"Christmas won't be Christmas without you, Monty," Chekov sighed.

"Now, lad, don't go high maintenance on me," Scott said briskly. "You know the engines have got to be space tested and the schedule's the schedule."

Chekov knew better than to argue with engineering project schedules; it was like trying to argue with a natural law. As far as Montgomery Scott was concerned engineering project schedules were nearly sacred articles and not to be tampered with. "So, when will you leave and be back?" he asked, trying to keep the sulk out of his voice.

"I leave the 22nd and will be back in time for New Year's Eve," the engineer smiled and tilted Chekov's lips up for a kiss. "That should make you happier."

It didn't but Chekov knew it would be a waste of time to mention it. He decided instead to take Blue, the dog, for a walk. It was Tuesday, the night Chekov slept with Spock. He and the Vulcan went to bed early on Tuesdays. As usual, Scott walked Blue after dinner, before he went off to carouse with the other engineers on the 78289B-2612.89 engine project. This was his weekly amusement since there was nothing else more interesting to do with his night.

***

"Mr. Scott tells me he will be space testing the 78289B-2612.89 engines over your holiday, Pavel. I will not be here either," Spock said, getting into his bed and spooning up behind Chekov.

"Then it will just be Blue and me," Chekov murmured neutrally. He had learned that petulance was one of the few things that annoyed Spock so the navigator refrained from reacting to this bad news as much as possible. Perhaps he could mentally cancel the holidays so spending them alone would not be so incredibly horrible. No, forget it, it would never work. As he settled into the Vulcan's arms, he began to wonder what Spock would be doing over the holidays.

Spock - for whom one day was the same as the next - ignored all holidays with his usual equanimity.

"My aunt has extended her invitation to you, if you would like to join us for the holiday. My parents will be there as well," Spock said quietly, drawing Chekov a little closer - strictly for warmth of course and to balance the ensign's weight more evenly against his chest.

Knowing how little Spock liked displays of emotion, Chekov damped down his enthusiasm and said, "Yes, I would like to. What about Blue?"

"We will take him with us."

***

It did not occur to Chekov to be nervous about meeting Spock's parents until they were almost in Seattle.

The first and only time Chekov had met Spock's parents was when they had visited San Francisco. Chekov had come home from playing soccer. He was hot, sweaty and fairly smashed from lifting a few strange drinks that tasted like fruit punch and had little umbrellas in them to celebrate the other team's victory and the fact they all had a good time running around in the mud. He took a shower and joined them for dinner. No longer hot or sweaty, the youngster was still fairly smashed and was exceptionally charming as a result. So charming, in fact, it wore him out and he needed to take a little nap between courses. The next thing he knew, he was waking in his own bed with a blinding headache next to Scott, who seemed highly amused by the previous evening's events. Chekov had been too far gone to even notice Scott's arrival at dinner and didn't realize the engineer had witnessed most of his goofy behavior. He buried his head in the pillow and let Scott get him an aspirin and black coffee. Later in the day he asked Spock if he should apologize to Amanda and Sarek for being intoxicated at dinner. Spock said no, his mother had been enchanted and his father somewhat amused. They had both expressed their appreciation of Chekov's high spirits, as they said, and hoped to see him again someday.

So, Chekov was wondering if he shouldn't get a little ripped before they arrived in Seattle and decided against it. Besides, Spock was on a strict schedule and traveling with the Vulcan was a very disciplined affair from start to finish. No time for frivolities such as mood altering substances, sight seeing, leisurely meals or anything else that could be considered dawdling. Even Blue seemed more serious and focused as he watched the landscape flash by from the back seat.

They pulled up before a small house set in a big

garden and Chekov watched Spock do something the ensign had rarely seen him do: sigh.

"My aunt is somewhat eccentric."

Whatever response Chekov might have made was vaporized by a large woman with unruly white hair banging on the passenger window with a rake. Blue barked at her.

"Are you living in there?" she yelled. Not waiting for an answer, she stomped back into the garden.

