Disclaimer: Star Trek and anything recognized are not mine. Anything you don't recognize most likely is.

Okay, I reread this chapter and hated it. I'm sorry for subjugating you to it. SO here is Chapter 2 Redux!

"Hey Scotty!" I call cheerfully to the pair of legs sticking out of a big metal…thing. A string of Gaelic curses was my answer before the emerging Scot wiggles out to face me. Smiling I hand him a rag for the oil streak on his forehead.

"Johnny! What're ye doin' 'ere lass?" He asks taking the rag but missing the streak completely. The giant hulking metal thing Scotty just climbed from groans loudly and I can't hear anything else. Scotty motions me to follow him after I signal how I can't hear. We trudge through the steam and noise to his office/cubicle/desk. Shifting a few PADDs from a chair, I plop down as the Scot pulls out a contraband bottle of Scottish Whiskey…the good kind. Damn. I gaze longingly at the glass he pours himself; damn I could use the numbing burn his gulp promised. I settle for the water he pushes toward me with a pout.

"Now, whot're ye doin' here, lass?"

"I'm bored!" Since finding myself in the 23rd century some two weeks ago, I've suffered extreme shock after extreme shock. It's a wonder I haven't had a heart attack or some kind of emotional meltdown, then again it could happen any moment now…nope I'm still okay.

I was born Princess John Grimm in 1982, and just to clarify, we are not royalty. My unfortunate name is from being the only girl born to a Grimm name…ever. Thanks Mom. And so 27 years later, doctors diagnosed me with a rare fatal disease roughly 4 months Gerry and I got engaged.

Because of my family's immense wealth and vast connections, I underwent an experimental procedure that was supposedly meant to cure me. Supposedly. As it turns out, supposedly doesn't always cut it now does it? There were complications that led to me being put into cryogenic sleep for…oh 250 YEARS give or take. Now in a time far removed from, Dr. McCoy gave me a cure…which is great if only it weren't for one teensy little side affect from that damned procedure. I am pregnant, 3 weeks and 250 years along with Gerry's baby. Apparently the procedure and its combined drugs had voided my birth control, abstinence may be key but I'll be damned if I don't fuck with my fiancée.

So now I am stranded by my circumstances on the U.S.S Enterprise, gem of Starfleet. At least the crew was welcoming, if not obscenely curious. I mean, I am a 21st century relic.

"Johnny, bein' bored doesna mean you can come down ta Engineerin'. 'Specially no with a wee bairn in yer belly." Scotty lightly scolded me, bringing me back to his present.

"Yeah well, if I go to the bridge there's no place to sit and nothing to watch. And Spock would find my 'frivolous' conversations with Nyota 'illogical'. Then Dr. McCoy kicks me out of the Medical Bay for distracting people, which I'm not! And being alone in Nyota's room waiting for her shift to end is enough to promote SUICIDE!" Scotty snorts into his whiskey and gives me a look. "I need something to do, Scotty. Dude! I'd even endure another one of Spock's 'inquiries' just to escape this unending monotony!"

After Dr. McCoy deemed me healthy, Spock immediately swept me into a weeklong series of 'inquiries' to determine whether or not I was any sort of threat. As much as I wanted to point out that a stranded pregnant and sad woman isn't much of a threat to anyone but pickles and ice cream, I knew I had to at least get them to trust me enough to figure some way to send me home…or something. It was only two 'days', or the space equivalent, ago that he finally determined I was not. As if it were ever an issue

Scotty slaps his thigh in sudden realization, "Och lass, why do ye no ask for work?" The Scotsman lifted the bottle in a toast to his brilliance and I watched him savor the amber water of life.

"Ooh, I tried but I got Spock-blocked." I giggled at the Scot's face. "No, really, Mr. Spock stated it was illogical to let a non-member of Starfleet blah blah blah…actually I kind of stopped listening when he said no."

"Can ye cook?"

"Those machine things, besides Spock would suspect me of food poisoning or something crazy."

"Replicators, lass. Clean?"

"Doesn't the ship kind of take of that? Or some kind of robot thing?" I remembered leaving some of Nyota's clothes out to change into after a sonic shower thing only to find them put away neatly with my dirty clothes nowhere to be found. "And don't you dare mention child-rearing, or I will smash that whisky bottle over your head."

