Growth: Chapter Two
Title: Growth
Chapter: One Two Three Four Five Six Six.5 Seven Eight Nine Nine.5 Ten Eleven
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Kirk/Spock
Warnings: Slash, MPREG, gratuitous use of Vulcan language (vocal and body), sex, somewhat mediocre writing; stuff like that.
Summary: Sequel to “Of Convenience”. Entering a new chapter in life is difficult when you’re single. As a pair? Let’s just say Spock and Kirk are going to have their work cut out for them if this chapter’s going to end the way they want it to.
It was perhaps only the suddenness of Spock’s announcement that kept Komack from following them to the bridge, but regardless, they made it to the bridge without a third party and without any inquiring glances. The closest to giving one was Nyota, but her expression seemed to be more amused than anything. Her face was blank again a moment later as she focused on the communication frequencies.
It might not have been completely rational, but when Spock saw Jim stride to his chair, chest puffed out and looking absurdly proud, waves of sheer exhilaration passing through the bond, the Vulcan wondered how people could possibly interpret his body language. For all his cockiness, Jim was rarely this smug.
“We’re going to have a slight change of course after we drop Komack off,” the captain informed everyone. “We’re heading to New Vulcan for the two year anniversary. Estimated arrival time?”
Chekov was immediately performing the calculations. The young man’s abilities in this area were impressive, he had to admit. He could solve just about anything in half the time it would’ve taken most Vulcans, and on Vulcan he would’ve just barely entered maturity. It took him barely more than seven seconds to complete his calculations. “We will arrive in one point two weeks, Keptin.”
That sounded correct. Spock turned to his work, carefully sorting through his slides. That would afford them plenty of time to see the healer.
We’re having a baby, Spock.
Jim’s mental voice was immeasurably stunned, and he spared a moment to check over the man’s mind, finding him still pleased, if in slight disbelief. Indeed. It does seem we will be having a baby.
His samples were ordered properly now. What’s the Vulcan healer supposed to tell us?
The viability of the pregnancy will be tested, as well as the percentage of Vulcanoid DNA, he explained, slipping one slide into his scope and glancing into it. Vulcan traits are dominant, after all. If the fetus is comprised of more than thirty-two percent Vulcan DNA, it will be considered mostly Vulcan.
That doesn’t make sense.
Jim, a percentage of Vulcan DNA greater than thirty-two percent indicates the fetus will have mostly Vulcanoid features. Spock switched out the slides as Jim contemplated what he’d just told him. Telepathy. Physiology. And before you ask, yes - there is a significant chance that its ears would be more like mine than yours.
Awesome, Jim sent back to him. I do love those pointy ears.
For a long while, Spock concentrated on his work, indulging every so often in the contentment rolling off his mate. While the Vulcan understood that he was pregnant, that he would eventually birth an infant, and that that infant would be theirs, part of him felt disbelief that this was even happening. He did not necessarily feel pregnant - but then, what did it feel like to be pregnant?
This train of thought was not conducive to his work.
I bet your dad’s going to go nuts when we tell him, Jim informed through the bond. This was accompanied by a rather outrageous image of his father wide-eyed and shocked. He tried to express his disapproval through the bond, but it was covered up by Jim’s amusement. Seriously, though. How do you think he’ll take it?
I believe that will depend on how Vulcanoid the fetus is, Spock replied. To his left, Chekov’s brow furrowed, and then he was recalculating something. An almost sure sign of the time. Would you like to take our lunch break?
Sounds great, the captain confirmed, standing up and glancing at the crew. “Let’s get some lunch, Spock.”
Spock stood as well, glancing to Chekov. “You have the Conn,” he informed him, striding to Jim’s side and making his way out with him. There were a few engineers in the mess, as well as-Spock withheld an exasperated mental sigh. Komack was at a table by himself, glaring at his coffee as though it had just personally insulted him.
