Archive of Our Own

Kirk is stalling. 

He has donned his uniform trousers, but his undershirt and top are still hanging over his dresser.  Time is getting short, but he finds that as it dwindles he is even less inclined to hurry. 

"It is unlike you to linger," Spock says, from the bed–now their bed, Kirk thinks, elated by the realization–where he still lies, and Kirk's heart swells at the sight of him.  Spock is wearing his sleeping robe, the simple, brown cloth creased and mussed after a night of sleeping pressed against Kirk's side. His hair is disheveled, and there's a small, fading greenish mark atop one exposed collarbone.  Kirk remembers how much he'd liked the feel of it under his mouth; the rough-textured Vulcan skin a thin barrier to the smooth density of the bone beneath.

"I guess I'm just unwilling to let the night end," he chuckles. He picks up the shirt and uniform top, but instead of pulling them on he goes and sits next to Spock on their bed. He puts a hand on Spock's side, feeling the sleep-warm softness of the robe and the steady thrum of Vulcan heartbeat.

"An understandable, if illogical, desire."

"Is it? Can you reciprocate?"

"Entirely," Spock says, and covers Kirk's hand with his own.  With the touch, the new bond sparks to life, and Kirk feels the truth of the statement in the warm emotional currant that flows into his mind from Spock's.

”I'm glad."  Kirk kisses his mouth, and, finding him quite receptive, repeats himself, again and again until a faint chime drifts in from one of the antique nautical clocks downstairs, and Spock leans away.

"Maintaining a low profile regarding our change in circumstance will prove more difficult, if you begin arriving late to high-profile engagements."

"I know, I know," Kirk sighs and slips his uniform top on over his head. "Blame hundreds of years of embedded human custom; it's hardwired into my brain that the morning after my wedding night, I should be packing for a honeymoon, not packing up data PADDs for just another one of god knows how many press meetings about the efficiency of the V'Ger response."

“Twenty-eight, thus far,” Spock supplies, almost automatically, for his mind is clearly focused elsewhere in Kirk's statement. Kirk chuckles.

“Honeymoon..." he muses, and a little thrill of adoration flashes though Kirk's heart at the sound of that word spoken in Spock's soft, stoic voice. "Ah yes. I have often run across the word in Terran literature. The current usage implies a trip undertaken by newly married parties soon after the ceremony concludes. Though I believe the etymology originally referred to the relative sweetness of the early stage of a marriage; this period of happiness–or indeed, giddiness, which is perhaps more accurate–is compared to the perception of Earth's moon, which appears to gradually wane from full to empty over the course of a month.”

Kirk grins, delighted. Spock's lectures have never been dearer. "I'd never thought about the etymology, but that does make sense."

"Indeed. The poetic conceits of Terran culture in regard to romantic matters are somewhat inundated with the moon, are they not? One may 'moon' over a lover, or liken someone to whom one is enamored of as 'having hung the moon'. Curious. I find it hard to understand the innate draw toward a dead, orbiting satellite."

"Well, you wouldn't, would you; Vulcan doesn't have a moon, as I understand it." He smirks affectionally, and strokes Spock's hand with his thumb. "Humans think the moon is romantic. Or at least they think it’s beautiful, and to humans, that’s about the same thing. Imagine; long midnight walks on the beach, watching it ripple on the water, looking at the moonlight reflected in your lover's eyes..."

He laughs as Spock's eyebrows knit.

”Just the usual illogical Human nonsense,” Kirk assures, and kisses the furrow between his brows. “Maybe things just tend to look nicer in dim light. Anyway, a honeymoon's more a cultural staple now than an abstract poetic metaphor. I wish we were honeymooning now. A month of you at your sweetest sounds awfully appealing. I know you don't like vacations, but—”

"I recognize the intentions of the tradition; to inspire feelings of closeness in a newly bonded couple is indeed quite logical. I would be quite pleased to 'honeymoon' with you, Jim."

Kirk kisses him. Twice.

"Oh, forget the damn press meeting," he murmurs, mostly joking... but not entirely. "Let's go now."

Spock almost smiles. "There will be time. Perhaps after the conclusion of the Charter amendment discussions with the Andorian Consulate next month..."

"I wouldn't count on it, that's just going to stir up more publicity. I, for one, could do without it. I can't wait to be out of the papers." He sighs, turning his hand and threading his fingers through the Vulcan's. "Anyway, I don't anticipate a lot of waning for you and me, not from a metaphorical romantic image's standpoint, anyway. We’ve made it this long. We can wait a month or two more. We’'ll go when we can.”

"And, I believe, we shall find fulfilling this particular cultural staple quite satisfactory, when the time comes. But for now, you continue to linger at your own peril."

"I know, I know." Kirk rises from the bed and fastens the uniform belt. “You're going to computer training all day, correct?

”Affirmative, and likely into the evening as well. The are a great many certifications I must renew, if I am to reactivate my commission. Additionally, Federation computer technology has advanced significantly during the years I spent on Gol, and I find I dislike being uninformed in a field where I once excelled.”

”But I'll see you tonight?”

”Yes.”

”Good."

He kisses him once more, because he can't stand not to, and checks in the mirror to make sure he looks like a Starfleet Admiral and not a lovestruck newlywed. He decides he's about as close as can be expected, and he's rushing to grab his attaché and data PADD when he catches Spock's gaze. His husband is still, just watching him, the faintest of smiles tugging at the corners of his mouth, and Kirk feels a sharp pang at the thought of leaving him. They've spent enough time apart as it is; it seems so unfair that he should have to leave his side now, when they're closer than ever before.

"It... won't always be like this," he promises, half to Spock and half to himself. "It's so busy now, but we'll make time for us. Won't we?"

"Yes. We will."

He smiles, reaches back to brush his fingers against his new husband's a final time, and leaves for Starfleet Headquarters with their bond radiating contentment, the warmth of Spock on his skin, and in his mind.

Somewhere in the vast, interconnected complex of buildings that made up Starfleet Headquarters in San Francisco, someone was playing Christmas music.

It was coming through the speaker system, playing at low volume throughout the public areas where visitors waited, a very old recording, digitally remastered but still probably pre-Warp judging by the tinny sound quality and the archaic pronunciations, but the tune was familiar enough: on the first day of Christmas, my true love gave to me..

Kirk had turned off the speaker in his office that piped the music, but with no other sound to cover it, little snatches of tune kept drifting in from the waiting area outside.  Not enough to really hear it, but enough that the tune was running back and forth through his mind, usually out of sync with the bits of song he actually did manage to hear.  The effect was mildly bothersome.  He was no great shakes, musically; that was really more Spock's department.

On the second day of Christmas...

He considered for a moment just turning the speaker on, so at least the music in his head would match the music in his ears, but thought better of it.  The video communiqué that morning had put him behind, and the amount of correspondence piled up around him was, despite all his efforts, maintaining its unusually epic proportions.  He didn't need the added distraction of holiday music on top of everything else.

As if in response to his thoughts, an alert flashed on his computer screen; the envelope-shaped icon that indicated a text-based communique, coded yellow for moderate urgency.  Kirk remembered once discussing the icon with a puzzled Spock, who, after his mini Earth history lesson regarding post and letter culture, had explained that even before the Vulcanian society had been paperless, as a telepathic species, it had little need for private parcel post. Envelopes, it seemed, were illogical.

The faint smile the memory summoned faded as he opened and read the message; a request from an Andorian publication requesting yet another statement about his views on the recent changes to Andoria's Federation Charter.  Honestly.  The Andorian Charter amendment had been concluded months ago; how there was still enough interest to make dirty journalism profitable was beyond him.  And who had coded the message as urgent, anyway? Or sent it to him at all, for that matter; this was more something for the general PR team.  He forwarded it to them without reading the rest, and returned to his PADD and stylus, briefly scanning, replying, and signing the usual array of operations reports and requisitions. His mood soured with every message.

Yes... All right... Not my decision, forward to Sciences... No... Not possible at this Juncture... Yes... Yes... All right...

There were three messages regarding the upcoming launch of the Enterprise for her next five-year mission, the one that had been delayed after the V'Ger incident, and those degraded his temper further. He knew it was petty, but the thought of her departing without him was still difficult to bear.

All right... okay... not in a million years... all right... why not... yes...

Overhead, the artificial climate unit finished one cycle and began gearing up for another, and through the sudden absence of its electrical hum, a few more disjointed strains of music reached his ears.

on the third.... Christmas... Three French... Partridge in...

I hate my job.

The words drifted though Jim's mind on the tails of the half-heard music, quiet and unassuming as an overheard snatch of conversation.  Hardly the intensity of a red-alert klaxon, and yet he reacted just as strongly, if not more so, as he would have had it been one.

He halted mid-stroke with his PADD stylus, the upsweep of his signature interrupted, the permission for a review of first contact communication procedures only half-granted. 

Red alerts he'd trained for. Red alerts he could handle. The sudden surge of despair from the mindless, soul-crushing tedium of upper-echelon, bureaucracy, though...

Kirk groaned softly, pressing his forehead into his hands.

Fourth... Christmas... gave...

"What am I doing," he murmured to himself, "what the hell am I doing."

"Stardate 47031.7, current time,” the scheduling application on his console responded, its crisp, mechanical voice incongruously cheerful. Kirk's head jerked up and he stared at it, incredulous, as its disembodied voice continued to chirp.

"Earth-standard date December Twentieth, Monday. You have a morning meeting with the the committee for starship development regarding funds approbation in thirteen minutes, eleven-hundred hours Earth-standard time. Following that, your normal lunch meeting with Admiral Fischer will be–"

”Did I activate you?” He said, glaring at the automatic calendar function on the screen. "That's enough, be quiet!  Program, off!"

The calendar voice went silent, leaving Kirk to wonder what kind of time its programmer had wasted in coding the voice recognition software to respond to "what the hell am I doing." It was almost enough to make him miss the inhabitants of Cygnet XIV and their voice-software improvements. The female computer personality might've been a chore (at least, she had been until Spock's near-obsessive stint of reprograming had managed to block the 'dears' and 'darlings' that tailed the software's every word) but at least she'd never been a sarcastic chore.

Still, the sarcastic chore did make a good point; he did have the committee meeting, hard as it was to believe it hadn't even gone eleven-hundred yet.  He felt like it should be mid-afternoon at the earliest, and he hadn't even done anything more strenuous than talk to a few irate dilithium mining barons via video com.

The day had started quite early, though. He'd been pulled out of sleep by frantic beeping from his communicator. The windows were dark, the clock at his bedside resting at 0457 Earth standard time and Stardate 47032.31. He'd been disoriented and bleary, barely able to rise and find the communicator though the thick fog of his mind. From the way the officer on the opposite end of the line sounded, the Federation's entire dilithium-based economy was about to come crashing down around them, and so he'd hurried into uniform and out the door, blinking furiously and burning his tongue as he frantically choked down a mug of coffee.

Wasted effort, it turned out, as he well should've known; the "emergency" turned out to be little more than a disgruntled group of mineral right holders in a Beta-quadrant planet system throwing a glorified hissy fit over a set of regulations that had been recently implemented but long-forcoming, making their outrage that much less justifiable. It was really something for an interplanetary relations expert, not Chief of Starfleet Operations, but, as he'd found out, the title seemed to be more of a catch-all than an actual job description. Besides, they'd been personally following the news broadcasts regarding the famous Captain-turned-Admiral James T. Kirk, who had saved countless worlds countless times, and they'd insisted on speaking to him, directly and immediately, and threatened a full-quadrant dilithium mining strike if they weren't granted a video conference. Dealing with it hadn't even been such of a much; a few hours of talking was all it took. In the end, they were mostly bluster, and what wasn't bluster was easily calmed by the infamous Kirkian charisma.

What had been less easily dealt with was his own irritation at having been called in at all. Confronting his fellow flag officers had been met with shrugs and chuckles.

They asked for you personally, Jim, what can I say? Comes with the territory, when you're Starfleet's golden boy. Everybody likes a famous face. We'll make sure the officers who screened the communique are informed they probably overacted, but still. Let's just be glad you fixed it up so nice. I'd hate to think what a full on Beta-quadrant strike would do to dilithium prices...

And Kirk had only been able to grit his teeth and wonder if they'd be as quick to laugh it off had they been the ones pulled out of bed before sunrise over nothing-at-goddamn-all. He hadn't even seen Spock before he left.

Spock.

Sharp nostalgia flooded his throat, causing his to grit his teeth against the unexpected bitterness. It preceded a mental image so clear it was almost visceral; himself kissing Spock after breakfast as he often did in the mornings, human-kiss-Vulcan-kiss-human-kiss, the scent of his skin lingering for a moment on Kirk's own lips as he pulled away to inhale, his fingers faintly tingling.

All at once, it was the only thing in this world or any other that he wanted; a goddamn business-as-usual, every-morning kiss from his husband.

The intensity of the longing surprised him. They lived in the same apartment, for goodness' sake, it wasn't as if he'd missed seeing him for the last time ever just because he'd missed him that morning.

Hell, it wasn't even the first time it had happened, not by a long shot. Spock slept only three hours a night (a concession to the needs of his part-human biology, he'd once confessed; most Vulcans only needed two and a half at most) but preferred to spend a further three daily hours at minimum engaged in meditation.  In accordance with this, Spock went to bed when Jim did, rose in the early morning hours while Jim slept still, spending the intermittent time in meditation and ending precisely at six hundred thirty hours.  Doing so coincided nicely with Jim's morning schedule, allowing them to eat breakfast together, and exchange morning pleasantries before each departed for their day's work.

Or at least that was the theory.

In practice, it was hardly worth the effort. Both of their schedules had been erratic and hectic from the moment the Enterprise had entered space dock after the V'Ger incident, first with Starfleet itself, explaining their responses and their decisions, then the same for a media circus that was desperate to get every possible angle on the crew that had saved Earth, then with Spock's re-training for commission reactivation and beginning his tenure as a professor at Starfleet Academy, and Kirk's own work duties, which only seemed to accumulate over time.

With another sharp pang, Kirk realized not only had he missed Spock that morning, he'd missed him the night before, too. He'd gone to bed as soon as he'd come home, too exhausted to even eat dinner, before Spock had returned from his evening lab research. And yesterday morning, Spock had left soon after his meditation to guest lecture at an early class, and the day before that... God, how long had it been? How long since he'd had more than a few scattered minutes with the person he loved best in the universe?

Did you even sleep beside me at all last night? He thought, strangely desperate in his sudden realization. He recalled his disorientation on waking that morning; pulled out of the warm, pleasant blankness of dreamless sleep and into the uncomfortable reality of a blaring communicator and a cold, partnerless bed.  He was sure Spock had been there, must've after all, it would've been illogical for him to sleep anywhere else, but his sudden realization that he couldn't tell either way had left him keenly aware of Spock's absence. He could remember their time aboard the Enterprise, when all he had to do was turn his head to see him. Whenever he wanted.

Parted from me, but never parted...

It was less a memory and more of an echo. He could hear it in his mind as clearly as if hearing it physically:

Never and always touching and touched...

Spock...

