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Leonard McCoy woke with a start. He blinked blearily up at the ceiling, then groaned as he recognized the sound that had woken him. He hefted himself out of bed and padded to the adjacent room. He ordered the light to 30%, then walked over to the crib where the cries were emanating from.
“What's the fuss about this time?” he asked gruffly, gently lifting the infant from its bed.
Spock whimpered pitifully, little hands clenching and unclenching erratically.
“I know, it sucks to be up at this hour.” Leonard lifted the baby up and sniffed at its bottom. “Well, at least it's not your diaper. I won't have to have any more nightmares about what comes out of you.” He tickled the baby underneath its chubby little chin and carried him to the kitchen. “That just leaves one thing.”
He got the bottle he'd prepared the previous evening (cause like Hell he was gonna feed the kid any of that synthetic crap the replicator spewed out) and stuck it into the microwave.
As the formula was heating up, Spock continued to fuss, his button nose making little huffing noises.
“Shush you, it's cooking as fast as it can.” McCoy said softly, rocking from side to side. “If it weren't so healthy for you, I'd wonder where you got your appetite from.” Thankfully, in premature infants a ravenous appetite was a good thing.
Spock perked up as soon as he heard the ding of the microwave, and his tiny hands fisted in Leonard's shirt.
“Yeah, you know it's coming.” McCoy smiled at him and got the bottle out. He settled into a chair and guided it towards the baby's mouth. Spock tried to help the process along, though his little grip almost stuck the teat into his nose.
“That's not gonna fit there.” The adult corrected the bottle's position, and Spock latched on, sucking happily.
“Look at you go, huh?” Leonard said softly, and the baby looked up at him with half-focused eyes. Big, beautiful dark eyes. “You have your Daddy's eyes, you know that? But my hair. Never knew curls would look so fine on a tiny Vulcan.”
Spock continued sucking, staring at his father intently with those damn eyes.
Leonard sniffed suddenly and rubbed at his eyes with one hand. Goddammit, he was so tired he was tearing up again. Thinking about painful stuff again.
“You know, your Daddy would've loved your hair. He always seemed to enjoy pulling on mine.” He took a deep breath around the lump in his throat. “He would've loved being here, with us.” Only he wouldn't be. Not any more, never again.
Memories of that day when everything went to shit filled his mind, and he cursed softly. Routine mission, his ass. Nothing wrong was gonna happen, his left nut.
"Spock will be fine, we've managed to close the wound, now it's just slight complications, don't worry so much, Leonard. We have it all under control."
But it hadn't been fine. An hour later, he had a baby son to get to know and a husband to say goodbye to.
He wondered if it would ever stop hurting so damn much.
The baby finished with the bottle and breathed out deeply in full-tummy satisfaction. Leonard smiled at him through his tears and lifted him onto his shoulder, patting his back gently till he heard a burp. He continued rubbing the baby's back gently, his nose pressed into the mop of soft dark hair.
“Yeah.” he murmured. “Your Daddy would've loved being here.”