“Hey, Admiral,” Jim greeted, that smug quality back in his voice. “Something wrong with the coffee?”
“If there is, it inn’t the replicator,” Scott called over from three tables away. It seemed he was indulging himself today, a decidedly extravagant sandwich on the plate in front of him. “I finished repairs on it two weeks ago, and it dinn’t mess up any of my food.”
Spock made his way to the replicator in question, keying in an order for plomeek broth and a stir fry while Jim chattered away with his head engineer. He almost might’ve thought the admiral would ignore them, but such did not seem to be in their fates.
“I’m not convinced,” Komack informed them bluntly as Spock turned around. The man’s disapproval showed on every part of his body, from his twisted face to the white-knuckled grip he had on his steaming mug. Scott sent him a perplexed look, and Spock sat at a measured distance between the pair, Jim joining him momentarily with what appeared to be chamomile tea, setting it before Spock. His mate frowned, worry slipping through the bond. “One pregnancy isn’t proof that your marriage isn’t a sham. It’s just proof that your Mr. Spock slept with someone.”
Scott, of all people, was the one to look outraged. “Now that’s crossin’ a line, Admiral!” the engineer seemingly growled. Komack raised an eyebrow. “It’s one thing to come onto this ship tryin’ to prove something one way or the other, but this? Remindin’ them they lost a baby? You’re just a sick man, Admiral Komack, and I don’t care what ‘discipline’ that’s gettin’ me, ‘cause you are disgusting.”
If he was anybody else, Spock might’ve appreciated the gesture, the act of coming to their defense - but he couldn’t, not with the logical majority of his mind calculating all the consequences that outburst might have. Even Jim mentally winced when Komack sent a bewildered look at them.
“You miscarried? When?” their superior questioned, and Jim cleared his throat.
“It was-a couple months ago,” his husband answered. “It’s not relevant.”
Spock sipped his broth, brushing Jim’s mind with his, letting discomfort bloom into acceptance once more. Komack stroked his chin.
“And you decided it’d be a good idea to get pregnant again?” he asked skeptically. Jim’s mind went carefully blank, a tinge of anger shaking the bond for only a split second. “And so soon, no less. Seems a bit of a strange decision, if you ask me.”
Scott shot them quizzical look after quizzical look, and finally, sounding slightly strangled, asked, “So, then, Mr. Spock’s pregnant again, is he?”
Jim seemed content to ignore Scott. “Admiral, we were hoping to keep that under wraps until we got to New Vulcan,” he growled. “We don’t know how stable the pregnancy is. How viable. Hell, we don’t know much of anything yet, and until we know everything’s working out like we want it to, we’re not broadcasting the news. And frankly, what’s so strange about us wanting kids?”
“It’s strange when you’re not really married,” Komack insisted. Spock felt an intense rage in the bond - and realized part of it came from him. Thankfully, Scott spoke before Jim could explode.
“Oh, for-come on, then, you’re just against this because ye don’t like it,” Scott dismissed, voice as condescending as anything Spock had ever heard. He’d certainly never seen anyone show as much disdain with one look as the engineer currently was. “They’re married, all right. I was at both their weddings, thank ye very much, and if they’re ever plannin’ on having a third, I’m RSVPing now. You’re just tryin’ to justify splitting ‘em up ‘cause the only thing you like less’n the captain is interspecies marriage, right?”
Komack’s lips thinned. “That is not an appropriate way of addressing your superior officer,” he murmured. Spock took another long sip of his broth, attempting to quell Jim’s anger through the bond. “Delta Vega still needs an officer to maintain the premises. Are you volunteering?”
“That’s enough,” Jim outright growled, and for a moment, Spock wondered if he was going to have to subdue his own mate before he could launch a physical attack on their superior officer. Thankfully, though, Jim simply sat beside Spock. “We’re married. We’re bonded. We’re having a baby. There’s no questioning our motives here. If you want to investigate us, fine. Do it. But if you start threatening my crew, I am going to report you for abuse of power - and believe me, I have enough evidence to do it. Am I clear?”
