Chapter Text
The ping of an incoming message came at seven o’clock on a Thursday, which was strange because nothing of note ever happened on a Thursday evening around Starfleet command. Dear Admiral Christopher Pike, As designated secondary next of kin of James Tiberius Kirk I am writing to inform you… .
Chris narrowed his eyes as he read further, one hand clenching under the desk as shock turned to anger and then resignation. “Damn it, son.” He set down the padd and scrubbed a hand over his face. “What the hell were you thinking?”
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The social worker met him at Starfleet Medical at 0830 the following morning. Chris’ hair was still wet because he’d spent most of the night wide awake in a state of increasing horror and then nearly managed to oversleep after he finally crashed at 0445.
As the mother was deceased and left no family, there are precisely three options presented to him:
One: Unnamed Baby is put up for adoption as soon as possible, to promote bonding with her future parent(s)
Two: Baby Kirk is put into the foster system until such a time as her biological father can be reached, but for not more than four months before the state may seek to proceed with a more permanent alternative placement in the best interests of the child.
Three: Baby Kirk goes home with Chris, as her de facto next of kin. Evidently the surgeon general had already interceded to serve as a character reference and expedite the paperwork to get Chris named as guardian, should he so desire. Well intentioned though it was, Phil was always a meddler.
The only problem: Chris didn’t have a fucking clue what Jim would want. What twenty-six year old Starfleet captain wants to become a single father? He vacillated over the padds; Jim was on a scientific deep space mission and they weren’t expecting to regain contact for three months, possibly four if the data collection took longer than expected.
It’s going to be okay, son. He cleared his throat, but his voice still came out as a croak when he said, “Three— I’ll take her.”
She was tiny. Four days old, but at least without that creepy bald monkey vibe that some infants seem to have. Chris looked at her pink lips and tiny nose and blue eyes and thought beautiful... until she started to scream. Phil looked like he thought this was the funniest thing he’d ever seen; which tended to be a theme whenever Chris was woefully out of his element.
When Chris glanced up in pure terror that he was holding her wrong, Phil just clapped a hand on his back and started to steer them towards the door. “Come on, we can get you a bag of supplies from the maternity ward and I’ll have a nurse come by the house to show you how to do everything the first few days.”
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Name(s)
Chris stared at the padd for a moment, then scrawled in Georgia. The box still looked mostly empty so he added, Christine— the name of the chief nurse on the Enterprise who’d been a key part of his salvation in the aftermath of the Narada, and he suspected still kept McCoy sane out there as well. It was also a promise, of sorts, an I will always be there for you. The last bit was easy. Those blue eyes? Kirk. He was tempted to make it Kirk-McCoy just to make a point, but babies weren’t supposed to be used for score-settling. Besides, those things were easy enough to change later.
“Well, Georgia. Looks like it’s you and me.”
She looked up at him through slightly crossed eyes and blew a little bubble of spittle.
It was three weeks into it that he broke down weeping at 0230. Georgia wasn’t settling and he didn’t think anything was wrong with her, but he couldn’t remember when he’d last slept and his leg was bothering him again so he couldn’t walk and rock her in the way she seemed to like and all his laundry was dirty and he’d already had to clean an unspeakable mess out of the crib (Huggies Dependable his ass) and he was pretty sure he’d forgotten to eat dinner at some point… The glare of light from the vid comm just made Georgia howl even louder as he said, “I can’t do this, Phil.”
And Phil just looked at him with his damned kind eyes and sighed and then replied, “You can— you just can’t do it alone.”
Of all the ways that all the betting pools had wagered on them getting together over the years, this was not what anyone had imagined, but Phil held a baby like a man who had enjoyed his L&D rotation more than he’d ever let on. One was going to be pissed that she’d never put any money on realizing they make sexy grandpas.
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Chris pressed record before putting the transmission request through; he knew someday he’d be able to look back and laugh at the expression on Kirk’s face. It didn’t take long for the comm to get routed through to the young captain’s ready room and he was met by Jim, looking that peculiar mix of happy to see him, insouciant and a little bit nervous that seemed to precede their calls when it had been more than a month since they’d last spoken. McCoy was predictably hovering over his shoulder as well, so Chris didn’t waste any time in gently lifting Georgia out of her bassinet and holding her up for the camera as he said, “Congratulations, Jim. It’s a girl.”
Yup, that facial expression was worth it. Gold. The kid hadn’t looked so flustered since he’d been caught doing unspeakable things with a Deltan on the roof of Archer Hall in his first year at the academy. A high-pitched, rasping whine seemed to be about all Jim could manage to accompany the words, “She’s mine? How—” Jim Kirk: tongue-tied. That was a first.
Chris didn’t strictly know what had happened, but the timeline was suspicious enough… “Well, when a captain is in the mood to celebrate a successful shakedown cruise and has a few too many Risan Mai Tais... “ As realization dawned in the kid’s eyes, Chris gently rearranged Georgia in his arms and continued, “I agreed to be your next of kin, not your nursemaid. There is a baby-seat in the back of my very expensive sports flitter, Kirk. I haven’t had more than three hours of sleep in one stretch in weeks and Phil thinks it’s hilarious when I show up with stains down the back of my uniform.”
Jim’s mouth was still flapping open and shut and he only just managed to get a few words out that might have been, “Oh my god.”
It would have been funny, if not for the almighty crash as McCoy hit the deck. Chris hadn’t even realized the man’s eyes had rolled back. By the time they got McCoy, grey-faced, into a chair Georgia was starting to fuss so he shifted her closer and got her to take a bottle.
He looked up to find Jim peering curiously into the camera. “She’s really mine?”
There was something in that tone that made Chris feel a wave of relief that, yes, he’d done the right thing.