Leonard McCoy
There's a lot of nice things about being back on Earth. One of them is that you get to see your friends away from your place of work. A less pleasant thing, however? You get to see said friends less often, especially if they both happen to be in one job and you're in another. In the past four weeks since the end of the Enterprise's five-year mission, Leonard hasn't seen Jim or Spock except over video transmissions, nor has Amelia seen Chapel and Uhura. Today, that's set to change for both of them… maybe.
"For the last time, it's just a headache." His wife is currently sitting at the kitchen table of the Starfleet interim housing they're staying in until they can find something more permanent, and she's barely tolerating his medical scanner and tricorder.
"Headaches don't happen. Not without a reason."
"Fine. There's a reason. But it's something simple."
"Just humor me." His readings are showing nothing unexpected. There's an increased blood volume, higher HCG levels, and… there's the culprit.
"Well?" He sets down the device and stands.
"Nasal congestion."
"See? Nothing to worry about. So, relax. Take a few deep breaths-"
"I still think you should stay home today. Have Chapel and Uhura come to you."
"If I do that, Nyota will get suspicious. Besides, you're going out."
"I don't have to."
"Leonard, they're your two best friends, and you don't know when the next time all three of you will be together is. You're not skipping it. And you're late."
"I'm not." Not if he leaves now. "Are you sure-"
"Go before I physically force you to." Unlikely. She's very small. Still-
"If you need anything-"
"I'm capable of taking care of it myself."
"Like hell."
"Leonard-"
"I'm going." Leaning down, he brushes his lips against hers. "I love you."
"I love you too. Now leave." Shooting her a parting glance, he heads out the door.
Unfortunately, his preoccupation doesn't go away on the trip over to the bar where he's meeting Jim and Spock. His imagination is running about thirty different scenarios of things that could happen to Amelia while he's gone. It lessens to around ten once he's actually with his friends but doesn't completely stop. He's unsure of what he orders, only that Jim is already slightly inebriated, and Spock is stone cold sober despite the three empty shot glasses in front of him. Cheeks flushed, his former captain asks,
"So what have you and Mrs. McCoy gotten up to since retiring?"
"Job hunting, mostly." Oh, and Amelia's incubating a small human. But he can't say that, so instead he checks his PADD (one he was forced to purchase now that neither of them has access to Starfleet issued ones). No messages.
"Any prospects?"
"A few. Two in Georgia. A private practice is looking for both a doctor and a psychologist."
"That is your point of origin, isn't it, Doctor?" He nods in Spock's direction. Did she arrive alright? He should've told her to send a written transmission when she gets there.
"Are we boring you, Bones?"
"What?" Jim indicates the PADD.
"It seems like our conversational skills can't compare with that device."
"I'm just checking to see if there's anything from Amelia." His friend frowns.
"Your wife is a capable woman. Surely, she can look after herself for a few hours."
"Normally, I'd agree with you-" No. He can't say that either.
"Normally? Not currently?" Pasting what he hopes is a smile on his face, he takes a sip of his… water. He ordered water at a bar. His head's really in another place.
"Preoccupation is a common occurrence in expectant fathers." Spock sets down yet another empty drink. Wait, did he say- "I am not as familiar with the stages of human gestation as I am with those of Vulcans, but I believe that the fetus conceived by yourself and Dr. Fairchild now has developed most of its vital organs, correct?" He opens his mouth to deny it and then snaps it shut again. Jim's frown takes on a confused tinge.
"The fetus… what?" There's no getting around this one. Although he's got a major question.
"She does, but how the hell did you know about that?"
"Simple deductive reasoning. I observed that Christine was preoccupied as well, and when I enquired about it, she revealed that she was thinking of the pregnancy of a friend. You have been exuding abnormal levels of worry concerning you wife, and when I last saw Dr. Fairchild, her uterus had begun to expand-"
"Alright! Thank you, Spock." Maybe it wasn't such a leap after all.
"Wait, so Amelia is pregnant?" This really wasn't something he was supposed to mention. Not at this stage. But now that Spock's gone and made the announcement for him…
"Yes."
"When did this happen?"
"Around twelve weeks ago." Twelve weeks, three days, not to put too fine a point on it.
"You never mentioned that this was something you were thinking about."
"Because it wasn't. You remember when the alien vessel abducted everyone with type AB negative blood?" Jim nods.
"It's one of the few mysteries of my career, and I still don't like it." Neither does he. At least the Federation analysis of the blood samples has come back, and everything is harmless. As he recounts the events that transpired (leaving out the conception; some things are too personal even for friends), understanding crosses Jim's face. Spock, on the other hand, just mutters a 'fascinating' and doesn't give anything else away.
