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Jim Kirk leaned back on Amanda’s impossibly comfortable couch, smiling at his new Mother-In-Law. “You can not be serious.”
“But I am! Our Spock prevented T’Pau from joining the Federation council.” Amanda beamed at her son. “And he achieved this miraculous feat before he even could crawl.”
Jim dragged a slow gaze over his tall, lean husband. While his parents sat thigh to thigh on a loveseat that was clearly wasn’t designed for two middle aged bodies, Spock sat on a high backed chair ornately embroidered with silver birds against the red Vulcan sky. He looked far too regal to have ever been a baby.
“Wife,” Sarek steepled his fingers, frowning before nodding slightly to himself, “there is a ritual."
Amanda squeezed his knee affectionately while rolling her eyes in Jim’s direction. “There always is, my love.”
“Were you both Vulcans, then upon the sealing of their adult bond you would share a treasured memory of your son’s childhood with his new spouse.”
“Psi null.” Jim tapped his temple with one finger.
“But I am not,” said Sarek. “If you permit me, I would join both your minds and allow you to see how Spock, at a mere eight months of age, prevented a diplomatic disaster.”
“You’ll also get to see me when I was young and hot!” Amanda grinned.
“Your beauty has only grown with time.” Sarek slid two fingers over Amanda’s hand.
“I meant sweaty, my love,” she beamed at Sarek through her eyelashes.
The fingers moving along her hand looped around her wrist. “Perspiration only increases your radiance.”
Jim eyed Spock for some sign of disapproval, but his husband never looked up from petting a happily purring tabby cat.
“Darling, I think you’re using their union as an excuse to relive that memory from my point of view.” Amanda lay a hand on Sarek’s cheek.
Sarek’s big hand covered hers. “Would it not make an appropriate gift to his bondmate?”
“It would,” she smiled at him. “But it would embarrass Spock, and you chided me for doing so when we first met Captain Kirk.”
All eyes turned to Spock, who had pointedly ignored the banter in favor of meditatively petting one of the S’chn T’gai household’s countless spoiled cats.
Sarek nodded towards Spock. “Would you permit this sharing of memories, my son?”
“He’s trying, Spock, he really is.” Amanda shot Spock an encouraging smile.
“He is aware, wife,” said Sarek.
Amanda shot Jim another mischievous look. “Yes, dear, but there’s a difference between knowing something and saying something.”
Spock watched the twinkle in his mother’s eyes and the curiosity in his husband’s. “If I deny this then she will merely show him the holocube and tell the story orally. It would be more accurate to share the memory.”
“Oh, Spock,” Amanda stood up and kissed the top of her son’s head. A bronze flush spread across hsi cheeks. Sarek met his son’s gaze and gave him a patient, understanding nod.
Spock gently moved the happily purring cat from his lap to the floor. “I will prepare tea while you perform the ritual.”
Jim chuckled, “Is everything here a ritual?”
“No, but they pretend it is because that’s the only way they can admit they really want to do something.” Amanda winked. “I think half of their rituals were started by one person who needed an excuse to justify their behavior.”
“And what about your behavior, Lady Amanda?” Jim shot her a knowing grin.
“Oh, I make no excuses,” she laughed. “Everyone knows I’m a creature of whimsy.”
Jim looked her over. That flighty, emotional reputation hid the mind of a renowned linguist and unofficial diplomat who, if rumors were true, was the real secret behind Sarek’s meteoric success.
“Then let’s be whimsical together.” He patted the couch next to him. “Show me my husband as a baby diplomat.”
“Amanda, no.” Sarek steeled himself against yet another public emotional outburst. He could luxuriate in the decadence of his wife’s deep, expressive feelings when they were alone in their chambers, but not here - not before the assembled matriarchal might of T’Pau, the rest of his littermates, and nine of T’Pau’s elder daughters from previous litters. He held out the small robe he’d custom ordered for Spock, clearly expecting her to thread the baby’s arms into the fabric.
“Sarek, we agreed that once he’s old enough to pick his own clothes I’ll respect Vulcan tradition.” Amanda bounced her baby boy on her hip. “That means I have one, maybe two years before he’ll throw a fit if he’s not in his favorite robe.”
“Really?” Sarek’s sister T’himble watched the children curiously, one hand absently moving over her rounded belly.
Amanda eyed the half dozen newly betrothed seven year olds surrounding her least favorite sister-in-law, T’Leeskope. Her children’s matching haircuts and high cheekbones would make them difficult to tell apart if not for their clothes.
