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What to Expect When You're Expecting

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The first time he sees her, George is instantly glad for the box he positioned right in front of his crotch because Winona Larson is, without a doubt, the hottest creature he has ever seen in his goddamn life.

He stops in the hallway of his new dorm and watches her stalk in, almost in slow motion like in those old vids, her fists deep in her leather jacket's pockets and her jeans about to break off and flee her body they're so fucking tight, and she's wearing knee high leather boots so the whole of her looks like every biker chick fantasy he had never had until that moment. She shoots George a quick look that seems to go right through him, notes a door number, and walks inside, slamming the door firmly behind her.

Twenty seconds later, as he recovers from this vision that is going to be living 50 feet from him for the next year of his life, a sobbing girl runs out of the room and flees down the hall. George never sees her again.


...would he say Winona warms up to him?

...would he say Winona has warmed up to anyone?

Their last year at the Academy starts and as she's living a few doors down from him again, George reflects on the conversations they've had with each other in those two years:

"Tribbles," he sighed in xenozoology.
"Ugh," she groaned in agreement.

"I like your boots," he told her once.
"I could choke a man to death with them," she replied.

"So, you're an engineer," he commented.
"And you're in command," she replied just as one of her twenty-foot-tall commissioned boyfriends came by to (literally) pick her up and carry her off over his shoulder. She slapped the guy's shoulder and he spun her around -- George would have sworn on his perfect GPA that she did it just to smile at him.

Right, she smiled at him before that other guy banged her into another dimension.

At this rate, maybe George would get his own ship, she'd be his chief engineer, and in forty years, they could have a silent lunch together or something. A conversation could follow five years after that.

Even Chris Pike tells him he's kind of pathetic, and that's when he realizes it's gone too far.


He rushes out of his room to meet up with a few friends before Advanced Andorian, but stops when he notices a pair of dark blue eyes and long, long wavy blonde hair standing outside Winona's door.

Because it's fucking Winona, wrapped in a regulation towel, looking right at him.

"Kirk, could you help me with something?" she asks.

To his credit, he doesn't burst into a song of praise in front of her, but just nods coolly and strolls into her room.


He has totally had sex before. No- no, he has. But comparatively? No he hasn't.

"What do you need?" he asks, and congratulates himself when his voice doesn't crack.

She grins, just a little, and sits on the bed and wow, yeah, that's a whole lotta thigh. "That's kind of cute- that you think that there's a possibility I asked you in here for something other than fucking. I mean, I might be concerned that you're brain-damaged, but." She shrugs and crooks a finger. "Come here."

He does, and she wraps an arm around his shoulders and leans into him, slides one of her legs between his and presses the top of her thigh against his dick.

Winona kisses like she's on fire, and the thing is, they're all naked under their clothes but like -- that towel? That's it; that's all that's there.

She undoes his pants easily, and pulls back long enough to say, "Off, c'mon."

He strips so fast he thinks he tore something, but he thinks she looks more speculative than amused so he's totally putting it in the win column.

"I think I kinda wanna suck you," she muses, and she's still wearing the goddamn towel when she slides off the bed and settles between his legs.

"Please," he manages, because his momma taught him right and he's going to stop thinking about his momma right now.

Winona grins and slides her lips along his dick and George has to fight not to fall back on the bed, groaning when the head of his cock slides over Winona's lower lip and she opens up and sucks him in.

"Oh," he groans, and thrusts into her mouth -- just a slow, shallow slide, until she grips his hips and pulls a little, encouraging. Her tongue swirls around lazily and it's...he has to look away because the way her cheeks hollow and the look in her eyes and then the pressure around his dick is like -- yeah. He's gonna come, and he tries to say that, he does, but what comes out is just, "Oh, fuck."

"Don't come yet," she says, squeezing cruelly, lips puffy-red as she stands back up. "I mean, I know there's the stigma of oral isn't sex except that it is except that I'd really like to come, and I don't get off on giving head. I get wet off of giving head..." She stands up, takes his hand and yes, yep. She gets wet giving head.

His fingers slide against her clit, can't believe how she's dripping, thighs slick already.

"So, come on," she says, grinning and pushing him back, straddling his hips, gripping his cock and then he's sliding in and she's tight and wet and dear fucking God she's going to kill him.

"God, you're," George mumbles, stupid with want. The kisses are drugging, and he can feel her heartbeat under his hand, cups her breast and feels the nipple harden under his thumb. She laughs into his mouth, stretching over him, rolling her hips and shuddering around him.

