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Leonard’s Christmas list consists of three things, and three things alone.
First, he wants to be on Earth. He wants his feet on solid ground and a yellow sun above his head and blue skies, if the atmosphere sees fit to grant him that.
Second, he’d like to be with Jim. This wish is more of a given, as wherever Jim goes, Leonard goes. It’s been that way since their first Thanksgiving at the Academy. But Leonard mentally lists it out nonetheless, because it’s key.
And finally, he would like the two of them to be alone. No well-meaning crewmembers knocking on their door at any hour of the day, no admirals comming with something that just couldn’t wait. No Spock needing the captain for a brief moment, after which you are welcome to continue copulating with the doctor.
All things considered, Leonard doesn’t think that’s too much to ask.
So it just figures that Jim has other ideas, doesn’t it.
--
They’ve been back in San Francisco for exactly twelve hours, and Leonard thinks he’s achieved profound bliss for the first time in his life.
His eyes are barely open, but he feels strong arms around him, pulling him back against a warm chest. He can feel a heartbeat pounding against his back, and soft breath ghosting across the nape of his neck. He leans into it, sighing with contentment.
“You awake?” And, of course, Jim ruins it by opening his mouth.
Leonard makes a negative grunt, tilts his head to burrow further into his pillow. He drapes one arm over Jim’s, holding him in place around him. Maybe, if he ignores him, Jim will just shut up and go back to sleep.
“Bones,” Jim says, kicking that hope firmly aside. “Bo-ones.”
“Mmph,” Leonard replies, helpfully. His muffled words turn into a squeak of protests when Jim pulls back from him, sitting up in bed.
“C’mon,” Jim says, slapping him on the shoulder. “We’ve got a flight to catch.”
Leonard rolls over entirely, face down on the bed and muttering to himself.
“What was that?” Jim asks, laughing. He doesn’t wait for a response, just angles both hands under Leonard’s stomach and flips him over like a pancake. Leonard yelps, scrambling for the sheets, but Jim’s too quick, yanking them away and tossing them to the ground.
Leonard lies miserably on his back, fully awake. “I hate you,” he tells Jim, sincerely.
“You love me,” Jim reminds him, flashing a brilliant grin and leaning down to kiss the bare skin of Leonard’s stomach. “Now get your ass out of bed. You and me have a date with a shuttleport.”
“I hate everything,” Leonard says, revising his earlier assessment. But Jim’s already out of bed, chuckling as he makes his way to the bathroom.
It’s only after he’s out of sight that Leonard pushes himself upright, and Jim’s words finally rearrange themselves in his drowsy head and take on meeting.
“Wait a minute,” he yells, loud enough that he’s sure Jim can hear him over the running water, “you were serious?”
--
“It’s your first Christmas present!” Jim had said, two weeks earlier.
Leonard’s just gotten off duty, his uniform is wrinkled and the barest hint of stubble is shadowing his cheeks. The two of them are seated around the small coffee table in the captain’s quarters, and Jim’s waving a PADD at him like it’s the finest bourbon the Kentucky trail has to offer.
(For the record, Leonard would have much preferred that for a first present.)
“New Zealand,” Leonard says. “My present is New Zealand.”
“A trip there, yeah,” Jim says as though nothing—not even the flatness of Leonard’s tone—can harsh his enthusiasm. “I mean, I’m an important guy, Bones, but I can’t go giving away entire countries. That’s a bit much.”
Leonard’s not really listening, too busy inspecting their tickets on the PADD. There’s a departure time—in two weeks, at 1400 hours—but no ticket for a return trip. The PADD helpfully prompts him, asking if he’d like to purchase amenities for the trip or check the weather. He taps for the latter option, and is greeted with a bright yellow icon of a smiling sun.
New Zealand is warm this time of year, he realizes. They could sit out on the beach, drinking and sunbathing, listening to the ocean. Enjoying the heat, enjoying each other…
“Hey, are you listening to me?” Jim asks, grabbing the PADD out of his hands.
“Huh? Sure, sure I am.” Leonard rubs the back of his neck, unwilling to admit he’s warming to the idea. “What’d you say?”
Jim smiles wickedly at him. “I invited the rest of the gang, too.”
--
Despite his many years working with the crew of the Enterprise, and indeed with humans in general, there are still several subtleties to his friends’ behavior that elude Spock.