The admiral frowned, and Spock took another careful sip of his broth, monitoring his mate’s emotions through the bond. “I would like to observe the bridge,” Komack informed them, Jim’s eyebrows twitching. “I trust this will be acceptable for you, Captain?”
“Of course,” his mate ground out, finally moving to the replicator. “We’re due back in ten minutes. You don’t mind if I eat, do you?”
Komack waved permission, and as Jim walked to the replicator, a sigh filtered through the bond.
Fucking asshole, Jim transmitted. But you know, he really can’t ruin our day. You know?
I am certain that he is ordinarily more than capable, Spock corrected, moving on to his stir fry. However, I would certainly agree that the discovery of successful conception greatly outweighs what bigotry and attempts at separation he generally aims towards us.
Jim turned back with a plate of pasta and a carefully guarded smirk on his face. You could just call it ‘getting pregnant’ rather than ‘conception’, you know. A great deal of amusement filtered through with that statement. Since you’re, uh. Well, the technical term seems to be ‘pregnant’. And you know, I’m pretty happy you’re pregnant, too.
I will admit that that is something of a relief, given I have no intention of being a single parent, Spock transmitted back. Komack stood, stalking past and brushing (no doubt unintentionally) against his shoulder. The slight transfer of thought, even through the fabric, made him go irrationally, unnaturally cold in his seat, the conversation with his husband forgotten. Jim. Komack is…unstable. Unbalanced. Unsafe. He is dangerous.
Jim’s brow furrowed, even as he tried valiantly not to look at the man in question. You’re sure? I mean, I’ve joked about it plenty, but…
Do not permit him on the bridge, Spock warned, now conscious of Komack’s every move. His mentality is similar to that of most twentieth century Terran white supremacists. He knows he can do nothing about the different species - ‘races’, if you will - around him, much as he believes humans to be superior. But he believes that if he can prevent ‘interbreeding’, it will make the galaxy a better place - and make him a hero. Our union and my very existence are threats to his ideals.
Jim met his eyes. And the baby.
Yes. And the baby.
Will he…is he capable of violence?
Very, Spock confirmed, observing the man as he returned to his seat. He seems to be planning something. He is carrying both a phaser and a knife. And he was quite pleased to have attained permission to enter the bridge. I believe he intends to end things today.
Jim’s mind leaked anticipation - fear. But it was hidden under careful bravado. Okay.
“Oh, I forgot - we’re having safety drills today, Admiral,” his mate ‘remembered’. “We won’t be done until Gamma shift. I’m afraid that having you on the bridge during our drills would be…problematic. Would you be okay with waiting until we’re done to come on the bridge?”
Komack raised an eyebrow. “My presence will be absolutely unnoticeable.”
Doubtful, Spock informed Jim. Quote regulations. Make him surrender his weapons before stepping onto the bridge. As he is technically not bridge crew, he is not permitted to have them on his person if he insists on observing.
“All right, then,” Jim conceded, nervousness floating to Spock’s mind from Jim’s, enhancing and subduing his own. “In that case, could you please surrender all weapons to Mr. Scott? As I’m sure you know, only active shift crew is permitted to carry weaponry onto the bridge. Sorry, but that rule counts even for Admirals.”
Komack frowned, but turned to Scott nonetheless, handing both his weapons over. “I expect them to be returned in pristine condition,” he commanded. “Am I clear?”
He surrendered those too easily, Jim speculated. Stay alert, Spock.
Naturally.
Clearing his plate of the last of his stir fry, the Vulcan stood, placing the tray back. Jim followed almost immediately, and when they made it to the turbolift, Komack followed. With a heavy amount of apprehension floating in the bond from both parties, Jim entered in the destination - bridge.
Here’s hoping for wrong conclusions, the human offered weakly. Spock clasped his hands behind his back.
Indeed.
