"You're a bit out of practice, Jim."
"I'm not driving."
"Just… humor me," McCoy continued, "I'm a nervous wreck."
Kirk and McCoy stood with their daughter between them, all staring up at the shuttlecraft. Stella held their hands, and swayed back and forth.
"Ready when you are, Admiral." Spock joined them, standing formally at one side of the line.
"I hardly think this counts as being on-duty." Kirk clarified, "Jim."
"Jim," Spock said, apologetically. McCoy grinned.
"Are you ready?" Kirk knelt to collect his daughter, as she nodded. She was carried in on his shoulders, ducking to skim beneath the low ceiling of the ship.
Spock sat at the control panel, motioning for Kirk to sit beside him. Stella was told to sit with Papa, after a brief protest, complete with attempts to fasten herself to the captain's chair.
"Uncle Scotty would like that," Kirk said, carrying her to the row of passenger-seats. This was a shuttle the Academy loaned them. Its primary function was collecting new students and bringing them to the campus for the first time. McCoy noted, beneath his breath, how similar it was to the one he and Kirk had ridden there, decades ago. He hoped the safety features had improved more than the appearance.
Stella wrapped one arm around her armrest, and the other around Papa. Spock calmly listed the altitude readings, as they met them. Occasionally, Kirk coughed, and adjusted his glasses before leaning over the blinking buttons.
"What do you think?" He asked, turning to face the passengers. Stella was quiet, admitting that it did not feel any different. Spock nodded.
"No, but it'll look different," Kirk promised, "Can I get the viewing screen up, Spock?"
"As you wish."
McCoy leaned forward, pulling Stella closer and pointing at the emerging projector.
Stella stood and stepped toward it, stretching to see over Daddy's chair.
"It looks the same, too," she observed. Spock raised an eyebrow, and was tempted to laugh.
"Really?" Kirk asked, picking up the laugh Spock neglected.
"It's just stars, isn't it?"
"'Just stars,'" quipped McCoy, "Did you hear that, Jim? And I was starting to think she wasn't my daughter…"
Teasingly, Kirk ignored them:
"Nearest planet, Spock? Mars?"
"Visible in several minutes, Ad—Jim."
"Good. Wait 'til you see this, Sweetheart."
She did. And once she saw it, she was stunned and silent.
The red glow filled the majority of the screen. They watched lights pulse from the main colony. Spock pointed out dust clouds, which his daughter leapt forward to study.
"There are people there?" she asked, spreading her fingers over the screen to manipulate the picture.
"Yes," said Spock.
"You learned about them in school," Kirk reminded her.
"But I didn't see them! Could we go and see them, Daddy?"
"What do you say, Spock?"
"I often find immersion to be the most effective of educational methods, particularly in cultural studies."
"Good enough for me." He glanced over his shoulder, "Bones?"
"Nervous wreck," he repeated, struggling to nod.
"Somebody has to be. Stella?"
She tore her eyes from the screen, slightly disappointed.
"Go and sit with Papa," Jim instructed.
She learned, from her visits with Uncle Scotty, to say, "Yes, Sir."
…
It was always Spock who tried to understand Stella's babbling. He sat in the armchair, staring down at her while she tottered about on the carpet, tugging at the loose fibers.
"It doesn't all have to mean something, Spock," McCoy assured him.
"I do not see another reason for attempted communication."
McCoy shrugged, and allowed Spock to lean forward and press his hand over their child's face.
The babbling stopped and the hand was withdrawn; no information was collected.
Stella watched her father retreat, and tried to follow him, stumbling forward. McCoy shot up from his chair, to catch her arms.
"Where's Jim?"
"He will not return home until approximately 17:15 hours. As you may not recall, Doctor, he volunteered to administer examinations for—"
"Fine, Spock. Get the visual-communicator, then. He needs to see this."
Stella watched them as they spoke, and again stretched to reach her father as he retreated down the corridor. She began crying, when he walked beyond her line of sight.
McCoy scooped her up and tried to comfort her, stroking her hair and breathing 'shh' against her ear. The Vulcan was best at consoling her, flattening any obtrusive thoughts. McCoy tried to copy the form of his hands, and Stella relaxed quickly.
"Spock?" he called, gently returning Stella to her feet.
"On my way, Doctor."
He arrived in time to record Stella's first shaky steps. While she tried to swat McCoy's hands away, he refused to let go.
"Did you get it?" he asked Spock, unable to trim his smile.
"'It'," said Spock, amused by the understatement, "Affirmative."
