0Title: A Greater Blessing
Author: klmeri
Fandom: Star Trek TOS
Pairing: Kirk/Spock/McCoy
Summary: Kirk’s attempts to bring expand the family aren’t going so well.
A/N: For Anon who desired a fluffy McSpirk headcanon and anyone else also having a blue day. I meant to write a silly bit on Kirk indoctrinating himself into pet ownership and somehow the tale grew from there. Enjoy!
Families are made. James Kirk knows this well. He has been lucky enough to start one of his own in the past year, though arguably the men who signed the marriage license alongside him have been in his life for far longer than that. Without them, Jim knows his days would not be as meaningful and his heart would not be so full.
In a way, whispers his conscience, this makes what he is about to do something of a betrayal.
That little voice ever so annoyingly plagues Jim from the ship to the colony’s surface and during the lulls in city traffic. Jim finally represses this thought with a fairly convincing Nonsense, there’s nothing abnormal about it! just as the shuttle service pulls up in front of his destination. He pays the fare, adding a generous tip, and the pilot grins at the amount before blasting off to retrieve the next scheduled passenger.
Left to handle this very personal mission by himself (purposefully so), Jim squares his shoulders and strides confidently toward a tall open doorway, thwarted at the last second from a dignified entrance by a pair of kids heedlessly hurtling past like two noisy comets. “Puppies!” they scream as they go.
Like these rambunctious, elated children, a younger Jim had often begged his parents for a puppy. Oh, a floppy-eared one! No, that one with the silky golden fur! Aww but, Mama, this one likes to cuddle.
Inevitably, that puppy never did arrive at the Kirk farmstead. Jim had to make do with the wobbly newborn colts at the neighbors’ or follow baby ducklings to the pond or try to sneak in a trembling rabbit he discovered in a centuries-old hunter’s trap left abandoned in the fields. His mother and father weren’t pleased about the rabbit at all.
In that special way of denied youngsters, he could only express his displeasure by dragging his feet past the pet store on each visit to town until his parents or older brother exasperatedly hurried him along or, if time permitted, by stealing glimpses through the store window until someone collared him. That one time he managed to slip inside, unsupervised, is still a story his relatives like to relive in embarrassing detail at family reunions.
Unlike the one from Kirk’s childhood memories, this local pet store is oddly serene and odorless. No bells jangle to announce his arrival but some of the creatures do make noises. A few of them lean forward and thrust themselves at him playfully. Others are entirely disinterested. One creature in a bubble reshapes itself so that it is taller and coaxes in a melodious voice, “Won’t you take me home, Captain Kirk?”
Jim gawks at it (along with a handful of other customers) until a calm-faced man wearing the store’s uniform takes his arm and gently steers him away. “I would not advise that particular species, sir.”
“It speaks,” Jim says, dumbfounded. More than that, it called him by name.
“Its lingual abilities are unparalleled, as is its penchant for mischief.”
The store clerk releases Kirk at what must be a suitable distance from that hypnotizing voice and considers him. “Are you browsing today, Captain, or can I assist you in making a purchase?”
Jim is fairly certain he can manage without help. “I’d like to look around.”
The clerk seems to understand. After a slight nod, he steps aside. “If you have questions about a species, simply let me know. Please heed the warnings we post by the information cards, both for your safety and that of our inhabitants.”
“I will. Thank you.”
Once left alone, Jim does a slow turn to take in the various sections of the store. He decides to start along the perimeter as he might a reconnaissance operation.
Several aisles later, Jim is lost. Not in the physical sense, of course, as the store is rather spacious but of a simplistic layout; emotionally however he isn’t certain he made the right choice in coming here today. Isn’t finding a companion supposed to be natural? Similar to making a special connection at first sight?
So far his experience has been anything but reassuring. Jim has puzzled over the stick-like Corvan gilvos, dismissed the tropical fish, wandered about the displays of the truly overabundant spider species from Titus IV, and narrowly escaped having his hand removed by something called a targ which, although clearly still a baby, has a temper more vicious than the Enterprise’s chief surgeon at his most frightening.
Maybe Jim is making a fool of himself. After all, just because he fell head-over-heels for the two men he now considers his lifelong partners does not mean he can—or should—fall for a pet that exact way.
But Jim wishes it could that simple, that he could trust in instinct in help him recognizing and affirming that, yes, this one is mine. But of the hundreds of creatures in this store, most have attracted him out of curiosity while none have held sway over him in such a way.