"My aunt," Spock informed Chekov, nodding in the woman's general direction.

"What is her name?" Chekov asked politely.

"Lillian." Spock squared his shoulders and got out of the car.

Chekov and Blue followed him into the garden and into the house.

"How was your trip? I thought you were coming alone. Want some coffee?"

"Fine. I spoke to you about Ensign Chekov; you had no objection. No." Spock turned to Chekov. "Do you want some coffee?"

"Yes, thank you."

"You'll have to share a bed. Cream? Sugar? What's your name? What's the dog's name?"

"Black please. My name is Pavel and the dog's name is Blue."

"Is he housebroken?" She handed Chekov a cup and waved a brandy bottle at him. "Pick-up?"

"Yes," Chekov answered to both and watched her pour two big fingers into his cup. It was only eleven in the morning but he thought he should accept to be sociable.

"Well, you’re in the same room as last time you visited, Spock. Your parents should arrive around lunchtime."

"Thank you," Spock said, picking up his bag. "Blue, stay. Pavel, come with me."

"Can I take your dog out in the yard? He looks restless."

"Please," Chekov smiled at her. "It was a long trip for him."

"I'm not cleaning up after him."

"Do not trouble yourself, Aunt," Spock said. He opened the back door and put Blue in the yard. "We will look after him," he said, closing the door. Come, Pavel." He led the ensign upstairs to the room they would be sharing.

Chekov glanced around the bare room and at the bed, which was narrow. He didn't mind sleeping close to Spock. He very much enjoyed sleeping with him on Tuesday nights, but there was a difference between sleeping close to someone by choice and sleeping close by necessity. He wondered if Spock would be uncomfortable. He wondered if he would be uncomfortable. He decided to unpack but was interrupted by Blue barking. Looking out the window, he saw Amanda and Sarek had arrived.

They went downstairs to greet Spock's parents.

Introductions were made again and Amanda even took the trouble to properly introduce Chekov to Lillian Lee Grayson.

***

"Long time, Sarek," Lillian said as they sat down for dinner.

"Indeed."

"It's not often we can all be together at the

holidays," Amanda put in in the absence of further comment from Sarek. Or Spock or Chekov for that matter.

"Oh? And how many Christmases have you celebrated on Vulcan, 'Manda?" Lillian asked acidly.

"None. Is there no salt, Lilli?"

"I'll get it." Spock's aunt stomped into the kitchen and stomped back with the salt. "What causes you to decide to spend your Christmas with me?"

"We're all here at the same time; I haven't seen you in years…"

"Eight years," Lillian supplied.

"I haven’t seen you in eight years," Amanda agreed. "You're the only sister I have…"

"Good thing that. You'd have to spread your neglect even further."

Amanda put down her fork with a little more force than necessary. "Lillian, if you don't want us here…"

"I haven't said that. I’m just wondering why you bother."

"I heard you were ill," Amanda said quietly.

"I am but I've got a few years left."

"I didn't know when I'd be on Terra again, so I…"

"I see," Lillian cut her off, "I'm dying and you've worked me into your schedule. That's great!"

There was a loud silence that Amanda finally broke: "Yes. Exactly."

***

"I'm sorry your aunt is ill," Chekov ventured as he helped Spock with the dishes.

"Why?"

"Because it is what one says in these situations," Chekov sighed.

Spock studied the younger man for a moment. "Would my aunt say that in a similar situation?"

Chekov thought for a moment and shook his head.

They finished the dishes in silence.

***

Some would say that the Tuesday nights Spock spent with Chekov in his arms indicated the deterioration of the Vulcan stoicism he'd previously practiced. Others, mainly Vulcans, would be more inclined to consider it proof that Spock had finally attained enough security and confidence to enjoy the more epicurean side of Vulcan philosophy. The finer points of Spock's enjoyment of Chekov were simply that he liked the way the ensign fit in his arms, his scent, the warmth and feel of his body through pajamas of various fine fabrics. Spock had at one point become concerned that he was spending too much money on sleepwear in natural, therefore really expensive, textiles but concluded that if he had one vice, Chekov in silk in his bed and in his arms on Tuesdays, well, it was a harmless one. For himself, he stuck to flannels for warmth.