One wore a brown robe with a hood that pulled up to look like a sehlat. He was deep in conversation with a sister wearing robes gaily embroidered with constellations visible from Shi’Khar. The runt of T’Leeskope’s litter somehow kept finding ways to replicate a vintage Earth Pageboy Cap no matter how often her parents threw the old ones away.
Her not-so-secret favorite niece wore palazzo pants and a graphic tunic she’d borrowed from Amanda six months ago which read, ‘I have a harp on for you’ in words encircling a traditional Vulcan ka'athyra.
And, of course, there was little Spark - dressed in his dusty baseball uniform which, from what Amanda had seen, he never took off. Baseball season ended two months ago, but his dirt stained knees and shins always looked like he just slid onto home base.
Amanda sat her son on the floor near a quintet of baby cousins the same age. “Vulcan children really don’t have favorite outfits?”
“No,” said T’Pau. Amanda buried her face in Spock’s hair to hide her smirk. Around her, sixteen assembled grandchildren stared up at their matriarch, then glanced subtly at one another.
“Do you think he likes his clothing?” Spark gently pushed a finger against Spock’s soft belly. The baby grabbed his finger and held on.
“I sure do!” Amanda kissed the top of her fat, happy baby’s head. “He’s a cutie patootie dressed like this!”
Spark nodded, face serious, as he held onto Spock’s hand. He stared into his cousin’s eyes, thinking very hard, then raised one accusing eyebrow at T’Leeskope. “Mother, why was I denied the opportunity to become a cutie patootie when I was a kit?”
“Amanda.” Sarek put a hand on his wife’s shoulder, his low voice bordering on a growl. “We must discuss the context of your sartorial choices.” She let one hand drift behind her back, out of T’Pau’s line of sight, and waved him off.
Spark sat on the floor next to Spock. The baby offered him his soggy teething biscuit. Smiling, Amanda slid a thin rod from her billowing robe’s pocket and winked at Spark. He watched, wide eyed, as it telescoped outwards with a flick of her wrist. She pulled a feather dipped in gold glitter out of another pocket and attached it to the bottom of the rod.
“Is this part of a human ritual?” asked T’Leeskope.
“Yes,” Sarek sighed.
All watched in fascination as Amanda gently twirled the feather on a stick in a wide circle around Spock and Spark.The five kits Amanda and Sarek were babysitting for the week sat bolt upright. Their mother, T’Cup, was busy finalizing betrothal arrangements for her elder litter of children, all freshly home from their kas wan.
The babies eyes tracked the gently twirling feather three times before launching after it. They bounced on all fours like hyperactive like kittens - mostly chasing the glittering feather, but occasionally getting distracted and wrestling with one another. After two laps one of the babies dramatically flung itself across Spock’s legs, panting. Spock gently pet his little cousin.
T’Pau banged her walking stick against the floor, shattering the peace of the tableaux. “Bring thy child unto me,” her eyes narrowed. “And his cousins.”
Amanda handed Spark the feather on a stick. He held it like a ceremonial spear, spine straight and face serious. She dutifully scooped Spock onto one hip and stretched her free arm, making pss psss pss noises at his tiny Vulcan cousins. The litter happily climbed her arm like little kittens. Two took positions on her shoulders, one flopped down on top of her head, and the one who had been sprawled across Spock’s legs dug into the V of her robe to snuggle into her bosom where it promptly and loudly fell asleep.
She carried the babies to their grandmother, not bothering to suppress a smile.
“Explain the nature of this ritual.” T’Pau waved to encompass Spock and his cousins in their highly unusual clothing.
Amanda nodded towards the glitter covered feather. “I expend minimal energy while the giving the kits healthy exercise.” Beside her, Sarek pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed.
T’Pau narrowed her eyes.
“Right. Sure. You mean their clothing.” She smiled brightly. “Every year on October 31st, Humans from my region of North America have a ritual wherein we dress our children as objects and creatures from history or fiction.” She kissed the top of Spock’s head. “Actually, we do that for most of the month of October, as long as the kids cooperate. On the last day of the month, people with children under the age of 14 go door to door at dusk, showing off their costumes in exchange for candy. The candy is traditionally handed out by people with no children that age.”
“Surely the parents could procure more nutritious refreshments from their local replimat,” said the petite T’himble, heavily pregnant with her first litter of kits.
“Of course!” Amanda beamed. “That’s where the people who give out the candy acquire it! The point of the ritual is the showing of the costumes and acquisition of far more sugar than it is reasonable for any child to eat.”
