Secret Santa: catnipsoup

"Hey, you leaving?" Sol's coworker, an Andorian named Toran, suddenly stepped up behind him, "It's already twenty after 1800 hours.  I've been waiting to close things down."

"Right," the Vulcan still hard at working shot upwards, revealing his full six foot two lanky frame, which Svaan always teased him about for being short for their specie.

He stiffly gathered up his PADD and stuffed it into his shoulder bag.

"Kid, what are you doing," Toran placidly stared at Sol, with a slightly condescending demeanor.

Sol refrained from correcting Toran about calling him "kid" since Toran was five years younger than him.  Most people would guess that Toran was older, since he grew up on a rough Andorian colony; while Sol spent his youth on Vulcan letting his mother refine him into being "the perfect Vulcan."  Instead, she ended got a shaky adolescent with a boyfriend and a confused outlook of his future.

"I was going to complete this design at home so I could go over it with the boss before meeting with the Cochrane Foundation in Bozeman next week," Sol said, fidgeting with the strap of his bag.

"But it's the holiday weekend, and the boss is closing down the office," Toran protested, "And don't argue that you don't need the break since the Vulcan Science Academy never gave you breaks.  That's bullshit, and I'm sure Svaan would agree with me."

Sol was unsure how to respond to this.  He spent his whole life learning to repel and suppress all emotions and to solely strive to be better academically, yet recently, it seemed that everyone wanted him to let go of these philosophies.  It didn't help that his boyfriend, Svaan, consistently stopped by his office to encourage his coworkers to push Sol in the same direction he did.  Sol sighed, as the confusion built up within him.

"What would I agree with?" the door to the office's turbolift slid shut behind the newly arrived Svaan.
Toran's face lit up, knowing he won this argument, "I've been trying to dissuade Sol from bringing work home with him.  He'll have time to do it when he gets back."

"Exactly," Svaan said confidently, while managing to appear like an emotionless Vulcan.

Svaan was perfection in the eyes of the public.  He let few people know he was an artist who easily expressed his feelings.  Sol was lucky to be one of them.

"What do you care about the holiday? You're not human either," Sol directed this at Toran, while struggling to stay calm and stoic.

"My roommate is Terran," Toran said as he gave a brotherly pat to Sol's back and headed out the door.

Sol flinched and stepped away.

"Come on," Svaan stuck out his index and middle fingers pressed together to Sol.

Sol uneasily watched Toran ahead of them.  Svaan gave Sol a look that invited him in, telling him that it didn't matter, so Sol tentatively matched his own fingers to Svaans.  They strolled down the hall, leaving Sol's bag behind on the desk.

Svaan smiled down at Sol, "How are you."

They stepped onto a different lift than the one Toran took down.

"Why must we whittle conversation away with small talk?" Sol responded.

Svaan shook his head with a semi amused grin, "Relax ashayam."

Svaan broke their fingers apart, and the small electrical current sent between Sol and Svaan's neurons broke off. The meager amount of comfort Sol gained, crumbled to pieces and his spine shot upwards again into an uncomfortably straight position.  Svaan's spindly fingers moved to Svaan's shoulders.

"Stop," Svaan abruptly instructed the lift.

The slight hum from the mechanism died down as Svaan stepped closer to Sol.  Sol quickly recalled which lift they were on.  It was lift four, and he remembered that this particular lift lacked any security measures besides an implanted fire alarm and emergency voice activated programming.  He'd done extensive research, and Svaan always told him that they knew each other too well.  Svaan most likely did his own research.

Svaan's fingers reached behind Sol's neck and under his work shirt and winter jacket.  Svaan's fingers worked their way into Sol's back and he leans his face into Sol's.  His tongue flicked out to Sol's ear's, he considers his four inches on Sol an advantage.  The knots unwind themselves from Sol's shoulders, and he gasps, every sense in his face lit up as Svaan's mouth comes in contact with it.

Svaan slowly moved back, "Floor one."