Kirk closed his eyes, cleared his thoughts, and reached for Spock's mind with his.

It was difficult. It usually was for non-telepaths, Spock had explained, and Kirk was all but psi-null. It would get easier with time, Spock had assured, with regular practice and the growing mental familiarity as their bond strengthened. In a few scattered, often post-coital, moments when they were lying together, skin touching, the bond open, Spock had helped him learn to navigate his mindscape, how to focus his energy and find the threads of the bond nestled within his own thoughts.

It still wasn't a full bond. It lacked the final strength that would come with the completion of the Vulcan's seven-year cycle, but it was there nonetheless. On his father's advice, Spock kept it largely blocked when they were apart, as humans often found a constant outside presence in their mind, even that of someone cherished, distracting and upsetting. But even so, the bond was always there. Always. And Kirk suddenly found he needed its reassurance.

It had taken a month or so, but Kirk had learned to find the bond on his own, even when Spock was far away and its energy was weakened. Sometimes in quiet moments he reached out with mental fingers and stroked his half of it, like a person absently playing with a piece of jewelry that they have worn so long it has become a feature of their person. It was a strange but pleasant feeling; just a small, calm patch in the turbulent sea of his own human mind, smooth as glass and warm as sun, like a wave-washed pebble picked up from a beach and rediscovered later buried deep in a pocket. A tiny part of Spock, held in him always. And if he worked at it, pressed into it with all his mental strength, he could find Spock at the other end of it.

As always, it took a minute of focusing, clearing his head, probing at that smooth spot within his mindscape, but then all at once there it was, a glimmer far, far down in the back of his thoughts, warm and bright as an ember, as if he'd caught a whiff of his scent or brushed a hand against his skin out of the darkness.  Out of nowhere, a feeling of Spock.

A faint smile quirked at Kirk's lips.

There you are, he thought, curling his mental touch around it and allowing himself to be warmed.

He had finished meditating, Kirk guessed; Spock's mind was always well-ordered, but in meditation the order was blankly serene, a warm buzz like the sound of rain.  At that moment Kirk could feel the hum of thought, nothing too strenuous but definitely active... He was likely working with his computer at home.  Unraveling some kind of mathematical quandary, no doubt, one that would leave Kirk's head aching if he attempted it, or cataloguing some kind of universe-altering scientific data, or writing out personal evaluations for every member of his class at the Academy.

What are you doing, my friend? Kirk wondered, and pressed farther back into his end of the bond, seeking out that faint hint of Spock-presence.  

Spock? He tried hopefully, attempting, as he had done during mind-melds, to project communication directly into Spock's mind. Spock, can you hear me? Let me feel you for just a moment, I miss you...

There was the faintest sense of something, and for a second, he almost thought he was going to be answered... but no, the comforting Spock-presence in his mind did not increase, there was no answering thought/word to his projected request.

Kirk sighed. He simply lacked the mental power to unblock their bond at will. He tried not to feel bitter about it, but it was difficult, when he knew that their minds had once instinctively reached for each other over thousands of lightyears, back when Spock had been at Gol and now he couldn't even reach him ten city blocks away. What good was a mental bond with your lifemate if you couldn't tap it when you were feeling down? You'd be better off with a pre-warp cellular telephone.

"Your meeting is in ten minutes," the scheduling application chimed, startling Kirk's eyes open. "Location, Room 844, West Tower. Necessary materials include data file numbers 45, 378, 24–"

"I've got it, I've got it. Program off," he sighed, and stood, feeling drained and not much better. Honestly, he wasn't sure why the loneliness was hitting him quite so hard. He'd missed him that morning, but it had to be more than that... maybe he'd been dreaming of him the night before, he knew he'd been dreaming more often since bonding with Spock, though he still seldom remembered the dreams after waking...

He gathered up the PADD he kept preloaded with the development committee files and was trying to reorganize his thoughts into something remotely businesslike when he opened the door to leave the office, and was hit with a sudden burst of song.

On the twelfth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me...

His mouth split into a wan smile. Maybe that was it. You couldn't escape the season, even buried to your neck in Operations red tape. And everyone wanted to be with their true love at Christmas, if every Earth song, holofilm, and book he'd ever encountered was anything to go on. They hadn't discussed Christmas plans, indeed Kirk hadn't given it much thought beyond purchasing him a gift, but they'd have some time to do something nice. After all, it was their first Christmas together. He wondered if Spock could drink eggnog.

Later, he promised himself, you can Christmas him up 'til his ears are green, and took the inter-complex turbolift to the West Tower, accompanied all the way by the musical countdown, and the increasingly amusing mental images of Spock presenting him with various characters and poultries in celebration of the season.

***

They have discussed it, in the four weeks they have been on Earth since returning from the V'Ger confrontation, from every possible angle, and they have reached an agreement. They have talked it out, first in the quarters they'd shared on the refit Enterprise as the ship returned to space dock, then in Kirk's apartment at Starfleet Headquarters, where Spock had unpacked the very few belongings he had retained after abandoning his training at Gol. They have whispered plans in between quick kisses in Starfleet offices and meeting rooms, hiding from the omnipresent media. They have been advised by Dr. McCoy, Spock's parents, and Lieutenant Uhura, who, after her various Communications postings, has a better idea than they about who in Records is discrete and who is not, and in the end, they have decided to do this. There are a thousand reasons not to, and though they've been thorough in their examination of each and every one, in the end, it all comes down to a very simple feeling.

This is what they want. So they're going to have it.

They meet late in the day, when headquarters is beginning to empty, and wait in Kirk's office in the meantime, sipping Vulcan tea from the synthesizer. Kirk feels fluttery and oddly nervous, and when he meets Spock's gaze, he has a sudden vision of the two of them dressed to the nines in dress uniform and Vulcan robes, respectively, standing before their friends, and strange, reverse nostalgia settles in his stomach; a peculiar longing for something that they had both decided they did not need.

He must look wistful, or troubled, somehow, because Spock's brow furrows and he lowers his cup.

"Is something amiss?"

"No, nothing amiss," he says, and reaches over to squeeze Spock's hand. Spock, however, is not deterred.

"I would know your thoughts," he says, keeping their hands linked. "Tell me."

"It's just..." Kirk breaks off, laughing. "Oh, I must be crazy."

Spock blinks. "That is unlikely.  Doctor McCoy has performed the usual post-mission psychological scans upon you following the V'Ger incident, both immediately afterward and at the recommended two-week follow-up interval. He found no abnormalities.  Therefor I believe your statement to be figurative. Something is troubling you."

"I... Yes.  A bit."

"I believe the applicable Terran idiom in this situation is 'getting cold feet'. It refers to feelings of nervousness or doubt before nuptials. Based on cultural observances, I believe it is quite common, if largely metaphorical, and therefor nothing you must feel the need to hide from me.  Are you experiencing such a sensation? Are your feet cold?"

Kirk bursts into laughter.

"No no," he assures, stroking Spock's index finger, swirling the pads of his fingers over the knuckles. "My feet are good and warm, metaphorically and otherwise.  It's just... I feel almost like I'm selling us short.  Snatching at the dinner table like a hungry kid who can't wait for dessert. I've wanted this a long time, and I don't want us to settle for less than we deserve, but I don't want to risk some giant paparazzi scandal and... oh, I don't know, I'm all over the place..."


He trails off, frustrated at his difficulty in explaining. But maybe some of it is bleeding through to Spock's telepathic sensors. Or maybe Spock shares his concerns. Or maybe Spock just understands him implicitly, as he always has, because the Vulcan nods slowly as he meets Kirk's eyes.

"There is no need for haste.  Perhaps it would be better to postpone the event, until the publicity has slowed, and our schedules are more manageable.  It is, after all, merely formality. Would you prefer to do so?"

"Would you?" Kirk asks softly.

"I would not," Spock says, and his fingers slide together, folding into the shape Kirk first observed during the Babel conference, two fingers extended and two folded. He begins to run them gently over Kirk's, kissing him softly in his own way as he speaks.

"Despite considerable effort expended trying not to do so," Spock continues, "I too, have wished for this for quite some time. I am no longer interested in attempting to deny my inclinations.  Perhaps this makes me overeager, but nevertheless, this is what I desire."

"What is?"

Spock's lips give the faintest twitch toward a smile. "You know what."

"I know.  I want to hear you say it.  Call it... emotional security."

"I wish to marry you."

"And when?"

"Now.  Today.  I wish to marry you, Jim."

"Why?"

"Because I desire you for my own, and in turn I desire to be yours.  Because I have felt complete with you, and I have never done so anywhere else.  Three years ago, I fled from you because I feared the depth of this feeling.  Since then I have been lost, have searched for meaning down to my very core, and I have found it, here, at your side, where I should have been all along.  I wish to remain there, tied to you with Human words and Vulcan bonds, both, throughout our lifetimes.  And I desire it today because I am apparently not so patient as I had believed myself to be."

Kirk watches him, silently, for a long moment. Then he slides toward him and envelopes him in his arms, holding him tight against his body, and kisses him, in his own way, softly on the mouth.

"Most people would've just left it at 'because I love you,' you know," he says, not trusting his voice above a whisper.

"I considered as much. Federation standard language does rely heavily on certain set phrases; however, I found that one somewhat inadequate in regards to the specifics of what I wished to convey. I do endeavor toward linguistic precision."

Kirk laughs. "You do quite well. Come here, Mr. Spock.  Warm up my feet."

They kiss twice more, soft and lingering, before Kirk notices the clock and pulls away. He rises, straightening his uniform, and offers a hand to Spock.

"Come on," he says. "Let's go get ourselves a marriage certificate."

Kirk has been to this division of Records once before, when he and Admiral Lori Ciana had filed cohabitation forms, but that visit had been perfunctory, just another link in the Starfleet red tape chain. Business as usual.

Not today, though.

Today, entering the small, sparsely decorated office with Spock at his side, he feels nothing like a Starfleet admiral, and everything like an excited young bridegroom about to walk down the aisle.

They sign the contract for a Federation recognized marriage, with no one in attendance but the records officer (a old friend of Lieutenant Uhura's, who takes her job seriously and isn't prone to gossip) and Dr. McCoy, as a witness.

It is a relatively simple process; they provide the proper identifications, medical records, and tax information, and sign the series of forms.

"What kind of time statute would you like to set on the contract?" The records officer asks, ticking off boxes with quick little flicks of her stylus. "The new standard is typically two years, with an option to renew, but–"

"I think the old standard will be sufficient," Kirk says, and when she looks puzzled he smiles at her and turns his gaze onto Spock. "'Til death do us part?"

"Quite logical," Spock responds.

"Divorce proceedings are quite difficult, with that kind of contract, should you eventually find yourselves dissatisfied," she warns. "If you want a more long-term marriage contract, I'd recommend setting up a—"

"I don't think it'll be a problem, darlin'," McCoy says, from his place off to the side, where up to this point he has stood in silence. "Not for them."

Kirk and Spock turn together to look at him, and he winks at them, blue eyes bright. Kirk feels absurdly touched.

"As the good doctor says," Spock replies, "it will not be a problem."

"As you like it, then," she says, shrugging, and a few moments later she forwards them their own copies and offers them a congratulatory smile, a handshake for Kirk, and a hand raised in ta'al for Spock.

When she leaves the three of them alone for a moment, vanishing into her office to see if she can fulfill Kirk's somewhat unusual request for a paper copy of the marriage certificate, McCoy steps forward, looking gleeful, and claps them each on the back.

"Well, what are you waiting for, Jim?" He asks, grinning wide. "Go on, kiss your bride."

"Why is Spock the bride?" Kirk retorts. His own smile is so wide it almost hurts, and his fingers jitter with adrenaline where they rest against Spock's wrist. "Maybe I want to be the bride."

McCoy laughs. "Do you have a preference, Spock?"

"I do not," Spock says, and Kirk can feel Spock's pleasure in a wash of psychic energy as their fingers brush together, and that just makes Kirk happier, because he knows it means that what Spock feels now is too strong to repress, and that he has elected not to even try.

"Then kiss your bride, you indecisive hobgoblin."

He does.

When Kirk and Ciana had signed the form, for their year-long cohabitation contract (one that they had, by mutual consent, chosen not to renew when it expired) he had pecked her cheek as a joke.

When Spock kisses him, it's no joke at all.

There's so much of Spock in that kiss, all the emotions he's fought back for years and years finally free, free of shame, free of pain, swimming all through Kirk's skin and mind, and though it doesn't last long—after all, they're meant to be being discreet—Kirk finds he can barely breathe when it's done.

"Well, he certainly blushes like a bride," McCoy remarks, chuckling at them like they're a couple of lovestruck teenagers. "Doesn't he, Spock?"

"It is somewhat fetching," Spock says.

"You think so? Maybe I could pull off white," Kirk says, laughing breathlessly and trying to calm his heartbeat. "Maybe strapless. What do you think?"

"Sure," McCoy scoffs, "white."


"Be more respectful, Doctor," Spock scolds, "that is my wife to whom you refer."

McCoy is still snickering when the Records officer returns a moment later, holding their paper Certificate of Marriage.

Kirk would like a week, at the very least, alone with Spock in some warm place with a beach and plenty of privacy. That is of course impossible, but they do manage to take the evening off. Because if they can't have a wedding, they're damn well going to have a wedding night.

They go home together, to the apartment that by virtue of the marriage contract that Kirk holds in hand they now joint-own, and eat a meal of traditional Vulcan foods typically consumed at pre-bonding ceremonies. They go to bed and lie naked together in the warm, dark room and whisper ritual words that sound like desert wind; parted from me but never parted, never and always touching and touched...

As the words pass from their lips, Spock joins their minds.  When the fledgling bond ignites between them, they join their bodies, and some time later, when they slide from each other, lax and overheated, lips bruised from kissing and skin damp with Kirk's sweat, Spock breaks the meld, and the connection stays.

I love this, Kirk thinks, not precisely in words, not precisely in images, but in something outside of language that is perfectly, instantly, understood.  I can feel you all over, it's wonderful.

This will not be typical, Spock returns, half assuring, half apologetic.  The bond now is strengthened by our proximity and the lingering effects of the recent meld.  Although, even so, it is unusually strong for a pre-marriage bond.  What we currently perceive is more comparable to a full bond, I believe.

You don't know?

I do not.  I have never had one.

A strange sensation comes through the bond; images of the red sands of Vulcan, a feeling like a fire in the blood, a deep sense of shame, regret, unhealed hurt... And at the same time, a grain of anticipation, a desire, a knowledge that when the fire comes again, Jim will be no challenger, but a mate.  As he had wanted, even all those years ago.

Kirk reaches for him, strokes the planes of his new husband's face.

It's soon isn't it?

Within a year, should my cycle prove Vulcan-normal. There may be variation.

And after that, the bond...

Will be complete.

Excellent.  That'll be our wedding, then. Our real one.  

I believe... I would find that agreeable.

As would I. Kiss me; let's practice for when it comes, all right?

Affirmative.

And so they do.

