Ficmas Cards (8) and final!
Once again, I'm terribly sorry it's taken me so long. If those were real cards, they'd be the ones lost by the mail service and turning up in your mailboxes in May. *facepalm* I apologize for the wait. D:
For: noxie3
Prompt: Spock/Pike; vacation in the snow / or opening presents
Rating: R
The morning is glorious, with snow-covered mountain peaks standing out against the polarized indigo of the sky and the ice caps gleaming the delicate green of pale emeralds under the gentle touch of sunlight. Never really one for poetic hyperboles, Chris looks around with astonishment that won’t fade, barely able to believe that this kind of beauty exists. It’s literally breathtaking, and he stands there for countless moments, looking on, even as the sheer brightness hurts his bare eyes and the frosty air worries his lungs. It’s too precious to look away.
Finally, as one of the logs tries to slip from the armful Chris is holding, he remembers the reason for his early morning excursion. He blinks, coming out of a reverie, grins at himself and walks back toward the small cabin, nestled in the mountain’s side. It has an autonomic heat generator of course, but it also has a fireplace, and Chris thinks it’s a travesty not to use it.
The cabin really is small, with design-hinted zones inside rather than rooms. Chris steps over the threshold, closing the door behind him, and glances first at the fireplace to make certain there are still enough embers to restart the fire. Then he looks over, past the ‘living room’ space back toward the sleeping alcove. Judging by the ever-mounting pile of puffy white blankets towering over the bed like an ice cream top, Spock is still sleeping. Chris grins, shaking his head a little, and leans over to deposit the wood on the floor.
He takes his boots and coat off and kneels beside the fireplace, his hands working deftly on rekindling the flame. Current levels of civilization have almost completely extinguished the need for live flames, and Chris feels some kind of vindictive pleasure in resolving to this once-basic, primitive activity. In a world where most gender stereotypes are being frowned upon and swept away, it’s unexpectedly good to feel like a man for once, exercising some completely redundant yet fulfilling skill.
Chris watches the renewed fire with satisfaction for a few moments, then remembers the unforgiving beauty of the world outside, and goes to wake Spock. It’s well past nine, anyway.
It’s been quite a while since they got together, but Spock is still as full of surprises as when they only just met. For example, Spock is always the first one to show up for the watch exchange, usually awake two of three hours before he’s scheduled to start his shift, running errands, checking on the labs, and performing numerous self-imposed tasks. He’s equally well known for working late, and sometimes he gives the impression that he doesn’t require any sleep at all.
It was a huge surprise, therefore, to discover that, left to his own devices with no impending duty hanging over him, Spock likes to sleep in late, really late, and could happily spend the morning in bed, dozing or simply lying quietly, warm and relaxed. It’s his personal brand of rebellion against all the long years of strict discipline where moments of leisure were nothing short of a crime. Spock isn’t above acting like a spoiled child when Chris tries to drag him out of bed, and he usually wins, because Chris is too delighted by the image, and by the knowledge that Spock trusts him enough to be like this with him, fearing neither scolding nor rejection.
Chris smiles, drawing closer to the bed, and tugs at the blanket lightly, exposing Spock’s face. He can tell at once that Spock isn’t really sleeping, and his smile grows wider.
“Are you planning on staying here all day?”
Spock frowns, not opening his eyes, mumbles something, and tries to dive back under the covers. Chris pulls it back down. “What was that? I didn’t catch it.”
“I said, go away,” Spock replies more articulately, before rolling over onto his stomach and out of Chris’s reach.
Chris snorts. “That’s quite a way to speak to your commanding officer. What if I order you out of bed?”
“I’ll resign my commission.”
“You’ll be court-martialed first.”
“Very well.”
“Spock.” Chris sighs in fond exasperation. “There’s a world outside, and it’s beautiful. You should see it.”
“The statistical likelihood of it disappearing in the next two hours is extremely low. Therefore, it can wait.”
Chris rolls his eyes. “Spock, stop being an infant and get up.”
“Make me.”
Chris stares at him for a moment before laughing helplessly. “How are you even real?”
Spock lifts himself up on his elbows, looking back at Chris over his shoulder. The blanket slides further down, exposing the smooth, elegant curve of his back, and Chris swallows. Spock’s eyes glint with a mixture of annoyance and mischief.
“Christopher, I am cold,” he says in a clear, measured tone. “Either release my blanket or join me, but do one of the other now.”
With that, Spock pulls himself a little further up on the bed, lying down and shifting under the covers in a way that makes the nature of his invitation blatantly obvious. Chris stares, and yes, he can definitely get behind that. The mountains are spectacular, no denying that, but they can’t compete with this insolent, beautiful, sensuous creature, who is all the more attractive for being such an unbearable brat with Chris - only with Chris.
Chris thinks about last night, and about how maybe Spock really does have a reason for not wanting to move just yet, and how he’s probably still loose and slick and welcoming, and Chris knows that this battle has been lost before it started. He undresses quickly and slides under the covers, pressing a long, open-mouthed kiss to the nape of Spock’s neck.
Spock sighs contentedly, relaxing under him. “You smell like fire.”
Chris laughs, because that’s just so fitting. Spock owns him with every word he says, with every little gesture he makes, with the way he opens up for Chris right now, his heart fluttering in his side, lips parting to suck in a greedy gulp of air. He owns Chris completely, and if he ever decides to cash this check, Chris will be broke, wrecked, and demolished, with not even a penny of pride sticking to his name.
It’s a scary, utterly terrifying thought that steals consideration from his motions and makes him lose control, and Spock lets him, welcomes him, begs him not to resist - as though Chris could. Spock is oil to his flame, and it’s self-destructive for the both of them, but Chris couldn’t stop if his life depended on it, and Spock would probably kill him if he did.
Spock turns around in his arms afterward and presses his forehead against Chris’s, the sensitive fingers ghosting over his face, and Chris can feel him, the residual physical pleasure giving way to something deeper, something inestimably more powerful, and Spock’s breath hitches as he tries to reign it in. Chris kisses him softly, rocks him through it, but he also watches, unable to tear his eyes away, watches as Spock struggles and, inevitably, loses, and clings to Chris, surrendering at last.
“I love you,” Chris whispers. “You are my life, Spock.”
At any other time, the words would have earned him a sassy remark or a teasing eyebrow, but not now - oh no, not now. Now, Spock scoots a little closer, begging Chris wordlessly to hold him, and sighs quietly against his chest, as if he stepped upon a mystery he could never hope to solve.
They fall asleep like this, and when Chris wakes up a couple of hours later, there’s coffee and breakfast, and toast done exactly the way Chris likes, with a slip of butter melting in the middle, the tantalizing smell of fresh honey making Chris’s mouth water, and - and he should really marry Spock so that he could sue the universe if anything goes wrong.