“Will the children not become ill?” asked T’Leeskope.
“Sometimes,” Amanda shrugged. “The ritual is also an exercise in parenting. Your children have something highly desirable before them which is allowable as an occasional treat but will cause them harm in excess. Parents must teach their children to moderate their own desires while also ensuring the children still feel rewarded for participating in the community ritual.”
“Logical,” said T’himble.
“This ritual is for children under the age of fourteen?” Spark hopefully looked up at his mother, who glared at Amanda.
“And if the children are too young to walk?” T’Pau nodded at Spock. His Vulcan cousins were able to crawl within days of birth, much to Amanda’s shock. At eight Earth months Spock was six times their size and barely starting to pull himself across the floor using his hands.
“That’s the best age!” Amanda beamed. “You can dress them however you want, although certain things are traditional.”
“Such as?” Spark looked down at his baseball uniform then up at Spock and his little cousins.
“Well, if your baby is under three months by October 31st then you’re expected to dress it as a hot chili pepper. The costumes are long, tapered red snuggle sacks with a matching hat.” She nuzzled one of the babies on her shoulder. “I thought about that for these ones, but they’re so mobile that a snuggle sack wouldn’t work.”
“Is the sack sentient?” asked Spark.
“No, no, it’s just fabric,” Amanda smiled at him.
He shoved his hands into his pockets. “A pity.”
Amanda proudly beamed at her baby boy. Spock’s arms and legs poked out of a bright orange pumpkin costume. Two triangle eyes and a wedge shaped black mouth made a face on the front. She’d embroidered a single gold tooth onto the lower lip to add a little sparkle.
“If you have a fat, healthy baby who is old enough to sit upright unsupported then it’s tradition to dress them up as a pumpkin.” She held Spock out to T’Pau. “See, he’s the size of a small pumpkin right now and almost as round. Plus, it’s cute.”
T’Pau let Amanda put the fat baby pumpkin on her lap. Spock stared up at his grandmother with wide, curious eyes. One of the cousins on Amanda’s shoulder made a sudden leap for him. T’Pau’s hand shot up, catching the baby in mid air before depositing him into Spock’s lap. He gently pet his little cousin, who snuggled up against his hand.
The baby on Amanda’s other shoulder started mewing in protest, pulling on her ear and pointing to Spock. Meanwhile, the baby on top of her head grabbed her hair tighter, tugging hard to steer her closer to T’Pau. Gentle snoring still came from the baby nested into her bosom.
“Explain their raiment," T’Pau tugged at the end of a kit’s loose white robe.
“Well, they’re so tiny and so cute,” Amanda beamed at Spock and his little cousin looking so content on T’Pau’s lap. “Plus they knock things over all the time and cause all sorts of chaos.” She nuzzled the baby on her shoulder. It put both hands on her face, searching for her psi points. “So I had to dress them as little ghosts.”
“Because of tradition,” Spark lay a hand over his new betrothal pendant.
“Yes,” Amanda lied.
She had a hell of a time trying to velcro Spock into his pumpkin costume. Her baby was perfectly cooperative, but T’Cup’s five adorable kits kept trying to dart into the costume with him whenever she sealed it up. After an hour of this she’d torn apart a perfectly nice set of plain white pillowcases to make little ghost robes for the kits. Holes for their eyes and ears along with a couple of strategically placed diaper pins kept the impromptu costumes from falling off. She tried to teach them to say, “Boo!” but it mostly came out garbled Vulcan consonants, which she decreed supernatural enough.
It took two hours to get Spock and the little ghosts posed for a holo card picture to send back home. It was now her most treasured possession - though the outtakes came in a close second. She desperately wanted to sneak her holocamera out of Spock’s diaper bag. Her fat, happy little pumpkin and one of his ghost cousins on T’Pau’s lap was a memory she wanted to preserve forever.
Spark tugged on T’Leeskope’s sleeve. “Mother, as a member of the House of Surak and S’chn T’gai legacy, I request I too experience the important cultural ritual of becoming a Cutie Patootie.”
“This is a human ritual.” T’Leeskope narrowed her eyes at Amanda.
“Humans are our allies,” said Spark. “Surely in the spirit of I.D.I.C. we should explore their culture and traditions to better understand them.”
All eyes slid to T’Pau. “Dost thou find Vulcan culture suitable for the sharing of thine ritual?”
Hoo boy. It never boded well when T’Pau switched to her archaic phrasing. Amanda brightened her grin as if polishing armor. “Of course! I wanted to dress T’Cup’s kits as sehlat cubs, but I didn’t have time to sew the costumes.”
