When you are old and grey and full of sleep…

The stray line of a long forgotten poem crept into Kathryn Janeway's mind as she watched her best friend sleep in the armchair that he always favoured. As much as Tuvok tried to deny it, he was getting old. So was she, for that matter, but as she kept reminding herself, she wasn't the one pushing 180 years old. He could be forgiven his afternoon naps. And evening naps. And, sometimes, morning naps. She never mentioned his newly acquired habit; old age had made Tuvok's stubborn streak even more unbearable than before, and he'd only try and force himself to stay awake if he believed he has been noticed. It was better to let him think that she thought him to be meditating. It let him think he was winning without denting any of that Vulcan pride she had come to know like an old companion.

"Why are you watching me?" a suspiciously crotchety sounding voice resonated from the deep armchair and a pair of ancient dark eyes focused on her face.

"You just reminded me of a very old poem that I read a long time ago."

For a moment there was no answer and she thought that he might have gone back to sleep, until the voice rumbled again, "I see. Can I offer you an iced tea?"

"That would lovely."

With a leisurely pace that was only just beginning to betray Tuvok's age, he pulled himself from his chair and padded towards the replicator, his slippered feet making no noise. He still moved faster than she did, even being so much older than she, and sometimes Kathryn found herself envying his natural Vulcan physique.

"I must soon go and visit my wife," Tuvok murmured suddenly, handing Kathryn her cup and settling himself carefully in his chair, "Perhaps you would like to accompany me."

"Of course, if you don't want to go alone."

"That is not the issue," he bristled slightly, sipping his drink, "I believed that you would want to join me but would not ask. I saved you any difficulty by offering immediately."

"Of course," she grinned guiltily into her cup, "Most thoughtful of you."

It had been several years previously that Tuvok had quite unexpectedly lost his wife, and Kathryn did not think that he had ever quite been the same. At the wake, she had told him that he was welcome to stay with her for a while; since being widowed herself, she felt lonely in a house too large for one person. To her delight, Tuvok had taken her up on the offer, save for one small detail. He'd stayed for three years. Sometimes, he would talk of returning to Vulcan and the home that he had shared with T'Pel, but with all of his children choosing to relocate to Earth for work and family purposes, he really had nothing to go back to. He hadn't even been to T'Pel's grave, but that was because he often talked to her. Kathryn heard him, when he thought she wasn't listening. He believed in the katra, she knew, and was just putting the human spin of talking to departed loved ones onto his Vulcan belief. Same old Tuvok.

"Do you remember, many years ago, when you threatened to make me sing carols at Christmas?" Tuvok asked, his eyes focused on the gently twinkling lights of the tiny Christmas tree that Kathryn insisted upon every year.

"Yes," she smiled slowly, "I've never forgotten the look on your face."

"This year, I have prepared you a Christmas gift, in compensation for the one you gave me many years ago," he said, taking his lyre from the stand next to his chair, "Although I will not sing, I thought this would be adequate."

Kathryn eyed him in wonder as he began to play. His fingers, stiff with age, moved awkwardly up and down the neck of the instrument, until he seemed to pick up a rhythm and his hands loosened up. He was playing 'Silent Night', her favourite old carol. Kathryn leaned her head back on the chair and watched him from the corner of her eye. His brow wrinkled with a concentration that she hadn't seen for years and didn't even think he could muster anymore. The sounds of the instrument washed over her; it was a rare treat to hear him play, and to know that he had learned a song for her made it all the more wonderful. Tuvok had done a lot to surprise her over the years, but she didn't think that he'd ever done something that made her feel quite like she did right then. On her first day at the Academy, her father had told her that if she met any Vulcans, she had to treat them with more respect than her other friends but she'd found them so unnerving anyway that she tended to avoid them. It was only Tuvok, who was the only Vulcan that she ever felt truly comfortable around, who taught her, unwittingly, that there was a lot more to Vulcans than being disapproving and cold hearted.

So much more.

"That was beautiful, Tuvok," she whispered, a tear sliding down her face as came to a finish with an uncharacteristic flourish, "Just when I think I know you, you pull something like that out of nowhere."

"It is most gratifying that you enjoyed your gift," he nodded, putting the instrument carefully aside and deliberately patting the hand that she had laid on the arm of his chair. She sniffed and squeezed his fingers.

"Thank you Tuvok. So much."

"It was quite simple. I could learn-"

"I meant thank you for being you. Promise me you'll never change, Tuvok."

"I do not plan on such a thing."