Babysitter Bones

Author: Dreamwind

Summery: Another mission gone wrong, but this time Bones is left to sort out the consequences. Is he prepared to watch over two small children? Especially when those children are Captain Kirk and Commander Spock.

Warning: De-aged Kirk & Spock, terrible use of Southern & Scottish accents, yelling, mildly inappropriate language & potential cuteness overload

Rating: PG

Universe: Star Trek XI

content for this chapter was update on 02/16/11

Chapter 3

CMO Leonard McCoy's Personal Log Stardate 2259.926

So begins the first full day of babysitting the de-aged versions of Jim and Spock. I have worked out a schedule to pawn the little hooligans off on Chekov, Uhura and Sulu for part of the day in the hopes I can actually get some work done.

I decided to get a bit of payback in while I can as well. The first set of outfits are just "darling!" …snicker… The female crew members seem overwhelmed by the "cute" factor of the two and have taken to stalking the two with cameras. I am sure I will end up with years worth of blackmail material on the two because of this!

Day 2; Continued…

Spock ran. He ran like a wild shelat was after him. He bumped into people entering the recreation room, but didn't stop. Not even when he was tipped off balance and nearly crashed head first into the doorway. He ignored the pain in his shoulder from where it connected with the bulkhead as he righted himself last minute. He ignored the shocked sounds of the humans around him. He ignored the frantic sound of Jim's shout. His little feet slapping the ground, his heartbeat thundering in his ears, Spock ran blindly away.

Away from all the women crowding them.

Away from Nurse Chapel and her too cool hands.

Away from Ensign Chekov and his glory tales of Russia.

Away from Jim and his warm smiles and blue eyes.

Away from Jim…

Away…

Away…

Finally he could run no more. His breath was coming in loud uneven gasps. His legs were quivering as if the bones had been turned into Jello, the flesh and muscles feeling strangely heavy. His right hand stung from the force at which it had struck Nurse Chapel, his left shoulder throbbed dully, bruised most likely.

He pressed his aching hand against the cool wall and tried to keep on his feet. He had acted rashly, illogically. He had left his minder and his friend when he had specifically been told not to. He had used violence against a female, a human female. And now…now he wasn't even sure where he was or how to get back.

The hallway he was in was long, doors spaced evenly apart from each other lined the corridor. The only sound was his harsh panting. It was just him and his own illogical reactions that filled the empty corridor. In a way it was a relief. There was no one else who would bear witness to his shame. No only Jim, Chekov and the others in the recreation room. But only Jim…no , he had to stop thinking of it. He had to get himself under control.

Spock closed his eyes, focusing on his breath and the way it moved his chest in and out. He stood there, leaning quietly against the wall, taking stock of his body and slowly pulling it back under his control. Minutes passed but finally a stillness filled his muscles and his breath came more even. Although, his body was now back under his control he could still feel his emotions surging through him like a tidal wave, crashing against the trembling barrier of his control.

Spock opened his eyes and began looking to the doors. Surely it would be most logical to have some method of identifying where he was on the ship on the walls where anyone would be able to see.

Sure enough, the doors all had small dark placards next to them. Most of them had the name and rank of the rooms occupant listed. He had run all the way into the crew quarters. If he could find Doctor McCoy's quarters he should be able to find a way back to Jim.

Moving slowly through the corridor he began checking nameplates. Many of them were not names he recognized, which meant he wasn't in the right corridor for the Doctor's cabin. Still it would be the most logical route to simply continue following the corridor. It should lead him back to the Doctor's cabin or to the main area of the ship.

Nearly ten minutes later he found a nameplate with a most familiar name. There next to the door was his name.

This was his room. His adult self had lived in this room. Swallowing the rampant rise of emotions back down, he stretched up onto his toes and hit the door release. With a soft whoosh the door opened.

The room on the other side was neat and orderly. This room was not nearly as cluttered as Doctor McCoy's was. 'Of course,' he told himself, 'this room does not have three people crammed into it.' A sitting area with a desk was across from the door where he still stood. A small pile of PADDs sat on the left corner of the desk. Next to the PADDs was a small-framed photo of his Mother and a teenaged Vulcan, who he presumed must be his older self.