***

The funds approbation meeting went about as well (that is, about as badly) as Kirk had expected. The construction of a Constitution Class starship was always a bureaucratic nightmare, and when the proposed ship in question, preemptively called Excelsior, was intended as a showpiece and flagship for the fleet, the nightmare was tenfold. Supplies, after all, were never infinite, not even in the mostly resource-based Federation economy, and recent fluctuations in dilithium supply meant the Federation credit was weaker than ideal. Add that to each of the Starfleet divisions fighting like schoolyard kids, each looking to make sure their own needs were compromised as little as possible, and you ended up with a year-long committee process tedious enough to turn you grey. Kirk, representing Starfleet Operations, was required to attend each meeting, and he looked forward to the bi-weekly conferences about as much as invasive dental work. Actually, he would’ve preferred the dental work; at least dentists used painkillers. Since it was, as far as he knew, socially unacceptable to attend work functions stoned out of your mind on laughing gas, he had to get through the meetings on his own strength.

The ship was still years away from being built, but the first batch of plans was nearing final stages, and the various departments were in especially fine form. They’d been in an effective stalemate for the last three meetings. Sciences Division argued that the proposed placement of weaponry robbed them of space for additional labs and equipment, while Tactical Divisions countered that facilitating additional labs risked the safety of the entire operation if they encountered hostilities, a position the representative of public relations decried as being overly militaristic and invite , and all the while the Command and Manpower divisions rep was indignant that any concessions had to be made at all.  

It was exhausting.

And not just exhausting, it was even more unbeatable that the Kobayashi Maru scenario. As far as he knew, there was no code for reprogramming a stubborn bureaucracy, especially not one made up of extremely headstrong individuals who had all elected to take a "me first" mindset and dig in their collective heels.

Kirk sighed inwardly, thinking back, as he so often did, to the Enterprise and the five year mission.  Indecisiveness always ruffled him, and on this level it was particularly bothersome. His own department meetings had always gone so smoothly... Of course, he reminded himself, it was different once you were up in space and not on the planning boards, but still, all of this seemed downright petty.  Even the two weeks Spock and McCoy had once spent arguing over the efficiency of bi-quarterly eye examinations hadn't been this ridiculous.

"The human retina seldom deteriorates at such an aggressive rate, Doctor."

"Oh, for god's sake, it's a two-minute test, calm down."

"It is a two point eight minute test at fastest, though due to various outside circumstances can often exceed six minutes. Applied to the entire crew, each examination results in an approximately two hundred and ninety five point six hour drop in–"

"You want us piloted into an asteroid because some fool ensign's skimping on his Retinax?"

"The statistical likelihood is less than point three five percent—"

A faint smile tugged at the corners of Kirk's mouth.

"You're been quiet, Jim," Admiral Niik said, her slightly gravelly voice breaking his reverie and killing his nostalgia, "anything to add?"

He shrugged, smile gone.  "Nothing that hasn't already been said.  I've seen the numbers from the current ship logs, and there's little complaint that hasn't already been addressed when it comes to equipment ratios. There's thinking a thing through and then there's just plain treading water. We're all overanalyzing at this point; what I don't see is why we don't go ahead and move forward."

"I must disagree," said the Sciences Division rep. "Overanalyzation is a misnomer, as analyzation is the point of this committee."

"You aren't overanalyzing; you're just plain exaggerating!" The representative for Tactical Divisions huffed, and then they were off again, and Kirk, forgotten, was free to spend the remainder of the meeting wishing that Spock's commission had been reactivated soon enough for him to have been elected representative of Sciences for this committee, or that McCoy had been eligible to represent Medical.  If nothing else, McCoy's commentary would've been colorful, and with Spock... well, if Spock was here with Kirk, between the two of them, they might've been able to resolve the issue.  

And if not, at least he'd have gotten to spend some time with him.

***

The meeting adjourned almost twenty minutes late, with no resolution whatsoever. In fact, the last half hour had been lost to arguing over whether or not the series of committee meetings should be extended into March of next year. By the end of it, Kirk was gritting his teeth against a first-class headache, and he barely managed to maintain a social-graces smile throughout all the parting small talk. Once he was back in his office it soured into a grimace. He sank into one of the chairs at his meeting table and pressed the balls of his hands against his eyelids. The piped Christmas music had abandoned antique Terran recordings for something more modern, performed by what sounded like a Tellerite bell choir. It didn't help the headache.

I hate my job, he thought again, and felt miserable.

Doctor McCoy has noted in your medical files that you are prone to carrying tension in your shoulders, Captain, Spock's voice murmurs into the ear of his memory. Please attempt to relax your muscles.

The smile made a sudden, faint reappearance, and Kirk complied with the remembered advice. He relaxed his shoulders, and tension he hadn't even realized was there began to dissipate. How long ago had that advice been given? It had been early into their mission together, spoken over one of the chess games that had gradually transitioned them from Captain and First Officer to friends and then to something deeper... God, it had to have been eight years. And he still hadn't learned to relax.

Kirk let out a breath that was half-chuckle, half sigh. Eventually the advice gave way to offers of back rubs, and he'd spent many an hour lying awake in his bunk, trying to puzzle out whether Mr. Spock was just trying to be friendly, or... well, trying to be friendly.

As it turns out, it had been a bit of both. The backrubs had continued, even into the present.

***

Late into the night, a month or so after their impromptu marriage, and Spock's hands are warm against his shoulders, the scent of him strong around Kirk, because he is lying face-down with his chin resting on Spock's pillow. Spock himself straddles Kirk's back, the insides of his thighs hot against Kirk's hips, his strong, hot hands rubbing up and down, hard and sure, rolling and twisting and leeching out the bone-deep tension. The bond between them radiates contentment at their closeness. It's erotic, and Kirk wants to be aroused, but his body is sore and weary, his mind a wreck after a long day, and all he can do is lie still and bask in Spock's touch.

"I'm so tired," Kirk murmurs against the pillow.

"I will leave you to your rest, if you prefer," Spock says, and begins to rise from his position.

"Don't you dare," Kirk says, and Spock falters. "I've barely seen you all week. If you leave now, I'm going to start pining."

"I would not have you pine," Spock replies, and resumes his rubbing. "But you have admitted; you are tired. It would be illogical of me to prevent your recuperation."

"Yes, but I'll sleep better if you pet me awhile first. Who's logical now?"

"As you wish," and Kirk feels the faint press of a closed mouthed kiss to one shoulder before the massaging continues. "You may wish to contact the quartermaster regarding the possible acquisition of a better-constructed desk chair.  Your current model does not seem to be providing optimal lumbar support."

Kirk laughs, rolling his shoulders slightly so that Spock's hands sweep down his back. "Wouldn't make much difference.  I'm barely ever in my chair.  I was in a press interview all morning... Mmm, that's good, just there, Spock, do that thing with your thumb..."

”Yes, I saw the transcription.” He presses the side of his thumb into a sore knot of muscle, rolling upward from joint to tip, and Kirk grunts in contentment. 

”Oh?  What did you think?"

Spock pauses, considering.

"You have an unparalleled gift for doublespeak," he finally replies, and Kirk peals laughter, reaching behind himself to squeeze Spock's hand, still kneading into his own back.

"I'm glad you approve," Kirk says. "It's harder than you'd think, this misleading business. Lying without lying at all. But the interviewer was satisfied, so I think it'll be okay."

"I did have one concern."

"Oh?"

Spock hesitates, voice and hands both this time.

"You spoke of your... 'best gratification,' coming from women," the Vulcan says. "I know I am somewhat unskilled in matters of human sexuality, but if there is a specific area in which you would like me to focus my efforts..."

Kirk turns his head, looking back at his husband.

"'Gratification'," he quotes. "A word with a variety of meanings. Pretty useful."

"Quite. However, the usage in question..."

"Refers primarily to preexisting notions about my preferences. You know as well as I do that I've never been as 'gratified' as I am with you."

"...Indeed?"

"Oh yes. In fact, do you want to know the most gratifying thing of all?"

"Tell me."

Kirk grins wickedly. "That thing you do with your thumb. Do it again, Spock, my back is killing me..."

"I fear you jest."

"Fear all you want, just do it..."

"Like so?"

"Yes. Oh god, yes..."

***

"Falling asleep, Jim?"

Vice Admiral Fischer's voice cut through the memory, and he sat upright at once, feeling almost as if he'd been caught doing something obscene.

"Just letting my thoughts wander," he said, and the Admiral laughed.

"Well, reign them back in," he said, and took a seat beside Kirk, laying a PADD onto the coffee table and quickly flipping it open. "Let's see what Starfleet's up to this week."

Vice Admiral Fischer was an older man, silver-haired and broad-bellied. He served as Vice Chief of Starfleet Staff, the board of high-ranking flag officers just above Kirk in the chain of command, and had served his last active mission when Kirk had been a young tactical officer about the Farragut. He was a man who reveled in his rank, and, unlike Kirk, he did not appear to miss active service in the slightest. He was loud and jovial, but the effect was neither warm nor comfortable; to Kirk, he seemed condescending and overblown, the type of person willing to sit on his rank and let his work be done for him. He'd disliked him almost on sight.

"Not a great deal more than usual," Kirk said, and Fischer laughed.

"Good thing, right? Nice job with those Beta-quadrant miners this morning, too. I heard some of the transcripts when I came in."

"It wasn't much of a problem," Kirk said, though inwardly he balked. What a difference a little grey in your hair made; no one had pulled Fischer out of bed over the incident.

"Not for you!" Fischer reached over to slap him companionably on the shoulder. Kirk barely managed to keep himself from dodging away. His sour mood had not improved; he was tired, he missed Spock, he was caught in a tangled web of Starfleet protocol over a hundred different kinds of nothing, and to top it off, Fischer had left his office door open and the Tellerite Christmas music was coming in loud and clear and giving him his headache back.

"Well, we should talk about the Excelsior proposal, shouldn't we? And the Enterprise departure, there's a few ends to tie up there."

"Excellent," Kirk said. HIs voice sounded hollow to his own ears, but Fischer seemed not to notice.

"All right then. Let's focus on the Excelsior project. I saw your meeting ran over today. Progress, I hope."

"Hardly."

Fischer's laugh grated Kirk's nerves.

"Same as it ever was," the man says, leaning back and preparing to wax philosophical. Kirk stifled a groan. "It takes about ten times as long to build a starship in committee as it actually takes to build the damn thing in dry dock."

"I'm certainly aware."

He clapped at Kirk's back again.

I'm a flag officer in my forties, not some cadet right out of Academy, Admiral, Kirk wanted to say.

"I know, I know, it's a disaster when they're all scrambling for their little piece of the pie. Well, it's better than floating around in space, right?"

"I'd rather be in space, actually," Kirk said dryly.  "There's more air in space than there was in that room."

Yet another laugh, and Kirk actually twitched.

"That's you to a 'T' all right, Jim. Mr. 'Boldly go' himself."

"Is that what they call me?"

For a miracle, Fischer suddenly appeared to notice that Kirk wasn't finding his teasing amusing.

"Oh, come on, now," he said.  "We all know you liked playing the hero. You've been a great one. Maybe too great."

"Let's not discuss it," Kirk started, but Fischer cut him off with a raised hand.

"Now, now. There's no need for this melancholy. I know you want command back. We all know it. Hell, we knew if before the the whole V'Ger clusterfuck and even if we hadn't, we'd certainly know it now. You're excellent in the command chair, but we can't demote someone of your stature back down to field work.  It's just bad publicity.  You're a credit to Starfleet, Jim.  It makes the Federation citizens feel better to know a young, smart guy like you is sitting in one of the Federation's driver's seats."

"To be fair, I'm not driving anything."

This time his ubiquitous laugh was timed and pitched just right to clash with the piped music, producing such a sour chord that Kirk had to bite back a wince.

"I know, Jim, I know.  But that's the trouble with promotions, isn't it? The people who are the best are so good, they get promoted ahead of themselves.  But it isn't all bad.  You paid your dues in spades and now you're set for life. Just sit back and enjoy it, son."

"I'll make an effort," he said. The last thing he felt like doing was arguing this old point again.

"Haha. Oh, speaking of which, don't suppose you have any holiday plans?  You're not a religious man, I suppose?"

"Not particularly."

"Plans with the family?"

That goaded him a little; Fischer was one of the few who had, out of necessity, been informed through the Records office of Kirk's change in marital status. Hearing him mention his relationship with Spock, in however roundabout a way, left him further on edge. He'd never said so directly, but Kirk had the distinct impression that Fischer was less than impressed with Kirk's choice in lifemates.

Besides, it was all too easy to think of Spock, sitting at home working serenely at his computer, and imagine the kind of things that likely would entail their holiday plans. Gratifying backrubs hopefully being chief among them.

"None I'm aware of," he finally said, hoping Fischer would sense the tone and let the social niceties drop.

"Excellent," Fischer said, which struck Kirk as an odd response, but then he continued. "I had one of my staff forward you a request this morning, from that Andorian publication? They're a pretty big deal, and they're doing some piece on the Andorian Charter. Anyway, there's a high-publicity open press meeting about it on Andoria in a few days, and we were thinking it would be good for relations to have you there. You know it's been a little shaky since the amendments."

Kirk nods wearily. "When is it?"

"Next week, but of course you'll have to leave pretty quick if you're going to make it there. I'll get you warp-capable transport. And what the hell, if I were you I'd stay overnight a day or two extra once I got there, just to make it worth the trip. You deserve a holiday. I don't think you've taken so much as a day off in over two months."

Something in Kirk's mind clicked into place.

"Wait. Over Christmas?"

"Sure. Not much Terran culture, but at least all that Andorian snow's season appropriate."

Fischer laughed again, but Kirk wasn't listening. That casual little bombshell—I don't think you've taken so much as a day off in over two months—bounced around his head, triggering an onslaught of memory and mental calculations and he realized, all of a sudden, that it must be true. God, he couldn't even recall the last time he'd taken so much as an early afternoon away from Headquarters.

"It's lucky you don't have plans," Fischer continued. "Funny how these things work out. You'll have to leave by tomorrow morning to make the conference. Anyway, I'll let the other Chiefs know that you can—"

But Kirk was staring, incredulous. He found, quite suddenly, that he had had enough.

"No. I can't go." He said.

"Can't you?" Fischer had the gall to look puzzled. "Why not?"

"Because it's not that crucial. I'm not a poster boy for Starfleet PR."

Fischer frowned. "Diplomacy's an important part of Starfleet, Jim. Public image–"

"This isn't diplomacy," Kirk snapped. "This is glorified paparazzi, keeping the public stirred up. It's a private publication, not the Andorian Consulate. The Andorian Charter amendments were completed months ago. They were fair and majority-supported. The ones who are mad about it are going to stay mad about it until they change their own minds. There's nothing I can say that hasn't already been said. I'm not going to smile and look pretty for the camera while the Federation brass holds out for universal approval."

Fischer looked utterly blindsided.

"All right. All right," he said. "You certainly don't have to go to Andoria. I just thought... well, there's plenty going on here over the next few days if you feel like sticking around, and—"

"No, I don't think so."

Fischer's eyes narrowed. "What do you mean?"

