(An "Unexpected Consequences" Remix)
Pairing: Kirk/McCoy
Fandom: AOS Mirrorverse
Rating: NC-17
Words: 7,740
Disclaimer: Not my characters, not my world. All gains are purely spiritual in nature.
Warnings: Mpreg, attempts at pregnancy termination, a gratuitous, non-feminist het sex scene.
Thanks: To [info]crazywriter10 for offering up her lovely fic for me to pervert; to [info]graceandfire for an awesome beta; to [info]bluejack for helpful comments; to [info]cordelianne and [info]affectingly for encouraging my crazy notion; and to some other people who know who they are.

Summary/Notes: It's mpreg! It's Mirrorverse! It's comedy! It's a remix! Sadly, it doesn't quite qualify as the craziest idea I've ever tried to write, but it's close. Personally, I think it's awesome, that it’ll probably surprise you, and that you really should give it a try, but I'm not exactly unbiased. What can I say here? You either trust me or you don't. (Insistent inserted sidenote from [info]graceandfire – “Dudes! You must read this! It is awesome! Uhm, bye!" *waves*) Written for the [info]issenterprise Remix Challenge.

And Invasive Alien Parasite Makes Three

Savoy Truffle

Once, on a routine visit to one of the oldest Terran colonies, someone dared to tell Jim Kirk that, "Pride goeth before destruction, and a haughty spirit before a fall."

Kirk laughed in the wizened old woman’s face.

(He killed her, too, but that was a separate matter.)

In Kirk’s experience, pride pretty much always wenteth before awesomeness, and a haughty spirit (or a hottie chief physician) were its natural windfall. Hell, if Kirk cared at all about reaping and sowing, he’d have stayed in Iowa, and he’s never believed in any wrath but his own.

Until the day they conquer Eros III.


Their orders give them three days to subdue the natives, secure the planet, and install the colonial government. It takes them less than three hours.

In retrospect, Kirk might have seen this as a sign.

In the moment, he sees it as free shore leave. He evicts the royal family from their summer palace (read: his awesome new vacation villa) and pulls out his comm.

“Kirk to McCoy.”

“What the hell do you want?”

Kirk laughs. “Is that any way to talk to your captain?” he asks, as he wanders in a large room covered in floor-to-ceiling mosaics. In the center, on a raised dais, sits a large porcelain bathtub.

“Oh, I’m sorry.” He’s so obviously not. “What the hell do you want, sir?”

Kirk laughs again. “Surprise shore leave, Bones.” He flags down a passing servant girl and waves an imperious hand in the direction of the tub. She nods and disappears down a hall. “I want you to get your ass down here so that I can fuck it in this awesome tub.”

“I’m in the lab,” Bones grumbles.

“Mmm,” Kirk says, smiling to himself. Bones is so sexy when he’s in mad scientist mode. “Watcha makin’?”

The servant girl and two of her friends enter, carrying buckets on their head. They dump something steaming and water-like into the tub and disappear again.

“Flesh eating bacteria,” Bones says. “And it’s in a delicate stage. If I rush things now, the enzymes won’t—”

“Bored now,” Kirk says.

“Give me forty-five minutes…” There’s a long pause. “Captain.”

Kirk rolls his eyes. “Twenty,” he says. “Kirk out.”

The girls pass by again, emptying three more of the large buckets, which fills the tub. Kirk sticks a hand in, rubs the stuff between his fingers. It feels a little heavier than H2O. He catches the first servant girl’s arm before she can leave.

“Hey, what is this stuff?”

“The sacred waters will enhance you,” she says. “And your desires.”

Not that Kirk’s desires have ever needed any enhancement, but hey, could be fun. He releases the girl’s arm and strips, climbs into the tub and sinks down until the sacred waters are up to his neck.

Damn, that feels good.

It’s been maybe ten minutes, but Kirk’s pretty sure that if his desires enhance any further, he’s going to have to take matters into his own hands. Which would be a damn shame when his chief physician’s got an ass made for Kirk’s handling.

Yeah, he’s done waiting.

He picks up his comm from where he’s placed it next to the soap dish. “Scotty,” he says, “beam Doctor McCoy directly from the lab to these exact coordinates. Now.”

Three seconds later, Bones materializes in front of him, knee deep in sacred waters, signature scowl in place.

“Damn it, Kirk.” Bones looks down at the water swirling around his legs and his scowl deepens. “I was in the middle of something.”

Kirk smirks. “And now you’re in the middle of something else.” He lifts his hand to the water’s surface and starts flicking it in Bones’ direction, aiming for his crotch. “Get naked.”

“Asshole,” Bones mutters, but he starts stripping. By the time he’s finished, the sacred waters are already beginning to have their effect. Bones frowns down at his own erection, even as he lowers himself into the tub. “What is this shit?”

“I’m not sure exactly,” Kirk says, leering, “but I like it.” He reaches for a conveniently located jar of oil.

“You’re not sure?” Bones repeats. “Are you out of your goddamn mind?”

Little bit. The thought flashes through Kirk’s head, but he’s too busy manhandling Bones into position and working oil-slickened fingers into Bones’ ass to chase it.

“Have you—? Ungh…fuck…ahhh….” Bones braces his hands on the rim of the tub and sucks in a sharp breath. “Forgotten about the sex pollen fiasco?”