T’himble’s gaze softened. She rubbed her rounded belly, watching the ghost kits snuggled onto Amanda’s shoulders and head.
“And older children, such as Spark,” she put a hand on the boy’s dusty shoulder, “might dress as Surak and hand out copies of his precepts while accepting candy,” said Amanda.
“All Vulcan households are equipped with a copy of Surak’s precepts,” said T’Leeskope.
“It adds verisimilitude,” Amanda waved her off, “But is not required. Another good costume for kits would be those desert termites that make honey. Imagine how cute they’d look as little bugs exploring the floor!”
They eyed the kits dressed as little ghosts. A few adults quietly slid their hands towards one another, subtly touching fingers and wrists for a discrete telepathic conversation.
“Thine Federation delegation comes yet again to demand I join their high council,” T’Pau narrowed her eyes at Amanda. “Mayhap a demonstration of I.D.I.C from our younger generation might dissuade them.”
Spark’s face lit up.
Amanda respectfully bowed her head. “If you allow it, matriarch, I could take charge of the preparations for such an event.”
She looked up, face solemn but eyes twinkling. “The cuteness of the children will distract the delegation from their intended purpose while also making them more empathetic with the Vulcan public. There is concern on Earth that all cultural exchange with Vulcan goes one way. You could use my family’s tradition to demonstrate that supposition is false.”
“Thee be a member of our clan,” said T’Pau. “Thy traditions be our traditions.” She lay a hand on the back of Spock’s head. The baby offered her his soggy teething biscuit.
She stared at the grinning pumpkin costume for a long moment. “Funds and resources shalt be released from the family purse for use at thine discretion, Amanda of Earth.” T’Pau trapped Amanda with her steely gaze. “See to it our guests understand I shalt not entertain such an unwanted entreaty upon mine time again.”
Amanda bowed at the waist. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Now gather thine husband and charges together before me,” added T’Pau. “Whilst T’Leeskope uses my holo recorder to commemorate this momentous occasion.”
T’Leeskope glared as Amanda steered Spark towards the massive, hand carved chair that definitely wasn’t a symbolic throne. His five siblings rushed to stand beside him, jockeying for the best position in front of T’Pau. Meanwhile Spark elbowed his way to stand next to Amanda. One of the ghost kits on the floor followed him, chasing after the glittering feather on a stick.
While the older children lined up, Sarek tried to untangle little fists from Amanda’s hair in order to remove the baby still resting on her head. She blew him a kiss and tried to pull the sleepy baby from her cleavage. It yawned widely and swatted her hand away. When she tried again, it bit her. Hard.
“Ow!” She looked up - hair wild, finger bleeding, one baby glaring up from her cleveage while the one in Sarek’s hands waved its arms wildly, stretching out for her. Behind her, the ghost stretched over Spock’s legs greedily ate soggy bits that fell off his teething biscuit. T’Pau stared forward, face unreadable.
T’Leeskope locked eyes with Amanda and snapped the holo.
Sarek’s hand fell from Jim’s face. The human shook his head to clear it. Beside him, Amanda still had one hand on Sarek’s cheek and the other on his knee while Sarek’s long fingers rested on her psi points.
“They may be awhile.” Spock put a hand on Jim’s shoulder and nodded towards the kitchen, where he’d prepared tea.
“Are they always that openly affectionate?” Jim looped an arm around Spock’s waist with a wink.
“They are containing their exuberance for your behalf,” said Spock.
“Really?” He turned around to see Sarek resting his forehead against Amanda’s. Their lips were a hair’s breadth apart, and her hand had migrated from his knee up his thigh.
“No wonder you’re not one for P.D.A.,” Jim muttered.
In addition to tea, Spock laid out krepla, a good imitation of fluffy Greek style pita bread, red spice hummus, pickled carrots, and a very small pot of Vulcan’s rare, criminally expensive honey analogue. A holocube rested on one plate.
Jim picked it up and hit play.
Fat baby Spock in his pumpkin costume appeared, surrounded by five impossibly tiny baby Vulcans with their ears sticking up through their ghost costumes. The image shifted to Spock receiving a piece of gummy candy from a much younger, not-yet-Admiral Nogura who sported a thick head of hair. The next image was of Spock and his cousins on T’Pau’s lap, her stern countenance suggesting this was an entirely normal day on Vulcan.
“Spock, this is adorable, but I don’t understand what it has to do with T’Pau turning down a seat on the Federation’s High Council.”
