New Fic - A Very Star Trek Christmas - Star Trek
Here's my Christmas fic! Nothing much more to say than that - oh, and I'll be slowly weening myself off of Fanfiction.Net, since they now... don't allow apostrophes in their fic, apparently.
***
Spock came to realize quite quickly that Jim Kirk took Christmas more seriously than he did dress regulation, or any other regulation for that matter. Tinsel and stockings were hung with exceptional care upon the consoles of the bridge, and Scotty was reduced to using terms in relation to coal except in high-stress situations. Spock had never been particularly fond of the holiday season; on Vulcan, it had hardly mattered, though his mother had attempted Christmastime festivities for two years before giving up. Earth had been another matter entirely, but he had been able to avoid the season for the most part at the Academy. On Kirk’s ship, however, the Christmas spirit was invariably impossible to avoid. Even Chekov, whose workspace was decorated in blue and silver rather than red and green, was impossibly attached to the holiday festivities.
Hanukkah, Spock found, was, while not necessarily more logical than Christmas, much less prone to flights of fancy. One miracle when one believes in God, after all, is hardly a stretch of thought. The secularized Christmas, however, that was supported aboard the ship by the majority of the crew, made as much sense as a talking mattress might.
Actually, Spock was certain he could rationalize a talking mattress.
"Look, Spock, I’m telling you. Santa isn’t like - you can’t just say he isn’t real!" Jim looked aghast at the very idea of Spock’s easy dismissal, "You’re gonna get in trouble for doing that."
"With whom, precisely?"
"With Santa, obviously." Jim crossed his arms and looked both exasperated and self-aware; he was quite certain that Spock’s refusal to believe in Santa Claus was going to result in some horrible fate. "If you don’t believe in him, all you’re going to get is a lump of coal and I’m not sharing whatever I get with you if that happens."
"I believe I will take my chances, Captain."
Sulu drummed his fingers on his console and looked over at the two officers. "Look, Jim, if he doesn’t want to believe in Santa, there’s nothing you can do about it. It’s a cultural difference." It was clear he was humoring the captain, but Jim didn’t seem to notice.
"Santa makes it to all sorts of planets, though!" Jim sighed, "Why wouldn’t he have gone to visit little kid Vulcans in their little Vulcan beds? Even Klingons believe in Santa!"
"Maybe," Chekov said, "Vulcans would disprove him and he would... poof!" He made a little explosion with his fist, "In a fit of logic. So he does not go to Vulcans so that he may not stop existing!"
"That," Spock said, his brow quirking in such a way that anyone who actually knew him (read: the shift currently on bridge) would know he was exasperated, "Would be sensible if not for two facts: humans cannot be dissolved by logic, as their physical presence proves their existence, and this ‘Saint Nicholas’ does not exist in the form that Jim so persistently insists on."
"Spock," Jim said gravely, "You’re gonna hate it when you wake up to coal in your stocking."
"I am sure you will supply enough to properly indicate your disappointment in my beliefs, Captain," Spock responded, "But that will not prove the existence of Santa Claus."
Jim sunk into his chair and sulked for the rest of the shift, but Spock felt that he had won the conversation and therefore paid it little mind.
***
It was 23:48 Federation Standard Time on Christmas Eve, and Spock was asleep in his quarters. To be exact, Spock was deep in meditation; it was far more restorative than sleep for Vulcans, and he made a habit of trying his best to synch his internal cycle up with the other crewmembers.
At 23:50 FST, Spock found himself being slowly dragged out of concentration by something that sounded suspiciously like footsteps. The tiny pitter-patter of steps inside his room, to be exact.
"Jolly," a voice called in the distance, making Spock wonder after his own thoughts, "What are you doing?"
A much nearer voice said, "Why, he looks just like us! A bit taller, maybe, but-"
"Jolly, Holly, don’t be so racist! Vulcans are not elves! Now get over here, we have work to do!"
The footsteps quickly retreated, and by the time Spock rose from his meditation, his door was sliding shut. At the foot of his bed was the stocking Jim had attached to his console in the bridge - inside it was what looked to be a matching set of woolen mittens and earmuffs specifically shaped for Vulcan ears. Spock raised a brow as he pulled the items out - and then quirked his lips at the lump of coal stuffed within.
