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Spock, of course, carries it with grace.
While their new yeoman, Angie Svenson, looks close to tears over the matter, Spock only steeples his fingers and reassuringly tells her that there was no way for her to know that Andorian yak-wool shrinks when washed in cold water.
And shrink it does. Spock cable-knit grey sweater that he has worn off duty for as long as Jim can remember is now so small that it could hardly fit a Vulcan child, let alone a man like Spock.
Spock draws a handkerchief (an actual cloth handkerchief, little snob) from his off-duty tunic and gives it to poor Yeoman Svenson.
Jim has to suppress a sigh. This would not have happened if Janice was still running this ship. But, of course, there is no replacement for Janice Rand.
"You must not distress yourself," Spock says, evenly.
Angie blinks hard, trying and failing to hide that she is about to cry.
"This happened through no fault of your own. It simply is. No apology will make it undone."
Which is definitely not the right thing to say. Jim is awkwardly shifting behind Spock. Despite serving on a mostly human-staffed ship for ten years, and being married to a human for two, Spock still sometimes misses the mark.
And he can still scare the new ensigns. Interestingly, it's mostly those ensigns who are the most excited to serve on a ship with The Captain Kirk and The Mister Spock. They're so eager to please that they trip over their feet trying to do everything right immediately. Like poor Svenson.
She presses her lips tightly together and knots Spock's handkerchief in her hands.
"I can try my best to get you a new one," she brings out. "If you remember the make, or the label-"
"No need." Spock says, calmly. He takes the grey sweater up from where it lies on the desk between them and weighs it in his hands. Then he makes it worse.
"You have not destroyed something of irreplaceable material worth, Yeoman. It holds purely sentimental value. But I am not sure whether my mother would remember the pattern she used, and whether it could be replicated-"
"Oh my God," Jim mutters under his breath.
"Oh my God!" Yeoman Svenson bursts into tears. "Your mom made it?!"
They lie in bed, later, snug and cozy, and Jim naked except for his undies. Spock never sleeps naked, because he gets cold so easily, and on the one hand, that makes Jim a little sad (his husband is gorgeous, can you blame him), and on the other, it means that Spock appreciates very much that Jim cuddles as close to him as possible and sprawls his warm, and golden, and soft body all over Spock's long limbs. Spock's hands rest on the small of Jim's back, letting his mind drift idly in the never-ceasing, thrumming stream of Jim's thoughts.
With a sigh, Jim lifts himself up on his elbows and brushes Spock's fringe into place.
"You're upset," he says softly.
Spock's face under him only betrays the tiniest bit of surprise.
"I am?"
"Mmh. I can feel it, somehow. I still don't get the hang of this mind-link stuff, but I know when my husband is upset."
"You do enjoy very much to call me your husband."
Jim grins. "Correct. But you're dodging the question, Mister Spock."
He is rewarded with a sigh. It's one of the things Jim does incredibly well - weaselling behind Spock's walls and gently poking at what Spock's been hiding. Spock shifts to wrap his arm around Jim's upper body and draw his head to lie on Spock's chest.
"I must admit that I am - saddened," he says then, slowly, "by the fact that my mother's sweater is ruined. There is little I can do about it. And I know that it is not the yeoman's fault and that I was clinging to it purely out of childish sentimentality. Yet, I am - well, dismayed."
Jim hums. "It's not childish, sweetheart. I'd also be pissed if someone accidentally shredded my baby blanket."
"I was significantly older than a toddler when my mother made this gift for me," Spock retorts.
"Really?" Jim draws a leg over Spock and nestles his head into his chest. The faintest rumble of a purr surrounds him.
"When did she give it to you? You never told me."
"When I took my first assignment in Starfleet," Spock says calmly. "I had complained to her that my roommate at the Academy didn't like me adjusting the temperature to my own comfort, and that this upset me. She then sent it to me for my eighteenth birthday. It seems that the idea of her son being constantly too cold worried her. Besides-"
Spock squirms a little. He's glad he doesn't have to look Jim in the eye, glad Jim doesn't make him. His lover stays where he is, head between Spock's pecs, projecting love and comfort and worry wherever they touch.
"Besides," Spock continues, "I was often homesick. My inability to control this feeling was somehow dampened by imagining my mother's presence. It is - was - a great comfort."
