Chapter Text
On the final day of the mission, Jim quietly beamed down to Tarsus IV by himself. From the ridge where he materialized, he could see the small, distant smudges of the investigative team moving around the colony, gathering final evidence, tying up loose ends.
Jim walked down the hill and into the town square, empty except for a couple of Federation detectives and one of Jim’s security guards. They were far on the other side of the courtyard and didn’t notice him.
The memories flooded in again. It wasn’t any easier to be here now than it had been the first day, but Jim was remembering what Spock had said about progress. He didn’t feel any different. He was still seeing ghosts around every corner, he still couldn’t breathe right on this goddamn rock. Was this progress? It didn’t fucking feel like it.
Could he have come here alone a week ago, though?
No. No way. The only way he had gotten through this thing was—
Well. It was Spock.
Jim took a deep breath and kept walking.
He went to each of the old spots—the fountain, the school, the dormitories, the warehouse, the medical center, even back out to the camp—and he stood, and he let the flashbacks wash over him like waves.
It felt like death, like hell, but at the end of it, Jim was still just standing in a dirty abandoned colony, a place like so many others he and Spock had visited and then departed in the past year, never to think of again.
It was just a place, a place that he hated, but just an empty place nonetheless. There was no such thing as ghosts—the only haunted thing now was Jim’s brain, and his brain was a thing he could control. This was a battle he could win.
Finally, Jim went back to the house. So far he had avoided it completely, but it was kind of the last test. If Jim didn’t make himself go there, go withstand that place like he had the rest, then all of this was wasted. Jim could have stayed on the ship the whole mission, but he had forced himself to face this planet. If he didn’t face this house too, he hadn’t really faced anything at all.
It was falling down now, the roof almost caved in. But it was easily recognizable, disturbingly familiar. Jim ducked inside and went carefully through each small room. He stood in the kitchen and watched Kodos's face rush at him again and again until it stopped.
Outside, Jim knelt in the dust by the door and touched the places where he remembered the bodies lying. They swam in and out of his vision, real one second and a distant, surreal memory the next. Jim crawled to the closest wall and for a long time leaned against it, watching Tom and Cecelia shiver in and out of existence. But after a while, Spock drifted into Jim’s thoughts, as he always, always did. What would Spock say now?
Jim squeezed his eyes shut hard against the flickering images of the dead kids. Spock would say I was a child, he thought. I was just a kid. I felt—feel—responsible for the other kids, but I was one of them. I was just a kid.
Jim opened his eyes. Tom and Cecelia were gone. Jim could see nothing but an old, crumbling colony, abandoned by the humans who had tried to tame it, but who had ultimately been defeated by it. It was an old story, one that kept repeating itself like a malfunctioning computer.
From the corner of his eye, Jim caught a flash of metal in the dirt. He must have unearthed something as he scrabbled there, where the bodies had been. He crawled over and brushed away the dust until the shining thing came to light.
Jim sat back. For a long, long time, he sat.
“Jim?”
Jim gasped and jumped, but he wasn’t really surprised to find Spock standing over him.
“It’s my needles,” he said.
Spock’s eyebrow went up and Jim was tempted to laugh at how sweet and predictable he was.
He reached out and pulled the metal needles from the dirt. “My needles,” he said again.
Spock crouched in front of him, taking the hand that held the two silver needles connected by a thin plastic cable. “The needles your grandfather gave you?”
“Yeah,” Jim laughed. “I guess I must have dropped them—that night. I was carrying them around in my pocket. I guess they fell out when I was running from Kodos.”
Spock lowered himself all the way onto the ground. “Jim, why did you come down to the surface without alerting anyone?”
“I just needed to be down here for a while. I needed to, before we left.”
“Are you alright?”
“No,” Jim laughed again. “But for now, yeah. Right now I’m ok.”
Spock looked at him warily, like he suspected Jim was delirious, which maybe he was, since he’d been hallucinating for hours. He was suddenly exhausted, and he let his head fall into his hands, still chuckling. Spock was close enough for Jim to feel a ripple of warmth from his skin, too close for an officer who was worried about his captain in a purely professional capacity. The usual emotions Jim felt when Spock displayed his stubborn commitment to him—worthlessness, self-hatred, shame—drifted to the surface, but this time Jim let go of them, and they floated away. Spock’s choices were his own; Jim wasn’t in control of Spock’s opinion of him. Spock saw something good in Jim and was determined to make him see it too. Why should he fight that? If Spock didn’t want him, he wouldn’t stay.