"I don't feel like it. You said it yourself. I've been here day in and day out for weeks on end. I'm exhausted. I'm owed a truly spectacular amount of accumulated leave. It's occurred to me that perhaps I'd like to take some. Objections?"

"Well, I..." Fischer was silent for a moment, for once at a loss for both words and laughter. Kirk liked it just fine. "I mean, you could probably use some. Seems you're not yourself."

"No, it seems I'm not."

Fischer's silence lingered a while longer, before he grinned and shook his head. "Hell, you could've just said so in the first place, if it's time off you wanted. Nobody wants you working yourself into a nervous breakdown. All Starfleet wants is–"

"I know. Let's finish the meeting."

A sense of elation spread slowly through him as they spoke, and it only took him a few minutes after Fischer left (still looking blindsided) to put in the necessary forms and rearrange a few bits of schedule. There were a few events that evening and over the next few days that were impossible to reschedule at such short notice, but beyond that, he was able to clear his schedule for a week and a half of leave, from December Twenty-third on. He almost couldn't believe he'd done it; years spent declining shore leave in favor of his crew, self-deprivation for the sake of his men, and all it had come down to was a few quick calls to his secretary and a minute or two with the calendar application. He felt almost giddy.

The fact that Starfleet Academy's winter recess coincided nicely with his spur-of-the-moment vacation did not escape his notice.

He was reaching for the video comm to surprise Spock, but he thought better of it. He didn't need to be back until past fifteen hundred, and their apartment was only a short walk away.

He set out at once, humming along with the Christmas music as he went.

There had been two attempts thus far in their marriage to take the honeymoon they'd discussed, both of them called off. An accusation of scandal against one of the most senior Starfleet Admirals had resulted in a month of court martial trials, and the cancelation of a planned week-long trip to Vulcan. The sudden death in a lab accident of a Xenobiology professor at Starfleet Academy meant Spock took on the unfortunate woman's lectures twice a week in addition to his own, which had ended a proposed weekend trip to Santa Fe, an area whose dry climate and cultural history appealed to Spock and whose potential for mountain climbing appealed to Kirk.

Now that it was winter, Santa Fe was likely out, and time was too short to transport to Vulcan, but there were plenty of other options. Somewhere equatorial, perhaps.

He had a sudden image of himself and Spock in brightly patterned swim trunks and couldn't quite stifle a laugh.

Well, no matter where, he assured himself, smiling as he he pressed his finger to the print-coded lockpad on their apartment, third time's the charm.

He found Spock just as he'd expected to, wearing a black Vulcan day robe and sitting at his computer, all four screens loaded with complicated-looking streams of numbers. The room smelled faintly of Vulcan spice, and Kirk saw a tea infuser, pot, and cup arranged neatly on the end table to his side.

The Vulcan had turned toward him at the sound of the door sliding open, so Kirk got to see the faint softening of his eyes and mouth that was, for Spock, a pleasure smile, brought on by the sight of Kirk in the doorway.

"Jim," he said, rising, and they crossed the room and met in the center. "I had not expected you before evening."

"I'm playing hooky," Jim explained, and extended his first two fingers to meet Spock's own. Their touch sparked a sensation like the jolt of a completed circuit, and with their hands still linked, Spock leaned forward and brushed a soft kiss over his mouth as well.

"Indeed?" Spock asked.  "That is somewhat incongruous with your nature."

"Aren't you happy to see me?"

"I am find I am capable of experiencing both state simultaneously," he said, and Kirk laughed and hugged him, the giddy, buoyant feeling swelling in his chest as he took in soft robe, warm skin, and sweet smells. He pressed his face against Spock's neck and felt the drum of pulse against his cheek.

Perhaps he held him too long; he sensed a sudden wave of gentle puzzlement from Spock, trickling in through the combination of bond and tactile contact, and he answered without waiting for Spock to ask.

"I missed you," he murmured, still reluctant to let him go. "I don't really know why, but it's been... intense, this morning. I've been thinking about you. I tried to... talk to you. Through the bond, I mean. I couldn't do it, but I felt you. You were working. Thinking."

Spock nodded, and Kirk felt the Vulcan's hands slide from where they had been resting against Kirk's arms to encircle his waist. The gesture made him feel, if possible, even giddier. Hugs weren't exactly Spock's strong suit; the fact that he seemed to like this one was exceptionally satisfactory.

"Did you feel me?" Kirk murmured, squeezing a little harder. "Peeking around in your mind?"

"Faintly. Had I unblocked the bond I imagine I would have perceived you quite clearly. However, I was unsure if it was wise to do so, as I did not know the circumstances of your presence in my mind. Before I had come to a conclusion, I no longer felt you."

Kirk nodded. "I was a little short on time. We'll have to work on it, though. It would be nice, on days when I can't see you in the morning."

"Yes. Indeed, I regret that I was unable to meet you upon your waking today," Spock said. "I was keenly aware of your absence when I returned from meditation. I had looked forward to breakfast with you."

"I'm sorry, it was an emergency."

"Apology is unnecessary. I trust it has been resolved?"

"As much as it even needed resolving." Kirk broke the hug and went to sit on the couch. Spock followed, bringing his tea tray and taking an additional cup for Kirk from the cupboard as the passed. "It was the most ridiculous thing yet; just some disgruntled mining barons with a little bit of clout. It's like they want me to run the whole organization myself."

Spock raised his eyebrows, acknowledging the joke. "I take it this why you have elected to 'play hooky' this morning?"

Kirk accepted the tea Spock handed him. "Sort of.  Actually, I'm not really playing hooky; I've taken time off."  

"Indeed?  I had not been aware of your intentions to do so."

"I wasn't either; it was a bit on the spontaneous side.  Did you know I haven't taken so much as a day off in over two months?"

"Yes. As I recall, your last day off was October seventeenth.  Although you spent a large portion of the day returning communication messages, so the term may not be entirely apt."

Kirk laughed, and sipped his tea. An unusual taste, Vulcan tea, more spice than substance, but one he'd grown to like over the course of his long association with this particular Vulcan.

"Eloquently put, Science Officer," Kirk said, and knocked his knee affectionately against his husband's.  "I hadn't even thought of it. I've been going so hard for such a long time that it's become habit. But it came to me while Fischer was talking at me, and I suddenly realized.  I'm exhausted.  All done in.  Seems illogical for a 'cushy desk job' to wear me out, but it has."

"On the contrary, the feeling is quite logical. Many humans find sedentary work draining, a fact is supported by a number of scientific studies and biological theories. Additionally, your satisfaction with your position is not optimal, which is likely a contributor."

"I don't doubt it.  Anyway, I've got to go back this afternoon and a bit of tomorrow and the twenty-second, but beyond that, I'm not setting foot on Starfleet grounds 'til well into January.  So you're stuck with me over Christmas.  Your classes should be pretty quiet then; do you think you could bear to drag yourself away from your research for a few days for a belated Christmas honeymoon?  I'm thinking tropical Earth, leech some of this rainy San Francisco chill out of our bones, but if you want to go traditional or meet some in-laws and you can stand the cold there's always Iowa, or we can go off-planet if you want to..."

It struck Kirk through his enthusiastic babbling that Spock had gone very quiet. His gaze had slid away from Kirk and down to the teacup clasped in his hands. His expression was troubled.



"What?" Kirk asked, alarmed.  "What is it?"

"I... regret I will be unable to accompany you," Spock said, voice slow and small. "But I believe the rest will be beneficial for you; please feel free to choose whatever destination you prefer."

Kirk blinked. "What."

Spock cleared his throat and spoke louder. "I said that–"

"I heard you.  I mean, what..." Kirk shook his head, attempting to refocus his thoughts. "I don't mean what, I mean why.  Why can't you come.  That's what I mean.  Surely your research isn't that critical?" It was the only explanation Kirk's mind could supply through his sudden, intense dismay.

"It is not."

"Then I don't understand.  If you want to stay here, I'll stay too.  We don't have to go away. It's not the travel part I'm really interested in."  

"Yes, I surmised..." Spock sighed, and put his cup down. "You misunderstand me.  I would be pleased to accompany you, whether in travel or rest, but I have been scheduled to captain a training mission over the time period in question. I am sorry. Had I known–"

"What?" Kirk's dismay was abruptly tinged with incredulity. "They scheduled you over Christmas? What the hell kind of training is that?"

"A typical flight training mission for second year cadets. Captain Wernburg, who was originally assigned the position, has been forced to take emergency medical leave.  Left with the position unnamed, they requested, and I accepted."

"Hell of a thing to spring on someone, off-planet work over Christmas," Kirk grumbled, thinking of Fischer and his Andorian press conferences. "Someone ought to teach the Starfleet secretarial squad some common courtesy."

Spock looked puzzled. "I believe I was a logical candidate, as I do not celebrate the holiday. I did not find the request to be discourteous."

"That's not the half of it. Why would the academy division schedule a training mission during a holiday in the first place? It's just asking for feelings to get hurt."

Spock tilted his head. "The timing is convenient for a number of cadets who are attempting to complete their certifications on an accelerated track, as they can complete a number of manual credit requirements without disrupting their normal schedule.  I had thought you aware of it; many universities offer these types of programs, and as you attended the Academy yourself, I would have assumed–"

"I know, I know!" Kirk sighed, pressing a hand to his forehead, trying to get a grip on his exasperation.

It was silent for a moment.

"You did ask," Spock said, sounding sulky.

"Rhetorically!" Kirk snapped, exasperation slipping toward downright anger.  "What I really want to know is why you'd agree to captain it. You didn't even ask me, Spock!"

"We are not in the habit of discussing schedule minutia." Spock's eyebrows were knit in his confusion.  "As you had not indicated otherwise, I merely assumed you would be keeping your usual schedule. Indeed, the last time I viewed your calendar, you had events scheduled at Starfleet over the duration in question. I had intended to tell you I would be working off planet for a few days, but as you have been inordinately busy for the past three days—"

"You've known about this for three days?" Kirk moaned. "Honestly, you couldn't have sent me a text comm? Written it on my desk? That's not the kind of thing you typically spring on your partner four days before a major holiday."

"Again, I am sorry. I had not realized you intended to make travel plans.  I assumed you planned to work, so I thought–"

"But why would you anyway?  I mean sure, I'm springing a vacation on you pretty last-minute, but..." He struggled for a moment. "Didn't you want to have Christmas with me?  Even if I had been working, I'd have been here in the evenings. It's our first Christmas, Spock. That's a big deal."

Spock looked troubled. "I was... unaware you held the day in esteem."

"You were... What?"

"As you are not religious, I had assumed–"

"Religious? Christmas hasn't been a purely religious holiday for hundreds of years. It's not about religion, it's about Terran culture. It's just about the the biggest damn holiday on the Terran calendar. Surely that's not news to you?"

"I have not known you to celebrate the day during our acquaintanceship.  We passed five Christmases together while serving on the Enterprise, and at no point did I observe you engaging in anything beyond the most cursory of observations.  I deduced you had little interest in the proceedings. Clearly, I was in error."

Kirk breathed deeply, trying to calm himself. When he spoke again, the words were even and precise. "I worked every Christmas shift so that the rest of the crew could celebrate.  You knew that. I told you that. I distinctly remember telling you that."

"Yes, I do recall you once explained to me that you preferred to work yourself in order to take as much burden off of the crew during holidays as possible; a logical decision, from a leadership standpoint. I found the sentiment quite admirable, but I failed to realize you did so at the expense of your own holiday traditions." He placed a hand on Kirk's knee. "Jim, I apologize."

Kirk sighed and patted Spock's hand. Once. "Fine.  Apology accepted."

"You are angry."

"Not at you," he murmured.

"I find that unlikely, as it was my action that instigated the emotion, and–"

"Do you want me to be angry with you?  I’ve just said I’m not."

"Then you are, at the very least, exasperated. I realize I acted in error, and I will attempt to correct it, but–"

"You don't have to do that."

"But," Spock continued, ignoring the interruption, "I have offended you in some way, and as I do not wish to repeat the offense, I would ask that you explain in more detail."

"I don't want to fight," Kirk said.

"And I do not wish you to brood over this. Explain."

Kirk took a slow breath, attempting to compose his thoughts.

"It's just... I know you don't like having to put up with all my illogical Human nonsense–"

"I do not 'put up,' with you. I enjoy you."

"Yes, I know. But..." He sighed. "But you can't tell me this is new to you, Spock.  Your mother's human, your father was ambassador to Earth for your whole life.  You’ve worked with humans for almost three decades. Christmas is imbued in Earth culture, for god's sake, you can't watch a holo or read a book without some reference to jingle bells or holly."

"That is incorrect.  I have encountered several examples of media in which no such mention was–"

"You know what I mean. I guess I... I'm afraid you're being willfully ignorant. There, that's it. What do you think?"

"I do not believe that is the case, no."

Kirk half smiled, but shook his head.

"Even if I had gone in, we still could’ve had the evening together. Christmas cake and sappy old holos on TV rerun, what have you. But you didn't even think to ask."

"I will point out that you did not think to discuss this with me previously either. Had I known what you expected of me—"

"But that's just the point!" Kirk felt his carefully regulated disgruntlement oozing back in, despite all his efforts to the contrary. "I don't want to have to... tell you what's expected of you. That's not a marriage, that's a dictatorship. I'm hurt that it didn't even occur to you that a holiday would mean something to me."

"I admit, the idea is somewhat… foreign.  To Vulcans, each day is simply that, a day among many in a continuous stream.  To mark one day as more significant than another based solely on the association of past events sees quite illogical."

Kirk scoffed. "You can’t tell me you don’t have ritual. I know enough about Vulcan to tell you that. You have more ritual than you know what to do with."

Kirk saw the little flicker in Spock's eyes and knew he should back off, knew he was going to take it too far, but somehow he couldn't seem to stop.

"Is it just human ritual you have a problem with?" He finished.

"That," said Spock, "is unfair."

"I don't see how. It's a legitimate question. I know Humans exasperate you sometimes, it stands to reason that you wouldn't want to deal with more Human nonsense than you absolutely have to, and if you'd rather spend our first Christmas up in space with a bunch of cadets than with me, I suppose—"

"You are being unreasonable.  I did not hurt you purposefully. Jim, I was raised on Vulcan, in a Vulcan home, to two parents who adhered to Vulcan ideals regardless of their species. I have since come to appreciate my Earth heritage and begun to explore its culture, but it is unreasonable to expect me to behave as a human would in such matters."

"I don't want you to be human. I'm not telling you to be human, I'm telling you you need to make some concessions."

Spock's eyes went suddenly dark with anger.

"I am constantly making concessions," he said, voice deadly in its calm.  "This planet is not my own, this culture is alien to me.  I may go months at a time without hearing my native language, or seeing one of my own species.  I am half human, but that does not mean I inherently know what it is to be human. I dislike being in error, yet among humans I find I constantly am. Even after twenty-seven years I am constantly in error. It is uncomfortable, embarrassing, and difficult. In this case, I feel it is you who has been unable to make concessions."