Jim huffs. Then his arms squeezes around Spock. Tight, and warm. Worry bleeds out of him.
"I'm sorry, Spock."
A hand rests on his head, smoothes the honey-gold curls.
"While I appreciate your human desire to express sympathy, k'diwa, you need not distress yourself. Kaiidth. What is, is."
He sounds almost like he believes it himself. And he catches the image his words created in Jim's mind: a scrawny, sad, desperately lonely seventeen-year-old Spock, fresh off the boat on a strange planet, without Vulcans, without his friends, without his mom. Huddling in a chill Academy dorm room and drawing the sleeves of his grey sweater over his sensitive hands.
"Baby-"
Spock presses a Vulcan kiss to the nape of Jim's neck.
"Rest, adun."
Jim doesn't rest for a while. He is plotting.
It takes surprisingly long to order eight bundles of thick Andorian wool to a starship that is currently in the orbit of Andor. But Jim was not going to use synthesised wool - his husband deserves fine things, after all!
The package, shrink-wrapped, is positioned on his bed by a very rueful Yeoman Svenson. The Andorians have a penchant for fiber arts, which is only understandable, given that theirs is an ice planet and they need to keep warm. Jim has a thick scarf, a diplomatic gift from the Andorian governor of their second moon, Keresh, which is incredibly soft and warm. They don't knit - Uhura has described to him that they practice something more close to nålebinding (whatever that is Jim has yet to find out), but it's not like the wool will care.
There is one problem: Jim doesn't know how to knit.
He has looked at a lot of instructions, and he has already replicated a pair of needles, and managed a rather wonky practice square, but he isn't sure whether that will suffice. He knows his left and right hooks, and he can now read patterns, but he still needs to keep track of the numbers and the yarn and not bite his tongue off in concentration.
That is problem number one.
Problem number two becomes evident once he has sat down with an instruction video for knitting a very comfortable-looking winter sweater: this will take a long time. And how on earth is he going to hide such a time-consuming, big project from Spock?!
Spock is smart. Spock is constantly in his quarters. Spock is clingy.
(Not that Jim minds that. Honest, he is probably also clingy. Being mythical soulmates and also almost dying every week will do that to a man. And it's not like he doesn't want to be joined at the hip with Spock at every possible opportunity. But Spock, with his unique mix of Vulcan possessive instinct, touch starvation, and almost pathological desire for Jim's closeness, is always there. They share a bed, a desk, sometimes Spock curls up in their bed while wearing one of Jim's shirts to wait for Jim to come back from a holo-call with the admiralty. Which is the cutest thing in the world. Jim has also caught him dapping Jim's cologne on his handkerchief to carry Jim's scent with him. Which is also cute, even though Bones looked one step closer to throwing himself out of the airlock when Jim told him.)
Bones. That is a very good idea.
Jim takes one look at the clock - 1800 hours. In exactly 35 minutes, Spock will be back from his shift in the physics lab. Maybe 45, if the physics are very interesting. Time enough.
Jim rips open the packaging and runs his fingers over the wool. It is thick, only slightly thinner than his pinky, and dark blue and so, so soft. A small card in Andorian thanks him for supporting a local business, and Jim grins to himself. Spock's going to love it.
Bones opens the door to his quarters with a very disgruntled look.
"I'm off-duty, if you need something, M'Benga-"
Then his eyes lock onto Jim, Jim's apologetic smile, and the very large bag in his arms. He sighs and crosses his arms.
"Please tell me there's nothing living in there," he only says, and shoos Jim in.
Bones quarters are neat in every way - there's a couple of books cluttered on the shelves (Bones claims the padds make his eyes hurt), an antique anatomical drawing of the human body over the desk, and a couple framed pictures next to the monitor - Joanna, a house in Georgia, Joanna as a baby, Bones' and Jim's graduation photo. As a book end to the several volumes of Grey's Galatic Anatomy, Scotty has donated a bottle of fine Scottish whiskey.
(Jim is very much aware of the highly non-regulation still these two have installed in their shared bathroom. But as long as he pretends not to know and the two gentlemen hide it well whenever Enterprise is due for overhaul, he can still sample the actually really good bathroom-made whiskey on special occasions.)