Previous Chapter-------- Next Chapter
Chapter: One Two Three Four Five Six Six.5 Seven Eight Nine Nine.5 Ten Eleven
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Kirk/Spock
Warnings: Slash, MPREG, gratuitous use of Vulcan language (vocal and body), sex, somewhat mediocre writing; stuff like that.
Summary: Sequel to “Of Convenience”. Entering a new chapter in life is difficult when you’re single. As a pair? Let’s just say Spock and Kirk are going to have their work cut out for them if this chapter’s going to end the way they want it to.
It was perhaps only the suddenness of Spock’s announcement that kept Komack from following them to the bridge, but regardless, they made it to the bridge without a third party and without any inquiring glances. The closest to giving one was Nyota, but her expression seemed to be more amused than anything. Her face was blank again a moment later as she focused on the communication frequencies.
It might not have been completely rational, but when Spock saw Jim stride to his chair, chest puffed out and looking absurdly proud, waves of sheer exhilaration passing through the bond, the Vulcan wondered how people could possibly interpret his body language. For all his cockiness, Jim was rarely this smug.
“We’re going to have a slight change of course after we drop Komack off,” the captain informed everyone. “We’re heading to New Vulcan for the two year anniversary. Estimated arrival time?”
Chekov was immediately performing the calculations. The young man’s abilities in this area were impressive, he had to admit. He could solve just about anything in half the time it would’ve taken most Vulcans, and on Vulcan he would’ve just barely entered maturity. It took him barely more than seven seconds to complete his calculations. “We will arrive in one point two weeks, Keptin.”
That sounded correct. Spock turned to his work, carefully sorting through his slides. That would afford them plenty of time to see the healer.
We’re having a baby, Spock.
Jim’s mental voice was immeasurably stunned, and he spared a moment to check over the man’s mind, finding him still pleased, if in slight disbelief. Indeed. It does seem we will be having a baby.
His samples were ordered properly now. What’s the Vulcan healer supposed to tell us?
The viability of the pregnancy will be tested, as well as the percentage of Vulcanoid DNA, he explained, slipping one slide into his scope and glancing into it. Vulcan traits are dominant, after all. If the fetus is comprised of more than thirty-two percent Vulcan DNA, it will be considered mostly Vulcan.
That doesn’t make sense.
Jim, a percentage of Vulcan DNA greater than thirty-two percent indicates the fetus will have mostly Vulcanoid features. Spock switched out the slides as Jim contemplated what he’d just told him. Telepathy. Physiology. And before you ask, yes - there is a significant chance that its ears would be more like mine than yours.
Awesome, Jim sent back to him. I do love those pointy ears.
For a long while, Spock concentrated on his work, indulging every so often in the contentment rolling off his mate. While the Vulcan understood that he was pregnant, that he would eventually birth an infant, and that that infant would be theirs, part of him felt disbelief that this was even happening. He did not necessarily feel pregnant - but then, what did it feel like to be pregnant?
This train of thought was not conducive to his work.
I bet your dad’s going to go nuts when we tell him, Jim informed through the bond. This was accompanied by a rather outrageous image of his father wide-eyed and shocked. He tried to express his disapproval through the bond, but it was covered up by Jim’s amusement. Seriously, though. How do you think he’ll take it?
I believe that will depend on how Vulcanoid the fetus is, Spock replied. To his left, Chekov’s brow furrowed, and then he was recalculating something. An almost sure sign of the time. Would you like to take our lunch break?
Sounds great, the captain confirmed, standing up and glancing at the crew. “Let’s get some lunch, Spock.”
Spock stood as well, glancing to Chekov. “You have the Conn,” he informed him, striding to Jim’s side and making his way out with him. There were a few engineers in the mess, as well as-Spock withheld an exasperated mental sigh. Komack was at a table by himself, glaring at his coffee as though it had just personally insulted him.
