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Jim looked at the faces of his senior bridge crew and they all looked back at him. “I think Nyota counts,” he told Bones, gesturing at his CCO.
“Captain,” she replied, voice stern but even.
“If you knocked me up, Lieutenant, I’m not going to call you Uhura ever again. It would confuse the baby.”
“This is ridiculous. How could I knock you up, sir? I don’t quite have the parts for it, if you’ll recall.”
“While the Lieutenant’s logic is sound,” his First Officer piped up. “It does not preclude her - nor any other female present at the time - from the list of potential genetic donors. Thesolians reproduce via transfer of genetic material through permeable membranes. It stands to reason that as they are capable of altering their own biology for the express purpose of impregnation, they are also capable of altering a subject’s biology with which they have bonded, allowing for the same preparative state and transfer of genetic material.”
“But how vould ze Keptin get pregnant, Mr. Spock if ze Thesolians are not a compatible carbon based life form?” asked Chekov.
“Empirical evidence suggests that they cannot, Ensign. The donor genetic material must have come from a likewise compatible carbon based life form. As the only candidates for genetic viability are on the ship, we can conclude that the other biological parent is a member of the Enterprise’s crew. We can further assume that the only potential for such a transfer would have been limited to members of the crew who underwent the symbiotic process during negotiations.”
“Which,” Jim interrupted, “We know limits the potentials pool to officers - and Chekov - because the Thesolians are snobs who needed equivalent hosts.” Jim himself had been the host of whatever the Thesolian title for Regent was. Something equivalent to Top Heap-Starship-Power. They didn’t have a language to learn, as they had no mouths to use to speak, or any other equivalent noise making orifices.
When they’d first touched down and saw the cute little blue globs all over the place, they hadn’t been aware they’d landed in the middle of a crowd. The science team had descended, tricorders whirring, and it had been an unfortunate security ensign who’d been first latched on to and used as a communication hub. Unfortunately the young man had been a test run, and was still in sick bay recovering from the shock of having his system manipulated. Once they’d known how it worked, it had been a simple process of allowing high ranking members of the Thesolian consulate to physically bond with equivalent hosts from amongst the Enterprise's crew.
Jim liked to think of them in terms he understood and matched them accordingly. The King Thesolian had bonded with Jim. The Prime Minister Thesolian with Spock. The chief architect with Scotty. Bones had been difficult to persuade, but his title made him necessary, and he’d bonded with the Chief Healer. Uhura had gotten the University Chief. Sulu the Thesolian spiritual leader. Carol the Chief Tactician. Cupcake got a highly decorated General. Rand a Historian. Not even Chekov was safe. Despite being only an ensign, his status as the youngest crew member with the highest position made him noteworthy, and he ended up with the Thesolain heir whom also happened to be mostly underage and ‘spoke’ in so many numbers Jim wondered how Chekov even managed to stay functional.
It had been an odd experience, having a blue blob bonded to his skin for several hours a day. Transferring chemical messages that Jim’s brain then had to interpret. What was worse, was how often the Thesolians needed to confer with one another, which necessitated hosts to brush bodies, so the Theoslians could jello wiggle at each other, their blue masses slipping along one another, transferring information from host to themselves, across to the Thesolian to whom they were speaking and up into the other host. It was an absolutely exhausting experience that left Jim feeling ravenously hungry and barely conscious enough to consume the necessary calories to make up the energy he’d burned through at the same time. Bones started giving them all regular supplemental hypos after the first three days and Jim had not complained once.
“Why would the Thesolians even put a bun in your oven, Jim?” Bones asked. “It just doesn’t make sense.”
Sulu cleared his throat. “Actually, since the process is so involved, Thesolians don’t breed that often. All children are considered a gift to them. The greatest gift one Thesolian can give another is the gift of a child. They must have thought highly enough of the Captain that they wanted to do him an honorable service.”
“Zey may have thought since you did not have an heir, sir, zat you would be in need of one. So zey helped you along.”
“Which is kind and all - I’m flattered, really - but I’m still pregnant. And I’d really like to know which one of you is the reason for that.”
“Not like anyone else had any real choice in it, Jim,” Bones pointed out.
Jim nodded. “I understand that, but when we have to file the incident reports-”
“A captain goes down with his ship, laddie,” Scotty teased.
“This whole ship is going down if we don’t figure this out. They’ll ground us, Scotty. And they won’t let us leave until they know everything.”
Scotty swallowed and nodded.
“So…” he said, clapping his hands together. “Where do we start?”
~*~
When Jim had considered how they were going to identify his baby’s other parent, he’d been envisioning something fun. Like a tricorder race or slap hands genetic coder, or a spinning machine that’d keep only the other parent inside, spitting everyone else out as it went. What it actually entailed was a lot of medical detainment, hypos, blood drawing, and confinement. Given they’d all had to spend time in quarantine after the event to ensure they’d received no lasting damage to their systems from the symbiote transfers, it was doubly worse to suddenly find himself strapped to a bed - because he kept escaping.