And Jim wanted Spock to stay. Maybe for once, just this once, Jim wouldn’t feel guilty about getting what he wanted.
“Hey, Spock? I think I’m falling in love with you.”
He hadn’t meant to say that out loud. Oh shit, why the fuck did he say that out loud? When he received no response, Jim glanced up, all of the negative emotions threatening to rush back on a gale-force wind.
Spock was staring at him in surprise, his mouth slightly open. “Fuck,” Jim said, “sorry—that was way too soon. Listen, I’m sorry, I–”
“Jim!” Spock said sharply, “Will you cease speaking for one moment?” At Spock's raised voice—a rare occurrence—Jim shut up out of shock alone. Spock gave a distinctly emotional sigh of frustration before leaning in and kissing Jim hard, his hands curled against either side of Jim’s face.
After a moment of surprise, Jim laughed against Spock’s mouth and grabbed his head to pull him closer, and for a while they kissed in the dust and the rubble of Tarsus IV.
-⭑-
They delivered Colonel Masters and her team to Starbase 10 the following day. They were joined in the transporter room by an excited group of Enterprise officers comprised of Sulu, Chekov, and a few others who had been swept up in the Christmas planning, headed for a final supplies run. Colonel Masters watched them with poorly concealed judgement, and she turned a questioning eye to Jim, who gave a sheepish shrug.
When everyone was assembled and ready to beam, Masters shook Jim’s hand and said, “Thank you for your assistance, Captain Kirk. Our investigation was quite productive. I’ll keep you informed of our findings and further proceedings on the case, if you’d like.”
“Thank you, Colonel. I’d appreciate it.”
“I never did get that interview. Maybe in the future?”
Jim nodded. “I think I’ll be able to do that.”
Masters smiled slightly. “Good. I’ll hold you to it.” She turned to Spock and offered the ta’al. “Mr. Spock, it was a pleasure to work with you.”
Spock returned the gesture. “And you, Commander. Live long and prosper.”
“Peace and long life. I wish you luck.” She flicked her eyes to Jim with the faintest hint of amusement. “Both of you.”
Jim said, “Energize,” with a slightly confused smile, and then Masters and her team were gone.
-⭑-
They stayed in orbit of Starbase 10 for the rest of the day, to give more of the crew time to beam down for last-minute Christmas errands. It was December 20, and Jim had been pretending that Christmas didn’t exist for most of the Tarsus mission, but it was pretty much impossible to ignore now. Chekov and Sulu had decorated a slightly alarming percentage of the Enterprise, and the first of five parties was scheduled for the next day. The crew was clearly getting swept up in the spirit—Christmas music was usually playing in the rec rooms, and Jim had overheard several gift exchanges being planned, caught more than a few couples kissing under the mistletoe Chekov had apparently felt compelled to hang in as many corridors as possible.
It all grated on Jim’s skin like sandpaper, but it was undeniable that the crew was benefitting from the celebration. Jim owed it to them to let the festivities get as out of control as they safely could. A five-year mission was long and demanding. Jim was determined to get his crew through it in good shape.
Jim knitted in his quarters while he waited for the departure from Starbase 10. Unreasonably loud carols were blasting from one of the senior officers’ cabins—Jim suspected Scotty’s or Uhura’s, and had little doubt that they were together—but he didn’t want to bother telling them to turn it down. Besides, he had just finished an ugly Christmas sweater for Chekov and had started another one for Sulu, so the Christmas music was pretty appropriate. And since he was chanting stitches to himself, he had no room in his brain to make sad associations with any of the songs. In fact, he was kind of enjoying listening to them, just a little bit.
He was starting the colorwork design—santa heads and bells—when the bathroom door opened. “Hey, Spock,” he said without turning around, focused on a complicated set of stitches. Spock appeared in front of him and hovered.
“Captain, Lieutenant Commander Scott is currently breaking Starfleet regulation 124, section 5, regarding acceptable decibel level for recreational music on a starship.”