For instance, why the captain insists that “group bonding” is a productive activity, even when the crew is on leave. Still, he trusts Jim, and has to admit that his unconventional leadership style has proven effective in the past. So he’s willing to just go with it, to borrow one of Jim’s colloquialisms.
“It’s… nice of him,” Nyota says, uncertainly, when he voices the plan aloud to her. She’s leaning back on one of the comfortable chairs in her quarters, long legs hanging over the armrest. This is not, of course, the correct way to sit in a chair, utterly at odds with the function of its form, but he finds he does not wish to inform her of the fact.
“Of the past four years,” Spock informs her, “we have spent forty-five months together. Annually, we receive leave equivalent to three Earth weeks. It does not seem imperative that we spend those weeks together, with the crew, but the captain believes it will be beneficial.”
“Or he’s just needy,” Nyota murmurs. Her legs swing a bit over their perch as she thinks. “But if he’s footing the bill, I can’t really say no.”
“You are fully capable of making whichever decision you wish,” Spock says evenly. “I am merely presenting you with an option that is now available to you.”
She tilts her head to regard him. “But you want to go.”
Spock raises both his brows, briefly. Nyota once told him that she found the expression reminiscent of human shrugging, though Spock doesn’t believe he’s ever done something so undignified.
“I find San Francisco has no particular draw in the winter. It does accumulate enough precipitation to make for a ‘White Christmas,’ and yet it is humid and chilly. The promise of warmer weather is… more appealing. However, I have no strong opinion on the matter.”
Nyota purses her lips, at that. She pushes herself up off the chair and onto her feet. Smoothing down her shirt, she smiles softly at him. “I’m willing to bet our illustrious captain has some sort of ulterior motive. But it couldn’t hurt.”
She passes him on her way out of the room, pressing the pads of two fingers against his cheek as she goes.
--
On the day of their trip, Spock is ready to leave almost as soon as he wakes. Nyota takes slightly longer to gather her belongings, and even then she stops to ask his opinion on multiple garments before deciding whether or not to include them.
“As ever, Nyota, what you wear has no bearing on your beauty,” he says, trying to be helpful. And while he may admire her more in the bathing suit that shows off the near-full expanse of her skin, the other, in red, is more her typical shade. He honestly thinks either would do.
“That’s such a diplomatic answer,” she says, crinkling her nose. “We’re not making First Contact here, Spock.”
No, but they will be missing the takeoff of their shuttle if they are not out of the apartment in the next ten minutes.
“No,” he says, “but it would be expedient to meet the rest of our party when we promised.”
She rolls her eyes as she heads back into the bedroom. “We’ll be fine.”
Fortunately, in another seven minutes she and Spock are seated in the hovercar, and in another moment he’s driving them patiently through San Francisco. They arrive at the shuttleport with time to spare, pulling up behind a distinctive navy blue vehicle.
And, even if that hadn’t alerted them to their company, the voices hit them as soon as Spock opens the driver’s side door.
“Public shuttlecraft? Jim, these things are even worse than the new ones on the ship! They’re—”
“Perfectly safe. There haven’t been any major accidents on these things for years, Bones, just take a deep breath and try to enjoy yourself…”
Nyota’s pursing her lips to stifle a smile when Spock opens her door and she lets him help her out of the car. The two of them step out onto the curb, and sure enough, the captain and the doctor are standing there facing one another. The doctor’s expression is irate—which is not atypical for him—but the captain’s brow is furrowed with frustration, which isn’t an attitude he usually adopts around his partner.
“Captain,” Spock greets them, “Doctor.”
“Jim, Leonard,” Nyota says a moment later.
The two men turn towards them, their expressions immediately schooled into friendly half-smiles. The doctor leans over to kiss Nyota’s cheek—a habit he displays amongst only the women closest to him in acquaintance, and a sign of their deep friendship, Nyota has assured him.
“Hey Spock, Uhura,” Jim says, waving. “Glad you could make it. Where’re your bags?”
Spock nods back towards the hovercar, going to retrieve their baggage. He returns a moment later, three pieces of luggage balanced in his arms. Nyota, Leonard, and Jim are chatting, but when Nyota glances back at him her eyes go wide.
“Spock,” she says, “where’s the blue bag?”
Spock glances down at the bags in his arms—one black, two maroon. There is no forth bag, not here nor in the car.
“Did you have another bag?” he asks, canting his head.
“Yes!” Nyota’s voice rises. “I need it, too.”
“What’s going on?” The doctor asks from behind her.