He stood and went to the door, opening it and looking out. He intended to catch Jim at this game, now - after all, he had access to every room in the ship and therefore was the most likely culprit. He should have discerned that Jim’s seriousness had not been all that serious.
A shadow moved down the hallway, which was dim due to the sleeping status of everyone on the deck. He followed the sounds of footsteps, which he now heard plainly, as well as the unfamiliar trio of voices. They were telling each other what to put where, but whenever Spock got close, they seemed to disappear down another hall. It took him nearly five minutes before he reached where the voices seemed to be heading - the bridge. He was slightly concerned at this; perhaps the culprit was not Jim but a group of ensigns who had no business being on the bridge at this late hour. Those on duty would surely stop them.
The voices suddenly backtracked, and one giggled about Vulcans. Spock furrowed his brow in a Vulcan way and turned to follow.
Finally, he heard the door of the main recreation area shut and one of the voices, of which he had designated as belonging to code name "Jolly," said loudly, "All finished, big guy!"
"Not quite yet," a new, deeper voice said, sounding near laughing - Spock chose this moment to open the door to the recreation room. What he was greeted with nearly made him have a logic breakdown.
From the ceiling fell imaginary snow - or, no, it wasn’t imaginary, as it was just as chilly on the tip of his nose as any real snow would be. The scraggly artificial tree Jim had put up was replaced by a full, thick-branched live evergreen, decorated with gold and red baubles and topped with a bright gold star. Beneath it was spread a multitude of presents; there were so many that Spock momentarily wondered if they would upset the weight distribution of the ship. They stacked up behind the tree, against the wall, all decorated in shiny foil and wrapped expertly. The fake fireplace that Jim had taped to the wall, once plastic and tissue paper, was now sporting a real brick mantle, a fire crackling merrily within it.
Spock was dimly aware that he was slack jawed, but all of it was just - too much. There was no logic to how any of this could have arrived; nor was there any explanation for the four small, green-swathed childlike creatures standing around the hearth or, of course, the plump, jolly old man with a twinkle in his eye and a corn cob pipe.
Did they even make corn cob pipes? Spock didn’t know. Dr. McCoy would know, he would have to ask -
His brain was malfunctioning, running in a distinctly more human thought process; gone was the logic or the sense of self and instead he was forced to accept what he was seeing.
"This cannot be possible."
The man - Santa Claus, though he couldn’t possibly be - laughed heartily, that telltale "Ho! Ho! Ho!" making Spock feel both immensely distressed and warm-and-fuzzy. It was like he had separated internally into two distinctly different people; his Vulcan side could not make sense or rationalize the existence of any of this, and so his human side had to take over. Santa Claus himself said nothing, however, just laughed again and put a finger to his nose, eyes twinkling. With a wink and a nod, he and the four creatures with him stepped into the fireplace, which grew to fit Santa’s frame within its firebox, and they rose through the chimney and into...
Space?
Spock had never run as fast as he had that night, racing to the bridge in time to see that the entire crew was fast asleep, each one looking as though they had been drugged - and then a sleigh, pulled by eight tiny reindeer, veered across the front of the ship and into the distance, faster than the warp drive could ever hope to reach - briefly, Spock thought that his eyes had seen the stars arrange themselves into the words, "MERRY CHRISTMAS," but as soon as he blinked it was gone.
The bridge crew was drowsily waking up - but they woke up quicker once they realized that the imaginary snow Spock had seen in the recreational room was falling on them. It seemed to come from nowhere, gently drifting down. Spock stepped into the turbolift - which was now playing Jingle Bells - and found that the other hallways were now subject to the impossible snow.
When he reached the room once more, he found that the bridge crew had alerted the captain, who was now bouncing around the recreational room while McCoy, Scotty and the alpha bridge crew watched in equal awe. The fireplace was fake once more, but everything else was the same.
Jim whirled when Spock entered and looked to be both defiant and anxious. "Well?" he said, crossing his arms, "Do you believe me now?"
Spock thought it over for a moment, and then removed the coal that he had kept in his possession and tossed it to Jim. "Presence indicates existence, Captain. It would be illogical not to believe after such a night."
There was a relieved silence for all of five seconds, but then Ensign Ricky burst through the door with what looked to be a regulation mattress on his back. "Sledding contest on the medical deck!" he shouted before racing away.
"Jesus Christ," McCoy snarled, giving chase, "That place ain’t a damned ski slope!"