Scotty swiftly cradles the bottle to his chest protectively. "I wasna goin' to."

"Five weeks along and doin' fine, Miss Grimm." Dr. McCoy stated as he enters my stats into his file pad thingy, yeah so I still don't get the future lingo. The doctor averted his gorgeous dark chocolate eyes to allow me to dress.

"Thank you Doctor." I mumble sitting up from the bed. Dr. McCoy insists on weekly check-ups because of my 'unique' condition. Maybe it's because he's just interested in the effects of 23rd century medicine on a 21st century pregnant body.

I suppose I should be put out for being turned into his personal guinea pig, but I'm not. In fact I really don't mind playing doctor with the good Doctor. I mean how many women actually mind having the gorgeous doc lay his hands on you? Not many.

"Any questions?" The rough timber and twang of his voice sent pleasant shivers through to my 'happy place'.

I wanted to say, 'Yeah, can I check to see if the story between a man's shoe size and his penis have any happy truths?' or 'Now that the business is out of the way, how about you and I enjoy some naked yoga?' But instead I went for the real problem niggling at my brain. "Yes, why don't I have morning sickness?" I was pleased to see he was mildly shocked. "Really, I haven't gotten sick when I wake up. I don't feel nauseous, I'm not craving pickles and ice cream; and aside from boredom, I'm not experiencing any mood swings." I paused a moment. "Not to poke at your degree, but are you sure I'm pregnant? Maybe I read a false positive or it looked like a hysterical pregnancy. I've read that those happen from time to time, like a woman wants a baby so bad that she undergoes those symptoms but for me it's like a reverse or something. Not that I was wanting a baby in the first place, I mean I was on birth control before this whole thing happened and –"

"Miss Grimm, take a breath." He stopped my ramble. "And no, your test results are positive for pregnancy, the machines are not wrong. Ah've double checked them myself."

"Did you take a blood sample?"

I shocked him again it seems. "Blood? What the fu—What for?"

"Well, for confirmation, duh." His face turned to one of confusion either from my slang or still from the fact I suggested blood. Dr. McCoy cannot possibly be squeamish. "Blood tests not only tell what wrong with a patient but hormones determine whether a woman is really preggers."

Dr. McCoy cleared his throat, "Blood tests are obsolete, and those haven't been used since the early 22nd century when the tricorder was invented." He lifts up the handheld plastic thingy with the blinking lights. "Besides, not all species have blood to give, so the tricorder helps out a lot and there's less blood contact diseases spread."

An excellent explanation, and would have been all the more useful had I not been staring at those lips imagining the places he could place them. So perhaps I lied a bit about not feeling the effects of pregnancy, I read somewhere the pregnant women are increasingly horny due to the influx of hormones. But like hell am I gonna tell that to the Doctor, especially since he's kind of the one stirring all types of naughty fantasies. "But what if the machine is faulty?"

"Doesn' happen." That sounded rather final.

"Okay sure, but what if?" I pressed because really I have got to know.

"Does. Not. Happen."

"So then…is there something wrong with me?" My heart lurched at the idea. What if there really is a problem that his machines don't seem to fix.

"Didn' Ah just say, you were fine, Miss Grimm?" Did his eye just twitch?

"But—?"

"No, Miss Grimm, you are 5 weeks pregnant and both of you are healthy. Now Ah've got work to do without a pregnant lady getting' underfoot." He cut me off gruffly stressing on my name. If he weren't such a gentleman, I'm guessing he would've tossed me straight on my ass out of the Med Bay.

"Okay, okay, I'm gone." I held up my hands in surrender with a small smile.

"Invalid. Please choose a category."

"Just give it to me already! Damnit!" I yell angrily at the food machine thing. Several pairs/groups of eyes in the cafeteria turn to watch me, probably waiting to see if I'll go ape-shit on the fucking thing. I'm pretty sure there is a proper name for it, but I honestly don't give a damn because I'm 'bout to go homicidal.

"Hey Johnny. What's going on?" Jim suddenly appears at my side startling me from any and all homicidal thoughts. "Something wrong with the replicator?" I step aside and let him have a go only to see him successfully get a hot ham and cheese Panini with coffee. What the hell?! "Seems fine to me. What'd you order?"