So, although Spock enjoyed Chekov's proximity, he was dubious about the bed they would be sharing at his aunt's house. It was narrow and it was one thing to sleep close together by choice, another to sleep that way by necessity. As he spooned up behind the ensign, Spock considered offering to sleep on the couch but remained silent in view of the fact it was much colder on the couch.

It was their habit to sleep on their right sides. In this instance, the position put Chekov's nose about an inch from the wall.

"This is giving me claustrophobia," Chekov announced, starting to squirm.

"Close your eyes," Spock suggested.

"I still have it." Chekov nimbly twisted around until he was facing Spock.

Lying face to face was something Spock did not like very much (or perhaps liked *too* much). Sometimes Chekov turned around and slept facing Spock just for a change of pace and to see if the Vulcan would let him. On those nights, when Chekov got rebellious, Spock merely rolled onto his back and let the Russian sleep in his arm. However, on this particular night, were Spock to roll onto his back, he would fall off the bed.

Chekov brazenly put his arms around Spock's neck, as if daring him to kick him out of bed.

Something of a gambler, Spock upped the ante and pulled Chekov a little closer. The rules of the game were established for Chekov long ago: to be close but not aroused. Occasionally, Spock made a wager with himself that he could arouse Chekov without moving – that the ensign would lose sight of the purity of their nights and bring the proceedings into the realm of lust. And, as a byproduct of feeling guilty about it, Chekov would behave himself for weeks. Spock considered that this was worth whatever inconvenience it might cause him. He also found it amusing, in his Vulcan way, to watch poor Chekov struggle with one of the most compelling Terran issues: involuntary arousal in young males. Purely a physical reaction, Spock had observed all sorts of odd psychological states associated with it. It was fascinating.

Chekov was very still in Spock's arms; he knew the game they were playing. Hadn't he started it? He could have insisted they sleep on their left sides instead of turning to face Spock. But no, Chekov had turned and then brazenly put his arms around the Vulcan's neck. And Spock had pulled him closer, as if he wanted… No-no-no. Chekov mentally squared his shoulders and firmly removed his consciousness from his groin to his forehead. If Spock was teasing him then Spock could go to hell. Drawing back, Chekov bumped his ass against the wall and in recoiling, slid his crotch against Spock's. It was provocative and effective. 'That's done it,' he sighed in his mind, trying to will his tumescence away.

"Are you in distress, Pavel?" Spock asked in his sexy midnight voice.

"No, Spock, not distress…"

Spock waited.

"I think perhaps I should go sleep on the couch."

"That would be a waste of energy." Spock moved his left hand into the meld position.

Chekov dragged his lips over the heel of Spock's hand before the Vulcan's consciousness slid smoothly into his and pleasure suffused their joined beingness.

***

The next morning Spock and Sarek excused themselves to take Blue for a walk.

Amanda said nothing; she knew they'd be gone for hours. She paced her sister's threadbare but tidy parlor, looking at the four holiday cards on the mantle. "I see you have a card from Chrys Sebring," Amanda observed, joining Chekov and Lillian at the table.

"Yes. I'm working with her again on a project next year. Know her?" Lillian asked, pouring her sister some eggnog with a shot of brandy.

"Only by reputation and writing," Amanda said, sipping her drink. She liked eggnog and brandy; it was something one just couldn't get on Vulcan. "There are two incidents that come to mind about her. One nasty discussion in the press and a very nasty discussion on a community panel in Berlin. Somehow she seems to always offend other people with what she says and how she says it. I don't know her privately, but if you need an opinion then ask Rosa Carlets. She has had private contact with her and I have a very high opinion of Rosa. So maybe she can help you to understand that woman. I don't."

"How wonderfully narrow minded of you, sister."

"You asked."

"I meant do you know anything about her as an

architect. I thought work of Sebring's caliber might have reached even the barren wastes of Vulcan by now."

