Sweaty palms. Ugh. What the hell do hands have to do with stress? I'm sure Bones would have an answer. Spock would probably advise me that Vulcans do not experience stress regarding emotionally charged situations, because Vulcans do not experience emotions. The thought of this, and of the glare, and the scathing response Bones would come up with serve to make me smile.
I've never done this before. I've almost done it a few times, but this is something new. As many new things as I've charged into in my life, with hardly a second thought, you'd think this wouldn't start the butterflies going. But it has.
They're waiting. I walk in. They stop their discussion and look up, both smiling in their own way to greet me. For a second I wonder - how could I ever have thought this would end badly? In the next second, I come up with all the answers to that question.
All the plans I'd made - the words I'd considered - let's sit down, I have something important to say, I've been meaning to do this for so long, don't feel like you have to answer right away - everything flies out the window. Let's face it. I'm Jim Kirk, and it would pretty much take a top secret Starfleet mission into the Romulan Neutral Zone to get me to approach anything indirectly.
I hold out both hands. There's a small black box in each. Bones gasps, and Spock's eyes widen perceptibly. "Will you marry me?"
There's an upward curve on Spock's lips, and a matching face-splitting grin on Bones' face. Their eyes are shining. I'm relieved, and they take the boxes without opening them. They're too busy gazing at me. Two seconds pass, then Bones slams into me, arms squeezing me painfully. Spock's hands are on me, too, touching my back, and probably touching Bones too.
I smile. The rest of my life has just begun.