Author's Note: Stands on its own, but could be read as a prequel to "The Proposition." Thanks to Jademoon for beta-ing!
Disclaimer: I only own the kids.
"A Rush of Blood to the Head"
*
Jim Kirk never considered himself the marrying kind. Neither did the crew of the Enterprise.
That concept of 'settling down' was something he could never see himself doing. Maybe it was because his mother had a shitty marriage to his stepfather, and he had a subconscious fear he'd follow the same path if he ever did take that plunge. Maybe it was because he enjoyed his single life too much, and he thought – knew – that no woman could handle him. He feels the gold wedding band hugging his finger as he holds Elisabeth's hand, and a small smile lifts the corner of his mouth amidst the chaos. Funny how life warps preconceived notions.
If he didn't think he'd get married, he sure as hell didn't think he'd have kids.
Procreation seemed as intangible as marriage. He didn't know how to be a father...to a living, breathing entity anyway. The Enterprise was his baby. The lack of his father probably figured in somewhere. He had zilch experience with human babies. He didn't hang out with younger family members growing up. He wasn't averse to kids; he just didn't know anything about them. Then Spock and Nyota's sons were born, and he warmed to the idea of raising his own. Spock was just as inexperienced as Jim is now, and he's turned out to be a pretty decent dad.
"Jim," Elisabeth whispers. Nerve endings detonate throughout his body as he studies her face, her brow creased with the effort of labor. This is something he cannot control, and he's never felt more helpless.
"What?" he asks gently, sweeping damp strands of dark hair from her forehead. His muscles ache from tension, but hope, fear, and adrenaline keep him semi-conscious. There is a pulsing tension headache developing between his eyes. The glaring fluorescent light above them doesn't help. Both are mentally and physically depleted of energy. Elisabeth's been in labor all night, and for the last two hours they've been circling sick bay in order to speed up the contractions. It's pushing 5:00 A.M. and she's finally dilated enough. Jim has a transient thought of his mother, suffering all alone as his father set the course for his death. He can't fathom how she did it by herself. His mother was deprived of security and encouragement from his father. Of course, Jim realizes his presence isn't making the process less painful, but Elisabeth has his support and comfort and the knowledge that he's committed, loves her enough to be there. He could not and would not be anywhere else.
"You feelin' all right there?" Bones asks Jim from his position at the foot of the bed. "The baby's not here yet." A nurse drifts in and out behind him, systematically scanning Elisabeth for signs of fetal distress.
Jim blinks, his memory hazing over like he's had a few too many drinks. Does he look all right? He doesn't feel ill. He's just so tired. Is that what Bones is referring to? If he stares long enough in the view window opposite him, he can spot the five o'clock shadow obscuring his jawline and the subdued blue of his eyes. Is he swaying? Oh shit. He imagines spinning one-hundred and eighty degrees, vision surrendering and blurring as his face meets the floor. Paradise. He mentally slaps himself. Liz needs you.
"Plenty of fathers have passed out in the delivery room," Bones says. "You wouldn't be the first." Jim scoffs, offended. "Couldn't fool me. Need a caffeine hit?"
Elisabeth wheezes an enervated chuckle, which deepens to a hiss, then spirals into a full-out wail. Jim winds his arm around her back as contractions jolt her to a sitting position on the biobed. Her body shakes violently underneath his half-embrace as she strains. He holds her closer, trying to buffer the waves of pain. Stop this! he wants to howl at Bones, but his main objective is keeping his composure for Liz and making her as relaxed as possible. She murmurs rushed "ow"'s as she struggles to regulate her breathing.
"I've got you," he repeats into her hair as his arm tightens around her. One would think that in the 23rd century, medical and scientific advancements would render childbirth easier. Not so. It's still as difficult, harrowing, and arduous as ever. "Christ, Bones, there must be something you can give her," Jim blurts, though the chances of his friend complying are few and far between. "A sedative or – " Liz crushes his fingers. She's not reacting to the pain.
"Are you telling me how to do my job?" the good doctor inquires with the slightest tinge of aggravation to his tone. "It's too late for another epidural."
"I'm the captain," Jim starts to protest. There must be something he can do.
Bones shoots him a look he's been giving for years. "You're startin' in with the 'captain' thing?" Jim grits his teeth. So that's how it's gonna be. He's so wound up he could throttle Bones if he wasn't grasping Elisabeth.
"Stop – harassing – Bo – ," Liz starts, but her voice crackles and wears away as she slumps forward.
"Hold it, hold it," Bones urges. "All right, good. Take a breath, Liz." Jim hears her exhale and she lifts her head to look at him, glasses slightly askew, her eyes, green as the sprawling fields of Iowa, which reeled him in (her legs were first) drooping behind them. Her mouth trembles into what he thinks is a smile, then grimaces as her teeth attack her chapped bottom lip.
"I give up," she pants. She said the same thing last year after the second miscarriage. Jim is transported back to their bedroom for a moment – she was perched on her knees amidst the mess of sheets, the change in her demeanor palpable. "I give up," she shrugged. He stroked her thigh, biting back tears as he watched her resolve deteriorate. "I don't want to try anymore." He took her into his arms, squeezing her, unable to speak. Gone were the abundance of solutions and her infectious optimism when everything was heading to hell. It was shocking coming from the same woman who had informed him, with such raw conviction and determination, that he'd be a wonderful father during her first pregnancy. She held such a firm belief in his future parenting abilities that he had begun to believe in them too. Such was her influence over him.
