Fic: Dr Spock's Guide To Raising A Healthy Egg (STXI, K/S)
Title: Brooding 101 or, Dr Spock's Guide To Raising A Healthy Egg
Fandom: STXI, ostensibly, but in my head Kirk has morphed about halfway into Shatner!Kirk, just because Shatner is such a wonderfully ridiculous man.
Pairing: K/S
Rating: R for language and sex
Word count: ~4000
Summary: Sequel to Kirk Lays An Egg, for this prompt on the meme.
A/N: To write one egg-laying fic may be regarded as a misfortune; to write two looks like shamelessness. Many thanks to everyone who commented and made noises about a sequel, for compounding the felony.
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Mere days into the brooding period, it became evident that increased hormonal levels had unleashed the captain's fierce penchant for multi-lingual punning.
At first, Spock had thought that this would at least be preferable to a human woman's craving for illogical foods. Three unendurably long shifts later, he was forced to change his mind.
The deplorable wordplay made frequent appearances on the bridge. When Chekov asked for their heading, Jim would point directly ahead and gleefully reply, " To Dublin!". And when the hapless but patriotic Lt. Riley frowned and said, "Is that a joke, Captain?", Jim had smiled like all his birthdays had come at once, and told a security officer, "Knee-cap him!"
After a rash of complaints had come in as a result of Jim announcing upcoming shore leave on 'the slutstation' (by which he had meant Deep Space Z), the puns became abstruse enough that only three people understood them. Soon after that, Nyota had herself transferred to beta shift, and the captain's audience shrank to two, of which Jim himself was one. Spock, to his chagrin, was of course the other.
Jim's awful word games even intruded on otherwise solemn occasions, such as the egg's first full foetal scan with Dr McCoy. The child had been found perfectly healthy, and they'd had an important request to make.
"Bones, Spock and I have talked, and we want you to be the kid's godfather," Jim said.
"Your role would be to act as a surrogate parent," Spock clarified, "in the event of our early deaths."
"Oh, thanks, Spock," Jim interrupted, "I'm sure that's a real selling point."
The doctor, unpromisingly, looked distressed. "Jim, Spock-- I'm honoured, I really am. But you know my track record with Joanna. I'm not the guy you want for this sort of thing."
"C'mon Bones, don't be a chicken," Jim goaded. "It's only a widdle baby egg!" He slid off the biobed, turning so that their blanket-wrapped egg was directly in the doctor's line of sight.
"We would appreciate it, Leonard," Spock added, suppressing a wince at Jim's antics. Jim grinned up at him.
"Oh, fine then," McCoy muttered, giving in at last.
"Yes!" Jim crowed. He handed Spock the egg and turned to McCoy, wrapping him in an enthusiastic hug. "You're a good egg, Bones," he said finally, drawing back. The doctor's lips twitched.
"40% of that statement was illogical," Spock couldn't help but point out.
Jim raised a frosty eyebrow, and glanced down at the bundle of egg.
"I had to push that thing out of my ass three weeks ago; now who's illogical?"
A great many of their disagreements were beginning to end this way.
*
McCoy's status as godfather was rescinded three days later.
Jim had decided to take the egg on a stroll through the ship before alpha shift, and had dragged Spock along with him. "Family time!" he'd said brightly, tying on the baby sling he had commandeered so he could prop their precious cargo against his hip.
They'd stopped by the arboretum, the shuttle bay and the observation deck before making their way to Rec Room 3. There, at Jim's insistence, they'd approached a small group of yeomen playing bridge, in order to test Jim's theory that the egg would be a 'chick-magnet'. (The hypothesis proved only partially correct: Landon and Tamura had cooed and sighed over the egg's good size, pleasing shape and aesthetic shade of brown, but Barrows and Rand had simply looked bemused.)
They were passing the mess hall on their way back to quarters when Jim spotted McCoy, Nurse Chapel and Lt. Scott breakfasting at a table. As Spock found Chapel's effusiveness uncongenial, he paused to speak with Lt. Lix about an ongoing experiment, while Jim wandered over to the trio to make introductions.
Spock's conversation with Lix was interrupted when Jim gasped, spun round wildly, and used his body to shield the egg from the table.
Spock was by his side in an instant.
"What's wrong, Jim?" McCoy had leapt to his feet, looking concerned.
"What's wrong?" Jim exclaimed dramatically, backing away from the doctor. "You barbarians!"
Then he turned on his heel and stalked out of the mess.
Realisation dawned when Spock noted that the doctor's intended breakfast featured two hard-boiled hen's eggs, next to a small pile of discarded bits of shell. Across from him, Scott was blinking guiltily down at his full plate of smoked salmon scramble.
Spock was an advocate of veganism, but even he thought that Jim was overreacting.
*
After the first trimester, they were scheduled for a holo-consultation with a Dr Syrran from the Vulcan Association for Male-male Parenting.
Jim had leered when he'd heard the name. "He's a VAMP!"
Spock had been slightly offended. "The Association is a venerable institution and Dr Syrran comes highly recommended." But Jim's prediction turned out to have an uncanny seed of truth.
In fact, Dr Syrran was nothing at all like his famously logical namesake, and was unacceptably flirtatious for a Vulcan. He was attired in the traditional physician's topcoat, but the first two buttons were loose, and he wore his hair down to his chin.