“Hey, Admiral,” Jim greeted, that smug quality back in his voice. “Something wrong with the coffee?”
“If there is, it inn’t the replicator,” Scott called over from three tables away. It seemed he was indulging himself today, a decidedly extravagant sandwich on the plate in front of him. “I finished repairs on it two weeks ago, and it dinn’t mess up any of my food.”
Spock made his way to the replicator in question, keying in an order for plomeek broth and a stir fry while Jim chattered away with his head engineer. He almost might’ve thought the admiral would ignore them, but such did not seem to be in their fates.
“I’m not convinced,” Komack informed them bluntly as Spock turned around. The man’s disapproval showed on every part of his body, from his twisted face to the white-knuckled grip he had on his steaming mug. Scott sent him a perplexed look, and Spock sat at a measured distance between the pair, Jim joining him momentarily with what appeared to be chamomile tea, setting it before Spock. His mate frowned, worry slipping through the bond. “One pregnancy isn’t proof that your marriage isn’t a sham. It’s just proof that your Mr. Spock slept with someone.”
Scott, of all people, was the one to look outraged. “Now that’s crossin’ a line, Admiral!” the engineer seemingly growled. Komack raised an eyebrow. “It’s one thing to come onto this ship tryin’ to prove something one way or the other, but this? Remindin’ them they lost a baby? You’re just a sick man, Admiral Komack, and I don’t care what ‘discipline’ that’s gettin’ me, ‘cause you are disgusting.”
If he was anybody else, Spock might’ve appreciated the gesture, the act of coming to their defense - but he couldn’t, not with the logical majority of his mind calculating all the consequences that outburst might have. Even Jim mentally winced when Komack sent a bewildered look at them.
“You miscarried? When?” their superior questioned, and Jim cleared his throat.
“It was-a couple months ago,” his husband answered. “It’s not relevant.”
Spock sipped his broth, brushing Jim’s mind with his, letting discomfort bloom into acceptance once more. Komack stroked his chin.
“And you decided it’d be a good idea to get pregnant again?” he asked skeptically. Jim’s mind went carefully blank, a tinge of anger shaking the bond for only a split second. “And so soon, no less. Seems a bit of a strange decision, if you ask me.”
Scott shot them quizzical look after quizzical look, and finally, sounding slightly strangled, asked, “So, then, Mr. Spock’s pregnant again, is he?”
Jim seemed content to ignore Scott. “Admiral, we were hoping to keep that under wraps until we got to New Vulcan,” he growled. “We don’t know how stable the pregnancy is. How viable. Hell, we don’t know much of anything yet, and until we know everything’s working out like we want it to, we’re not broadcasting the news. And frankly, what’s so strange about us wanting kids?”
“It’s strange when you’re not really married,” Komack insisted. Spock felt an intense rage in the bond - and realized part of it came from him. Thankfully, Scott spoke before Jim could explode.
“Oh, for-come on, then, you’re just against this because ye don’t like it,” Scott dismissed, voice as condescending as anything Spock had ever heard. He’d certainly never seen anyone show as much disdain with one look as the engineer currently was. “They’re married, all right. I was at both their weddings, thank ye very much, and if they’re ever plannin’ on having a third, I’m RSVPing now. You’re just tryin’ to justify splitting ‘em up ‘cause the only thing you like less’n the captain is interspecies marriage, right?”
Komack’s lips thinned. “That is not an appropriate way of addressing your superior officer,” he murmured. Spock took another long sip of his broth, attempting to quell Jim’s anger through the bond. “Delta Vega still needs an officer to maintain the premises. Are you volunteering?”
“That’s enough,” Jim outright growled, and for a moment, Spock wondered if he was going to have to subdue his own mate before he could launch a physical attack on their superior officer. Thankfully, though, Jim simply sat beside Spock. “We’re married. We’re bonded. We’re having a baby. There’s no questioning our motives here. If you want to investigate us, fine. Do it. But if you start threatening my crew, I am going to report you for abuse of power - and believe me, I have enough evidence to do it. Am I clear?”