"Spit it out, Jim," Bones says as Jim waits for the door to close. "What is it? Something medical? Please tell me you didn't catch Andorian chlamydia again."
Jim laughs. "Not to worry, Bones, I'm a married man now."
"Vulcan chlamydia, then."
"Bones-"
Before he can finish the sentence, Jim shoves the bag of yarn into Bones' arms.
"Can you keep this for me in your room? I want it to be a surprise for Spock. For Christmas."
Bones looks at him. Then at the bag. Then back at Jim.
"You're going to do what?" he asks, gravelly.
(Bones must be excused here. He has known Jim for the last fifteen years. He has witnessed every single bad idea this man has had since he turned twenty, and mostly, it is Bones who has to stitch him back together afterwards.)
Jim just gives him his "Trust me"-grin. Bones feels the beginnings of a headache. The "Trust me"-grin is a warning sign.
"I'm going to knit him a sweater. The one his mom made him shrunk in the wash, and he's really sad about it, and I think it would comfort him, so I- yeah. I'll do it."
In an instant, Jim watches the worried lines wash away from his best friend's face. Okay, Bones seems to say. It's not a dangerous idea. It's just a stupid idea.
"You can't knit, Jim."
"I'm learning!"
"Like you learnt lassoing in a week at the Academy because Allerea said she had a thing for Terran cowboys?"
Jim's grin gets wider. "Exactly!"
"God help us."
Yes, James T. Kirk is an incredibly competent starship captain. James T. Kirk is also way too prone to fall into a hyperfixation when he has too much free time. At least this time, there are no ropes or other sharp and dangerous things involved.
Jim is already prodding around for an extra ball of yarn.
"Why God help us? I could lasso at the end of the week, could I not?"
"Yes. After you managed to smack yourself in the face with the rope often enough for it to bruise, tied up your own legs, and fell off a horse. Not to mention the rope burn two weeks later. Really, how often did I have to 'borrow' a dermal regenerator for you?"
Jim only chuckles and bends down to put more yarn balls from the bag into Bones' sock drawer.
"Yes, Bones, let's both pretend the rope burn was from lasso practice."
For a moment, he hears nothing. Then Bones plonks down in his desk chair with an audible sigh.
"You're God's personal punishment for me, aren't you, Jim?"
It's said in the same tone in which Spock calls him "illogical", so Jim knows there's only love behind it. He turns around on his heels and gives Bones his sweetest smile.
"Will you do it? I'll come by whenever Spock has a long shift, get whatever I need, and stash it here when he's at my quarters. It's not much, really, and I have an override for your door anyway."
Bones just raises his hands in helplessness. "Fine. But what if I'm asleep?"
"We're on the same rotation, Bones, we'll be asleep at the same time."
"What if I-", his friend nags on, "had, say, a visitor and wanted privacy?"
Jim throws his head back and laughs. "Sure, like that's gonna-" Then he doesn't laugh anymore. "Oh. I mean- uh- I'm sorry, Bones, I-"
"Just get out, kid."
Bones keeps word, however. When Jim sneaks into his room the next day to pick up some yarn, Bones is at his desk, reading the new medical reports, and just quietly points Jim to the sock drawer. He has even put the yarn bundles into a little shoebox so they don't collect too much dust.
He will never admit it, but he loves how happy Spock makes Jim. How happy they make each other. It's good that they both know.
When Jim returns three hours later (the time he usually spends going over reports while waiting for Spock), he has managed to make about a hand's breadth of a quite passably looking loop of fabric. Bones isn't sure whether it's supposed to be a very wide collar or a very snug hem of a sweater, but what it is is evidently soft and warm. He catches himself running his fingers over it before carefully putting it back into the box.
Of course, things cannot stay quiet for two months until Christmas. This is the Enterprise, after all.
Three days later (the sweater has now grown to about two hand's breadths and is understandably the top half of a sweater in the Vulcan fashion, with a wide, but high neck), James T. Kirk steps on a landmine in the supposedly demilitarised zone of Andromeda III and subsequently gets his leg almost blown to bits (had Scotty not beamed him out last second).
While Spock, absolutely furious (his eyebrow is twitching slightly more than usual, which is a telltale sign of Vulcan rage) is on the phone with the Andromedan resistance leader, Jim is wheeled into sickbay.
His leg can stay attached to his body, God bless.
