Star Trek Fic: Out of Many, One (Part 3/6)
Title: Out of Many, One
Genre: Romance/Friendship fic
Word Count: ~39,000
Rating: PG-13
Pairings: McCoy/Uhura, Jim/Spock
Warnings: None
Summary: The holidays are a time for family and friends, for celebrations and showing them just how much they mean to you. For people from different walks of life and different cultures, it also means finding a common ground. McCoy, Uhura, Jim, and Spock's first holiday season together at the Academy.
Author's Note: As always, a huge thanks to phoenix_laugh for the beta. A far, far overdue Christmas present for rusting_roses. So late, in fact, that it kind of became a fusion Christmas/birthday present. As always, my dear, we've had some crazy adventures along the way. The road's usually not straight, and I'm more likely than not to take the long way around, but we got there. To be quite frank, I wouldn't trade our adventures for the world, you've become a lifelong friend, one of the best I've ever had. We'll raise a glass this fall (maybe even with a bit of real alcohol!) to celebrate the adventures yet to come.
[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3] [Part 4] [Part 5] [Part 6]
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Spock keyed in the code to open his door, tucking his package under his arm to leave the other free to dial the keypad. The door chirped in acknowledgement of the correct code entry, and a moment later the doors retracted to grant him entrance.
He wasn't surprised to see Jim kicked back on his couch, his feet up on the cushions in the way that always earned him a half-serious reprimand. It was more of a part an elaborate ritual these days. No, it didn't surprise him at all that Jim was in his quarters. He'd given Jim his keypad entry code for exactly this purpose. It was a show of trust, and Jim had never done anything to make him regret the gesture. What did surprise him, though, and had his eyebrow rising in a silent query, was the fact that Jim was sitting on his couch in a full Santa costume. Jim had pulled the white scraggly beard down around his neck, but he had arranged the rest of the costume with the same military precision that the Academy worked so hard to instill in each cadet. Spock was a bit amazed that Jim wasn't flushed as red as the suit he was wearing considering the combination of his well-heated apartment and the heavy costume material.
"Spock! It's about damn time. I was starting to wonder whether you were ever coming home tonight. It's a strange night indeed when the teacher is coming home later than the student. I thought that all-nighters were behind you." Jim moved his feet off the couch in a silent show of respect and set his PADD aside on the ground.
Spock set his package on the nearest end table and began stripping out of his coat. "A student requested assistance with a project that I am overseeing as the advisor."
"A plebe hassling you? Maybe a last minute panic session before the term project's due?" Jim said, chuckling. "I swear. I feel old watching them rush about sometimes. I'm a bit amazed sometimes that they can pack that much nervous energy into such a small frame."
Spock crossed over to the chair nestled in the corner near the couch and gracefully settled himself into it, package held in his lap. "I distinctly remember a Professor Hendrickson lamenting to me over a certain Cadet Kirk who persisted in twice-weekly interviews for his military history class picking his brain for more knowledge of his service on the USS Excalibur.“
"He was dodging my e-mails. Showing up in person was the only way to get any useful information for the paper I was assigned," Jim shot back. He pulled the hat off the top of his head and rubbed at the back of his scalp. "Was I really that annoying?"
"I did not make your acquaintance until late in your second year. By then, as you put it, you had 'settled.' As for my meeting, it was a staff meeting concerning the curriculum for the Advanced Linguistics class I wish to offer next term."
Jim's lip curved upwards at the corner. "They give you grief? If so, I'm sure you wrestled them into agreement with that Vulcan logic you employ so deviously sometimes." Jim paused long enough to toss the hat over to Spock. Astute as ever, the Vulcan easily snatched it out of the air and settled it on top of his package. Jim continued, unfazed. "I know you're busy and all. I'm studying a lot for finals myself..."
Spock cocked his head to the side just a bit. He stroked the edge of the hat, the velvet texture smooth under his fingers. "Indeed, I was asked to proofread the test you will be taking in one week for your class on interstellar travel."
"Wait, you've seen the test? Does it look hard?"
Spock leveled him a stare, one that was sincerely asking him why he even bothered asking these sorts of questions.
Jim raised his hands in defense, "Ok, ok," he said, chuckling. "You are a stone fortress of secrecy. I'll find out myself soon enough," he finished with a groan. "On a different topic, we still need to plan our holiday celebration."
A silence hung in the air for a few seconds, then. Spock took the time to examine Jim's current choice of dress once more. He wrapped the white ball of the hat in his fist. It was moments like this that he sometimes wondered how they had become such a pair. When he'd first met Jim, he had found everything about him infuriating. His blatant disregard for Academy rules had been at the top of a very long list of complaints. Spock believed in those rules, he stood behind them as a professor at this institution. Somehow he'd managed to fall in with the one man who took particular pleasure in breaking the rules more than anyone else he had ever met.
It was like taking a deep breath of air on his home world, sometimes. It was the only way to describe it. The way wind whipped against him, it would brush back the hair he had so meticulously arranged just hours before. Sometimes he'd get a bit of sand thrown against his face if a strong storm system was stirring off to the east over the mountains. He woke up and stood on his balcony and never really could predict what the day would bring him. Jim was the same. In his so carefully ordered world, Jim would buck his routine and throw him something entirely unexpected. Not unwelcomed, no, he couldn't say that. He'd learned to relish the exhilaration of stealing a private moment in his office between classes. Jim showed up sometimes, unannounced. He'd sneak an arm around Spock's shoulder with a firm grip, spinning around his chair until they hovered just inches from one another. The distance didn't last, it never did. They would part their mouths a few minutes later. Spock would reorganize his uniform and Jim would head to class and their routine would resume. Those stolen moments, the unplanned encounters that left his pulse beating so strongly in his neck that he had to wonder just how he'd slow his breathing enough to stand before his class and recite his lesson for the day, they'd taught him something. Routine wasn't everything. It was the most unexpected encounters that would blow you away.