Jim pauses by an open crate to peek inside, only to jerk back in surprise a second later. The creature inside has hundreds of small jointed legs fringing its sides. It is flatter than a snake with many body segments and is the length of his forearm. The tiny legs flare outwards in a wave as the creature turns its bugling, rounded head in Jim’s direction.
Another store clerk sidles up to Kirk. “Does this one interest you, sir?”
“No,” Jim is quick to reply, hoping he sounds merely uninterested rather than disturbed. A giant centipede crawling through his quarters? Definitely not.
“Ah.” The clerk makes a study of him just as the previous one had. “We are most honored to have the esteemed Captain Kirk visiting our store today. Perhaps he can be persuaded to view the… fuzzier… inhabitants of the store?”
What? Kirk almost snaps but then thinks upon that word, fuzzy. Yes, that does sound more agreeable. Fuzzy is like fluffy. Pets of that variety are often quite cute. Jim finds himself already melting at the idea of a fluffy little creature in his arms.
But when he spies the enclosure he is being led to, he immediately digs in his heels. “No!”
The clerk pauses to blink innocuously. “Tribbles are quite popular as house pets these days, Captain.”
Jim can only imagine the sourness in his expression from the memory of his prior encounter with tribbles and their incessant breeding (and all from a bit of grain)! He breathes deeply, then states firmly, “I do not have a use for a tribble.”
The clerk only shrugs and changes direction, leaving Kirk to trail after him.
They pass a litter of horned puppies that several children are cooing over and a small space containing a round-eyed little creature who warbles sweetly at Kirk and seems to smile at him. He smiles back. Here is something which could be called cute. Just look at its pointed ears (Jim thinks of Spock) and homely little patches of brown and white fur! He reads the name on the information card. “Gizmo?”
At the sound of his name, the sudden gleam of intelligence in Gizmo’s eyes is disconcerting.
The clerk mutters under his breath and tugs Kirk away. “That one is not for sale.”
“Then why is he here?”
“Don’t ask.” The clerk switches topics smoothly, asking, “Captain, tell me, have you ever heard the trill of a Shib’a songbird?”
Now firmly planted in front of the songbird, Jim bends down to eye-level with it. The songbird preens itself to show off its lovely colors: peacock blue and spring green, scarlet and sulfur yellow.
Jim frowns. “I thought there are nurseries for things like this.”
“On Earth, yes, but many colonists prefer to allow this songbird fly free in their homes as it makes for a lively companion. In a nursery, unfortunately, squabbling within the swarms is commonplace. Shib’a songbirds are naturally social but also very arrogant. As one might imagine, too much trilling can be not so sweet to hear.”
Families naturally squabble, in Jim’s opinion.
The store clerk coaxes the songbird to hop toward them presumably to let Jim have a better view when Jim’s eye catches on someone else in the corner of the store.
He points there. “And who is that?”
“Ah, you have excellent taste! She is our only Circassian cat.”
They approach the cat, who sits upon a padded ledge of her cat house cleaning a paw rather gracefully.
“She’s lovely,” Jim says.
The cat pauses long enough to slant her gaze in his direction. A moment later, she returns to her grooming.
Sitting there, posture so regal and proud. Kirk feels from her glance she thinks disdainfully of him—and yet he is smitten.
“I’ll take her,” he decides.
The store clerk, oddly enough, lifts his sleeve to hide a reaction before vigorously pantomiming at another clerk to hurry over. To his fellow coworker, he remarks, “Captain Kirk has decided on Lady Emera.”
The flash of gleefulness across both clerks’ faces should set off that red alert in Kirk; undoubtedly it would have had Jim not been so caught up in his soulful gazing upon the Lady Emera.
Ah, well.
Not quite a full day later, Jim has spoiled the surprise he had in store for Spock and McCoy by calling them up from their respective offices to say in despair, “She won’t eat. What am I to do!”
Suffice to say, McCoy arrives at Kirk’s quarters in short order (and somewhat out of breath) to find that Jim has returned from yesterday’s shopping expedition with—
“A cat,” says Leonard, staring at the feline perched on the corner of Kirk’s desk. “Jim, what did you do?”
Jim introduces them. “Bones, this is Lady Emera. Lady Emera, this is Bones.”
Lady Emera flicks her tail and studies Leonard McCoy with borderline-insulting laziness.
Leonard turns to Jim. “What did you do?”