Spock glances up at him from where he’s kneeling beside the fireplace. He’s obviously made several trips outside, as the pile of wood is mounting ever higher and the cabin is soaking in delicious warmth. Chris grins at him, and Spock smiles back shyly. He looks hesitant as he comes over.
“It has started snowing,” Spock says, shifting guiltily, and Chris looks out the window only to be unable to see past a thick white curtain. “It is... more of a blizzard.”
“It’s okay,” Chris says, and it really is. He smiles. “I don’t mind staying in for a bit.”
Spock nods, eyes downcast still. Chris rolls his eyes, unobserved, and pushes his half-empty mug at Spock. “Here. Bring me more coffee and stop beating yourself over this. It’s just a little weather, Spock. We’ll be fine.”
Spock looks up at him at that, and Chris holds his eyes and gives him a tight little nod, meaning something else entirely. “We’ll be fine.”
Spock’s lips curl up slightly as he wraps his hands around the mug, tension bleeding out of him. Chris grins, he can’t help it, and leans up to kiss Spock’s nose, smacking his butt for good measure to send him off. Spock makes that face when he sort of scowls like an insulted princess without actually moving his facial muscles, and Chris laughs, falling back onto the pillows and thinking that yes - they will be all right.
Spock brings him back herbal tea in retaliation, but, Chris thinks, that’s all right, too.
For: aprilleigh24
Prompt: Star Trek (tos or reboot), K/S (or gen with whoever else is ok), the holiday is the prompt: I want a 'future' holiday and its traditions. Whether it's some amalgamation of Christmas/Hanukah/Winter Solstice/New Years/Kwanza that happened when Earth became unified, or something like 'First Contact Day'- I just want to read about a new to me holiday.
Rating: PG-13
A/N: The thing is, this isn't quite what you asked for. It does include a description of a holiday, but for some reason, while I was writing, my focus drifted, and this turned out this way. I'm sorry about that, bb. Just, my brain seems to be cheating on my will. >.<
Spock had never seen much sense in holidays. In his utterly superior, nine-year-old view, they were either atavisms kept for purely sentimental (illogical) reasons, excuses for poor memory, or indulgencies at their purest. Sarek, who was primarily responsible for Spock’s opinions on the subject, still made a few exceptions that he had never tried to explain to his son. Spock caught up soon enough and stopped asking, drawing his own conclusions.
Certainly, celebrating the day of one’s birth, particularly by killing some plants prematurely to create a bouquet, was in no way logical, but watching his mother smile at Sarek as he presented her with a flowery arrangement and some ‘well wishes’ made Spock believe that there were moments when being unreasonable was not quite so reprehensible. In addition, his mother definitely had her ways of making his father’s life difficult, ways that Spock was yet too young to fully comprehend. However, being as sensitive as any child to the invisible balance of power in the household, Spock realized early on that Amanda definitely had more than a few ‘aces up her sleeve,’ so to speak. Perhaps his father’s ‘indulging’ habit was not quite as illogical as it would initially appear.
For the most part, however, holidays still seemed more of a tiresome nuisance to Spock - especially the officially imposed ones, such as Federation Day. It was not so bad when he was on Vulcan - the date was not singled out in any way other than the planet’s officials delivering a few appropriate statements. Everywhere else, however, it was quite another story, with pompous speeches followed by tedious receptions, and even balls, particularly on Earth and Andoria. It was usually a time of political ‘saber rattling,’ and, while Spock found the concept somewhat fascinating, he was not appreciative of the way it distracted him from his scientific studies. And, when accompanying his father on one of his diplomatic voyages, such a distraction was inevitable and to be expected.
Spock suppressed a sigh, sitting at the back of the reception hall, keeping his back straight and his eyes trained on the podium as if the ambassadors’ speeches were a most fascinating phenomenon to behold. He sourly regretted not being allowed to take a civilian transport on his return trip back from Rigel, where Spock had spent his summer in a martial arts training camp. But Amanda was not to be moved on the subject. She had been against the idea of Spock going in the first place, and did not want to hear any plan that involved him traveling back alone. This was how Spock came to be on a diplomatic transport carrying his father and an assortment of politicians from all over the Federation. It was at moments like this that Spock mourned the fact that he was a child and thus had no say in the matter.
The ambassadors kept droning on at the front of the hall, and Spock gave in to the urge to shift in his seat. He had always disliked formal Vulcan robes with a passion. They were heavy, itchy, and uncomfortable, originally designed for travelers to prevent them from acquiring hypothermia in the unforgiving cold of the night desert. They also used to serve as an excellent way to conceal weapons, back when Vulcan clans fought one another. At present, Spock despised the necessity to wear them to formal occasions, and, while being emotional about it was definitely illogical, he justified his position with the notion that the robes themselves were illogical, no longer serving their original purposes and now being nothing more than a tribute to tradition. Spock found little logic in respecting traditions that had ceased to make sense, but, oddly enough, no one asked for his opinion.
At the moment, he wanted nothing better than to go back to his quarters. He met a Terran girl earlier today, one Kate Mulligan. She was one year and four months older than him, and she laughed unkindly at his haircut and clothes. However, she also introduced Spock to something called Might and Magic 3010, uploading it to his PADD while their fathers were conversing. Video games were highly illogical, which was why Spock had never played one, but the girl’s disparaging remarks of the ‘I’ve never met anyone so boring’ variety made him itch to try his hand at a holographic swordfight.
Unfortunately, his father had not dismissed him yet.
Spock shifted in his seat again, earning a disapproving glance from Sopak. His father’s new aide was sitting beside Spock, diligently recording the diplomats’ speeches onto his PADD. Spock’s eyes skimmed over the text before flickering briefly up to Sopak’s face. The young Vulcan was not very good at hiding the fact that he considered the task of ‘babysitting’ the ambassador’s son beneath him, with all his skills and training.
Spock pursed his lips, anger and humiliation flaring up in him against his will. It wasn’t as if he wanted to be here, much less in Sopak’s company.
“My father will expect more than that, you know,” Spock said quietly, nodding at Sopak’s PADD and trying not to sound vindictive.
The young diplomat turns to Spock with an expression of mild incredulity at being addressed. “I beg your pardon?”
“There is no point in simply recording the words,” Spock explained. “My father will ask for your analysis.”
Sopak frowned slightly. “But they are merely festive speeches. The real negotiations will start tomorrow. This is but a courtesy.”
Spock suppressed the urge to roll his eyes. “You have not been listening,” he told Sopak superiorly. Sarek would not be pleased with his behavior, and Amanda even less so, but Spock never had much patience for slow minds, and the fact that Sopak treated him as a burden was infuriating. “The Tellarite Ambassador was more insulting towards Vulcans than usual.”