This knowledge, floating in the back of his mind like a buoy in a chaotic world, let him look at Jim's current choice of clothing with more curiosity than concern. He could think of a handful of rules that Jim was breaking at the moment, not the least of them violating cadet dress code. In this moment, none of that mattered. "So, care to enlighten me as to why you are currently wearing this colorful outfit?" he inquired in a level voice.
"What are you talking about, Spock? It's red, cadet colors, right? You wouldn't believe me if I said that the higher ups decided on a holiday theme for our uniforms for this month?" Jim brushed an imaginary speck of dust off his shoulder. "I thought they were rather cheery."
Spock tossed the hat back over to Jim. "Your current clothing selection may strain the eye just a bit." It really was an obnoxiously bright shade of red. Blue had always suited Jim better as far as he was concerned. "I would've received a memo concerning any modification in cadet dress code."
"Such a stickler, Spock. I could clue you in, I suppose," Jim said. He paused for dramatic effect, his face frozen in that mischievous grin he favored over all else. He gave up holding out, then, and responded. "We've been doing that collection of donation of toys for a few local foster families. They were delivering the presents today. Their Santa got sick last minute." He shrugged. "I volunteered to step in."
"That was kind of you," Spock responded. He let his voice soften. It wasn't something that came naturally. It was a human gesture, to alter one's voice to suggest an emotional response. He'd gotten better at it in recent months. Time with Jim had taught him that much. The man's eyes would flare a bit brighter and his smile would grow even wider, something Spock wouldn't have believed possible if he hadn't seen it himself. Jim responded to the vocal inclination just as he always did, basking in the glow of an emotional exchange shared between the two of them. It might just be a moment, it might just be his tone of voice, but the look Jim got on his face, the flush in his cheeks that sometimes rose there, it may as well have been their world contained in a single expression. To see that, Spock would gladly abandon his Vulcan rhetoric for a spell. "I suppose I must commend your enthusiasm for your role, you've still maintained the appearance of this children's folktale figure even after the completion of your charity event."
Jim shrugged. "A bit more exciting than the normal cadet get-up. I also thought it might serve as a good ice breaker. We do need to decide what we're doing for the holidays, you know?" He finished his question with a bit of hesitation. Like this conversation was something he wasn't exactly sure how to start. It was a bit unnerving. Jim had a quick mind and a faster tongue. He didn't find himself lacking for words often.
"You practice some of the Christian traditions, do you not?" Spock inquired.
"I mean I don't go to Christmas Mass, or anything. But I usually like to get a tree and exchange gifts and such."
Spock nodded. "That would be an acceptable way to commemorate the occasion."
Jim sighed, letting the hat fall from his hand to the floor. "I know. So far you've said you're pretty much find with whatever I want to do. The holidays are about both of us, though. I'd like this celebration to be yours too."
"My people do not celebrate holidays as humans do. Therefore it is most logical to celebrate in the manner to which you are accustomed," Spock finished. He felt a crinkle creeping into his brow. This issue had been an unspoken debate in the air for some time now.
"There's nothing?" Jim asked earnestly.
"We have Kal Rekk-"
Jim rolled his eyes. "I know. Day of Atonement and all that jazz. Not exactly the most cheery thing, though. Nothing else? What about your mom? She didn't celebrate anything around this time of year either?"
"As a youth, my mother tried to instruct me in the religious beliefs of her family. I failed to divine their purpose," Spock finished in a low voice. What did Jim really expect from him out of this? "You know Vulcans are different from humans-"
"Spock, you forget about half of who you are sometimes," Jim responded. "You are half human."
"I was raised in a primarily Vulcan environment, Jim."
"You know, you got those pointy ears and all and those deliciously and exaggeratedly arched eyebrows. Those are Vulcan, sure as hell. But you forget the part where I've seen holos of your mother. You have her eyes, for sure. A bit of your human side shows too. I'm just asking that you give it a chance. Or failing that, find a Vulcan equivalent that we can add into our celebration," Kirk finished.
"I don't believe there is anything comparable to your festivities of dressing trees and-"
"Spock, I promise you," Jim said, a mischievous bend in his voice. "Leave all the planning to me and it'll look like Christmas exploded in your apartment. I won't mind it, at all, mind you. But leave it to me and I'll really be going all out."
Spock sighed, shaking his head. There really was no arguing with Jim when he set his mind to something. "I will reflect upon this matter and get back to you. Is this an acceptable compromise?"
Jim shrugged, but a grin flitted across his face. It was the look that always was to be found on his face when he'd gotten his way, no matter how small of an issue it was. "Well...I suppose. You got a few days, though, and that's it. Planning a proper holiday celebration takes time. You know I'm not a last minute type of guy, especially when it comes to something as important as the holidays."
"Jim, you thrive on cobbling a project together in the hours before a deadline."
"Hey, grace under pressure, right? Nothing like a deadline approaching at terminal velocity to motivate you. And I always get my stuff done!" he shot back slyly. There was a grin on his face, teeth making an appearance between parted lips.
"Don't ask me how," Spock responded, his eyebrow rising fractionally. Careful planning and execution was a staple of his people. How Jim managed to hold off until the final night to get anything done was one thing. How his partner managed to actually assemble a project in such chaos was quite another and the mystery continued to confound him to this day.
Jim chuckled under his breath. At the same time, he snatched his hat from where he'd discarded it to the ground. He hopped to his feet and quickly plopped down on the armrest of the chair Spock was currently occupying. "So what's in the package? You've got me almost dying of curiosity. You haven't set the thing down since you stepped foot in here."
Spock ran a finger along the tape that sealed the cardboard box. "It's from my mother. She informed me that I should expect its arrival this week."
"I thought mail service between Vulcan and here usually took a bit longer than that?"