Jim looks mournfully into the cloth bag in his arms. “She doesn’t like the mouse toy or the ball on the string. She spits out the vegetarian food packets they said is good for her diet. Bones, I bought all these things but—”
Leonard cuts him off with a sharp inhale and a damning, “You’re hurt.” When he jerks up one of Kirk’s arms, Jim loses his grip on the bag. Its contents roll across the floor at their feet.
“Just a scratch,” Jim says, deflating further. “I can’t even hold her.”
Leonard slashes a look to the cat with the haughty tilt to her head and tugs Jim toward the bathroom. There he makes Jim wash his arm and then uses the mini-medkit from the overhead cabinet to clean and bandage it.
Leonard stares at him after that. “You never said you were thinking of getting a pet.”
Jim touches the bandage around his arm. “I wanted to surprise you?”
“Why?”
Just as Jim makes to reply, they hear the tell-tale whistle of someone entering his quarters. “Spock!” he says, feeling relief. That relief instantly dissipates at the thought of who is waiting to greet the Vulcan. “Bones, we’d better—”
McCoy is already ahead of him, exiting the bathroom and heading toward the main cabin. Jim almost runs into McCoy’s back when the man pulls up short at the partition at the edge of the bedroom. When he peers around Leonard, he sees why Leonard stopped so abruptly.
Spock and Lady Emera are having a staring contest. But it’s an odd staring contest, for it seems as if the pair are simply judging each other out of curiosity.
Lady Emera hasn’t looked at him that way, Jim thinks with mild dismay.
Spock steps closer to the desk. Lady Emera simply watches him. Spock takes a seat in the chair in front of the cat. She watches, still. He folds his hands in his lap—and a brief moment later, Lady Emera steps from the desk to his lap.
She doesn’t curl up there, nor make a sound. She simply continues to look at Spock.
Spock raises an eyebrow. “Fascinating.”
Kirk and McCoy take that as their cue to enter the room.
“How did you do that?” Jim has to know. How do I do that?
“Color me surprised,” grumps Leonard.
Spock blinks as if finally remembering why he came to Kirk’s quarters in the first place. He takes in his partners. “Jim,” he says, “this is a surprise,” though his impassive expression gives no indication of surprise at all.
Jim feels more awkward now than he did in front of McCoy a moment ago. “I thought a pet might be… nice… for us. To take care of.”
“Besides taking care of each other?” Leonard looks at him strangely. “Again, why?”
Jim clears his throat and decides on cleaning up the small mess of cat toys and food.
Spock looks between them before returning his attention to the cat. He lifts a hand and lets it hover. The cat considers it briefly before gently extending her neck to touch his fingers with the side of her face. Jim stops cleaning up to watch the Vulcan and the cat.
Spock retracts his hand not long after.
Jim offers, “Her name is—”
“Emera,” Spock supplies, “Goddess of Fortune. She has shared her name.”
Lady Emera—no, Goddess Emera—jumps down from Spock’s lap and gives Jim and Leonard that haughty look again.
Spock stands up. “I will return shortly.”
As he makes his way across the cabin, Emera follows him. When he exits into the corridor, so does she.
The door slides shut on the retreating figures, leaving Kirk and McCoy to ponder the peculiarities of their existence, the mystery of Emera’s, and how a goddess might find them lacking compared to a Vulcan.
The point of Jim having a pet is that Jim has it. Sadly, Emera has abandoned him for one of his better halves and does not appear to be interested in leaving Spock’s cabin anytime soon. So Jim returns to the pet store.
The store clerks don’t laugh at him outright, but they look knowing as they recommend other species who are a little more loyal in character. Jim argues that he doesn’t need loyalty (he has Spock and Bones, after all, plus a steadfast crew), just someone that won’t run away from him at the first opportunity.
His new pet is a lizard of middling size with iridescent skin, native to Corvan II like the gilvos. Jim names him Mr. Thorn given the row of ridges down the lizard’s back and tail which look like tiny little thorns on a rosebush. Mr. Thorn is not very temperamental as long as the cabin always feels like summertime and Jim keeps guests to a minimum. In the beginning, Mr. Thorn’s only annoying habit is knocking over a stack of anything, but most especially the data PADDs Jim is often working through as part of his day-to-day responsibilities.
Then things change.
On a particularly trying day, Jim looks up. Mr. Thorn cranes his head back to briefly fix his gold eyes upon Jim then lets go from the ceiling. Courtesy of his honed reflexes from a captaincy fraught with dangerous missions, Jim leaps aside just in the nick of time and narrowly avoids being nailed in the head. The lizard lands lightly on all four feet, toes splayed wide to grip the floor, and gives Jim this long look as if disappointed.