“Pshaw.” Jim Kirk never forgets anything. Though he can’t say the incident’s actually coming to mind right now. His thoughts are too full of Bones’ hips beneath his fingertips and the slow, steady press of his cock into Bones’ body. It consumes him. “Whatever,” he groans. “It’ll be fine.”


It’s not fine.

They’re a week out from Eros III and Kirk’s morning blow job has just been interrupted by Bones’ mad dash to the head.

For the fourth day in a row.

“What the fuck, Bones?” he calls from the bed, yelling to be heard over the violent retching. “I was close, damn it.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Bones calls back. “God forbid my abject misery get in the way of Jim Kirk’s sex life.”

“I don’t function well without sex. You’re my doctor – you know that.”

“Well, as your doctor, I’d advise you to use your fucking hand and leave me the hell alone!” Bones snaps. “Fucking infant,” Kirk hears him add under his breath.

“It’s not the same,” Kirk whines, just because he can. He starts jerking off absently. “I’m calling M’Benga.”

“To suck your dick?”

“To fix you.”

“The hell you are. You let that man dose me with some hypo, I don’t like my chances of waking up, let alone getting better.” There’s a pause, followed by more (probably dry) heaving.

Kirk tries to use the opportunity to finish bringing himself off, but the soundtrack kind of ruins the mood. He lets go of his dick and gets out of bed.

“Fine,” he mutters, walking naked into the bathroom. He steps around Bones, who’s still kneeling in front of the toilet, and starts the shower, setting it for water. “Who do you trust in the medbay?”

“Myself,” Bones says.

Kirk sighs and grabs Bones’ arm to drag him into the shower stall, pushing him under the spray. He studies Bones’ dripping face for moment.

“You look like shit,” he says. “Turn around.” He doesn’t wait for Bones to obey, just takes him by the shoulders and spins him, shoving him face-first into the shower wall. He takes another moment to study Bones’ broad back and firm, round ass. “Much better.”

“You are such an asshole,” Bones mutters, as Kirk steps forward and presses his cock into the cleft of Bones’ ass.

Kirk is unfazed. An asshole would fuck Bones, even though Bones looks – and probably feels – like death warmed over. Kirk, however, contents himself with rubbing against Bones’ ass a little to get back in the mood and then jerking himself off until he comes long and hard across Bones’ back.

Which is pretty fucking charitable, if you ask him.

Hell, he’s practically a saint.

He shuts off the water. “You have until the end of the day. Either you figure out what’s wrong with you and how to fix it, or I find someone else who can.”


Five hours later, Bones storms onto the bridge.

“Sulu,” he says, “turn this ship around. We’re going back to Eros III. Maximum warp.”

As one, the entire bridge crew turns to stare at Bones, then turns again to stare at Kirk.

Kirk ignores Bones and turns to Spock instead.

“Commander Spock, what color is Doctor McCoy’s uniform?”

“It is blue, Captain.”

“And it didn’t turn gold while I wasn’t looking?”

“No, Captain, it did not.”

“Good to know,” Kirk says. He turns to Bones. “Doctor, I think maybe you want to rephrase your statement.”

Bones glares back at him.

Kirk waits.

“Captain,” Bones says finally, through gritted teeth, “may I see you in your ready room?”

Kirk nods once and Bones stomps his way across the bridge and through the ready room door. Kirk follows at a more leisurely pace.

Once the door hisses shut behind him, he wastes no time getting right the hell up in Bones’ face.

“I know you think this whole insubordination thing is cute – and hell, we both know I’d be lying if I said it didn’t ramp things up a little, you know, in private. But I’m not about to let anyone think that just because we fuck, you’re the one giving the orders around here. So how about you keep it the hell off the bridge before I’m forced to make an example of you?”

The annoying thing is that Bones doesn’t look the least bit cowed by Kirk’s little speech. If anything he dials up the glare.

“Then how about you stop beaming me down to godforsaken planets just because you think it sounds like fun to fuck in a tub full of some unknown and untested alien substance! Before I’m forced to castrate you in your sleep.”

Kirk blinks at the apparent non sequitur. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“I figured out what’s wrong with me, Captain.”

That feeling in Kirk’s gut isn’t worry, it’s…impatience. “What?”

“I’m pregnant.”

Kirk blinks again. “You’re what?”

If looks could kill… “Pregnant!” Bones shouts.

Kirk stares at him for a long moment, then turns and walks back out onto the bridge.

“Sulu,” he says, “turn this ship around. We’re going back to Eros III. Maximum warp.”


One the one hand, the idea that Bones might actually be pregnant freaks Kirk the fuck out.

On the other hand, this is his bed and Bones is in it and the yeoman twins Kirk fucked at lunch to tide himself over have definitely worn off.

He’s prepared to compartmentalize.

“Get off,” Bones growls. “I’m not in the mood.”

“But you’re always in the mood.”

Bones snorts. “I think you have me confused with you.”

“Well,” Kirk chuckles and slides a hand over Bones’ thigh, “you usually come around.”

Bones slaps the hand away, turning his back on Kirk and pulling the sheet tight around himself. “Not tonight,” he says.


Kirk has morning wood.

Bones has morning sickness.

It’s a pattern that’s getting really old.

“Isn’t there a hypospray for that?” Kirk asks, when Bones finally emerges, looking pale.