“Tellarites are always insulting. It is their way.”
“Yes, but he used secondary strong expletives while referring to Vulcans, while only invoking first-level invectives for humans and being polite toward the Andorians. He also used the words ‘value’ and ‘worth’ no less than six times.”
Sopak blinked. “And?”
Spock stared at him. “The new transit station between Tellar and Betazed? The ambassador is planning on requesting financial support from Vulcan. He would agree to ‘cut a share’ for humans, but he will insist upon one that excludes the Andorians.”
Sopak blinked again. “But-”
“The Andorian Ambassador,” Spock continued, “was making numerous references to the Battle of Procyon. He spoke of recent incidents at the Klingon border and of how we need a stronger Federation.”
“The Andorians take pride in their military accomplishments-”
“The ambassador’s brother is one of the biggest military contractors in the sector,” Spock said impatiently. “He is obviously looking for new commissions.”
Sopak stared at him intently for a moment. “How would you come to be in possession of this information? Regarding the ambassador’s brother, I mean?”
“I read the news feeds,” Spock replied. “They have the same familial name. It was not difficult to check.”
“But why would you do that?”
“Because he lives with me,” came a voice from behind them.
Spock whirled around in his seat to see Sarek sitting in the chair behind him, peering at him with mild disapproval. Spock bowed his head. Failure to notice that the last row was no longer unoccupied did not bode well for him at all.
“Ambassador.” Sopak greeted his superior respectfully. “Your son was merely-”
“Showing off,” Sarek finished smoothly. “It is a most unbecoming habit, but unfortunately, my attempts to teach him the value of humility do not seem to take.”
Spock could feel the traitorous blush coloring his face. To be chastised publicly like this was yet another lesson he failed to learn, he knew, because a true Vulcan would not feel embarrassment or shame, while Spock’s cheeks were burning with both.
“Since you consider yourself so knowledgeable, Spock” - Sarek addressed him again, voice stern - “would you enlighten me as to the Terran Ambassador’s speech?”
Spock swallowed. “His speech consisted mostly of empty greetings and compliments toward the Deltan representative. Perhaps he will be seeking reconciliation after the scandal with Parliamentarian Montgomery.”
“Or perhaps he is simply affected by her physical attributes and is seeking companionship for the remainder of this voyage,” Sarek opined pointedly, glancing at the Deltan in question. “This is your weakness, Spock. You overanalyze and fail to take into account human nature.”
“Yes, father.”
Sarek stared at him for a minute, contemplating, before emitting the tiniest of sighs. “I suppose you wish to be dismissed from this venue?”
Spock’s gaze snapped up, driven by hope, before he could check it. “Yes.”
Sarek nodded somberly. “You may retire. But first I wish you to apologize to Sopak for speaking out of turn.”
Spock turned to Sopak immediately, controlling his ever-rising sense of humiliation. “Mr. Sopak, I apologize for my behavior. It was not my place to speak out.”
If Spock were older or less afraid to seek out emotions in others instead of trying desperately to rein in his own, he would have noticed that Sopak’s expression was undeniably colored by one, and it was not the sense of satisfaction Spock would have expected. If Amanda witnessed the scene, she would have identified Sopak’s expression instantly as one of sympathy and even shared embarrassment. But Amanda was not there, and Spock was ill-equipped to see what was staring him in the face.
“There is no offense where none was intended,” Sopak responded quietly, the ritual phrase sliding uneasily from his lips.
Sarek nodded stiffly again. “You may go, Spock. I would advise contemplating your behavior.”
“Yes, father.” Spock stood up, bowed respectfully to Sarek and Sopak and walked out of the reception hall with as much dignity as he could muster while his feet begged him to break into a run.
Had it occur to Spock to linger just outside the doors for a moment, he would have heard Sopak saying, “Your son is highly intelligent, Ambassador. For his age, it is - remarkable.”
“Intelligence without control is worthless,” Sarek replied. “Spock’s mind is a product of his genetics. It is illogical to take pride in that.”
“Perhaps,” Sopak agreed hesitantly. “I believe that there is credence, however, to his observation regarding the Terran Ambassador.”
“There is,” Sarek admitted at once. “As is to his other deductions. Spock has certain... talent, as my wife would put it, to analyze speech patterns and correlate them with known facts.”
“Yet you told him he was incorrect.”
“I told him he was over-confident. It is dangerous for a professional.”
“Ambassador... your son is nine years old.”
“You are beginning to sound like the Lady Amanda, Mr. Sopak. Age is no excuse for mistakes. And the way I choose to raise my son is none of your concern.”
“No, Ambassador. I apologize for my presumption.”
Of course, as Spock did not have a habit of eavesdropping and possessed an acquired instinct not to question or jeopardize any moment of freedom he was granted, he did not overhear the conversation, and was walking back to his quarters with his shoulders slumped and head bowed. He berated himself silently for failing to remember that it was illogical to try and please his father. As for Sopak, Spock felt that the reprimand was deserved. Pointing out errors to an adult - and a trained professional - was presumptuous and discourteous. Being correct did not enter into that equation.
The corridors of the ship were crowded with excited passengers in their most formal clothes, and it took all of Spock’s concentration not to bump into a tall lady wearing an evening gown who would suddenly stop in her tracks to send out a flirtatious remark to someone, or a bulky figure of an elderly Denobulan who drifted from person to person, smiling magnanimously and propositioning everyone in direct vicinity. Spock ducked his head, mutely cursing his stupid long robes, and quickened his pace.
The festivities would soon continue, he knew, with a banquet and possibly dancing and, given that there were so many humans onboard, a lightshow. Spock didn’t feel like sticking around for any of those, particularly since his father had unexpectedly decided to dismiss him. That was completely uncharacteristic of Sarek, but Spock decided, for once, to not ‘look the gift horse in the mouth,’ as his mother so often told him.
He hauled himself back up to his quarters, finally freeing his PADD from the confines of his father’s case - Sarek did not need to know that Spock had picked its code quite a while ago - and happily diving into a completely illogical fantasy world.
Fascinating as the game turned out to be, however, Spock soon found himself distracted, and eventually switched the PADD off. His thoughts kept wandering back to Sarek’s reprimand, and, trying hard as he might, Spock could not shake off the utterly emotional feeling of injustice that lingered, despite his better efforts to convince himself that he was behaving disgracefully.
Giving up at last on trying to resolve his dilemma, Spock requested an astrophysics problem from the ship’s computer, with a few more to follow. He spent the remainder of the evening working on them, oblivious to the noises of the ship-wide party booming outside the cabin.