Spock began pulling at the edge of the tape in an attempt to reveal the package's contents. His carefully manicured fingernails were failing dismally at the job. Jim rolled his eyes and handed over a pocket knife that he'd procured from somewhere on his person. Spock hadn't been paying careful enough attention to see from where. Then again, Jim had always had that ability, to move seemingly faster than Spock could follow the movements sometimes. Or maybe it was just the way Jim could engage in a seamless conversation and keep him distracted even as he occupied himself with some other motion. "Here, give this a shot. Keep trying it that way and we'll be here for a week."
Spock accepted the knife, carefully pulling the blade loose from its folded position until the blade locked straight. He ran the blade along the seam of the tape with a practiced hand and then returned it to Jim. His partner flipped the knife closed and hid it in one of his pockets.
"You're so dainty sometimes, you know that Spock? Sometimes you just have to go all in and rip it open. Haven't you ever seen kids on Christmas? They practically tear into a gift. I'm a bit amazed the actual gift survives the onslaught sometimes when a kid gets really worked up."
Spock didn't respond for a moment. He was folding back the packing material that had been added to cradle the contents of the box. He finally got down to the actual item itself, carefully wrapped in brown parcel paper. Setting the box to the ground next to his feet, he cradled the item in his lap. "Children at Christmas can be...quite vicious," Spock consented, the edge of his mouth curving upward slightly.
"Well, open it already! You don't have to rip the thing open, but at least get it so we can see what's inside."
Spock complied, tearing the parcel paper until the item sent by his mother was completely exposed to view. "It's a menorah."
"For Chanukah, right? Are you Jewish and maybe that's a very large detail you somehow omitted with all of the holiday-oriented conversations we've had up until this point?"
"My mother was Jewish. I have never practiced her religion, excluding the few attempts she made to teach me about her beliefs," Spock replied, handling the menorah. It was heavy in his hand, cool to the touch. It was of solid build, the metal smooth under his fingertips. It had obviously seen much use; the gold varnish was worn away in places from years of handling. Despite that, though, it was well cared for. He could feel a bit of oil rubbing off on his skin. Someone, perhaps his mother, must've applied the mixture to prevent rust or corrosion from setting in.
"It's beautiful," Jim offered.
Spock nodded, still refusing to part his attention from the religious fixture. His mother had sent him this. To what end, he wondered. She knew he didn't share her beliefs and yet had taken the time to approach USF personnel familiar with their family with a request for them to carry this package on their ship and bring it back to Earth. Jim was right about that, normal Post took weeks. His mother's package had arrived in just days, someone, either his mother or father, must've called in some favors or pulled some strings to have this item sitting in his hand so soon. His mom had mentioned that it was time sensitive, perhaps that had been why. But what was time sensitive about this item? It had obviously survived many years of heavy use, what harm would come to it on a few weeks' journey on a regular mail-carrying vessel?
"So, you going to light it up for the holidays and all?" Jim asked, interrupting his thoughts.
He finally tore his gaze from the mesmerizing detail work that had been carved into the branch and stem of the menorah in symbols he didn't recognize. "I am not familiar with the religious ceremonies or symbolism behind this," he responded, hefting the menorah up in the air a bit, off his lap, to give Jim a better view.
"Well, it's never too late. Your mom didn't tell you anything about it?"
He shook his head. "She merely told me she was sending a package. She made me promise that I would give thought and reflection to the note and instructions she was sending with it."
"I didn't see a letter anywhere," Jim offered.
Spock begrudgingly handed the menorah off to Jim. He didn't want to set it on the ground. He didn't necessarily believe the religious significance of the item, but his mother did. She had cared enough to package it so carefully and ship it on a United Federation ship, unwilling to trust it to the normal Post. He may not personally share her religion, but he could certainly pay adequate respect to his mother's beliefs.
He pulled the box back onto his lap and began rifling through the contents again. A brief search turned up a small parchment. The parchment was a Vulcan weave, he recognized the texture. It wasn't used for regular correspondence, only for important issues of cultural significance. This parchment was still made by hand even in this technological age. More often than not, he'd seen it exchanged between the ruling council and the religious bodies of his people. Scrawling her message on parchment meant something. It meant the words carried weight, both physically in the weight of the parchment, and metaphorically in the message they suggested. Unrolling it, he briefly skimmed the letter.
Jim respected the time he took, remaining silent in the interim. He turned the menorah around in his grasp, examining it closely as Spock had done just moments before.
"She wishes for me to commemorate the Jewish Chanukah as she and all people of the Jewish faith do every year."
Jim nodded. "This is good for you. It'll let you get to explore that human side a little more." He smirked. "It's perfect for me. Solves the problem of me having to bludgeon your holiday preferences out of you."
Spock set the package casing aside again. He set the parchment down separately on the end table.
Jim immediately offered the menorah back; Spock quickly took it from his hands and began running his eyes over it again. "I suppose this will satisfy your desire for a shared holiday celebration?" he asked, turning his head to meet Jim's gaze.
"It's a perfect compromise," he suggested, heartened. As he spoke, he slipped the Santa hat onto Spock's head before the Vulcan had a chance to protest. He pulled it down over his partner's ears with a firm tug so that removing it would take him more than a second or two. He stood up, twirling across the room in retreat, out of Spock's reach, as he responded. "See, Spock? We'll get you developing a little holiday spirit in no time!"
Spock nodded. A trace of a smile flitted across his face. He left the hat in place, for the time being. The heat it brought to his ears was actually pleasant, even in the warmth of his apartment. He could give this small concession to the holiday-craze that had bitten Jim in the past week or so. He examined the markings on the menorah again. He made a mental note to schedule an appointment with a professor in the cultural studies department to help him divine their meanings. Maybe he'd learn something about this holiday phenomenon yet.