“For what?”

“The morning sickness.”

“It’s not morning sickness,” Bones says. “It’s my body trying to reject the fucking alien parasite that you and your juvenile shenanigans somehow managed to install in it.”

“Wait – your body’s trying to reject it?” Kirk decides to ignore the ‘juvenile shenanigans’ part. Who even says ‘shenanigans’ anymore? “Rejection is good. Is there something we can do to help that along?”

“I don’t even know where in my body this thing is growing right now, let alone how. I’m not exactly in a position to stop it.”

Kirk nods, pauses. “But you want to…right?”


“Get rid of it, I mean.”

“Fuck yes.” Bones doesn’t hesitate. “I’ll cut the damn thing out myself, if it comes to that.”

Kirk looks into Bones’ eyes for a moment and then nods again. “Good. Just wanted to be sure we’re on the same page. As long as you don’t…”

Bones raises an eyebrow. “Secretly long to bear your freakshow lovechild?” Bones snorts. “Get over yourself, Kirk. Not in a million fucking years.”


Kirk doesn’t bother trying to hail Eros III or set up any meetings. He takes Bones and five security officers and beams directly into the royal family’s dining room in the middle of dinner time.

As far as Kirk – and his dick – are concerned, the Erotians have a lot to answer for.

“Secure the palace,” he snaps, “and wait for my orders.”

The security team disperses immediately, phasers drawn. Kirk doesn’t speak again until they’re out of earshot. He considers Bones’ condition need-to-know and he’s determined to make sure no one on the Enterprise ever needs to know a damn thing.

“This is a phaser,” Kirk says at last, holding the weapon up with his right hand as he takes a nice, slow survey of the room. “It kills people.” He lowers the phaser and holds up the agonizer in his left hand. “This is an agonizer. It makes people wish I had killed them.”

Kirk begins to pace a bit as he continues, gesturing toward Bones.

“And last, but certainly not least, this is my chief physician. Now we were all still getting to know each other the last time I visited, so I guess you guys missed a pretty important piece of information: No one fucks with my chief physician’s body except for me. And, hey, even I get permission first – you know, most of the time.”

He turns to wink at Bones. Bones rolls his eyes. Kirk’s lips curve briefly into a smirk before going flat again as he turns back to the family.

“So here’s how this is going to go: Unless you’d all like to get to know Mr. Phaser and Mr. Agonizer a whole lot better, someone here is going to make sure my chief physician gets a whole lot less pregnant pretty fucking fast. Understood?”

The family members exchange looks across the table, while the servants try to melt into the walls. Finally, a girl stands up from the table. It takes Kirk a moment to recognize her as the ‘servant girl,’ since her current dress clearly marks her as a princess.

She nods to an actual servant girl, who keeps frightened eyes glued to Kirk as she scurries from the room. She returns a minute later balancing a tray full of bottles and vials and a single goblet.

Kirk waits, arms crossed over his chest, foot tapping, as the princess first mixes, then chants over a drink.

She hands the drink to Bones. Bones looks at Kirk. The look Kirk gives the princess lets her know in no uncertain terms that if this hurts Bones, she and her entire family die. She nods at him. Kirk nods to Bones. Bones downs the drink, accompanied by further chanting. Finally, the princess nods again and steps back.

Kirk watches impatiently as Bones scans himself with a tricorder and then looks down at the readings.

“Is it fixed?” Kirk asks, unable to wait a second longer.

Bones looks up at Kirk. “I’m fine,” he says. “Everything is fine now.” For moment, his expression is almost…serene. Before Kirk can blink, however, the scowl has returned. “Let’s get the fuck out of here.”

It’s one order Kirk is happy to follow.

Three minutes later, they’re strolling back onto the bridge.

“Sulu, fire on the capital city and don’t skimp on the ammunition.” Kirk settles into his chair. “Ten minutes from now, I don’t want to be able to find so much as a ruin.”


With Eros III rapidly disappearing in their rear viewscreen, things go back to normal.


Okay, so maybe there’s something a little off about Bones – something that he can’t quite put his finger on – but Kirk chalks it up to residual post-improbable-alien-pregnancy pissiness and figures that this, too, like the rest of Bones’ little hissy fits, shall pass.

He thinks about ordering M’Benga to give Bones a full physical workup, but who really wants that whole battle?

And then he gets…distracted.


It’s two weeks (and a couple routine colonial intimidation missions) later, when Bones storms onto the bridge again and practically demands to see Kirk in his ready room.

And damned if that doesn’t set off all kinds of post-traumatic warning klaxons in Kirk’s head.

“Motherfucker,” Kirk says as the door slides shut behind him, “please tell me you’re not still—”

The words ‘knocked up’ are swallowed by Bones’ mouth as Kirk find himself shoved up against the ready room wall with Bones’ tongue doing its damnedest to make its way down Kirk’s throat. Kirk is still fighting for breath as Bones’ hands fumble frantically at Kirk’s fly.

Not that Kirk is complaining, but…

He reaches around Bones to take hold of one wrist and twists that arm up behind Bones’ back, pushing off the wall and turning to shove Bones into it, face first.

There’s a way these things are supposed to go.

“Did you need something, Doctor?” Kirk asks, voice low beside Bones’ ear.