The turbolift resumed its climb downwards after one long minute of standing.  Svaan keeps one hand on the back of Sol's neck while extracting the other.  He always felt on edge, like he was going to lose Sol.  His freed hand slid back down to two of Sol's fingers, and they joined as they had before.  Sol looked relaxed, so Svaan felt that it was safe to remove his other hand from Sol's back.  Sol hardly realized the transformation, and he certainly was unaware of Svaan's fears.  He was too used to his own uncertainty.

The turbolift door finally slid open, and the two Vulcans stepped outside, their connected fingers hidden by their long jackets.  An observer would hardly give them a second thought, yet Sol's thoughts still jumped to anyone whose eyes flicked over the two of them together.

They left the looming modern building and entered the flow of foot traffic on Lexington Ave.  The buildings were one of the newer designs on the street.  It was for Starfleet's latest experiment; an independent company that designed upgrades for ships.  The company operated from New York, yet they reported their work directly to Starfleet headquarters in San Francisco and often worked in conjunction with other companies.  Most employees for them were architects, designers, or engineers, yet they hired Sol as the only scientists to work out the biometric issues in the designs.

I'm going to Bozeman in a week for a meeting with the Cochrane Foundation, and I was wondering if you would like to join me, since the scenery is nice.  Maybe you'd like to paint the statues or woods," Sol offered while skipping straight to the point.

"That would be wonderful," Svaan replied, "Though have you ever noticed that Cochrane sounds kind of like Cock Rain."

Sol let out a little laugh at the sudden unexpected crudity.

"You laughed!" Svaan exclaimed.

Sol was surprised that he was proud of this.

"I've never seen you laugh in public.  I appreciate it," Svaan said.

"It's you.  You're just so you and I wish I could articulate myself better," Sol reflected on his sudden concession.

They noticed the crowd growing thicker as they reached 5th and 50th.  Sol looked down at their connected fingers, and the large crowd around them.

"Separating is acceptable," Svaan was hesitant to stretch out Sol's comfort level.  He didn't want it to snap back in his face.

Their fingers broke apart, and they stood close together, just to prevent separation.
"Ignorant tourists," Svaan muttered, "Why do they even celebrate Christmas?  Most of them have dropped their Christian views, yet they still flock to Rockefeller Center to see a giant counterfeit tree."

"I have to say I lack an answer for this one," Sol said as they weaved through the flock of tourists.

"And I haven't even begun to question why they haven't renamed the center yet.  Capitalism has long since been mostly extinct except where there's a Ferengi," Svaan added, "No matter how much I bend towards human tendencies; I've never understood their sentimentality."

"Christmas should be forgotten" Sol decided that it has already caused him too much trouble.


They make it to their apartment with much difficulty.  Sol opened up the computer to scan through their messages.  Most of it was offers for Svaan's paintings, yet he stopped at a message directed to both of them.  A generic recording of the mayor of the city appeared on the screen.

"Have a Very Merry first Christmas with us citizens!" he said with a phony grin plastered across his face.

Sol surmised that it was an automatic message, yet it held truth.  It was their first December off of Vulcan, none the less in Manhattan.  Svaan joined Sol at the console and placed his chin on Sol's shoulder for the latter part of the transmission.  The screen switched to a completely different image.  Tension flooded through Sol's body as he saw his mother staring at him through the monitor.  It took him a while to regain his composure and remember that it is just a recording and she couldn't see him.  This reminder did not help him much.

His mother stared blankly out at him, "Son, your sister is forcing me to call you.  She requires that we converse and I make sure you are alive, which is illogical since I am aware that there are people who would contact me if you were to perish.  Call me tomorrow."

She ceased her blunt remarks and walked off screen.  Sol's sister, T'Mara, entered the frame.

"Good day Sol.  I would like to inform you that the family is well, and think you visiting would be beneficial to all of us," the teenager said with a natural positive lilt to her voice, "I need to go to school, but I will talk to you tomorrow.  You can inform me about your experience applying to the VSA before I start mine."