"Is that so?" Kirk said, rising to his feet, unable to think through the volatile swirl of emotions, both his and Spock's. "If you dislike it so much, If you don’t want to spend time around humans, then why in the hell would you marry one?"

He was out the front door and into the hall before Spock had time to answer.

Of course, he only got about halfway down the hall before the gravity of what he'd just done sank in and he stopped, feeling lower than a Denebian slime devil.

Did you really say that to him? He wondered. After all the times you've told someone off for trying to make him what he's not, after all the time you've spent trying to help him, are you really so petty that you'd hurt him like that, when at the worst all you can really accuse him of is not paying enough attention to the fine print on the calendar?

He felt abruptly sick, and wondered how he'd managed to go from being so desperate to see Spock that he'd taken a personal day for the first time in two months to flat-out taunting the Vulcan.

He wanted to go back, but couldn't quite bring himself to. His emotions were awash in guilt and shame and faint, lingering anger, and he didn't think he could be trusted to make his apology in that kind of state.

He turned toward the turbolift, intending to walk outside in the drizzly cold until his head was clear, but thought better of it. After the success of his five-year mission, the V'Ger response, and the resulting press coverages, it was difficult to so much as walk around the corner to the coffee shop without being recognized, whispered about, and even approached for autographs and pictures. There was no way he could handle that right now.

Instead, he followed the hall to the far side of the building, where there was a large residents' lounge area, an enclosed arboretum of exotic plants, flanked throughout with comfortably grouped furniture, chairs and picnic-style tables and small drink synthesizers, where visitors could gather and enjoy the fresh air and companionship. Surely, he thought, it would be empty this time of the day, and a few laps through the gardens would clear his head enough for him to go back.

He was mostly right; the arboretum was certainly emptier than usual, but it wasn't quite deserted. He'd made almost a full lap of the garden when he saw a small group of three settled at one of the more remote tables.

He recognized two of them, a female human couple, both Starfleet-employed, who lived in the corner apartment on their floor. One was seated on the table, the other on a long bench, and between them was a very small Andorian girl, her white hair pulled back into two short plaits, wearing the uniform of a nearby private day school.

"Pinecone," the woman on the bench was saying, holding one up for the girl to see. "Pinecone."

"Pine-co." the girl repeated, struggling with the unfamiliar word. She frowned, shook her head, and tried again. "Pineco-ne."

"Good!" The woman on the bench laughed and gave a thumbs-up. "Pinecone!"

"They don't grow in Andoria trees," the girl said, taking the cone and examining it solemnly. "What are they for?"

"Well, they're usually for holding the tree's seeds, but we're going to make decorations out of these," the woman on the table explained, and Kirk had by then walked close enough to see that she had a large selection of cones in a box, as well as assorted glitters and paints.

"We can put them on the Christmas tree in the apartment," the woman on the bench said. "Sound good?

"Yes," the girl replied, just as Kirk was passing by, her face deadly serious. "I very enjoy putting things on the Christmas tree."

The women laughed, and began to set up the paints. One caught Kirk's eye as he passed and gave him a little wave.

"Afternoon, Admiral Kirk," she called out.

"Good afternoon," he replied, and passed them by, keeping his face carefully neutral until they were out of sight.

When they were, he dropped into the first available chair and put his hands over his face.

"Oh, hell," he murmured, feeling as if the universe itself was admonishing him for being cruel to his husband. It was far too easy to picture an infantile Spock (he had seen pictures) struggling over Christmas decorations and gravely applying glitter in exactly measured quantities. And, inversely, it was easy to imagine him not doing so, too.

You need to make concessions, he's said, he'd actually said, like Christmas was some kind of inalienable right and basic necessity that he was being denied, just because Sarek and Amanda hadn't somehow miraculously found an evergreen tree for their boy to decorate forty years previously. For gods' sake, evergreens couldn't even grow on Vulcan. They needed too much water.

And it wasn't the end of the world; not even close. He did know about the winter recess training missions–one of the years he'd been at Academy he'd seriously considered taking one, before his father had unexpectedly decided to come back to Earth over Christmas–and they were short enough. Spock would likely be back before Kirk had to be, they'd still have a few days alone. And if he spent Christmas Day while Spock was in space as he'd done once before, drinking eggnog that was more brandy than nog and watching old holofilms with Dr. McCoy, well, that wouldn't exactly be the end of the world, either. It might actually be nice to do it right this year.

Kirk took a minute to calm his breathing, and another few more to carefully formulate an apology, in which he would address every fault he'd exposed. He didn't want to leave anything out.

Of course, it ended up not mattering.

The moment Kirk re-entered the apartment, the second the door had swished shut behind him, before he had time to do anything more than feel his stomach drop with guilt and his face wrinkle with remorse, Spock was standing before him.

He stood, posture straight, hands behind his back, and answered the question Kirk had shouted as he stormed out as though he hadn't left at all.

"I married a human," Spock said, his voice gentle and even, "because I fell in love with one. I am sorry to have caused you distress, Jim."

All Kirk's carefully worded apologies had flown from his head. All he'd been able to do was crush his arms around Spock, bury his face against his neck, and whisper, "oh Spock, I'm sorry," pressing kisses to his skin and struggling against the fierce ache in his throat.

When Kirk evened out a bit again, they removed themselves to their former position on their couch (Spock made a fresh batch of tea), and a little bit of it returned to him. He settled himself in, facing Spock, and, though Spock assured him no further apologies were necessary, began to try to explain himself.

"I don't know why I got so angry," he murmured, one hand holding his cup, one hand splayed over Spock's, stroking the ridges of vein and bone as he spoke. "I understand, I really do. Not everyone on Earth even celebrates it, and the ones that do don't celebrate it the same way. I just... it was like the last straw. Not from you either; from myself. I'd been letting everything go so wrong, and I'd finally told myself I was going to have something go right, and just... I don't know. I overreacted."

"The fault is twofold," Spock replied. "I should have made more effort to communicate, both before we argued and during the disagreement. I do not know why I assumed you would be indifferent to my going off-planet, particularly over a holiday. I also regret having pushed you into further confrontation."

"That's not your fault either. I know it's hard for you to disentangle mixed emotions, and I was all over the place; angry, frustrated, disappointed, sad, scared—"

"You were frightened?"

"I... yes. Yes, I suppose I was."

"May I ask why?"

Kirk thought for a long moment, taking his time, not wanting to spark another fight with hasty miscommunication.

"I don't say this to hurt you," he said, taking Spock's hand into his and squeezing gently. "I know why you did it, and I've forgiven you for it, if I ever had any call to blame you at all, which perhaps I didn't, but... I went a little crazy, after you left for Gol."

He looked at Spock, holding that dark gaze in his own, for a long moment, hoping for understanding.

"It was... It's hard to explain. I'd fallen so in love with you. Deeper than love. I don't even know if you can call what we have love, because it seems to be so much more than that sometimes. But anyway, when you left... I felt hurt. And... betrayed, and..."

"Jim–" Spock started, helplessly, but Kirk held up his free hand to quiet him.

"I guess the closest thing I can come to it is the way I felt during the Alfa 177 mission, when the transporter malfunctioned and I found myself... split. I felt like I was missing part of myself, a huge part of myself, something I needed to live. That's how it was, after you left. I'd lost the ship, the crew, and without you too... I didn't know what to do. And somehow, none of it seemed to matter. All I could think of was, I'd lost you. I'd needed you, and you'd run from me, and not only that, you'd run away from me to cut it all out of you, all of those feelings. I couldn't do that, not the same way, but I tried. I took ground assignment even though I knew I didn't want it, I moved in with Lori, I stopped seeing Bones. I didn't want anything that reminded me of the life I'd had with you, on the Enterprise. It hurt too much to know I'd lost it."

Kirk knew Spock had reasoned out most of this, the bits of it he hadn't gotten firsthand from accidental thought transference in their melds, but he could feel through the bond some of what hearing it spoken was doing to him. Guilt, hurt, sorrow, deep down to his core. Part of Kirk wanted to stop, to leave this for later when they were both calmer, but most of him recognized it was already long overdue. Why postpone it longer, when it was already begun?

"But then, there you were," Kirk continued, "just when I'd finally given up. I'd woken up enough to know I was miserable, and I was... I suppose I was trying to fix things. Lori and I broke it off, I volunteered to oversee the final stages of the Enterprise refit, even managed to get myself back into the captain's chair, thanks to V'Ger. But it was all wrong. I was all wrong, and just when I was really starting to realize that... there you were. There we were. On the bridge, they way we used to be, and then I was with you in Sickbay and you were telling me... oh god, everything I'd always wanted you to say, that you felt it too, that you needed it like I did, needed us like I did, and..."

He broke off, trying to find his words. Spock, holding Kirk's hand in his, brought it to his mouth and solemnly kissed each finger by turn.

"You're good at that," Kirk said, if a little roughly. "Anyway. It was almost like a dream. Like I'd slipped out of a nightmare and into some daydream where you loved me, where you could love me, where you wanted to marry me and live with me and... I guess that's why I was frightened. I'm still only half-sure I'm not going to wake up."

They were quiet for a few moments more, Spock moving from human kisses to Kirk's hands to Vulcan ones, stroking and touching.

"I cannot fully regret my decision to go to Gol," Spock began. "At the end of our mission, I believe I too, as you put it, 'went a little crazy.' I knew I loved you, but I did not know how that could be, or how to reconcile that love with who I believed I was. To look at you was to know a dizzying mixture of intense love and intense shame, and I was unable to bear it any longer. Gol was the wrong choice, but had I not attempted it, I would likely not have found the correct one. But what I do regret is that in my attempt to cure myself, I wounded you so deeply. It was never my intention. I would not hurt you again." He leaned forward and kissed Kirk's mouth, soft and lingering. "Which is all to say, you need not be frightened, Jim. You will not 'wake up'."

Kirk chuckled softly. "You can really turn a phrase, when you need to. Anyway, that's all it is, really. Just my unfounded fear that one day you're going to decide life with a human is just too illogical after all, and you'll rush off and take up with some computer like Bones always said you would."

"He is mistaken. A computer would make a most unsatisfactory romantic parter."

"He was only ever joking, anyway. That's why I overreacted. You're the only thing I've managed to put right of the mess I made of my life after our five-year mission. I've already wrecked my career, taking that damn promotion. I wrecked one relationship already, I don't want to wreck the one that counts."

"You refer to your relationship with the late Admiral Ciana."

"Yes."

Spock was silent for a moment, hesitating. "You married her."

"Not really. We dated, cohabited for a year, and an odd number of days, then went our separate ways soon after she accepted promotion. We signed a cohabitation contract because of Starfleet protocol; she was trying for promotion and needed to be by the book, but... I don't think it ever really felt like a marriage, to either of us." He sighed deeply. "It was a rebound from you, you know."

"Yes.  I had reasoned as much."

"She was... well, she was a bit like you. Methodical, intelligent. But ambitious. Quite ambitious. That was a big part of the attraction on her part, I think. She wanted to climb the ranks, and to do that she wanted to learn from me. And me..." He sighed. "Me, I think I just needed someone beside me. Someone to fill the void where you should've been, at least enough that it didn't hurt me every time I turned and found it empty."

"Were you satisfied with your relationship with her?"

"I think I've just said that I wasn't. Are you asking if I was happy?"

"Were you?"

Kirk smiled bitterly. "Of course I wasn't happy. I was miserable. Worse than if I'd been alone.  And I was making her miserable too.  It was an absolute joke."

"Not a particularly amusing one."

"Not amusing at all.  She was a perfectly lovely woman.  Intelligent, beautiful.  I didn't love her, and I don't think she loved me, really, but we got along better than most.  We both needed someone badly, and we thought we could at least blunt that need, if not erase it, together. But we couldn't.  God, we couldn't even get close.  Just one more thing for me to ruin.  For a bitter old man I'm an absolute child sometimes; throwing tantrums, wrecking all the furniture and smashing up the house because I can't have what I want."

"What is it that you want?"

"The same now as then.  You." He stroked a long line down Spock's arm, and finished by Vulcan-kissing his hand. "That's what I want. Just you."

"You have me, Jim.  As much as one being can be another's, I am yours."

The simplicity of the statement, spoken as would be any irrefutable fact—gravity holds planets in orbit around their suns, Euler's number is the limit of (1 + 1/n)n as n approaches infinity, and Spock of Vulcan is for James Tiberius Kirk— was almost more than Kirk could bear.

“I know,“ he said, "I know.  It's just... It isn't the same.  On the Enterprise, in space, I had you all the time. You weren't even mine, not like you are now, and I still had you all the time.  On the bridge, in the ready rooms, always at my side, never more than a few bulkheads away.  It was our place, just ours and our crew's.  Now I spend all day doing all the things I hate, all the bureaucracy and diplomacy and greasing Starfleet's wheels, and I can't do so much as steal glances of you at your science station through the day to keep my sanity.”

“I know how badly you have missed command."

"Don't start that up, I get enough of it from Dr. McCoy.  If it was as easy as just signing us up for another mission, I'd do it, but it doesn't work that way. You know it doesn't work that way.  It's my own fault for accepting a promotion I knew I didn't want.”

"As I understand, you were under a large degree of pressure to accept.”

"Yes, but what's pressure?  I've made decisions a thousand times more difficult under a thousand times worse pressure.  You know I don't lose my head in a crisis.”

"You do not.  However, you also tend to place duty ahead of personal satisfaction.  Not an undesirable trait in its own right; however, the results of such a trait do tend to cumulate over time."

Kirk smiled wanly.  "I guess I just had this... vision, this fever-dream or whatever you'd like to call it, that since I had you, everything else was just going to... work itself out. It all started going wrong when you left, so I guess I felt like, since that part of it was right again, the rest would be too soon enough."

"An illogical mindset; however, I believe, an understandable one."

"I've just been pushing through, trying to get us over the first hump, but I didn't think... it's not a hump, it's a slope. I can't finish all the work and have my time with you when it's done, because more just keeps piling up."


"A period of adjustment is to be expected."

"An eight month period of adjustment?" Kirk sighed. "I know. I know. I guess at the heart of it, I don't know if I can do it. I couldn't make it work with Lori, or with Carol, or back with Ruth when I was a kid. I've never been able to separate my work from my relationship and still have enough left over to make the relationship work. With you... I don't know. I guess, I never realized it would be a problem. We were always together, in work and everything else too. Now we can't be, and what if I screw this up, the same way I always have? What if I lose you again?"

"You will not," Spock assured.

"I hope not. I don't think I could stand it. Anyway, I don't want us to keep just bumping into each other from time to time in our own goddamn house because we can't sync our schedules. I'll have to figure something else out."

"You needn't do so alone," Spock promised. "My own efforts have not been what they should, and I intend to solve this. I will not allow you to take all the blame, nor attempt to remedy the situation all on your own. I assure you, I too have a great deal of personal investment regarding the solution to this problem."

"I know," Kirk said, smiling. "Maybe I can pass the mantle on the Chair of Operations position, at least. Fischer would be pleased as paint, he's certainly had about enough of me. That'll be up for consideration in April..."