"Yeah, baby," she mutters, bending close over him and catching his lips, kissing him hard, biting, licking inside and sucking George's lower lip.

"I need -- " He needs more, just --

"I dare you," she replies, grinning. "Think you can fuck me, baby?"

"You dare me?" he repeats, and can't stop the answering grin, incredulous.

"Well," she says, and shudders, squeezes down, her breasts brushing against his chest like a tease, "if you think you can handle it."

"I'm going to fuck you," George says and flushes a little at that even as he rolls them, slamming back in, hard; fucking into her in one hot hard stroke. Winona throws her head back and he bites on it, nips the jaw line and she pulls his head down for a bruisingly hard kiss as he fucks into her, thumb rubbing over her clit, sliding easily because she's so so wet.

"Fuck yeah, c'mon baby, give it to me, I want it," she groans from somewhere in the back of her throat. "Fuck, fuck, shit, yeah, baby, I'm gonna make it --" her breath hitches and she's coming, hips bucking up against him as she clenches around him, pressing her whole body against him with her mouth open, and all George can think is gorgeous.

"C'mon," she says, arching up to meet his thrusts, "come for me, I wanna see what you look like when you're gone, give it to me."

And he's letting go hard, coming in her in one, two, three, four hot pulses, pulling out and collapsing beside her, panting like he tried to run a marathon.

She laughs, chest heaving, and he realizes that she has freckles along her shoulders and chest, fainter where her shirts cover but there, dusted over the curve of her breasts.

"You're --" he begins, and she laughs and kisses him, squeezing his upper arm.

"Yeah, babe," she agrees. "I know."


And he had to have done something right because she smiles at him after that and once, she showed him a hack for one of his PADD hacks (because it wasn't enough to be able to stream a ball game during class on it -- she turned it into an educational tool and got the Andorian broadcast for him so he could practice the language with an earbud in one ear).

She's not carried off anymore by twenty-foot-guys, either, which -- yeah -- is nice.


And then one day, he opens his door and she's standing there (clothed). "Can I come in?" she asks.

"What? Wait, wh -- oh, yeah, sure, come in, have a seat, my bed's that one over there, on the left, with the green, do you want a drink or something, I don't have much but --"

"Wow, you're embarrassing yourself," she laughs. "Like, a lot. I think you even got a little twang of an accent in there at the end."

"Iowa," he replies. She's sitting on his bed and he pulls his chair over to sit in front of her. "What about you?"

"Chicago," she says. "George --"

"You know my name!"

She thinks that's a joke and smiles a little, and he tries not to break his face grinning.

"Look, George --"


She looks away and he thinks she sighed a little, which let his brain run wild thinking of the mad declarations of love about to spill from her mouth and maybe he should beat her to it and pull her close --

"George, I'm pregnant."

It's a while before the screaming white noise dissipates from his head and he hears what she said.

"Sorry, maybe you don't remember," she begins, "But it was about eight weeks ago. Then I was late, but I didn't get an official test until today and. Yeah."

"Yeah," he breathes. "I'm knocked up." And then he chokes on air and says, "No, you're knocked up!"

"Oh no," she says as she laughs, "You're definitely the one knocked up."

"Fuck, Winona, we have to --"

"Hon, it's gonna be okay," she says and holy fucking hell, she sits on his lap and wraps her arms around him and cradles his head on her chest. "You're feeling a lot of things right now, worried about how you're going to fit into your dresses soon --"

"I hate my life," he says flatly, but takes the opportunity to wrap his arms around her waist and hold her because who the fuck knows when the chance will come again.

"Yeah, this is kind of shitty," she replies, "But I think I got me a good little woman here."


They're keeping it.

George surreptitiously opens a message from her in class one day and what a fucking mistake, because this hideously old song starts blasting out of his PADD: Papa don't preach, I've been losing sleep, but I've made up my mind --

"Mister Kirk!" Arn'ok his professor shouts from the bottom of the lecture hall.

"Sorry, sir," he stammers as he tries to turn it off.

I'm keeping my baby, oh I'm gonna keep my baby --

And those lines loop until George runs the hell out of the hall, his entire fucking class rolling in the goddamn aisles laughing -- and Winona's waiting outside with a smile just for him.

"You get me kicked out of Starfleet and I wonder who's gonna help pay for this clusterfuck," he laughs at her in the hall.