Jim chides him, “You can’t just throw yourself at people like that, mister.”
The lizard skitters away, leaving his owner to spend an afternoon trying to cajole him out from beneath the desk.
As it turns out, lizards naturally prefer being left to themselves most of the time. This new cabinmate is so very fond of any lofty and hard-to-reach corner where he will not be disturbed. Jim also suspects that the more he makes of a fool of himself in trying to bond with Mr. Thorn (namely begging him to come down from wherever), the more Mr. Thorn enjoys denying his advances.
McCoy seems to be in tacit agreement with Jim on this matter, although as a bystander McCoy gains much entertainment from watching Jim be thwarted daily.
Such as now. “That lizard about?” McCoy asks idly, currently lounging sideways in a chair surrounded by an air of amusement.
Preoccupied with his personal PADD, Jim waves a hand at the whole of the cabin. “He’s lurking somewhere.”
“Good for you for knowing when to quit.” McCoy pauses. “Something about the way he looks at me gives me the creeps. It’s like he thinks I’m challenging his territory and—Jim? Jim, are you listening?”
Jim swipes right on the PADD screen, distracted, answering, “You like the way Mr. Thorn looks.”
Leonard reaches over and snaps the PADD out of Kirk’s hands.
Jim narrows his gaze at his husband. “Give it back.”
“Then you won’t pay attention.”
“Bones.”
“Jim.”
After a beat of silence, Jim sighs through his nose, conceding simply because he’s not really interested in a fight. Leaning back in his chair, he folds his arms across his chest and gives McCoy every ounce of his attention.
Leonard sets the PADD aside and relaxes back into his customary slouch.
“Well?” Jim not-quite-demands once a full minute of silence passes.
“Never said I had something really important to talk about,” McCoy remarks, smiling faintly. “It’s just nice to have you looking at me.”
That warms Jim. “I’m sorry I don’t do it more often, then—” He deepens his voice a shade. “—since you are so nice to look at, Bones.” Especially when he’s blushing, Jim thinks.
The warmth in Jim turns to heady desire. When he uncoils from his chair, intent on putting this new thrum of energy to good use by taking his husband into his arms, Leonard looks happy and ready to accept an embrace.
Until Mr. Thorn lands on McCoy’s head with a dull thud.
Mr. Thorn’s victim simultaneously spasms and gasps in horror, nearly toppling both body and chair to the floor.
“Bones!” Jim cries, throwing himself forward to catch and hold a chair arm and steady Leonard.
Leonard’s strangled gasp turns to a yelp as the lizard, no doubt sensing the precariousness of his perch, relocates to the table.
For a long while, the only sounds in the room are Kirk and McCoy’s panting. They both eventually compose themselves.
Leonard stands up. “I think I’ll just… go bother Spock,” he tells Kirk.
“Bones?”
“Sorry, Jim.”
Jim follows Leonard into the corridor, imparts an awkward goodbye because he understands how embarrassed McCoy feels, and returns to stare down Mr. Thorn.
Mr. Thorn eyes him back, then swipes his long tail across the desk. Jim’s personal PADD goes flying.
“You,” Jim says sternly, “are restricted to your nest.”
Except being so much more agile than a human, Mr. Thorn escapes his grasp when Kirk comes for him.
Later, McCoy returns with Spock to Kirk’s quarters for dinner and Jim forgets why he should be upset.
“So I said to the ensign, ‘Next time don’t even dream of playing with electrical circuits without the proper safety equipment, or you’ll be demoted faster than that live current can fry your brain!'”
“What is this individual’s name?” Spock asks too politely.
Jim approves of what the Vulcan is thinking and planning. “Bones, let Spock help you on this one.” And I’ll throw my weight behind you two if need be. No one on my ship is going to be so needlessly reckless and get away with it.
Leonard snorts softly. “Spock will make him cry.”
“Haven’t you already?”
“That was my head nurse, not me. Besides, I reported the incident to Scotty and you know what a stickler he is about such things. That young fellow won’t be touching anything remotely interesting in Engineering for the next six months.”
Jim chokes on a laugh. “All right then. We’ll leave it to Mr. Scott.” He stretches his back muscles as he rises to his feet. “Drink, anyone?”
“How about cracking open that bottle of whiskey I gave you for your birthday?” McCoy suggests, rising from the couch as well. He moves ahead of Kirk to retrieve empty glasses while Jim removes the decanter from a cabinet. He also grabs the kind of beverage Spock enjoys.