"In the meantime, I do have a short-term solution, should you care to attempt it. Regarding the matter of a shared holiday."

"I should've known you would. Name it."

"When you left the apartment, I contacted the Academy registrar office regarding my position on the upcoming training mission, to see if I could be replaced at short notice."

"You didn't have to do that."

"No, I did not have to, but I found that I wished to. I was informed, though, that such a change made this late would be quite difficult and extremely inconvenient, if not impossible, particularly since I myself am already a late-stage replacement. However, when I suggested to the administration board the possibility of a flag officer attending the mission in an advisory capacity, I was greeted with considerably more enthusiasm."

"Are you asking me if I want to do your Christmas mission with you, Captain Spock?"

"Affirmative. I am aware the solution is not ideal, as you are in need of time away from the pressures of your rank, but if you are willing, there is likely to be downtime which we may spend privately. Would you find this proposition agreeable?"

It certainly wasn't an ideal solution; as Spock had said, Kirk was badly in need of a break from Starfleet bureaucracy, and if he was on board a training ship, whether in official capacity or not, that was unlikely to happen. He'd inspected a number of starship flights during his tenure in the Starfleet admiralty, and it was stressful; constant saluting and stiff formality from the entire crew, coupled with a nagging feeling of being a fifth wheel and a distraction (after all, hadn't he once dreaded hosting admiralty on his own ship, for exactly those reasons?). Spock would be required to be on the bridge for large spaces of time, and even if Kirk were to stand at his side, they wouldn't be free to touch or even talk much, least they distract the training crew. The temporary quarters on the training ship would be sparse and impersonal, with none of the familiarity Kirk had so been craving. It was about as far from the visions of a first Christmas with Spock that had been flitting around in his head all day as you could get.

But it would still be Christmas with Spock. Their first together as a couple.

"Very agreeable," Kirk said, and kissed Spock's cheek. "I'll contact the Academy with my intentions when I go back in this afternoon."

Spock nodded. "I will inform the administration board to expect your communique. I must leave for the Academy presently, to prepare for a lecture."

Kirk winced. "I'm sorry; I've kept you from having your lunch—"

"The apology is unnecessary; I do not require sustenance at this time. Will you be free for dinner?"

"I think I can be, if you can leave it a little late. There's a meeting that finishes at twenty-one thirty."

"I can."

"Excellent. I'll see you then."

Spock extended his hand, first two fingers outstretched, and Kirk matched him and pressed their fingers together. As always, there was that little spark, that jolt of a circuit completed, and Kirk's heart ached to feel it.

"I'm sorry I stormed off," Kirk murmured, "earlier, when I was angry."

"It is unimportant; you returned quite quickly." Spock paused, considering. "May I ask where you went?"

"To the arboretum; I wanted to clear my head and I was afraid of being bothered if I went out."

"Quite logical." Spock parted their hands and turned to retrieve a bag of teaching materials. "I take it you were not disturbed?"

"No, not at all. I did see the couple from the corner apartment, what are their names, I think they work for Communications..."

"Brugnoli-Knox, Communications and Life Sciences, respectively," Spock supplied. "I have spoken with them on occasion. I understand they have recently adopted a child."

"They have," Kirk said. "I think we should give the kid a gift. Maybe an ornament; she very enjoys putting things on Christmas trees."

"Indeed?" Spock asked, so conversationally that Kirk had to smile."

***


He'd tried to keep his expectations realistic, but even so, it was worse than he'd thought.

He and Spock arrived at the shuttle port together in a hovercab, and that was the last Kirk saw of him for eight hours. Spock immediately reported to brief his training crew and prepare them to disembark, and Kirk was escorted first to a private waiting area, and then to a private shuttle. His assertions that he didn't want royal treatment were met with continued assurances from all sides that it was no trouble, and when he insisted further, so did they, citing regulation and custom until he was thoroughly sick of it and gave in, just to shut them up.

It was a shame, though, he thought, once the shuttle finally departed. He always liked the way Earth looked, vivid blue against the inky canvas of space, bright amid the fainter stars like a blown glass Christmas bauble reflecting the lights of a tree. He would've enjoyed seeing it with Spock, if only to see the look of confusion on the Vulcan's face as he voiced that particular metaphor.

In addition to his irritation at the circumstances of the shuttle trip, he was exhausted. The months of work seemed to have finally caught up with him, and even so, he hadn't rested well. His sleep was thin and bitter, and he felt worse the next morning when Spock woke him to board the hovercab than he had the night before.

So his mood was already wavering when, just as they were about to dock with the training ship, light cruiser class USS Imamura, Kirk caught sight of the Enterprise.

It hit him with the sharp, sudden burn of a phaser blast straight to the chest; her elegant hull polished and gleaming, resting in dry dock like a swan on a darkened pool, just waiting to take flight.

Without me, he remembered, and the sharp burn hollowed to a low ache.

Her next mission had been delayed following the damage accrued during the V'Ger response, but it was almost time for her to go again. Her new crew was all but finalized, her newest mission course set. It had all come over Kirk's desk, needing his approval, and he'd signed it all and tried not to think about it. It was foolish to get upset; he'd given her up when he accepted promotion.

But it was hard not to, looking right at her.

He had a sudden, mad fantasy of turning the shuttle, taking Spock, and boarding her, flying off and leaving all of this. Just snatch the life he missed so much right out of Starfleet's grasp.

But of course that was foolish; so foolish he wanted to laugh. But somehow, he couldn't quite manage it.

It wouldn't be the same anyway, he reminded himself, taking a last, wistful look at his old girl. Anything that remained of his good mood had evaporated. He felt lonely, cheated; the two things he wanted most both within his sight, yet out of reach. Here was the Enterprise, shining and ready, and he wasn't going aboard. Here was Spock, for the first time willing to love him, his husband for goodness' sake, and yet he wasn't at Kirk's side.

Some Christmas, he thought, bitterly, and began gathering his possessions to disembark.

Things didn't improve once he boarded, ether.

Spock welcomed him aboard, as was proper, but the presence of the other instructors and the star-struck trainee crew meant he was especially formal, and as soon as the completely by-the-books 'welcoming of a flag officer' ceremony was completed, the Vulcan was called away to the bridge. The assistant Engineering supervisor, Lieutenant Tsosie, was given the job of escorting the Admiral on his first review of the ship.

He wasn't impressed.

The Imamura was almost thirty years old. Even when it was new it hadn't exactly been state-of-the-art, and particularly after his sudden, unexpected glimpse of his sweet silver lady, the little cruiser seemed shabby and unimpressive. Her trainee crew, too, was no great shakes. It was only a second-year class, so even under ideal circumstances the flight would've been a bit rough, but the holiday timing made it ten times worse.

The trainees were of two types, one camp cadets after Kirk's own Academy-era heart, overachieving stacks-of-books-on-legs types giving up their vacations in order to get ahead. The others were cadets prone to procrastination (or previous failures) attempting to make up enough space hours in order to complete their programs on time. The resulting dichotomy of ability was extremely frustrating. Kirk was already prone to a certain "off" feeling, whenever he boarded a ship that wasn't his own, and he found himself constantly biting back the urge to jump in and do things correctly.

He didn't, but that didn't mean he was ignored. Within ten minutes he was weary of snap-to salutes and 'yes sir, Admiral, sir!'s, and yet they didn't seem to be going anywhere. Most of the trainees seemed torn by intense curiosity and outright veneration whenever they glanced at him, with a healthy dose of fear that he'd score them poorly and ruin their class ranks mixed in for good measure. Kirk hated every minute of it.

Still, he tried. Determined not to let the experience be a complete washout, he went to the bridge, where Spock was, thinking that even if he couldn't talk to him, he could at least see him, which, he reminded himself, was more than he'd had over the past three Christmases. Besides, Spock enjoyed teaching, and seeing him satisfied was always pleasant for Kirk.

However, it soon became apparent that Spock was just as bothered by the sub-par trainee crew as Kirk was, if not more so. Kirk had at least had an inkling of how the mission might go (after all, he remembered his fellow cadets, Sean Finnegan chief among them), but poor Spock, whose typically taught high-performance final year command track and doctorate-level science classes, seemed somewhat at a loss when confronted with this particular crew.

"Captain Spock, according to regulation, Cadet Mutters is required to input system information in the precisely indicated order, and her failure to do so is affecting my ability to navigate."

"Captain, this button is sticky; do I need to... report that?"

"Captain Spock, having received a communique in Mandarin, and translated it into Standard, is it permissible to translate it into additional Earth languages, to aid potential communication?"

"Captain, I don't think Cadet Green's hairstyle is regulation..."

It was more like daycare than Starfleet training. It would almost have been funny, if it hadn't been stressing Spock so badly. Kirk was beginning to wonder if Captain Wernburg, the instructor whom Spock had replaced, hadn't purposefully injured himself as a means of escape.

When it became clear that Spock was going to be unable to give him so much as the time of day with this bridge crew on hand, Kirk gave up. He wasn't doing anything but distracting Spock and riling up the trainees even more, anyway.

He retreated to the quarters he'd been given (noting, with further dismay, that the bed was barely wide enough for two, should Spock somehow miraculously manage to visit him in it), fumbled with the little drink synthesizer set into the wall beside the table for a moment, before giving up on that too and simply crawling into bed. It was a little early yet, but he was tired, and with Spock on duty for the next ten hours, he really couldn't think of a single good reason to stay awake.

***

It is late October, and Kirk is in between meetings. One of them, the one just concluded, concerned the final staff assignments for the next mission of the Enterprise. Kirk is trying not to think about it. The upcoming meeting, barely an hour away, is yet another discussion with the Andorian Consulate. Kirk is trying not to think about that one, either. He's trying to focus on the weather, on the pleasant air and good temperature, on the pleasure of having a rare moment of free time. Anything other than duty.

It's not working. He's stuck in a miserable morass, the brightness of the past memories of captaining the Enterprise warring with the unattractive prospect of yet another pointless confrontation, so much that he can't even enjoy the break.

There's an inter-Federation culture and craft fair on the Starfleet grounds today, a bi-quarterly event that hops from planet to planet, allowing grounded Starfleet personnel the opportunity to experience some xenoculture, or, for species stationed outside their home planets, the opportunity for a taste of home. The event is always popular; though, as planning for it is a long, bothersome process, Kirk has a difficult time enjoying it since taking his administrative post.

But, since he has neither the time nor the inclination to go off grounds before his meeting, it's as good a place as any to kill time.

He wanders by a display of Andorian paintings, thinking absently that Andorians might be pigheaded when it came to grumbling their way through charter amendments, but they could sure as hell paint, when he notices a tent of Arcadian textiles.

He immediately thinks of Spock.

It's hard to say what it is; the robe on display doesn't particularly resemble the Vulcan ones Spock favors—the cut is different, the weave and color unlike any he has seen him wear—and yet, looking at it, he can almost see Spock wearing it, sitting in his chair by the fireplace in their apartment. Maybe it's the embellishments around the collar, the thought of them resting against his long, elegant neck, or the subtle interplay of the colors, a hundred different shades delicately woven together to create a soft charcoal color, or the row of bronze-colored closures moving in an diagonal line down the front.

He walks over, seeing the robe, seeing Spock. Missing Spock, who is lecturing now, who would enjoy this market, would love poring over the various artifacts and observing the different methods of their creation.

"May I touch this?" Kirk says, when he reaches the tent. The Arcadian inclines his head invitingly, his long lashes fanning down over his enormous, pearl-colored eyes.

The fabric feels almost warm to the touch, yet it is light and supple. It slides through his fingers in soft ripples, amazingly light despite the heavy weave.

Kirk remembers, suddenly, viscerally, the way Spock's sleeping robe had felt, soft and hot from his skin, when he'd pressed his hand over his heart, the morning after their wedding.

"Is it for sleeping?" Kirk asks, and the Arcadian lowers his eyes again and gives a subtle tilt of his head, first one way, than the other.

It's for whatever you want it to be for, the gesture says.

"I want to buy this, if it's for sale," Kirk says, and the Arcadian inclines his head once more, accepting Kirk's credit chip and wrapping the robe into a soft, slightly iridescent protective paper covering.

The cost is at least three times more than any Kirk has ever paid for a piece of clothing, but that hardly matters. He's thinking of Spock all the while the Arcadian is wrapping the robe; Spock who, in accordance with custom, had given up almost all of his possessions before beginning his training at Gol, who even now did not own many clothes outside of his Starfleet uniforms, who often felt cold in the San Francisco nights.

"Will it be a gift?" The Arcadian asks, speaking at last, and for the first time Kirk thinks of Christmas, the coming Christmas that he's going to get to spend with Spock.

"Yes," Kirk says, deciding on the spot. "Yes, it will be."

"I believe it will be well-received," the Arcadian says, handing it over.

"I believe so too," Kirk says, and returns the deep, solemn nod with a wide grin.

***

Kirk woke on Christmas Eve morning feeling better rested, but not better tempered. Spock had only come in once during the night, late into the shift and far beyond when he should have been free. Kirk had awakened long enough to curl hopefully around Spock, pressing as close as he could to make enough room in the too-narrow bed. But the Vulcan had slept only twenty minutes before rousing himself to report back to the bridge, where the gamma shift trainee bridge crew was making just as big a mess of things as the Alpha and Beta shifts had done. He slipped out of Kirk's arms, pressed his fingers briefly to Kirk's, whispered an apology into his ear, and then he'd been gone, through the small briefing room that connected their two cabins. Kirk had been three-quarters asleep, but the cold loneliness that flooded him when Spock stirred and left had been enough to wake him completely.

This is a nightmare, he thought, pulling a pillow over his head and groaning aloud.

When he reported for breakfast in the mess, he saw a small group of off-duty trainees wearing false reindeer antlers and singing along to a Christmas carol playing from a data PADD, but when they saw him coming, both antlers and music disappeared so quickly it could have been an effect in a Christmas-themed children's holofilm. Aside from that, there was absolutely nothing to mark the significance of the day.

Spock appeared a few minutes later, after Kirk had put a simple toast-and-jam card into one of the synthesizers and seated himself. Spock looked remarkably fresh considering his lack of sleep, and settled himself beside Kirk with a small bowl of fruit and a pot of tea.

"You have my apology," he said, before anything else. "I had not realized—"

"It isn't your fault," Kirk said. "Let's just get through this."

"I am aware that you are unhappy. However, this evening—"

But whatever Spock had been going to relate about the coming evening was never spoken, because at that moment one of the engineering instructors hurried in.

"Forgive me for interrupting, Admiral," she said, struggling to control her panting. "Captain Spock, there's a bit of a situation down in the engine room; I think one of the trainees managed to fry one of the computers, but they're afraid to say who it was or what they've done, so I can't fix it. Can you come have a look?"

"Of course," he said, pushing his uneaten food aside. "Jim, forgive me—"

"Go," Kirk sighed. "It's all right."