McCoy sat on the sofa, holding Stella in his arms, while Spock displayed the recording between them. The doctor insisted on watching it multiple times, muttering something about Joanna. Spock knew it was best to remind him of his intent; McCoy immediately nodded and sent the video off to their husband.
Kirk had never rushed home from work so quickly. He stood in the doorway, and was greeted by McCoy and Stella, only several steps away. She still required assistance, but bounced excitedly toward her daddy. He caught her hand, accepting it as McCoy dropped it. They traded, and she spent the evening walking between them. Spock praised her, rearranging words Sarek said to him years ago, letting genuine pride slip between them.
…
"I don't see why not," judged McCoy, "What do you think, Spock?"
"She is less than one-quarter Vulcan," he said, "Odds of affliction are minimal."
"No figures, Spock?"
"For preservation of time, Doctor, I chose to omit the calculation. The result is near to zero."
McCoy considered this a personal triumph, and stepped away to hide his smile.
"Thank you, Spock," Kirk said, "I was afraid of doing a birthday party without it… it's been in the family for centuries."
He gestured at the tattered recipe, printed on yellowing paper. McCoy shrugged and dared him to complete it without assistance.
"I have cooked before," Kirk replied.
"But not since Academy," McCoy proposed, "I don't remember you making anything else."
Kirk considered the timeline and shrugged.
"So, I'm a bit rusty."
Stella joined them in the kitchen, asking if anyone would pick her up. Anyone. This was often most effective, as they would all volunteer and she could have her choice. Spock taught her not to refuse opportunities, as it was not logical to expect anything to repeat itself.
Effortlessly, Spock hoisted her up while the others collected ingredients and laughed at every mistake. The wrong bowl. Too much sugar. Eggshells, which Kirk insisted on having McCoy retrieve from the bowl.
"I thought you didn't need help," he muttered, playfully wiping his hands on the apron Kirk wore.
Kirk shrugged, and set the bowl between them on the table. Spock and Stella oversaw from what he determined to be a 'safe distance.'
"Are you sure you don't need help, Daddy?"
Kirk and McCoy both glanced at her, while Spock set her down on the tabletop. She scooted to the edge, kicking out both legs, and inspected the bowl.
"Just taste it and tell me if you like it," Kirk offered, setting down his spoon, "That's the best help you can be."
She complied, but was quiet.
"Well?" prompted McCoy, "Any good?"
Kirk shrugged, and took a spoonful for himself.
"It's not bad," he said, passing the spoon to McCoy. The doctor swiped one finger over the spoon, and took his sample from there.
Spock watched his daughter, reeling on the table.
"I believe you should attempt a different recipe," he said, still studying her. At once, she became unusually talkative, and commented on her fingers, as they 'tasted' the entire bowl of batter.
He collected her hand and wiped it clean, using a towel McCoy tossed to him.
"That won't be necessary," Stella maintained, "I like the chocolate."
…
After they were sure she was asleep, they migrated away from the crib, and quietly shut the bedroom door.
"I estimate vocal communication to begin within three weeks," Spock said.
"Verbal?" McCoy clarified.
"I suppose so," said Spock, "Although many of her cries have meanings, they are inconsistent."
They sat down together, on the chairs in front of the fireplace. Kirk retrieved coffee from the replicator.
"Wonder what her first word'll be…" he began, leaning back in his seat.
"'Daddy,' I imagine," McCoy suggested, "Something easy."
"'Papa' is easier, I think."
"Don't you start, Jim." McCoy said, between sips of his coffee, "You picked it."
Spock glanced between them.
"What was your first word, Spock?" Kirk asked, setting his cup down on the center table.
"I was never told. Nor do I remember."
"I'm sure it was something challenging. And flawlessly logical."
"Thank you, Doctor, but I must assume the opposite, as it was never relayed to me by my father."
McCoy shrugged away his frown, and assured Spock that it did not matter.
Kirk turned, lips caught open in thought.
"It'll be whatever she hears us saying most, won't it?"
"And he," McCoy answered, tossing a hand at Spock, "won't say 'Daddy' or 'Papa.'"
"No," Spock conceded, "Unless she chooses to identify you as such, in which case I will not deny either title."
"Really?" McCoy said, "I don't think you'll change at all."
"And that's fine," Kirk agreed.
He set one hand flat against the armrest, and waited for Spock to answer it. The Vulcan had learned to feel comfortable, pressed above Kirk's hand and beneath McCoy's, swirling through their ebbing thoughts and passions.