"Baby, you're getting a Command degree -- everyone knows the money's in Engineering." She glances at her PADD and says, "Speaking of which, I have a date with a bitchy warp coil."

She walks away and gives him a grin over her shoulder. He waves back like a moron and goes back to his PADD, finding every sound and video setting to shut them the hell off.


For the rest of the week, George tries to eat lunch in peace with his friends but -- no. Every cadet he's ever met or not met has to come up to him in a steady stream of manly shoulder claps and gentle hugs (not necessarily in an evenly gendered split, either, because his male friends claim they don't want to be too rough on the baby and his female friends want to love all over his fertile uterus), congratulating him on landing Winona and getting a bun in his oven.

Chris Pike, his Starfleet-assigned protege from last year who turned out not to be such a limp dick whiny bitch and actually could be called a friend now, shows up at his lunch table, tray in his hands, eyes shiny from the betrayal of not being one of the first 400 people to hear the news.

"Sorry, Chris," George sighs as he pushes out a chair for him.

Chris sits down, looks at his tray for a moment, and says, "I can feed you ice chips -- you know, when the time comes -- they're supposed to be --"

"Welcome to the George Kirk is Going to Murder You Club," George replies. "I'm not only the founder, I'm also a member."


He later learns that Winona during all this is usually inside some piece of some ship, being a goddamn genius.

George knocks on the top of a whatever she's working on and watches her slide out from underneath.

"Hey, mama," she says, a smudge of grease on her chin.

"So I've been thinking," he says. "Since I'm carrying your boy and all --"

"Who says it's not going to be a girl?" she asks, almost offended.

"My ethics professor says I'm carrying low," he replies. She laughs and she snorts when she laughs and he's sure there could not be anything more fucking adorable on the planet than that. "I was thinking --"

"Dinner tonight, why not," she finishes. "It's only fair. My dad suggested it, given that your dad might come by with a shotgun for me any day now."

"If Dad asks: you've got good prospects once we graduate and," George leans against the engine or whatever Winona's working on, "We'll move back to Riverside -- 's where I'm from -- and you'll get me a cute little yellow house, just down the road from my folks, and we'll have big dinners every Sunday --"

"Think I won't sell our baby for a new pair of Betazoid jeans?"

"Not before you have the chance to use him to get us free drinks at any bar in town."

"I like the way you think," she laughs.


On the night of their date, George puts on his carefully chosen completely hot-yet-casual outfit and knocks on Winona's door six minutes late. He poses and waits for the door to open.

Five minutes after that, his communicator chirps.

"Chris, I --"

"Dammit, George, how long does it take you to put on a push up bra and slap on some lipstick?"

"The hell are you talking about?" he asks, and he turns around, looking up and down the hall for some sign of Winona. "I'm outside your door, I knocked!"

"What the hell are you doing there?" she yells. "Look out your fucking window!"

He runs into his room and looks out the window. Sure enough, there's Winona, straddling her bike and staring up at his window.

"Come on down before Daddy comes out with his shotgun," she yells as she snaps her communicator closed.

He sighs, closes his communicator, and begins the climb down the convenient tree outside his window.

"Damn, girl, your ass looks amazing in those jeans," she calls out when he's halfway down.

"Stop objectifying me," he calls back.

He drops the last few feet and walks over to her bike. They look each other up and down and George laughs.

"That's a leather onesie," he comments.

"I got a matching one for the baby," she replies with a quick pat to his stomach.

"Not for me?"

"Not proper for a lady in your condition, is it?" she asks.

"Jeez, see if I let you fuck me because, you know, my condition and all."

She sighs heavily and leans sadly on the handlebars of her bike.

"So are we actually going somewhere or are we just taking the air?" he asks.

"Get on the bike and find the fuck out," she replies. "Still haven't decided if you've earned a real date or just a short trip to the back of the library to be fucked into middle age." He climbs on and honestly, getting the bitch seat on her bike is probably the least demeaning part of the night so far. She turns around as she slips on her helmet and asks, "How do men in your family age, anyway? Keep it together and rot gracefully, or just fall apart into disgusting pieces when they're sixty?"

"Stick around and find out," he replies.

"Or I'll just hack your family's files. I'm not just a pretty face, you know."

"You've got an amazing rack, too."

"Thank you," she beams. "Though I'm not sure I like the mother of my child talking like that. What kind of example are you setting?"

"You're one to talk," he says, and he runs his hands over the creaking leather of her torso as some kind of example.