“Aren’t you supposed to be a genius?” Bones growls, cheek pressed against the smooth surface of the wall, breath heavy.

“Sometimes it’s nice to be asked,” Kirk says, using his free hand to unfasten Bones’ pants and shove them down his hips. He rakes his fingernails down one of Bones’ buttocks.

Bones whines, hips bucking into the wall.

Kirk laughs and rakes them up the other one.

“Asshole,” Bones groans.


“Please,” Bones says.

Kirk blinks in surprise. That was quick. “You must be really desperate,” he notes. Not that he’s about to let Bones off the hook. “Please, what?”

“Just fuck me, alright?”

“Just fuck me, what?” Kirk prompts.

Bones only manages to hold out for a paltry twenty seconds. “Just fuck me, please.”

“Good boy,” Kirk taunts, placing his fingers at Bones’ lips. “Get ’em wet.”

“Don’t need to,” Bones mutters.

“I’m not gonna—” Jim starts.

Then he gets it.

He reaches down to confirm. His two fingers slide right in.

Holy shit, that’s hot.

It’s almost too easy.

But as far as gift horses go, Kirk can think of better places to look this one in than its mouth.


Gift horse?

More like a gift stallion.


When Bones storms onto the bridge for the umpteenth time a little over a week later, Kirk is not sitting in his chair.

In fact, for his last three shifts, Kirk has done his level best to avoid spending more than two consecutive minutes in the captain’s chair. Of course, he’s also doing his level best to pass this avoidance off as a keen interest in the work his bridge officers are doing at their stations…

It would help if they weren’t passing through the universe’s most boring nebula.

All heads turn (if only slightly) in Bones’ direction and it’s impossible to miss the knowing smirks.

Kirk hears Sulu snickering to Chekov up at the helm and catches something about ‘the doctor’s daily servicing.’

Daily, hell. At this point they’re averaging three times before lunch.

Of course, he should toss his pilot into the agony booth for that crack, but as long as the crew’s still convinced Kirk is the one doing all the servicing, Kirk’s inclined to let these things slide. Bones is already crossing the bridge, halfway to the ready room and looking grumpy as hell about his own damn booty call. It would be kinda sexy…if Kirk weren’t so fucking exhausted.

Well, it’s still sexy.

But Kirk could seriously use a day off.

Taking a fortifying breath, Kirk smirks back at the crew and straightens his tunic. “Spock, you have the conn,” he says, before following Bones off the bridge, making sure not to let his legs bow.

As soon as the door shuts behind him, Kirk abandons the pretense, unfastens his own pants and positions himself over the desk.

The truth is, his dick gave out days ago and his ass has since been forced to take a few for the team.

Kirk grunts as Bones pushes his way inside, no prep necessary. Kirk may be sore, but he’s still loose from this morning. He grips the edge of the desk as Bones begins to thrust in earnest. It’s not like Kirk has never let Bones fuck him before – you know, birthdays, certain holidays – but things are practically fifty-fifty at this point and Kirk’s not quite sure how he let everything get so far out of hand.

But, damn, is it good.

Kirk comes against the edge of the desk in short, weak, spurts of pleasure-pain.

He consoles himself by making Bones clean it off.

With his tongue.


It’s a sudden bout of stomach flu that ultimately saves Kirk’s ass.

Of course, it’s more than a little fucked up that Kirk’s first reaction upon waking to the sound of Bones’ vomiting – instead of the feeling of Bones’ lips around his cock – is one of profound relief.

But that only lasts a few seconds.

His second reaction is one of even more profound terror.

He bolts upright in bed. “Motherfucker,” he yells at the bathroom door, “you’d better not still be—”

“Go back to sleep, asshole,” Bones yells back. “It’s just the stomach flu. It’s been going around.”

Kirk settles back against the bed and basks in the double relief.


By mid-morning, relief gives way to suspicion. If there’s some stomach flu going around, how come Bones’ barfing is the first – and only – thing Kirk’s heard of it? During an afternoon lull, he hands the conn over to Sulu and heads down to sickbay.

The door slides open.

Kirk takes one look into the sea of pale to (unnaturally) greenish faces and backs away as quickly as still befits a fearless starship captain.

The door slides shut again.

Kirk turns and goes back to the bridge.


Bones’ flu lasts almost a month. Longer than any other case. Something to do with prolonged exposure to rapidly mutating strains, Bones explains.

Kirk keeps meaning to kick Bones out, banish him to his own quarters for the duration, but never quite gets around to it.

No matter. He doesn’t catch any of it.

Kirk’s immune system is awesome.


It’s the carrots that finally do it.

Well, not so much the carrots as the barbeque sauce.

Bones has gotten cagey, since the whole flu thing. Well, cagier, anyway, especially around mealtimes. There’s always something he has to do, somewhere he has to be. He’s always ‘just eaten’ or ‘planning to grab a bite later.’ When Kirk starts to see the pattern, he corners Bones in medbay at the end of his shift and all but frog marches him down to the mess at phaserpoint.

It’s strange enough that Bones puts a cup of carrot sticks on his tray; then, when he accidentally drops one of them into a puddle of barbeque sauce, Bones still eats it.

Bones, who always keeps each item on his plate carefully segregated and once, in the academy cafeteria, refused to eat the part of his mashed potatoes that inadvertently touched his steak, in spite of Kirk’s relentless and public taunting.