Bones does, however, stick it into a regenerator cast that he has to remain in for at least five days, which means that Jim can't leave the bed for just as long.
Well, it's actually seven days, but Bones knows that Jim would probably do something incredibly reckless if he was to stay lying in bed for that long, so he cranked the regenerator up and the recovery time down to five days.
Now, while Spock is commanding the bridge, Jim Kirk sits in his biobed, lets the computer read out the latest reports, and knits. He feels like a grandma, and snickers at the thought. All he needs is a rocking chair on a porch.
"You'll give yourself carpal tunnel if you keep doing that," Nurse Chapel says as she passes his bed, and Jim's head perks up.
"I hope not. It's only two months until Christmas, Christine, I need to get this done."
She laughs, then puts her padds of medical records onto the desk and walks over.
"I know, Leonard told me. It's a very sweet idea, you know? But I'm sure Spock won't mind if you can't get it done in time. Especially not if you're going to hurt yourself in the process."
"I'm not-"
Well, that is a lie. His arm does hurt a little bit. A little. Fine, it hurts.
Christine bends her peroxide blonde head over Jim's needlework. He's playing yarn chicken right now - but also, he doesn't know whether he can ask Bones to go run to his quarters to get him more yarn in the middle of the shift. And Spock, of course, promised to come by after the end of alpha. He even offered to sleep in medbay so Jim isn't alone, and Jim almost took him up on that until Bones made very clear that he doesn't need lovey-dovey Vulcans in his medbay. So Jim has slept alone for the past two nights.
Which also means that he's gotten much better at the telepathy. While Spock can project crystal-clear sentences into Jim's head, Jim still doesn't manage more than vague images or feelings - but that is enough. Either way, what images Jim chooses to project shortly before bed time make Spock gasp very audibly over the bond.
(It is genuinely so, so much fun. If Jim didn't have something for his brain and hands to do, he would flood Spock's brain with the debauched images of honey-coated fingers all day.)
"You know," Christine says, and snaps Jim out of his pleasant memories, "I could also do some rows, if you'd like? Do you have a pattern?"
Jim hesitates. "That's really sweet of you, Christine, but-"
"I don't mind, really. I made Erica a hat and mittens when we were in Quebec for the winter." She grins. "Besides, in my medical opinion, your carpal tunnel and your eyes are strained. You should rest."
And before Jim can protest, she's gently taken the padd with the instructions and the bundle of yarn from him.
"Don't worry about it. I'll put it right back where you can find it."
Just two minutes after she has disappeared into her office, the doors swish open, and Spock enters to greet Jim with a searing, longing, absolutely sappy kiss.
Jim doesn't complain.
It snowballs.
After Christine has offered to do some of the work, Spock's sweater seems to wander to whoever currently has ample time and enough knowledge of fiber arts to add a few rows. While Jim is sleeping in medbay, Uhura adds several rows at chest height, with a pattern of tiny yellow dots and stars that she pulled somewhere from a Terran data base. Sulu reacts actually offended when Jim looks surprised at his really neat work on the sleeves ("Who do you think made Demora's baby shoes, Captain?!"). Bones, extremely diligently, takes care that everyone brings the bag (someone added a bag, because the sweater, now that it actually begins to look like one, needs to be transported in one piece) back to medbay by the end of the shift and writes down where they are in the pattern. Scotty is seen in the mess hall, being very carefully instructed in left and right hooks by Uhura, just so he can add one or two (sadly rather wonky) rows. Even Chekov begs Jim for a chance to try his skill, but that is probably because he doesn't want to be left out and adores Spock.
At first, Jim feels guilty about it. Everyone on the ship has a job to do, after all - an important one, at that! And the last thing he wants to do is delegate the task of taking care of Spock. Spock is his husband, after all.
But Uhura quickly reassures them that the crew actually really enjoys helping him out. They discuss it over dinner, while Spock is given a lecture in Russian history of logic next to the replicator. (He looks in equal parts baffled, intrigued and amused. Chekov looks like a puppy who is being taken to the dog park).
"But why?" he whispers over his salad - doctor's orders.
Uhura shrugs and forks a slice of mushroom from her incredibly elaborate pasta bowl.
"It's fun?" she says. When Jim doesn't answer, she swallows and leans closer.