Nyota bites down on her lower lip. “I forgot my bag,” she says.
“Is it urgent?” Jim asks. Nyota nods. Her expression is edgy, her thin brows drawing together as she chews on her lip. She is trying not to show tension, but it’s evident on her face.
Jim glances behind them at the chronometer displayed on the wall. “Okay, we’ve got time—Bones and I already checked our bags, so I can drive Uhura back by your place and you can grab what you need. Spock can stay here and get everything else straightened out. Sound good?”
Spock turns to regard both Jim and Nyota at once. She considers a moment, before nodding.
“Let’s go,” she says, already walking back towards Jim’s hovercar. Jim nods once to Spock, then moves to join her, but the doctor catches him by the wrist first.
“Jim,” he says, his voice raw. Spock blinks, wondering at what is eliciting such a reaction.
“It’s fine, Bones,” Jim says. “We’ll be back before you know it.” He reaches out, pressing his lips to the doctor’s cheek. He pulls away and turns to Spock. “Keep an eye on him for me while I’m gone, okay?”
That’s said with a chuckle, and then he’s jogging back towards the car, and in another moment he and Nyota are speeding away from the shuttleport.
Spock is left holding the baggage, standing awkwardly next to Leonard on the curb.
“Doctor,” he offers, “are you alright?”
“Just peachy,” he grinds out between his teeth, before marching back towards the double doors. Spock sees no other course of option than to follow.
--
Nyota sits in the passenger seat of Jim’s hovercar, her hands folded primly in her lap as she stares out the window. Jim’s turned down the volume on the sound system, but it’s still quietly playing something that sounds suspiciously like twenty-first century pop.
“Hey,” he says to her after a few moments, “What’re you thinking about?”
She turns back to him and shrugs. “Do you ever feel like Spock’s just telling you what you want to hear?”
Jim throws his head back and laughs, at that. “Only never. Sometimes I think he makes stuff up just so he can tell me how wrong I am.”
Nyota huffs, preparing to settle back into silence. But then Jim’s looking at her and saying softly, “Are you guys having issues? Because if you are you should get them out in the open now, before we’re involved in another high speed chase with a bunch of Klingon ships.”
She can’t help but laugh, at that, even as she feels a bit of heat rise to her cheeks. “I think he’s… appeasing me. Just doing things because I want to, not because he does.”
Jim squints at that, flexing his fingers against the wheel. “Well, sometimes people just give in, because they’re in love. You know, they just want the other person to be happy.”
“You think Leonard does that for you?” Nyota asks, even though she doesn’t really need to. Leonard’s never anything but opinionated, but anyone could see how easily he bends when it comes to Jim Kirk.
Jim shrugs almost imperceptibly, then sighs. “I know he does,” he says. “Most of the time I can’t get him to stop. And then some days he just decides that nothing’s going to please him, whether it involves me or not.”
“Like today,” Nyota says, her voice half a question.
“Like today,” Jim agrees. “You know, he’s always talking about these big family holidays he used to have as a kid. All the McCoys, gathered around a tree and drinking eggnog that was probably spiked to hell and opening presents. And he doesn’t get that, anymore, not since his parents and the divorce and he just… I mean, he doesn’t want to go back to Georgia. But I figured he’d still want a big family holiday. And New Zealand’s nice and warm, and he hates cold weather, so I thought it’d be perfect.”
“Is that what he said he wanted?” Nyota asks.
“No? I mean, but I can read him. I know that’s what he wants. He just doesn’t want to admit it because he’s a stubborn asshole.”
“Mm-hmm,” Nyota says. “Jim, what did he say he wants?”
“Well, it’s like your thing with Spock. He just goes, ‘Whatever you want, as long as it’s with you.’” Jim goes into an imitation of a Southern accent that’s so awful Nyota has to cover her face in her hands to smother her laughter. “What? I thought you were giving me advice, here.”
Nyota looks up just as they pass a street sign. “I would, but you just missed our turnoff.”
“What? Fuck.”
--
“What the hell is taking them so long?” Leonard asks no one in particular. Well, Spock’s sitting right next to him at the gate, but it’s not like he ever expects a satisfactory answer from him.
“They have only been gone twenty-two minutes, Doctor. As Nyota’s residence is, at best, a thirty-minute journey from the shuttleport, there is not logical way they could have made the trip there and back again in the time they have been gone.”