Kirk feigns interest in his own meal, but continues to watch out of the corner of his eye. A few seconds later, another carrot stick finds its way into the barbeque sauce puddle before reaching Bones’ mouth. Bones doesn’t even pull a face as he bites and chews.

Kirk’s head snaps up. “That wasn’t a drop,” he accuses, pinning Bones with a glare. “That was a drip.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Bones asks, like Kirk is the crazy one.

Kirk is having none of it. “You just dipped that carrot stick in barbeque sauce. What the hell is—?” And that’s when it clicks. “Motherfucker! You’re still—” Bones’ eyes dart to the sides, reminding Kirk that they’re still in the crowded mess. “My quarters,” Kirk growls. “Now.”

The turbolift, when it arrives, is carrying an ensign from engineering. This obviously isn’t the deck she requested.

“Get out,” Kirk orders, soft and dangerous.

She scurries from the lift like her life depends on it.

Hell, it probably does.

Kirk practically throws Bones into the lift ahead of him. “Deck fifteen,” he snaps.

“Kirk, calm down,” Bones begins, adopting a rare conciliatory tone that only makes Kirk’s blood boil. “Carrots and barbeque sauce – it’s just a Southern thing.”

Kirk grabs the front of Bones’ uniform in both fists and slams him against the lift wall. “Shut your goddamn mouth, you dirty, fucking liar.”

“Whatever you think you know, I can ex—”

“Shut up! You’re fucking glowing,” Kirk yells, straight into Bones’ goddamned glowing face.

“Deck fifteen,” the computer announces pleasantly as the lift door opens.

Kirk drags Bones down the hall and into his quarters, releasing him abruptly and moving toward the liquor cabinet. He pours a glass of Bones’ favorite bourbon. “Here,” he says, extending the glass like a dare.

Bones doesn’t move to take it. “I’m not really in the—”

Kirk hurls the glass against the wall, relishes the sound as it shatters. “You told me everything was fine!”

The look of serenity that steals over Bones’ face may be the most frightening thing Kirk has ever witnessed.

“Everything is fine, Jim.”

Jim? Jim?!

“Everything is not fine,” Kirk shouts. “We’re getting rid of it.”

Bones shakes his head. “I’m not gonna let you do that, Jim.”

“Let me?”

“This child is the precious fruit of our blossoming love. We have to let it grow.”

Kirk boggles. “This who is the huh of our what-now? And the hell we do!”

“It’s a gift, Jim.”

“We returned it.”

Bones actually smiles at him. Smiles. “The Erotians are a kind and generous race.”

Kirk doesn’t know the person standing in front of him. “What the fuck did they do to you?”

“I’ve been blessed.”

“You’ve been brainwashed!”

Bones chuckles. “C’mon, Jim. I think I’d know if I’d been brainwashed.”

“You think you’d—? Are you even hearing yourself? Jesus.” Kirk begins to pace. “So the month of vomiting – that was…?”

“Morning sickness,” Bones says simply, holding his eerie calm. “Though that’s a bit of a misnomer, since the nausea associated with the first trimester of pregnancy can actually occur at any—”

“Shut up,” Jim says. “So, when you told me there was a stomach flu going around, what you actually meant was you were going to infect half my crew with some virus to cover for the fact that you’d been fucking lying to me for two fucking months?”

“I only had to infect a couple people who happened to be in sickbay that morning. It was a good virus. Highly contagious.”

That makes sense, Kirk thinks proudly. Viruses have always been Bones’ specialty and…that is so not the point. Kirk shakes his head and scowls. “I could have you court martialed.”

“Jim,” Bones says, almost scolding, “don’t you think our child has the right to know both its parents?”

Kirk just blinks at him. “Are you out of your mind?”

“Look, Jim, I know the idea is going to take some getting used to…”

“No, no ‘getting used to,’” Kirk says. “There will be no ‘getting used to.’ You are going to march down to medbay right now and find a way to fix this. And stop calling me ‘Jim.’ That’s an order.”

Bones seems to consider this for a second. Then he starts toward the bed, instead, pulling off his uniform. “I think it would be best for the baby if I get some rest. I’m trying to cut back on the late-night hours.”

Kirk isn’t sure when or where he lost control of this conversation, but he knows that he has. And he has no fucking clue how to get it back. Sighing, he pulls off his own uniform and lies down next to Bones on the bed.

“You’re going first thing in the morning,” he says, wondering if he sounds as ineffectual as he feels. “Lights off.”

They lie for a few minutes in silence.

“I’ve made up my mind, Jim,” Bones says. “I’m keeping my baby.”

Kirk snorts softly. Over his dead body.


At three a.m., Kirk slips out of bed and heads down to sickbay.

He sidles up to the night nurse – Nabine, he thinks, Ikpindi Nabine – and takes her by the elbow, drawing her into the corner, out of sight of the other medical staff and their mostly sleeping patients.

“Nurse Nabine,” he says softly, giving her his best half-seductive, half-threatening smile. “Just the woman I was looking for.”

Okay, so that wasn’t exactly true when he walked in, since he’d mostly forgotten she worked here – Kirk only lets Bones work on him and Bones prefers to be assisted by Chapel – but it becomes true when he takes in the rapid rise and fall of her ample chest, watches the movement of her throat as she swallows down her fear.