The screen abruptly returned to the federation issued screensaver, and Sol stared blankly at the screen.  Sol barely processed a word T'Mar conveyed to him.  Instead, memories of the last time he talked to his mother filled him.  He remembered the hurt when he broke it off with Svaan for the second time.  He thought that was over, but apparently the issue was not yet resolved.  His mother was still there, and talking to his sister on a near weekly basis made their contact inevitable.

Svaan looked at Sol with a comforting gleam, making Sol expect him to say that he would pretend to be out of Sol's life in front of his mother.

Instead, Svaan went with his own instincts, "Good, it's about time you told your mother the complete truth, and maybe even broke it off with her."

Sol stared at Svaan, processing what he just heard, "You should know Vulcan traditions.  I am unable to do that."

Sol awkwardly stalked off to the bedroom, scared at what Svaan said and feeling like he'd been pushed over the edge of a cliff into deep, unknown territory.  Svaan watched him retreat, not sure how wide of a berth to give him.

Svaan wondered if this was the end.  He had to at least try to avoid it, and there wasn't anything he wanted more than to reach out to his T'Hy'La.  After a quick decision, Svaan followed Sol into the bedroom.

In the bedroom, Sol clasps his hands behind his back, pacing back and force across the room in forced and staggered strides.  He felt the presence in the room immediately as Svaan confidently strode in.  Svaan's overbearing confidence scared him; it was so far off from his own mannerisms.

"Sol," Svaan reached out to touch his arm, and Sol stopped pacing.

Sol stared at Svaan like a startled Sehlat caught in front of the glow of a desert tram.  He stumbled backwards.

"Why don't you tell me what you feel?  You push me away whenever I try to get closer, and you lie to your own mother about our relationship.  When I ask to bond with you, you just say you're not ready, yet when I inquire as to why or what I can do or even what you feel about something, you won't tell me," Svaan revealed, easily broaching his thoughts on the subject.

"Maybe because I can't.  I am not analytical like you, and I am unsure if that is what I want.  We need to stop this," Sol tripped over each word as he emoted whatever popped into his thought stream.

Then he left the room and grabbed his coat on the way out, while Svaan's hopes streamed out in a path behind Sol and died out, hitting the floor with each step.

Sol emerged onto the crowded city streets.  He briefly marveled at the fact that the planet's population nearly doubles during the month of December before returning to the pain he felt gnawing at his mind.  He hadn't meant for any of that to happen, yet it did, and he still felt anger towards Svaan.

He was mad at Svaan, and he was blinded by this.  On an unconscious level, he wanted to be more like Svaan.  He wanted to be sure of who he was and excepted in the eye of the public, yet he was unable to articulate this at the time.  On the surface, he told himself that he just needed to suppress all emotions.  He figured he would return to Vulcan and complete Kohlinahr.  There were small transport ships leaving every day.  Sol bet that his mother always kept an appointment with the elders for this very reason.  Mother knew best.

Sol figured that he just had to survive the rest of the night before gathering some essential belongings first thing next morning.  He pondered what to do the rest of the night.

He found himself gravitating to the large group of people in Rockefeller center, concluding that he could get lost amongst the misguided.  The tree loomed over him, looking extremely realistic.  The buildings appeared mundane in comparison to the colors amongst the people and decorations in the square.  The bright green and red laser lights sparkled in his eyes, and the couples skating on the ice rink only refreshed his pain.  The fact that they were crowded and confined to a small, stuffy skating circumference because of the crowd slightly comforted him.  It wasn't a romantic view, as most portrayed it to be.