Leonard turns to face Spock, vaguely wondering if Jim would be mad if he killed the Vulcan. Probably, but does Leonard honestly care whether Jim is upset or not, right now?
“I can’t believe he just left me here,” he grumbles, sinking down lower into his—uncomfortable—seat and crossing his arms across his chest.
“I do not believe the captain’s intention was to abandon you.” Spock is very carefully going over something on his PADD, not even looking up at Leonard when he speaks. Leonard grinds his teeth.
“Oh, it’s never his intention,” Leonard snaps. He’s vaguely aware of how unreasonable he’s being, but he can’t quite bring himself to care. “Not his fault, is it, that everybody needs him? That he’s gotta be the one in charge, taking care of everything, putting everyone else first…”
“Indeed,” Spock says evenly. “That is, in fact, a quality you both share. Your selflessness in the face of others’ need is likely what drew you together, initially.”
Leonard chokes, unsure of how he feels about Spock’s commenting on both himself and his relationship. “Did you just compliment me?”
Spock blinks, still engrossed in his PADD. “I am merely conjecturing. I will admit that the specific nature of your relationship with the captain eludes me, and that I have no interest in pursuing the matter.”
Leonard chokes again, but this time it’s on the beginnings of a laugh. He leans back in his seat, feeling a bit of the tension ease from his shoulders. Turning away from Spock, he glances at the other people gathered at the gate.
Standing next to one of the glass-panel walls is a young woman and her son, both looking out at the runway.
“Look, Mom,” the boy says brightly. “You can see the shuttles taking off!”
And sure enough, when Leonard follows the boy’s gaze he can see one of the large, public shuttles taking off. It’s not the smooth maneuvering of Starfleet-issue shuttles, soundless and precise. The shuttle takes off in an arc, jostling as it gathers speed and altitude. Leonard can feel his stomach twisting to mirror the shuttle’s movements.
He jumps to his feet abruptly.
“Doctor?”
“I need a drink.”
--
“What do you mean, you can’t get in?” Jim and Nyota are standing outside her apartment, looking helplessly at the locked door.
“I must have left the keypad with Spock,” she says, almost defiantly. “I wasn’t exactly planning on turning right around and coming back here.”
“What are we here for, anyway?” Jim’s voice is earnest, curious. Nyota rolls her eyes.
“Something important.” And that’s all she’ll say on the matter, before giving Jim a strained look. “What are we supposed to do now? The flight’s taking off in forty-five minutes.”
Jim cocks an eyebrow at her, gives her his cheekiest grin. “Uhura. Nyota. Do you even remember who you’re talking to? This is a lock. If I can’t hack it, I’ll resign my commission right now.”
“Your commission as a starship captain?”
“No, as the only genius-level repeat offender in the Midwest. A lot of those offenses? Breaking and entering.”
“Alright,” Nyota says, seeing no good in arguing. “Work your magic, Captain.”
--
The shuttleport bar is exquisitely well-stocked. Leonard slumps against it, staring down a glass of fine whiskey but not drinking from it just yet.
His head’s buzzing with the anxiety that’s been building all day, and his stomach might decide to upend itself at any moment. He doesn’t want to tempt fate, here.
Still, he’s paid for the whiskey. He might as well drink it. Especially since his visions of getting Jim alone and drunk on a beach are probably going to have to be edited to include Spock, Nyota, and everyone else they’ve ever met.
He lets loose a heaving sigh, passing the glass back and forth between his hands and watching the dark liquid shift in waves.
He’s just about to give in and take a drink when a familiar presence slips gingerly onto the stool beside him.
“Mr. Spock,” Leonard intones gravely. “To what do I owe the continued pleasure?”
“The captain requested that I ‘keep an eye’ on you. I do not believe allowing you to become substantially inebriated with be in line with those instructions.”
“Why don’t you take your instructions and stuff ‘em?” Leonard asks blandly. He wasn’t going to get substantially inebriated. He was going to get pleasantly buzzed. And if repressed Vulcan assholes can’t tell the difference, why’s that his problem?
Still, he finds himself pushing the glass away and pushing himself up on his elbows.
“You are unhappy, Doctor,” Spock informs him, as though he doesn’t know.
“Yeah, no fucking way,” Leonard snaps back.
Spock merely arches an eyebrow. “If you would allow me to continue, I would ask why that is the case. Onboard the Enterprise, you seemed to be pleased at the prospect of our upcoming shoreleave. Now that it has arrived, you are less so.”