“How can I help you, Captain?”

Kirk thinks she’s maybe been on board four months.

He wonders if Bones has fucked her yet.

He wonders why he hasn’t.

But first things first.

“I need a little something from the pharmaceutical supplies,” Kirk tells her. He can’t resist reaching out to run a finger along her scooped neckline, over the swell of her beautiful breasts.

Her eyes dart around the room. “Doctor McCoy will be on duty in a few hours,” she says. “I’m sure he can…”

It pleases Kirk to know that Bones’ staff fears their chief physician enough to try to put off even their captain. Still…

“Doctor McCoy doesn’t need to know about this,” Kirk says, sliding his hand up to Nurse Nabine’s throat and squeezing just a moment before turning the touch back into a caress. “It’s a private matter.”

“Sir?” Nabine swallows again. Kirk’s dick twitches in his pants.

He offers her a sheepish smile, leaning in to whisper in her ear as he runs the backs of his fingers up and down her arm. “See, I got this girl…in trouble,” he says, “and I need to take care of it.”

“Why doesn’t she just come in and—?”

“Quietly,” Kirk adds.

He watches her consider this. She blinks at him, but doesn’t cower. He admires her poise, wants to shake it, wonders if she’s really as unaffected as she lets on.

“I’m not sure that’s really a—”

She breaks off with a gasp as one of Kirk’s hands returns to her throat while the other slips between her thighs, two fingers pushing aside her panties and sliding straight inside. She’s warm and wonderfully wet.

It’s not a surprise.

In Kirk’s experience, there are very few women serving in the Imperial Fleet who haven’t learned to get off on displays of dominance. It’s practically a survival skill.

“I am sure,” Kirk tells her, sliding his thumb over her clit. “You’re going to get me what I need and tell me how to use it. And that’s the last you’ll speak of it to anyone. Ever. Understood?”

“Yes, sir,” she says, thighs twitching around his hand. “H-how far along i-is she?”

“About three months,” Kirk says. He withdraws his fingers and runs them over her lips before wiping them off on her cleavage. He steps back and crosses his arms over his chest. “I’m waiting.”

He enjoys her slight stumble as she makes her way to the pharmaceutical supply room. She enters a code and disappears inside. When she reappears, she’s snapping a vile into an empty hypo. She walks back to the corner and hands it to him. Kirk slips it into his pocket and glances at a chronometer. Bones’ll still be sound asleep.

He takes Nabine’s wrists, gathering them behind her back and holding them in one of his hands as he steers her to the nearest empty biobed. He pushes her down over it and flips up her skirt. He fists his hand in her panties and twists it until they rip away.

“Tell me how to use it,” Kirk instructs as he opens his fly, grips her hips and buries himself balls deep. He’s got some time to spare, but there’s no reason not to be efficient.

“It only takes the one dose,” she pants between thrusts. “The neck is fine…. It’s best on an empty stomach….” Kirk adjusts his angle a bit and she moans. “There’ll be some bleeding…maybe some cramping….” Kirk works a hand under her top, pinches at her nipples. She stops talking for a moment.

Kirk pinches harder. “Go on,” he says.

She lets out a small sob, sucks in a breath and continues. “Won’t take more than eight hours…. Someone should keep an eye on her during that time…. If anything happens…”


“What the hell?!” Bones bolts upright in bed and glares at Kirk, his gaze quickly dropping to the empty hypo in Kirk’s hand. “What did you—? What was that?”

Kirk shrugs. “Folic acid?”

Bones doesn’t seem to appreciate the joke. “Damn it, Jim, what?”

Kirk shrugs again. “I don’t know. The name was long. And complicated. Sounded kinda like a political statement. You know – antisomething…pro-whatchamacallit…”

Bones’ eyes widen. “Antiprogestogen prostaglandin?”

“Yeah, that sounds about right.”

“Fuck, I can’t believe you…” Bones tries to shove Kirk out of the way, but he’s not hard to resist. “I have to get down to…before I lose the… Damn it, why can’t I move my legs?”

“Oh, yeah,” Kirk says, “there may have been a little sonambutril in there, too.”

Kirk sees the panic in Bones’ eyes and can tell he feels the sedative kicking in. Bones reaches out with what must be the last of his muscular control to grab at Kirk’s shirt, pulling Kirk down with him as he collapses back onto the bed.

“Kirk,” Bones growls, “I swear to god, if you kill this child, I will end you.”

His eyes go wild for a second and then drop shut as his arm falls limp at his side.

“Aw,” Kirk says, “what happened to ‘Jim’?”


Kirk spends the day in his quarters, filling out Imperial paperwork and waiting for Bones to bleed.

He’s not sure where Bones should be bleeding from exactly, but as far as Kirk can tell, it’s not happening.

He stands up and walks over to the bed, staring down. Bones is still out like a light – having pitifully little tolerance for sedatives – but a scowl has somehow managed to form on his face. Sweat has gathered on his brow.

Jim reaches down and wipes it away with his fingers. “When this is over and you’re in your right mind, you’ll thank me.”

Bones doesn’t answer.


More than eight hours have passed by the time Bones wakes.

He doesn’t thank Kirk.

He isn’t in his right mind.

And it isn’t over.

Kirk stands alone in the middle of his quarters and rubs at his stinging jaw. He picks up his comm and calls Spock.