Jim finished his row and let his needles drop. “Yeah, I know. I think he and Uhura are probably drunk and feeling festive. I’m going to let it slide, since it’s Christmas.”
“I fail to understand the significance of Christmas upon enforcement of regulations, Captain.”
“Everybody’s getting a mood burst from this Christmas shit, so I'm letting it happen. It’s chemically necessary for deep-space crews to experience excitement and blow off steam. This seems to be pretty effective.”
“A compelling argument, Captain. Although I am not certain it is logical.”
“Well, I'm sticking to it. And I’m your boss, so fuck you.” Spock’s eyebrow shot up, lost behind his bangs. Grinning, Jim scooted to the edge of the couch and reached out. “Now will you come here and stop calling me Captain?”
Spock let Jim pull him between his legs, and Jim rested his chin against Spock's stomach, smiling up at him.
“How did an arrogant cadet like you become my superior?” Spock said quietly, a dark edge of heat in his voice, as he ran a hand through Jim’s hair.
Jim shrugged. “Genius and irresistible charisma.”
The corners of Spock’s mouth turned up, just a little, and Jim buried his face in Spock’s uniform shirt, inhaling his heat and smell. As Spock sat next to him, moving Jim’s knitting with the same care he always did, Jim leaned back and stretched, the blare of trumpets and bells from Scotty’s cabin still filtering in under the doors.
Jim held up Chekov’s finished sweater, which had been folded on the couch next to him. “Look at this hideous sweater!” he said proudly, and then laughed at Spock’s predictably confused expression. “It’s a silly Earth thing. There were always Christmas sweaters and sometimes they were ugly, so people started making uglier and uglier ones as a joke and it turned into a tradition.”
Spock regarded the unsightly red sweater, decorated with green reindeer and a silver geometric stitch pattern. “Then this is… intentionally unattractive?”
“Yeah! That’s the point. Did I do a good job?”
Spock gave an uncomfortable affirmative nod, which made Jim laugh; for what reason Spock could not discern.
“Did you think this was was ugly and didn’t tell me because you didn’t want to hurt my feelings? You’re sweet.”
Inexplicably, Jim leaned across the couch to kiss Spock, the sweater crushed between them. Spock felt utterly confused by such human disregard for logic, but nevertheless, he unfolded his arms and Jim settled in against him. For a few minutes, the music blaring around them, they lay together without talking.
Eventually Jim said, “Hey, Spock? I was thinking about inviting Sam and Aurelan and the baby on the ship for Christmas. We’re only a few hours from Deneva—if they agree to it we could pick them up without wasting too much time. I just– I don't even know why I thought of it, I guess 'cause we're close by, but—"
"I think that is an excellent idea, Jim."
Jim looked up. "Yeah?"
Spock nodded and Jim's face broke into a grin. "Great. Great! I'm gonna call him now."
He jumped off the couch and all but ran to his desk. Spock neatly folded the ugly red sweater and placed in on the coffee table, listening to Jim's computer reaching out for Deneva Prime.
-⭑-
Sam and Aurelan were taken aback by Jim’s last-minute invitation, but accepted it nonetheless. That night, the Enterprise arrived in orbit around Deneva, and Jim and Spock went down to the transporter room. Two glittering columns were already solidifying on the transporter pad as they came through the doors, materializing into a tall man with a moustache and Jim’s sandy hair, and a smiling, brunette woman with a chubby baby in her arms.
“Jimmy!” Sam shouted as he hopped off the pad, and they embraced, laughing. Sam’s voice and mannerisms were immediately familiar to Spock, distinctly Kirk, not only because Spock was intimately acquainted with the younger brother, but also because of the footage he had recently seen of Tiberius.
Jim broke away to hug Aurelan, and then there was an inordinate amount of fussing from all adult humans as Sam proudly introduced Jim to his infant nephew, whom Jim had never seen in person. Jim took the smiling ten-month-old from Aurelan, the boy’s arms waving happily. Jim spoke to him quite seriously for a few moments, which little Peter seemed to find irresistibly amusing, based on his babbling laughter.
