The BLTS Archive - The Magic of the Season by Debra T --- In perusing the ST Slash Archive last night, I saw that the hardworking, multi-job holding, community volunteering archivist had issued a challenge (or was that a plea?) for holiday themed stories. The spirit of the season entered me, and this came out. So, Merry Christmas (or whatever!) to Rrain and everyone! (Although how much of Christmas present can it be, giving her another story to archive? Hmmm... Gift of the Magi, anyone?) And an additional Solstice greeting to Ruth, for posting this and archiving DTSS, and Atara for just being (and for making Ruth so happy and all). Think of the P/Q portion as being an early Holiday present. And, no, it is not the P/Q story I promised you-know-who I would write. Warnings: Slash, Slash, Canon Straight Couple, Slash. This means both gay and straight, so there's a yucka in there for everyone except those of you who like Neapolitan ice cream. Further Warning: The Worf/Dax portion of the story has Kanon Klingon Kourtship in it, that is to say, violent but consensual sex. Yet Another Warning: Composed late at night, online, with only a rather shaky spell checker for beta. The first part of each story is done in dialogue-only mode, but the second, longer parts are traditional narrative. Disclaimer: Let's just take it as read that Viacom will put a lump of coal in my stocking for, er, borrowing their characters. --- Aboard _Enterprise 1701_ -- "Gimme, gimme, gimme!" "What, what, what?" "Snow, damnit. I want snow!" "James Tiberius, what is the deal with you and snow and Christmas?" "It's natural and necessary, Bones." "Jim, oxygen is natural and necessary, for us anyway. Nutrients are natural and necessary. Snow at Christmas is just bein' finicky." "Not if you're from Iowa. Look, Bones, did I object when you demanded a feed from the Kentucky Derby? Did I bend the rules for you about real booze for the mint juleps? Did I roll over for you last night? I want snow, and you're going to give it to me!" --- Aboard the _Enterprise 1707-D_ --- "I know that something is troubling you, Captain." "Please tell me it was Betazoid empathy, Counselor, and not that I was sulking around the bridge again?" "Not at all, sir. I just felt this... uneasiness and unhappiness from you." "Nostalgia run amuck, I'm afraid, Counselor. Please, sit down and I'll tell you all about it." "Go right ahead." "Well, Christmas was always so wonderful. School would be out, so I didn't have the pressure to push, push, push. The house would be redolent of Maman's cooking, even Robert would be... tolerable toward me." "It sounds ideal." "It was. Memories of that holiday are the one untroubled spot on my childhood memory." "But now you're a Starship Captain, and there is no break." "Too true, too true. It's silly and impossible, but I want that back. Just for a few hours..." --- Aboard Deep Space Nine --- "Worf, can I talk to you for a minute?" "Jadzia, I *am* on duty." "But there's a tree in the middle of our quarters!" "It is a Christmas tree." "What? A human tradition? For a Klingon and a Trill? I've lived centuries, but never, ever have I hacked down a chella tree and put it in my house!" "Traditionally, it should be some kind of pine, of course, but chella was the best I could do. It may be orange, but it least it has the correct... smell." "Yeah, I noticed. The place reeks of gin and tonic." "Jadzia, Christmas is important in Russia. It is one part of my human upbringing I never want to forget." "Well, why didn't you say so?" --- Aboard _Voyager_ --- "Ho, ho, ho!" "Harry, what do you think you're doing?" "It's for l'enfant Wildman. I'm gonna be Santa for her Christmas party this year." "Can I be a naughty little leprechaun?" "Chakotay, it's *elves.* Leprechauns are Irish. Think St. Patrick's day." "It never ceases to amaze me how much you get into *all* the traditional holidays. Every day is feast day." "Well, yeah, I think so. We Asians are a practical lot, you know. We don't care where the holiday came from, as long as we can incorporate some aspect of it into our lives." "Hmmm. Harry?" "Yes, Chakotay?" "Tell me about the mistletoe again?" --- Aboard the _Enterprise 1701_ --- Jim Kirk strolled into the rec hall and slipped. "What the hell?" he asked, then realized what had happened. There was ice on the floor. And snow. And a grinning medic. "Careful, there, Jim," McCoy said cheerfully. "Don't fall on the ice," he added happily, hoisting his glass. "How'd you do this?" Kirk was impressed. Drifts of snow piled around the functional tables and chairs. Icicles were hanging from the 3-D chess set. A few lazy snowflakes drifted around, settling enticingly on McCoy's hair and eyelashes before melting. "Spock helped me with the particulars, grumblin' like Scrooge all the while. Scotty pitched in to get the ventilation system to fling some flakes aroun'. Ya like it?" Jim could tell from the doctor's relaxed drawl that he'd had a few. He smiled; he knew the advantage was his. He bent over, scooping up some snow. "Snow," he said with wonder that was genuine if a bit exaggerated. He cupped it in his hands, savoring the feel of cold and wet, and the memories that feeling brought to him. And then he quickly fashioned the snow into a ball and lobbed it at the doctor. "Jim!" McCoy spluttered, shaking the snow