With practiced ease, they go about preparing a tray of drinks. McCoy knows exactly the number of ice cubes Jim likes, and Jim knows the perfect temperature for Spock’s drink. There is no need for questions or guiding one another through this simple task, performed so many times together over the years. It’s as if they fit inside each other’s space flawlessly and always have. And in a moment Spock will approach them to carry the tray on their behalf across the room, for he also knows rather seamlessly when and where to fit into their space. Jim couldn’t be more thankful to have these pair by his side.
He turns around, expectant, ready to hand Spock the tray, but Spock isn’t behind him. No, Spock is… Jim’s mouth drops open.
Leonard says as he spins away from the counter too, “Jim, here, add this to the tray—dear lord!”
Then Jim hears Leonard choke on a laugh. In response, Jim presses his lips together, the tray in his grip already wobbling from the mirth he is so desperately trying to contain.
Quite the opposite, Spock looks unimpressed. Displeased, even. After all, he is the one with a shiny lizard clinging tenaciously to his head.
Mr. Thorn starts to lose his grip and stubbornly scrambles to hold on, one of his forelegs pushing repeatedly against Spock’s right ear. Then Mr. Thorn raises his head, cocks it, and surveys Kirk and McCoy from his latest perch.
“Jim,” Spock says flatly, unblinking, “he must go.”
And so it is that Mr. Thorn, having arrogantly pressed his luck and trod upon the path one should not (that is, ran roughshod over the dignity of a Vulcan), hitherto is exiled from Kirk’s quarters. Secretly Jim does not miss Mr. Thorn much at all.
Though muffled by a door and Kirk’s towel, the sudden yell which rips through the air is easily recognizable as McCoy’s. Kirk drops the towel and sprints from the bathroom with a cry of his own: “Bones!”
He rounds the partition between his bedroom and the main cabin, heart in his throat, ready to do battle with whatever is responsible for terrifying his Bones—and not a moment later hastily stops short of tripping over that very thing. Jim ignores it for the moment, focusing on what he can see of McCoy, who is largely hidden behind the tall, trim figure of their mutual husband. Jim can hear the man’s ragged breathing from across the room.
Spock shifts slightly at Kirk’s appearance and, in response, Leonard tightens his white-knuckled grip on Spock’s blue shirt sleeve as though the Vulcan might dare to cease shielding him. His drawl is thicker, shaky, but nonetheless demanding of Kirk, “W-What is t-that!”
That, thinks Jim in dismay as he takes a cautious step forward, is not supposed to be out of its oversized, terribly expensive terrarium. And certainly not before Jim could find an opportunity to make introductions between it and his spouses!
Jim crouches down, holding out a coaxing hand to his new pet. “Come here, Harry.”
With all its ten unblinking eyes and multiple long legs, Harry scuttles toward the opposite side of the room as if Kirk’s command means nothing. Spock doesn’t move, seeming unafraid, but Leonard’s panicked “Stay back!” carries the true ring of desperation.
Jim catches Harry and carries him back to the empty terrarium. He fixes the lid back into place and this time makes certain its lock is secure. By the time he turns around, Spock is supporting a pale-faced, limping McCoy to the couch.
Once settled, Leonard looks anywhere but at the corner of the room with the terrarium and its occupant.
Jim kneels in front of Leonard, takes in his fearful expression, and feels guilty. He slides one of McCoy’s trembling hands into his own. “Bones… I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”
Leonard sags slightly as Spock places a hand at the juncture of Leonard’s shoulder and neck. Jim can already see the calming effect on Leonard’s frayed nerves from the touch-telepathy.
Even so, Leonard drags his gaze up to Jim’s. “Where in blazes did you get that, that parasite?”
“It’s not a parasite,” Jim says not unkindly. “It’s a spider.”
“Spiders are supposed to be small.”
“Harry is a special breed,” murmurs Jim. “I was told they’re protectors. They bond for life.” Like us.
McCoy chokes. “You named it Hairy?”
Jim swallows a laugh because right now Leonard wouldn’t appreciate the humor. “Well yes, he is very hairy, but I meant the formal name—short for Harold.”
“Oh god,” breathes Leonard, as if that’s worse.
“I’ll find him a good home,” Jim says firmly.
There’s a tremor at the corner of Leonard’s mouth. “Jim, if you really want—”
“No,” he cuts in. “Bones, thank you, but no.” He presses the hand in his own, warming it as best he can to chase away the coldness from the fear. He says ruefully, “I should have asked first this time.”
A sound rumbles in McCoy’s chest, a not-quite laugh but close enough. “Would’ve saved me from embarrassing myself, at least.”