“Maybe it’s just not as great as I thought it’d be,” Leonard grumbles.
Spock inclines his head, waits for Leonard to continue.
Leonard groans, rubs a hand over his face. “On the ship, Jim’s the captain. He’s responsible for every one of the several hundred people onboard, and each of ‘em has a claim on him, too. I get that. That’s fine. So if we’ve got to push our plans back because there’s something he needs to oversee or he gets called away in the night ‘cause there’s an emergency on the bridge, that’s fine.”
And it is. Leonard has never, would never, begrudge Jim the fundamental core of his being. He and the Enterprise and her crew are all intimately connected, and Leonard wouldn’t change that. He’d never tell Jim to stop being the best damn Starfleet captain in any galaxy.
“So wherein lies the problem, Doctor?”
“We’re not on the damn ship, right now!” Leonard feels the words explode out of him. “We’re on leave, we’re not even at HQ. For three weeks—three weeks!—Jim doesn’t have to be responsible for anyone else. It could’ve just been him and me. We could’ve stayed in the apartment for all of it, we could’ve eaten cereal and watched paint dry and I wouldn’t have given a damn! Because we would’ve been together, and no one else would’ve gotten in the way.”
He pauses, breathing heavily. When he continues, his voice is quieter and less inflected. “Is it really so much t’ask that I just be important to him, for once?”
Spock blinks, looks down at his clasped hands. “Doctor, I believe your excess of feeling is creating unnecessary complication—”
Leonard barks out a laugh. “My excess of feelings, Spock? What about your lack thereof? Nyota didn’t seem too happy, either. You’ve got all the time in the world with the most gorgeous woman in the quadrant. You ever tell her that? You ever tell her how damn lucky you are to have her?”
Spock stiffens abruptly. “Nyota is fully aware of my regard for her.”
Leonard rolls his eyes. “Sure. But she shouldn’t have to just be ‘aware.’ You could remind her.” He’s got nothing more to say, so he grabs his glass of whiskey and downs in like a shot.
Which isn’t exactly the smartest idea, but the way Spock’s eyes widen at the sight is damn well worth it.
--
The lock finally clicks and the doors slide open with a hiss. Jim pumps his fist in the arm in victory and doesn’t miss the way Nyota smiles as she glides past him into her apartment. He can’t help but be curious as he trails after her. He’s only been here once or twice before, and that was years ago, before they set off on their mission. Spock’s got quarters at the Vulcan Embassy, too, but Jim knows he spends most of his time here. So while it’s technically Nyota’s apartment, it’s both of their home.
It’s what he’d expect from the two of them—lived-in but classy, elegant and functional. The door opens into a sitting room which is full of black leather furniture and old wood bookcases. Nyota disappears into the bedroom, moving quickly, and so Jim’s got a moment to look around.
There’s a mantel with different holos on it—one of Nyota and her brothers as children, another of Nyota and her parents at her graduation, and one of Gaila and Nyota in their cadet reds. There’s more than one picture of Spock, his placid expression turned somehow fond as he looks at Nyota. And then there’s a group shot of the Enterprise’s command crew in their officers’ grays—at the ship’s rechristening ceremony, Jim realizes.
His fingers trail the lines of the photograph, going over each smiling face—Scotty and Carol, Sulu and Chekov, Nyota herself… and then there’s him, at the center, flanked by Spock on one side and Bones on the other. His family.
“Jim,” Nyota calls, rushing back into the room, a small blue bag clutched in her hands. “We’ve got to run.”
Jim lifts two fingers in a jaunty salute. “Shall we, Lieutenant?”
--
Jim’s quiet as they race back towards the shuttleport, his fingers tapping idly against the wheel. Maybe he was wrong, about what Bones wanted. Maybe it was what he wanted.
“Jim,” Nyota prompts him, after a bit.
“Hm? Yeah?” he says, immediately alert. “Did I miss the exit again?”
“No,” she says, laughing at him. “Just… a credit for your thoughts?”
Jim sighs, looks down at the road below them for a moment before shrugging. “I think maybe Bones has been going along with me for so long, I forget that’s not what he always wants to do.”
Nyota gives him a look of under incredulity. “Jim. Do you honestly believe that?”
“Um. Yeah?”
“You idiot.” Her voice is soft, and even… a little fond? “He likes going along with you. He likes doing what you want to do. He likes you enough to spend every waking moment with you, which is a level of dedication I don’t even want to understand. Now, think. What did he tell you he wanted?”
