For Unto Us A Son Is Born
The first among them to make any attempt to open his eyes was Doctor Leonard McCoy. First one, and then the other, as if testing the water to determine if he could handle the sensations produced by two fully operational visual instruments. The answer was an immediate no, as blinding light rendered him well nigh blind, and he squeezed them shut again quickly, in protest.
"Who ordered this damn daylight?" he mumbled aloud to no one in particular, reaching up with one hand to touch his head, which seemed suspiciously sore, and his neck was cramped into the oddest position, at a particularly uncomfortable obtuse angle. But his fingers met with something other than his scalp, and his eyes opened wide in alarm, as he began to probe the strange object apprehensively.
"Doctor, unless you intend to perform some strange sort of exploratory surgery of my chest, which I do not advise, I suggest that you move your hand back to its original position." The dry voice of the Vulcan crackled in his ears, far too loudly for McCoy's taste. But he snatched his hand back as if Spock had set it afire, and immediately attempted to sit up, only to discover another body lying across both himself and Spock, and quite a contortion that must have been to perform that particular trick.
"Jim!" McCoy "shouted", keeping his voice from rising to too great a volume, lest it shoot off the top of his head. "Jim, wake up, you feel like a lead spaceship, and if you don't move off of my bladder, I won't be able to answer for the consequences." He pushed futilely at Kirk's legs, although his comments were directed to his upper half, which was nestled cozily upon Spock's long limbs. Curiously, the Vulcan wasn't yelling at Kirk to remove himself.
James Tiberius Kirk smiled in his sleep, a boyish grin still filled with youthful skulduggery and charm, his arms wedged beneath Spock's legs, while his cheek was cradled against what must have been hard bone, even as he mumbled, "Still respect you. Promise."
"JIM!" McCoy screamed, which produced a wince from Spock, with a well aimed, "Was that really necessary, Doctor?" as James shot up, hand reaching for his fazer, eyes narrowed and alert. "Are we under attack? What is happening? I need reports, and I need them immediately!" He had a peculiar way of wakening completely, in full battle mode, ready to deal with the given situation.
"Where in Taurean blazes are we?" McCoy snapped, grateful for the lessening of the dead weight upon him, as he began to rise from the floor where he found himself - where they all were - albeit with some creaking of bones involved - glancing uncertainly around him for some sign or indication of where or what this place was. Spock was already on his feet, unperturbed as usual, and doing his own reconnaisance, even as Kirk cried out, "This looks like a room in a cheap motel I once went to, back on Earth!"
"It is, indeed, a motel room," Spock confirmed, pulling open a drawer in a desk, one of the few pieces of furniture in the room, producing a matchbook which read Bates Motel, and on the inside could be seen, Ask about our special rates for mothers!
"Think, Jim, think," Kirk commanded himself, as he put out one hand as if to steady himself, the other splayed dramatically across his eyes. "What is the last thing you remember?"
"Wodka... a great deal of wodka...." Another country heard from. Three heads turned as one to take in the sight of Chekhov emerging from what one must conjecture was the bathroom.
"Who told you to drink so much vodka, Pavel?" Sulu trailed him from the bathroom, both men's uniforms in distinct disarray. And Chekhov had lipstick marks slathered across his face and neck.
"Great Googly Moogly!" McCoy exclaimed at the sight of the two men, placing his hands on his hips in irritation. "If Scotty were around, I'd be able to say hail hail the gang's all here!"
And as if on cue a low moan could be heard, coming from the direction of the bed - or, to be more precise, underneath the bed - "Wurra the day, wurra the day, I think I've gone blind, Cap'n, I canna see!"
Spock instantly saved the day for the despairing Scotsman, as he raised the blanket up enough for daylight to penetrate beneath, while Kirk got onto his hands and knees, peering into the darkness. "Scotty? What the devil are you doing there?"
In response, the engineer rolled out from beneath the bed, bringing a few dustbunnies with him, very happy to see the present company which now surrounded him. "Ach, those divvil women...." he moaned, "ferocious females...."
"What in blazes are you talking about?" McCoy demanded, while a trace of recognition crossed Kirk's face.
"We went to a bar last night!" he exclaimed, "It's starting to come back to me now." He struck a dramatic pose, one finger held up for effect, as he continued to ruminate upon the subject. "Now, what was the name of that place?" He drummed his fingers against his forehead as if seeking to divine the information in that fashion. "Something with a K, I think? Kitty? Kitchen? Katastrophe?"
Spock arched an eyebrow at his superior officer/best friend. "That's spelled with a c, Jim," he corrected him, just before he supplied the answer, "Black Jack's Bar and Whoopie Parlor..."
"Amazing, Spock," Kirk praised the Vulcan, "amazing that even under the influence of untold amounts of strong drink, you are able to bring the name of the bar to mind just like that!" He snapped his fingers for effect, instantly regretting it as his head throbbed in response, and so did Bones'.
"Elementary, my dear Jim," Spock replied in his usual deadpan manner. "The evidence can be found there..." and he pointed to a somewhat tattered napkin which lay upon the chained down television, with that name imprinted upon it, beneath that in lipstick was written Eloise HotPants Duffy, and a phone number.
"Of course, the invitation, through Starfleet Channels, I remember," Jim nodded. "Uhura was pissed off that it was for the men only."
"So was Nurse Chapel," McCoy commented, "there'll be hell to pay when we get back."
All of the crew members nodded solemnly - if carefully - the sole exception being Spock, who was unconcerned, as usual.
"I suppose we should try to remember what happened last night," Jim began, but was interrupted by Scotty, who simply asked, "Why?" And before the stumped officer could think of a reasonable reply, there came a sharp knock at the door.
Heads swiveled, glances were exchanged.
"Who knows we're here?"
"No one. We don't even know where here is...."
"Obviously someone does," Spock said logically. "Does no one intend to answer it?"
As everyone else took three imediate steps backwards in response, Spock shook his head, and moved toward the door, opening it. But no one was visible. "Odd," he commented, before a noise drew his attention downward. To a basket. Containing an infant, whose mouth was filled with his tiny fist, dark eyes wide and wondrous.
"Who is it?" Jim called out to his friend.
"I do not know, as he or she is incapable of coherent speech," Spock replied.
"Too drunk?"
"Too young....."
"WHATTTTTTT?" The men all crowded around Spock, their attention riveted to the basket and its contents.
"Jim, what in the devil's name have you done?" McCoy demanded to know.
"Why do you automatically assume me?" James T. Kirk asked defensively.
"Don't look at me," Sulu and Chekhov both chimed in at the same time.
"I suppose it could be..." Scotty began, "but I dinna think I've.... well, not lately....."
Spock leaned down, and picked up an envelope which protruded from beneath the infant's blanket. "There may be some sort of answer here," he said, opening it and reading the message aloud:
iHis name is Khan Noonien Singh, please take good care of him, give him a good life, and raise him to be a fine Starfleet officer. I cannot take care of him any longer. Bless you.
(signed) A Distraught Mother/i
"What the hell?" McCoy exclaimed, amazed. "This can't be.... Khan? But he's......" He stopped there, unable to vocalize his thoughts.
"Dead," Spock supplied. "The word is dead, doctor."
"Thank you, Mr. Spock," the doctor replied sarcastically.
Spock and Jim exchanged knowing glances (not of the carnal variety). "Are you thinking what I'm thinking, Jim?" the Vulcan asked, even as Kirk nodded.
"Looks like he isn't quite dead after all. In fact I'd say he's been reborn...."
That was the moment in which Sulu and Chekhov both fainted.