When Sarek walked in five hours later, he found his son asleep against the computer terminal, the word ‘Correct’ blinking in human-friendly green across the screen. If the Lady Amanda had been present, she alone would have been able perhaps to read the emotion flickering in her husband’s dark eyes as he gazed down at the boy. But Amanda was not here, and Sarek stood motionless for a moment, experiencing a most unusual feeling that he could not name.
The mentor in him insisted he wake Spock up, tell him off for not having consumed any nourishment and retire before he could present such a display. Spock was old enough to be able to take care of himself, and it constantly eluded Sarek as to why his son, who was so adept in almost any other skill he was taught, could not master so simple a task. A familiar flare of irritation blooming in Sarek’s chest - to be dealt with later - he knew that he should leave Spock where he was so that the soreness of his muscles and the general sensation of weakness would teach him a lesson come morning.
But he had spent a moment too long staring at Spock’s awkwardly bent body - so small, compared to his peers. Sarek had stood there long enough to allow the part of him that was a father to surface - something he did not normally permit to happen, because spoiling one’s child meant doing said child a disservice, and Sarek was intent on not adding to his son’s natural disadvantages; Spock had one too many as it was.
The day behind him had been long and tiresome, though, and Sarek reasoned, quite logically, that they had earned this one small indulgence. Just once, he told himself, reaching to deactivate the terminal, careful not to wake Spock. Gently, Sarek picked the boy up, Spock’s head lolling onto his shoulder trustingly - the way it used to when he was not a year old and unaware that his father enjoyed holding him as much as his mother did.
Quietly, Sarek deposited Spock on the bed, taking off his shoes and throwing a blanket over him. He spent a moment longer, watching his son’s peaceful face, before finally retiring to his own room.
He still felt the need to point out Spock’s errors to him, but it could wait until morning. Just this once, it could wait.
24 years later
The sound of the comm is unnaturally loud in the darkness of the cabin. Jim Kirk stirs with a grunt and extricates himself from the cocoon of sheets, blinking blearily as he tries to figure out what has woken him. The persistent whistle sounds again, and Jim groans, lifting himself half-upright and slumping against the headboard.
“Computer, activate intercom, audio only. Yes?”
“Captain,” Uhura’s chirpy voice streams down the line. “I’m sorry to bother you, but-”
“Uhura, for the love of my sanity, did I or did I not tell you I was not to be disturbed for the next 24 hours unless we crash landed in a black hole?”
“You did, and I apologized, but we have an incoming communication, and I think you’d want to take it.”
“Really,” Jim drawls skeptically. “Who’s it from?”
“Ambassador Sarek.”
Automatically, Jim glances at his bedmate, who chooses this moment to emerge from the elaborate construction of covers he has created.
“Why does he want to talk to me?” Jim asks, meeting a very alert gaze.
“Actually, he wants to talk to Spock.”
Jim lifts his eyebrows, grinning down at Spock, but keeping his voice even. “Why are you calling me, then?”
They can hear Uhura bristle impatiently. “I had a - hunch - that you might know where he is.”
“At three o’clock in the morning? Why, Lieutenant, I didn’t realize you were such a fan of the ship’s rumor mill,” Jim teases.
“Captain-” She pauses, clearly torn between exasperation and the necessity to maintain decorum. “If you happen to see him, would you be so kind as to inform him that-”
“It is all right, Nyota,” Spock says, swinging his legs onto the floor and straightening up. “I will take the call here, if you would just give me a moment.”
“Sure thing,” she replies sweetly. “You can pick up in one minute.”
“Acknowledged.”
“Uhura out.”
“Spoilsport,” Jim tells him, watching as Spock fastens his pants while looking for his shirt.
Spock gives him an eyebrow. “You did not seriously believe that she was unaware.”
“Not after this was the first place she’d look, no.” Jim grins smugly and shrugs. “I like messing with her. Especially if it’s about you.”
Spock fixes him with a reproachful look. “You are behaving poorly, Jim.”
“Well, being nice has no perks.” Jim stretches languidly, smirking as he catches Spock’s gaze. “Hey, c’mere a moment.”
“Jim,” Spock protests, but steps closer just the same.
Jim leans up just enough to press against Spock, pulling him down into a short kiss. “Everything okay?”
“Indeed,” Spock replies, carding his fingers through Jim’s hair gently. “My father probably wishes to convey holiday greetings. It is an - odd - tradition that he keeps.”
“Oh,” Jim says, bewildered. No one he knows actually celebrates Federation Day as a family holiday. “Okay.”
He watches as Spock settles behind Jim’s desk, and wow, does he look at home there. Jim grins as he hears Spock and Sarek exchange what for any other family would be perfectly mundane pleasantries - except, Vulcans don’t do those. Jim wonders vaguely what this is about. From what little information Spock let slip about his father over the years, Sarek wouldn’t be winning any ‘Dad of the Year’ awards any time soon, not by Earth standards.
The thing is, though, Spock turned out okay. More than okay, actually, Jim thinks fondly. So if everyone really is screwed up by their parents, then, all things considered, Spock seems to have gotten away with the right end of the stick. Even if he isn’t the most well-adjusted person in the universe.
Jim doesn’t even try to pretend he isn’t listening in. Spock seems wary but somehow softer round the edges than he usually is, and Jim wants to get to the bottom of this, but he’s distracted when Sarek says, “Please extend my greetings to James,” and signs off.
Jim sits up straighter and stares. “You told him. I thought we said-”
Spock meets his eyes, looking equally shaken. “No, Jim. I never even mentioned…” He trails off, disgruntled.
“Huh,” Jim breathes. “Guess your father knows you better than you thought, then.”
Spock nods slowly. “It would certainly appear that way.”
Jim watches him carefully. “Well. He didn’t sound disapproving. That’s good, right?”
Spock must feel tired enough - or safe enough - to actually allow his face an openly confused expression. “I do not understand this,” he confesses, sounding both petulant and helpless. “I do not understand him.”
Jim suddenly laughs. “I do,” he says. “He loves you.”
Spock blinks. “That is-”
“Next to impossible, I know.” Jim rolls his eyes. “It’s insanity, and hardship, and torture, yet somehow we persist - crazy people.”
Spock glances sharply at him. “We?”
Jim blushes, but grins. “You just couldn’t not catch that one, could you?” He sighs. “We, Spock. As if you didn’t know.” Spock opens his mouth, and Jim adds quickly, “On second thought, don’t answer that.”
Spock purses his lips. “As you wish.”
Jim shakes his head. “Come back to bed, would you? You can puzzle over this some more in the morning.”
But when Spock does settle back beside him, Jim pulls him closer and whispers, “It’s time you learned, Spock.”
The way Spock relaxes against him, trusting and contented, tells Jim that maybe, just maybe, he finally did.