“Perhaps,” says Spock, removing his hand away from McCoy. “Perhaps not.”
Leonard twists his head around to narrow his gaze at the Vulcan. “Hey, who asked you? You couldn’t even act like a proper shield!”
A gleam comes into Spock’s dark eyes. “It was merely a spider, Doctor.”
“Bigger than my foot!”
“Had you not been affixed to my person, I should have liked to pick it up and—”
Spock doesn’t have a chance to finish that statement as Leonard tears his hand from Jim’s hold and scrambles over the back of the couch to get at Spock. Spock prudently backs toward the bedroom.
Jim huffs, pleased by Spock’s tactic of distracting McCoy from the still-visible guest in Kirk’s quarters, who is now scratching at the glass of his home, no doubt ready to be free to roam again. Jim taps the glass. “Harry, old pal, don’t be too sad. There’s someone out there for you. I promise.”
Jim will definitely make certain of it.
Upon entering the bedroom, clearly disturbed, Spock delivers his concerns straight to Jim, which in order are: “I see you have already replaced Harry. Have you the necessary information to understand the nature of this latest… acquisition?”
Jim places a hand on Spock’s shoulder. “It will work out this time, Spock. And yes I did my homework.”
But the Vulcan’s countenance becomes graver. “Why do you feel you must have a pet?”
“Are you telling me I can’t have one?”
“I would not.”
Jim knows that. But how to explain without seeming… silly? Insecure? With Bones and Spock now both willing to acknowledge there is something amiss, they will work in tandem to corner him, and his defenses will crumble accordingly. Will he make himself seem foolish once again?
While Jim is trying to decide on the best course of action, namely his defense, Leonard walks into the bedroom. “What did you get this time?”
Jim latches onto the diversion. “He’s called a viper rat, but think gerbil. Comes from M-113.”
Leonard starts, and Spock states in a sharper tone than normal, “M-113 is not hospitable to most lifeforms.”
“Yet we did meet native lifeforms which survived there against the odds,” Jim counters gently.
McCoy’s throat works. A part of Jim thinks he should have skipped the origins of the viper rat’s race. The sudden glaze to his husband’s eyes is telling. He’s reliving memories of the mission to M-113—and none of the memories, Jim knows, are good for McCoy.
Jim looks to Spock. Spock nods imperceptibly and turns to Leonard.
“Were you able to locate the creature?”
Leonard shakes his head. “No. It must have burrowed under the wood shavings in the cage or hidden in that little rock cave.”
“He’s sensitive about being seen in the daytime,” Jim confirms. “Also, I’ll warn you now. Don’t try to touch him.”
Leonard immediately reaches for Kirk’s hands, turning them over to check for wounds.
Laughing, Jim pulls away. “I’m not speaking from experience, Bones. The pet expert at the store said so.”
Leonard harrumphs. “Did it occur to you that having a pet you can’t touch might be a reason not to bring it home?”
Jim smiles a bit sheepishly. “No.”
Spock says, “Perhaps it would be prudent to research the viper rat of M-113 further.”
Jim is insulted on behalf of his new pet. “Gerbils are harmless.”
“But are viper rats?” questions Spock.
Jim opens his mouth to refute that, only to realize he can’t.
Leonard clears his throat. “In the meantime, that warning sounds reasonable to me. Leave that rat alone.”
Sighing, Jim agrees.
Kirk, Spock, and McCoy may be married, it isn’t often they can be together through the night. As the senior-most officers of a starship, their schedules are crammed, frequently subject to change, and therefore quite difficult to sync. Some nights Jim lies awake in his bed sans one or both partners and thinks on how odd it is to still feel lonely.
And then thinks of how thinking that makes him feel guilty.
Tonight is good, though. There’s a warmth he can lean into and a lullaby of the soft snores to ease him into sleep.
Until Leonard whispers his name. Jim mutters into the middle of his man’s back, not ready to be roused.
“Jim.”
He groans. “What?”
“The viper rat,” Leonard says, and it takes several seconds for Jim’s brain to make sense of that and the edge of unease in McCoy’s voice.
He stiffens once he is cognizant of it and, following a pause, rises slightly to peek over Leonard’s shoulder. He scans the darkness of the room—and sees what Leonard has already been awoken by. There, by the dresser, are a pair of tiny glowing eyes. Red eyes.
Sensing it has their full attention now, the viper rat hisses lowly.