“…and it can’t be killed! I don’t even think it’s human.”

It occurs to Kirk that he may be starting to sound a bit overwrought. Hell, by Vulcan standards, he probably passed overwrought a couple light-years back and is well on his way to hysterical.

Spock’s hint of a facial expression confirms Kirk’s suspicion.

“You would be less perturbed, then, were Doctor McCoy gestating a human fetus?” Spock asks, his tone suggesting a rather low opinion of human fetuses. “One you could perhaps rear together in an ironic parody of the once popular nuclear family?”

“Fuck you,” Kirk says. “I would be less perturbed if my very male chief physician stopped gestating anything at all. Preferably before I have to explain his fucking baby bump to the rest of my crew.”

Spock’s look implies that this sounds like a personal problem.

“Look,” Kirk says, “right now Bones is playing host to some invasive alien parasite we know nothing about that’s eventually going to find some way to leave his body and end up running loose on this ship. I’d call that a clear and present danger, wouldn’t you?”

After a long moment, Spock nods. “I will see what I can do.”


Later that evening Spock finds Kirk in his ready room and informs him that he’ll need to take some scans to figure out what’s happening in Bones’ body.

“Computer,” Kirk says, “current location of Doctor McCoy.”

After the morning’s failed abortion attempt, Kirk half expects Bones to be holed up in some Jeffries tube, sticking straight pins into a tiny Kirk-shaped doll. So it’s more than a little surprising when the computer informs him that: Chief Physician Leonard McCoy is currently located in the personal quarters of Captain James Kirk.

“Huh,” Kirk says. “Well, alright, let’s go.”

Spock needs to get some things from his quarters and Kirk goes with him.

But not because he’s afraid to face Bones alone.

That would be ridiculous.

And he in no way hesitates at the door to his own fucking quarters.

Of course not.

“Jim, I get that you’re scared,” Bones begins as soon as Kirk enters, Spock following after. “It’s true that fatherhood is a serious responsibility, but don’t you see? We have each other. Neither of us has to do it alo—”

Spock removes his hand from Bones’ neck and drags the unconscious man to the bed to begin his scans.

Kirk sighs and pours himself a drink. “A little quicker next time, yeah, Spock?”

“Yes, sir,” Spock says.


Kirk will never admit it, but the fact is he’s never been able to stay mad at Bones.

Kirk accepts this. Works around it.

Bones, however, has never really had the same issue. When it comes to Kirk, he’s always been perfectly capable of throwing and maintaining major bitch fits.

Until now.

Whatever crazy cocktail of pregnancy hormones the Erotians have running through Bones’ veins, they seem to render him pathologically willing to forgive and forget.

For the sake of their ‘family.’

It makes Kirk want to scream.

Or throw things.

Or vomit a little in his mouth.

Sometimes all three.


Kirk doses Bones with Spock’s souped up version of the antiprogestogen prostaglandin.

Bones wakes up – still pregnant – and wants to cuddle.


While managing colonial affairs on a Terra-like planet, Spock manages to scare up an old-school herbal mixture including worm fern and pennyroyal, which Kirk then boils into a tea and pours down Bones’ throat.

Bones wakes up – still pregnant – beams down to the planet, chops down a tree – chops down a fucking tree! – and makes a cradle.

By hand.


Kirk clears sickbay, straps Bones to a biobed and hands Spock a laser scalpel.

No sooner does the laser touch Bones’ abdomen than the scalpel breaks in Spock’s hand.

They destroy four more scalpels without so much as breaking Bones’ skin.

Bones wakes up – still pregnant – and asks Spock which of three elaborate color schemes he thinks would be best for the nursery.

Spock actually has an opinion.

Bones actually listens to it.

Kirk drinks himself to sleep and dreams of those halcyon days before a mutant alien parasite ruined his fucking life.


Spock stands at attention and waits as the ready room door hisses shut behind him. Kirk leans forward over his desk.

“Well,” he asks, running a shaking hand through what he’s convinced is his rapidly thinning hair, “what’s next?”

“I’m afraid, Captain, that we have exhausted nearly all of our options.”


Spock tilts his head. “Were we to kill Doctor McCoy, it is unlikely that the organism would be capable of removing itself from his corpse at this stage, let alone of surviving on its own.”

Kirk can’t say he hasn’t been tempted to just shove Bones out an airlock once or twice – eight times at the outside – but still.

“Not an option,” Kirk says.


When Kirk returns to his quarters that night, there’s a candlelit dinner sitting in the middle of them.

And standing in front of the table is Bones, looking…nervous?

Kirk hovers by the door, staring.

“What the—?”

Before he can finish his question, Bones is in front of him, down on one knee and pulling out a…

Oh, hell no.

“James Tiberius Kirk,” Bone is saying, “will you make an honest man out of me?”

Kirk turns on his heel and walks out.

Three doors down the hall, he punches in his captain’s override and storms into Spock’s room.

“Okay, maybe we can kill him, like, you know, just a little?”


Awaiting the arrival of your monstrous alien spawn, Kirk finds, has stages.

Like grief, only less totally pointless.

First, there’s the denial, followed by the anger. Kirk remembers these fondly.

And then the series of failed extermination attempts, which are a kind of like bargaining, if you squint.