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Uhura missed sliding the key into the lock for the second time. A growl rose low in her throat. Right about then she wouldn't hesitate to throw out the window the administrator who'd assigned her to the oldest dorms on campus. No, old wasn't the right word for this place, she corrected herself. Even old buildings in this day and age had key cards. These dorms were ancient. A metal key in a metal lock? These dorms should be boarded up and condemned or be put on display as a museum and testament to how people used to live.
Most days, it had a rustic charm to it. Today, all she could think was how it paled in comparison to where McCoy lived. What sort of impression was she supposed to give him, bringing him home to this?
Her normal grace had abandoned her and left a bucket of frayed nerves in her stomach. She had been to McCoy's place, no problem. They had ordered in Chinese food from the city and they had made a lovely night of it. Now, however, it was her turn to host their evening at her own place. She wasn't ready for this, but then, if she waited, she'd probably never be ready for this. Stalling had only gotten her so far. She'd run out of excuses and now here they were standing in front of her door and she couldn't even get the stupid key in the stupid key hole. She pulled the key back toward her and tightened her muscles in a vice grip, attempting to steady her hand against the slight nervous tremor that had taken up residence there.
A warm hand closed around her own. "Easy, Nyota. Is everything ok?" Leonard inquired.
No. We're about to walk into my place and you're going to see how the other half lives. "I'm fine," she replied, forcing her voice to smooth out.
He nodded. "Just wanted to be sure. You seem a little tense."
"It's been a long day, getting ready for finals and all," she responded. She finally managed to get the key into the door and begrudgingly popped the door open, leading the way inside. She didn't have to look to know that he had followed her in. She heard the door close behind them. Now there really was no turning back.
She wanted to close her eyes or stick her fingers in her ears. It was a childish impulse, one she'd used to give in to in her younger years when someone was about to say something she wasn't going to like. If she couldn't hear her mom assign chores she couldn't be expected to do them, right? She resisted the notion, but she didn't turn around. She didn't want to face him right now. She didn't want to see the disappointment on his face.
"It's..."
Here it came.
"It's quaint," Leonard offered.
Time to face the music. She turned around and shrugged. What else could she do?
There wasn't horror on his face, though. There wasn't confusion or disappointment that this was all there was. The exact opposite, if that could be believed. The man had a smile on his face. "I forgot how tightly they packed you guys in here. Like cattle, huh?"
She shrugged again. Her eyes floated over their pair of beds and desks and just a single chair for visitors. He was right in that, they didn't have a whole lot of room. Not that they entertained visitors very often. On the few nights that Gaila somehow convinced her that a girl's movie night was in order and ran up and down the hall inviting everyone, it worked ok. They'd crowd in here, three, sometimes five of them on a single bed crammed around the PADD they'd be using to view the movie. "You could say that," she said at almost a whisper. She still didn't know what to make of his expression.
"I mean, kudos to you for managing to get all your stuff in here. I think my stuff would've bled over into the hallway," he said, chuckling. "Jim's always railing on me for that, he says I have way too much stuff."
He was just babbling now, obviously picking up on her sudden quiet demeanor. He was attempting to fill the awkward vacuum. She gave him credit for that. "You're smiling," she offered. "What's so funny?"
"Just the penny pinching Admiralty. I lived my first year in a pretty small place. It was solo occupancy, mind you, but," he said, taking a look around, "I'm pretty sure my place was actually smaller than this. You'd think considering we're supposed to be protecting the planet and all that they'd treat us at least a little better than common criminals in terms of our living arrangements."
She smiled then. There was just something about McCoy's infectious personality that she couldn't resist. "I'd satisfy for just being treated as well as common criminals. You ever been to a prison? There are cells there larger than this."
He nodded. "As close as Jim's gotten me thus far, between the bar fights and every other crazy stunt that pops into his mind, I count my blessings I've not yet had the unfortunate experience of seeing a jail cell from the flip side."
Uhura snorted. "Well there's a miracle if I ever did hear of one."
He tipped his head forward in agreement. "Not that he hasn't tried his damnest to accomplish just that. I swear that getting arrested is penciled in there on his four year plan somewhere, probably right after beating the Kobayashi Maru and before assuming command of his own ship."
"No one ever said Jim wasn't one to shoot for the moon."
"Wrong scale, my dear," Leonard responded. "He's too busy shooting for the stars to be preoccupied with a little thing like the moon.
A giggle bubbled up from Uhura's throat. Leonard did a double take. "I don't think I would've ever imagined I'd hear that sort or reaction from the restrained and ever-polite and proper Nyota Uhura. Do tell, please, what thought it was that prompted such a turn of events. Hopefully not the impending apocalypse."
She shook her head. "Some of us just have a bit more realistic expectations. I just want to survive living in this fire trap."
McCoy had to be the one to dissent this time. "I believe you had some crazy plans of your own, there. I believe last I heard it was planning to graduate from the Xenolinguistics program in four years? My mind might be a little fuzzy on the numbers, but I do believe that's normally a six year program."
She shrugged. "I'm good with words."
He leaned in close, bumping her shoulder with his own playfully as he lowered his mouth to just inches from her ear. His breath was hot against her neck. "I believe the correct statement there would be that you are good with words and the primary languages of nine sentient species."
"Eleven languages," she corrected, turning her head and pressing her lips against his own. She pulled back and hovered there for just the briefest of moments. "I read, speak, and understand two dialects for Romulan and the Annari," she corrected him, raising an eyebrow, daring him to challenge her.
"Oh, stop showing off," he chastised, closing the inches between them as he pulled her into an embrace and they toppled onto one of the beds together.
She giggled again. This wasn't like her. It really wasn't. "You're terrible! This isn't even my bed!"
She could feel his lips curl upward into a grin. "I don't believe your roommate's here to complain. She'll have to wait until we're finished to lodge a formal complaint."
"You're insufferable, you know," she chastised him.
He pulled her in closer until their bodies were pressed up one another. "You wouldn't have it any other way."