"Greetings, gentlemen," Syrran saluted them. He wore rings. "I am Syrrano of the V.A.M.P."
"Thanks for agreeing to see us," Jim replied.
"It is my pleasure, my dear Captain," Syrran said cunningly. His pleasure, indeed! The man was a disgrace. And was he to determine how Spock and Jim's child would be raised?
"So, what advice have you got for us, Doctor?" Jim asked, cocking his head to one side.
"Brooding is an art, gentlemen," Syrran began, and embarked on a long and effusive discourse on such topics as ergonomics, mood lighting, roses, and aromatherapy.
Spock wrote the consultation off as a loss, and turned his mind's eye towards one of the Millennium Problems. He was not likely to miss much, in any case-- Jim took copious notes.
Some time later, Spock surfaced from his mathematical meanderings. "Do this every night for at least three hours," Syrran was saying, "to ensure adequate aural exposure. You must surround the child both with direct and indirect conversation, as well as with dhahq and sounds from nature."
"'Duckh'?" Jim queried.
"Music," Syrran translated. "I have waved you several suitable sound files -- xirahnah birds, desert winds, cattle song, as well as chimes, bells, and some shorter pieces on the lyre. Be sure that you play them, on at least a twice-weekly basis."
Spock ran out of patience. "I thank thee, Dr Syrran," he said with finality.
"Dr Syrrano," the Vulcan corrected, flipping his bangs back. The transmission ended.
Jim turned to Spock. "That Dr Syrrano was really something, wasn't he? He sounded like quite the romantic-- for a Vulcan, that is."
"Indeed," Spock said coolly, suppressing the mental image of his fist impacting the doctor's overly large nose.
His fingers itched.
*
"You may not colour the egg, Jim, and that is final."
"But it's Easter back home!" Jim wheedled. "C'est une bonne idee!"
Spock was not impressed. "The eggshell is porous. You are aware that the foetus is vulnerable to mutation at this stage of growth."
"Dr Syrran says artistic activity is vital to the unborn child. Vital, Spock! You're repressing our kid's creativity!"
"Indeed not. I am merely repressing yours."
Jim was undeterred. "Come on, Spock, it'll be awesome! And I'll find a totally non-toxic dye."
"No child of mine will be subject to such indignity," Spock declared.
Jim stuck out his lower lip. It wobbled.
In desperation, Spock called on Dr McCoy for backup. His official medical opinion, after he had stopped laughing, was that even food-grade colourants would not be entirely risk-free.
In the end they compromised. The egg stayed unblemished, and Jim was permitted to knit it a rabbit-patterned scarf.
Later, Spock hacked into the Federation records database and reinstated the doctor as the child's primary surrogate guardian.
*
The bed in Jim's quarters had been modified to resemble a traditional Vulcan brooding bed. There was not a great difference -- merely a slightly firmer mattress, with a shallow indentation for the egg. It had also been necessary to install a separate cradle and partition-screen, as Jim flatly refused to "have S-E-X with the kid around", despite Spock's assurance that it had no eyes.
The requisitioning of a real feather and down comforter was rather less above-board, but it was welcome, given the warmer temperatures the egg required.
However, when Jim began filing requests for items such as scented candles and a 'hot tub' for his 'psychological well-being', Spock worried that they were stretching the baby benefits clause a little too far.
He quoted several medical journals in attempt to convince Jim of this, but was soon forced to concede, to prevent Jim from mocking him and calling him Dr Spock.
*
Spock dealt with the admiralty. Mostly, this involved saying "Yes, Admiral."
"... a new bed, a new mattress, a yu-mur cradle, a baby sling, two perambulators, an egg cosy, six feather pillows, a down comforter, and a folding screen."
"Yes, Admiral. Those items are provided for in Regulation 336-B subsections five through one-fourteen."
"And what's this I hear about a hot tub?"
Spock had anticipated this. "The necessity of holding the brooding position for several hours at a time often leads to 'kinks' and discomforts in the lower back. Hydrotherapy has proven an effective cure."
"Oh has it, now?"
"Yes, Admiral." It had certainly led to fewer demands for inappropriate massages on the bridge.
The admiral pursed his thin lips. "I'm well aware of Vulcan's need for healthy births, Commander. That's about the only reason that Starfleet has been tolerant so far. But I'd better not hear anything else about you using this -- this thing -- as an excuse to feather your nest."
Spock gritted his teeth. "Yes, Admiral."
"Hmph," said the admiral. "Komack out."
*
Lately Jim seemed to wear a lot of leather.
He was well within rights to do so off-duty, of course, but Spock disliked his bondmate being covered in animal hide. It was evidently an attempt to reaffirm his masculinity -- Jim had also increased the frequency of his work-outs in the gym from 2.5 to 3.4 times a week.
Spock tolerated this, as these purportedly male activities enabled Jim to carry out such beneficial and traditionally maternal tasks as singing softly to their egg at night, and picking out infant clothing.
However, Jim had also begun to take the more aggressive role in bed -- Spock had not penetrated him in 35.24 days.
Again, Spock could understand why -- in all probability, it was a combination of gender identity assertion and the traumatic association of the pain of egg-laying with Spock's sperm. In any case, he was invariably too fully overcome by Jim's enthusiasm to do more than lie back and let him take the lead.