"I think, Jim, it reminds us of something nice. And it's oddly soothing. Yes, we all have to do our duties on the side, and we're going out saving planets every week, but, Jim, this is something I can hold in my hand. I know I made this."
She laughs again and shrugs. "I hope it makes sense to you. It does to me. Also-" and she says it as if it would explain anything, "-it's Spock!"
It is also surprisingly easy to hide the whole thing from Spock.
For one, he and Spock are together all shift, but then Spock has to go to the lab, too. Being First Officer and Science Officer at the same time is taxing even on a Vulcan, it would be nigh impossible for a human, and usually, Jim spends this time reading paperwork or going to the gym or longing and yearning and wishing Spock would come back.
So Spock doesn't notice anything out of the ordinary - maybe that Jim seems to be a bit behind on paperwork, but then again, Christmas is coming up, and he has made the experience that humans tend to get a little disorganised around this time.
Like Nurse Chapel, who he has seen knitting on a very beautiful and soft-looking sweater for her fiancé, Lieutenant Ortegas, in the rec room. She quickly claimed it was a Christmas gift for when they see each other on Starbase 12 during her holiday. Spock, too, is very much looking forward to seeing Ortegas again.
"I hope she will appreciate the gift," Spock said, gently, while running his fingers over the soft fabric. "It is a great display of love to pour so much work into a piece of clothing. She should cherish it."
For some reason, Uhura, who was seated at the same table, could not stop giggling, but Christine just smiled.
"I am quite sure she will, Mr. Spock."
Jim gets very handsy with him that night.
That is, however, one thing that Spock notices: the stamina of Jim's arms and, much worse, his fingers has severely lessened over the last few weeks. And that, if you are dating a very horizontally active Vulcan, is a problem.
Jim finishes the sweater two days before Christmas. His arms ache. His hands ache. He'll have to ask Bones for a compression sleeve.
He's pretty sure he'll never do this again. Even though it was fun. But if the rest of the crew hadn't done their part he is damn sure he wouldn't have gotten it done before Christmas next year.
But then again, he also only learnt lassoing to impress a girl in his class who said she liked cowboys. He learnt knitting only to surprise a boy who is always cold and misses his mom's sweater. Maybe it's a pattern. Maybe Jim Kirk is just a giant sap.
Spock did keep the shrunk, grey sweater. Jim has seen him running it through his hands while he was rummaging through his wardrobe for something equally warm, and the picture tugged a little at Jim's heart. There is a sadness in Spock that stretches out like the dark space between stars.
But now, Jim is trying his best to neatly finish the seams and weave in the left over strands on the right sleeve of the blasted sweater. He put it on earlier, just to see whether the proportions work, and it is a little snug on his belly (but Spock is slimmer than he is) and a little long in the arms (but Spock's arms are longer than his), so it should work. He even replicated a little label that spells out the washing instructions from the packaging and has sewn it to the inside of the sweater - Angie Svenson, though she can look Spock in the eye again, will check it meticulously, he's sure.
He takes one last look at his - their - work.
After Uhura added the decorative star pattern in a broad stripe across the chest, the others stuck to the dark, blue colour. One of the sleeves is a little wider than the other, but maybe only Jim notices that. Sulu gave him the tip to include some elastic yarn in the end of the sleeves and the waistband, for some extra snugness, and it has mostly worked - if it is tight on Jim, he hopes Spock's more delicate wrists will be fine.
(He does have lovely wrists. Jim can hold both in one hand if he tries. And boy, does he try.)
None of them, except Christine, knew how to cable knit, and by the time Christine suggested to teach them, it was already too late, so now the structure is just smooth and even.
It's fine, Jim, he tells himself. It's good.
Looks a bit wonky though. At least compared to Amanda's pin-straight, not at all wonky, work. Shit, what if Spock thinks it's scratchy?
Jim swallows hard and shakes his head. It's fine. It can't be undone now. What is, is.
Just when he is wrapping the sweater into some terribly patterned paper, there is a soft knock on his bathroom door.
"Besu," he hears Spock's soft voice from the other side. "May I enter?"
Fuck. Jim quickly tucks in the last edge and slides the bundle in the drawer under his desk.
"Yes!" he calls then, and the doors swish open. Spock is wearing his science blues - apparently he came from the lab directly to his room - and a slightly worried expression.