Grinning, Jim gestured to Spock, and Sam and Aurelan offered cheerful Ta’als even before Jim had introduced them. Sam said, “You must be Spock—every time I talk to Jim he won’t shut up about you. ‘My first officer this, my first officer that—’”
Jim punched Sam’s arm with his free hand. “Yeah, ok, we get it. Spock, this is Sam and Aurelan. And I guess you know that this is Spock, my first officer and, uh–” Jim paused and took a breath, “my boyfriend.”
There was an stilted, silent moment in which Sam and Aurelan both looked to Jim in surprise, but Jim’s embarrassed shrug and obvious discomfort must have convinced them that he wasn’t joking. Sam finally said, “Well, that’s a surprise, Jimmy.” He gave Spock a slightly awkward smile. “What have you done to my brother? You must be something special—I didn’t know Jim was even capable of commitment.”
“I have so far found him to be capable of great devotion and loyalty to his friends and crew, and I have the utmost confidence in his potential as a romantic partner.”
Another awkward silence followed, leading Spock to believe that he had not improved the situation as he had hoped to.
Jim scrubbed the back of his neck, but Peter laughed and smacked the side of Jim’s face, unaware of his social misstep. The air of discomfort broken, Jim grinned and hiked the baby up on his hip, heading for the doors. “Let’s get you settled in, ok?
-⭑-
Spock returned to his quarters to attend to the day’s reports, and also to give Jim time alone with his family. Jim went along to the guest quarters to help unpack, and an hour later he found himself hunkered down in a chair across from Sam, giving Peter a bottle as he slowly fell asleep in Jim’s lap. Aurelan was passed out in the bedroom, thrilled to have another pair of hands to hold the baby. Both Sam and Jim had a big glass of whiskey, one ice cube each.
“He’s really cute,” Jim said, when the generic stream of catching up and “Jesus, did you see Mom’s new haircut?” had dried up.
“Thanks.” Sam reached out and took the bottle, which had all but fallen out of Peter’s puckered, sleeping mouth. “I have to agree with you there.”
“Is it weird?” Jim asked, “Having to be so responsible? Having to keep another person alive?”
“You have to keep 400 people alive, Jim. You tell me.”
Jim looked into his brother’s face, aware of Peter’s warm weight as he settled deeper into sleep against him. Jim shook his head. “Jesus, we used to be such fuck-ups. What happened to us?”
“We did better than could have been expected of us. You should give yourself credit for that, Jim.”
Jim didn’t answer. He looked down at Peter’s face and ran a finger over his wispy bangs. Babies, Jim was discovering, were excellent social aids. You could look at them indefinitely and no one would know you were just trying to avoid eye contact.
Sam had known him too long to be fooled, though. “What’s wrong, Jimmy? Is it about this thing you have with Spock?”
“No—no, not at all. I just… I just wanted to see you, ok? I’ve been thinking about Grandpa a lot lately. It sucks. It still makes me fucking sad. And you’re basically the only other person in the universe who gets it.”
Sam leaned back in his chair and swirled his tumbler of whiskey. “Why have you been thinking about Grandpa?”
“We just finished up a mission on Tarsus IV.” Sam hastily sat up. “It was the first time I’ve been back. Obviously.”
“Jim, I– Starfleet really made you do that? They let you do that?”
“Yeah. Long story.”
“Are– are you ok?”
Jim shrugged and shifted Peter a little so he could grab his own whiskey and take a long, burning sip. “I mean, no. But I’m getting there. I’m working on things, at least, not just pretending they don’t exist.”
Sam reached out and put a hand on Jim’s knee. They’d never been much for physical affection beyond friendly shoulder slaps or hugs at arrival and departure, but they both knew this time was different. Jim felt the familiar sting in his eyes and wasn’t even embarrassed. Sam understood.
“Do you like Christmas?” Jim whispered. He wondered if it would confuse Sam, but as he had suspected, it didn’t. Sam sat back and stared into the shifting circle of his drink.
“No. I hate it.”
“Me too.”
“Remember how exciting it was when Grandpa used to come, though?”
Jim smiled. “Yeah. It was the best.”
“Do you ever think about how he really was the only adult who knew how to handle us?”
“Yeah. A lot.”
“I always think about that time I pushed you and your gun went off, and he was so mad. Do you remember that?”