But when Jim began pulling back after oral pleasure and made excuses to avoid licking up Spock's excess semen -- which was a thoroughly illogical waste of fluids and protein -- Spock decided that an intervention was in order.
"Perhaps we should discuss family planning," he said abruptly one night as Jim pulled back gingerly from his semen-streaked lap. "I assure you, I have no intentions of covertly impregnating you. Or impregnating you at all, for the foreseeable future."
Jim bit his lip. "I'm sorry," he mumbled, taking Spock's wrist in a pleasantly moist hand. "You're right, we should have talked about this. And I did ask Bones for a contraceptive hypo, but it turns out I'm allergic. And you wouldn't want to use condoms, would you?"
"That is unnecessary," Spock said in confusion. "Jim, even if it would be possible to cause conception through oral sex, which it is not, surely you are aware that Vulcan sperm is only viable during pon farr."
"Really?" said Jim, his eyes growing wide.
"Indeed," Spock replied dryly.
"Oh, thank god!" said Jim. He dove for the bedside table and rummaged around noisily, then tossed Spock the lubricant, flopped down on all fours, and hitched his ass high in the air. "I've been fucking dying to have you in me, Spock. Hurry up hurry up!"
*
The wedding was adequate.
His father was present -- he had commandeered a shuttle, as well as Spock's formidable great-aunt T'Pau, who had agreed to officiate.
Lieutenant Scott had devised a conveyance so that the egg could be in attendance -- it looked like a highly padded antique armillary sphere. However, as it turned out, the invention had not been necessary, as Sarek had taken the egg in his arms the moment he'd arrived and had monopolised it throughout the ceremony and reception. When the egg was not occupying his unidvided attention he was usually engaged in conversation with Nyota. This should have been a relief to Spock, as Nyota's manners were impeccable, but for some reason he found the interactions between them vaguely horrifying. Spock was certain that his mother's death was still fresh in both their memories, but his father's fondness for high-achieving xenolinguists was well known.
Dr McCoy had been Jim's best man. He had insisted on walking down the aisle with a phaser rifle, the significance of which had escaped everyone but him. Other Southern United States traditions in evidence included the tiresome necessity of having handfuls of duotriticale flung over them, and the covert addition of sucrose to the traditional Vulcan spiced tea.
His father had been appalled, and Spock had half-expected T'Pau to disinherit him. However, the matriarch had merely turned serenely to him and said, "We have much to learn from these humans, Spock."
A slightly inebriated Jim informed him later that he believed T'Pau had been imitating the unpalatable human action of 'aquiring urine', otherwise known as 'taking the piss'.
*
"So-- Egbert."
"Vetoed."
"Englebert?"
"Vetoed."
"Ægnes, for a girl."
"Vetoed."
"Syrrano?"
"Vetoed. Emphatically."
"You've used up your vetoes."
"Under the terms of your needlessly involved archaic metaphor, I have unlimited veto power, as I am surely a permanent member of this so-called parenting council."
"Hey, don't knock it -- the UNSC was the basis of the Federation!"
"I am well aware of that."
"... Eglantine?"
"Ah," Spock considered. "That is surprisingly elegant. Perhaps it will be acceptable. But Jim, would you explain your preference for names beginning with 'Eg-'?"
"Well, I just like them, is all. As a reminder of the... exceptional circumstances of the kid's birth."
Spock was incredulous. "Are you likely to forget?"
Jim fidgeted. "It's just... I'm getting a little attached to the little tyke in his current form, okay? Or her. And when it hatches I want something to remind me of this, that's all."
It was illogical. But Spock thought he could permit the sentiment. "Very well. Eglantine will do for a girl."
"And for a boy -- Egmond."
"Vetoed."
"Edgardo."
"Vetoed."
"Egerton."
"Vetoed."
...
*
On the day of the hatching, Klingons appeared off the port bow.
Jim swore and cursed someone named Murphi. "Yellow alert," he said. "Open a channel."
"I am Captain Koloth of the Klingon warship Gr'oth," came the imperious hail. "Who are you and what are you doing in this sector?"
"James T. Kirk of the Enterprise," Jim said curtly. "And we're making starmaps, if you really want to know."
"Oh, really?" said Koloth insinuatingly.
"We are, actually," said Jim, rolling his eyes.
"Really, Captain. And do you always have your shields raised and your phasers armed, when you are making your little maps?"
Jim sighed. "It's standard procedure when coming across an unknown ship."
"Ah!" Koloth responded with feigned enlightenment. "I had not known it was standard procedure to aim weapons as a form of greeting! What a charming tradition from your peaceful Federation."
"All right, that's enough of this bullshit," Jim snapped. "I don't like you and you don't like me. That's fine. We're about evenly matched in weapons and shield strength. And I'm a tactical genius, and I'm going to be nice and assume that so are you. So, two options: we can fire, scratch each other's ships up and then limp off to lick our wounds, or we can play nice and go off on our merry ways. But either way, I suggest we hurry up and get this over with, because I have to have a baby after shift."
Koloth frowned. He turned to his communications chief, and there was a rapid conversation in Klingon, complete with disbelieving glances at Kirk and graphic gesticulation. Then Koloth turned back to the viewscreen.
"A baby," he said, "on a starship? Surely you jest."
"I qID you not," said Jim with the first hint of a smile. Behind him, Nyota let out a very soft moan. There was another flurry of speech between Koloth and his comms officer. Eventually Koloth got the joke.