"I merely know of the two rows because they involved construction of KinderSkolas, which interest me."

"What you overlook is that in the first case, Sebring was attacking a misplaced orthodoxy and in the second place, she was defending her work against the that pompous ass, whose name escapes me, who appointed herself cultural arbitrator on that architectural review journal. As I recall she won both her battles."

"And didn't make any friends in the process."

"Oh, she has enough friends. " Lillian waved a dismissive hand and poured more brandy for everyone. "Why would she even want friends like that? Don't expect a woman of Sebring's talent and vision to kowtow to anyone just to be liked," she continued quietly. "Besides, the truth is the truth and I see no reason to sugar-coat it for the ninnies and the cretins of the galaxy. The people that get it, always get it and those that don't, don’t."

"I see." Amanda sipped her brandy.

"I doubt it."

"Is that the Chrys Sebring who designed the art museum in Mumbai?" Chekov asked to get the conversation moving again.

"Yes."

"Do you know her? That building was quite

controversial when it was new," Chekov said to Lillian but was watching Amanda take great pains in picking up her glass.

"I knew her before that. I worked with her on the Dhranhen housing and industry project."

Chekov goggled at her. The Dhranhen housing and industry complex was the most famous social engineering project of the past forty years. The vision of a handful of renowned engineers, architects and planners, the project had cleared forty percent of the slums surrounding the city. Built over a swamp, a feat of structural engineering and land management in and of itself, it had created a self-sufficient, fully functional community that had eventually reconstructed the other sixty percent of the slums and improved living conditions for the entire area. It was now one of the standard redevelopment models for city slums on poorer planets seeking aid from Federation agencies. "You worked on that? What did you do?"

"I was the structural engineer." Lillian blandly sipped her brandy. "That museum in Mumbai, though, is a work of art. No wasted motions in the whole structure. At first people thought it was ugly, but it just took them awhile to understand it. That's how it is with great art; it knocks you down until you come to it on its terms, not yours."

They drank in silence for a few moments.

"I didn't know you worked on the Dhranhen project, sister," Amanda commented, sipping her brandy and very carefully putting her glass down.

"You were too wrapped up in your life on Vulcan to notice what anyone else might be doing. Some of us were working while you were hermetically sealed up with Spock and Sarek."

"Is there any more brandy?" Chekov asked, slightly panicked, breaking into Amanda's icy silence.

Lillian rose and returned with a new pint from which she poured a healthy slug into everyone's glass. "So, Pavel, what *is* with you and Spock?"

"What do you mean?"

"Waddya mean waddya mean? Don't get cute, kid. Are you lovers?"

"No."

"No? You're sleeping in a really narrow bed. Neither of you has asked to sleep on the couch. What else am I to conclude, eh?"

"I suggest you conclude that we don't mind sleeping close to each other but are not lovers." Chekov sipped his eggnog, hoping she'd change the subject. He enjoyed his personal life but was seldom interrogated about it, he found it an uncomfortable subject.

"Why not?" Lillian asked.

"Why not what?"

"Why aren't you lovers?"

Chekov shrugged vaguely; this was question he occasionally asked himself.

"A shrug," Lillian intoned majestically, "is not an answer. Why not?"

"We do not want to be lovers."

"Why not?"

"It would spoil it."

"Spoil what?"

"The simplicity of it. We like to be close to each other but we do not want complications. It is like that Mumbai museum; no wasted motions and it makes us feel good."

Lillian sat back to think about this analogy so Amanda moved in.

"I think I understand," she said slowly, forming her words with care. "You have intimacy without lust. Commendable. Exactly the kind of relationship Spock would feel safe in." She sipped her drink.

Lillian topped up everyone's glass out of the brandy bottle.

"I feel safe in it, too," Chekov said, diluting his brandy with eggnog and wondering if Amanda shouldn't do the same.

"You mean you sleep with Spock every night and he doesn't fuck you? Or you him?" Lillian asked.

"Yes. We only sleep together on Tuesday nights."