That was about the most festive thing that happened all day. It was certainly the longest conversation he managed to have with Spock. They attempted lunch together, only to have it end the same way as breakfast, although this time the trouble was in the medical bay. Kirk visited the bridge, but Spock's intense focus on the cadets meant an unfavorable environment for conversation. Besides, with their proximity, Kirk could feel the faintest echoes of Spock's frustration coming in through the bond; Spock wished to speak with him, to touch him, and knew he could not. Knowing that his own presence were stirring the emotion, making it worse, Kirk left. He didn't want to distract Spock or force him away from his duties, no matter how lonely and rough he was feeling.

Finally, half out of his mind with boredom and restless frustration, he attempted to converse with some of the off-duty trainees, all of whom fumbled their words and looked awkward. The recreation facilities on the Imamura were all but nonexistent, just a small gym and a few games and holovids available in two small recreation rooms. His attempt to visit the gym was aborted when a group of cadets working out in one corner began to whisper the second he walked into the room, and an attempt at a game of table tennis with the Communications instructor ended early when the man was called away to assist with a disastrously botched engine switchover.

Which is how he ended up in his quarters early for the second night in a row.

He rummaged through his bag, avoiding the iridescent paper-wrapped package that took up so much of the space, suppressed a deeply bitter clench of the stomach as he wondered if he'd ever even have a minute to give Spock the damn thing, and finally emerged with his personal data PADD. He settled onto the bed, intending to read one of the several hundred digital books stored on the device, but after a half hour of scrolling back and forth through titles and not finding a single one to hold his interest, he gave it up. He wished he'd thought to bring a real book with him; the feel and smell of antique paper was always soothing, and he felt he could do with a bit of comforting.

He sighed, feeling trapped. There were likely holofilms or at least music available on the room's small computer console, but the idea held even less appeal than the PADD books.

But he couldn't just lie there. There was justifiable disappointment and then there was just plain sulking.

He got up and fiddled with the drink synthesizer. The supply of synthesizer cards was pretty basic, but he did manage to find a flavored coffee substitute that seemed palatable enough, He also found a few snack cards, mixed nuts and soups and the like, and was grateful at least Spock wouldn't starve, if he came in late again, after the mess synthesizers were cleaned and closed.

He took his coffee back over to the bed and tapped at the computer controls for a moment, finally activating the tiny, porthole sized viewscreen. He sipped his drink and lay down, positioning his head so he could watch the stars, glittering though the infinite darkness all around.

Spock he thought, desperately, reaching to the back of his mind to find that little spark, that wave-smoothed pebble in the sea of his thoughts, so keenly aware of his husband's absence that the longing seemed to have physical weight, pressing him down into the mattress with the force of its gravity.

Spock, can we do this? Can we make this work?

He watched the stars with half-lidded eyes and caressed the bond with mental fingers, reveling in the alien feel of it. That little part of Spock that he always carried, held inside him, only for him.

Parted from me, but never parted... never and always touching and touched...

But somehow the thought brought no comfort.

***

It's Christmas Eve, Kirk's second spent as captain of the Enterprise, and Alpha Shift has finished. Instead of Beta Shift, a skeleton Gamma Shift is taking position. A large percentage of the off-duty crew intends to spend the evening at the ship-wide holiday party. It's already been going on for two hours, for any Gamma-shift crewmen who wished to stop by before reporting for duty.

Kirk himself is captaining the ship, despite having already logged his normal hours. He's doing so in the interest of crew moral, but, because good crew relations are also important for moral, he takes a half hour before reporting and briefly visits the party to greet his crew and wish them well.

It's quite pleasant. More than pleasant. There's music being played both over the speaker and in person, a hundred different foods and even more kinds of drinks. One of the lab techs has rigged up some snowballs that won't melt at room temperature, and they are being tossed freely about the room, everyone exclaiming delightedly at how realistic they feel. A few of the more artistically minded yeomen have decorated with an impressive variety of paper crafts, and the botany department has donated a potted evergreen tree for the duration of the evening, decorated with an amusing assortment of crew members' belongings.

Indeed, a part of Kirk is loathe to leave at all. But it comes with the territory. Much as he cares for his crew members, he is their captain, not their friend, and a proper command presence must be maintained. It's a hard line to walk, but Kirk can and does walk it; he must be available, yet separate, approachable but aloof. He must be strong but not harsh. He must not have weaknesses, not perceivable ones anyway, but he must be human. It's difficult, and it takes his toll on him. But even that, he must not let them see.

So he goes to the party and everyone cheers to see him, and after a few rounds of handshakes and warm smiles, tasting offered food and declining offered drinks, he takes his leave. And that little part of him hates to go, the part of him that wants to relax and celebrate, but another part of him is glad to go, because even if he did stay, he couldn't enjoy it, as that barrier would be there the whole time. It's a strange feeling, melancholy and nostalgic. Wistful.

He doesn't want to be alone at Christmas. But he's going to be, no matter what he does. So he might as well work.

The hallways are largely deserted, the skeleton crew at their posts and the rest in the recreation room. Kirk is making his way toward the turbolift and the bridge to relieve Lieutenant Sulu, who is no doubt anxious to join the party, when he catches movement in the corner of his eye.

It's Spock.

He's standing just outside one of the smaller science labs, PADD in hand, marking something with a stylus. He looks as he always does, long and sleek, immaculate in science blue, and Kirk's heart twists in his chest. It's a delight to see him, as it always is. His dearest friend.

"Mr. Spock," Kirk calls, and the Vulcan raises his head and catches his Captain's gaze.

"Good evening, Captain," he says. "Did you enjoy the crew party?"

"It was nice," Kirk says. "They've done a good job this year."

"Do you wish to remain?" Spock asks. "If you would prefer to attend the party—"

But Kirk shakes his head.

"No, no; it's better if I free up a space so the crew can celebrate. Besides it's..." He struggles a bit, that strange nostalgia in his chest. He wants to explain how the connectivity of the holiday seems to be highlighting the sense of isolation he feels as Captain, but he lacks the words.

"It's not really for me," he finishes, somewhat lamely.

Spock inclines his head.

"But you can go, if you like," Kirk says, giving him a little teasing smile. "It would certainly make Bones's Christmas merrier."

"I believe I shall abstain," Spock says, and Kirk laughs.

"I thought so." He gives Spock a gentle pat on one shoulder. "Well, I'll leave you to your science labs and report to my own little Christmas gathering on the bridge. I'll see you for Alpha shift."

"I will accompany you," Spock says. "Lab duty was quite light today, and I have finished. With your permission, I will relieve Ensign Mathers for the duration of the shift and man the science station myself. She has expressed interest in attending the festivities, if possible. Is this acceptable?"

"Quite," Kirk says, "let's have at it."

They board the lift together and take their positions on the bridge. The night is uneventful, and they are able, as they sometimes are, to speak to each other. Nothing really significant, just discussions over Science scans and past missions, one or two stories on Kirk's part of times gone by and an explanation from Spock about the particulars of Vulcan dietary restrictions, when a small group of yeomen and security officers briefly come in from the party to bring the bridge crew coffee and desserts. Spock comes to stand beside him as they eat. He rests his free hand on the back of the captain's chair, and Kirk feels the warmth of him as together they watch the stars stream by.

It's halfway through the shift, and Kirk is standing at the Science station, listening to Spock muse on the significance of some readings he's just discovered and watching the way the Vulcan's mouth moves when he speaks, when it occurs to Kirk that he doesn't feel alone. He doesn't feel alone at all, because it's Christmas and he's here with Spock.

Spock.

Whom he loves.

***

"Jim?"

Through the vague haze of dream-memory came a gentle pressure against his shoulder.

"Jim?"

The gentle pressure increased, and he opened his eyes to find Spock kneeling beside him.

"My apologies," Spock whispered. "I did not intend to wake you. Do you wish to return to sleep?"

"No. God no," Kirk said, blinking his eyes to clear them. His head felt fuzzy and thick, his body ill-fitting, as though on waking his consciousness had failed to properly return. "I'm glad you're here."

The words came out with a peculiar weight, and Kirk knew Spock felt it too.

"As am I, Jim," he said, and he slid his hand from Kirk's shoulder down to entwine their fingers. They sat that way for a moment, Kirk lying on the bed, Spock kneeling at his side, gazes locked, hands clasped tightly together, faces close enough to breathe each other's breath.

"Are you sure you wish to wake?" Spock asked, a few moments, or minutes, or who knows how long, later, when the peculiar gravity of the moment began to recede. He brushed a finger gently across Kirk's temple. "You appear to have slept deeply; perhaps you would prefer to sleep through the night."

"No, no," Kirk said, finally rising and stretching into a sitting position. "I'll be fine in a minute, just let me wake up... I didn't mean to fall asleep at all. What time is it?"

"Stardate 47019.4. Earth standard time 2153 hours on twenty-fourth December."

"I like you so much better than my computer calendar," Kirk said, groggily. "For an automatic program, she's a downright bitch."

"Most unfortunate," Spock said, and Kirk laughed.

"Well, before I was sleeping, I was drinking," he said, indicating the cold and still mostly full cup on the small bedside table. "Maybe I'll make something fresh. Do you have time to join me, or do they need you back out on the bridge?"

"Affirmative, I do have time, and negative, I am not required on the bridge." He rose with Kirk and walked with him toward the synthesizer. "Has it occurred to you that there is a certain linguistic imprecision to offering one a choice between two potentially differential polar questions?"

"I like to keep you on your toes." Kirk flipped through the cards again, and blinked in surprise. No doubt by some Christmas miracle, he had found a card for egg nog.

"We're sharing this," he said, inserting the card. "My mother used to make this every Christmas eve. It's a vegan substitute; you can drink it."

"Very well," Spock said, inclining his head as though bestowing some favor. "However, should these provisions prove insufficient for the evening, I have further supplies in my bag."

"Oh?" Kirk paused keying in the replication code. "How long are you thinking you can stay?"

"Twelve point two-eight hours, at minimum. Perhaps longer, should the morning shift prove uneventful."

Kirk smiled, but felt a twinge of that heavy melancholy settle in around his stomach again. "I'd like that, Spock, I really would. But... let's not count on it, all right?"

"Why should we not?" Spock, engaged in examining the synthesizer, did not look up.

Kirk sighed. "I... I know you're trying, and I appreciate it. You have no idea how much. But let's not pretend this hasn't been a disaster. We were hoping for downtime, and it just doesn't exist on this particular mission. It's been constant business since we came aboard, and I don't think it's going to stop now."

"Indeed it isn't," Spock replied. "Duty at all times, holiday and personal preference notwithstanding."

"I don't follow."

"We are both currently engaged in our assigned duties for this shift," Spock said. He touched the small computer console set into the table, summoned a duty roster, and swiveled the display toward Kirk. "Please."

Kirk frowned, scrolling quickly down the timeslots. His eyes widened.

"As I perceive you have noted," Spock said, turning to look at Kirk, "at this time, this vessel's Captain and the attending flag officer are scheduled to discuss vital ship's business. Due to the importance of the discussion, we are not to be disturbed for anything less than red-alert status."

"When did you do this?" Kirk murmured, turning to stare at Spock.

"This morning. I regret that I was called away before I could properly brief you of your duties. And on that note; Admiral Kirk, as attending flag officer aboard this vessel, is there any urgent business you wish to discus?"

"I... Your trainee crew are a bunch of brainless morons?"

"Indeed; I find I agree with the sentiment, if not the terminology. I can assure you my report to Captain Wernburg will not be favorable. Was there anything else?"

"No," Kirk said, still gaping. "No, I can't honestly think of anything."

"Then I hereby conclude the discussion. We are free to use the remaining time as we see fit."

The Vulcan's expression was passive, but as Kirk stared, he caught the sparkle of unvoiced laughter in those deep, dark eyes.

"You little sneak!" Kirk cried out, and wrapped his arms around Spock, laughing and squeezing him. "The other instructors are going to kill you, you know."

"Negative, I believe all will yet be well. As I had already covered the bulk of the first two days of shifts, the others seemed quite willing to relieve me for a time."

"You little sneak," Kirk repeated, and kissed him, long and sweet, keeping his arms locked tight around his torso. "I was drowning in loneliness in here, and here you are playing practical jokes."

"No joke was intended; I did wish to tell you in advance." He returned the kiss. "I was aware of your distress though our link. It disturbed me. I sensed you wished me at your side, and as I wished nothing more than to be there, it was a simple thing to accomplish. Has your loneliness abated somewhat?"

"Of course it has." Kirk gave him a final tight squeeze. "Of course it has."

The egg nog definitely couldn't compare to the made-from-scratch version Kirk remembered from home, but for a synthesizer card that had been lying forgotten in the guest quarters of an outdated training ship, it wasn't half bad. Spock actually appeared to enjoy it quite a bit; he was sipping at the shared cup with greater frequency than Kirk, with considerably more enthusiasm than he normally granted to Human desserts.

"You must like the nutmeg," Kirk said, grinning as the greenish point of Spock's tongue briefly appeared between his lips, lapping away a stray droplet. "It's a little like the Vulcan tea taste."

He winked. "Or maybe you like the brandy."

"Perhaps." Spock admitted. "I do enjoy the taste of liquors, particularly brandies, though the alcohol has little effect on me. Of course, as this version imitates the flavor only, it is of little concern. What I am most intrigued by is the texture. It evokes a very pleasant sensation when rolled over the tongue. I would not be adverse to a second serving."

"Bad luck; there's only the one card in the synthesizer. I'll get you some when we're back on Earth. If I can find a nice egg substitute I'll make it myself. And real brandy."

"Brandy is currently out of the question, as the consumption of alcohol on training missions is a breech of regulation. However there may be further egg nogs in my bag."

"There may be?"


"I was able to procure a package of assorted synthesizer cards that claimed to be traditional Terran Christmas refreshments; however, as I was somewhat pressed for time at the point of purchase, I failed to peruse the specifics contained within. The packaging was somewhat vague. Would you care to examine them now?"

"You're a regular Christmas elf, ears and all." Kirk gave one of the ears in question a quick kiss as he rose. "You can finish that cup; where's your bag?"

"In the storage closet; beside your own."

Kirk walked toward the closet, keeping an amused eye on the Vulcan, who made no effort to protest him in the matter of finishing the beverage, and was punctuating his frequent sips with appreciative isn't-this-fascinating-type glances into the cup. He took Spock's bag, and, after a moment of consideration, his own, and carried them both over to the table. He chuckled when he saw what Spock was doing.

"Did you just lick the inside of that glass?"
 He teased.

"The thick texture of the drink resulted in the dregs of the beverage coating the inside of the cup; to lick it was the only logical manner in which to consume it." Spock set the emptied cup down and reaching for the bag. "Here are the synthesizer cards."

He handed Kirk a small red-and-green printed package, which Kirk opened and began to paw through.

"There is egg nog; a few different kinds," he announced. "There's a chocolate egg nog, Spock. Just how crazy did you want this Christmas party to get?"

"Perhaps that one would be best saved for a post-mission toast. I believe it is frowned upon, in Terran culture, for one to 'drink alone' at a party."

"You really like to do a thing properly, don't you? There's all kinds of stuff here... we can have chestnut soup. I haven't had chestnut soup in twenty years." Kirk selected two of the egg nog cards, one rum-flavored the other brandy-flavored, as well as the soup card, and inserted them one by one into the synthesizer. "This is a downright feast."