She shrugs and they take off.


They go see a movie and Winona sits in her seat with her feet up in George's lap. The theater's mostly empty, so they essentially coughed up a few credits just to hang out in the dark and talk.

"It was never a question," she informs him. "If I wasn't fixing starships, I'd be fixing shitty cars in the middle of nowhere. I'd be building my own or something, I don't know, I just. It's what I do."

"You fix things," he says as he unconsciously rubs her calf, still a little amused at the sound of the fucking leather suit she was wearing. "See, I knew that part, but it's a little surprising considering how every other time I've seen you, it's way more likely you were taking shit apart."

"Taking it apart to put it back together," she clarifies.

"Yeah, whatever."

"What about you?" she asks, nudging his stomach with the toe of her boot. "Gonna get a starship of your own one day?"

"Oh, why not," he sighs, then says seriously, "Yeah, hope so. Already got an offer from Captain April to join up with him when I'm done here."

"As first officer?" she asks.

"Second, but I also get to be head of tactical."

The half of her face he can see in the movie's light looks impressed, and he grins a little.

"Of course, that was before all this, wasn't it," she comments.



At a bowling alley after the movie, they pull out their PADDs because it suddenly becomes imperative that they figure out what the hell will happen to Winona after the kid is born.

George finds it first because Winona is a little busy drawing the inside of a shuttle's life support equipment from memory.

"Holy fucking shit," George says.

"The baby can hear you," she says absently.

"No it can't, which you'd know if you read one of those books I sent you," he replies. He shoves his PADD in her face and points at the highlighted bit.

Family Leave
Starfleet officers are granted six (6) weeks of paid leave beginning from the last day of an officer's employment. Should an officer's spouse also be a member of Starfleet, the family will be granted fifteen (15) weeks of paid leave beginning from the last day of their employment.

"That is fucking insane," Winona gasps. "Why are they so insane?!"

"Uhhh, something about adjusting families, whatever, look --"

"We have to get married."

George has a brief aneurysm and snaps out of it when she punches him in the arm.

"Don't tell anyone," Winona begins in a lowered voice, "But. You're not horrible."

"You sure make a girl feel special."

"George," she laughs, "I'm serious. If a government organization wants to pay me to take a fifteen-week vacation with someone else and a screaming shit machine, I'm... pretty sure..." She pauses to think about it for a moment and then grins at him. "Yeah, I'm almost mostly certain that you're near the top of my list of people to do that with."

"For as long as both shall live."

"Which is like what, four deep space missions?" she asks. "If we annoy each other, we can get assigned to different ships and fuck off for five years at a time, get together for the kids --"

"Plural," George says, which is all he can say, as his brain is kind of on standby.

"-- And then fuck right off again."

For George, life up to this point has been lived safely and cautiously, circumspectly and securely, and maybe he's been saving up all that level-headed street cred for Winona.

And even if he wasn't saving it for her, he's sure as hell going to blow it all on her.

Something in his face must change because Winona leans up and kisses his cheek. "I'll get you a ring tomorrow."

"Just don't steal it for me, okay?"

"What if it's really, really nice?"

"Well," he sighs. "In that case."


His ring is a massive nut from some part of a shuttle and after she slips it on his finger, George can't hear a shuttle take off without taking a deep breath and waiting for something horrible to happen.


It's parents' weekend.

"What do you mean you didn't tell them?" Winona hisses as they walk out of their dorm and towards the arrivals' lot.

"It --"

"You know, a whole lot of shit has slipped your mind since your cock slipped out of your pants," she says. "And this --"

"So when I slap your dad on the back and call him Pops, he's going to call me 'son' and we'll all go have a grand ole fucking time together, right?"

She's silent and George lets out a dry, dry laugh and digs his hands into his pockets.

"We can still --"

"No, actually, we're not going to hijack a ship and attempt time warp, sweetheart," George snaps. "We're going to be fucking adults who are having a fucking kid and -- Momma!"

His mother shrieks and croons as she wraps her arms around him and George looks over his mother's shoulder to see Winona giving him the eyebrow to end all eyebrows. She will own his ass when today is done, and he briefly wonders how much is left for her to own, actually.

He and his dad shake hands and then he steps back to put a hand on the small of Winona's back. He looks down at her and she's beaming, all sugar and no spice like some kind of cute kitten demon that will end them all.

