Jim knew it was stupid and unreasonable, but he always got a little down before his birthday. Spock would say, hell, had said, that ‘to celebrate the day that you were expelled from the womb was illogical’.
“Being born required no effort on your part and no application of intellect. I fail to see why humans attribute importance to celebrating this event,” Spock had said rather stiffly last year when Jim had only half-seriously chided him for ‘forgetting’ his birthday. He knew Spock hadn’t forgotten of course, he never forgot anything. So really, Spock had just chosen not to recognize the day.
For some reason, it didn’t bother Jim that Spock didn’t participate fully in holidays. After all, most of those were based on religious traditions that even Jim would agree were illogical. But they’d been lovers for five years now. Didn’t Jim mean enough to Spock for him to want to offer just a tiny recognition?
Blast. Jim reminded himself that Spock did love him, that their passion for each other wasn’t just the physical. One day shouldn’t be used as a measuring stick – especially when Spock showed his appreciation in so many other ways. The warm hands rubbing his back, shoulders and neck after shift when it had been a difficult day. The way he would bring him a warm chai on those evening when Jim got so engrossed in a book that he needed a reminder it was time to go to bed. And the mind melds, holy crap … those above all. He could feel Spock’s love in a meld.
So, tomorrow – he was not going to say a single thing to Spock about his birthday. In the larger scheme of things, it just wasn’t important.
As usual, Jim woke to a gentle hand laid to his shoulder, and a steaming mug of coffee presented, handle out, near his right hand.
“Oh, God Spock, you are a lifesaver. No, no, you are a god. Thank you so much,” Jim muttered blearily and levered himself up to sit against the headboard and took the mug in hand. Mornings. Suck.
“When you are feeling alert, Jim, I have something to share with you,” Spock said calmly.
“Oh yeah? Okay, okay. One minute,” Jim said and tried reviving himself with several sips, letting the first one sit in his mouth to moisten and heat it, before following with two more large mouthfuls. Just knowing the caffeine was heading in the direction of his brain made him feel better.
“Ok, babe, I’m awake. Sorta. Whatcha got?” Jim asked and smiled affectionately at Spock.
“This,” Spock replied and handed Jim a folded piece of paper. “I presumed you would prefer this to an electronic message,” He added.
Jim frowned and tilted his head to look at Spock a little closer. Usually he could read him, but there was nothing being conveyed in that calm face except perhaps a little … anticipation?
Jim unfolded the paper. There handwritten was:
-The first time I saw you was from a distance and I was impressed by how engaged you were with everything and everyone around you.
-When we first met your eyes looked into mine and I felt something I’d never felt before. I could not recognize or name it.
-You risked your life for mine, and I chastised you for putting the future of the Enterprise at risk. I could not say that I was angry. For the first time I had envisioned a universe without you.
-Our fifth game when I took your queen, your knight then pinned my king and rook. I was impressed. You are creative.
-When you first kissed me – I had no words, only feelings I could not speak.
-You recognized what I needed, when I was unwilling to acknowledge that I needed anything. Your seduction was well planned.
-You told me that you loved me, knowing that I would not say the words back to you. You are unselfish.
-Today is your birthday. I think that is unimportant. However, you are important to me.
-May today be a happy reflection on the value of your life to others.
-I still cannot say the words. Or write them. Meld with me?
Jim looked up at Spock, eyes wet with emotion, “Spock, Spock, yes. Yes, meld with me.” And Spock did.