand by Spock’s side, he began to see Jim’s interaction with Bones as Jim sent it through their link. 

                “Ok, Bones, what’s going on?  And get that damn thing out of my face,” Jim said, swatting at the tricorder Bones held, hovering, by his temple.

                “What in the Sam Hill happened to you last night?” Bones hissed.  “You’re talking into space, you keep getting this vacant expression like you’re carrying on a conversation in your head, and your brain scans are off the damn charts!  I should get you back to sickbay for a proper diagnosis-”

                “Bones!  Stop!” 

                “Jim, you either gotta tell me, or I’m declaring you unfit for command and you’ll have to let me in on whatever the hell it was he did to you.”

                “He-” Jim sputtered, “he did to me?  You think that Spock would ever hurt me?”

                Bones’ expression softened slightly at Jim’s obvious anger, and relented.  “No, I’m sure he wouldn’t hurt you intentionally, but Jim, your brain scans are irregular, and that’s pretty concerning.”

                Jim let out a frustrated sigh and checked over his shoulder to ensure none of the other crew members were standing nearby.  “All right, we melded.  Happy?”

                Bones’ mouth dropped open in shock, but he recovered quickly and glanced down at the tricorder again.  “No, I’m not!  A regular meld shouldn’t do this to your brain – and you should know, you’re no stranger to mind melds with Vulcans.  What’re you not telling me?”

                “We bonded.” 

                “You – but – Jim, isn’t that-”

                “Yeah, it’s serious.  From the sounds of it, it’s kinda like marriage.  Or a proposal, I guess you have to go through some sort of bonding ceremony to make it official.  We didn’t do it on purpose!” he hastened to add, alarmed at the way Bones’ coloring was rapidly careening past red and into a bluish-purple.  “It just happened.  There’s this thing, a Vulcan thing, it’s called a t’hy’la bond – I guess it’s the closest thing they have to soul mates, and that’s what we are.”

                Bones spoke very clearly, enunciating every word and punctuating them with distressing force.  “You’re telling me that Spock,” he paused, as if to emphasize his point, “and you are soul mates?”

                “Well, I mean, you could say that-”

                “Jim, I’m happy you two are together, that you finally got what you’ve wanted, but you don’t even know him!  How can you know that you want to spend the rest of your life with the pointy-eared-”

                “Because I do!” Jim interjected vehemently.  “I can’t explain it to you, Bones – it’s like he’s always been there, and he always will be.  So yeah, he’s in my head.  All the time.  But I like it that way, and that’s how it’s gonna stay.”  When Bones looked like he was about to protest again, Jim continued, “We can speak mentally, through the bond – that’s why it’s seemed like I was talking to myself, or, you know, losing myself in my own head.  It’s nothing to worry about, all right?  You can give me a full-blown physical as soon as you’re back aboard the Enterprise, but Spock and I will be fine for a week of milk runs, all right?  You need to be here, with Jo.”

                “Jim, I’m your doctor and your best friend.  I’m always thinking about what might happen.”

                “Then trust Spock, and know that he’ll take care of me long enough for you to get back to the ship.  You can’t fix this one, Bones, ‘cause there’s nothing to fix.” 

                Jim clapped his best friend on the shoulder and walked out of the room. 

                Spock returned to the present with a jolt to discover that Jim had just poured a rich cream sauce over the potatoes and was setting them to bake in the oven. 

                Sorry about that, Jim said conversationally as he returned to Spock’s side.  Just had to get it off my chest.

                Jim, I am sorry if our relationship has caused any issue between yourself and Doctor McCoy.

                Don’t be, Jim replied, briefly touching his fingers to Spock’s.  It’s not your fault he’s perpetually worried about me.  I guess he has a point – I do tend to get injured, don’t I?

                Indeed.

                Jim stepped away, towards Sulu, who was struggling with the pie crust.  “’Karu, stop abusing that crust and let me help you,” he said, laughing.  Hikaru stepped aside gratefully as Jim began to help him roll the dough into a thin sheet.  Spock watched Jim work with fascination, but retired to the fireside after a short time to join the rest of the crew. 

                Bones surveyed Spock skeptically over a cup of coffee; a conversation, Spock sensed, was imminent. 

                True to form, Bones stood.  “Spock, can I have a word?”

                “Certainly, Doctor,” Spock replied courteously, although he was not altogether pleased with McCoy after feeling Jim’s response to their earlier conversation. 