He stood staring at a family taking a picture on a bench next to a toy store for a half hour before he managed to snag a seat wide enough for two people.  He fidgeted the whole time, and only made stark observations about his scenery, to avoid the inevitable topic his mind kept returning to.  At one point, Sol even resorted to working out pointless algorithms and design flaws for work in his mind.  He sat down crisscrossed, and his legs acted as a warning for others not to approach.  He let go of his Vulcan telepathy that he spent his whole life containing.  Now, he just wanted to convey to others "stay away."  It worked.  People gave him a wide berth.

Sol pressed his palms together and achieved a traditional Vulcan meditative stance.  He straightened his back, and cleared his mind, finally allowing himself to think of what happen.  He played the incident over in his mind multiple times.  He felt stupid and annoyed and sad and unsure and scared.  The feelings mounted upon each other.

An obnoxious beeping noise snapped him out of his reverie.  At first, he expected it to go away, but he soon realized that it was emanating from the communicator he accidently left in his coat pocket.

He reluctantly flipped it open, "Hello?"

"Sol!" a young and controlled female voice exclaimed from the other end of the line.

"T'Mar?" he recognized his sister's voice.

"Are you ok?" she rushed through her words, "Wait, that was a misguided query, I am aware that you are not satisfactory."

"How?" Sol left the question open.

"Svaan contacted me," she clarified.

"Oh," he had nothing more to say on the subject.

"He knows that you would rather not listen to him," T'Mara said, "Yet I would like to give my own view on the situation.  I think you should not give up on Svaan, he tries to be the best he can for you, and exclusively for you.  You are both at fault, but I just have to say to not give up.  I am preparing to transfer some credits to you for the night, because you possess a combined account with Svaan."

"I am grateful," Sol responded.

"Gratitude is unnecessary.  I am aware of this, and I am doing this, because I believe it is right.  Contact me if you need anything else," T'Mar concluded helpfully.

"Good-bye," Sol slowly flipped the phone shut.

Sol never disagreed with T'Mara.  They were always in conjunction, and he was not ready to bread this record, so he gave serious thought to what she said.  As Sol stuffed his communicator back into his pocket, his hand scraped a familiar item.  He took the folded drawing out of his pocket.  It was a precise piece of art Svaan drew of Sol.  In the image, Sol stretched out across the couch in his old apartment, his emotion completely laid out for Svaan.  Sol was fully aroused, and now he discretely smiled as he remembered the circumstances.

It was one of their first dates, nearly two years ago, and Sol invited Svaan over for a movie marathon.  Sol felt like that night never ended.  He had never been so perfectly awkward yet blissful at the same time.  They were already at Sol's apartment for over five hours, when Svaan retrieved his sketchbook.  Svaan lacked a single piece of clothing, and Sol was clad merely in Svaan's skinny jeans.  Sol's passion was so unsure and everlasting.  He thought he resolved the constant stammering around Svaan and insecurity, yet apparently it was still there.  Sol still had unanswered questions.

He arrived at the conclusion that T'Mara was correct.  He still wanted to be with Svaan forever, and he needed to find a way to convey that feeling to Svaan, and only to Svaan in a way that he was comfortable with.  Sol had the whole night to figure it out.


Sol's wanderings led him to a large corporation apparently named "Macy's."  Sol entered a building, with decorations covering the whole facade.  The Christmas themes perpetuated through the store windows, where they set up elaborate decorations based around the holiday.

Inside; trees, mistletoe, and glossy streamers covered every inch of the shiny floor and walls.  It appeared prosthetic to Sol who grew up in a more rural part of Vulcan.

A blonde Terran female dressed in an elaborate costume approached him, "Do you need help?"

Sol stared at the outfit, confused.

"It's an elf, part of old earth fables.  You think I'm cute?" she laughed as she caught him staring.

"Image is irrelevant," he instinctively responded.

"Vulcan, of course.  I was joking, and I know it's kind of hideous.  The boss makes us all wear stuff like this," she appraised him; "You look flustered and distressed."

He was surprised that she could interpret him so effortlessly, "I suppose I am."

"Yeah.  Would you like to talk about it, or do you just want to buy some Christmas presents and leave?" she nicely asked him.