"That is amusing," he said politely, with a completely straight face. Spock cringed; the last thing Jim needed was encouragement. "You have a birthing chamber on the ship?"
"Sure do, in the medical bay," Jim said easily.
Koloth considered this. "We Klingons do not equip our ships with non-essentials," he felt the need to say.
"Maybe you should take that up with your High Command," Jim replied. "The admiralty complained, but we got away with a wrestling ring and a hot tub."
Not for the first time, Spock marvelled at Jim's use of unorthodox but viscerally effective strategy. Despite the apparent casualness of the remark, the captain had appealed at once to the Klingons' aggressive nature and to their lower tolerance for the freezing temperatures of space.
The distraction appeared to be working. Koloth's belligerent scowl was replaced by a thoughtful expression.
"It would be dishonourable to fire upon a ship full of infants," he finally sneered. "We will spare you... this time."
"Generous of you," Jim inclined his head. He cut the connection, and the warship warped away.
Jim turned to Nyota. "That was a good one, wasn't it?" He grinned to himself. "Even the Klingons thought so."
*
Dr Syrran had advised that the hatching take place with 76% lighting, accompanied by a Deltan harmony chant.
However, Deltan music was, as Jim said, "for pussies", and they had decided that the reassuring hum of the Enterprise's engines would be more far more appropriate.
At the anticipated hour, Spock, Jim, and McCoy were gathered in the birthing room, the doctor muttering darkly into his tricorder about oviparous hobgoblins, and Jim staring hard at the egg as if he had telekinetic powers that could make it crack.
However, 2.4 hours later, their child still showed no signs of hatching.
"Bones? What's going on? Is this normal?" Jim asked, looking worried.
"Far as I can tell, though there's really nothing normal about this situation, if you ask me," the doctor groused. "What did that Syrrano guy say?"
"Uh, something about only nature knowing when the bud will bloom," Jim answered, making a face.
"He was reprehensibly unspecific," Spock agreed. "However, my father mentioned to me that delays of up to a Vulcan solar day have been known to occur."
Jim nodded solemnly. "It's good that you've got your dad to give advice."
Spock looked at his bondmate. Suddenly the strange behaviour of the preceding weeks -- the hysterical jocularity, the overprotectiveness, the obsessive pre-empting of the infant's needs -- all fell into place. Jim was insecure. Having no father figure himself, he was unsure of his ability to parent, much less to raise a half-alien son or daughter. Even the peculiar desire to give the baby a name beginning with 'Eg-' now made a certain amount of sense -- it was easier for Jim to think of their child as a faceless, fragile egg, rather than as a real and independent sentient being.
Such insecurity was illogical, however.
"Jim," Spock said to him, unheedful of the doctor's presence. "You are an exceptional captain, a most beloved bondmate, and a dear and dependable friend. There is no doubt that you will be an excellent father as well."
Jim smiled at him, eyes soft. "Thanks, Spock. So will you." He linked their hands for a moment. Then he cleared his throat, sneaked a glance at McCoy, and said, "I've got colour schemes for a playroom that I want you to have a look at later, and I also picked out instructional holos for the kid's pre-school phase. Did you know that Ensign Divers did a minor in Early Childhood Education?"
He would have gone on, but-- "Jim!" the doctor cut in urgently.
They all looked at the egg. There had been a barely-discernible movement at the blunt end.
They all gathered closer. There was a soft cracking sound, and part of a tiny curled fist pushed its way out of the shell, creating the narrowest of pip-holes.
"Oh," Jim said thickly. "Oh!"
Spock gripped Jim's arm tightly and said nothing. They watched in awed silence as the small gap was widened by a series of impatient little kicks from the inside.
"You can do it, little guy!" Jim encouraged. "Come on-- push! Push!"
The baby pushed. It paused, then pushed some more. The suspense was unbearable. Jim felt compelled to give instructions.
"Put pressure on the side of that wall-- that's it, nice work! Now throw your weight to the side-- good, good! Another couple of times should do the trick."
If Spock were human, he thought he might laugh, or perhaps scream. He settled for nodding vigorously in agreement.
After some time -- and often with complete disregard for Jim's orders ("Push over there. No, no, over there. Oh. Well, that worked just as well.") -- the shell was split roughly into two. Spock heard Jim gasp as a slightly damp, wrinkly body rolled clumsily out of the debris.
"You're here!" Jim murmured, quite redundantly. On instinct, they both reached out towards their child, skimming its skin gently to remove the sticky residue and brushing bits of egg shell from its untidy dark hair.
The best part was when the child opened beautiful blue eyes in the 76% light and let out a soft sigh, squinting up at its doting fathers.
Dr McCoy ruined the moment by swooping in and whisking it off for a battery of no doubt unnecessary tests.
*
They had agreed on a girl's name, so naturally the baby was a boy.
Eventually they named him Sam, after Jim's brother, and because of "the illogical Vulcan need to alliterate". However, Spock calculated that, in the first six hours of his life, Jim had used their son's given name only 13% of the time.
"Hey there, small person," Jim was now whispering into the cradle. "You're a strong little guy, aren't you? And clever, too, finding your way out of that egg like that. My clever little Spocklet, just like your dad. You look just like him too, don't you, Mr Pointyears?"