"So that's what happened."
"Damn." Jim sighs. "So, are we happy about this?"
"We are. It took a while to wrap our heads around, but we got there."
"Then I think congratulations are in order." Jim motions to the bartender. "Can we get another round, and something besides water for this man?"
The evening wears on, and mercifully, around the one-hour mark, Amelia sends a written transmission letting him know that she's safely with Uhura and Chapel. He discusses future plans with his friends (Jim is being promoted to rear admiral and Spock is returning to Vulcan with Chapel) and they agree to continue communications even though they'll all be in vastly different locations. He's not sure how well that will work out, but it's a nice sentiment. Then, at nine o'clock, they go their separate ways, Jim with a woman he'd bought a drink for earlier in the evening, Spock home to Christine, and him home to Amelia.
She's already changed into her pajamas when he arrives, and she offers him one of those smiles that used to be so rare but haven't decreased in value with their frequency. As he begins the process of undressing, she asks,
"Good night?"
"It was. What about you? How did things go?"
"They were fine. It was nice. We talked about our plans. Nyota's staying with the fleet, Christine's going to Vulcan with Spock, and we're set to have an unexpected visitor in six months. They were both very excited about that, by the way." He frowns.
"So, you told them?"
"I didn't mean to. I wasn't drinking and Nyota asked if I was-"
"And you don't lie."
"Are you upset?"
"I'm not." He settles on the bed next to her. "Jim and Spock got it out of me too." She sighs.
"I suppose it was close enough to thirteen weeks."
"Just four more days." Her brow furrows.
"Were they-"
"Positive reactions. Well, Jim's was. Spock had already worked it out for himself." Lying back, he pulls her against him.
"That just leaves your mother and my father."
"It'll be alright. Mom always wanted more grandchildren, and your father-"
"He's been after me about it for years." She yawns and shifts a little in his arms. She's not showing by much, but there's already difficulties finding comfortable sleeping positions since both back and front have been ruled out.
"Computer, turn off lights." The room plunges into darkness and, pressing a kiss to the top of her head, he tells her, "Goodnight, Darling."
"Goodnight, Leonard."
Amelia Fairchild
Amelia has done her fair share of reading on fetal development over the past few months since the one thing she never expected to happen transpired. She knows that a fetus begins to move around the twelve-week mark and that those movements can be felt as early as fifteen weeks, although for first pregnancies, it's more common to realize what's going on later. So, when she feels the first flutter at twenty weeks and one day, she's not completely surprised by it.
She's in their newly purchased home trying to decide on where to put her canvases. Their salaries were decent and since there was no rent taking it up for years, they were able to find somewhere with enough room for her to have a dedicated space for her art. She's just hanging up the sketch she did of Beauregard (it's not her best, but she holds onto it for sentimental reasons) when a movement in her abdomen draws her attention. It's subtle enough to dismiss… until it happens again. Setting down the framed sketch, she places her hand over the motion. There's nothing to feel from the outside, but it's definitely occurring. It stops moments after she stops moving, so she picks up the frame again… and there it is.
"Hello." She knows that some sounds can be heard by now, her voice being one of them. "You're either protesting that I'm moving or enjoying it. I'm not sure which." Either way, she's got work to do. The frame should look decent… there. She tests it out just to be sure and makes a mark with her pencil before once again setting down the frame, this time in favor of a hammer and nail. No sooner has she begun tapping it into place, than-
"No." She sighs and turns towards the voice in the doorway.
"Hello, Leonard."
"Hello, Amelia. What the hell do you think you're doing?"
"Hanging up a picture. I thought that was obvious."
"I thought I told you to take a break. You've been on your feet all day."
"That's an exaggeration." Her job is essentially the same as it ever was: a lot of sitting.
"Hand it over." He holds out his hand and she offers him the hammer. "Thank you. Now-" He makes a vague motion. "-sit down somewhere." She's yet to move a chair into the room, so she perches on the edge of her desk.
"There's a mark-"
"I see it."
"Keep your fingers out of the way."
"I've hung a picture before, Amelia."
"So have I."
"Yes, well-" The hammer comes down, tapping at the nail. "-you're not doing anything for the next twenty or so weeks that you don't have to. Not if I'm there."
"That's absurd."
"Just-"
"Humor you. Yes, I know." At times the overprotective streak can be useful. For instance, she's a terrible cook, so he's taken over that duty (not that he's much better). Other times it's an annoyance (such as when they went through three different OB-GYNs because he could find a fault with each one). She idly wonders how far reaching it will be after the baby arrives, but pushes that to the side in favor of asking,
"Did you speak to Joanna?"