"I do not partake in Christmas," Sol quickly answered.

"Why?  You're on Earth," she pried.

"I do not comprehend human's compulsion to turn to commercialism and myths one month of the year," he clarified.

"Oh dear," she shook her head at Sol in pity, "We do need to have a talk.  I get off in twenty minutes, so how about I meet you in the coffee shop in this building then?"

"S-sure," he stammered.

He wasn't sure if he was ready to talk, especially to a stranger, yet refusing to talk was the root of the problem. Sol figured he might as well start there.

He wandered around the store, watching New Yorkers frantically grab last minute gifts.

Ten minutes later, he walked into a small coffee shop tucked into the corner of the winter coat section of the store.  The room contained puffy chairs and more rigid tables to do work at.  Sol thought of the company he was holding, and decided to take two of the comfier spots.  He hovered around a pair until they became available.  Once he got the seats, he sat ramrod straight, trying to recover his dignity and look as stoic as possible.  The shop, like the rest of the store, was decked out in Christmas decorations.

The blonde perkily skipped into the store ten minutes later than she said she would arrive.  She waved to Sol as soon as she spotted him, and Sol noted that she changed from her elf costume into typical civilian clothes.

"You showed!  I was worried that you would bail.  Anywho, what's your name?" she plopped down into the chair.

"Sol," he said nervously, not at all ready to reveal anything.  He hoped that she planned on doing all the talking.

"I'm Sala.  So you're one of those humbugs who don't believe in Christmas," Sala said.

"Why should I?  I am at discord with my boyfriend as of today," Sol admitted.

"Well, today isn't Christmas tomorrow is, yet it will be in ten minutes.  Most people say Christmas comes right after Thanksgiving, but that's just corruption.  You still have tomorrow."

"Something similar happened to me," and so Sala told Sath her whole life story, omitting anything that did not occur in a December.

Christmas apparently got her through many difficult times as a child living on an overrun colony at the edge of the alpha quadrant that Starfleet forgot about.  Christmas was the only to remind her that there was still good in the world. There was nothing to her that rivaled that family unity.  To seal matters, a Starfleet ship found their planet and took her family back to Earth on Christmas day, five years ago.  She talked for two hours, and it was two in the morning by the time she stopped and looked around.

She checked her watch, "Merry Christmas."

"Merry Christmas," Sol said back, realizing that he had eventually relaxed in his seat.

"Come with me; there's some things I need to show you, and it's your turn to talk," Sala got up and stuck out her hand to help Sol up.

He stared at it, instantly scared by what it suggested.

"Oh," she blushed, "Cultural misconception."

She stuffed her hand back into her pocket, and Sol stumbled out of the seat on his own accord.

Sol slowly began to tell his own story, starting with what Svaan is to him, and mounting into a beautiful disaster.  It stops abruptly, leaving Sala waiting for Sol to finish.

"It's not over," she states the obvious.

"No.  I'm here, and there's more awaiting Svaan and I, or there's a definitive end to us," Sol clarifies.

As he states this, they stop atop the Highline Park.  Sala leads Sol over to a railing.  They look out onto the city, seeing it for what it is.  The park is desolate, and the old train track ebbs into the darkness.  They peer through an apartment window facing them.  Lights shined through the panes, into a universe much different than Sol's.  A man discreetly placed presents under a lit tree.

Ten minutes later, the kids prematurely bounded into the living room.  It was only four o'clock in the morning, yet some things can't wait.

"Imagine something that constant in your life," Sala pondered, "They know Santa will be there for them."

The mother emerged, sleepy-eyed.  It projected unity, it showed something Sol never had, yet something he saw in Svaan.  They resumed walking until they reached the old closed down post office, then they drank tea at an all night diner.

"I've gotta move on to other jobs and lives," Sala stood up to leave at six in the morning, "It's not too late for you."