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Continue to Part 4
Genre: Romance/Friendship fic
Word Count: ~39,000
Rating: PG-13
Pairings: McCoy/Uhura, Jim/Spock
Warnings: None
Summary: The holidays are a time for family and friends, for celebrations and showing them just how much they mean to you. For people from different walks of life and different cultures, it also means finding a common ground. McCoy, Uhura, Jim, and Spock's first holiday season together at the Academy.
Author's Note: As always, a huge thanks to phoenix_laugh for the beta. A far, far overdue Christmas present for rusting_roses. So late, in fact, that it kind of became a fusion Christmas/birthday present. As always, my dear, we've had some crazy adventures along the way. The road's usually not straight, and I'm more likely than not to take the long way around, but we got there. To be quite frank, I wouldn't trade our adventures for the world, you've become a lifelong friend, one of the best I've ever had. We'll raise a glass this fall (maybe even with a bit of real alcohol!) to celebrate the adventures yet to come.
[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3] [Part 4] [Part 5] [Part 6]
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Spock keyed in the code to open his door, tucking his package under his arm to leave the other free to dial the keypad. The door chirped in acknowledgement of the correct code entry, and a moment later the doors retracted to grant him entrance.
He wasn't surprised to see Jim kicked back on his couch, his feet up on the cushions in the way that always earned him a half-serious reprimand. It was more of a part an elaborate ritual these days. No, it didn't surprise him at all that Jim was in his quarters. He'd given Jim his keypad entry code for exactly this purpose. It was a show of trust, and Jim had never done anything to make him regret the gesture. What did surprise him, though, and had his eyebrow rising in a silent query, was the fact that Jim was sitting on his couch in a full Santa costume. Jim had pulled the white scraggly beard down around his neck, but he had arranged the rest of the costume with the same military precision that the Academy worked so hard to instill in each cadet. Spock was a bit amazed that Jim wasn't flushed as red as the suit he was wearing considering the combination of his well-heated apartment and the heavy costume material.
"Spock! It's about damn time. I was starting to wonder whether you were ever coming home tonight. It's a strange night indeed when the teacher is coming home later than the student. I thought that all-nighters were behind you." Jim moved his feet off the couch in a silent show of respect and set his PADD aside on the ground.
Spock set his package on the nearest end table and began stripping out of his coat. "A student requested assistance with a project that I am overseeing as the advisor."
"A plebe hassling you? Maybe a last minute panic session before the term project's due?" Jim said, chuckling. "I swear. I feel old watching them rush about sometimes. I'm a bit amazed sometimes that they can pack that much nervous energy into such a small frame."
Spock crossed over to the chair nestled in the corner near the couch and gracefully settled himself into it, package held in his lap. "I distinctly remember a Professor Hendrickson lamenting to me over a certain Cadet Kirk who persisted in twice-weekly interviews for his military history class picking his brain for more knowledge of his service on the USS Excalibur.“
"He was dodging my e-mails. Showing up in person was the only way to get any useful information for the paper I was assigned," Jim shot back. He pulled the hat off the top of his head and rubbed at the back of his scalp. "Was I really that annoying?"
"I did not make your acquaintance until late in your second year. By then, as you put it, you had 'settled.' As for my meeting, it was a staff meeting concerning the curriculum for the Advanced Linguistics class I wish to offer next term."
Jim's lip curved upwards at the corner. "They give you grief? If so, I'm sure you wrestled them into agreement with that Vulcan logic you employ so deviously sometimes." Jim paused long enough to toss the hat over to Spock. Astute as ever, the Vulcan easily snatched it out of the air and settled it on top of his package. Jim continued, unfazed. "I know you're busy and all. I'm studying a lot for finals myself..."
Spock cocked his head to the side just a bit. He stroked the edge of the hat, the velvet texture smooth under his fingers. "Indeed, I was asked to proofread the test you will be taking in one week for your class on interstellar travel."
"Wait, you've seen the test? Does it look hard?"
Spock leveled him a stare, one that was sincerely asking him why he even bothered asking these sorts of questions.
Jim raised his hands in defense, "Ok, ok," he said, chuckling. "You are a stone fortress of secrecy. I'll find out myself soon enough," he finished with a groan. "On a different topic, we still need to plan our holiday celebration."
A silence hung in the air for a few seconds, then. Spock took the time to examine Jim's current choice of dress once more. He wrapped the white ball of the hat in his fist. It was moments like this that he sometimes wondered how they had become such a pair. When he'd first met Jim, he had found everything about him infuriating. His blatant disregard for Academy rules had been at the top of a very long list of complaints. Spock believed in those rules, he stood behind them as a professor at this institution. Somehow he'd managed to fall in with the one man who took particular pleasure in breaking the rules more than anyone else he had ever met.
It was like taking a deep breath of air on his home world, sometimes. It was the only way to describe it. The way wind whipped against him, it would brush back the hair he had so meticulously arranged just hours before. Sometimes he'd get a bit of sand thrown against his face if a strong storm system was stirring off to the east over the mountains. He woke up and stood on his balcony and never really could predict what the day would bring him. Jim was the same. In his so carefully ordered world, Jim would buck his routine and throw him something entirely unexpected. Not unwelcomed, no, he couldn't say that. He'd learned to relish the exhilaration of stealing a private moment in his office between classes. Jim showed up sometimes, unannounced. He'd sneak an arm around Spock's shoulder with a firm grip, spinning around his chair until they hovered just inches from one another. The distance didn't last, it never did. They would part their mouths a few minutes later. Spock would reorganize his uniform and Jim would head to class and their routine would resume. Those stolen moments, the unplanned encounters that left his pulse beating so strongly in his neck that he had to wonder just how he'd slow his breathing enough to stand before his class and recite his lesson for the day, they'd taught him something. Routine wasn't everything. It was the most unexpected encounters that would blow you away.