"I did. She was interested in the ultrasound footage. Says that so far, this one looks like you."
"I still think it's too early to tell."
"Well, you're at the halfway point. You should be feeling movements pretty soon."
"I am." His hands still where he was hanging up the sketch.
"When?"
"A few minutes ago."
"And you didn't think to lead with that?"
"Since you won't be able to feel them for a few more weeks, I didn't think-"
"That I'd be interested?"
"I just thought you might feel badly about it."
"Amelia." With a sigh, he hangs the frame on the nail… lopsided… and approaches her. "Darling, I want to know about all of this, including the things that only you get to experience."
"So you don't feel left out?"
"I don't. You're the one carrying her. It's only fair that she'd say hello to you first." That reminds her…
"Have you thought anymore about what we talked about?"
"I still don't like 'Catherine'."
"Well, I don't like 'Laura'."
"We've still got time."
"That's true." Leaning down, he brushes a strand of hair behind her ear. "I think your hair is thicker."
"That's common."
"Well, you're uncommonly beautiful." She chuckles.
"Next you'll be pulling out the line about glowing."
"It's not a line. But does it work?"
"I think it just might." Reaching up, she wraps her arms around him, pulling him down to her level so that she can kiss him. He responds, arms coming down on either side of her, pinning her against the desk. Then she feels it again. Pressing a hand against his chest, she breaks off the kiss.
"Is she moving again?"
"Yes." She takes his hand and directs it over the motion. "Just there." He won't be able to feel it, but for the sake of keeping him informed… "I knew about her before now rationally, but-"
"It just became more real." A few seconds pass, and then he asks, "Does it frighten you?"
"It does. But it also makes me want to meet her more."
"She'll be here soon enough." Giving her hand a squeeze, he looks towards the sketch. "It's crooked, isn't it?"
"Yes, and it's bothering me immensely." That provokes a chuckle.
"Well, we can't have that." Letting her go, he adjusts the frame. "Better?"
"Much."
Leonard McCoy
Insomnia is common for expectant mothers. Leonard knows that. It's taught in medical school as well as in the books he's read on his own. At some point, pregnancy just becomes uncomfortable no matter what you do, so it's no wonder Amelia can't get to sleep. What the books don't teach about however? It affects fathers too.
He's spent the last two hours staring at the ceiling of the bedroom he shares with his wife, trying to slow his thoughts. Specifically, the ones centered around today's date. It's his forty-fifth birthday, and while he's never been much for celebrating, this year he particularly doesn't want to. Forty-five years old and set to welcome a child in three short months. By the time this baby graduates, he'll be in his sixties. People live much longer than they used to and he's not the oldest expectant father that he's ever heard of. Still, there's damage that has been done by years of living. If he sits down on the floor, it takes him more effort to get back up than it did when he was twenty-two. Which brings him to another troubling train of thought.
"I can practically hear you thinking over there." Amelia's got her back turned to him. "Do you want to talk about it, or do you want to keep worrying?"
"Is this another, 'the program only works if you work it' situations?"
"Yes."
"Then I guess I'd better tell you."
"Just-" She holds out a hand and he takes it, helping her onto her other side. "-there. Now, how are you feeling?"
"You already said it. Worried."
"What about?"
"My daughters."
"Both of them?" He nods.
"I wasn't a very good father to the first one-"
"You were in a hard situation."
"Still, I could've done better. And I don't want to repeat history with the second one."
"What makes you think that you will?"
"I still work all the time."
"So, cut back. We're both going to have to." It's true, but-
"What if she thinks she's less important than my job? Joanna did."
"Then you'll have to prove to her that she isn't."
"How?"
"Make time for her. You always do when it's important to you." At least that's one thing he's learned from the past. Still…
"What can I offer her, Amelia? I'm old-"
"You're not."
"Fine. Middle-aged."
"You can offer her life experiences and wisdom. You've done this before, so you have a leg up on me."
"You'll do fine." It's hard to read her expression in the dark, but her shoulders rise and fall with a sigh. "You will. Out of the two of us, I'm the one who's more likely to ruin her."
"Oh, for God's sake Leonard. You're not going to ruin her! She's a baby, not an omelet." He can't help but snicker at that comparison. "You're a good father. Maybe things were hard with Joanna, but the two of you have made it through and you're on the other side now. There will probably be difficulties with her that there weren't when you first did this, but some things will also be easier. And you have me."
"I do, don't I?"
"Yes. I'm not leaving and you're not, so we're well and truly stuck together." It reminds him of something the therapist Amelia has insisted on them seeing has said.