“Bones,” he whined kicking his feet. “Is this any way to treat the vessel of your love child?”
“I keep telling you Jim, it ain’t mine!”
Jim gasped. Really, annoying Bones was all he really got to do these days, so he’d take what he could get. “Bones! How could you! I thought you loved me!”
“Keep talking, Jimmy. I’ve got a hypo over here with your name on it.”
“But what about Paris!!”
The doors opening saved him from imminent hypoing. Jim grinned at Spock as he crossed the room. “Spock!” He jerked his arms against the restraints. “Quick! While Bones isn’t looking, cut me free and we can run away together!”
“Captain,” Spock said, pausing beside him. “It is unwise to broadcast your plans to your captors as it gives them ample warning and preparatory time to counter any attempts at escape.”
“Spring me from here and I’ll make it worth your while,” he teased, waggling his eyebrows suggestively.
“Stop hitting on the hobgoblin while I’m in ear shot!”
“Then go away!”
“Captain, the initial reports on the Thesolian incident have been prepared. Your signature is required.”
Jim heaved a sigh. “Fine, give it here.”
Spock handed him the PADD and Jim skimmed the overall report, eyebrow raising as he neared the end. “This is...vague for you, Mr. Spock,” he said, signing off on it.
“It is unwise to file a report with speculative data.”
“Admit it, you just don’t want them to make us turn the ship around.”
“It would be unfortunate if the Enterprise was rerouted at this time.”
Jim grinned. “You really want to see the Vespers in the Mongolian constellation, don’t you.”
“Is there anything you require, Captain?”
“Nothing pressing. Just my freedom.”
“Are you uncomfortable?”
Jim tugged his wrists.
Spock’s brow got that little crinkle in it that denoted a frown on the Vulcan’s face. “Doctor McCoy-”
“Don’t start!” Bones countered. “He’s safest where he is. Him and the baby! What’ll you think’ll happen if I let him run off pell mell now?”
There was a moment of silence as Spock considered - likely running numbers. Then he leaned forward in what was the Vulcan equivalent of ‘Sucks to be you’ and said, “Captain.”
“You’re all on report!” Jim cried, dropping back into the bed. “This is mutiny!”
~*~
“Why is it taking so long?” Jim asked, leaning over Bones’ shoulder. “I’m starting to show and you still don’t know who knocked me up!” He’d been released from medical after a solid week in which he used every last scrap of knowledge about his best friend and ex-roommate to drive him completely up the wall. Frustrated, Bones had kicked him out, cleared him for light duty and warned him not to darken his doorway until he was summoned.
He’d amused himself for weeks tormenting every last one of his officers over impregnating him. Most of them took it in stride. Even Uhura was coming around, teasing him right back. Only Spock remained stalwart. Jim needed to do more research if he wanted a reaction from him. Maybe he’d give his older alternate a call. The elderly Vulcan wasn’t likely to give him any tips, but he was fond of telling Jim stories when they traded off planetary tales - only ever the same planets, mind - and Jim was certain there was still much he could learn from his other self’s savvy.
“It’s taking so long,” Bones replied, in the tone he used when he was tired of Jim asking the same question. “Because that not quite an organ blob of a facsimile reproductive hub your baby’s currently swimming in is interfering with our instruments.”
“He doesn’t mean it, sweetheart,” Jim cooed, patting his baby bump. “He’s just grumpy because he can’t find any answers.”
“If I’m ‘grumpy’ it’s because someone is in here every day nagging me.”
“Yeah, well,” Jim replied, leaning back and crossing his legs at the ankle. “We pester out of love.”
Bones reached up and patted Jim’s belly absently.
Jim wondered if perhaps he should stop teasing everyone.
~*~
He made an executive decision overnight, choosing instead to ignore his predicament. He didn’t call attention to it or bring it up in conversation, even going so far as to avoid the topic entirely. Without the distraction for himself, the weight of his situation settled heavily upon him. He was having trouble sleeping and his focus was shot. But he was still the Captain of the Enterprise and he had the best First Officer in the fleet, so the ship remained mostly unaffected.
“Captain,” Spock said as he considered the board. It brought Jim out of his mental wandering in a way that was effective, yet gentle.
Jim inhaled through his nose, releasing it in the clearing of his throat.
“May I make a personal query?”
Jim’s eyebrow rose. Spock never wanted to discuss anything personal. All their conversations revolved around the ship, the crew, and missions. It wasn’t all work and no play, as they tended to do such over chess and mealtimes, but they kept away from personal matters entirely and so far it had worked out just fine.
“You may, but I reserve the right to refrain from answering.”
“I have noted a direct correlation between the censure of your condition and a decline in crew morale.”
Jim blinked at him. “The crew’s unhappy because I stopped teasing people about knocking me up?”
“Crude, but correct.”
He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “I was just trying to spare them.”
“Spare them, Captain?”
Jim stared at him until he relented.
