Title: Bleak Midwinter
Author: Lyrastar
Fandom: Star Trek: The Original Series
Pairing: Kirk/Spock
Rating: PG
Summary: What shall I give him?
Disclaimer: The characters and all things Trek are the property of Paramount/Viacom. I didn't do anything wrong; I was just playing. I haven't finished studying my predators yet.
Feedback: <lyrastarwatcher@yahoo.com>
"On speaker, Lieutenant," Kirk responded crisply.
"Hello, Jim," The jovial voice boomed across the bridge. "What's a nice starship like yours doing in a place like this?"
"Nikki!" Jim answered casually. "Thanks for stopping by. Got time for a visit?"
"I'll have to take a rain check, Jim. We're on a tight run." "Anything I can do for you then? You've pulled me out of quite a pickle here." A hearty chuckle filled the air. "Don't mention it. Consider it payback for bailing me out of that Astronav final. We have your item on the platform. If you'll meet me inside of transporter range we'll transfer it over and be underway again."
"Nikki, you're a saint! Kirk out."
Gathering Spock behind him, Kirk sprung up the steps to the turbolift. With a backwards glance at communications he added, "Oh, Uhura, call my yeoman. Have her deliver the anti-grav stretcher and supplies to the transporter room for us. She'll know what you mean." The door hissed shut behind him.
"Captain," Spock began as the lift began to drop, "I was unaware we were to take on cargo from the Halcyon." "Rank hath its privileges, Mr. Spock," quoted Kirk mysteriously. Yielding he clarified, "This is a purely personal transfer."
"Then perhaps you would prefer that I--"
"Not that kind of personal, Spock. It is just...unrelated to official ship's business. In fact, I could use an extra hand."
Spock waited patiently, but Kirk simply turned to face the lift doors. Nothing further was said.
They arrived in the transporter room to find the engineer alone. On top of the anti-grav unit was a pile of what appeared to be colorful papers and small tools.
"Mr. Donner," Kirk clipped, "the Halcyon is in a hurry. Do you have a lock on your target?"
"Yes, sir. Awaiting your orders."
"Then energize and signal the Halcyon when the transport is complete."
There was a shimmer of yellow as a grotesque object about the size of a desk materialized on the pad. Donner maintained enough decorum to muffle his gasp. "Transport complete, sir. Notifying Halcyon."
But Kirk was already moving to the comm unit. "Uhura, patch me through to Captain Nickols."
"Nickols here. Did you get it, Jim?"
"Sure did. And you have outdone yourself, my friend. He will love it!"
"Well, of course. What red-blooded little boy wouldn't? Have a good one, Jim. Nickols out."
"Spock, grab that anti-grav unit and let's get this thing out of here." Jim stepped up to the platform to survey his treasure.
Uncharacteristically, Spock stood stock still in the face of a direct order.
"Perhaps, Captain, if you could elucidate further...."
Jim shot him a childlike grin. "It's a Christmas present, Spock. For my nephew."
Spock collected the anti-grav components and stepped up to the platform. "What it appears to be," he noted dryly as he peered into the maw, "is the transformahyde preserved head of Draco conflagratus. One of noteworthy size, I might add."
"It's a dragon's head," Kirk agreed cheerfully. "Nikki picked it up for me on Berengaria VII. Now are you going to help me or not?"
Spock handed him a set of the anti-gravs and they hoisted the hideous offering effortlessly.
"Oh, wait," Jim stopped. "Don't forget the wrapping paper."
"Here, sir," Donner placed the papers back on the stretcher, happy to contribute anything towards getting the beast farther away from his transporter room.
"May I ask our destination, sir?"
"The cargo bay via any nearby workspace. I want to get it wrapped first. If we make it to Starbase 27 tomorrow I can ship it from there and Peter will have it by Christmas." He maneuvered into a briefing room and set the wrappings on the table.
While Kirk studied the logistics of packaging the thing, Spock commented, "An item such as this hardly seems either appropriate for a young boy or in keeping with the customary spirit of Christmas."
"Ah, Spock," Jim responded impishly, "you just don't understand." He groped for the can of Instapac and began to coat the scales liberally. "I believe that is precisely what I said," Spock accepted the canister to begin to coat his side likewise. The spray plumped up into a thick, opaque layer, which rapidly hardened into a light protective coating. In minutes they had the head safely transformed into a smooth, boulder-like object, much more amenable to being festively wrapped and packaged.
"Gifts are just symbols, Spock."
"I do understand that, Jim. I am merely expressing reservations about the symbolic connotations of offering a child the severed head of a rare and majestic animal."
Jim grinned. "That's because you aren't a nine-year old little boy.
"Christmas gifts have never been about the object. The first gifts were gold and precious spices--valuable yes, but not beginning to touch the worth of the donors. They were to be an indication that the child they were traveling to see deserved nothing but the very finest that the world could provide."
He grabbed the paper and began to drape it over the offering. "Put your thumb right here for a minute." Jim turned around to fumble for the sealer and ribbon.
"So by extension," Spock asked politely, holding the edge of the paper still, "shall we then expect your mother to be sending you an eviscerated Ursus maritimus? Or perhaps the mummified hindquarters of Panthera leo?"
Jim looked up sharply searching for any hint of sarcasm in the expression. Seeing absolutely none, he chuckled anyway. "To a child, a dragon from an exotic world is the best the universe has to offer. Kids take a little longer to make the leap between the concrete and the abstract.
"To the rest of us, the real gift of Christmas is what lies underneath."
Spock looked dubiously at the monstrous paper-covered parcel.
"Not underneath the wrappings, Spock," Jim blustered. He closed the envelope and slapped it onto the front of the package.
"Under here," he emphasized, thumping his own chest. "The real gift of Christmas is the human heart. It was all that was ever asked of us, and in the end, all we truly have to give.
"You can't tell it from the outside, but the poorest, the smallest, the quietest have every bit as much to give as the grandest among us. Maybe even more. The wonder lies in discovering what hides within. And the miracle is that when we give all that we have, our hearts, our souls, ourselves-- we give up nothing, nothing at all, but instead we gain back manifold."
Job complete, he sat back on his haunches. Spock extended a hand down. He accepted easily. In one smooth motion he was pulled to his feet to stand toe to toe with his first officer. "Material presents are for kids, Spock." He smiled that full, radiant smile that could move mountains. Or Vulcans.
"All I want, all I have ever wanted, is the heart and soul of those who go with me. Now," he asked intensely, "do you understand?"
The only audible response was a rustle of fabric. An oblivious shin brushed the side of the package. The card fluttered down to the floor; neither noticed.
"To Peter," was all it said.
~fin