"We balance each other out."
"Exactly. You'll be warmth for her when I start to disconnect, and I'll be her calm when you can't locate yours."
"Unless we fight."
"Then we'll just have to fight well."
"You've been doing your homework."
"And you should too." That reminds him…
"You know why I'm awake. What's keeping you up?"
"Round ligament pain." Wait…
"Are you certain of that?"
"Fairly certain, yes." Fairly isn't one hundred percent.
"Why didn't you say you were in pain sooner? Computer, raise up lights."
"Because-" The room grows brighter and she grimaces in response. "-if I did that, then you'd-"
"Do you know where my tricorder is?"
"-do that." It should be… alright. In the drawer by the nightstand, as is the medical scanner.
"Lie back for me." With a groan, she shifts onto her back, and he begins the process of scanning her. Her heartbeat and respiration are normal. No cervical dilation. Hormone levels are what you'd expect for twenty-seven weeks. Their daughter's heart is beating and he's not seeing any signs of fetal distress. That rules out everything serious, so… "How much were you on your feet today?"
"A little more than normal, I guess." That would account for it. He can't give her anything to help with it, so…
"Do you want a bath?"
"Sure. I'll take care of it-"
"The hell you will." If the water's too hot, she could get lightheaded. It's best if he's there with her. He slides out of bed and, offering his hand, pulls her up as well. She follows him towards the bathroom, pulling off her clothes once they're safely inside. It doesn't take long for the tub to fill up and then, keeping hold of her for support (his heart almost stops at the thought of her falling), he helps her into it.
"You do realize you can go back to bed now."
"You do realize there's about as much chance of that as there is of me volunteering to beam somewhere for laughs." A few moments pass, and he concludes, "This part should be over soon."
"You worrying too much?"
"No, but I have a good counselor around who helps with that. I meant the round ligament pain. It usually passes by week twenty-eight."
"I'm sure something equally as amusing will be along to take its place."
"Is that your way of saying you never want to do this again?"
"I never wanted to in the first place until her. Now she's the only exception, which I should've guessed from the moment I found out about her."
"Why's that?"
"Because her father is the only exception to so many of my rules." And there's the truth of it. He never wanted to give relationships or marriage or children another try until a redheaded psychologist walked into his life. For all that he's the exception to Amelia's rules, she's the exception to his also.
"Are you ready to get out?"
"I think so. It's much better now." Standing, he offers her his hand.
"Easy. Sudden movements can start it up all over again."
"I know. I've done my reading too." Hand in hand, they make their way back towards the bedroom. She redresses and slowly climbs into bed, allowing him to, once he joins her, pull her back to rest against his chest.
"Goodnight, Amelia."
"Goodnight, Leonard, and happy birthday." He'd almost forgotten about that, but now it doesn't feel quite so bad. This year will be difficult; it always is when you add a baby to the mix, especially in a marriage that's so new. But it will be a good one also. He can feel it.
Amelia Fairchild
Amelia watches Leonard with their daughter from her place in the hospital bed. Ever since her arrival four hours ago, the little girl has captivated him. The same goes for her, but it's not on the same level. Emmeline is perfect; a five pounds, six ounces version of herself down to, improbably, the hair. She would die for this baby. She would kill for her. But the maternal feelings she was expecting to flood in? They've yet to show up.
"Do you want her back?" She nods, hoping that when she holds the baby, something will be different this time. However, when the sleeping infant is placed in her arms, she still feels… not indifferent, but disconnected. This could be a sign of postpartum depression, although it's still early for that. Or maybe she's just a terrible mother. A sigh from her husband makes her look up. He's frowning slightly, looking more perplexed than anything else.
"What is it?"
"You've got your mask on."
"I'm sorry. It's just…" How to explain it? "I love her. I do, but she's-"
"A stranger, and you don't do well with those."
"I thought it would be different with her. I carried her for thirty-seven weeks. How much more intimate can you get?"
"It takes time for some people, Amelia. You'll get there."
"It's not taking you time."
"Well, I didn't just experience a major trauma." She opens her mouth to deny it but shuts it again. What has she told many mothers that have come to her? Birth is traumatic even when everything goes right, and Emmeline's was more on the dramatic side of things, showing up three weeks early and being breach. It makes sense that it would take her a while to adjust, but still… this isn't how she imagined herself feeling. The little girl snuffles, rooting for her breast, and she pushes those thoughts to the side in favor of getting to the task at hand.
"Did you contact Joanna yet?"
"I tried to. She wasn't there. I got Maria instead." She keeps to herself the fact that Joanna's girlfriend is about to become her fiancée. If Joanna isn't sharing that piece of information, then neither will she. At least she feels a connection to one daughter.