Jim immediately rises to catch his face in his hands and kiss him.
"What's wrong, baby?" he mutters when they pull apart, and watches how Spock's long lashes flutter down in embarrassment.
"I am not sure," Spock says. "I have gotten the feeling that you have been - avoiding me. If it is solely due to the fact that you are occupied with human traditions surrounding this time of year, then-"
"No, baby." Jim shuts him up with another peck on the lips. "I'm sorry. Yes, I did. But I promise it'll make sense in just a couple of days, yeah?"
Spock tilts his head in Jim's hands. His dark brown eyes look inquisitive. "It is not your habit to keep secrets from me, Jim."
"No." Spock feels the smile on Jim's face as he leans his head into Spock's shoulder. "Nope, I usually don't. Don't worry, it's nothing scary. Just a little surprise."
The already taut Vulcan muscles under his hands stiffen even more.
"I dislike surprises."
"Wait and see."
Only the fact that Jim projects a lot of excitement and calm and just a bit of anticipatory nervosity soothes Spock. When he lets go of Jim, he raises his eyebrow again.
"My initial question, Jim, was whether you had packed your bags. The Enterprise will reach Starbase 12 in approximately two and a half hours for shore leave. And I, personally, would like to be ready by then."
Ah fuck. "Uh. Why the hurry?"
Spock lets out a sigh. "Because, Jim, I have ordered your Christmas present directly to Starbase 12 and would like to inspect it for damage before wrapping it. In case you have not packed your bag yet, I gave myself the liberty of selecting your toiletries, your current book, and a few of your civilian clothing. Just in case, of course."
He cocks his head and waits. God, Jim loves him.
"You packed a bag for me? Because you knew I'd forget?"
"I pre-emptively selected some items. I hope I have chosen the correct ones. Doctor McCoy had reminded me not to forget your festive gear."
"My what?"
"Your festive gear."
The festive gear is brought out two days later on Starbase 12, when the Bridge crew assembles together for a Christmas dinner and gift unwrapping. Funny enough, none of them celebrate Christmas the same way - actually, only Bones, Christine and Scotty have celebrated Christmas since childhood.
Chekov, though he only opens his gifts on the seventh of January at home, of course insists that Christmas was invented in Russia and that Jesus was born in a stable just outside St. Petersburg.
The reason why Jim can wear his festive gear only in this setting, and not at the official big Christmas dinner with all of the crew, is because it was a gift from Sam, and Sam thought that it was brilliantly funny to gift him an ugly sweater with a winking Santa Claus face that says "Ho Ho Ho Hoe".
Okay. It might be a little funny. Christine was wheezing when she opened the door for them.
So Jim is sitting around a fake Christmas tree, blowing steam away from his steaming cup of hot punch, and gently tracing patterns onto Spock's thigh. His man is sitting next to him on the floor, back ramrod straight, and watching the curious human ritual unfold with unbridled curiosity.
"You're enjoying yourself, sweetheart?" Jim mutters just as Uhura picks her next gift. Spock's lips curl in an almost smile. He's holding a cup of scalding spice tea.
"I am, k'diwa. How is your back?"
"Eh. Fine. Bones could patch it up, but he'll also never allow me to step foot into an ice rink again."
Jim grins and shoots a look over to Bones, who is playing with the envelope of Joanna's Christmas card. Of course, Spock is a natural at ice skating. Of course, Jim made himself look like an absolute fool once he had dragged Spock to the artificial winter wonderland that Starbase 12 had set up on the lower habitat ring. He had attempted one turn on skids and had promptly fallen onto his back, laughing too hard to be pulled up by Spock.
Spock scooches a little closer.
"I could massage your back later," he says in a low voice. "If you think it would help?"
His hands run gently down Jim's forearm, who has to catch his breath. Oh, this man. Only Spock could make something so innocent sound so sultry.
"I do think that would- hchrm - would help, Mister-"
"Scotty, what do you mean, it's perfect!"
Uhura has finally unwrapped her gift and is turning it over and over in her hands. It looks like a headset, though the head part is bent at a slight angle and the shell only covers one ear. Scotty grins from one ear to another.