Two of the tears that had been hovering in the wells of Jim’s eyes slipped down his face, one splashing softly on Peter’s chest and disappearing into the folds of his fleece pajamas. Jim nodded. “I remember.”
“I can’t believe how well he handled that. He got mad but he was supporting me at the same time, you know? He understood what I was going through, and he wasn’t going to let it drag me under, but he wasn’t going to ignore it either. He took me so seriously. I really want Peter to feel like that, like I think he’s worth something. Because, you know, I was worth something too, but I didn’t believe that back then.”
“Do you believe it now?” Jim muttered, nearly inaudible.
“Yeah, I do. You should too.”
Jim shrugged.
“Seems like you’re worth something to Spock. I mean, I’m assuming this thing is serious, if you’re introducing him as your boyfriend.”
Jim laughed awkwardly. “Yeah, it’s serious.”
“Is it telling-Mom serious?”
Jim was silent for a few moments, but he answered quietly, “I think so. We’ll have to see.”
“Is he good to you?”
Jim rolled his eyes. “Jesus—yes! Are you getting protective of me?”
“Well, I am your older brother,” Sam grinned, and drained the rest of his drink.
“Yes, he’s good to me, and yes, I’m worth something to him. In fact, he’s obnoxiously fixated on improving my self-esteem.”
“Good.”
Jim rolled his eyes again and was trying to think of something snarky to say when Peter shifted in his sleep and began to whine, slowly and without much force. But Sam picked him up, probably sensing an imminent awakening, and rocked him into the bedroom. Jim heard him laying Peter down beside Aurelan, and a whispered conversation. Jim took a long drink, waiting for Sam to come back. From somewhere nearby, loud Christmas music started up, and Jim smiled. Some poor ensign had no idea that the Captain was down on this deck, well within his rights to bang on their door and cite regulations. Lucky for them, Jim had no intention of doing that, and instead he closed his eyes and put his head back, listening.
-⭑-
On December 21, Chekov and Sulu got up in the chill dark of ship’s night, alpha shift still many hours away. The first party was that evening, and they still had so much to do, despite having begun preparations over a month ago.
They met in the botanical garden that was now devoted almost entirely to Christmas; in addition to the Santa’s Menagerie, they had erected several Christmas trees and decorated many of the other plants. Gold and silver baubles hung down from the ceiling, glittering and turning slowly.
Chekov and Sulu sat down under the biggest Christmas tree, yawning, their PADDs in hand to make a checklist for the day. Sulu was complaining about Spock not approving their request for erotic dancers dressed like Santa’s elves when Chekov noticed two shiny packages sitting under the tree that hadn’t been there yesterday. He could just make out the gift tags in the soft, rainbow light from the Christmas tree: one addressed to him and the other to Sulu, both “From Santa.”
“Hikaru,” he interrupted. “Look!”
Sulu looked under the tree and saw the presents, brow furrowing. They exchanged a confused glance, but shrugged and both grabbed the gift addressed to them, tearing open the paper without hesitation.
“Zis is amazing!” Chekov cried, holding up a red and green sweater covered in garish reindeer and silver embellishments.
Sulu laughed out loud at his own sweater, silver and white with horrifying laughing Santa heads and bright gold bells. “These are awesome! Who on Earth are these from?”
Chekov’s eyes were wide. “Perhaps zey are really from Santa Claus.”
“Yeah, right,” Sulu grinned, but they stared at each other for a moment, not quite sure.
-⭑-
Jim went to all the parties. He had sworn he wouldn’t, but now Peter was here, delighted by the lights and music and chatter, and the crew seemed to feel the same way about the presence of a baby on the ship.
Jim was suddenly thrust into the role of a person with a family, one he actually wanted to show off. It felt weird. Jim was constantly on edge: happy family time usually crashed and burned, and he was waiting for it to happen at any moment.
But it never did, and eventually Jim relaxed. As adults, he and Sam hadn’t spent much time together that wasn’t at an awkward family gathering or a depressing visit with their mom. In the absence of all that stress and frustration, they found a surprisingly easy rapport. Crewmember after crewmember remarked on how similar they were. They heard “You must have been so close as kids!” at least twice at every party. Neither would have ever thought to describe their young relationship as close, but in hindsight, there was no other way to put it. Although their childhood was little more than disappointment after disappointment, abandonment after abandonment, failure after failure, they had been united against their unhappiness. They had looked out for each other, when they could. They had been close.
