Advent Day 16
It was stupid, Jim guessed, to be spending the evening of Christmas Eve wishing Spock was there with him.
Spock didn’t celebrate anything, never had, and Spock’s Human family had been Jewish.
Hell, even Jim and his family hadn’t been religious in any way. Back when Jim was a boy living at the farmhouse with his dad and Sam, they’d done Christmases. Well and before that, before Jim’s mom had left because she wanted more from life than being George Kirk’s wife and Sam and Jim’s Mom. Mom had been there for a few too. The live tree, the boughs of greenery and holly berries. He’d loved it, though Sam acted like it was lame. Once Jim went to stay with his mother on Tarsus IV, well there were no Christmases there and when he returned there was Starfleet and starships and Jim let his old Christmas memories go.
But then he’d retired from Starfleet, hell, for the fourth time, Jim figured, he’d go back to it. Living part of the time in San Francisco, Spock preferred it there, and part time in Riverside, where Jim preferred it, he’d had a number of Christmases with trees and wreaths and big meals of way too much food and little token gifts Spock always deemed illogical. Jim told him dozens of times that was the point.
Last Christmas had been in San Francisco and Spock had been with him. This year, though, Spock was away on Vulcan dealing with some crisis involving Sarek, nothing Jim had to be involved in, Spock assured him, and he was alone at the farmhouse instead.
He’d debated even bothering with the usual Christmas trappings. But in the end he’d gotten a tree, strung lights and put up the decorations.
Now it was Christmas Eve and he was standing before the tree by himself. He’d put on a fire and there was a casserole baking in the oven.
“Merry Christmas, Darling.”
Jim smiled faintly. There was an old song that came to mind from hundreds of years before.
“I wish I were with you.”
He should have gone to Vulcan with Spock. They didn’t do something as illogical as Christmas, of course, but he’d be with Spock.
With a sigh, Jim turned from the tree to go into the kitchen to check on his casserole. He opened the oven and bent down to take out the casserole and then remembered he had no potholders.
“Dummy,” he mumbled as he reached for the potholders. “Trying to burn yourself.”
“That would be unfortunate.”
Jim dropped the potholders and stumbled back from the oven.
“Spock?” He rubbed his eyes.
“Your eyes do not deceive you,” his husband said from the edge of the kitchen. He wore a robe similar to the one he’d worn on Earth when they went back for the whales.
Jim rushed at him and embraced him, crushing Spock to him. “It’s a Christmas miracle.”
“Hardly,” Spock said dryly. “There was nothing miraculous about it. I came on a passenger ship and then a shuttle here.”
Jim laughed and kissed him. “It’s my miracle anyway. I wished for you. How is it you’re here?”
Spock raised a brow. “As you said, you wished for me.”
“Right. But really…”
“I know how much you love this time of year and especially here. So I made the effort. I will be returning to my duties on Vulcan in a few days.”
“Perhaps I’ll come with you.”
“Perhaps you will.”
Jim took his hand. “Come, darling. Merry Christmas.”
Spirk (with a small dose of Pinto) 