“Jim?”
“Yeah,” he replied. “We don’t know what this is. If I’ll even carry to term. If the baby will be healthy. What the brass will think about it. I...I just didn’t want anyone getting too attached only to be heartbroken later.”
“I see,” Spock said after a long moment. “That was kind.”
“And yet, it still backfired.”
“It is often difficult to predict the emotional responses in others.”
“You can say that again.”
“However, if I may.”
Jim tilted his head as Spock met his eyes.
“Would it not be beneficial to express your concerns? Your body is under concentrated stress which may be harmful to both yourself and your offspring.”
“We’re fine, Spock,” he replied, resting his hand over his baby.
“Fine is relative.”
“Fine is transitive.”
“Indeed.”
Jim smiled softly as he made his move. “Checkmate.”
~*~
Their chess matches began to gradually shift. Jim always waited for Spock to initiate it, but after the first few times, began to question him back. They would trade off to keep things fair. Knowledge for knowledge.
Spock told him of Vulcan and his conflicted childhood, even of his mother. Jim told Spock about growing up a hero’s child abandoned in a backwater town with an abusive, neglectful stepfather. He told him of his childhood dreams and the nightmares of his past. They talked about their opinions on various subjects and even traded little intimacies like introducing one another to aspects of their cultures. Before he knew it, Spock was an open book to him. Someone whom Jim could share anything with no matter how stupid, silly or embarrassing. Spock always listened as if everything Jim said had merit, and he gave thought to his responses, never once teasing him or making him feel less for his own views.
Chess had gone from an every week event to an every other day event, to an every day event until they started their mornings with a short mental game, swapping moves in conversation over breakfast, and their evenings engaged in a long physical game right before bed. It calmed and relaxed Jim, to be able to concentrate on something but the vague future awaiting him and the doubts and reservations that crept in when he was least expecting them to. Spending time with Spock adequately tired him out and made him feel secure in a way he’d never once have attributed to the Vulcan’s presence. He was able to sleep again. And on the odd nights when he was woken and felt the need for company, he’d comm his First Officer, whom needed far less sleep than anyone else on the ship, and they’d meet for a late night or early morning conversation over Kal-toh, Jenga or Risk - the depth of the conversation and the alertness of the participants dictating which was the most viable option.
It was during one such early morning game that Jim reached up to rub his temple, dropping his t’an in the process. It bounced into the slightly spherical shape, sending its brethren scattering across the table.
“Jim?” asked Spock, concern in his voice.
“My migraine,” he explained, screwing his eyes shut and rubbing both temples hard with his knuckles.
“May I be of assistance?”
Jim shook his head, trying to clear the sharp pinpricks of pain escaping around the insistent pressure that had been a constant for some time.
“Jim.” Spock’s voice was soothing and Jim sighed as it eased some of the sharpness in his brain. “Do I have your permission?”
He nodded, and then there were cool fingers pressing gently against his meld points. They were like cooling rays, beating back the angry buzz in his skull.
Spock murmured something Jim couldn’t quite hear over the throbbing. He gasped as the world fell away. Pain shedding like a worn snakeskin and disappearing into nothingness. With Spock in his head, there was something different to their relationship. He followed the Vulcan around aimlessly as Spock traveled in search of the source of Jim’s discomfort.
As he passed, something small lit up, happy and inquisitive. Spock’s consciousness turned in a complete about face and drew the presence out. Jim stood behind him, unaware of what was happening. He had no knowledge of another consciousness inside his own, and yet, it didn’t feel foreign. It felt as if it belonged there, a part of him, as if it had always been. Yet he knew it was new. Young and innocent and so very curious. Spock touched it and it vibrated happiness so strongly it knocked Jim off his feet.
They came out of the meld, blinking at one another. Jim wiped the tears from his face. So far he had a horrible track record with mind melds - he always came out of them crying. Spock reached up, hesitated for a hairsbreath, then smoothed the tips of his fingers across Jim’s cheek. Jim was so startled by it, he didn’t respond, just stared at the softness in Spock’s eyes and tried to breathe through the touch. Spock’s hand cupped his face, thumb tracing over Jim’s plump lower lip. His tongue darted out to lick it reflexively and sparks burst to life in the dark eyes regarding him.
“Oh T’hy’la,” Spock said, voice more emotional than Jim had ever heard it. “I had hoped, but I dared not dream.”
“What?” Jim asked, proud of himself for not losing his ability to speak with Spock being so completely mesmerizing.
“The baby, Jim. Your discomfort is due to the infant’s telepathy. It has become aware, but cannot reach you. Our child has been frightened, alone.” He reached down, resting a hand possessively over Jim’s swell. “It only sought your attention, ashayam. It did not intend to do you harm.”
“Our…” he said inarticulately, hands dropping over Spock’s in surprise.
Two of Spock’s fingers extended, stroking over Jim’s.
“Our child,” Spock confirmed.
If Jim cried further tears, they had everything to do with happiness.