off. "What if there'd been a rock in there? Ya coulda put an eye out!" "You put rocks in here?" "No. But it's the principle of the thing..." "Let me make it all better..." Kirk tramped through the snow to his lover, took the glass away from the doctor, and pulled him into his arms. "Which eye?" Kirk asked. "Hmmm?" McCoy hummed, his eyes darkening at the feel of his lover against him. "Which eye did I hurt? I'd like to kiss it and make it better..." "Oh, I'm not rightly sure," McCoy said musingly. Kirk kissed one eye, then the other, then captured McCoy's mouth with his own. "I love you, Leonard," Kirk whispered. "And I love you, Jim. Merry Christmas!" "And to all a good night," Jim responded, then set about making sure they both had the best night of all. --- Aboard the _Enterprise NCC-1701-D_ --- Picard turned restlessly in his bed. For once, talking to Deanna had made things worse. It was no help dwelling on things that, once past, could never again be his. He was a Starship Captain, that was not a job with came with regularly scheduled holiday breaks, and that was that. "So rigid. So defined. Too bad those adjectives are as applicable to your mind as your body," a voice cooed. A voice with no body, taunting him, mocking him... that could only mean one thing. "Q," he breathed. "Naturellement, mon vieux," said Q, winking into the bed next to Picard. "Although, come to think of it, *I'm* a lot more vieux than vous." Picard groaned aloud. "I'm not in the mood." "Yes, you are. You always are," Q taunted. "True," Picard admitted. "But not for bad puns." "Issums having a bad day? Poor little Starship Captain. You know, if you'd just learn to think outside the box, life would be sooooo much easier." "Q..." Picard began but never finished. He was astonished to find himself no longer in his quarters, but in a candle-lit hall, rich with the smell of meat cooking, bread baking, wine being heated, and candles burning. Musicians played harps, lutes, flutes, mandolins, tambors, and a harpsichord. Richly dressed men and women danced intricate patterns on a tiled floor. "Q?" Picard asked again. "The meter's off, Jean-Luc," Q whispered to him. "Time is stopped, you've no responsibilities..." Picard had to once more acknowledge Q's ability to give him exactly what he never knew he needed. Had Q asked him for a wish to be fulfilled, he would have asked for a childhood Christmas. But this was better. Here he could be an adult, but not a Starship Captain. And best of all, here he could be with his lover. He turned into Q's waiting arms, and this time Q gave him the kiss he did know he needed. --- Aboard Deep Space Nine. -- Jadzia stroked the chella tree absently, admiring the decorations Worf had put on it. It really was quite pretty. Different. Exotic. Why shouldn't a Trill and a Klingon celebrate an Earth holiday? It was no stranger than the fact of their love for each other, and just as wonderful. "Tell me, Worf," she said speculatively. "Are these tree ornaments family heirlooms? Antiques?" "The painted wood ones were gifts from my adoptive family. The shiny glass balls I replicate annually and recycle back into the replicator after the holiday's end." "I see," she murmured, and the idea she'd had took full flight in her mind. Suddenly, she uttered a guttural Klingon word, snatched a bright green ball from the tree, and smashed it at Worf's feet. "Jadzia," he snarled at her, his voice barely recognizable. She repeated the word, added another, and flung a purple ball at him. It bounced off his cheek and fell to the carpet. Worf growled, giving her a thrill that started in her symbiot and radiated out to the rest of her at the speed of light. Worf grunted and ground the ornament beneath his bootheel. Dax, half-mad herself, grabbed two more balls from the tree, gold and silver, and smashed them together. As the pieces dropped to the floor, she dimly felt cuts like licks of fire on her palms and fingers, and the sensation fed the fire she felt in her body, in her souls. Worf was stalking her now, and she faced him without fear, as a warrior, as an equal, as a lover, as a mate. "Take me, Klingon," she hissed. "If you dare." He was now close enough that she was able to break a red ball against his cheek. She brushed the glass from his face, licked at his blood, then bit the wound she had created. "I dare, Trill," he growled back at her, and then proved himself. --- Aboard _Voyager_ --- Chakotay caught his young lover in his arms and kissed him. Harry laughed. "No, Chak, you got it wrong," he said in between kisses. "You have to be under the mistletoe, not just in the same room with it!" Chakotay laughed. "Like I need an excuse," he scoffed and kissed Harry again, coaxing the soft, laughing mouth beneath his open. Chakotay entwined his tongue with Harry's just as as their two bodies were intertwined. Before long, they were breathless. Harry laughed as they broke apart. "Since when do my kisses amuse you?" Chakotay asked, smiling at the mere fact of Harry's delight. "I was just wondering... if that kiss is what you do just because we're in the same room as mistletoe, what would you do if we were actually under it?" "Take my hand and I'll show you," Chakotay whispered, and pulled his lover along to the arch between living and sleeping quarters, where the mistletoe hung. --- The End