                McCoy led him into the study and closed the door behind him. 

                “All right, so maybe Jim thinks there isn’t any danger, but we both know he undersells the amount of trouble he’s in all the time.  So you need to tell me, Spock: this bond thing.  Is there any risk?  To Jim?”

                “Negative.  At the present moment, Jim’s mind is perfectly sound.” 

                “Are you implying that there’s gonna be a point in the future where it won’t be?  I don’t have time for your games, you green-blooded-”

                “If I were to die, Jim would be left with a broken bond, which he would not be able to heal on his own,” Spock interjected, unwilling to listen to one of Bones’ tirades.  “A broken bond is like an open wound in the mind; when a Vulcan creates a bond, it can only be broken properly by a Vulcan healer, or else risk tremendous harm to the bondmate.”

                Bones looked slightly troubled at the news.  “But even if Jim doesn’t kill himself in some fool accident, you’ll outlive him.  Vulcan life spans are a lot longer than those of humans, Spock.”

                “I am aware of that, Doctor, and it is for that reason I wish not to waste any more of the short time I have with Jim.”

                The hard lines on Bones’ face softened, making him appear ten years younger. 

                “All right, I get it,” he grumbled.  “Just – if you ever hurt him,” Bones pointed his finger at Spock menacingly, “I’ll kill you.” 

                “Undoubtedly,” Spock said, raising one eyebrow.  Bones raised his in retaliation, and left the study, calling out for Carol as he went.  Spock turned towards the window to find that night had fallen, but that it was still snowing hard.  The sound of laughter reached him from the living room, and he smiled, knowing that his crew was at peace, safe, and out of danger, if only for a short while longer.

                “Hey,” Jim’s voice came from behind him, and it was tentative, quiet.  Spock turned to see his Captain standing awkwardly in the doorway, and held out two of his fingers in an invitation. 

                Jim walked forward to meet them, and then pulled Spock in for a human kiss.  Their lips met, and the feeling was electric; it raced through Spock’s veins like fire, particularly as Jim licked into his mouth, sucking and biting on his lower lip.  A small moan escaped Spock’s throat, quite involuntarily, as Jim began to massage his hand as well, nails scraping over the pads of his fingertips in a sensual rhythm.  His Captain backed them up until Spock was braced against the wall, and then carefully inserted his leg in between Spock’s.  Spock gasped aloud at the sudden pressure on his cock, and Jim moaned as they began to rub against each other, both of them aroused, neither experiencing enough stimulation necessary to achieve orgasm. 

                At the thought, Jim pulled away, looking slightly confused.  “Whoa, sorry, we’re eating dinner in just a bit.  Let’s just – put that on hold until later tonight, okay?”

                Spock was certainly not amenable to that, and as he stepped away from Jim, he sent a spike of lust racing though their bond that nearly had Jim doubled over with desire.  “Affirmative, Jim,” he said, his voice still shaky from adrenaline and arousal. 

                “You’re a bastard, you know that?” Jim gasped, laughing, and Spock allowed the lust to abate.  Jim grabbed his hand, and they returned to their crew, who were still waiting in the living room for dinner.

                “I’m absolutely stuffed,” Jim groaned, rubbing his stomach as he reclined against their bed.  “Oh, god, I just realized!  We never did presents!” he exclaimed, seeming to forget about his stomach as he raced across the room to the closet and withdrew a medium-sized parcel wrapped in plain brown paper.  Spock retrieved his gift for Jim from his duffel bag, and took a seat on the bed.  Jim flopped down next to him, clutching Spock's present, attempting to appear nonchalant.  Their bond was quiet, as Jim was attempting to shield from him, albeit poorly, and Spock was giving his bondmate space.  Spock did not, however, need to use the bond to discern that Jim was nervous; his Captain was picking at the hem of his shirt and fidgeting relentlessly. 

                “Here,” Jim said gruffly, handing Spock the gift.  It was not particularly heavy, and Spock unwrapped it with care.  He felt his lips part slightly when the contents were revealed.

                It was a chess board: plain, average, and yet the most extraordinary thing Spock had ever seen.  He recognized the board immediately, although he had not seen it in years: made of light and dark colored wood, the pieces were worn with time and use, and the grain smelled like the sand of the desert. 

                It was his childhood chess set, purchased for him by his mother when he was very young, an item he had believed to have perished with Vulcan. 

                How?

                Jim shrugged.  I had to track it down.  It was at your father’s home in San Francisco. 

