Title: Beyond the Call of Duty (#27, The Drabble Bin)
Author: klmeri
Fandom: Star Trek AOS
Characters: Kirk, Spock, McCoy
Summary: Kirk is saddled with an unexpected guest during a diplomatic event. Child-minding, he thinks, is certainly not his day job or his forte.
Previous Drabbles: The Old Four | Those Neighborhood Hoodlums | Trapped | A Cage of His Own | Of Perky Starfleet Bottoms | An Hour Past | War of the Bots | The Best Substitute | Surprise Meeting | Little Help | Dreaming | The Tower | Brother | It’s Complicated | With Close Friends | Not As It Seems | Vulcans Can Be Grumpy Too | Upsetting the CMO | A Romantic Venture | When Your Blues Have a Gold | Show Me the Money (or Not) | Feed the Flame | Shift Change | A Tale of Some Debate | Who Wants to Be a Doctor? | Have You Heard…?

Jim Kirk’s plaintive “Help?” goes unheeded. In fact, the matter is so blatantly disregarded as not anyone else’s problem but his that a majority of bystanders walk out of Recreation Room B without any hint of remorse. Some of them might be laughing.

The angry toddler in Kirk’s lap misses the flesh of his hand by a scant inch with its razor-sharp baby teeth and rips the cuff of his sleeve instead. Jim doubts continuing to hold his temporary charge at arm’s length will save any part of his uniform. It’s just as well that the Fleet has grudgingly invested in a lifetime’s supply of gold tunics in his size after repeat complaints from Requisitions during the first year of the Enterprise’s five-year voyage.

Sadly this is not a dangerous mission he can call off at a moment’s notice. It is his personal hell.

He tries to catch the eye of anyone left in the room who will help him. Sadly everyone seems to be quite preoccupied, either in deep conversation or exuberantly involved in an extracurricular activity which a miniature Gorn would wreak havoc upon or take great offense to.

Jim simply doesn’t understand what the Gorn leader had been thinking to hand him offspring. Acting on behalf of the Federation he serves, Kirk was merely doing his job when he placed the quarantine on Parthenon to prevent more fatalities between the Gorn settlers and other parties adamant about returning to the colony. He knew the settlement rights issue would surface again after enough investors caught wind of the potential bounty to be mined on Parthenon and the question would need to be addressed expediently: Can the Gorns stay on Parthenon if they keep to their peaceful intentions?

Moreover, Jim had suspected that one day he and his flagship would be called upon to provide the neutral ground for that debate. Ever since the Enterprise left the area, the Gorns have insisted rather viciously they will trust only one offworlder to host their secular Clan, and that’s Kirk.

But this, oh this is so far from Jim’s purview as diplomat and host, he finds no humor or appeal in his current circumstances. If hard-pressed, he might admit the fault is his. Honestly, he should have never pointed out that there would be no need for him to sit in on tedious negotiations. Apparently that declaration meant to the Gorn leader (and much to the amusement of Jim’s peers) the trustworthy Captain Kirk would be available for babysitting duty.

The Gorn toddler snarls and snaps its jaws as Jim shifts unhappily on his feet.

“Calm down,” he orders. “No, no, stop biting! Shit,” he complains, “what a little brat you are.”

“Why, Jim, that’s a rude thing to say to a guest!”

“Bones!” Jim swings around at his friend’s familiar drawl—and the toddler in his hands squirms so much more angrily at the motion—with overwhelming relief. And when he spies the person at McCoy’s side, he adds, “Oh thank god, you brought Spock.”

He has always felt certain since he met McCoy and Spock that they can make up for the areas where he is lacking.

And right now, he’s lacking a whole lot of patience. He might have also discarded his dignity somewhere along the way too.

Spock stops at a suitable distance to warily eye his captain’s predicament, but McCoy walks right up to Kirk and bends down to eye-level with their guest of honor.

“Aw, look who we have here,” he coos at the toddler, making both Jim and Spock look at him askance. “Such a cute Clan heir!”

The Gorn growls lowly but shockingly makes no attempt to bite the finger McCoy uses to tickle it under the chin.

“She’s got spirit,” he announces, straightening up.

Jim blinks, then blinks again. “She?”

The doctor laughs softly. “The Clan heir is female—or didn’t you read the dossier attached to the visitor roster?”

Jim might have speed-read through it. He had more pressing to-do’s, like where to house the Gorns comfortably and keep their party suitably separated from the lawyer team representing the mining corporations’ interests. Otherwise, the Gorns could very well have decided to eviscerate the smarmy bastards before the conference even started.

“If you read it,” he says sourly, “why didn’t you inform me?”

“Oh I didn’t bother reading it either,” McCoy replies, grinning. Before Jim can explode at that, he explains, “I’m just the only one here who can tell a male Gorn from female Gorn at first glance.” He whistles low when the Gorn baby returns to kicking fiercely backward, trying to catch Jim in his stomach or other soft parts, while scratching at her captor’s arms. “She sure doesn’t like you.” The doctor half-turns in Spock’s direction. “Never thought I’d see the day you were rejected by a pretty lady.”

“Funny,” mutters Jim at the same time Spock agrees, “Indeed. An incredibly unusual display.”

Jim decides this rag-on-my-captain bonding moment these two are indulging in has no good reason to continue. He thrusts the small Gorn at his senior medical officer.

McCoy takes a long step back, wide grin settling into something smugger. “I don’t think so, Jim. She’s your burden to bear.” Again, he flicks a glance at the Vulcan. “We just stopped by to see how you were faring.”

“The Captain appears to be handling his duties well,” Spock, the other smug bastard, adds.

Jim’s charge punctuates that statement by tearing his sleeve open from elbow to wrist with some impressive baby-super-strength.

Jim grits his teeth and spaces out his reply to ensure his companions fully understand it. “I. Am. Not. Doing. This.”

Spock cocks an eyebrow. “Illogical. You already are.”

“Spock! McCoy!”

Leonard makes a show of glancing at a wristwatch he doesn’t have. “Oh, would you look at the time. The conference break is nearly over. We should head back, Spock. Good thing we joined the galley instead of saying we had free time.”

McCoy starts chuckling as, without a word, Spock turns and heads for the exit. The doctor pauses in following the Vulcan to flash Jim another smile.

A moment later, the smile softens slightly. “You know,” he suggests to his frazzled captain, “Gorns find sounds generated by human vocal cords soothing. You might try a lullaby.”

Jim just stares at him.

“Once she’s napping, you can fetch another shirt.” That advice delivered, Leonard McCoy walks away.

Jim closes his eyes, aware that the Gorns’ Clan heir is diligently working on shredding his other sleeve. He sighs in lieu of pinching the bridge of his nose—his hands are full of baby, after all—and wracks his brain for lullabies of his own childhood. Coming up short, he asks her, “Do you know ‘Row-Row-Row-Your-Boat’?”

After the third rendition, she apparently finds it acceptable.

-Fini

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• Have You Heard…? (#26, The Drabble Bin) – from September 20, 2019
• Who Wants to be a Doctor? (#25, The Drabble Bin) – from May 13, 2019
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