Spock blinked several times to prevent his human tear ducts from activating. He told himself it was because those new endearments, illogical though they were, were still a vast improvement on 'egg'.
Fandom: STXI, ostensibly, but in my head Kirk has morphed about halfway into Shatner!Kirk, just because Shatner is such a wonderfully ridiculous man.
Pairing: K/S
Rating: R for language and sex
Word count: ~4000
Summary: Sequel to Kirk Lays An Egg, for this prompt on the meme.
A/N: To write one egg-laying fic may be regarded as a misfortune; to write two looks like shamelessness. Many thanks to everyone who commented and made noises about a sequel, for compounding the felony.
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Mere days into the brooding period, it became evident that increased hormonal levels had unleashed the captain's fierce penchant for multi-lingual punning.
At first, Spock had thought that this would at least be preferable to a human woman's craving for illogical foods. Three unendurably long shifts later, he was forced to change his mind.
The deplorable wordplay made frequent appearances on the bridge. When Chekov asked for their heading, Jim would point directly ahead and gleefully reply, " To Dublin!". And when the hapless but patriotic Lt. Riley frowned and said, "Is that a joke, Captain?", Jim had smiled like all his birthdays had come at once, and told a security officer, "Knee-cap him!"
After a rash of complaints had come in as a result of Jim announcing upcoming shore leave on 'the slutstation' (by which he had meant Deep Space Z), the puns became abstruse enough that only three people understood them. Soon after that, Nyota had herself transferred to beta shift, and the captain's audience shrank to two, of which Jim himself was one. Spock, to his chagrin, was of course the other.
Jim's awful word games even intruded on otherwise solemn occasions, such as the egg's first full foetal scan with Dr McCoy. The child had been found perfectly healthy, and they'd had an important request to make.
"Bones, Spock and I have talked, and we want you to be the kid's godfather," Jim said.
"Your role would be to act as a surrogate parent," Spock clarified, "in the event of our early deaths."
"Oh, thanks, Spock," Jim interrupted, "I'm sure that's a real selling point."
The doctor, unpromisingly, looked distressed. "Jim, Spock-- I'm honoured, I really am. But you know my track record with Joanna. I'm not the guy you want for this sort of thing."
"C'mon Bones, don't be a chicken," Jim goaded. "It's only a widdle baby egg!" He slid off the biobed, turning so that their blanket-wrapped egg was directly in the doctor's line of sight.
"We would appreciate it, Leonard," Spock added, suppressing a wince at Jim's antics. Jim grinned up at him.
"Oh, fine then," McCoy muttered, giving in at last.
"Yes!" Jim crowed. He handed Spock the egg and turned to McCoy, wrapping him in an enthusiastic hug. "You're a good egg, Bones," he said finally, drawing back. The doctor's lips twitched.
"40% of that statement was illogical," Spock couldn't help but point out.
Jim raised a frosty eyebrow, and glanced down at the bundle of egg.
"I had to push that thing out of my ass three weeks ago; now who's illogical?"
A great many of their disagreements were beginning to end this way.
*
McCoy's status as godfather was rescinded three days later.
Jim had decided to take the egg on a stroll through the ship before alpha shift, and had dragged Spock along with him. "Family time!" he'd said brightly, tying on the baby sling he had commandeered so he could prop their precious cargo against his hip.
They'd stopped by the arboretum, the shuttle bay and the observation deck before making their way to Rec Room 3. There, at Jim's insistence, they'd approached a small group of yeomen playing bridge, in order to test Jim's theory that the egg would be a 'chick-magnet'. (The hypothesis proved only partially correct: Landon and Tamura had cooed and sighed over the egg's good size, pleasing shape and aesthetic shade of brown, but Barrows and Rand had simply looked bemused.)
They were passing the mess hall on their way back to quarters when Jim spotted McCoy, Nurse Chapel and Lt. Scott breakfasting at a table. As Spock found Chapel's effusiveness uncongenial, he paused to speak with Lt. Lix about an ongoing experiment, while Jim wandered over to the trio to make introductions.
Spock's conversation with Lix was interrupted when Jim gasped, spun round wildly, and used his body to shield the egg from the table.
Spock was by his side in an instant.
"What's wrong, Jim?" McCoy had leapt to his feet, looking concerned.
"What's wrong?" Jim exclaimed dramatically, backing away from the doctor. "You barbarians!"
Then he turned on his heel and stalked out of the mess.
Realisation dawned when Spock noted that the doctor's intended breakfast featured two hard-boiled hen's eggs, next to a small pile of discarded bits of shell. Across from him, Scott was blinking guiltily down at his full plate of smoked salmon scramble.
Spock was an advocate of veganism, but even he thought that Jim was overreacting.
*
After the first trimester, they were scheduled for a holo-consultation with a Dr Syrran from the Vulcan Association for Male-male Parenting.
Jim had leered when he'd heard the name. "He's a VAMP!"
Spock had been slightly offended. "The Association is a venerable institution and Dr Syrran comes highly recommended." But Jim's prediction turned out to have an uncanny seed of truth.
In fact, Dr Syrran was nothing at all like his famously logical namesake, and was unacceptably flirtatious for a Vulcan. He was attired in the traditional physician's topcoat, but the first two buttons were loose, and he wore his hair down to his chin.
"Greetings, gentlemen," Syrran saluted them. He wore rings. "I am Syrrano of the V.A.M.P."