"A three by three animal style, it's the only way to go at In-n-Out Burger and a vanilla-chocolate swirl shake. But I think the stupid machine hates me, all it'll say is 'Invalid'." I hold Jim's tray as I watch him try to find me my burger.

"Doesn't sound familiar…How's McDonald's? That okay?"

"What? Ew no. Definitely not after watching 'Super Size Me', there's no way I'll eat that. I'd rather tofu it for the rest of my life than eat another McDonald's burger." I shudder much to Jim's amusement. He continues to scroll for burger options. "But how can you not know In-n-Out Burger? You said that the Starfleet Academy is in San Francisco, now I've lived in California for school and there totally was In-n-Out Burger in S.F."

"Dunno. How about this, it's a double bacon grilled cheese sandwich burger? And just for you we'll make it a combo meal." My stomach rumbled loudly and seemed to answer for me. "Great, this one tastes…um what would you say? Oh yeah, fucking awesome." My eyes roll at his attempt of my 21st century vernacular as I follow him to an empty table. "Well, eat up. You're feeding two."

Helplessly I pick up the burger mildly surprised at the size of it. "Ugh, don't remind me." Tentatively I bite, chew and swallow. "Not bad. But I'm searching for In-n-Out when we're Earthside again." The captain looks pleased. "By the way, why are you so excited about my baby? It's not like you put it there in the first place either." I worked on polishing off the burger before attacking the French fries, at least I'm not on that damned diet Dr. McCoy tried to push on me. Then again, he did say I was too thin…God I could have kissed the man!

"I know, Johnny, but this will be the first Enterprise baby. All of the ensigns that got pregnant immediately went planetside for those births." He was giddy. Giddy Jim is scary; must make him stop now! "Hey…don't look at me like that, they weren't mine."

"Oh hell fucking no. You're gonna shuttle me to a station that'll 'port me to Earth. There is no way in hell I'm having this baby in space!"

"Come on, Johnny. Being born in space won't hurt the kid, I was born in space and I turned out fine!" My brow quirked up challenging that statement. "What? I did. Please Johnny, for all of us space-born kids?" Did he just plead?! Oh God, he even gave me a kicked puppy look!

"You're a douche, Jim. You know that? I can't believe I'm allowing you to turn my baby into some kind of propaganda ploy!" I growl around a mouthful of fries.

"I believe it is considered offensive to speak while one is eating, Ms. Grimm." Spock stated in his approach to our table. I supply a small smile and go back to my fries. "Captain, you did not answer your communicator. You are needed on the bridge."

"Coming." Jim stood and pats Spock's shoulder as he started to turn away, "Johnny, you won't regret having the baby here. Bones is great. And…what's a 'douche'?"

"Spock, do me a favor and take this delinquent away, please." Jim dodged the fry I launched at him laughing whereas Spock left with a raised brow.

"Tha's wasteful, Miss Grimm." The whiskey sex voice of the doctor purred over my shoulder and I suppress the urge to moan at the pleasure it brings me. Okay, so I'm horny, sue me. But I haven't had sex in 250 years, cut me some slack!

"Perhaps. But you'd have to agree that it left on a worthy cause, regardless of how unsuccessful." I grin and pat the bench next to me. "Sit, keep me company."

"Don' mind if ah do." He sat across from me before frowning at my tray. "French fries, Miss Grimm?"

"Actually, it was a double bacon grilled cheese sandwich burger and French fries, Dr. McCoy. I'm finally having a craving and Lord help the person who keeps a burger from a pregnant woman." I reply flippantly. He chuckles with a lopsided grin before digging into his…soup. "Please tell me that's not all you're going to eat, Doctor."

"Wha's wrong with it?"

I weighed my words carefully, "Well, it looks like baby vomit, green baby vomit." His eyes narrow before he pushes the bowl away. "You asked."

"Well, Ah didn' expect tha' Miss Grimm. 'Specially not from a lady."

"Well, Dr. McCoy, I can guarantee you there's a lot of things you're not gonna expect from this lady."

"I look forward to it, Miss Grimm." Dear God, is he flirting?

A/N: Soooooooo sorry that took forever. Post-college life isn't very fun and waiting for acceptance/rejection letters for grad school doesn't help either. Please review because I'm considering closing down this story. It'd be nice if I got some kind of response. Thanks!!