The admiral frowned, and Spock took another careful sip of his broth, monitoring his mate’s emotions through the bond. “I would like to observe the bridge,” Komack informed them, Jim’s eyebrows twitching. “I trust this will be acceptable for you, Captain?”
“Of course,” his mate ground out, finally moving to the replicator. “We’re due back in ten minutes. You don’t mind if I eat, do you?”
Komack waved permission, and as Jim walked to the replicator, a sigh filtered through the bond.
Fucking asshole, Jim transmitted. But you know, he really can’t ruin our day. You know?
I am certain that he is ordinarily more than capable, Spock corrected, moving on to his stir fry. However, I would certainly agree that the discovery of successful conception greatly outweighs what bigotry and attempts at separation he generally aims towards us.
Jim turned back with a plate of pasta and a carefully guarded smirk on his face. You could just call it ‘getting pregnant’ rather than ‘conception’, you know. A great deal of amusement filtered through with that statement. Since you’re, uh. Well, the technical term seems to be ‘pregnant’. And you know, I’m pretty happy you’re pregnant, too.
I will admit that that is something of a relief, given I have no intention of being a single parent, Spock transmitted back. Komack stood, stalking past and brushing (no doubt unintentionally) against his shoulder. The slight transfer of thought, even through the fabric, made him go irrationally, unnaturally cold in his seat, the conversation with his husband forgotten. Jim. Komack is…unstable. Unbalanced. Unsafe. He is dangerous.
Jim’s brow furrowed, even as he tried valiantly not to look at the man in question. You’re sure? I mean, I’ve joked about it plenty, but…
Do not permit him on the bridge, Spock warned, now conscious of Komack’s every move. His mentality is similar to that of most twentieth century Terran white supremacists. He knows he can do nothing about the different species - ‘races’, if you will - around him, much as he believes humans to be superior. But he believes that if he can prevent ‘interbreeding’, it will make the galaxy a better place - and make him a hero. Our union and my very existence are threats to his ideals.
Jim met his eyes. And the baby.
Yes. And the baby.
Will he…is he capable of violence?
Very, Spock confirmed, observing the man as he returned to his seat. He seems to be planning something. He is carrying both a phaser and a knife. And he was quite pleased to have attained permission to enter the bridge. I believe he intends to end things today.
Jim’s mind leaked anticipation - fear. But it was hidden under careful bravado. Okay.
“Oh, I forgot - we’re having safety drills today, Admiral,” his mate ‘remembered’. “We won’t be done until Gamma shift. I’m afraid that having you on the bridge during our drills would be…problematic. Would you be okay with waiting until we’re done to come on the bridge?”
Komack raised an eyebrow. “My presence will be absolutely unnoticeable.”
Doubtful, Spock informed Jim. Quote regulations. Make him surrender his weapons before stepping onto the bridge. As he is technically not bridge crew, he is not permitted to have them on his person if he insists on observing.
“All right, then,” Jim conceded, nervousness floating to Spock’s mind from Jim’s, enhancing and subduing his own. “In that case, could you please surrender all weapons to Mr. Scott? As I’m sure you know, only active shift crew is permitted to carry weaponry onto the bridge. Sorry, but that rule counts even for Admirals.”
Komack frowned, but turned to Scott nonetheless, handing both his weapons over. “I expect them to be returned in pristine condition,” he commanded. “Am I clear?”
He surrendered those too easily, Jim speculated. Stay alert, Spock.
Naturally.
Clearing his plate of the last of his stir fry, the Vulcan stood, placing the tray back. Jim followed almost immediately, and when they made it to the turbolift, Komack followed. With a heavy amount of apprehension floating in the bond from both parties, Jim entered in the destination - bridge.
Here’s hoping for wrong conclusions, the human offered weakly. Spock clasped his hands behind his back.
Indeed.
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