"I do aspire to excellence in all my endeavors. On that note, I have a few other effects..."

He unzipped the main compartment of his bag and, for the second time that evening, Kirk was completely blindsided.

"I think McCoy was right about you," he said, watching wide-eyed as Spock revealed a selection of boxes, all patterned red-and-green as the synthesizer cards had been, containing a vast assortment of decorative Christmas items, foods, and two small wrapped presents. "You aren't a Vulcan at all. You really are a Christmas elf."

"I believe you refer to the Terran mythological figure known as 'Santa Claus,' who was claimed to be assisted by elves in his pursuits. I have read academic theses concerning the mythology of elves, suggesting their appearance may have been derived from a Terran's accidental encounter with a pre-warp Vulcan spacecraft," Spock said, "though I personally find the theory somewhat short on facts and long on wishful speculation. However, I assure you I am no elf. When you pointed out to me that I had failed to properly examine my human heritage regarding the Christmas holiday—"

Kirk's stomach gave a guilty twist. "I'm so sorry about that, I never meant for you to—"

"Please do not apologize. The study of the culture has proved quite fascinating. I have gathered these effects in the hopes of adhering to a traditional Terran Christmas experience, and I have presented them to you without your prior knowledge in adherence with the Christmas custom of 'surprise.' I hope I have performed admirably. Are you, in fact, surprised?"

"Extremely." Kirk murmured. He reached across the packages, took Spock's hand, and squeezed. "And touched."

"Then I am most gratified."

Kirk kissed him, letting the moment draw out.

"As I understand it," Spock said, when Kirk released him, and took up one of the packages, "decoration is one of the more noteworthy components of Christmas tradition. To that end, I have purchased these ornaments. I do not fully understand their significance—"

"They're snowmen, I think." He examined the box and nodded, pointing. "Yes. Human children make them, when it snows. It's more a winter thing, then a specifically Christmas thing. And these are bells. And this one's a pickle. I think that's a German tradition."

"I was assured that they were appropriate for the occasion."

"They are." Kirk opened the box, feeling almost giddy. He hadn't felt this kind of excitement towards Christmas ornaments since he'd been a very young boy.

"Traditionally, once one acquires such ornaments, what does one do with them?"

"Traditionally, one would place such ornaments on a Christmas tree."

"Ah." Spock's expression went faintly sulky. "I had hoped the tree was not a necessity. They are somewhat difficult to pack."

"No worries, Mr. Spock; we won't miss it."

He took one of the snowmen and carefully hooked it around the point of Spock's ear.

"I do not recall discovering this particular custom in any of my research," Spock said. The snowman bobbled a bit with the motion of his jaw.

"It's very obscure," Kirk said, and hung a second snowman on the other ear. "There, finished. Who needs a tree?"

Spock surveyed his reflection in the polished surface of the table.

"Most illogical," he announced, and Kirk dissolved in laughter as Spock reached up to unadorn himself. "However, it is possible I would feel moved to retaliation, were your own ears capable of supporting the hooks."

"Do your worst," Kirk said, offering up the pickle. "The hooks'll bend."

But Spock bypassed his husband's ears in favor of hanging the pickle from one of the protruding indicator lights on the synthesizer. Kirk followed, adding a snowman to the corner computer screen, and soon the table was awash with decorations. Kirk took the egg nogs and soup out of the synthesizer and they sipped through them as they worked. Eventually they ran out of easily hookable surfaces near the table, and took their cups and the remainder of the ornaments over to the sleeping alcove, where they hung them on the grid of the privacy screen.

"Oh, there's one missing," Kirk observed, pointing to an empty spot in one of the bubble packages, when they'd finished with the snowmen and moved onto a collection of multicolored glass balls.

"Affirmative. On returning from purchasing these effects, I met Lieutenant Brugnoli-Knox and her daughter. As you had mentioned the possibility of bestowing a gift to the child, and had named an ornament as a likely candidate, I thought it logical to give her one. I would have informed you of this, but as I was attempting to surprise you, I could not."

"That was sweet of you. Did she like it?"

"I assume she did, although she did not say so, or indeed acknowledge my presence in any way beyond taking the ornament from my hand and then turning to hide her face against the wall. Her mother assures me that this behavior is a result of the child's shyness, and is not due to any personal failings on my part."

Kirk laughed. "You never were sentimental over kids. Thank you for doing that, though."

"It was no trouble. And it is logical to sponsor feelings of camaraderie between neighbors. I believe Lieutenant Brugnoli-Knox was more receptive to the gesture than the child."

"Families are like that, when someone does something nice for one of their own." He took the last of the glass balls and spun it by its hook, watching the light glint off it and reflect the plain white bulkhead with flashes of glittery green. "She made me think of you, you know. The Andorian kid, I mean. She was making Christmas decorations with her mothers, so serious, and it made me think of you, if you were that age."

"I never performed any such activity, even in my youth."

"I know. That's what it made me think of." He hung the ornament and turned to sit on the bed. "I'm sorry I've been so difficult these last few months. This is wonderful, what you've done for me. I don't feel like I deserve it."

The mattress dipped slightly as Spock sat down at his side. "But it is what you've wished for?"


"Yes."

"Then you do indeed deserve it." Kirk's heart fluttered a little at that, and he squeezed Spock's hand tightly. "I accept that, as a Vulcan, I may not be as adept at fulfilling your emotional needs as you would have me be. I am pleased to have met them in this instance."

"You fill them perfectly. You don't ever have to worry about that."

"Then this is what you envisioned?"

"This? You mean this right now?"


"Yes. This Christmas celebration. You expressed a desire to spend our first Christmas as a couple together. Is this the type of celebration you imagined?"

Kirk laughed. "Well, I stopped short of picturing the functionally insane trainee crew and the conversations about adopted Andorians, but... this is the feeling I imagined. This is better."

"The feeling? You envisioned no particular scenario?"

"Oh, a bit. Lots of them. Nothing too specific. Just silly things, nothing fleshed out."

Spock's hand fluttered against Kirk's for a moment, then rose through the air and rested against his temple.

"Would you show me?" He murmured. "I would know your thoughts."

Kirk smiled. "I'd be honored."

They knelt on the small, slightly misshapen mattress, facing each other, knees touching.

Spock removed the block from their bond.

Kirk felt it go with a sensation like physical relief, the sudden removal of a pressure that had become so common it was no longer consciously felt, a curtain drawn away to allow streams of light into a room that hadn't realized how dark it was. His mind and body both tingled, and he felt him, knew him, and in some small way he was him, in a moment free from time and the limits of physical space. At the same time, he felt Spock's awareness of him, a reflection of a reflection, something fiercely longed for and finally found as they reached out for each other. In the physical world their mouths met, and in the bright string of mindscape that connected them their thoughts came through, not in words but in a rebus of images and sensations, memories and emotions.

Oh god, it's been so long.

Yes. Too long.

I don't ever want it blocked. Don't block it again.

I fear you would find the condition intolerable, were it prolonged.

Try me.

Perhaps we can find a balance. I too, have missed this. For now though...

Kirk felt the flutter of Spock's fingers at his temple, settling into position, and he heard/thought/knew Spock's words;

"My mind to your mind, t'hy'la."

...and suddenly the thin, bright string of connection that was their unblocked but still incomplete marriage bond was wider than a wormhole, wider than a nebula, wider than the galaxy itself, and their minds were one.

***

The mindscape is as vibrant as a dream, colored with the variant perceptions of human and Vulcan senses, mixed between conscious memory and subconscious symbolism. They drop together into a sea of Kirk's imaginings, his half-formed, half-forgotten idle daydreams, but now they bloom before his every sense, as if he is living them, swirling together out of the formless void of subconsciousness into sharp, bright patterns...

...together...

...he and Spock are together, are in their apartment, wrapped in a luxurious cashmere blanket, Spock wearing the Arcadian robe that Kirk has yet to present him with, a fire in the fireplace and hot mugs of mulled wine in hand... eating tropical fruit at a beach resort and pointing at the Christmas lights hung so incongruously on a palm tree... Spock with the Vulcan lyre on his lap, playing along with a Christmas holobroadcast, Kirk standing behind him with his hands on his shoulders, feeling the warmth of his skin through his clothing... lying in bed, naked and sated, drifting off to sleep with faint Christmas music on the radio, one of Spock's fingers still held in Kirk's mouth... spicy gingerbread taste, laughing when Spock's nose wrinkles at the smell... taking a hot bath together in a winter ski resort... snow falling onto Spock's shoulders, the coldness against Kirk's hands as he brushes it away... a hundred images, a thousand, blurring together into something that's just a feeling, a deep emotion expressed in a single, simple image; he and Spock, side by side, together, always together…

...and then the thoughts are transitioning, seemingly of their own accord, and it's not daydreams but memories, and they are not colored warm with their togetherness but chill and lonely...

...Kirk is drunk to the point of illness, and Bones is stroking his back, both of them ignoring the Christmas-themed holo that's playing in Bones's apartment, and Kirk is miserable and Bones is telling him I wish you could forget him, god I wish you'd just forget him, this is tearing you up... Kirk is with Admiral Ciana, both of them dressed up for a Starfleet function, but Kirk's smile is pasted on, as stiff as the dress uniform, and later in the hovercab they argue as she tells him can't you cheer up, Jim, it's Christmas for God's sake, and he sleeps alone that night because the cold longing in his heart cannot bear her company, however well she means... Kirk is at Headquarters, grimly working on the refit Enterprise crew rosters, when the computer calendar beeps in to inform him that the date has rolled over and it's now Christmas day, and for no other reason than the sudden knowledge that it's Christmas and he's alone, a desperate, sick ache floods him as all unbidden he thinks of Spock, who he tries never to think of, Spock, who he will never see again, and he bites down hard against the wave of anguish that threatens to tear him apart...

oh, Jim...

Spock...

...and then, bright like the moon over a darkened Iowa sky, bright like the first ray of sunrise over the bleak Vulcan desert, the memory that had masqueraded as a dream, together, on the bridge, on Christmas, the sudden realization that the person he has fallen in love with is the person already at his side, and he has never felt such a sense of togetherness, the very antithesis of his deepest fear, an assurance that he need never be alone...

***

Through the layers of memory-thought and shared consciousness, Kirk felt Spock's arm go tight around him and pull him flush to his body. As he was kissed, slow and deep and urgent, he slid his own arms around Spock and they tangled together on the little bed, Spock's hand still locked in meld position on his temple.

This is what you longed for, the part of them that was still just Spock whispered, this closeness. This feeling of oneness. You and I together. This is what you wished.

Yes, the part of them that was still just Kirk responded. This, always. You and I.

Always.

Yes. Please, god, yes.

Their bodies met, as their minds had done, and by the time they were separate again, it was Christmas morning.

***

They ate a meal that was much too late to be dinner but still too early to be breakfast, propped up in bed together with the lights at ten percent and some Christmas music Spock had loaded onto his PADD playing at low volume, just enough to be a pleasant background hum. Spock was wearing the Arcadian robe, and, Kirk noticed with a little thrill of pride, he kept absently stroking the cuff, enjoying the soft texture against his sensitive fingers.

Kirk's own presents (an antique Art of War, and a Vulcan calligraphy scroll) had been carefully packed away into Spock's bag again, despite Kirk's eagerness to peruse them. Particularly the Vulcan scroll; Spock, uncharacteristically shy, had informed him the ornate text was a pre-Surakian poem depicting a young Vulcan's wuh'rak pon farr, his first instance of pon farr with his lifemate, and promised to read it to him. And based on the little thrill of anticipation that had skittered in from Spock through the bond when he'd made this promise, as well as some quick mental Vulcan mating-cycle math, Kirk guessed the reading would be both an enjoyable and ultimately useful performance.

A comfortable lassitude had settled over them both, born of physical release and renewed mental closeness. They'd been able to talk, making plans instead of promises of ways they could spend more time together. Spock was considering adapting a lighter class load, and Kirk intended to relinquish the Chief of Operations title, possibly replacing it with a position within the Academy working with command-track cadets. It was something that had been suggested to him when he first took ground assignment, but now, thoroughly sick of bureaucratic minutia, the idea sounded more appealing. They both agreed to start synchronizing leave on a regular basis, weekly if it could be managed.

Spock had not reblocked the bond when they parted, and though the strength of their connection had waned when they'd broken the meld, each felt the other's presence in his mind, and was warmed by it. Kirk was lounging against Spock's shoulder, the narrowness of the bed forcing them close, nibbling contentedly at a cranberry cookie from one of Spock's synthesizer cards, and the Vulcan was three-quarters into another cup of eggnog.

"What I fear I still do not understand," Spock said, when Kirk put the rest of the cookie down in order to snuggle more deeply into his side, "is how this day should be different than any other?"

"What do you mean?" Kirk asked. His eyes were half closed with sleepy contentment. He hadn't felt this peaceful in months.

"The significance of the Christmas holiday," Spock clarified. "I believe I understand, or am beginning to, the cultural traditions and mythologies. But you expressed an extreme desire for closeness between us on this day, which seems unrelated to the cultural traditions we have observed."

"Humans like to spend holidays with others that they love. At least, most do."

"Indeed? I confess, this desire for our togetherness is something I experience continually. The fact of the holiday appears not to have altered it. Perhaps my emotional response is abnormal?"

Kirk smiled, and pried one of Spock's hands off his cup so he could kiss his fingers.

"There's nothing abnormal about it. That's how I feel too. I always want this. Every day. It's always there, there's just... something about the holiday that makes me a little more aware of it. That's all."

"Illogical."

"I know. But you can't tell me you didn't enjoy it, illogical or not. I can feel how you feel, you know. Merry illogical Earth holiday, Spock."

"Indeed, I wish you the same. And yes, I am aware. I will attempt to deny nothing."

"Excellent." Kirk closed his eyes. Pressed against Spock's warm shoulder and the soft fabric of his robe, he was sinking toward sleep when the memory of their wedding brushed at the edge of his consciousness, and whether from his own mind or Spock's, he wasn't sure.

"We never did have our honeymoon, you know," he yawned, and twined his fingers into Spock's. "Wonder if this counts?"

"I believe we are well past the so called 'honeymoon stage.' After all, you will recall; according to the etymology, that phase's duration is roughly equivalent to a Terran lunar month, and, according to Earth standard time, we have been married for eight months and seven days."

"I don't know. I'm feeling pretty honeymoon-y, myself." He yawned again, and snuggled in closer. "Maybe it's an apter metaphor than we thought. After all; like the moon, love can wane, but it always waxes full again."

"Negative. The moon does not truly wane; it is as it always is. Even when parts of it appear shadowed, it is always there." Spock reached down and found the rumpled bed covering, pulling it up and smoothed it around them. "We do not wane, Jim. And through whatever darkness we may perceive, we will always brighten again."

"You could've been a poet, Spock."

"That is doubtful."

"Merry Christmas," Kirk murmured, and dropped off into contented sleep as Spock whispered the same in return.