“…he said he didn’t care, as long as we were together.” Jim says as though by rote. Then he takes a moment, and lets himself actually process the words. “Oh.”
Nyota reaches over to tap her hand against his shoulder. “Yes. Oh. Now you get us back to that shuttleport so both our boyfriends don’t end up flying off to a romantic vacation without us.”
“I bet they’d love that,” Jim mutters.
“I’d actually pay to see it,” Nyota says, considering.
“I’d rather have hot shoreleave sex,” Jim decides after a moment. He winces, prepared for Nyota to slap him or glare or do something else disapproving, but instead he just hears the soft chime of her laugh.
“You know what? Me, too.”
Jim gapes at her, for a moment, then smiles brightly. “Man, that Spock is one lucky bastard.”
Nyota tosses her head, smirks. “You have no idea.”
--
Spock is beginning to wonder whether any of this had been a good idea.
He is once again seated at the gate, waiting for Jim and Nyota to rejoin them. The doctor is no longer displaying excessive fits of emotion. In fact, he seems almost deceptively calm.
Spock doesn’t trust that.
“Maybe I’ll just sleep for three weeks.” Doctor McCoy is seated beside him, his head lolling slightly to the left. His words are thick and slurred, his Southern accent pronounced.
“That would be inadvisable,” Spock reminds him. He shifts one-quarter of an inch to the left, so that Doctor McCoy can have no incorrect ideas about leaning against him.
“Why? Aren’t you gonna list off five different reasons to prove your point?”
Spock sighs, the barest hint of a breath released from between his lips. “You are in no state to listen to an extended explanation, Doctor. Any such reasoning would be lost on you.”
“Are you calling me stupid, Spock?”
He raises one brow, looks down at Leonard in a way which is meant to be anything but condescending. “The neutral state of your intelligence has nothing to do with your ability to process information. The amount of liquor you chose to drink at the shuttleport bar does, however.”
“Hmph,” the doctor says, crossing his arms over his chest. He tips forward dangerously, and Spock finds himself reaching out with one hand, grabbing the doctor’s shoulder to steady him.
“Where’s Jim?” Leonard says after another moment, now leaning back. That is a safer position than falling forward, so Spock leaves him to it. “We’re gonna be boarding that deathtrap any minute.”
“The probability of any of us dying aboard the shuttle is point two three percent, Doctor.” He doesn’t have an answer about where Jim is. And even though he and Nyota have been gone longer than he would expect, he is not worried.
Really, he isn’t.
--
Jim practically throws the keys of his hovercar at the valet, and as soon as his feet hit the ground he and Nyota are running towards the entrance of the shuttleport.
“Hey!” A black-clad woman with a security badge calls out. “Where’re you going in such a hurry?”
“It’s alright!” Jim calls back, over his shoulder, “I’ve saved the earth like, multiple times!”
It takes them three and a half minutes to make it through security, and then another two to find their gate. It’s mostly emptied out, the tail-end of a long queue of people disappearing behind the counter to board the shuttle.
Jim pauses to catch his breath, hands braced against his thighs. Looking up, he calls out, “BONES!”
“Jesus Christ, that’s loud,” someone grouses from behind him. No, not someone. Bones.
“Bones!” Jim says again, whipping around to wrap both his arms around the other man. Bones winces, pushes Jim away halfheartedly. Something clicks into Jim’s head. “Are you drunk?”
“Maybe,” Bones admits. “Just a little.”
“The doctor could not be dissuaded from visiting the shuttleport bar,” Spock says, coming up beside them. His arm is linked with Nyota’s.
“So, we boarding this flight, or what?” Bones says, and though he’s pulled out of Jim’s embrace he rests one hand lightly against his shoulder.
“You sure you want to?” Nyota asks Spock, her gaze very keen.
“Though the doctor has done his best to convince me otherwise, I believe spending a portion of our shoreleave with the crew will be… enjoyable.” Spock says.
“You want to,” Nyota translates for him. He offers her a curt nod.
Jim laughs. “I don’t know why all of you keep doubting my ideas. When have I ever been wrong?”
“Well, Jim, there was that time on Risa…”
“And the incident concerning the Andorian delegation at Starbase III…”
“Plus, who could forget the time you forgot the intra-ship comm line was still on?”
Now it’s Jim’s turn to wince, and then he just shakes his head. “I’m right when it’s important. Like right now.”