So Jim took his brother to parties, showed him around the ship, introduced him to his friends. Everywhere they went, Spock came with them. Jim had never once brought anybody home or introduced his family to someone he was involved with, and he would never have guessed it could feel kind of good: watching Sam and Aurelan start to figure Spock out the more time they spent together, seeing Spock relax a fraction in their company.
Spock and Sam, both scientists, got along especially well, and Jim and Aurelan once had to leave them alone after a long lunch—Sam was telling Spock how they had prevented the infestation of a neural parasite on Deneva, based on a mysterious, anonymous tip. Spock was fascinated by the particulars of the case, and Sam was more than happy to go on and on about it, so eventually Aurelan and Jim gave up and took Peter to the observation deck by themselves.
On their third night, Bones offered to babysit Peter for a few hours. Despite Aurelan’s visible skepticism, Jim assured her that Bones was a great dad, and fantastic with other people’s kids. Beaming, Bones took Peter and headed off to show him the menagerie.
Jim and Sam immediately went to the party that was in full swing on deck three, and got wildly drunk together. Unlike other sad, angry drinking sessions they had shared over the years, this time they just got loud and laughed until their lungs burned. Spock and Aurelan watched them from the sidelines, bemused, but Spock was tolerant even when Sam shoved Jim into him and tried to get them to dance. He even awkwardly spun Jim in a circle and then caught him when he toppled over.
Eventually, Spock and Aurelan retrieved Peter and Bones joined the Kirk brothers, drinking merrily into the night.
-⭑-
On Christmas, the senior crew and non-essential personnel took the day off, and the rest of the crew cycled through short shifts. A big party in the botanical garden went on all day, and Jim spent most of his time there, chatting with crewmembers, horsing around with Sam, carrying Peter through the crowd, trying to kiss Spock and being constantly rebuffed but getting a lot of apologetic looks in consolation. After his first three egg nogs, he pulled out the big guns and offered two fingers to Spock under the mistletoe. Spock’s eyes softened and he returned the kiss, albeit quickly.
They snuck off to their quarters in the evening to have a quiet dinner together. Jim made Spock a big cup of hot chocolate with whipped cream and cinnamon, and over the course of the meal he watched Spock’s eyes heat up in his direction. Eventually Spock pushed their plates aside and dragged Jim into the bedroom. They made out for a while, but Jim had promised to be back at the party by eight, so he extracted himself from what had become a very handsy Vulcan, and grabbed a present from under his bed. He thrust it in Spock’s direction, not looking at him.
“Here,” he said. “It’s a sweater, obviously.”
Spock took the package and unwrapped it gently. “I had understood the tradition of gift-giving to entail secrecy until the opening.”
“Yeah, well. Whatever.”
Spock lifted a thin black sweater from the paper. It was knit in soft yarn, especially soft on his sensitive fingers.
“I wanted you to be able to wear it under your uniform so you won’t be cold on the bridge. But it’s a tight knit, so it should be warm even though it’s light. I don’t know if you even like sweaters, so I won’t be hurt if–”
Spock took Jim’s hand, interrupting him. “You do not need to explain yourself. This is a generous gift and I am most grateful. I admire your knitting greatly, and I know of its significance to you.”
Jim rubbed the back of his neck, blushing. “Well, thanks. I’m glad you like it. It’s the first one I made on the needles Grandpa gave me since I found them again.”
Spock leaned forward and kissed him, trying to convey all of his emotions, most of which he couldn’t even name, through the touch of their mouths. Jim rested his forehead against Spock’s, and Spock was pleased with the settled quality of Jim’s mind.
“I procured a gift for you as well,” he said quietly, and rose to retrieve it from his own quarters. Jim followed him shyly.
“You didn’t have to do that,” he said, hovering in Spock’s bedroom door.
“You will cease speaking now,” Spock said, and handed Jim a precisely wrapped package.
Jim tore off the paper and found the sweater he had knitted for Grandpa Tiberius, all those years ago on Tarsus. It was definitely the same one—he instantly recognized a mistake he had made that had always bothered him—but the holes were mended, the yarn clean and bright. Jim looked up at Spock in confusion.