Then depression sets in, as you stare at the makeshift nursery in the corner of your quarters and contemplate how to tell your crew that you’ve knocked their chief physician up with some seemingly immovable foreign parasite.

Finally, in the fifth month, when the visual evidence has become all too evident and the rumors are running rampant, you man up and make an announcement.

And once you’ve manned up, you begin to move on.

You mostly ignore the pitying looks of passing crew members. You throw one in the agony booth once in awhile.

You learn to fuck your chief physician doggy style, in the dark, and keep your hands away from his abdomen. You learn to ignore the way he sometimes calls it ‘making love.’

He refuses to drink, so you start drinking for two.

This is acceptance.

Kirk accepts that his preternatural progeny must come into the world before Kirk can take it out again.


The eighth month is good to Kirk.

Whether shaken or stirred, the hormone cocktail in Bones’ bloodstream shifts suddenly, the crazy taking a sharp right turn off of Stepford Lane and into Stalin Square.

This? Kirk can work with.

He gives his security chief the month off and puts Bones in charge of discipline, punishment, interrogation and torture. Not only does this provide Bones with an alternative target for the wrath that would otherwise be directed at the ‘fucking idiot who got me into this mess,’ it’s also ridiculously effective.

Kirk’s ship has never run so smoothly.

And all for the price of the occasional foot massage.


Bones lets Kirk know, on more than one occasion, that he’s opting for natural childbirth.

(Whatever the fuck that’s supposed to mean in this scenario.)

Kirk just smiles and nods.

Until one morning, exactly two hundred and seventy-one days after Kirk fucked Bones in an alien bathtub full of sacred water (oh, yeah, Kirk’s been counting), when Bones turns to Kirk and tells him, “It’s time.”

Kirk smiles and nods and jams a waiting hypo into Bones’ neck.

He calls for a med team. They load an unconscious Bones onto a gurney and roll him down to sickbay for his C-section.


When McCoy comes to, he’s lying on a biobed, alone behind a privacy curtain.

He remembers everything, but not like you remember your life.

He remembers it all in distant, surreal flashes, like scenes from some shuttlewreck of a horror holo that you could barely stand to watch but somehow sat through to the end. Nine months flicker through his mind on fast forward, slowing from time to time to replay dialogue that makes him cringe.

They’re the words of a puppet. A cheap felt McCoy with a giant hand up his ass, wiggling fingers dancing him through a perverse caricature of his life.

He feels violated. Also, violent.

McCoy’s stomach muscles twist and twinge in warning as he slides off the biobed, but he’s past caring. He doesn’t know what grotesque alien entity they just extracted from his body, but he knows that it is evil and that it must be destroyed.

If Kirk hasn’t killed it, he will.

If Kirk has killed it…well, hell, McCoy aims to kill it again.

He staggers past the curtain and his eyes light on Chapel.

She looks startled. “Doctor McCoy, you really shouldn’t—”

He silences her with a single look. “Where is it?” he growls.

She slowly raises her arm and points to a small OR. He staggers to the door, punches in his code and stumbles through.

Kirk is on the other side of the room, his back to the door. He doesn’t turn around when McCoy enters, almost like he hasn’t noticed, which is crazy because Kirk is never less than fully aware of his surroundings. And yet, there he stands, head bent over the bundle of blankets in his arms.

McCoy step further into the room, then freezes in his tracks. Is Kirk…cooing?

“And so those silly little aliens put a whammy on your Daddy Bones,” he hears Kirk whispering, “and it made Daddy Bones lie to Daddy Kirk – which is a very bad thing and usually gets people thrown into Mr. Agony Booth for at least an hour, but it’s not Daddy Bones’ fault he got brainwashed, now is it? No, it’s not. Oh, no, it’s not. It was really fucking annoying though. Yes, it was. Oh, yes, it was.”

If McCoy’s jaw drops any further, it’ll break against the floor. His eyes dart around the room, automatically taking in the stats on the biomonitors. They belong to a healthy infant, whose perfectly human DNA identifies her as exactly half-Kirk and half-McCoy.

Jesus fucking Christ.

“So Daddy Bones told Daddy Kirk that you were all gone,” Kirk continues, “but it turns out you were still there in Daddy Bones’ tummy, which is kind of a stupid place for a baby. So Daddy Kirk and Uncle Spock tried their very best to get rid of you, but you just wouldn't die, would you? No, you just kept hanging on because you’re just as stubborn as your Daddy Bones and twice as cute. Yeah, you are. And, someday, when you can walk and talk and stuff, you’ll be just as awesome and ruthless as your Daddy Kirk, won’t you? Uh huh, I know you will. Now who's my tough little future Fleet captain?” McCoy hears the infant gurgle. “Yeah, that's right,” Kirk says, “it’s you.”

When Kirk finally turns toward McCoy and looks up, he’s not so much smiling as glowing.

Then McCoy looks into Kirk’s eyes and that’s when he gets scared.

“Kirk,” he says slowly, “what the fuck are you—?”

“Look at her, Bones, isn’t she perfect?”

McCoy studies it for a moment. Ten fingers, he thinks. Ten toes.

Before he knows what’s happening, Kirk shoves the baby into his arms.

“Kirk, it’s not…” he starts.

And then McCoy looks into his daughter’s eyes and that’s when he feels something shift inside his chest.

They are so fucked.

The End

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