Spock spread a generous drizzle of Vulcan honey over a piece of krepla. “Officially, T’Pau has far too many duties to her people in both her religious and political aspects to accept a seat. The Federation chose to honor that.”
“And unofficially?” Jim stared at a holo of young Amanda with a seven year old Spark dressed as Surak, offering the photographer a copy of the Analects.
“T’Pau’s decision to reject the position was logical. Her influence would wield power, but would lead to stagnation. A younger voice was needed for the good of all.” He slid the cube to the next picture. “My aunt T’Cup served Vulcan well in her stead, as does my cousin Spark.”
Jim smiled at the holos of stoic Vulcan children with dancing eyes walking the crew deck of an antique spaceship holding out little plastic pumpkins that were absolutely brimming with candy. The human officers looked enchanted.
“I don’t know, Spock. Maybe she just didn’t want to do it.” He dipped a finger in his scalding hot tea and gasped. Spock watched with interest as Jim sucked on the tip.
“Indeed not. She was clear on that,” said Spock. “But she was also correct that she was not the right person at the right time. This Sweet Diplomacy, as my mother called it, gave the Federation delegation propaganda material showing young Vulcans engaged in human customs. Meanwhile, all photos of T’Pau from their visit make her look frail enough that the stress of a high level position might end her life.”
“You know, I met T’Cup years back when my dad dragged us to Starbase Three,” Jim mused. “If I recall, she pushed hard to share more Vulcan technology and knowledge of space exploration with the Federation.”
“Indeed.” Spock added a swirl of honey to Jim’s tea. “In her time on the council she was well known for arranging celebrations of diverse human holidays during diplomatic treaty negotiations in order to gain their trust.”
“Even when the holiday occurred months ago,” Jim chuckled. His father dragged him and Sam to a Vulcan Thanksgiving feast one February. It felt ridiculous at the time, but afterwards news broke that the Vulcans were sharing previously unknown sector maps. The first plans for five year missions began that year.
“Conversion between Earth’s archaic calendar, Vulcan’s historic calendar, and the Federation’s official timekeeping turns the translation of exact dates into a complicated equation.”
“No wonder your father wanted you to go into diplomacy,” Jim wrapped his arms around Spock’s hips and pulled him close. “You were born for it.”
Spock stepped out of the circle of Jim’s arms. “If you are going to insult me then you may drink your tea cold.”
“Dearest,” Jim gave him a squeeze, “your idea of cold tea is still scorching for me.”
Spock offered one of the household cats Jim’s piece of honey drizzled krepla. Jim laughed and gave Spock’s ass a playful swat.
“Should we get your parents?” He looked around the corner and into the living room. His eyes widened and he retreated, quietly closing the kitchen door behind him. “Is there another exit?”
“If I am sufficiently loud with the teapot.” Spock picked up the heavy iron pot and dropped it six inches onto the iron trivet. The impact rang like a gong. “They will experience a pavlovian reaction which sends them to their quarters.”
Jim heard a girlish giggle followed by a heavy baritone promising things he was pretty happy he couldn’t understand. The voices slowly faded. Spock held up a hand and Jim went silent. In a moment, a heavy door loudly closed behind them. He nodded in satisfaction.
“How long did it take you to train them for that?” asked Jim.
“Years,” Spock said wearily.
Jim once more dipped a finger in his mug of tea. It was still nearly boiling. He smiled affectionately at Spock, who took a healthy drink from his own. “Think we’ll be like that with our own children some day?”
“Jim.” Spock sat down his teacup. “I can not make you pregnant.”
Jim leaned over and gave Spock a chaste kiss on the cheek, leaving his lips near his husband’s ear. “You could try.”
Spock eyed the door. “If tradition holds, they will be preoccupied for the next ninety seven minutes.”
“At their age?” Jim looked impressed.
A little of Amanda’s sparkle crept into Spock’s eyes. “I am quite curious about the sturdiness of this antique table.”
“Oh really?” Jim eyed the door.
Spock slid a hand under Jim’s gold tunic. “I believe there is a ritual wherein we can test the structural integrity.”
“Your mother’s right,” Jim laughed. “Everything’s a ritual with your people.”
“In the spirit of I.D.I.C.,” Spock’s other hand slid around to squeeze Jim’s ample ass, “I offer a demonstration.”
Jim laughed as Spock picked him up by the waist and daintily set him on the table. “By all means, pumpkin,” He reached for Spock’s neck and pulled him down into a slow, leisurely kiss. “Let the ritual begin.”