This knowledge, floating in the back of his mind like a buoy in a chaotic world, let him look at Jim's current choice of clothing with more curiosity than concern. He could think of a handful of rules that Jim was breaking at the moment, not the least of them violating cadet dress code. In this moment, none of that mattered. "So, care to enlighten me as to why you are currently wearing this colorful outfit?" he inquired in a level voice.
"What are you talking about, Spock? It's red, cadet colors, right? You wouldn't believe me if I said that the higher ups decided on a holiday theme for our uniforms for this month?" Jim brushed an imaginary speck of dust off his shoulder. "I thought they were rather cheery."
Spock tossed the hat back over to Jim. "Your current clothing selection may strain the eye just a bit." It really was an obnoxiously bright shade of red. Blue had always suited Jim better as far as he was concerned. "I would've received a memo concerning any modification in cadet dress code."
"Such a stickler, Spock. I could clue you in, I suppose," Jim said. He paused for dramatic effect, his face frozen in that mischievous grin he favored over all else. He gave up holding out, then, and responded. "We've been doing that collection of donation of toys for a few local foster families. They were delivering the presents today. Their Santa got sick last minute." He shrugged. "I volunteered to step in."
"That was kind of you," Spock responded. He let his voice soften. It wasn't something that came naturally. It was a human gesture, to alter one's voice to suggest an emotional response. He'd gotten better at it in recent months. Time with Jim had taught him that much. The man's eyes would flare a bit brighter and his smile would grow even wider, something Spock wouldn't have believed possible if he hadn't seen it himself. Jim responded to the vocal inclination just as he always did, basking in the glow of an emotional exchange shared between the two of them. It might just be a moment, it might just be his tone of voice, but the look Jim got on his face, the flush in his cheeks that sometimes rose there, it may as well have been their world contained in a single expression. To see that, Spock would gladly abandon his Vulcan rhetoric for a spell. "I suppose I must commend your enthusiasm for your role, you've still maintained the appearance of this children's folktale figure even after the completion of your charity event."
Jim shrugged. "A bit more exciting than the normal cadet get-up. I also thought it might serve as a good ice breaker. We do need to decide what we're doing for the holidays, you know?" He finished his question with a bit of hesitation. Like this conversation was something he wasn't exactly sure how to start. It was a bit unnerving. Jim had a quick mind and a faster tongue. He didn't find himself lacking for words often.
"You practice some of the Christian traditions, do you not?" Spock inquired.
"I mean I don't go to Christmas Mass, or anything. But I usually like to get a tree and exchange gifts and such."
Spock nodded. "That would be an acceptable way to commemorate the occasion."
Jim sighed, letting the hat fall from his hand to the floor. "I know. So far you've said you're pretty much find with whatever I want to do. The holidays are about both of us, though. I'd like this celebration to be yours too."
"My people do not celebrate holidays as humans do. Therefore it is most logical to celebrate in the manner to which you are accustomed," Spock finished. He felt a crinkle creeping into his brow. This issue had been an unspoken debate in the air for some time now.
"There's nothing?" Jim asked earnestly.
"We have Kal Rekk-"
Jim rolled his eyes. "I know. Day of Atonement and all that jazz. Not exactly the most cheery thing, though. Nothing else? What about your mom? She didn't celebrate anything around this time of year either?"
"As a youth, my mother tried to instruct me in the religious beliefs of her family. I failed to divine their purpose," Spock finished in a low voice. What did Jim really expect from him out of this? "You know Vulcans are different from humans-"
"Spock, you forget about half of who you are sometimes," Jim responded. "You are half human."
"I was raised in a primarily Vulcan environment, Jim."
"You know, you got those pointy ears and all and those deliciously and exaggeratedly arched eyebrows. Those are Vulcan, sure as hell. But you forget the part where I've seen holos of your mother. You have her eyes, for sure. A bit of your human side shows too. I'm just asking that you give it a chance. Or failing that, find a Vulcan equivalent that we can add into our celebration," Kirk finished.
"I don't believe there is anything comparable to your festivities of dressing trees and-"
"Spock, I promise you," Jim said, a mischievous bend in his voice. "Leave all the planning to me and it'll look like Christmas exploded in your apartment. I won't mind it, at all, mind you. But leave it to me and I'll really be going all out."
Spock sighed, shaking his head. There really was no arguing with Jim when he set his mind to something. "I will reflect upon this matter and get back to you. Is this an acceptable compromise?"
Jim shrugged, but a grin flitted across his face. It was the look that always was to be found on his face when he'd gotten his way, no matter how small of an issue it was. "Well...I suppose. You got a few days, though, and that's it. Planning a proper holiday celebration takes time. You know I'm not a last minute type of guy, especially when it comes to something as important as the holidays."
"Jim, you thrive on cobbling a project together in the hours before a deadline."
"Hey, grace under pressure, right? Nothing like a deadline approaching at terminal velocity to motivate you. And I always get my stuff done!" he shot back slyly. There was a grin on his face, teeth making an appearance between parted lips.
"Don't ask me how," Spock responded, his eyebrow rising fractionally. Careful planning and execution was a staple of his people. How Jim managed to hold off until the final night to get anything done was one thing. How his partner managed to actually assemble a project in such chaos was quite another and the mystery continued to confound him to this day.
Jim chuckled under his breath. At the same time, he snatched his hat from where he'd discarded it to the ground. He hopped to his feet and quickly plopped down on the armrest of the chair Spock was currently occupying. "So what's in the package? You've got me almost dying of curiosity. You haven't set the thing down since you stepped foot in here."
Spock ran a finger along the tape that sealed the cardboard box. "It's from my mother. She informed me that I should expect its arrival this week."
"I thought mail service between Vulcan and here usually took a bit longer than that?"