"You said that ear piece hurts yer ears after an eight hour shift. So I thought, this might help? Look-"
He scrambles over to Uhura and gently puts it on her head. "You can also bend the wire however you like, so it doesna' ruin yer hair."
His thumb brushes Uhura's cheek and in an instant, Scotty looks incredibly embarrassed. He blushes so hard that the back of his neck looks almost like his red tartan.
"Of course," he mutters, "if you dinna' like it, I can-"
"Scotty." Uhura adjusts the earpiece, gently covering Scotty's hand with hers. "I love it. Thank you."
Before Jim can even share a "did you know that?!" stare with Spock, Sulu has whistled very loudly, and Uhura has thrown a candy wrapper at him, and Scotty looks utterly starstruck. Blushing red, and grinning, he shuffles back and looks helplessly at Spock.
"Well, Mister Spock, what did you get?" he says, just a tad too loud, and all eyes turn to Spock's rigid posture.
Jim almost swallows his punch the wrong way. Fuck. Okay. For a second, he feels Spock's mind prodding questioningly at his.
"I was not expecting gifts," Spock says mater-of-factly, and of course the room explodes.
"What d'ye mean, did ye think we'd forget ye?!"
"Mister Spock, I made cookies for you?!"
"Cut the crap, you green-blooded-"
Jim shuffles up from his seated position and raises his hands. "Alright, alright!"
The flitter of Spock's mind in his is highly amused. He can be such a bitch.
Jim shoots him a glare and bends down to where Spock's gift is lying under the tree - wrapped in the same hideous Christmas paper but garnished with a bow that Christine insisted on. She looks very excited, her face flushed from eggnog and her hands playing with the soft grey scarf Ortegas got her for Christmas yesterday.
When he turns around, he notices that everyone has gotten quiet. That, of course, makes Spock perk up.
"I am noticing heightened anticipation," he says quizzically. "Is something the matter?"
Then his gaze turns to Jim, and he immediately goes from confused Vulcan to haughty cat.
"Captain. Is this part of your surprise?"
"Kinda." Jim just gives him a warm smile. Don't worry, baby, we'll be alright. Then he hands Spock the soft, wonky bundle.
"That's for you, Spock. From. Well. From all of us and then some, I guess."
He can hear the wrapping paper crumble faintly when Spock hesitates.
"Jim," his husband murmurs more softly. "I hope you did not spend some lavish sum on-"
"Just. Uh. Just open it. Okay?"
And he draws two fingers over the side of Spock's wrist as he says it, just to reassure him. To love him. And to kiss him in the Vulcan way in front of all their friends. Spock catches that thought and frowns ever so lightly. Then he digs his fingers very gently into the wrapping paper and pulls it apart.
The rich, blue fabric of the sweater spills out of the shreds of tissue paper onto Spock's lap. Uhura makes a small sound of excitement and is immediately shushed by Christine.
It takes a second to register.
Spock seems baffled, and then starstruck. He holds the sleeves of the sweater in his hands like they're some delicate, unbelievable particle of the universe. And he's so quiet. Even Bones is biting back at the comment he is definitely thinking off.
For a second, Jim feels bad. When Spock gently, so very gently, traces his fingers over the soft fabric, he looks like he is going to cry, and he knows how much Spock hates crying in front of others. Then, Spock, who now seems reassured that this is real, looks at him with the widest eyes.
"Jim."
He shrugs. "Not only me. I could never have finished it in time. But Christine helped me out, and, uh, Uhura made the little stars but I couldn't figure out how she did it, and uh, I never meant to replace your mother's, but there's a card from all the people who- mmphf!"
Spock has closed the distance between them with one Vulcan pounce and pressed his lips to Jim's. Only for a short moment, a moment in which Jim's mind is filled with joy, and thankfulness, and a disbelief and sadness that borders on pain. Spock's lips are impossibly soft.
Then Chekov makes a retching noise ("Oh my God, Pavel" "What? It's like seeing your parents kiss!") and they break apart. Spock cradles - honest to God, cradles - the sweater to his chest. He still looks amazed.
"You needn't-" he brings out. "You were not required-"
His hands shake, so Jim quickly holds them. Safe and warm and steady in his palm. He doesn't want Spock to look back at this with shame.
"Just try it on," he says softly. "Will you?"