"Thanks for agreeing to see us," Jim replied.
"It is my pleasure, my dear Captain," Syrran said cunningly. His pleasure, indeed! The man was a disgrace. And was he to determine how Spock and Jim's child would be raised?
"So, what advice have you got for us, Doctor?" Jim asked, cocking his head to one side.
"Brooding is an art, gentlemen," Syrran began, and embarked on a long and effusive discourse on such topics as ergonomics, mood lighting, roses, and aromatherapy.
Spock wrote the consultation off as a loss, and turned his mind's eye towards one of the Millennium Problems. He was not likely to miss much, in any case-- Jim took copious notes.
Some time later, Spock surfaced from his mathematical meanderings. "Do this every night for at least three hours," Syrran was saying, "to ensure adequate aural exposure. You must surround the child both with direct and indirect conversation, as well as with dhahq and sounds from nature."
"'Duckh'?" Jim queried.
"Music," Syrran translated. "I have waved you several suitable sound files -- xirahnah birds, desert winds, cattle song, as well as chimes, bells, and some shorter pieces on the lyre. Be sure that you play them, on at least a twice-weekly basis."
Spock ran out of patience. "I thank thee, Dr Syrran," he said with finality.
"Dr Syrrano," the Vulcan corrected, flipping his bangs back. The transmission ended.
Jim turned to Spock. "That Dr Syrrano was really something, wasn't he? He sounded like quite the romantic-- for a Vulcan, that is."
"Indeed," Spock said coolly, suppressing the mental image of his fist impacting the doctor's overly large nose.
His fingers itched.
*
"You may not colour the egg, Jim, and that is final."
"But it's Easter back home!" Jim wheedled. "C'est une bonne idee!"
Spock was not impressed. "The eggshell is porous. You are aware that the foetus is vulnerable to mutation at this stage of growth."
"Dr Syrran says artistic activity is vital to the unborn child. Vital, Spock! You're repressing our kid's creativity!"
"Indeed not. I am merely repressing yours."
Jim was undeterred. "Come on, Spock, it'll be awesome! And I'll find a totally non-toxic dye."
"No child of mine will be subject to such indignity," Spock declared.
Jim stuck out his lower lip. It wobbled.
In desperation, Spock called on Dr McCoy for backup. His official medical opinion, after he had stopped laughing, was that even food-grade colourants would not be entirely risk-free.
In the end they compromised. The egg stayed unblemished, and Jim was permitted to knit it a rabbit-patterned scarf.
Later, Spock hacked into the Federation records database and reinstated the doctor as the child's primary surrogate guardian.
*
The bed in Jim's quarters had been modified to resemble a traditional Vulcan brooding bed. There was not a great difference -- merely a slightly firmer mattress, with a shallow indentation for the egg. It had also been necessary to install a separate cradle and partition-screen, as Jim flatly refused to "have S-E-X with the kid around", despite Spock's assurance that it had no eyes.
The requisitioning of a real feather and down comforter was rather less above-board, but it was welcome, given the warmer temperatures the egg required.
However, when Jim began filing requests for items such as scented candles and a 'hot tub' for his 'psychological well-being', Spock worried that they were stretching the baby benefits clause a little too far.
He quoted several medical journals in attempt to convince Jim of this, but was soon forced to concede, to prevent Jim from mocking him and calling him Dr Spock.
*
Spock dealt with the admiralty. Mostly, this involved saying "Yes, Admiral."
"... a new bed, a new mattress, a yu-mur cradle, a baby sling, two perambulators, an egg cosy, six feather pillows, a down comforter, and a folding screen."
"Yes, Admiral. Those items are provided for in Regulation 336-B subsections five through one-fourteen."
"And what's this I hear about a hot tub?"
Spock had anticipated this. "The necessity of holding the brooding position for several hours at a time often leads to 'kinks' and discomforts in the lower back. Hydrotherapy has proven an effective cure."
"Oh has it, now?"
"Yes, Admiral." It had certainly led to fewer demands for inappropriate massages on the bridge.
The admiral pursed his thin lips. "I'm well aware of Vulcan's need for healthy births, Commander. That's about the only reason that Starfleet has been tolerant so far. But I'd better not hear anything else about you using this -- this thing -- as an excuse to feather your nest."
Spock gritted his teeth. "Yes, Admiral."
"Hmph," said the admiral. "Komack out."
*
Lately Jim seemed to wear a lot of leather.
He was well within rights to do so off-duty, of course, but Spock disliked his bondmate being covered in animal hide. It was evidently an attempt to reaffirm his masculinity -- Jim had also increased the frequency of his work-outs in the gym from 2.5 to 3.4 times a week.
Spock tolerated this, as these purportedly male activities enabled Jim to carry out such beneficial and traditionally maternal tasks as singing softly to their egg at night, and picking out infant clothing.
However, Jim had also begun to take the more aggressive role in bed -- Spock had not penetrated him in 35.24 days.
Again, Spock could understand why -- in all probability, it was a combination of gender identity assertion and the traumatic association of the pain of egg-laying with Spock's sperm. In any case, he was invariably too fully overcome by Jim's enthusiasm to do more than lie back and let him take the lead.
But when Jim began pulling back after oral pleasure and made excuses to avoid licking up Spock's excess semen -- which was a thoroughly illogical waste of fluids and protein -- Spock decided that an intervention was in order.
