fic: childcare (stxi)
Title: Childcare (PG)
Disclaimer: Not mine, making no profit; I’m only playing in the greatest sandbox ever.
Notes: Inspired by this prompt at st_xi_kink, side drabble to Five Step Program Shameless crack!humor. Yes. Really.
Summary: Spock attempts to watch Abigail Kirk.
It is mostly quiet.
If Spock had ever cared for any child before, even a Vulcan child, he would have acted when it became quiet, left his work to examine whatever had caused the silence from the child. But he has never watched any child and so when it goes quiet, he simply focuses more on the work in front of him, lines of information built off of Winona Kirk’s deceptively simple soil studies.
Clearly, Jim inherited his more subtle qualities from this woman.
He spends just over a half an hour working at the dining room table, only vaguely aware that there is even a small human in the next room over, only the muffled sounds of play reminding him of the child’s existence. He finishes for the time being, closes everything and gets to his feet, assuring himself that nothing looks cluttered before heading into the front room.
And promptly stops.
Spock spends twenty-nine seconds staring at the floor where the child had been playing with her blocks, blinks and cannot help but stare for another seventeen seconds. The child will not appear out of thin air, he knows, and yet he can only stare, a tiny part of him fully expecting the child to, in fact, materialize in front of him. But no, he realizes then, no, he is not expecting this this to happen, he is hoping that it will.
A full minute passes, and this does not happen.
The child is gone. The captain’s child is gone.
He has lost the captain’s child.
Spock has lost Jim’s child.
He sucks in a breath with a strangled sound that no Vulcan should make and gazes around the room, deciding after a moment’s consideration that he would have heard the creaky front door open if she had gone that way. But if she had not gone out the front way, she would have had to walk past him to get out the back- which no child could have done. Unnerved, attempting to ignore the fact that Jim would be capable of such a thing and that he has already seen this child display several of Jim’s attributes, he considers the likeliness that she is simply hiding somewhere in the house.
Fully possible.
The house is very large; she has lived here most of her short life, doubtlessly knows a hundred hiding places in the rooms he has not had a chance to explore. He factors in her small build, her proven ability to fit herself into small places and the fearlessness she has displayed, and the sheer number of viable places to check for her leaves him badly rattled.
Still. He must check the back.
When he strides into the kitchen, the back door is open.
The twitch of injured pride that Spock will not admit to possessing makes a muscle between his shoulder blades spasm.
Spock pulls the medical tricorder from the box where Winona told him it would be (just in case, and he does not actively consider beyond just in case) and leaves the house, eyes scanning first the grass and then the trees for any sign of the child. He cannot help the flicker of unease, something suspiciously close to fear causing his spine to tense painfully, and keeps moving forward, keeping the child’s garments in mind: a short blue dress, black shorts so that she could climb, hair pulled back from her face with a blue band.
But there is no sign of her, he has lost Jim’s child-
Something thumps on to the dirt in front of him.
Head snapping back, he freezes when he finds the young human female in the tree above him. High in the tree above him. High enough to cause considerable fractures if she should lose her balance and fall out of the tree. Or brain trauma, he adds mentally; the ground is hard and there are heavy branches beneath her. She could break her neck when she falls. Or her spine.
Children are exceedingly fragile- “Come down.”
“Want another one?”
Another one?
Spock glances down, spots the fruit sitting in the mix of grass and dirt near his feet. Surprised, he looks over the tree more carefully, recognizes it now as one of the apple trees that Jim had told him about the day before. “Mr. Spock?” He blinks, refocuses his gaze and remembers that she is balancing high above the ground on a possibly unsteady branch.
“You left the house,” he informs her, making sure to add proper impact to the words.
“Grandma says I’m allowed, I just can’t leave the yard,” she replies absently and shifts on the branch. It sways, causes the muscle in his back to spasm again, this time for different reasons.
“Miss Kirk-” he starts and stops at the immediate way her eyebrows fly up, trying instead, “Child-”
“Abby,” she beams and bounces violently on the branch where she’s balanced.
Spock nearly swallows his tongue, and he doesn’t hide his reaction well- because she instantly stops, wrinkles her brows and peers down at him oddly. “I come up here all the time, Grandma says it’s okay,” Spock reconsiders his respect for Winona Kirk, “and I fell once but I caught myself. Just like the monkey bars.”
Clearly, this ability is a family trait.
The child is more impressive than the few human children Spock has seen in this age bracket but then, he knows he should not be surprised- a history of juvenile delinquency did not destroy Jim’s intelligence, and he is only now realizing that Winona Kirk is more brilliant than her Starfleet record indicates. He has no doubt that the retired science officer has done much to foster the child’s natural capacity, and there is a place inside him filled with a quiet sort of dread at the thought of what will happen when she inevitably decides to follow in her family’s footsteps at Starfleet.
Well, unless Jim has destroyed Starfleet by then.
“Cease and desist your actions and rejoin me in the house,” he orders, knowing that it will work because this tone works with all cadets- except for one, and he will not consider the child's relation to that exception- and then knowing, instantly and with utter conviction, that his wording is a mistake.
Her gaze does not become disrespectful or mocking, the set of her jaw does not become arrogant. But she blinks, studies him as if she pities him for missing something of vital importance- impossible, he has missed nothing- and then she settles where she is, legs dangling on either side of the branch. He sharpens his stare, attempts to intimidate in a way that is naturally easy for him, in a way that makes even the captain consider his words carefully, but she ignores him as she plucks an apple free for herself. “Make me,” she orders respectfully, and starts to eat.
Yes, he decides with more certainty than he has ever felt, yes, this is James Kirk’s child.