Sol watched her disappear.  Svaan woke up at eight every morning.  He had two hours, so he quickly transferred some credits to the diner and sprinted back into the streets, leaving behind the smell of fresh holiday cookies to be sold later in the day.

On 29th, Sol stopped someone who emerged from his apartment to pick up the Saturday paper, "Can I have some of this mistletoe?"

Sol conveyed his unease by staring off into the mistletoe covering the man's stoop as he spoke.

The man shrugged, "Sure."

"Th-thank you," Sol was not sure about taking from strangers or doing things outside of the public's norms.

He grabbed hold of a strand and ripped it down before briskly walking off.  The next stop was the art store.  He'd been there many times with Svaan, when they stopped on the way home from Sol's work, and each time, Sol watched Svaan pine over certain prismacolors and patterned styluses.  He used his sister's credits and vowed to himself to pay her back as soon as he got a hold of his own account.

Next came the ornaments, the wreath for inside the apartment, and the festive food.  It wasn't everything, yet it was enough.  Sol paused at a street side vendor selling trees.  He knew they were fake, since cutting down trees for personal merit was outlawed, yet they kept the tradition of selling them on the street.  Sol checked his watch; seven thirty.

Sol panicked, and in a last attempt remembered what he had to lose.

"Does anybody know any Ferengis?" he shouted out.

A sullen Ferengi emerged from the shop adjacent to the tree stand, "What?"

"I'll pay you to carry my tree in strips of latinum," Sol offered forth.

"Keep talking," the Ferengi welcomed.

Sol ran off with the despicable Ferengi toad in toe.  They arrived at the apartment at seven forty-five, and Sol grabbed some latinum from a hidden stash.  He snuck through the kitchen, on his tip toes, keeping his telepathy in check, knowing that his anxiety was spilling out of him and probably emanating straight into the bedroom.

Mistletoe hung from the window, and the wreath laid a top the inner side of the door.  The seconds ticked down to when the alarm clock would sound.  Sol nearly slapped himself for disregarding the need for a tree stand, so he leaned it up against a corner.  He frantically looked around, the candy canes lay awkwardly on the table; seven fifty-nine.  Sol picked them up and lobbed them towards the tree.  Miraculously they nestled themselves within the branches.  The alarm sounded.

Svaan stumbled out of his room, wearing flannel plaid pants and lacking a shirt.  Sol regretted that he didn't have time to change and was still in his rumpled long sleeve shirt and jeans from the day before. The Santa hat he bought lay lopsided on his head, covering one pointed ear and leaving the other one exposed.  He fought away the urge to lie down and give up.  He'd done too much.

Svaan's eyes widened in surprise as he took in his surroundings, he looked intently at Sol.  He was amazed.

"Merry Christmas," Sol stammered, retreating back into himself as soon as he sees Svaan.

It's like the night just disappeared, leaving behind a different Sol to deal with this.

"Merry Christmas," Svaan broke down, "I'm so sorry."

"No, I am," Sol tried to gain his bearings, yet he still felt lost.

Svaan sensed that he needed to take over now, because that's what he did.  He walked over to the window and motioned for Sol to join him.

"I think we're supposed to kiss now," Svaan said.

"We're not human," Sol contradicted.

Svaan laid out his fingers for Sol, "No, but we can explore their world and unify under their culture, while keeping our own traditions."

"I take back what I said before; Christmas is important," Sol said slowly and deliberately.

"I think I comprehend that," Svaan looked around at the decorations, "So, will you kiss me?"

"I shall," Sol joined their fingers.

Svaan gently caressed his hand, lacing their fingers together like they had what seemed like a lifetime before.  Sol moved in to kiss Svaan on the lips, and their bodies joined together as one.

"I love you, and you're traditions and quirks and emotions," Sol sped through his words.

"I love you too.   We're going to figure out who we want to be together," Svaan responded.

They lay down together under the Christmas tree, while Sol told of his journey.  Their bodies intertwined.  Svaan held on to every word, cherishing the communication and unity.