Spock just shook his head and put on his new earmuffs. Santa even knew that he was partial to the color red - imagine that.
***
Spock came to realize quite quickly that Jim Kirk took Christmas more seriously than he did dress regulation, or any other regulation for that matter. Tinsel and stockings were hung with exceptional care upon the consoles of the bridge, and Scotty was reduced to using terms in relation to coal except in high-stress situations. Spock had never been particularly fond of the holiday season; on Vulcan, it had hardly mattered, though his mother had attempted Christmastime festivities for two years before giving up. Earth had been another matter entirely, but he had been able to avoid the season for the most part at the Academy. On Kirk’s ship, however, the Christmas spirit was invariably impossible to avoid. Even Chekov, whose workspace was decorated in blue and silver rather than red and green, was impossibly attached to the holiday festivities.
Hanukkah, Spock found, was, while not necessarily more logical than Christmas, much less prone to flights of fancy. One miracle when one believes in God, after all, is hardly a stretch of thought. The secularized Christmas, however, that was supported aboard the ship by the majority of the crew, made as much sense as a talking mattress might.
Actually, Spock was certain he could rationalize a talking mattress.
"Look, Spock, I’m telling you. Santa isn’t like - you can’t just say he isn’t real!" Jim looked aghast at the very idea of Spock’s easy dismissal, "You’re gonna get in trouble for doing that."
"With whom, precisely?"
"With Santa, obviously." Jim crossed his arms and looked both exasperated and self-aware; he was quite certain that Spock’s refusal to believe in Santa Claus was going to result in some horrible fate. "If you don’t believe in him, all you’re going to get is a lump of coal and I’m not sharing whatever I get with you if that happens."
"I believe I will take my chances, Captain."
Sulu drummed his fingers on his console and looked over at the two officers. "Look, Jim, if he doesn’t want to believe in Santa, there’s nothing you can do about it. It’s a cultural difference." It was clear he was humoring the captain, but Jim didn’t seem to notice.
"Santa makes it to all sorts of planets, though!" Jim sighed, "Why wouldn’t he have gone to visit little kid Vulcans in their little Vulcan beds? Even Klingons believe in Santa!"
"Maybe," Chekov said, "Vulcans would disprove him and he would... poof!" He made a little explosion with his fist, "In a fit of logic. So he does not go to Vulcans so that he may not stop existing!"
"That," Spock said, his brow quirking in such a way that anyone who actually knew him (read: the shift currently on bridge) would know he was exasperated, "Would be sensible if not for two facts: humans cannot be dissolved by logic, as their physical presence proves their existence, and this ‘Saint Nicholas’ does not exist in the form that Jim so persistently insists on."
"Spock," Jim said gravely, "You’re gonna hate it when you wake up to coal in your stocking."
"I am sure you will supply enough to properly indicate your disappointment in my beliefs, Captain," Spock responded, "But that will not prove the existence of Santa Claus."
Jim sunk into his chair and sulked for the rest of the shift, but Spock felt that he had won the conversation and therefore paid it little mind.
***
It was 23:48 Federation Standard Time on Christmas Eve, and Spock was asleep in his quarters. To be exact, Spock was deep in meditation; it was far more restorative than sleep for Vulcans, and he made a habit of trying his best to synch his internal cycle up with the other crewmembers.
At 23:50 FST, Spock found himself being slowly dragged out of concentration by something that sounded suspiciously like footsteps. The tiny pitter-patter of steps inside his room, to be exact.
"Jolly," a voice called in the distance, making Spock wonder after his own thoughts, "What are you doing?"
A much nearer voice said, "Why, he looks just like us! A bit taller, maybe, but-"
"Jolly, Holly, don’t be so racist! Vulcans are not elves! Now get over here, we have work to do!"
The footsteps quickly retreated, and by the time Spock rose from his meditation, his door was sliding shut. At the foot of his bed was the stocking Jim had attached to his console in the bridge - inside it was what looked to be a matching set of woolen mittens and earmuffs specifically shaped for Vulcan ears. Spock raised a brow as he pulled the items out - and then quirked his lips at the lump of coal stuffed within.
He stood and went to the door, opening it and looking out. He intended to catch Jim at this game, now - after all, he had access to every room in the ship and therefore was the most likely culprit. He should have discerned that Jim’s seriousness had not been all that serious.