It does fit, thank Heaven. It's a little big, but that's not bad, it just makes Spock looks very cozy. He has taken off his over-shirt (earning him some amused whistles from Christine, Uhura and Sulu) and put on the sweater, and has bundled up next to Jim while the others go on unwrapping their last parcels.
In his hands, he's turning over the small card Chekov snuck into the package. On the inside, it reads in Uhura's meticulous handwriting: "From all of us to you, Mr. Spock. We hope it can warm you and your heart!" and then the signatures from a lot of people Jim remembers and some he doesn't.
Uhura, Christine, Scotty. Sulu, Chekov, Bones. Angie (who poured a lot of energy into making her rows as perfect as possible). Sonya from the physics lab. M'Benga (since when can this man knit?!). Even Sulu's husband Ben has signed, but probably only as emotional support. Sulu has made very clear that Ben only has eyes for their daughter and engineering components.
And of course, Jim. Spock's still looking at the heart Jim has doodled next to his name.
Jim, however, is looking at Spock. His Spock.
The dark blue fits him. It brings out the dark, cool shine of his gorgeous hair, the glow of his ochre-flushed skin. Even his warm, brown eyes seem impossibly deeper. With his head leant onto Jim's shoulder, fallen silent, he looks much more comfortable. Jim sneaks an arm around his waist, kisses his forehead, and watches how Chekov gifts Sulu a "Grow Your Own Mushrooms" kit.
Ah. Reminder to let Bones test what kind of mushrooms those are. Last time Chekov and Kevin Reilly grew a plant in the lab, it developed legs and eyes and an interplanetary conflict.
Then he gets very distracted because Scotty's and Spock's gift to him is a little star ship in a bottle that he can build and paint himself, and that is probably the coolest thing since holodecks.
Later, they simply lie on their hotel bed, snug, and tired, and pleasantly full of food and eggnog and a warm feeling of familiarity. Bones has agreed that Jim can ignore his diet for one day, so he has gorged himself on goose and potatoes and those amazing tiny pastries Christine replicated, and now he feels full and happy.
The hotel room even has an artificial fireplace with a soft sheep-pelt rug in front of it, a rug that makes Jim have some very, very unholy thoughts about firelight dancing over flushed ochre skin against soft, white fur. But not now. They have time.
Spock's head rests on Jim's chest. He hasn't taken the sweater off, Jim doubts that he will do so willingly. Spock still gets tired of functions easily, as much as he loves the people. And it calms Jim that he can let Spock rest. To offer him safety, and warmth, and care.
Spock turns his head to ghost his lips over the collar of Jim's sweater.
Okay. Maybe his Vulcan has other plans.
"Mister Spock?"
His head comes up, and then Spock hovers over him. His eyes are soft at the edges, like they can't hold what he wants to say. He hesitates.
"What you have done for me-" Spock says quietly, then licks his lips and starts again. "I cherish it."
"You deserve it." Jim gently draws his arms around Spock's waist (oh so sinfully delicate, perfect to hold). "I- I saw how upset you were about your mom's sweater. And I know I can't replace it, ever, and we weren't trying to. But- Uh."
He looks up at his Spock, at his husband. "If you ever feel homesick, or cold again, Spock. You have us. You will always have a home here, you know? In the stars. With us. With me."
Something breaks in Spock's eyes. Not in a bad way. Not in a broken way. More like a dam that gets a tiny crack down the middle.
He quickly hides his face in Jim's chest and draws his hands to Jim's shoulders. When Jim rolls his head over to kiss his knuckles, he realises that Spock has drawn the sleeves over his cold hands and a wave of adoration rushes down his spine.
His husband has sweater paws.
A low rumble answers his thoughts, and Jim is pretty sure that he feels a single tear roll down Spock's cheek and soak into the fabric of his shirt. Then Spock quietly speaks.
"You were always my home, t'hy'la. Parted from me, and never parted. Where you are, I will be. It is a feeling I am fortunate for."
"Hm."
He doesn't have to say 'I love you'. Spock knows. Spock knows it with a certainty that seems to hold his bones together. Instead, he can hug Spock tighter and gently, questioningly, slide a hand under the hem of the sweater, tracing fingers over Spock's lower back. Just to hold him.
"And how do you feel, Mister Spock?"
Jim can feel the smile against his chest.
"Warm, Jim. I feel warm."