Vulcans Don't Wish

K/S by Dina and Jesmihr; rated G
Summary: A piece of birthday cake for our dear friend Lyra: May everything you wish for come true!
Disclaimer: The characters and the Star Trek series are the property of Paramount-Viacom. This is an amateur work of fan fiction written solely for pleasure, and not for profit.

Jim scowled as he studied his friend. He leaned forward to give the cake another nudge in the direction of its intended recipient. "C'mon, Spock. You gotta make a wish--it's your birthday. If you don't make a wish, how can it come true?"

The Vulcan's eyebrow inched slightly upward. "I have never understood," he said, his black eyes glittering in the candlelight, "the human race's proclivity to maintain that a desired outcome can be achieved simply by wanting it to happen. It is of course utterly fallacious: a wish is not a causal mechanism."

Spock's eyes in the wavering light of the candles were incredibly dark and disconcertingly intense. As he had so many times in the past, Jim felt a little shiver as he fell under the Vulcan's deep, compelling gaze. *I wonder if you have any idea what those eyes of yours do to me,* he thought, his throat tightening as he felt an all too familiar surge of desire. *I wish... *

He took a deep breath and resolutely quelled that very risky train of thought. *This isn't your day to make a wish, Jim,* he chided himself. *And pull yourself together: this is a simple, innocent birthday celebration. That's all. Don't start acting like a loose tarwar in heat, or you'll scare him off for good.*

With that stern self-admonition, he dropped his own gaze and instantly frowned when he saw how quickly the birthday candles were burning. "Spock, you're wasting time. Make a wish! The candles are going to burn out and then it will be too late."

"Too late for what?"

Jim sighed in exasperation; Spock could be so deliberately obtuse at times. "Too late to make a wish, that's what. Humor me, okay? Just blow out the candles, close your eyes, and make a wish. But don't tell me what you wish for or it won't come true."

"How do you know?"

"How do I know what?"

Spock steepled his hands together and contemplated Jim as seriously as if they were discussing ship's business. "How do you know my wish won't come true if I tell you what I wish for?"

Jim studied the Vulcan before he replied; there was a suspicious gleam in Spock's eyes that seemed to be in direct contradiction to his otherwise solemn demeanor. "Why are you asking me that?" he finally asked, caution evident in his voice. He was damned if he was going to be ensnared in one of Spock's surprise logic traps: it had happened too many times before, and it was frequently fatal to winning a good debate.

Spock gave a barely perceptible shrug. "I am, as you say, humoring you. But, if I am to do so effectively, I must have more data. How do you know my wish will not come true if I share it with others? Also: is this an embargo which applies to *all* others, or only to a select category of others... perhaps the person closest to me, or to the person who is with me when I make the wish?"

Jim rolled his eyes. "That would be `D,' all of the above. Birthday wish rules clearly state that you are not to tell *anyone* else what the wish is, or it won't come true." He held up his hand to forestall Spock's obvious question. "And don't ask me how I knowÑI just do. Every human being who's ever had a birthday party knows it."

He checked the candles again and decided that it was imperative he go on the offensive. Eyes narrowed, he leaned across the table and said, "If you ask me, you're just stalling. I don't think you have any idea *how* to make a wish... and you're just using all of this `must have more data' claptrap to try to cover it up."

"Untrue. I told you from the start that Vulcans don't wish. I have therefore been forthcoming in that I have little or no experience in this proposed endeavor." For the first time, Spock's eyes flickered away from Jim's. "Given what you have just told me about keeping the wish to one's self, however, I am not opposed to making the attempt, since you seem to desire it so much." Almost under his breath, he added, "It is, however, illogical."

Jim sighed. Loudly. And not for the first time. The blue candle wax had begun to puddle on the cake icing. And still the confounded Vulcan hadn't made a wish. He swore to himself that next year he would *not* do one darn thing for Spock's birthday. And of course he knew that wasn't true--next year would find him wondering, once again, what to do to commemorate this occasion.

"Look, wish making is easy. Just think of something special you really want, close your eyes and imagine it. Yes, it's silly, and yes, in all reality, it's probably make believe but sometimes wishes do come true and whether or not they do, they're still very meaningful. They're expressions of our dreams. Don't look at me like that, all skeptical and disbelieving. I know you have dreams. Everyone does; even you. Maybe ordinary Vulcans don't have dreams-- but you do--you're extraordinary."

*Oops! Did I say too much?* In a sudden moment of both clarity and resolve, Jim didn't care if he had. *Damn it, he is extraordinary. And I am so sick--sick to death--of trying to pretend I'm calm and cool about him. I swear to god, I'm going to find a way to tell him everything he is, and everything I'd like to be to him.*

"Make a wish," he said out loud to Spock, very softly.

