Part three

I don't know if my infatuation with Star Trek will last till December, so I decided not to wait to post this.

Jim doesn't really appear in this story, but his actions lead to a turning point here.

Fruit baskets. There were dozens of them covering every available surface of the room -the desk, the sideboards, and even the sitting areas, and the sight was so unsettling, Spock stood rooted at the spot. Someone in the Enterprise was hoarding fruit, and there was no visible clue as to the responsible party's identity; no personal items or anything he might recognize.

Spock stood in uncharacteristic indecision for a few more seconds before logic reasserted itself: He had not made a mistake; this was his room. There was a simple explanation for all this, distasteful though it might be: Somebody was playing a prank on him.

Spock calmly walked up to the desk. He gingerly picked a basket. There were three red plums in it and a card that read, 'Happy New Year, Mr. Spock!' and below, 'Greetings from the Sanitary Department, Deck three.'

Mechanically, Spock put it down and picked the next, this one holding oranges and limes. It came from Sickbay, and Dr. McCoy had scrawled something below the formal greeting.

'One lime a day keeps scurvy away.

And don't tell me Vulcans are immune to Scurvy, Spock; you can't possibly know that!'

Spock walked around in a daze now, checking on the rest of the baskets. There were Andorian apples from the Science Department; Orion grapes from McCoy's nurses; peaches from the Engineering A Section; nances from the B section… and so on.

Spock shook his head in disbelief. Fruit wasn't rationed in the strict sense of the word but it was a valuable commodity all the same. It was evenly provided to the crew with nutrition and variety in mind, and now these… these humans had foregone their share in order to give it to him!

Stupid humans. He almost said the words aloud. He was trying to muster some indignation at his crewmates' actions, but couldn't quite manage it. How could he? He'd brought this on himself, after all. A simple 'you're welcome' from him would have saved everybody the trouble. By not acknowledging their gratitude when they first offered it, he'd forced them to show it to him.

And what a way to show it! Looking at the baskets, Spock couldn't help feeling admiration for his crewmates' resourcefulness. They'd even constructed the baskets themselves; he could tell where the baskets came from by the materials alone: Wire, from the Engineering Department; gloves, from the Science Department; catheter tubes (again!) from Sickbay, and so on.

Shaking his head, Spock considered the situation he was in. They did not really expect him to eat all this fruit by himself, did they? Gluttony was not logical. He could storage it, of course; he could simply sent it back –

No, not that. It was a gift, and as a Vulcan, he held gift-giving in high esteem. The difference was that for a Vulcan, gift-giving occasions were rare, and gifts ought to have some transcendental significance, while humans rarely needed a valid excuse to lavish gifts upon others. That was perfectly all right, if you were a human. But as Spock had tried to explain to the Doctor, he was not a human. Or, more correctly, he was a half-Vulcan, half-human holding on to his Vulcan side. With his planet blown to pieces, it was all he had left.

Lately, he had the feeling –no; not a feeling; he had the impression that his human crewmates expected him to start behaving like them.

Not Jim Kirk though; after his rescue from the Coridians, the Captain had kept his thanks sparse and to the point: 'Good job, Spock,' was all he said before he was wheeled to Sickbay. He looked uncomfortable when he spoke -not surprisingly, considering he and Spock were still at odds with each other as the Doctor had correctly pointed out.

Thinking of the Captain reminded Spock of the report he had yet to finish. Welcoming the distraction, Spock set out to clear his desk, only to find he had a pile of baskets and nowhere to put them, (save for the floor, but no Vulcan would ever consider putting his presents on the floor!).

There was only one place left, Spock realized; it was hardly more appropriate than the floor, what with the strict regulations against keeping food in one's sleeping quarters, but it was only a temporary measure and besides, it wasn't as if he were actually planning to eat there.

He wasn't entirely comfortable taking the baskets into his bedroom, however, and his discomfort only grew when he realized his crewmates had been in there too.

They'd left a box on his bed, and the sight was just as astonishing as that of the fruit baskets. The box was large, about four-feet long; it was wrapped in the sturdy foil used by Starfleet carrier ships, and so heavy it had sunk into the mattress.

Spock put the baskets on the pillow and cautiously bent to examine the box. Familiar seals were overlapping on the foil: The Potemkin… The Huron… The Stargazer… Freight ships, with the exception of the Starship Stargazer, which had been within sight of the Enterprise early that morning.

There was another seal, he noticed; it was the Captain's seal, which meant the box had been brought on board under Jim Kirk's orders.

Frowning, Spock broke the seals, one by one, a vague idea starting to form in the back of his mind. There was something familiar about the size of the box -

It couldn't be, of course.

It couldn't –

But it was.

Inside the box there was another; a Vulcan chest to be more precise. He'd recognized it anywhere; he'd left in storage after he reenlisted in the Enterprise six months before.

Crews going on long voyages were encouraged to bring only their bare necessities, and while First Officers could certainly bring more personal items than the average crewman, Spock had followed the rules to the letter. He'd left his most precious possessions behind: His lirpa; his lyre; Vulcan art pieces he'd inherited and others he'd acquired over the years. Everything he cherished was in that chest, swathed in the red cloth that his mother had lovingly weaved for him.

Spock's hands shook as he entered his personal code on the lock. Released, the lid sprung open, and Spock had a glimpse of red cloth and smooth stone. Until then, he had not really allowed himself to believe this was his chest or that it reached him intact. But it was.

But how? Looking at the seals on the foil, he could easily follow the chest's progress as it was passed from ship to ship till it reached the Enterprise. The Captain must have pulled numerous strings to accomplish this; he had probably called upon old debts –except that a young Captain like Kirk could hardly have any old debts to collect. It was more likely that he'd acquired a few debts in order to bring this box, or more probably, broken a few rules…

It was a sobering thought.

Spock stared at the chest for a few moments more, then gently, regretfully, he put the lid back.

He could not accept this. There were regulations, and they were there for a reason. It didn't matter that the Captain himself had sanctioned the return of his chest; Spock didn't want it –not like this.

'Can't you take a little kindness, a little gratitude?' The words came back to him yet again. Yes, he could. He could accept gifts, but this was too much. He couldn't take it; not from him –

Not from him.

Spock looked up, stunned by this last thought. He remained frozen for a moment, his eyes staring at the opposite wall but really looking inwardly.

He had been wrong all along, he realized: It wasn't his Vulcan side that had been resisting his human crewmates' advances; it was his human side -the part of him that found it difficult to forgive and forget; the part that, hurt by his distant past, couldn't bring itself to trust anybody –least of all, Jim Kirk, who, ironically, had tried the hardest to be friendly, only to meet with Spock's rejection every time.

No wonder he'd kept his thanks brief and to the point.

But even he couldn't leave it at that; like his crewmates, he'd tried to show his gratitude in some tangible way. And like his crewmates, he'd gone overboard.

Spock shook his head.

Why did his crewmates have to be so exuberantly human? Why couldn't they show some restraint for once?

And what was he going to do with them?

And the answer to that question was so obvious he couldn't help smiling a little. What was he going to do? Protect them, of course. They needed someone to watch over them, and teach them some self-control.

He was willing to do just that.

He was also willing to show them that, despite appearances, Vulcans did understand the concept of gratitude. They were also extremely gracious in their acceptance of gifts. These gifts, especially. They were a celebration of life, after all.

He picked a plum from a basket and rubbed it on his shirt, (a habit he'd inadvertently picked from the Captain), and then bit into it. It tasted exceedingly sweet.

Note: The 'nance' is a Guatemalan fruit, the size of a cranberry, yellow and very tasty. Lucky Mr. Spock!