According to my calculations, this concludes my ficmas run of 2010. (If I missed you by accident, please let me know, my concentration is all over the place, unfortunately. ) I hope you enjoyed the ride as much as I did. ;)
Thank you again, Molly, for being such a great sport about it. <3
For: noxie3
Prompt: Spock/Pike; vacation in the snow / or opening presents
Rating: R
The morning is glorious, with snow-covered mountain peaks standing out against the polarized indigo of the sky and the ice caps gleaming the delicate green of pale emeralds under the gentle touch of sunlight. Never really one for poetic hyperboles, Chris looks around with astonishment that won’t fade, barely able to believe that this kind of beauty exists. It’s literally breathtaking, and he stands there for countless moments, looking on, even as the sheer brightness hurts his bare eyes and the frosty air worries his lungs. It’s too precious to look away.
Finally, as one of the logs tries to slip from the armful Chris is holding, he remembers the reason for his early morning excursion. He blinks, coming out of a reverie, grins at himself and walks back toward the small cabin, nestled in the mountain’s side. It has an autonomic heat generator of course, but it also has a fireplace, and Chris thinks it’s a travesty not to use it.
The cabin really is small, with design-hinted zones inside rather than rooms. Chris steps over the threshold, closing the door behind him, and glances first at the fireplace to make certain there are still enough embers to restart the fire. Then he looks over, past the ‘living room’ space back toward the sleeping alcove. Judging by the ever-mounting pile of puffy white blankets towering over the bed like an ice cream top, Spock is still sleeping. Chris grins, shaking his head a little, and leans over to deposit the wood on the floor.
He takes his boots and coat off and kneels beside the fireplace, his hands working deftly on rekindling the flame. Current levels of civilization have almost completely extinguished the need for live flames, and Chris feels some kind of vindictive pleasure in resolving to this once-basic, primitive activity. In a world where most gender stereotypes are being frowned upon and swept away, it’s unexpectedly good to feel like a man for once, exercising some completely redundant yet fulfilling skill.
Chris watches the renewed fire with satisfaction for a few moments, then remembers the unforgiving beauty of the world outside, and goes to wake Spock. It’s well past nine, anyway.
It’s been quite a while since they got together, but Spock is still as full of surprises as when they only just met. For example, Spock is always the first one to show up for the watch exchange, usually awake two of three hours before he’s scheduled to start his shift, running errands, checking on the labs, and performing numerous self-imposed tasks. He’s equally well known for working late, and sometimes he gives the impression that he doesn’t require any sleep at all.
It was a huge surprise, therefore, to discover that, left to his own devices with no impending duty hanging over him, Spock likes to sleep in late, really late, and could happily spend the morning in bed, dozing or simply lying quietly, warm and relaxed. It’s his personal brand of rebellion against all the long years of strict discipline where moments of leisure were nothing short of a crime. Spock isn’t above acting like a spoiled child when Chris tries to drag him out of bed, and he usually wins, because Chris is too delighted by the image, and by the knowledge that Spock trusts him enough to be like this with him, fearing neither scolding nor rejection.
Chris smiles, drawing closer to the bed, and tugs at the blanket lightly, exposing Spock’s face. He can tell at once that Spock isn’t really sleeping, and his smile grows wider.
“Are you planning on staying here all day?”
Spock frowns, not opening his eyes, mumbles something, and tries to dive back under the covers. Chris pulls it back down. “What was that? I didn’t catch it.”
“I said, go away,” Spock replies more articulately, before rolling over onto his stomach and out of Chris’s reach.
Chris snorts. “That’s quite a way to speak to your commanding officer. What if I order you out of bed?”
“I’ll resign my commission.”
“You’ll be court-martialed first.”
“Very well.”
“Spock.” Chris sighs in fond exasperation. “There’s a world outside, and it’s beautiful. You should see it.”
“The statistical likelihood of it disappearing in the next two hours is extremely low. Therefore, it can wait.”
Chris rolls his eyes. “Spock, stop being an infant and get up.”
“Make me.”
Chris stares at him for a moment before laughing helplessly. “How are you even real?”
Spock lifts himself up on his elbows, looking back at Chris over his shoulder. The blanket slides further down, exposing the smooth, elegant curve of his back, and Chris swallows. Spock’s eyes glint with a mixture of annoyance and mischief.
“Christopher, I am cold,” he says in a clear, measured tone. “Either release my blanket or join me, but do one of the other now.”
With that, Spock pulls himself a little further up on the bed, lying down and shifting under the covers in a way that makes the nature of his invitation blatantly obvious. Chris stares, and yes, he can definitely get behind that. The mountains are spectacular, no denying that, but they can’t compete with this insolent, beautiful, sensuous creature, who is all the more attractive for being such an unbearable brat with Chris - only with Chris.
Chris thinks about last night, and about how maybe Spock really does have a reason for not wanting to move just yet, and how he’s probably still loose and slick and welcoming, and Chris knows that this battle has been lost before it started. He undresses quickly and slides under the covers, pressing a long, open-mouthed kiss to the nape of Spock’s neck.
Spock sighs contentedly, relaxing under him. “You smell like fire.”
Chris laughs, because that’s just so fitting. Spock owns him with every word he says, with every little gesture he makes, with the way he opens up for Chris right now, his heart fluttering in his side, lips parting to suck in a greedy gulp of air. He owns Chris completely, and if he ever decides to cash this check, Chris will be broke, wrecked, and demolished, with not even a penny of pride sticking to his name.
It’s a scary, utterly terrifying thought that steals consideration from his motions and makes him lose control, and Spock lets him, welcomes him, begs him not to resist - as though Chris could. Spock is oil to his flame, and it’s self-destructive for the both of them, but Chris couldn’t stop if his life depended on it, and Spock would probably kill him if he did.
Spock turns around in his arms afterward and presses his forehead against Chris’s, the sensitive fingers ghosting over his face, and Chris can feel him, the residual physical pleasure giving way to something deeper, something inestimably more powerful, and Spock’s breath hitches as he tries to reign it in. Chris kisses him softly, rocks him through it, but he also watches, unable to tear his eyes away, watches as Spock struggles and, inevitably, loses, and clings to Chris, surrendering at last.
“I love you,” Chris whispers. “You are my life, Spock.”
At any other time, the words would have earned him a sassy remark or a teasing eyebrow, but not now - oh no, not now. Now, Spock scoots a little closer, begging Chris wordlessly to hold him, and sighs quietly against his chest, as if he stepped upon a mystery he could never hope to solve.
They fall asleep like this, and when Chris wakes up a couple of hours later, there’s coffee and breakfast, and toast done exactly the way Chris likes, with a slip of butter melting in the middle, the tantalizing smell of fresh honey making Chris’s mouth water, and - and he should really marry Spock so that he could sue the universe if anything goes wrong.