"Mom, Dad, this is Winona," he finally exhales. "Winona... my mom and dad. Lily and Tiberius Kirk."

Winona shakes hands with them and can't look his father in the eye because she's roughly twelve and Tiberius is a really funny name.

"It's so good to meet you," Lily says, "Even if this rascal has told me next to nothing about you!" She sighs dramatically and smiles at them. "You kids and your weekly calls, and nothing's up, Mom, everything's fine, Mom, I got a great grade, Mom! But nothing about a new girlfriend!"

Winona is squeezing his hand hard enough to break every bone, and he can somehow tell she's kind of dying.

"We wanted it to be a surprise, Mom," George says easily.

"And will we be meeting your parents today, Winona?" Lily asks.

"You sure will!" Winona looks up at George and sighs, and he hopes his mom doesn't notice she's mocking her. "Dad is such a --"

"Such a what?" a voice asks behind her.

George steps back to blend in with his family while he watches Winona throw herself at her father and shriek like... well, like she's twelve. As they watch, George feels his mother take his hand -- his left hand --

"Honey, what's this?" she asks because, of goddamn course, self-sabotage is his game and he's too much of a dumb fucking cow to have taken the nut off his ring finger.

The Larson family has united (George is a little terrified at how little Winona looks like her parents and hopes that their kid is gorgeous anyway) and seems to be wondering why Lily Kirk is holding her son's hand up for inspection by everyone present.

"That's a nut off a Class... J freighter, isn't it?" Winona's dad asks.

"A freighter?" George asks Winona.

"Just one of the seats," she replies. "You have surprisingly womanly hands. Any bigger and I'd have had to take the steering wheel apart."

"Yes, but why is my son wearing it as a wedding ring?" Lily asks.

"Oh. That."

They stare at each other and simultaneously blurt out:

"We're getting married," George tells his mother.

"We're pregnant," Winona tells her father.

"He's pregnant, too?" Jim Larson asks Winona.

Winona laughs and throws her arms around her father's neck, and for the Larsons, that's all it takes.

George looks at his mother for some kind of anything.

"You can have a spring-themed wedding, if you don't want to wear white," she says eventually. "Light greens and peach --"

"Men wear black!" George shouts suddenly. "She can wear peach!"

"Dear --" Lily begins.

Winona's still laughing somewhere near him and when he glances over, he sees her dad is chuckling, too, and even her mom is trying to control her face.

"We should talk about what sort of dress would go best with his figure," Winona says. "You know. When his hips get bigger."

They walk off to the dining hall as one big fucking family, laughing at his expense, and he briefly wonders what function his dignity served before Winona came along.


Winter term finals roll around.

Fuck finals.

"Banner is a fucking cuntlicking dog," Winona screams at George while they wait for her doctor. "Ne'pa'nok passes his exam even though he puts the goddamn impulse belt in backwards, but I might not even pass because I only corrected every mistake those assholes made and did I mention that none of my mistakes would cause a cargo shuttle to blow up like a fucking --"

"Cadet Larson," Dr. Salias announces as she enters their exam room. "I'll save my tricorder the energy expenditure and tell you now: your blood pressure is through the roof."

"Doctor," Winona sighs.

George gives the tiniest of smiles and acknowledgment nod before backing into a corner to let them do their lady thing.

"And I take it you were regaling Cadet Kirk with your exam adventures," Dr. Salias says with a quick glance to George, who is still trying to be invisible.

"Frustrating instructors, you know how they are." Winona lies back on the table expectantly, but Dr. Salias only crosses her arms and looks down at her.

"Here's the deal, cadet," Dr. Salias begins. "Just from looking at you, I know you're not taking care of yourself and I know it's stressful this time of year --"

"This time of year?" Winona counters. "Try this time of my fucking life, thank you, when I'm trying to be a thousand times better than every other engineering dumbfuck who wants to graduate and take my job on a starship just because I'm about to pop out a kid." Winona looks Dr. Salias up and down and rolls her eyes. "You've got balls to tell me you understand stressful."

George looks up to the ceiling, like that's going to help him avoid the blood spatter after Dr. Salias rips into Winona and presents him with their kid right there, probably hanging from her teeth.

"That is really cute," Dr. Salias says. "Thinking you're the first woman, or even the first cadet, to come in here, lie down, and shriek the same exact thing."

"None of them has --"

"That's right," Dr. Salias grins a little sadistically. "No one has ever had the kind of potential you have, and no one's had as much riding on this year as much as you have, and no one could possibly understand what you're going through, am I right?"