"Oh yeah? And what goes on the rest of the week?"

"Well, Spock sleeps alone…"

"And?" the sisters asked in unison.

"And I have a lover."

"Ah ha!" Lillian nodded at him. "A lover who shares you with Spock. How nice."

"And with whom Spock shares Pavel," Amanda pointed out in a rather slurred voice.

"Six nights out of seven takes precedence, sister." Lillian wagged her finger at her. "How did you and Spock come to this pretty arrangement?"

Chekov was considering how not to answer this question when Amanda did him a great favor: she passed out.

"That girl never could hold her eggnog," Lillian observed, rising to help the ensign carry Spock's mother to bed. "Can you dance, Chekov?"

***

The tango was still playing in Chekov's head when he curled obediently into Spock's arm late that Christmas eve. They were sleeping on their left sides that night and thinking pure thoughts. Well, perhaps Spock was thinking pure thoughts; Chekov was still thinking about the strange little club Lillian had led him to that afternoon.

It was a big room dominated by shadowy corners. A trio played tangos and they danced. Not well but well enough to enjoy the music and the motion. They were not alone, Christmas Eve or not, there were half a dozen couples on the floor, mostly Lillian's age but a few seedy looking younger men. Lillian had commented that the other 'girls' would be jealous that she'd found a fresh gigolo. Chekov had laughed; he could not have cared less what anyone thought at that moment.

"That's what I'm reduced to these days: faux gigolos," Lillian observed between tangos.

"Did you never marry?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"The one I wanted didn't want me," she said simply. "I never met anyone else I was willing to meet halfway."

"That seems a shame."

"Nonsense! Love's overrated. All this pairing up and withdrawing from the world. It's not healthy or productive."

"Still seems a shame."

"For me or for men?"

"Both."

"Oh, kid, there were plenty of men, even a few women. Some I loved from hell to breakfast and back. But never anyone… never anyone that made me forget myself. Never anyone I could lose myself in."

"How sad."

"I thought so when I was younger. 'How wonderful I am,' I'd tell myself, 'and nobody wants any of it.' Well, she who travels fastest, travels alone. What I didn't get in love, I got in work. Love takes up a lot of time. Look at Amanda; probably hasn't finished a book since she met Sarek."

"I believe she speaks Vulcan quite well."

"I should hope so after all these years there."

"Don't you like your sister?"

"I love my sister. She didn't get the one she wanted either."

"I don't think…"

"…Think you shouldn't know that Spock's mama's first beau died in a vehicle crash and she mourned and mourned and mourned until I thought there was no more sadness anywhere in the world?

"I thought we'd be spinsters together but then she met Sarek and she ran. Ran as far and as fast as she could from anything that reminded her of her dead lover.

"Cowardly but I'd have done the same in her place." Lillian took a long look into Chekov's young face. "My sister ran to where there was no love, and in its absence she learned to love again.

"Whereas I, on the other hand, have loved my work, my friends and my family and in that order. It's been enough for this life."

"Are you sure?" Chekov asked brazenly.

"It had better be enough," she laughed, dragging him back onto the dance floor. "It's not like I can get a refund."

So Chekov was still dancing a tango with Lillian Lee in his head when Spock broke into his thoughts.

"What did you and my aunt do this afternoon?"

"We went dancing. Tangos," Chekov added to be thorough. "She said I could be a first rate gigolo if I ever decided to give up Star Fleet." Chekov heard Spock murmur 'I see' and felt the Vulcan relaxing into sleep behind him. One last yawn and Chekov went to sleep himself.

***

Amanda recovered enough from her hangover to spend a few hours walking Blue with her sister. She and Sarek then left to visit the Vulcan ambassador in London prior to leaving Terra.

Spock and Chekov left a few hours later. Of the lot, Lillian seemed sorriest to see Blue leave.

Several years later, as she lay dying, Lillian refused all visitors and only wanted to hear tango music. The Yataladaza tango and a nurse named Alla saw her out of this life and into the next one.

***end***