Spock began pulling at the edge of the tape in an attempt to reveal the package's contents. His carefully manicured fingernails were failing dismally at the job. Jim rolled his eyes and handed over a pocket knife that he'd procured from somewhere on his person. Spock hadn't been paying careful enough attention to see from where. Then again, Jim had always had that ability, to move seemingly faster than Spock could follow the movements sometimes. Or maybe it was just the way Jim could engage in a seamless conversation and keep him distracted even as he occupied himself with some other motion. "Here, give this a shot. Keep trying it that way and we'll be here for a week."
Spock accepted the knife, carefully pulling the blade loose from its folded position until the blade locked straight. He ran the blade along the seam of the tape with a practiced hand and then returned it to Jim. His partner flipped the knife closed and hid it in one of his pockets.
"You're so dainty sometimes, you know that Spock? Sometimes you just have to go all in and rip it open. Haven't you ever seen kids on Christmas? They practically tear into a gift. I'm a bit amazed the actual gift survives the onslaught sometimes when a kid gets really worked up."
Spock didn't respond for a moment. He was folding back the packing material that had been added to cradle the contents of the box. He finally got down to the actual item itself, carefully wrapped in brown parcel paper. Setting the box to the ground next to his feet, he cradled the item in his lap. "Children at Christmas can be...quite vicious," Spock consented, the edge of his mouth curving upward slightly.
"Well, open it already! You don't have to rip the thing open, but at least get it so we can see what's inside."
Spock complied, tearing the parcel paper until the item sent by his mother was completely exposed to view. "It's a menorah."
"For Chanukah, right? Are you Jewish and maybe that's a very large detail you somehow omitted with all of the holiday-oriented conversations we've had up until this point?"
"My mother was Jewish. I have never practiced her religion, excluding the few attempts she made to teach me about her beliefs," Spock replied, handling the menorah. It was heavy in his hand, cool to the touch. It was of solid build, the metal smooth under his fingertips. It had obviously seen much use; the gold varnish was worn away in places from years of handling. Despite that, though, it was well cared for. He could feel a bit of oil rubbing off on his skin. Someone, perhaps his mother, must've applied the mixture to prevent rust or corrosion from setting in.
"It's beautiful," Jim offered.
Spock nodded, still refusing to part his attention from the religious fixture. His mother had sent him this. To what end, he wondered. She knew he didn't share her beliefs and yet had taken the time to approach USF personnel familiar with their family with a request for them to carry this package on their ship and bring it back to Earth. Jim was right about that, normal Post took weeks. His mother's package had arrived in just days, someone, either his mother or father, must've called in some favors or pulled some strings to have this item sitting in his hand so soon. His mom had mentioned that it was time sensitive, perhaps that had been why. But what was time sensitive about this item? It had obviously survived many years of heavy use, what harm would come to it on a few weeks' journey on a regular mail-carrying vessel?
"So, you going to light it up for the holidays and all?" Jim asked, interrupting his thoughts.
He finally tore his gaze from the mesmerizing detail work that had been carved into the branch and stem of the menorah in symbols he didn't recognize. "I am not familiar with the religious ceremonies or symbolism behind this," he responded, hefting the menorah up in the air a bit, off his lap, to give Jim a better view.
"Well, it's never too late. Your mom didn't tell you anything about it?"
He shook his head. "She merely told me she was sending a package. She made me promise that I would give thought and reflection to the note and instructions she was sending with it."
"I didn't see a letter anywhere," Jim offered.
Spock begrudgingly handed the menorah off to Jim. He didn't want to set it on the ground. He didn't necessarily believe the religious significance of the item, but his mother did. She had cared enough to package it so carefully and ship it on a United Federation ship, unwilling to trust it to the normal Post. He may not personally share her religion, but he could certainly pay adequate respect to his mother's beliefs.
He pulled the box back onto his lap and began rifling through the contents again. A brief search turned up a small parchment. The parchment was a Vulcan weave, he recognized the texture. It wasn't used for regular correspondence, only for important issues of cultural significance. This parchment was still made by hand even in this technological age. More often than not, he'd seen it exchanged between the ruling council and the religious bodies of his people. Scrawling her message on parchment meant something. It meant the words carried weight, both physically in the weight of the parchment, and metaphorically in the message they suggested. Unrolling it, he briefly skimmed the letter.
Jim respected the time he took, remaining silent in the interim. He turned the menorah around in his grasp, examining it closely as Spock had done just moments before.
"She wishes for me to commemorate the Jewish Chanukah as she and all people of the Jewish faith do every year."
Jim nodded. "This is good for you. It'll let you get to explore that human side a little more." He smirked. "It's perfect for me. Solves the problem of me having to bludgeon your holiday preferences out of you."
Spock set the package casing aside again. He set the parchment down separately on the end table.
Jim immediately offered the menorah back; Spock quickly took it from his hands and began running his eyes over it again. "I suppose this will satisfy your desire for a shared holiday celebration?" he asked, turning his head to meet Jim's gaze.
"It's a perfect compromise," he suggested, heartened. As he spoke, he slipped the Santa hat onto Spock's head before the Vulcan had a chance to protest. He pulled it down over his partner's ears with a firm tug so that removing it would take him more than a second or two. He stood up, twirling across the room in retreat, out of Spock's reach, as he responded. "See, Spock? We'll get you developing a little holiday spirit in no time!"
Spock nodded. A trace of a smile flitted across his face. He left the hat in place, for the time being. The heat it brought to his ears was actually pleasant, even in the warmth of his apartment. He could give this small concession to the holiday-craze that had bitten Jim in the past week or so. He examined the markings on the menorah again. He made a mental note to schedule an appointment with a professor in the cultural studies department to help him divine their meanings. Maybe he'd learn something about this holiday phenomenon yet.