Definitely not good. That evening, Spock had studiously summarized various articles from the ship’s computer and other intergalactic archives, revealing that although the viper rat might look like a fat gerbil (minus two fierce-looking frontal fangs), it has a paranoid, almost vicious temperament—especially since the species was rescued from near-extinction on M-113. Viper rats once thrived as the dominant predator in the underground caverns of their homeworld. The venom in their fangs can liquefy the flesh of anything living and, in the heyday of their species, viper rats sometimes ate their own young to keep their population in check. The males are known to be extremely territorial and prone to killing each other on sight.
He could read between the lines of Spock’s dry recitation: Viper rats shouldn’t be kept as pets. But Jim’s pride would not let him readily admit he has made a mistake by bringing this one aboard the ship.
As the hissing increases in volume, a sure sign that the viper rat feels threatened by the humans simply breathing near him, Jim murmurs against the shell of McCoy’s ear, “Bones, don’t move.”
“Had no intention to. I value my skin.”
The viper rat shuffles, disappears momentarily, then silently coalesces into a shadowy, red-eyed menace on the top of Kirk’s dresser. Jim has a bad feeling the viper rat is judging the distance to the bed.
Leonard presses back against Jim. “What’s the plan?”
Jim tightens his arm around the man’s waist. “Shh. No plan.” Just pray it doesn’t decide to attack.
“Jim—Jim, I think it’s coming over here!”
“Shh!”
“Don’t hush me! Do something.”
“Bones, it eats its children.”
As quietly as it appeared, the viper rat vanishes into the darkness again. Then there comes a scraping sound, like tiny claws—or teeth—against metal. Both Kirk and McCoy fall into tense silence as they listen to the constant scrape-scrape-scrape and an occasional rustling, followed by a long hiss.
Even after the sounds of the viper rat fades to nothing, it is a very long time before either Kirk or McCoy so much as snuffles lightly or shifts against a pillow.
“Do you think it’s gone?” Leonard finally, tentatively asks.
“Gone where?”
“Back to its cage?”
Ah, Bones, thinks Jim. He can’t blame the man for choosing to remain optimistic. “Go to sleep,” he says instead. “I’ll keep watch.”
After a while, Leonard’s body relaxes into a light sleep. Jim keeps his promise—and an eye on the shadows—until his cabin’s controls activates his morning alarm.
Later that morning, freshly washed and in his uniform, Jim ascertains that the viper rat is in fact not roaming loose in his quarters. This becomes most apparent when he shifts the bedroom furniture away from the wall. He squats down for closer inspection and beckons Leonard over to look at a vent.
Following a minute of quiet contemplation, Leonard says, “Well, now we know how it got out of the cage.”
Even knowing where it went, Jim still hesitates in reaching for a gaping hole in the middle of the grate. “The pet expert didn’t mention that he could destroy metal.”
“Good thing we didn’t leave the bed last night. If he can chew through starship-grade metal, then trying a human bone would be like snacking on a carrot stick.” Leonard pauses. “So, how do we report a carnivorous gerbil-rat on the loose?”
“Discretely,” mutters Jim, straightening up. When Leonard gives him a certain look, he adds, “Don’t say it.”
McCoy grins. “Spock was right.”
“Yeah,” Jim huffs. “Yeah, he was.”
“But we can wait to tell him that part.”
Jim throws an arm over McCoy’s shoulders. “Agreed.”
Thus concludes Jim Kirk’s pet adventures.
McCoy drops into a seat opposite Kirk and Spock with an irascible harrumph and a resounding clang of his meal tray and eyes the way Jim cheerfully stuffs his face. “Do you know what I just saw,” he demands at rather than questions of his captain.
Spock politely pauses in lifting a spoonful of soup to give the doctor his attention. Jim makes a humming noise instead of looking up.
“Harry on a lease.” McCoy’s voice rises slightly on the last word.
Spock lifts an eyebrow but doesn’t point out that would be in violation of at least two regulations.
At Jim’s agreeable “Mm, Lt. Pierce is very fond of him,” Leonard grabs his fork and smacks the table near the man’s hand. Kirk drops a partially eaten sausage back to his plate.
“This is your fault,” Leonard goes on.
Kirk looks genuinely bemused. “What is?”
“That we’ve got a man walking a giant spider in public!”
“Harry needs exercise like anyone else,” protests Kirk.