Bones rolls his eyes. “Uh-huh. Well, Captain, your great idea’s gonna go to waste if we don’t get our asses on that shuttle.”
“So, what’re we waiting for?” Jim throws one hand around Bones’ shoulders and another around Spock’s, and with Spock and Nyota still linked at the arms the four of them head towards the counter.
--
Nyota takes Spock’s hand as soon as they’re seated. It’s strange, she thinks—they have so many major things going on in their lives at any one moment. New planets to discover, fracturing timelines, hostile alien species. Maybe that’s why they build up the little things, the normal things, so much. It helps them from drowning in the weight of their responsibilities.
“Your mood seems to have improved,” Spock says, as they buckle themselves into their seats.
“It was never off,” she informs him. “I just had to think through a few things.”
“And the things in question?”
Nyota sighs, leans against Spock and rests her head on his shoulder. “You’d tell me if anything made you unhappy, wouldn’t you?”
“I seldom succumb to such trivial—”
Nyota lifts a hand to his lips, cutting him off. “Spock.”
The Vulcan swallows, nods his head. “If it was a serious matter, yours would be the first counsel I would seek.”
“What about if you were happy?”
This seems to catch Spock off guard. “I’m not sure what you mean.”
“I mean that we’re good, most of the time. Really good. But you’re going to have to give me some feedback in that regard, at least once in a while. Alright?” She gives him a keen look, one hand still resting against his wrist.
“Alright,” Spock repeats, but he looks distinctly suspicious.
Nyota smiles and then reaches beneath her seat to retrieve her blue bag. She pulls a small package out of it and hands it over to Spock. He takes it gingerly, turns it over in his hands, examining it. He looks back at her questioningly.
“It’s your first present,” she tells him. “Open it.”
He does as she instructs, pulling back the paper neatly. A small wooden box is revealed, and when Spock lifts up the lid he inhales sharply. “Nyota…”
The vial is small—small enough to rest comfortably in Spock’s palm. It’s filled with soft, reddish-brown grains.
“It’s red sand,” she says softly. “A molecular replica of Vulcan’s surface. The beaches on New Zealand will be nice, I’m sure, but holidays are about family, too. And home.”
Spock swallows again, grips Nyota’s hand tightly.
“Thank you,” he says softly. “I am… pleased.”
--
As Spock and Nyota settle into their seats, Leonard makes a motion to follow them. Jim, however, grabs him by the elbow and leads him around to another aisle.
“What’re you doing?”
“Our seats are over here,” Jim says, plopping himself down in one and motioning to the other beside him.
“I thought the whole point of this was to be together,” Leonard grumbles, but he takes his seat anyway. Jim’s hand immediately settles against his thigh.
“Well, sure, I want us to bond,” Jim says. “But that doesn’t mean we have to spend every waking moment together.”
“We don’t,” Leonard says slowly.
“Nope,” Jim assures him. “After all, the holidays are about family, but shoreleave’s about… alone time.”
“Alone time,” Leonard repeats.
“Mm-hm,” Jim assures him, leaning over to nuzzle his nose into the soft skin of Leonard’s neck.
“Guess I could live with that.”
“Yeah, I thought you might be okay with it.” Then Jim’s tilting his jaw, leaning up to kiss Leonard thoroughly. Leonard can do nothing but sigh into the kiss, reach out to cup Jim’s jaw.
After a moment, they break apart, and Leonard’s grinning like he just can’t stop himself. Jim reaches out with one hand, gently rubs the nape of Leonard’s neck.
“Hey, Bones?”
“Yeah, Jim?”
“I’m always going to be here for you. Whenever you need me, and even when you don’t.”
“I know, Jim,” Leonard says, and he finds the words are true. Sometimes, it’s just easy to forget. He leans into Jim’s touch, and doesn’t even realize that the shuttle’s taken off until they’re in the air.
“Speaking of family,” Leonard says sometime later. “Where’re the rest of the kids?”
Jim laughs. “Scotty went back to Aberdeen to visit his sister for a few days, and Carol’s in London, so they’ll both head over from there tomorrow. Sulu was going to fly over with us, but Chekov roped him into visiting St. Petersburg. So they’ll arrive the day after Scotty and Carol.”
Leonard leans back, knocking his head against his seat. “Oh, my god,” he says. “We’re all codependent.”
“Yup,” Jim agrees easily. But he’s a warm and comfortable presence next to Leonard, and somehow he can’t see that as a bad thing.
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