Spock glances up at him from where he’s kneeling beside the fireplace. He’s obviously made several trips outside, as the pile of wood is mounting ever higher and the cabin is soaking in delicious warmth. Chris grins at him, and Spock smiles back shyly. He looks hesitant as he comes over.
“It has started snowing,” Spock says, shifting guiltily, and Chris looks out the window only to be unable to see past a thick white curtain. “It is... more of a blizzard.”
“It’s okay,” Chris says, and it really is. He smiles. “I don’t mind staying in for a bit.”
Spock nods, eyes downcast still. Chris rolls his eyes, unobserved, and pushes his half-empty mug at Spock. “Here. Bring me more coffee and stop beating yourself over this. It’s just a little weather, Spock. We’ll be fine.”
Spock looks up at him at that, and Chris holds his eyes and gives him a tight little nod, meaning something else entirely. “We’ll be fine.”
Spock’s lips curl up slightly as he wraps his hands around the mug, tension bleeding out of him. Chris grins, he can’t help it, and leans up to kiss Spock’s nose, smacking his butt for good measure to send him off. Spock makes that face when he sort of scowls like an insulted princess without actually moving his facial muscles, and Chris laughs, falling back onto the pillows and thinking that yes - they will be all right.
Spock brings him back herbal tea in retaliation, but, Chris thinks, that’s all right, too.
For: aprilleigh24
Prompt: Star Trek (tos or reboot), K/S (or gen with whoever else is ok), the holiday is the prompt: I want a 'future' holiday and its traditions. Whether it's some amalgamation of Christmas/Hanukah/Winter Solstice/New Years/Kwanza that happened when Earth became unified, or something like 'First Contact Day'- I just want to read about a new to me holiday.
Rating: PG-13
A/N: The thing is, this isn't quite what you asked for. It does include a description of a holiday, but for some reason, while I was writing, my focus drifted, and this turned out this way. I'm sorry about that, bb. Just, my brain seems to be cheating on my will. >.<
Spock had never seen much sense in holidays. In his utterly superior, nine-year-old view, they were either atavisms kept for purely sentimental (illogical) reasons, excuses for poor memory, or indulgencies at their purest. Sarek, who was primarily responsible for Spock’s opinions on the subject, still made a few exceptions that he had never tried to explain to his son. Spock caught up soon enough and stopped asking, drawing his own conclusions.
Certainly, celebrating the day of one’s birth, particularly by killing some plants prematurely to create a bouquet, was in no way logical, but watching his mother smile at Sarek as he presented her with a flowery arrangement and some ‘well wishes’ made Spock believe that there were moments when being unreasonable was not quite so reprehensible. In addition, his mother definitely had her ways of making his father’s life difficult, ways that Spock was yet too young to fully comprehend. However, being as sensitive as any child to the invisible balance of power in the household, Spock realized early on that Amanda definitely had more than a few ‘aces up her sleeve,’ so to speak. Perhaps his father’s ‘indulging’ habit was not quite as illogical as it would initially appear.
For the most part, however, holidays still seemed more of a tiresome nuisance to Spock - especially the officially imposed ones, such as Federation Day. It was not so bad when he was on Vulcan - the date was not singled out in any way other than the planet’s officials delivering a few appropriate statements. Everywhere else, however, it was quite another story, with pompous speeches followed by tedious receptions, and even balls, particularly on Earth and Andoria. It was usually a time of political ‘saber rattling,’ and, while Spock found the concept somewhat fascinating, he was not appreciative of the way it distracted him from his scientific studies. And, when accompanying his father on one of his diplomatic voyages, such a distraction was inevitable and to be expected.
Spock suppressed a sigh, sitting at the back of the reception hall, keeping his back straight and his eyes trained on the podium as if the ambassadors’ speeches were a most fascinating phenomenon to behold. He sourly regretted not being allowed to take a civilian transport on his return trip back from Rigel, where Spock had spent his summer in a martial arts training camp. But Amanda was not to be moved on the subject. She had been against the idea of Spock going in the first place, and did not want to hear any plan that involved him traveling back alone. This was how Spock came to be on a diplomatic transport carrying his father and an assortment of politicians from all over the Federation. It was at moments like this that Spock mourned the fact that he was a child and thus had no say in the matter.
The ambassadors kept droning on at the front of the hall, and Spock gave in to the urge to shift in his seat. He had always disliked formal Vulcan robes with a passion. They were heavy, itchy, and uncomfortable, originally designed for travelers to prevent them from acquiring hypothermia in the unforgiving cold of the night desert. They also used to serve as an excellent way to conceal weapons, back when Vulcan clans fought one another. At present, Spock despised the necessity to wear them to formal occasions, and, while being emotional about it was definitely illogical, he justified his position with the notion that the robes themselves were illogical, no longer serving their original purposes and now being nothing more than a tribute to tradition. Spock found little logic in respecting traditions that had ceased to make sense, but, oddly enough, no one asked for his opinion.
At the moment, he wanted nothing better than to go back to his quarters. He met a Terran girl earlier today, one Kate Mulligan. She was one year and four months older than him, and she laughed unkindly at his haircut and clothes. However, she also introduced Spock to something called Might and Magic 3010, uploading it to his PADD while their fathers were conversing. Video games were highly illogical, which was why Spock had never played one, but the girl’s disparaging remarks of the ‘I’ve never met anyone so boring’ variety made him itch to try his hand at a holographic swordfight.
Unfortunately, his father had not dismissed him yet.
Spock shifted in his seat again, earning a disapproving glance from Sopak. His father’s new aide was sitting beside Spock, diligently recording the diplomats’ speeches onto his PADD. Spock’s eyes skimmed over the text before flickering briefly up to Sopak’s face. The young Vulcan was not very good at hiding the fact that he considered the task of ‘babysitting’ the ambassador’s son beneath him, with all his skills and training.
Spock pursed his lips, anger and humiliation flaring up in him against his will. It wasn’t as if he wanted to be here, much less in Sopak’s company.
“My father will expect more than that, you know,” Spock said quietly, nodding at Sopak’s PADD and trying not to sound vindictive.
The young diplomat turns to Spock with an expression of mild incredulity at being addressed. “I beg your pardon?”
“There is no point in simply recording the words,” Spock explained. “My father will ask for your analysis.”
Sopak frowned slightly. “But they are merely festive speeches. The real negotiations will start tomorrow. This is but a courtesy.”
Spock suppressed the urge to roll his eyes. “You have not been listening,” he told Sopak superiorly. Sarek would not be pleased with his behavior, and Amanda even less so, but Spock never had much patience for slow minds, and the fact that Sopak treated him as a burden was infuriating. “The Tellarite Ambassador was more insulting towards Vulcans than usual.”
“Tellarites are always insulting. It is their way.”