Spock sighed. "Very well." Checking first to ensure that he was well apprised of the placement of each candle, Spock closed his eyes and blew.

"Good job!" Jim smiled. "You got every one of them. And you know what that means."

"What does it mean?"

"That what you just wished will come true." Jim picked up the cake knife and handed it over to his first officer. "Just a little piece for me, please. But one with lots of icing."

"Indeed?" Carefully, Spock sliced two identically sized pieces of cake, managing to make the process look like some form of surgical procedure as he did so. "When?"

"When what?"

Spock cocked his head slightly and surveyed his captain. "Within what period of time does a successfully initiated wish typically come to fruition?"

Jim took the proffered piece of cake and set it down on the table, pursing his lips. "If you're asking me how long you have to wait until your wish is granted... "

"That is precisely what I am asking."

"Well... " He took a forkful of the cake and chewed it, considering. "There isn't any set time frame. I suppose, if you think about it, it would have to depend on the wish. If, for instance, you wished for something abstract and grandiose --like intergalactic peace, for example, then it might be awhile--say an eon or so. If, however, you wished for something more prosaic --like a nice piece of cake--well, then it wouldn't take any time at all."

"My wish was not abstract," Spock said.

"Oh. Well, then, maybe it won't take too long."

"But neither was it prosaic."

At a loss, Kirk shrugged and spread his hands. "Well, then add an hour to the estimate. You're taking this way too literally, you know: wishes don't operate according to any schedule."

"It *might* have been a little grandiose," Spock said, ignoring Jim's statement.

"Only a little?"

"Indeed. Not, as you said, grandiose in the manner of intergalactic peace. That would be most illogical. An individual would most likely be incapable of effecting intergalactic peace."

"Of course."

"It is, however, rather fanciful."

"Yeah?" *Just where the heck is he going with this?* Jim leaned back in his chair and debated whether or not he ought to have a second helping, after all, he didn't get chocolate cake very often. He was relieved when Spock answered the guilty question in his mind by placing another slice on his plate. Spock, of course, did not have another piece. "Just exactly how is your wish fanciful?"

Jim was surprised when Spock fidgeted in his chair. He didn't think he'd ever seen Spock do that before, but that's clearly what he was doing--fidgeting. The Vulcan shifted his weight back and forth, moved his feet restlessly and played with his discarded fork and plate. Finally he spoke. "It is frivolous and impractical; I wished for something I should not want."

Jim frowned. What Spock had said made no sense at all. Somehow he imagined that Spock, if he had actually made a wish, had wished to be the discoverer of a wondrous new constellation or to formulate a new mathematical equation or something equally lofty and cerebral.

"Maybe I'm going out on a limb here, Spock, but just what *did* you wish for?"

"I can't tell you. To do that, as you have already pointed out, would be a violation of birthday wish rules."

Jim pushed his half-eaten piece of cake aside in favor of scrutinizing his first officer. A niggling little voice inside of him had begun to state quite insistently that what Spock was telling him--or not telling him--about this wish was important. Since listening to that voice had saved Jim's life more than once, he certainly wasn't going to start ignoring it at this late date. *Don't worry," he told it. *I'm going to get to the bottom of this, one way or another.*

"Fair enough," he said to Spock. "But as far as I know, there's nothing in the rulebook that says another person can't *guess* what the wish was."

When the Vulcan's only reply was to fidget a little more and to look down at the cake crumbs on his plate, Jim pressed on. "So let me just review what you've told me so far, and we'll see if I can come close."

He started to tick off the facts on his fingers. "This is a wish, you say, that's not abstract and not prosaic. But it *is* grandiose, fanciful, frivolous and impractical? Don't get me wrong, but those are four adjectives that I'd never think would apply to you... or to anything you'd want." He held up his index finger as if a thought had suddenly occurred to him. "Oh, but that's right: this is something you shouldn't want in the first place."

"This is quite possibly the most illogical conversation I've ever had with you," Spock said. "It has no useful purpose, is based upon a fallacious idea, and serves only to use up time that would be better employed elsewhere. I would therefore suggest that we discontinue -"

"And you see," Jim continued as if Spock had not interrupted, "that's the part that I really can't seem to wrap my brain around: the part about you wishing for something you shouldn't want. How long have we known each other now?"

"Seven point two months," Spock replied, as easily as if he had expected that exact question. But a slight tinge of green began to creep across his cheeks and he still did not look up at his captain.

"And in that entire seven point two months," Jim said, "I can't think of a time when you haven't done precisely what you thought was right-- even when it was to your own detriment. Hell, even when it threatened your own life. In fact, I've come to see you as the most honorable - the most trustworthy --person I know. So how can it be that you wish for something you shouldn't?" Jim leaned forward and stared at Spock so intently that the Vulcan finally was forced to look up and meet his eyes. "Either I'm wrong about your character--and I can't bring myself to believe that, not in a million years --or you're wrong about your wish."