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Uhura missed sliding the key into the lock for the second time. A growl rose low in her throat. Right about then she wouldn't hesitate to throw out the window the administrator who'd assigned her to the oldest dorms on campus. No, old wasn't the right word for this place, she corrected herself. Even old buildings in this day and age had key cards. These dorms were ancient. A metal key in a metal lock? These dorms should be boarded up and condemned or be put on display as a museum and testament to how people used to live.
Most days, it had a rustic charm to it. Today, all she could think was how it paled in comparison to where McCoy lived. What sort of impression was she supposed to give him, bringing him home to this?
Her normal grace had abandoned her and left a bucket of frayed nerves in her stomach. She had been to McCoy's place, no problem. They had ordered in Chinese food from the city and they had made a lovely night of it. Now, however, it was her turn to host their evening at her own place. She wasn't ready for this, but then, if she waited, she'd probably never be ready for this. Stalling had only gotten her so far. She'd run out of excuses and now here they were standing in front of her door and she couldn't even get the stupid key in the stupid key hole. She pulled the key back toward her and tightened her muscles in a vice grip, attempting to steady her hand against the slight nervous tremor that had taken up residence there.
A warm hand closed around her own. "Easy, Nyota. Is everything ok?" Leonard inquired.
No. We're about to walk into my place and you're going to see how the other half lives. "I'm fine," she replied, forcing her voice to smooth out.
He nodded. "Just wanted to be sure. You seem a little tense."
"It's been a long day, getting ready for finals and all," she responded. She finally managed to get the key into the door and begrudgingly popped the door open, leading the way inside. She didn't have to look to know that he had followed her in. She heard the door close behind them. Now there really was no turning back.
She wanted to close her eyes or stick her fingers in her ears. It was a childish impulse, one she'd used to give in to in her younger years when someone was about to say something she wasn't going to like. If she couldn't hear her mom assign chores she couldn't be expected to do them, right? She resisted the notion, but she didn't turn around. She didn't want to face him right now. She didn't want to see the disappointment on his face.
"It's..."
Here it came.
"It's quaint," Leonard offered.
Time to face the music. She turned around and shrugged. What else could she do?
There wasn't horror on his face, though. There wasn't confusion or disappointment that this was all there was. The exact opposite, if that could be believed. The man had a smile on his face. "I forgot how tightly they packed you guys in here. Like cattle, huh?"
She shrugged again. Her eyes floated over their pair of beds and desks and just a single chair for visitors. He was right in that, they didn't have a whole lot of room. Not that they entertained visitors very often. On the few nights that Gaila somehow convinced her that a girl's movie night was in order and ran up and down the hall inviting everyone, it worked ok. They'd crowd in here, three, sometimes five of them on a single bed crammed around the PADD they'd be using to view the movie. "You could say that," she said at almost a whisper. She still didn't know what to make of his expression.
"I mean, kudos to you for managing to get all your stuff in here. I think my stuff would've bled over into the hallway," he said, chuckling. "Jim's always railing on me for that, he says I have way too much stuff."
He was just babbling now, obviously picking up on her sudden quiet demeanor. He was attempting to fill the awkward vacuum. She gave him credit for that. "You're smiling," she offered. "What's so funny?"
"Just the penny pinching Admiralty. I lived my first year in a pretty small place. It was solo occupancy, mind you, but," he said, taking a look around, "I'm pretty sure my place was actually smaller than this. You'd think considering we're supposed to be protecting the planet and all that they'd treat us at least a little better than common criminals in terms of our living arrangements."
She smiled then. There was just something about McCoy's infectious personality that she couldn't resist. "I'd satisfy for just being treated as well as common criminals. You ever been to a prison? There are cells there larger than this."
He nodded. "As close as Jim's gotten me thus far, between the bar fights and every other crazy stunt that pops into his mind, I count my blessings I've not yet had the unfortunate experience of seeing a jail cell from the flip side."
Uhura snorted. "Well there's a miracle if I ever did hear of one."
He tipped his head forward in agreement. "Not that he hasn't tried his damnest to accomplish just that. I swear that getting arrested is penciled in there on his four year plan somewhere, probably right after beating the Kobayashi Maru and before assuming command of his own ship."
"No one ever said Jim wasn't one to shoot for the moon."
"Wrong scale, my dear," Leonard responded. "He's too busy shooting for the stars to be preoccupied with a little thing like the moon.
A giggle bubbled up from Uhura's throat. Leonard did a double take. "I don't think I would've ever imagined I'd hear that sort or reaction from the restrained and ever-polite and proper Nyota Uhura. Do tell, please, what thought it was that prompted such a turn of events. Hopefully not the impending apocalypse."
She shook her head. "Some of us just have a bit more realistic expectations. I just want to survive living in this fire trap."
McCoy had to be the one to dissent this time. "I believe you had some crazy plans of your own, there. I believe last I heard it was planning to graduate from the Xenolinguistics program in four years? My mind might be a little fuzzy on the numbers, but I do believe that's normally a six year program."
She shrugged. "I'm good with words."
He leaned in close, bumping her shoulder with his own playfully as he lowered his mouth to just inches from her ear. His breath was hot against her neck. "I believe the correct statement there would be that you are good with words and the primary languages of nine sentient species."
"Eleven languages," she corrected, turning her head and pressing her lips against his own. She pulled back and hovered there for just the briefest of moments. "I read, speak, and understand two dialects for Romulan and the Annari," she corrected him, raising an eyebrow, daring him to challenge her.
"Oh, stop showing off," he chastised, closing the inches between them as he pulled her into an embrace and they toppled onto one of the beds together.
She giggled again. This wasn't like her. It really wasn't. "You're terrible! This isn't even my bed!"
She could feel his lips curl upward into a grin. "I don't believe your roommate's here to complain. She'll have to wait until we're finished to lodge a formal complaint."
"You're insufferable, you know," she chastised him.
He pulled her in closer until their bodies were pressed up one another. "You wouldn't have it any other way."
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Continue to Part 4