“Yes, but he used secondary strong expletives while referring to Vulcans, while only invoking first-level invectives for humans and being polite toward the Andorians. He also used the words ‘value’ and ‘worth’ no less than six times.”
Sopak blinked. “And?”
Spock stared at him. “The new transit station between Tellar and Betazed? The ambassador is planning on requesting financial support from Vulcan. He would agree to ‘cut a share’ for humans, but he will insist upon one that excludes the Andorians.”
Sopak blinked again. “But-”
“The Andorian Ambassador,” Spock continued, “was making numerous references to the Battle of Procyon. He spoke of recent incidents at the Klingon border and of how we need a stronger Federation.”
“The Andorians take pride in their military accomplishments-”
“The ambassador’s brother is one of the biggest military contractors in the sector,” Spock said impatiently. “He is obviously looking for new commissions.”
Sopak stared at him intently for a moment. “How would you come to be in possession of this information? Regarding the ambassador’s brother, I mean?”
“I read the news feeds,” Spock replied. “They have the same familial name. It was not difficult to check.”
“But why would you do that?”
“Because he lives with me,” came a voice from behind them.
Spock whirled around in his seat to see Sarek sitting in the chair behind him, peering at him with mild disapproval. Spock bowed his head. Failure to notice that the last row was no longer unoccupied did not bode well for him at all.
“Ambassador.” Sopak greeted his superior respectfully. “Your son was merely-”
“Showing off,” Sarek finished smoothly. “It is a most unbecoming habit, but unfortunately, my attempts to teach him the value of humility do not seem to take.”
Spock could feel the traitorous blush coloring his face. To be chastised publicly like this was yet another lesson he failed to learn, he knew, because a true Vulcan would not feel embarrassment or shame, while Spock’s cheeks were burning with both.
“Since you consider yourself so knowledgeable, Spock” - Sarek addressed him again, voice stern - “would you enlighten me as to the Terran Ambassador’s speech?”
Spock swallowed. “His speech consisted mostly of empty greetings and compliments toward the Deltan representative. Perhaps he will be seeking reconciliation after the scandal with Parliamentarian Montgomery.”
“Or perhaps he is simply affected by her physical attributes and is seeking companionship for the remainder of this voyage,” Sarek opined pointedly, glancing at the Deltan in question. “This is your weakness, Spock. You overanalyze and fail to take into account human nature.”
“Yes, father.”
Sarek stared at him for a minute, contemplating, before emitting the tiniest of sighs. “I suppose you wish to be dismissed from this venue?”
Spock’s gaze snapped up, driven by hope, before he could check it. “Yes.”
Sarek nodded somberly. “You may retire. But first I wish you to apologize to Sopak for speaking out of turn.”
Spock turned to Sopak immediately, controlling his ever-rising sense of humiliation. “Mr. Sopak, I apologize for my behavior. It was not my place to speak out.”
If Spock were older or less afraid to seek out emotions in others instead of trying desperately to rein in his own, he would have noticed that Sopak’s expression was undeniably colored by one, and it was not the sense of satisfaction Spock would have expected. If Amanda witnessed the scene, she would have identified Sopak’s expression instantly as one of sympathy and even shared embarrassment. But Amanda was not there, and Spock was ill-equipped to see what was staring him in the face.
“There is no offense where none was intended,” Sopak responded quietly, the ritual phrase sliding uneasily from his lips.
Sarek nodded stiffly again. “You may go, Spock. I would advise contemplating your behavior.”
“Yes, father.” Spock stood up, bowed respectfully to Sarek and Sopak and walked out of the reception hall with as much dignity as he could muster while his feet begged him to break into a run.
Had it occur to Spock to linger just outside the doors for a moment, he would have heard Sopak saying, “Your son is highly intelligent, Ambassador. For his age, it is - remarkable.”
“Intelligence without control is worthless,” Sarek replied. “Spock’s mind is a product of his genetics. It is illogical to take pride in that.”
“Perhaps,” Sopak agreed hesitantly. “I believe that there is credence, however, to his observation regarding the Terran Ambassador.”
“There is,” Sarek admitted at once. “As is to his other deductions. Spock has certain... talent, as my wife would put it, to analyze speech patterns and correlate them with known facts.”
“Yet you told him he was incorrect.”
“I told him he was over-confident. It is dangerous for a professional.”
“Ambassador... your son is nine years old.”
“You are beginning to sound like the Lady Amanda, Mr. Sopak. Age is no excuse for mistakes. And the way I choose to raise my son is none of your concern.”
“No, Ambassador. I apologize for my presumption.”
Of course, as Spock did not have a habit of eavesdropping and possessed an acquired instinct not to question or jeopardize any moment of freedom he was granted, he did not overhear the conversation, and was walking back to his quarters with his shoulders slumped and head bowed. He berated himself silently for failing to remember that it was illogical to try and please his father. As for Sopak, Spock felt that the reprimand was deserved. Pointing out errors to an adult - and a trained professional - was presumptuous and discourteous. Being correct did not enter into that equation.
The corridors of the ship were crowded with excited passengers in their most formal clothes, and it took all of Spock’s concentration not to bump into a tall lady wearing an evening gown who would suddenly stop in her tracks to send out a flirtatious remark to someone, or a bulky figure of an elderly Denobulan who drifted from person to person, smiling magnanimously and propositioning everyone in direct vicinity. Spock ducked his head, mutely cursing his stupid long robes, and quickened his pace.
The festivities would soon continue, he knew, with a banquet and possibly dancing and, given that there were so many humans onboard, a lightshow. Spock didn’t feel like sticking around for any of those, particularly since his father had unexpectedly decided to dismiss him. That was completely uncharacteristic of Sarek, but Spock decided, for once, to not ‘look the gift horse in the mouth,’ as his mother so often told him.
He hauled himself back up to his quarters, finally freeing his PADD from the confines of his father’s case - Sarek did not need to know that Spock had picked its code quite a while ago - and happily diving into a completely illogical fantasy world.
Fascinating as the game turned out to be, however, Spock soon found himself distracted, and eventually switched the PADD off. His thoughts kept wandering back to Sarek’s reprimand, and, trying hard as he might, Spock could not shake off the utterly emotional feeling of injustice that lingered, despite his better efforts to convince himself that he was behaving disgracefully.
Giving up at last on trying to resolve his dilemma, Spock requested an astrophysics problem from the ship’s computer, with a few more to follow. He spent the remainder of the evening working on them, oblivious to the noises of the ship-wide party booming outside the cabin.
When Sarek walked in five hours later, he found his son asleep against the computer terminal, the word ‘Correct’ blinking in human-friendly green across the screen. If the Lady Amanda had been present, she alone would have been able perhaps to read the emotion flickering in her husband’s dark eyes as he gazed down at the boy. But Amanda was not here, and Sarek stood motionless for a moment, experiencing a most unusual feeling that he could not name.