“Not if he’s gonna cause fainting in the corridors!” The doctor leans forward. “And remember that ensign a couple of weeks ago who almost fried himself? Yesterday I had to regenerate a bone fracture in the idiot’s arm because he fell off a ladder trying to coax your Mr. Thorn off the ceiling of the rec room. Who takes a pet lizard to a rec room, for god’s sake!” Leonard doesn’t seem ready to wind down anytime soon, his blue eyes flashing. “And now my nurses are busy booking appointments left and right since half of Engineering has suddenly developed acute heart palpitations. Scotty’s lads are convinced the late-night hissing from the Jefferies tubes is an evil spirit, and you’re too damned embarrassed to tell them it’s your escaped rodent.”
Jim cuts a sideways glance to Spock, who has resumed eating during this long tirade.
“Jim,” Leonard finishes sourly, “answer me this: is this a starship or a petting zoo?”
Jim puts down his fork. “It’s a place for families.”
Leonard looks at him askance, then, and as though experiencing an epiphany, Spock stops eating to look Jim over with thoughtful consideration.
Leonard seems to catch on to the Vulcan’s scrutiny in a different way, asking, “What is it, Spock? What do you know?”
A funny feeling starts in the pit of Jim’s stomach.
“Are you dissatisfied with our arrangement?” Spock asks, his voice modulated not to carry to the other occupants of the Officer’s mess.
Leonard’s gaze lights upon Jim, soft, understanding but faintly sad. “Jim?” he presses quietly when Jim finds his coffee mug suddenly fascinating.
“It’s not you,” is the start of a clumsy effort to explain. Jim falls briefly silent, fully aware that Leonard and Spock must be engaged some silent exchange about him. Judging him, perhaps? He swallows hard and hopes not.
“Talk to us,” McCoy insists. “If you’ll just tell us why you’re unhappy, Spock and I swear to do everything in our power to fix it.”
He looks up, overtaken by a spurt of indignation. “I am happy, Bones.”
“Why the long face then?”
Jim doesn’t want to say it. Doesn’t.
He has to. “When you’re busy, I miss you.” When I miss you, I’m lonely. “So I thought the extra company could help with that.” He offers a tiny smile without any heart behind it. “I guess you could say my expectations and reality are vastly different. I’m sorry about that.”
Leonard blinks down at his tray, then pushes it aside and leaves his seat at the table. Jim is a bit baffled when Leonard resettles into the empty spot next to him.
McCoy sighs and bumps their shoulders together. “At times like this, I remember why I never liked Spock being such a workaholic.”
“Leonard,” the slandered party counters, nonplussed, “the blame is to be shared.”
“Of course it is! That’s why you have to let me finish first, Spock,” huffs McCoy before facing Jim again. “Jim, as I was saying, I never liked that, and so I don’t have an excuse for being one myself. I’m the one who was blind to how it affects you. I’m the one who’s sorry. Forgive me?”
“I offer an apology as well,” Spock adds from Jim’s other side. “It is never acceptable for you to feel a lack of companionship in this marriage and more so to believe you cannot inform us if you do. My deepest regrets, Jim.”
Oh, these two, thinks Jim fondly. Something in him begins to untwist. “Apologies accepted.” His smile rekindles, full of warmth. “While we’re all feeling so apologetic, what about a puppy?”
Leonard groans.
“The puppy will be for all of us.” Jim steam-rolls ahead despite the sudden misgivings Spock and McCoy are now visibly undergoing. “We can take turns walking it, feeding it, and playing with it. Think of all the cuddles—”
“Emera is not fond of dogs,” interrupts Spock, who then places Kirk’s fork back into his hand. “Eat.”
Leonard leans around Jim to fix a jaundiced eye on the Vulcan. “Who cares what that snooty cat thinks? She acts like she owns every inch of your quarters! It’s like your bookshelf has become her damned throne!”
If Spock didn’t have such good control of his facial muscles, Jim thinks, his eyebrow might be ticking.
“The Goddess of Fortune may reside wherever she pleases.”
Leonard raises his voice, turning a few heads of the nearby crewmen. “If we get a puppy, it’s because we want a—”
“Doctor, there is no logic in—”
As the argument escalates, Jim’s smile becomes smugly pleased. He twirls his fork in his hand, pulls McCoy’s tray up against his tray, and then happily digs into both their breakfast portions. In his mind, he can already hear the happy yapping of the fluffy little puppy he always wanted.
-Fini
Related Posts:
- Follow Me Dark – from November 30, 2023
- Say a Little Prayer – from November 10, 2021
- Twist and Take – from October 31, 2021
- Clear from the Battle (But Not the War) – from October 11, 2021
- Consider Me Accounted For – from October 3, 2021
