Chapter Text
Jim stands before the transporter, his fingers digging into his arms, as he wills Bones to appear before him. The transporter remains stubbornly empty. Jim’s grip tightens.
“He should be back by now.”
“Yes.” Spock concurs. He moves closer to Jim’s side. The captain unfolds his arms, and grips Spock’s shoulder. Spock’s shoulder remains relaxed within his hold. “He said there had been an incident.” Spock explains.
His anxiety must be apparent to everyone in the room. Jim takes a slow, deep breath, and as he exhales, he squeezes Spock’s shoulder, steadying himself. “If anyone was dead, he would have said so.”
“Indeed,” Jim can feel Spock’s eyes land on the side of his face. A deep, rich brown with a cool gaze that lingers long after his face turns away. “The doctor is not known for following protocol.”
Especially when it comes to Starfleet’s codes.
Surprisingly, the same lack of respect is not given to the codes used in sickbay.
One is nonsense, and the other is to save lives Jim! That’s not the same!
Jim can practically hear Bones’ voice in his head. Snippy, but fine. Safe. Not like he had sound on the communicator. He sounded tired, concerned, anxious. What could have happened that made Bones nervous? No, Jim did not like the way McCoy sounded on his communicator at all.
“Jim? Spock? Are you there?”
Jim’s hand flips open his communicator as he turns around to man the transporter’s control. Spock is already at them, hands spread over the controls. Jim smiles. “We’re here, Bones.”
“Thank goodness. Are you two the only ones in the transporter room?”
“Uh,” Jim looks over, and his eyes meet Spock’s. Spock raises an eyebrow. “Yes. Why doctor?”
“I’ve got a patient, and I don’t think he’ll want to be seen by others right now.”
Jim leans a little closer to the communicator. “Should I call for a stretcher?”
“No. I can carry him myself just fine.” The communicator crackles. “Two to beam up sir.”
Two? There had been six in the away mission. Bones must be bringing the injured individual back alone.
Jim turns and gives Spock a nod. He starts up the transporter. Where Jim expects to see two signals beam up into separate spots, the two beams of light instead manifest into the same spot, at the very front of the transporter. When the two are through, Jim finds himself frozen with confusion. He furrows his brows and stares.
Before him, stands Bones, holding a very small baby wrapped up in the remains of what appears to be some of McCoy’s medical towels. Bones smiles down at the babe, bouncing it a little bit in his arms, and cooing. “See, that wasn’t such a bad ride, was it?”
The baby coughs.
“Bones?” Jim’s brain wasn’t quite sure how to ask the question that so sorely needed answering.
“Doctor, did you find yourself being made of use to another lady in need?”
Bones raises his smiling face from the baby to look at the other men in the room. That smile shifts from sweet to smug. “Not quite.” He begins, moving the baby over so he was now able to present him within the crook of his arm. “Jim, Mr. Spock, allow me to introduce you to Ensign Chekov.”
That infant is Chekov? Chekov, their ensign. The bridge’s navigator. Usually just a little shorter than himself with a head of brown hair that he only recently learned what to do with.
Jim can feel his eyes widen, and his face fall, but his brain did not process the thought to hide his surprise. Instead, he turns to see how Spock is reacting. Spock’s face is masterfully schooled. There are almost no signs of the immediate shock he must have felt.
Unsure of what else to do Jim turns back to McCoy and asks, “Bones, what do you mean?”
“When I tell everyone to not touch anything, they should, in fact, not touch anything.” McCoy explains, taking a step down from the transporter.
“Sound logic, doctor.” Spock meets the other man halfway. He leans over the small child, watching as Chekov grabs at McCoy’s fingers.
“So glad you approve Spock.” McCoy looks up from Chekov, who tugs at his finger. He stretches out his other fingers, curling them in and then stretching them out to distract the babe as he speaks. “Until I find a way to reverse this condition, Mr. Chekov will need round-the-clock care.”
Constant care? Who would have the time for that? Jim looks to McCoy who hasn’t even asked for someone else to take Chekov. He takes to distracting and calming the infant so easily. Years of experience, Jim assumes. Joanna must’ve been on the receiving end of some of the same things. Then he notices Spock. While he’s standing next to McCoy his eyes are trained on the infant. Jim gets the feeling that it’s not out of scientific curiosity.
Jim’s jaw tightens. It seems there’s no way to get fully out of this situation. Dread churns in his stomach.
“He will, which is why I suggest we take turns caring for the recently infantilized Ensign.” McCoy continues.
Spock looks up from Chekov to Bones. “Who are you expecting to take charge of the ensign’s care, doctor?”
“Well myself, obviously.” McCoy bounces Chekov some more.
“Are you sure about that Bones?” Jim’s eyes flick between Bones and the infant. The sleepless nights hang over his head like a guillotine. “If you’re working on a way to reverse this condition, then perhaps Chapel would be willing to take care of him.” She’s a nurse. Surely she’d be just as capable.
McCoy waves that idea away. “Chapel has enough work on her hands already.” Then he looks to Jim with a teasign smile. “Unless you want to take over her rounds, captain.”
Jim takes a step back, sufficiently cowed.
“No, I’ll take care of him.” McCoy settles. “It’ll be good to keep my eyes on him, as he recovers. Perhaps I’ll notice something to help me cure this faster.”
“Do you believe he will be able to recover with time?”
“No idea,” McCoy shrugs. “but I hope he will, Mr. Spock. Having to go through puberty a second time isn’t all fun and games.”
“Vulcan puberty is also quite draining, doctor.”
That catches McCoy’s attention. “Is it? I’ll have to find a vulcan doctor to exchange notes with, then.”
“M’Benga could give you direction, doctor.”
McCoy shifts Chekov in his arms. The babe reaches up, grabbing McCoy’s fingers with both of his tiny hands. They leave only McCoy’s thumb free.
“Doctor it may be best if we took turns watching the young ensign.” Spock glances back at Jim. The captain tenses up. Spock looks back to the doctor. “As a vulcan I have less-”
“Need for sleep! Yes Spock, very impressive.” McCoy rolls his eyes. “You can have a turn watching him after I’ve shown you want to do. For now, why don’t you make yourself useful and find some materials for him. Trinkets that can be used as toys, extra sheets we can fold into diapers, pins we can use to secure them.” McCoy rattles off the list.
At least they can get milk from the replicators.
“I will start gathering baby gear from across the ship, doctor.”
McCoy’s eyes widen, “Don’t go robbing anyone, Spock!”
“I do not plan to rob them.” He looks up at the ceiling, carefully considering his next words. “This is a temporary requisition. All material items will be returned once Ensign Chekov is well again.”
McCoy groans. “I think you mean grown.”
“In this case, doctor, it is one and the same.”
They head for the door, and Jim follows. He watches them from a few feet behind. McCoy shifts Chekov to his other arm. They’re so swept up in discussing plans, tests, and studying what caused this that the two don’t seem to notice the captain at all. Jim is thankful that the two are so caught up they don’t seem to notice the unease he’s sure is apparent on his face. A child. How are any of them supposed to care for a child on this starship? At least they don’t seem interested in thrusting fatherhood onto him. Not this time.
Little strokes fell great oaks after all. Perhaps they’ve finally realized he’s no father figure, for anyone.