The mentor in him insisted he wake Spock up, tell him off for not having consumed any nourishment and retire before he could present such a display. Spock was old enough to be able to take care of himself, and it constantly eluded Sarek as to why his son, who was so adept in almost any other skill he was taught, could not master so simple a task. A familiar flare of irritation blooming in Sarek’s chest - to be dealt with later - he knew that he should leave Spock where he was so that the soreness of his muscles and the general sensation of weakness would teach him a lesson come morning.
But he had spent a moment too long staring at Spock’s awkwardly bent body - so small, compared to his peers. Sarek had stood there long enough to allow the part of him that was a father to surface - something he did not normally permit to happen, because spoiling one’s child meant doing said child a disservice, and Sarek was intent on not adding to his son’s natural disadvantages; Spock had one too many as it was.
The day behind him had been long and tiresome, though, and Sarek reasoned, quite logically, that they had earned this one small indulgence. Just once, he told himself, reaching to deactivate the terminal, careful not to wake Spock. Gently, Sarek picked the boy up, Spock’s head lolling onto his shoulder trustingly - the way it used to when he was not a year old and unaware that his father enjoyed holding him as much as his mother did.
Quietly, Sarek deposited Spock on the bed, taking off his shoes and throwing a blanket over him. He spent a moment longer, watching his son’s peaceful face, before finally retiring to his own room.
He still felt the need to point out Spock’s errors to him, but it could wait until morning. Just this once, it could wait.
24 years later
The sound of the comm is unnaturally loud in the darkness of the cabin. Jim Kirk stirs with a grunt and extricates himself from the cocoon of sheets, blinking blearily as he tries to figure out what has woken him. The persistent whistle sounds again, and Jim groans, lifting himself half-upright and slumping against the headboard.
“Computer, activate intercom, audio only. Yes?”
“Captain,” Uhura’s chirpy voice streams down the line. “I’m sorry to bother you, but-”
“Uhura, for the love of my sanity, did I or did I not tell you I was not to be disturbed for the next 24 hours unless we crash landed in a black hole?”
“You did, and I apologized, but we have an incoming communication, and I think you’d want to take it.”
“Really,” Jim drawls skeptically. “Who’s it from?”
“Ambassador Sarek.”
Automatically, Jim glances at his bedmate, who chooses this moment to emerge from the elaborate construction of covers he has created.
“Why does he want to talk to me?” Jim asks, meeting a very alert gaze.
“Actually, he wants to talk to Spock.”
Jim lifts his eyebrows, grinning down at Spock, but keeping his voice even. “Why are you calling me, then?”
They can hear Uhura bristle impatiently. “I had a - hunch - that you might know where he is.”
“At three o’clock in the morning? Why, Lieutenant, I didn’t realize you were such a fan of the ship’s rumor mill,” Jim teases.
“Captain-” She pauses, clearly torn between exasperation and the necessity to maintain decorum. “If you happen to see him, would you be so kind as to inform him that-”
“It is all right, Nyota,” Spock says, swinging his legs onto the floor and straightening up. “I will take the call here, if you would just give me a moment.”
“Sure thing,” she replies sweetly. “You can pick up in one minute.”
“Acknowledged.”
“Uhura out.”
“Spoilsport,” Jim tells him, watching as Spock fastens his pants while looking for his shirt.
Spock gives him an eyebrow. “You did not seriously believe that she was unaware.”
“Not after this was the first place she’d look, no.” Jim grins smugly and shrugs. “I like messing with her. Especially if it’s about you.”
Spock fixes him with a reproachful look. “You are behaving poorly, Jim.”
“Well, being nice has no perks.” Jim stretches languidly, smirking as he catches Spock’s gaze. “Hey, c’mere a moment.”
“Jim,” Spock protests, but steps closer just the same.
Jim leans up just enough to press against Spock, pulling him down into a short kiss. “Everything okay?”
“Indeed,” Spock replies, carding his fingers through Jim’s hair gently. “My father probably wishes to convey holiday greetings. It is an - odd - tradition that he keeps.”
“Oh,” Jim says, bewildered. No one he knows actually celebrates Federation Day as a family holiday. “Okay.”
He watches as Spock settles behind Jim’s desk, and wow, does he look at home there. Jim grins as he hears Spock and Sarek exchange what for any other family would be perfectly mundane pleasantries - except, Vulcans don’t do those. Jim wonders vaguely what this is about. From what little information Spock let slip about his father over the years, Sarek wouldn’t be winning any ‘Dad of the Year’ awards any time soon, not by Earth standards.
The thing is, though, Spock turned out okay. More than okay, actually, Jim thinks fondly. So if everyone really is screwed up by their parents, then, all things considered, Spock seems to have gotten away with the right end of the stick. Even if he isn’t the most well-adjusted person in the universe.
Jim doesn’t even try to pretend he isn’t listening in. Spock seems wary but somehow softer round the edges than he usually is, and Jim wants to get to the bottom of this, but he’s distracted when Sarek says, “Please extend my greetings to James,” and signs off.
Jim sits up straighter and stares. “You told him. I thought we said-”
Spock meets his eyes, looking equally shaken. “No, Jim. I never even mentioned…” He trails off, disgruntled.
“Huh,” Jim breathes. “Guess your father knows you better than you thought, then.”
Spock nods slowly. “It would certainly appear that way.”
Jim watches him carefully. “Well. He didn’t sound disapproving. That’s good, right?”
Spock must feel tired enough - or safe enough - to actually allow his face an openly confused expression. “I do not understand this,” he confesses, sounding both petulant and helpless. “I do not understand him.”
Jim suddenly laughs. “I do,” he says. “He loves you.”
Spock blinks. “That is-”
“Next to impossible, I know.” Jim rolls his eyes. “It’s insanity, and hardship, and torture, yet somehow we persist - crazy people.”
Spock glances sharply at him. “We?”
Jim blushes, but grins. “You just couldn’t not catch that one, could you?” He sighs. “We, Spock. As if you didn’t know.” Spock opens his mouth, and Jim adds quickly, “On second thought, don’t answer that.”
Spock purses his lips. “As you wish.”
Jim shakes his head. “Come back to bed, would you? You can puzzle over this some more in the morning.”
But when Spock does settle back beside him, Jim pulls him closer and whispers, “It’s time you learned, Spock.”
The way Spock relaxes against him, trusting and contented, tells Jim that maybe, just maybe, he finally did.
According to my calculations, this concludes my ficmas run of 2010. (If I missed you by accident, please let me know, my concentration is all over the place, unfortunately. ) I hope you enjoyed the ride as much as I did. ;)
Thank you again, Molly, for being such a great sport about it. <3