Hey everybody! I'm a newly converted Trekkie, and loved the scene in the beginning of Jim's birth--though I ended up close to crying. This is my first foray into the jungle of fanfiction, so reviews are worshipped, but a word to flamers: He who slings mud generally loses ground. Anyway, enjoy this interpretation of Winona Kirk!

Disclaimer: Don't own it *sob*. Sue me if you like, but you'll end up with about $30 in cash and a collection of beat-up hardback books.

"Red alert. Hostile ship detected. Battle stations. Red alert."

The alarms blare, the lights flash. The doctors rush around, talking in esoteric language I wouldn't understand even if I wasn't doped up on inhibitors and painkillers. The drugs they gave me dull my reactions, but not my feelings--fear clogs my throat. Fear for myself, fear for my unborn child, but most of all fear for my husband. George Kirk. First officer of the USS Kelvin. Father of my child. Who is on the bridge, not in the med bay, where he's supposed to be.

What's happening? What's wrong? Where's George? I look around wildly for the nurse. "What's wrong? Where's George?" I ask. I know I must sound hysterical- a hormonal pregnant woman who's about to have her first child. But, dammit, I AM a hormonal pregnant woman who's about to have her first child. And, by God, I want to know where my husband is. "Where's George?" I ask, more insistently, and thumb on the communicator that has a direct line to my husband, who's supposed to be HERE.

"Kirk to Medical." Thank God. Between contractions, I gasp, "George? What's going on? No one will tell me anything. The ship-"

"Are you okay? Is the baby okay?"

I glance at the doctor, who remains calm and collected despite the blaring alarms. He leans over, speaking into the comm.

"Everything's fine. She's had a few contractions, but the inhibitors should suppress labor till we get back to Earth—as long as you don't give us any more bumps." Bumps? Understatement of the century.

"No promises," I hear my husband say grimly. "I'll be there as soon as I can." The link cuts off.

The contractions are subsiding when another explosion rocks the medical bay. I hear the comm crackle to life.

"Kirk to Medical. Get my wife to medevac shuttle thirty-four. I'll meet you there." The medical bay shakes again. A huge contraction, the biggest one yet, tears through me.

A wireless monitor beeps insistently. I try to keep my breathing steady—unsuccessfully—as my eyes blur with tears. "What's happening? Please—is the baby okay?"

A medtech reports to the doctor, ignoring me. "Heartbeat's dropping. Late variable decelerations, could be umbilical cord compression…" Oh, no.

Over the loudspeakers, I hear George's voice. "All decks, this is your captain speaking. Evacuate the ship. This is a general evacuation order. Get to your designated shuttlecraft. I repeat, this is a general evacuation order.

The doctors are rushing around, talking in clipped, terse voices.

"Pack it up, she'll deliver in the shuttle. Let's go, LET'S GO!"

Firm hands lift me onto a wheelchair. Confused and struggling, I'm wheeled out of the medical bay.

We sprint into the shuttle, the doctor screaming—"Her water just broke—this baby's coming now." I hear the shuttle's systems hum to life. "George—where's George?" Another contraction. I scream, pushing again. "He's stuck," I hear. Pressure on my swollen stomach. "Doctor, we have to leave. We can't wait any longer. I'm initiating departure sequence." I raise my head, barely, and gasp into the comm. "George, the shuttle's leaving! Where are you? NO! I'm not leaving without my husband!"

The pilot answers me. "I have my orders, ma'am. I'm sorry."

"Winona!" The doctor says sharply. "I need you to push."

My body overriding my frantic mind, I scream again as I push again. So tired…and it hurts so much. I scream again—but this time there's a tiny response, a lusty cry of life, not pain. I hear the doctor saying triumphantly,

"That's it, he's out! Winona, you did it!" But where's George? The physical pain is fading. I reach my arms out towards my child—my son.

I turn towards the comm. "George? George!"

His voice, strained, comes through. "Right here, sweetheart. So what is it?"

"It's a boy," I murmur through my tears.

"A boy? Yeah! Tell me—tell me about him."

A sob escapes me, but not of pain this time. "He's beautiful, so beautiful. He looks like you." I whisper tearfully, "George, you—you should be here."

"I know…"As I think about it, I realize where he is, if not here.

Oh no. Panic fills me, terror for my husband nearly drowning me.

"You have to get out of there! George, listen to me—get off that ship right now!"

"Winona—I can't. This is—there's no other way. I'm sorry—so sorry. T-tell me what he looks like."

I swallow. "B-blue eyes…" I whimper, struggling to stay understandable. "God, they're your eyes."
"So what should we call him, huh?"

I blink. Name, of course. "What about—after your father?"

He laughs, a rough, harsh sound. "Tiberius? No way. Let's name him after your dad. Let's call him Jim."

"Jim," I sigh. "Jim it is."

"Sweetheart? Can you hear me?"

"Yes. Yes, I hear you."

"I love you. I love you. I lov—" the link cuts off.

There are no tears.

Only cold.

George is gone.

Forever.
Never again will I see him smile, or laugh.

I look down. He will never know his child.
But as I watch Jim's angelic face—George's face.

George is gone.

But Jim lives.
Jim is what I live for.

George's son.