Spock stepped further into the room, the door closing with a silent whoosh behind him. Beside the desk there were a few candles set in a corner, a meditation mat rolled up and leaning against the wall next to them. A few pieces of Vulcan pottery were scattered throughout the room. He noted they were carefully placed so that no matter where he was in the room he would always be able to see at least one of them.

A doorway to his left opened into what was obviously a bedroom. The walls were lined with a rich, deep crimson silk. Some antique Vulcan weapons were hung on the curtained walls, and there in the corner, hidden by the long twin bed, was a lyre. It looked much like the one his Mother played for him. Perhaps it was in fact the very same lyre, if what the Doctor and Lt. Uhura had told him was true.

With a light touch Spock reached out, his sensitive Vulcan fingers caressing the smooth polished wood of the lyre. This was his now. His Mother had given it to him when he had joined Starfleet. A gift to help ease away the emotional turmoil that would sneak up and overwhelm him, she had told him. It was a reminder of her love. It had helped as she had said it would. Often in moments of stress he had found himself sitting alone strumming nonsense tunes on it. Perhaps, even now it would aid him.

Lifting the instrument, Spock carefully tested the strings. And though it must have been days, maybe even longer since he had played it, the lyre was still perfectly in tune. Moving carefully onto the bed, Spock set himself in a comfortable position and lifted his fingers to the strings.

The first notes rang out crisp and clear into the still and silent room. Without thought the notes of his Mother's favorite song began to fill his mind and the room, until he was aware of nothing else.

"At last, my love has come along / My lonely days are over / And life is like a song / Oh, yeah, at last / The skies above are blue / My heart was wrapped up in clovers / The night I looked at you –"

Warm tears filled his eyes as he played. The song brought such an aching sorrow and an overwhelming joy to his heart. Flooding it, washing away the shame and loneliness.

"—I found a dream that I could speak to / A dream that I could speak to / A dream that I can call my own –-"

But he ached with a need to reach out. To touch and be touched by another. By his Mother…his Father. By Jim.

"—I found a thrill to rest my cheek to / A thrill that I have never known / Oh yeah, when you smile, you smile / Oh, and then the spell was cast / And here we are in heaven / For you are mine / At last…" (1)

Spock opened his eyes to find Jim seated at his feet, blue eyes closed, sweet voice fading out as the last words of the song filled the room. Spock was startled, and strangely his heart felt warm and heavy in his side. He would not have thought Jim would have known the song, let alone words, to be able to sing it so well. It was such an old song. So few seemed to have ever heard it.

Jim opened his eyes and smiled wide, blue eyes sparkling up at him. "How'd you learn to play that?"

Spock blinked slowly. "My Mother taught it to me. It seems…an unusual choice of song for you to know as well."

Jim shrugged. "My Mom used to play it all the time. Especially on my birthday," there was a sad, almost wistful tone in the young humans voice that Spock found himself unable to identify.

Spock nodded slightly, unsure how to reply to such a statement and all that it left unsaid. "Were you not with Ensign Chekov?"

Jim smiled unconcerned. "Yeah, but I ditched him when you ran off."

"You were to remain with Ensign Chekov."

"So were you." Jim remained unrepentant. "Besides, Ensign Cutie can take care of himself, he hardly needs us to babysit him."

Spock's eyebrow twitched.

"—sides, seems to me it's more important to be here with you than with Ensign Cutie or CMO Sassypants." (2)

"You have a most illogical way of changing people's names."

Jim smiled and shrugged his shoulders again. "It fits them, though." Standing, Jim stretched his arms above his head until Spock could hear the joints pop. "So, you think we can get to a replicator for lunch without Ensign Cutie or Dr. Sassypants catching us?"

"Our likelihood of succeeding is below 47.653%."

Jim rubbed his hands together. "That good, huh? Well it'll just make it more exciting when we succeed."

Somehow Spock was sure this wouldn't end well.

AN:

The song is "At Last!" by Etta James. It has to be one of the most beautiful love songs ever.

I really get a kick out of that icon and just had to reference it. ; )