The day passes in a flurry of recovery, feedings, and diaper changes. Technically, she could be discharged after the twelve-hour mark, but all things considered, when the doctor suggests that they wait for a full day to pass, both of them agree. It's been a trying twenty-six hours since she felt the first twinges of labor pains, so despite the discomfort of the situation, she finds herself nodding off. But she can't do that. Emmeline is still in her arms.
"Go to sleep, Darling." She feels more than sees Leonard take the baby from her. "I've got her." With that reassurance, she allows sleep to overtake her. Maybe she'll feel more like someone's mother tomorrow.
A sharp cry wakes Amelia from a dead sleep. She glances around the hospital room. It's empty except for the baby in the clear basinet. Leonard must've stepped out. That means, whatever's going on with Emmeline, she has to handle it herself. It was bound to happen at some point, she supposes. It might as well be now. With a groan, she stands (they might have been able to get Emmeline to turn before delivery, but it was less than comfortable) and approaches the baby.
"It's alright. You're not alone. Dad's somewhere, but you've still got me." Shifting the baby to rest against her chest and shoulder, she starts to untie the hospital gown, only for her to feel it. A tug on her hair. The crying stops as she looks down. Emmeline has a strand of red hair clasped in her fist and she's contentedly (if still a bit unfocused) staring at the world. "Is that all you wanted? Company?" Amelia settles back on the bed and adjusts their position, still allowing her daughter to keep hold of the strand of hair. Her daughter. Tears prick at the corners of her vision as the little girl tugs lightly and, yawning, closes her eyes. "You just wanted to be held by someone who loves you. I understand. I'm the same way." Hesitantly, she passes a hand over the baby's cheek. How can someone this delicate exist in this world? And yet she does. Protectiveness surges through her, and she finally thinks she understands why Leonard was so paranoid for all those months.
"It's called the palmar grasp reflex." The words come from the direction of the doorway. She looks up, and he's standing there, just watching. "She was able to do that from sixteen weeks gestation. It might grow weaker for a few days, but then it'll pick back up."
"She wanted my hair."
"It makes sense." He approaches, finally standing next to the bed. "I always found her mom's hair fascinating too."
"Here." With her free hand, she motions to the mattress. "Sit." He does as he's told, wrapping an arm around her shoulders.
"It happened for you, didn't it?"
"How did you know?"
"I can see it on your face. The mask is gone. You're in love with her."
"It feels like she's mine now."
"She is. You're her mom." That reminds her…
"What were you doing out there?"
"Joanna finally sent a transmission. She wanted to see Emmeline, but I didn't want to wake either of you up."
"Call her back. That is, if she's done with work for the day."
"Are you sure?" Amelia nods.
"It's time for the sisters to meet." He turns on the PADD, pulling up the appropriate programs and she… well, she just watches Emmeline. The screen pops up, revealing a smiling Joanna.
"Hi, Dad. Hi, Amelia. Is this her?"
"This is her." Leonard shifts the device. "Can you see her okay?"
"I can see her. She's beautiful. Mostly because she doesn't look anything like Dad." She can't help but snicker at that. "What's her name? I asked, but the old man wouldn't tell me." She glances over at Leonard. He just shrugs.
"Her name is Emmeline Fairchild-McCoy."
"So you got top billing?"
"After all the work she put in, it was only fair." Joanna's forehead wrinkles at that.
"That's her full name?"
"For now." Amelia nods. "We were thinking that you could choose the middle one."
"Me?" This time, Leonard's the one to nod. "Wow, um-" Joanna looks away, but it's not fast enough for Amelia to miss her swiping at her eyes. Her stepdaughter turns back and announces, "Since you already stuck her with that last name, it needs to be something short. She was born in May, so what about Mae? M-A-E."
"Mae." She repeats it and turns to her husband. "What do you think?"
"It fits."
"Emmeline Mae Fairchild-McCoy." Joanna smirks. "Welcome to the family, kid. It's a little awkward, but you'll get used to it." They chat for a few minutes more, and then Joanna concludes, "I'm going to let you go. It's slightly nauseating to see the two of you look so besotted."
"Watch it."
"Love you, Dad. You too, Amelia. And Emmeline."
"Love you too, Joanna. Goodbye." The device powers down and he turns to her. "Well?"
"Well what?"
"Is this more like what you pictured?"
"It is." Nearly three years ago when she joined the crew of the Enterprise, she was convinced her life would go one way, and while normally she's not a fan of her plans being thwarted, she has to admit, "This is how it was supposed to work out the whole time."
"I think so too."