"Perhaps we should discuss family planning," he said abruptly one night as Jim pulled back gingerly from his semen-streaked lap. "I assure you, I have no intentions of covertly impregnating you. Or impregnating you at all, for the foreseeable future."
Jim bit his lip. "I'm sorry," he mumbled, taking Spock's wrist in a pleasantly moist hand. "You're right, we should have talked about this. And I did ask Bones for a contraceptive hypo, but it turns out I'm allergic. And you wouldn't want to use condoms, would you?"
"That is unnecessary," Spock said in confusion. "Jim, even if it would be possible to cause conception through oral sex, which it is not, surely you are aware that Vulcan sperm is only viable during pon farr."
"Really?" said Jim, his eyes growing wide.
"Indeed," Spock replied dryly.
"Oh, thank god!" said Jim. He dove for the bedside table and rummaged around noisily, then tossed Spock the lubricant, flopped down on all fours, and hitched his ass high in the air. "I've been fucking dying to have you in me, Spock. Hurry up hurry up!"
*
The wedding was adequate.
His father was present -- he had commandeered a shuttle, as well as Spock's formidable great-aunt T'Pau, who had agreed to officiate.
Lieutenant Scott had devised a conveyance so that the egg could be in attendance -- it looked like a highly padded antique armillary sphere. However, as it turned out, the invention had not been necessary, as Sarek had taken the egg in his arms the moment he'd arrived and had monopolised it throughout the ceremony and reception. When the egg was not occupying his unidvided attention he was usually engaged in conversation with Nyota. This should have been a relief to Spock, as Nyota's manners were impeccable, but for some reason he found the interactions between them vaguely horrifying. Spock was certain that his mother's death was still fresh in both their memories, but his father's fondness for high-achieving xenolinguists was well known.
Dr McCoy had been Jim's best man. He had insisted on walking down the aisle with a phaser rifle, the significance of which had escaped everyone but him. Other Southern United States traditions in evidence included the tiresome necessity of having handfuls of duotriticale flung over them, and the covert addition of sucrose to the traditional Vulcan spiced tea.
His father had been appalled, and Spock had half-expected T'Pau to disinherit him. However, the matriarch had merely turned serenely to him and said, "We have much to learn from these humans, Spock."
A slightly inebriated Jim informed him later that he believed T'Pau had been imitating the unpalatable human action of 'aquiring urine', otherwise known as 'taking the piss'.
*
"So-- Egbert."
"Vetoed."
"Englebert?"
"Vetoed."
"Ægnes, for a girl."
"Vetoed."
"Syrrano?"
"Vetoed. Emphatically."
"You've used up your vetoes."
"Under the terms of your needlessly involved archaic metaphor, I have unlimited veto power, as I am surely a permanent member of this so-called parenting council."
"Hey, don't knock it -- the UNSC was the basis of the Federation!"
"I am well aware of that."
"... Eglantine?"
"Ah," Spock considered. "That is surprisingly elegant. Perhaps it will be acceptable. But Jim, would you explain your preference for names beginning with 'Eg-'?"
"Well, I just like them, is all. As a reminder of the... exceptional circumstances of the kid's birth."
Spock was incredulous. "Are you likely to forget?"
Jim fidgeted. "It's just... I'm getting a little attached to the little tyke in his current form, okay? Or her. And when it hatches I want something to remind me of this, that's all."
It was illogical. But Spock thought he could permit the sentiment. "Very well. Eglantine will do for a girl."
"And for a boy -- Egmond."
"Vetoed."
"Edgardo."
"Vetoed."
"Egerton."
"Vetoed."
...
*
On the day of the hatching, Klingons appeared off the port bow.
Jim swore and cursed someone named Murphi. "Yellow alert," he said. "Open a channel."
"I am Captain Koloth of the Klingon warship Gr'oth," came the imperious hail. "Who are you and what are you doing in this sector?"
"James T. Kirk of the Enterprise," Jim said curtly. "And we're making starmaps, if you really want to know."
"Oh, really?" said Koloth insinuatingly.
"We are, actually," said Jim, rolling his eyes.
"Really, Captain. And do you always have your shields raised and your phasers armed, when you are making your little maps?"
Jim sighed. "It's standard procedure when coming across an unknown ship."
"Ah!" Koloth responded with feigned enlightenment. "I had not known it was standard procedure to aim weapons as a form of greeting! What a charming tradition from your peaceful Federation."
"All right, that's enough of this bullshit," Jim snapped. "I don't like you and you don't like me. That's fine. We're about evenly matched in weapons and shield strength. And I'm a tactical genius, and I'm going to be nice and assume that so are you. So, two options: we can fire, scratch each other's ships up and then limp off to lick our wounds, or we can play nice and go off on our merry ways. But either way, I suggest we hurry up and get this over with, because I have to have a baby after shift."
Koloth frowned. He turned to his communications chief, and there was a rapid conversation in Klingon, complete with disbelieving glances at Kirk and graphic gesticulation. Then Koloth turned back to the viewscreen.
"A baby," he said, "on a starship? Surely you jest."
"I qID you not," said Jim with the first hint of a smile. Behind him, Nyota let out a very soft moan. There was another flurry of speech between Koloth and his comms officer. Eventually Koloth got the joke.