A shadow moved down the hallway, which was dim due to the sleeping status of everyone on the deck. He followed the sounds of footsteps, which he now heard plainly, as well as the unfamiliar trio of voices. They were telling each other what to put where, but whenever Spock got close, they seemed to disappear down another hall. It took him nearly five minutes before he reached where the voices seemed to be heading - the bridge. He was slightly concerned at this; perhaps the culprit was not Jim but a group of ensigns who had no business being on the bridge at this late hour. Those on duty would surely stop them.
The voices suddenly backtracked, and one giggled about Vulcans. Spock furrowed his brow in a Vulcan way and turned to follow.
Finally, he heard the door of the main recreation area shut and one of the voices, of which he had designated as belonging to code name "Jolly," said loudly, "All finished, big guy!"
"Not quite yet," a new, deeper voice said, sounding near laughing - Spock chose this moment to open the door to the recreation room. What he was greeted with nearly made him have a logic breakdown.
From the ceiling fell imaginary snow - or, no, it wasn’t imaginary, as it was just as chilly on the tip of his nose as any real snow would be. The scraggly artificial tree Jim had put up was replaced by a full, thick-branched live evergreen, decorated with gold and red baubles and topped with a bright gold star. Beneath it was spread a multitude of presents; there were so many that Spock momentarily wondered if they would upset the weight distribution of the ship. They stacked up behind the tree, against the wall, all decorated in shiny foil and wrapped expertly. The fake fireplace that Jim had taped to the wall, once plastic and tissue paper, was now sporting a real brick mantle, a fire crackling merrily within it.
Spock was dimly aware that he was slack jawed, but all of it was just - too much. There was no logic to how any of this could have arrived; nor was there any explanation for the four small, green-swathed childlike creatures standing around the hearth or, of course, the plump, jolly old man with a twinkle in his eye and a corn cob pipe.
Did they even make corn cob pipes? Spock didn’t know. Dr. McCoy would know, he would have to ask -
His brain was malfunctioning, running in a distinctly more human thought process; gone was the logic or the sense of self and instead he was forced to accept what he was seeing.
"This cannot be possible."
The man - Santa Claus, though he couldn’t possibly be - laughed heartily, that telltale "Ho! Ho! Ho!" making Spock feel both immensely distressed and warm-and-fuzzy. It was like he had separated internally into two distinctly different people; his Vulcan side could not make sense or rationalize the existence of any of this, and so his human side had to take over. Santa Claus himself said nothing, however, just laughed again and put a finger to his nose, eyes twinkling. With a wink and a nod, he and the four creatures with him stepped into the fireplace, which grew to fit Santa’s frame within its firebox, and they rose through the chimney and into...
Space?
Spock had never run as fast as he had that night, racing to the bridge in time to see that the entire crew was fast asleep, each one looking as though they had been drugged - and then a sleigh, pulled by eight tiny reindeer, veered across the front of the ship and into the distance, faster than the warp drive could ever hope to reach - briefly, Spock thought that his eyes had seen the stars arrange themselves into the words, "MERRY CHRISTMAS," but as soon as he blinked it was gone.
The bridge crew was drowsily waking up - but they woke up quicker once they realized that the imaginary snow Spock had seen in the recreational room was falling on them. It seemed to come from nowhere, gently drifting down. Spock stepped into the turbolift - which was now playing Jingle Bells - and found that the other hallways were now subject to the impossible snow.
When he reached the room once more, he found that the bridge crew had alerted the captain, who was now bouncing around the recreational room while McCoy, Scotty and the alpha bridge crew watched in equal awe. The fireplace was fake once more, but everything else was the same.
Jim whirled when Spock entered and looked to be both defiant and anxious. "Well?" he said, crossing his arms, "Do you believe me now?"
Spock thought it over for a moment, and then removed the coal that he had kept in his possession and tossed it to Jim. "Presence indicates existence, Captain. It would be illogical not to believe after such a night."
There was a relieved silence for all of five seconds, but then Ensign Ricky burst through the door with what looked to be a regulation mattress on his back. "Sledding contest on the medical deck!" he shouted before racing away.
"Jesus Christ," McCoy snarled, giving chase, "That place ain’t a damned ski slope!"
Spock just shook his head and put on his new earmuffs. Santa even knew that he was partial to the color red - imagine that.