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Jim was sitting on the Bridge, almost squirming in his chair. It had been a half-hour; how damned long could it take? Was something wrong? Oh, God, please don’t let anything be wrong. He’d die if anything was the matter with Spock. Why hadn’t he noticed how tired Spock had been? Why hadn’t he noticed that Spock was off his feed—even chocolate wasn’t tempting him! He should have noticed days ago, should have insisted that Spock get his bony, skinny, wonderful, beloved ass to Sickbay. Oh, God, Jim was the worst bond mate in the world, the very worst, the very, very worst…

His comm. lit up; Jim punched the button on his chair hard enough to break his thumb and the button. “Kirk here,” he snapped. “Bones, what the hell took you so….”

“I sent him back to his cabin,” McCoy’s voice came through the speaker. “But I have a message, Jim. I’m supposed to tell you that Operation Seahorse is a go.”

Jim was out of his chair like it was on fire. “Sulu, you have the con,” he yelled over his shoulder as he headed for the lift.

Sulu rose, exchanging puzzled looks with Uhura and Chekov.

“Operation Seahorse?”


Jim ran through the corridors, not caring who saw him and assumed that the ship was under attack. In record time, he was at the door to their quarters. He slipped inside.

Spock wasn’t in their living area. Jim moved through the suite of rooms to their sleeping area. He peeked around the screen that created an alcove around their bed.

Spock as there, lying on his back, sound asleep. That in itself was a red-letter day; Spock never napped. Jim kicked off his boots and crawled into bed, carefully gathering Spock into an embrace, kissing his brow, his eyes, his cheek, feeling the love swelling up inside him until Jim thought he might explode into a million pieces of confetti.

Slowly, the onyx eyes opened. Spock smiled with his eyes as his gaze met Jim’s.

“Hey,” Jim said softly.

“I believe the proper return salutation would be hello…dad,” Spock whispered.

Jim held him close, tears stinging his eyes. “Go back to sleep,” he murmured. “You need your rest.”

Spock obeyed, and Jim held him close, letting his hand rest on Spock’s stomach, where their child was now growing.

Jim drifted off to sleep, dreaming of pointy-eared babies in Starfleet onesies.


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