"Wrong about...?"

"Wrong about it being something you shouldn't want. Maybe it's exactly what you should want."

Spook shook his head as if to clear his thoughts. "You wouldn't say that if you..."

"If I knew what the wish was? That's right: I was going to try to guess what it was, wasn't I? Fine... I'll guess. But you're going to have to give me at least a few hints, or we'll be here too long to make beta shift." Jim picked a glob of hardened blue wax off from the top of his cake and set it carefully on the edge of his plate. "I'm thinking that wishes usually fall into one of two categories: things you wish hadn't happened, or things that you wish would happen, that haven't yet." Expertly scooping the entirety of the icing off from his cake with his fork, Jim tilted his head and asked, "Which was yours?"

For one brief moment, Spock shut his eyes as if the question had wounded him in some way. "Both," he whispered, and then seemed to will himself into a semblance of composure. "I --I have just recalled," he said in a strained voice, "that I failed to authorize the biology department's quarterly materials request form. I--I should return to the lab and see to it." He arose from his chair with barely concealed haste and started to make for the door. "Thank you for the cake, sir."

"Don't," Jim blurted, unaccountably stung by being called "sir" at that particular moment.

Startled, Spock stopped and turned around, his raised eyebrow a silent inquiry.

Jim studied him for a moment, biting his lip in apparent indecision. Taking a deep breath, he got up at last and walked over to his first officer, a hint of apprehension in his eyes. "You can't leave like that," he said softly.

Spock's eyebrow inched up further. "What do you mean?"

"Well, for one thing, you've got chocolate frosting on your lip. You wouldn't want some ensign to see you looking less than perfect, would you? It would ruin that immaculate Vulcan image of yours."

"Indeed?" Spock said, looking somewhat nonplussed. Nevertheless, he brushed the corner of his mouth to remove the offending icing.

Jim shook his head. "Nope--didn't get it. It's the other side. Let me." Holding his breath, he summoned his courage and wiped gently at the corner of Spock's mouth. The frosting was all imaginary, so he didn't bother to work at it very hard--but he did manage to trail his forefinger along his first officer's bottom lip before he took his hand away.

"Oh," Spock breathed.

Encouraged by that tiny sound and by the fact that Spock hadn't yet lunged for the door, Jim smiled and said, "That's better. Now... about that wish."

This time, Spock took a half a step backwards and shook his head. "I can't--" he began.

Jim tilted his head to survey the Vulcan. "Yeah, I know," he murmured. "You can't break the rules. Don't worry... I'll--I'll do it for you. I'm just going to..." He swallowed nervously. "I'm just going to take a guess, hint or no hint. Right now." And before he could reconsider as he had too many times before, he stepped closer, pulled Spock's face down to his, and kissed him softly on the lips.

The kiss was everything he'd hoped it would be, and nothing he'd feared it would be: Spock did not scream in horror, quote Surak, use the nerve pinch, or call security. Instead, Jim felt himself being pulled closer and kissed back --first tentatively, and then in a decidedly enthusiastic manner. The taste of Vulcan and chocolate combined on his tongue and the thought that he was actually kissing Spock was almost too much: Jim felt his knees go weak, and when the kiss finally ended he had to lean against the Vulcan to keep from sagging to the floor.

Spock didn't seem to mind, though. He simply wrapped his captain in a tighter embrace and rested his cheek against the top of Jim's head.

"Mmm," Jim said, it being about all he could manage.

"How did you know?" Spock whispered.

"Hmm?"

"How did you know what I wished for?"

Jim brushed his lips against Spock's neck and smiled when he detected that it made Spock shiver. *I'll have to try that again--soon,* he thought. Aloud, he said, "I didn't know. I went out on a limb. Took shot in the dark. Winged it." He looked up at Spock, his eyes glinting mischievously. "It worked out pretty well, don't you think?"

"Yes," Spock said, and pulled Jim back against his chest.

There was silence for a while, which suited Jim just fine. He'd already decided he could rest his head against a certain blue tunic for a matter of hours or possibly days and be perfectly content.

Finally however, Spock spoke. "Was there not another popular Terran birthday tradition?" he ventured. "Something about `one to grow on?'"

"Uh-huh. But that involves birthday spanking, not kissing."

"I see," Spock said, his disappointment uncharacteristically apparent in his voice.

Jim instantly relented. "I'm sure we could adapt it, however. Make it a kiss for every year, if that's what you want--plus one to grow on."

"That would be acceptable," Spock agreed.

"O.K.," Jim said. "You're... how old? Thirty-five? Thirty-six?"

Spock shook his head. There was not a trace of a smile on his lips, but the suspicious gleam had returned to his yes. "Today I turned one thousand," he said, and pulled Jim close.