A little sheepishly, Spock explained, “I discovered that there was a textile expert on Starbase 10. I privately sought his assistance in repairing your grandfather’s sweater. I thought that perhaps you would wish to wear it again as a reminder of how far you have come in healing from your grief and trauma regarding that time in your life. I hope it was not an intrusion.”
Jim stared at him. Eventually he shook his head, overcome. “No. No, that wasn’t an intrusion. Thanks, Spock. This is one hell of a present.”
Spock nodded, a hint of poorly concealed relief on his face. Jim slowly put the sweater on. As he buttoned it, he couldn’t help but think back to that terrible Christmas right after Grandpa died, when he wouldn’t take the sweater off, when everything had seemed hopeless. But for once the memories came and went. Jim suddenly realized that December 22nd, the anniversary of Grandpa’s death, had gone by without his notice.
In fact there were several times over the past few weeks, usually when he was knitting, that Jim had thought about Grandpa, for some reason or another, but didn’t slip into other, darker memories.
Jim smoothed the front of the sweater and looked up at Spock. “How do I look?”
“Most aesthetically pleasing.”
Jim smiled and briefly squeezed Spock’s hand. “Let’s get back to the party."
-⭑-
When Jim and Spock returned to the botanical garden, Christmas music was blaring. Jim immediately noticed that his entire command team, as well as Chekov and Sulu, were gathered around the giant Christmas tree in the center of the garden. Everyone grinned when they caught sight of him, and Jim realized they were all wearing their sweaters—Bones in his country-doctor-in-space cardigan, Scotty in his tartan jumper, Uhura in her black ballet wrap, and Chekov and Sulu in their ugly Christmas sweaters. Spock, who had insisted on wearing his thin black sweater to the party, stepped up to join them.
Jim laughed out loud. “Did you plan this?”
“We sure as hell did,” said Bones. “Everybody else told me you were sneaking around giving out sweaters in secret like a goddamn Santa Claus.”
“We really love them, Jim,” Uhura smiled, and everyone else nodded enthusiastically.
“I had no idea you could do this,” Sulu said, holding out the front of his sweater to admire the colorwork, “It’s really impressive!”
“Yes!” Chekov agreed with enthusiasm. “I am so honored, Kepten, to be ze recipient of one of your gifts—you haf such incredible skill!”
Scotty raised his whiskey glass in Jim’s direction and said gravely, “No’ just anyone can make something out of the Scott family tartan, Jim. Ye did it justice. You have my respect for tha.”
Jim felt his face heat up and rubbed the back of his neck. “No problem. Glad you like them.”
“Alright, we’ve embarrassed him enough,” said Bones, although he had initiated the embarrassment in the first place. “Move along.”
No one did, but they at least stopped staring at Jim, breaking off into small groups and continuing to laugh and gossip. Bones slapped Jim on the shoulder and handed him another eggnog, which he had apparently been holding in anticipation of Jim’s self-consciousness. Spock drifted over to stand unnecessarily close to him and Sam, who Jim had noticed watching from nearby, joined them as well.
“I didn’t know you still knitted, Jim.”
Jim took a long, deep drink of egg nog. “Well, I haven’t for a long time, but I just started again.”
Sam looked over his shoulder at Jim’s assembled crew, all in their handmade sweaters. “You’re still really good at it. Grandpa would love that you’re still knitting.”
He and Jim exchanged a small, not-entirely-sad smile.
Spock, maybe still a little tipsy from his hot chocolate, asked them, “Have you enjoyed your Christmas this year, despite your shared hatred of it?”
Jim shrugged. “Yeah. I actually have, I guess. Did you, Sam?”
“I think I could get used to Christmas again, maybe. At least for Peter’s sake.”
Spock nodded and tucked his hands behind his back. “I find it to be a most perplexing holiday comprised of disparate and illogical traditions, but I am gratified that, despite past negative associations, you are able to find pleasure in it again.”
Bones rolled his eyes. Sam noticed, and started laughing. Jim grinned and leaned up to kiss Spock’s cheek before Spock could stop him. He looked appropriately scandalized, but under the cover of the soft, glowing lights, Spock took Jim’s hand and didn’t let go.