Disclaimer: Not mine, making no profit; I’m only playing in the greatest sandbox ever.
Notes: Inspired by this prompt at st_xi_kink, side drabble to Five Step Program Shameless crack!humor. Yes. Really.
Summary: Spock attempts to watch Abigail Kirk.
It is mostly quiet.
If Spock had ever cared for any child before, even a Vulcan child, he would have acted when it became quiet, left his work to examine whatever had caused the silence from the child. But he has never watched any child and so when it goes quiet, he simply focuses more on the work in front of him, lines of information built off of Winona Kirk’s deceptively simple soil studies.
Clearly, Jim inherited his more subtle qualities from this woman.
He spends just over a half an hour working at the dining room table, only vaguely aware that there is even a small human in the next room over, only the muffled sounds of play reminding him of the child’s existence. He finishes for the time being, closes everything and gets to his feet, assuring himself that nothing looks cluttered before heading into the front room.
And promptly stops.
Spock spends twenty-nine seconds staring at the floor where the child had been playing with her blocks, blinks and cannot help but stare for another seventeen seconds. The child will not appear out of thin air, he knows, and yet he can only stare, a tiny part of him fully expecting the child to, in fact, materialize in front of him. But no, he realizes then, no, he is not expecting this this to happen, he is hoping that it will.
A full minute passes, and this does not happen.
The child is gone. The captain’s child is gone.
He has lost the captain’s child.
Spock has lost Jim’s child.
He sucks in a breath with a strangled sound that no Vulcan should make and gazes around the room, deciding after a moment’s consideration that he would have heard the creaky front door open if she had gone that way. But if she had not gone out the front way, she would have had to walk past him to get out the back- which no child could have done. Unnerved, attempting to ignore the fact that Jim would be capable of such a thing and that he has already seen this child display several of Jim’s attributes, he considers the likeliness that she is simply hiding somewhere in the house.
Fully possible.
The house is very large; she has lived here most of her short life, doubtlessly knows a hundred hiding places in the rooms he has not had a chance to explore. He factors in her small build, her proven ability to fit herself into small places and the fearlessness she has displayed, and the sheer number of viable places to check for her leaves him badly rattled.
Still. He must check the back.
When he strides into the kitchen, the back door is open.
The twitch of injured pride that Spock will not admit to possessing makes a muscle between his shoulder blades spasm.
Spock pulls the medical tricorder from the box where Winona told him it would be (just in case, and he does not actively consider beyond just in case) and leaves the house, eyes scanning first the grass and then the trees for any sign of the child. He cannot help the flicker of unease, something suspiciously close to fear causing his spine to tense painfully, and keeps moving forward, keeping the child’s garments in mind: a short blue dress, black shorts so that she could climb, hair pulled back from her face with a blue band.
But there is no sign of her, he has lost Jim’s child-
Something thumps on to the dirt in front of him.
Head snapping back, he freezes when he finds the young human female in the tree above him. High in the tree above him. High enough to cause considerable fractures if she should lose her balance and fall out of the tree. Or brain trauma, he adds mentally; the ground is hard and there are heavy branches beneath her. She could break her neck when she falls. Or her spine.
Children are exceedingly fragile- “Come down.”
“Want another one?”
Another one?
Spock glances down, spots the fruit sitting in the mix of grass and dirt near his feet. Surprised, he looks over the tree more carefully, recognizes it now as one of the apple trees that Jim had told him about the day before. “Mr. Spock?” He blinks, refocuses his gaze and remembers that she is balancing high above the ground on a possibly unsteady branch.
“You left the house,” he informs her, making sure to add proper impact to the words.
“Grandma says I’m allowed, I just can’t leave the yard,” she replies absently and shifts on the branch. It sways, causes the muscle in his back to spasm again, this time for different reasons.
“Miss Kirk-” he starts and stops at the immediate way her eyebrows fly up, trying instead, “Child-”
“Abby,” she beams and bounces violently on the branch where she’s balanced.
Spock nearly swallows his tongue, and he doesn’t hide his reaction well- because she instantly stops, wrinkles her brows and peers down at him oddly. “I come up here all the time, Grandma says it’s okay,” Spock reconsiders his respect for Winona Kirk, “and I fell once but I caught myself. Just like the monkey bars.”
Clearly, this ability is a family trait.
The child is more impressive than the few human children Spock has seen in this age bracket but then, he knows he should not be surprised- a history of juvenile delinquency did not destroy Jim’s intelligence, and he is only now realizing that Winona Kirk is more brilliant than her Starfleet record indicates. He has no doubt that the retired science officer has done much to foster the child’s natural capacity, and there is a place inside him filled with a quiet sort of dread at the thought of what will happen when she inevitably decides to follow in her family’s footsteps at Starfleet.
Well, unless Jim has destroyed Starfleet by then.
“Cease and desist your actions and rejoin me in the house,” he orders, knowing that it will work because this tone works with all cadets- except for one, and he will not consider the child's relation to that exception- and then knowing, instantly and with utter conviction, that his wording is a mistake.
Her gaze does not become disrespectful or mocking, the set of her jaw does not become arrogant. But she blinks, studies him as if she pities him for missing something of vital importance- impossible, he has missed nothing- and then she settles where she is, legs dangling on either side of the branch. He sharpens his stare, attempts to intimidate in a way that is naturally easy for him, in a way that makes even the captain consider his words carefully, but she ignores him as she plucks an apple free for herself. “Make me,” she orders respectfully, and starts to eat.
Yes, he decides with more certainty than he has ever felt, yes, this is James Kirk’s child.