When she'd gotten pregnant for the third time, they withheld the news for four months. They were afraid they'd jinx it, and if that happened again, Jim was sure he'd lose Liz along with their unborn child. He might have been selfish, but it still wasn't worth the risk. It was only after Spock's eldest son, Malcolm, asked why Elisabeth's eating habits were so irregular that they spilled. Bones designated himself as her physician, and insisted she be put on permanent bed-rest for the remaining months. He tended to her daily, and the pregnancy miraculously held.
"We're almost there," Jim whispers, though he doesn't know for sure. He looks at Bones. "Right?" he mouths. Bones nods. Liz's fingers clutch at his. He clutches harder. "Everything's going to be fine," he reassures her. It has to be. After so much heartache, they deserve some semblance of happiness. The first pregnancy lasted five months, long enough for them to prepare a nursery and for Jim to come to grips with his new role as a father. The second ended before the two-month mark.
"Bear with me," Bones is saying, to Jim or Elisabeth, he doesn't know. He's talking like he's light-years away. Did he say to push? Liz straightens up as far as she can go and clenches beneath Jim's hands as she does what she is told. Hold on, hold on, Jim silently coaches her. The next few minutes feel horrendously long. She doesn't scream, but her distressing groans and constant shifting are enough to keep Jim wishing it was over and done with. Her arms sag beneath his grip as she gulps down air. Bones' brow is furrowed as he works diligently, and the nurse whose name Jim didn't get prepares the examination table out of the corner of his eye.
At one point Jim encircles his other arm around Elisabeth's front so she is braced securely against his chest, and rides it out with her. Her fingernails dig with such ferocity into his forearm that he can't feel the pain.
"The head's crowning…"
It's almost here – the rest of Jim and Liz's life.
"Shoulders…out…"
His breath hitches.
"One more push, Liz, come on!"
Jim, flustered and eager, cranes his head just in time to witness their child, swathed in afterbirth, ease into Bones' outstretched hands. Air escapes his lungs in a choked sigh and Elisabeth's head lolls on his shoulder. The nurse is at Bones' side, scanning the baby, wiping out its mouth so it can cry.
"Is it all right?" Elisabeth asks.
"Perfectly healthy," Bones murmurs. "All eight pounds, two ounces of him." Him? Did he just say – him! Jim notices Bones' voice break and a rare smile contort his features. "Congratulations, kids. You've got a son."
"A son," Jim echoes, a combined rush of tenderness, ecstasy, and wonder inundating his psyche. Teaching him how to navigate the solar system, watching football, listening to his first words, chasing him through the halls of the Enterprise, singing him to sleep, hoisting him up on his shoulders as they watch a parade. His gaze meets Elisabeth's. She nods, her relieved laughter morphing into an influx of tears that Jim can taste as he kisses her.
When Bones (whom Jim owes everything to and proclaims him the godfather) places their son in Elisabeth's arms after both have been cleaned up, there is an awed silence that permeates the space. Jim watches his wife skim the baby's face with her forefinger, admiring him. "Hello, ma petit," she coos. He is quiet, swaddled in a blue cotton blanket imprinted with the Starfleet logo. "He's got a birthmark just like yours, only it's not in the same place," she observes. She grins up at Jim tearily, and he nuzzles her cheek. She looks absolutely stunning, her new mother glow practically blinding Jim. When he tells her this, she rolls her eyes.
"You have a very convoluted definition of stunning," Liz whispers, but she beams regardless. He caresses the back of her head and smooths the mess of hair. "Come here, Daddy, say 'hello' to," Liz pauses and shares a knowing look with Jim, "Adam." They chose that name simply because they liked the sound of it. Something about it fit. Jim finds the name ironic, since his research told him Adam meant "of the earth," and Adam was obviously not born there. He approaches as if guided by an unseen force, his arms reaching out to accept his son.
"Wow," he gasps. Though he has held Spock's children more than once, holding his own child still feels so awkward and new and wonderful. He's often wondered what's so cute about a newborn baby. They aren't exactly the nicest things to look at, with the wrinkled faces, scrunched up like a pug's. Their skin is beet red, like they're recovering from the mother of all sunburns, and their eyes are glazed over and puffed like they've received one too many knuckle sandwiches. Oftentimes they have traces of vernix left on their skin. Marveling at the creation in his arms, Jim understands. As far as he is concerned, his son is the most beautiful thing in the universe. He registers the tuft of golden brown hair that has sprouted from his head, and the tiny birthmark on his forehead. Adam's steely blue eyes open and look all sorts of confused as he blinks sluggishly up at Jim. What color they'll eventually become is still too early to tell. Perhaps a mix of both green and blue. The baby's mouth is half-open in an equally perplexed "o" as he returns Jim's shocked gaze.
"Hey there, Adam." Jim takes a seat next to the bed, enamored. One of Adam's tiny fists rests against Jim's chest and he touches it carefully, amazed at the teeny fingernails. Liz and he made this. Without them, Adam wouldn't exist. This miracle (which is the only apt description he can give because he is) is his. Jim Kirk, Captain of the Enterprise and once self-proclaimed bachelor, is someone's father. He is responsible for someone else's well-being now. The magnitude of this realization causes him to tear up, and he props Adam in the crook of one arm to wipe his eyes.
He feels Liz kneading his shoulder, and he glances at her, a bit embarrassed that she's seeing him like this. She mouths an "I love you."
"I love you, too," he responds, and his voice sounds congested. Adam makes the tiniest mewling noise and Jim begins rocking him on instinct. He cannot grasp how much he already loves him.
"Welcome to the Enterprise, son."
*
Hope you enjoyed! I might write a pre-prequel to this, explore how Jim & Elisabeth met and all...