"That is amusing," he said politely, with a completely straight face. Spock cringed; the last thing Jim needed was encouragement. "You have a birthing chamber on the ship?"
"Sure do, in the medical bay," Jim said easily.
Koloth considered this. "We Klingons do not equip our ships with non-essentials," he felt the need to say.
"Maybe you should take that up with your High Command," Jim replied. "The admiralty complained, but we got away with a wrestling ring and a hot tub."
Not for the first time, Spock marvelled at Jim's use of unorthodox but viscerally effective strategy. Despite the apparent casualness of the remark, the captain had appealed at once to the Klingons' aggressive nature and to their lower tolerance for the freezing temperatures of space.
The distraction appeared to be working. Koloth's belligerent scowl was replaced by a thoughtful expression.
"It would be dishonourable to fire upon a ship full of infants," he finally sneered. "We will spare you... this time."
"Generous of you," Jim inclined his head. He cut the connection, and the warship warped away.
Jim turned to Nyota. "That was a good one, wasn't it?" He grinned to himself. "Even the Klingons thought so."
*
Dr Syrran had advised that the hatching take place with 76% lighting, accompanied by a Deltan harmony chant.
However, Deltan music was, as Jim said, "for pussies", and they had decided that the reassuring hum of the Enterprise's engines would be more far more appropriate.
At the anticipated hour, Spock, Jim, and McCoy were gathered in the birthing room, the doctor muttering darkly into his tricorder about oviparous hobgoblins, and Jim staring hard at the egg as if he had telekinetic powers that could make it crack.
However, 2.4 hours later, their child still showed no signs of hatching.
"Bones? What's going on? Is this normal?" Jim asked, looking worried.
"Far as I can tell, though there's really nothing normal about this situation, if you ask me," the doctor groused. "What did that Syrrano guy say?"
"Uh, something about only nature knowing when the bud will bloom," Jim answered, making a face.
"He was reprehensibly unspecific," Spock agreed. "However, my father mentioned to me that delays of up to a Vulcan solar day have been known to occur."
Jim nodded solemnly. "It's good that you've got your dad to give advice."
Spock looked at his bondmate. Suddenly the strange behaviour of the preceding weeks -- the hysterical jocularity, the overprotectiveness, the obsessive pre-empting of the infant's needs -- all fell into place. Jim was insecure. Having no father figure himself, he was unsure of his ability to parent, much less to raise a half-alien son or daughter. Even the peculiar desire to give the baby a name beginning with 'Eg-' now made a certain amount of sense -- it was easier for Jim to think of their child as a faceless, fragile egg, rather than as a real and independent sentient being.
Such insecurity was illogical, however.
"Jim," Spock said to him, unheedful of the doctor's presence. "You are an exceptional captain, a most beloved bondmate, and a dear and dependable friend. There is no doubt that you will be an excellent father as well."
Jim smiled at him, eyes soft. "Thanks, Spock. So will you." He linked their hands for a moment. Then he cleared his throat, sneaked a glance at McCoy, and said, "I've got colour schemes for a playroom that I want you to have a look at later, and I also picked out instructional holos for the kid's pre-school phase. Did you know that Ensign Divers did a minor in Early Childhood Education?"
He would have gone on, but-- "Jim!" the doctor cut in urgently.
They all looked at the egg. There had been a barely-discernible movement at the blunt end.
They all gathered closer. There was a soft cracking sound, and part of a tiny curled fist pushed its way out of the shell, creating the narrowest of pip-holes.
"Oh," Jim said thickly. "Oh!"
Spock gripped Jim's arm tightly and said nothing. They watched in awed silence as the small gap was widened by a series of impatient little kicks from the inside.
"You can do it, little guy!" Jim encouraged. "Come on-- push! Push!"
The baby pushed. It paused, then pushed some more. The suspense was unbearable. Jim felt compelled to give instructions.
"Put pressure on the side of that wall-- that's it, nice work! Now throw your weight to the side-- good, good! Another couple of times should do the trick."
If Spock were human, he thought he might laugh, or perhaps scream. He settled for nodding vigorously in agreement.
After some time -- and often with complete disregard for Jim's orders ("Push over there. No, no, over there. Oh. Well, that worked just as well.") -- the shell was split roughly into two. Spock heard Jim gasp as a slightly damp, wrinkly body rolled clumsily out of the debris.
"You're here!" Jim murmured, quite redundantly. On instinct, they both reached out towards their child, skimming its skin gently to remove the sticky residue and brushing bits of egg shell from its untidy dark hair.
The best part was when the child opened beautiful blue eyes in the 76% light and let out a soft sigh, squinting up at its doting fathers.
Dr McCoy ruined the moment by swooping in and whisking it off for a battery of no doubt unnecessary tests.
*
They had agreed on a girl's name, so naturally the baby was a boy.
Eventually they named him Sam, after Jim's brother, and because of "the illogical Vulcan need to alliterate". However, Spock calculated that, in the first six hours of his life, Jim had used their son's given name only 13% of the time.
"Hey there, small person," Jim was now whispering into the cradle. "You're a strong little guy, aren't you? And clever, too, finding your way out of that egg like that. My clever little Spocklet, just like your dad. You look just like him too, don't you, Mr Pointyears?"
Spock blinked several times to prevent his human tear ducts from activating. He told himself it was because those new endearments, illogical though they were, were still a vast improvement on 'egg'.