George really doesn't know who is going to burst into flames and destroy the planet first.

"However!" Dr. Salias says cheerfully. She pulls out her PADD and consults a few screens while she talks to Winona. "You can come crying to me for sympathy next time, when you weren't educated at the best schools in Chicago, didn't have parents supporting your decisions, don't have a partner here who seems to be a sensible young man, and --" She looks up from the PADD and smiles at Winona. "Am I missing anything? Because I've seen women up against much worse with much less, and this?" She motions vaguely with her hand at Winona and her furious scowl. "May charm the pants off your clean cut scout over there but I am not impressed."

"I didn't ask you to be," Winona spits back.

"Oh, but I think you did," she replies. "There is nothing about your behavior that doesn't scream for attention and recognition and, to be frank, I don't care. However, I do care about whether you live until winter break, and whether you'll miscarry even sooner."

Winona sulks and looks away, then shoots a look to George that's mostly frustrated and hideously angry and for fuck's sake, she looks like she might cry.

"And you!" Dr. Salias says as she turns and goes for George. She begins shoving things at him from the drawers of the examination counter. "Until she decides to stop killing herself, you're in charge of giving her these pills, keeping her on this diet, and making sure she keeps these fits under control."

"Yessir," he says as he tries to juggle everything that's been shoved into his arms.

Dr. Salias isn't a complete asshole, and so she runs a tricorder over Winona that pretty much confirms everything they fought about. She leaves the room, but not without a sharp jab of her fist to George's shoulder and a warning look into his eyes.

Once they're alone, Winona rolls on her side and folds her arm under her head.

"What a bitch," she says.

He stuffs all the papers and pills and everything into his bag and walks over to the examining table. He lifts his hand and strokes her hair -- she must be upset if she doesn't even glare at him or try to bite him (playfully) or whatever.

"Such a bitch," George agrees.

"Sorry, children, the bitch is back," Dr. Salias announces airily. She grabs a hypospray from the counter, floats over to Winona, and stabs her thigh with it -- and then she pauses, looks at George, replaces the canister, and stabs him in the arm, too.

"The hell was that!" George yells as he rubs his arm.

"Vitamin supplement!" she replies. "And I've already scheduled both of you in here every week until you clean up your joint act."

Winona stays quiet and George thinks it's probably the smartest thing she's ever done.


They survive finals, go to their houses for a few days, and then hole up in a San Francisco hotel for the rest of their month off because the dorms are closed, Iowa and Chicago are too cold, and they might have become inseparable over the past three and a half months.

George's mom sends them a notice about a big fucking farmhouse in Riverside going on sale for the low, low price of your best offer.

They lie in bed, the vidscreen on in the background, and George flips through the photos of the house his mom sent him.

"It's like, vertical. What the fuck," Winona says.

"I know, it's so weird," George replies. "Comes with a ton of cheap land that looks like it might not be all shit."

"And it's so cheap," she adds. "But we'd live in Riverside. Our kid's gonna be some hideous, badly tanned farmkid --"

"Like me?"

"What if the kid doesn't find someone to set him straight like I found you?" George looks over at her and she grins. "That's a real concern I have every day, you know."

"You're terrible. What have I done?"

And when George finds his PADD again, he writes to his mom and they become fucking homeowners, and that somehow feels dirtier than everything they just did.


They talk to a Starfleet personnel officer who informs them that the fifteen-week paid family leave thing requires a couple to have been married for at least six weeks before they can take advantage of it, which is fucking arbitrary and random and one would think they'd need even more leave because theirs is such a slipshod union, but the bottom line: six weeks. Mrs. Kirk's dream June wedding for her son is pushed up to late March and is a little cheaper and quicker than she'd like, but it's fifteen weeks with their new kid. Come on.

It also means that the minute spring midterms wrap up, every Starfleet cadet who's anybody gets the hell off campus and heads to the hall where the Kirk-Larson joint bachelor party and baby shower is being held.

George and Winona walk in (he likes to think he chooses to sit behind her on her bike and wrap his arms around her to be the flimsiest, cutest seatbelt this side of the Rockies) and their friends have done a pretty spectacular job of decorating. One side of the hall is pink and frilly with the obligatory giant (also pink) wicker chair covered in balloons. The chair even has the word Mommy spelled out in flowers and ribbons across the top of the tall back.