                You spoke with my father? 

                Jim laughed.  Yeah.  It was terrifying.  Also, I don’t think he likes me much. 

                Jim, I am certain that is not the case.

                Yeah, just see if you’re still saying that when you tell him we’re Vulcan-married or whatever.  He probably wants you to have Vulcan children to repopulate-

                Due to my heritage, I was born sterile.  I assure you that would not be a problem for my father.  His greatest concern is, naturally, mental compatibility.  Through his shields, Spock felt guilt flood Jim’s half of the bond; before Jim could say anything else, Spock handed him his gift.  “For you.”

                Jim unwrapped the package with care, staring down in shock at what it contained.  “You got me a book.”

                Spock slowly let his shields down so as to gauge his Captain’s reaction.  Wonder, happiness, excitement, and thrumming low underneath it all, desire. 

                “Vulcan poetry, from the time before Surak.  It is a common misconception that Vulcans do not appreciate beauty; we see it in music, in its symmetry and patterns; some see it in the lines and syllabic patterns of poetry.  Many of the poems in this volume concern love – perhaps not love as humans would recognize it, with sweeping statements of passion, but a Vulcan love, which can be seen in the depth of the connection between two people.  Several concern t’hy’la bonds.  I thought it may be of interest to you.” 

                “Spock, this is amazing,” Jim breathed, opening the book.  The volume was written exclusively in High Vulcan; while Jim had a firm grasp of the Vulcan language, High Vulcan was beyond his capabilities.  “You’ll have to read it to me, in between missions,” he added, skimming the pages with a hungry eye.  “How did you even get a hold of this?”

                “I contacted an old friend,” Spock said simply, and Jim grinned.

                “Well, at least he’s good for something.”  Jim stood up, gathered the chess set and his book, and set them aside on the dresser. 

                “Now,” Jim murmured, stripping off his shirt, “where were we?”  

                The Enterprise greeted them the following evening, her halls shining and pristine, new and sparkling after the homeliness of the farmhouse.  They had beamed back after the rest of the bridge crew, as the house needed cleaning and they still had to pack – there had not been time enough the night before.

                Exhausted, Jim slowly keyed in the code to his quarters and Spock followed him inside, placing his bag against the door that led to the bathroom. 

                “Technically, we’re still on leave, right?” Jim asked as he stripped off his overcoat. 

                “Affirmative.”

                “I’m beat, I didn’t get much sleep last night,” he said, throwing a wicked grin back at Spock, who merely raised one eyebrow.  “I hate to do this to you, but I’d really like to get some sleep, and I never have nightmares when you’re around.  Do you mind, you know, staying for a little bit?”

                “Not at all,” Spock said softly, grabbing his PADD so that he could do work while his Captain slept. 

                “Thanks, Spock,” Jim said, stripping off his shirt.  Spock watched as Jim undressed and worked to suppress his arousal.  His bondmate needed sleep, and Spock would assist him in any way possible. 

                They clambered into the small bed, Jim immediately laying his head across Spock’s chest, one arm thrown over Spock’s stomach. 

                “I may be able to do something that will help you sleep, ashayam,” Spock offered.  Jim gazed up at him blearily. 

                “Haven’t heard that one yet,” he said with a small smile.  “I like it.” 

                Spock extended his fingers and Jim pressed into them, seeking the meld.  Their minds fell together and Spock began to radiate calm, seeking out stressors in Jim’s brain and gradually abating them.  Quietly, he began to murmur Vulcan poetry, simple white noise in the silence, without ceasing the meld.  His Captain fell into an easy sleep, his breath even and slow, and Spock was struck again by how beautiful his bondmate was, how he seemed to glow even in the dimmed light of the room. 

                Spock fingered the bruises Jim had sucked into his collarbone last night while examining similar ones that trailed down Jim’s neck, shoulders, and back.  He did not mind the markings.  They were t’hy’la, and it was to each other that they belonged. 

                The ship thrummed beneath them, silent in sleep, stars streaming past the viewport as Spock lingered languorously in his bondmate’s mind, swimming through golden rivers of thought; Jim’s spirit was a haven, as comforting and familiar as his own.  Spock thought that he could be anywhere in the universe, and as long as he was exploring new worlds and Jim was by his side, he would be complete.

                Admit it, Spock, Jim mumbled, aware of his bondmate's presence even in slumber.  For people like us, the journey itself is home.