Winona sneezes loudly and says, "Oh, must be those flowers. I'm so allergic. I can't sit there."

George glares at her and she only grins and swaggers (Winona without a swagger isn't Winona) over to the other side of the room, the one he thought was his for about two seconds. That side is mostly black and 90% of the wall decorations have breasts on them, and there's an impressively terrifying leather chair in the center that's, of course, probably for his wife.

(Fuck, she is going to be his wife -- that same woman who ruined some girl's life within five minutes of arriving at Starfleet and has probably dated every sentient creature above 6'0" in the Bay Area, who has kind of demoralized him at every turn for the past six months but also become something resembling a best friend and they are the only people who can call each other out on all of their shit -- that's his fucking wife right there, slouching in the chair and demanding a stripper before she gets bored and starts stripping herself, and their friends are actually considering it because they know she would do it and she is, actually, probably the hottest pregnant woman in the galaxy.)

"George!" the three dozen women on his side of the hall call out. He's dragged away from his male friends and -- and there's the stripper, headed right for Winona.

He's plopped down in the wicker chair of death but hey, he gets to open presents.

Like a new red negligee for after he loses the baby weight.

And a new vibrator.

And a doormat for their new house.

And a blender!

Eventually, Winona gets tired of having Candi's tits in her face and lets George have a turn, though she holds his hands behind his back and whispers into his ear the filthiest things he's ever heard.

Then they gang up on Chris, innocent and baby-faced Chris Pike, who gets his first lap dance in front of a hundred cadets and swears he is going to tell their kid everything one day when they've grown some shame.

"So, never," Winona laughs.

"Yeah, probably not," Chris sighs sadly.

"Best party ever," George declares.


George wakes up stupidly early on their wedding day and spends about half an hour sitting in front of his closet looking at their outfits hanging together in his dorm closet.

He's pretty sure his shoes are actually navy blue, not black, and his suit is black, and that's wrong, right?

In that light they look blue, but his suit doesn't.

"George, get the hell back in bed," Winona calls. "It's cold."

"You said it was hot before," he replies.

"Now it's cold," she says, and her tone is the closest she's gotten to a whine... probably ever.

"I think my shoes clash with my suit."

"Go barefoot."

"Uh, no."

"Go naked, keep the shoes."


"Seriously, you have a great ass. You could pull it off."

George almost falls asleep sitting in front of the closet.

"It's cold again," Winona says.

"So needy," he sighs as he crawls back into bed with her. "Hey, the kid's moving," he says.

"I know, so creepy," she replies sleepily. "Hope he's like, building a zipper or something to let himself out so my vagina doesn't become a shuttle hangar."

"That's so sexy," George yawns. "Also, he?"

"That bitch Salias let it slip. Sorry."

"No, it's cool," he yawns again, and he drifts off mumbling, "So cool," into her shoulder.


They wake up to the sound of Lily Kirk trying to ram his dorm room's door down using only her fist and persistence -- oh, and her terrifying yells.


"Ha," Winona says as she rolls over onto her back. "Your middle name is Randolph? What the fuck?"

"Mmm, shut up, I was dreaming about my mom."

"Well, don't let me interrupt," she laughs.

There's one moment of perfect silence, and then George hears his name screamed through his door again. He rushes out of bed and dives for his closet.

"Hold on, Mom!" he yells. "We're almost dressed!"

"I was wondering how you were dreaming so loudly," Winona laughs.

"You could have told me, sweets," he replies.

"You were so warm!"

"Do I have to get some kind of pulley and hoist your ass out of bed or what?"

"You're mean when we're getting married," she says, but gets out of bed, too. "Also, I changed my mind."

"Wait, what?" George asks. He feels his stomach drop and thinks the worst, and she can probably see that in his face because she grins and rolls her eyes.

"I mean I'm going to wear my dress uniform instead," she says.

Winona's the one to unlock the door and greet her mother-in-law-to-be with a smile and, "Hold on, I'm going to get my dress uniform. It has pants."

"Oh lord, George," Lily sighs as she enters his room. "We spent so long finding her that dress and I --"

"She outranks me, Mom," he laughs. "Gotta do what she says."

She considers it for a moment and pets his hair while he's pulling on his uniform jacket (which does go with his shoes.)

"The campus does look very nice," Lily says, and he takes that as an, "Okay, go marry that crazy girl who won't wear a dress to her own wedding -- what's the worst that can happen? She's already pregnant."

"It would be a bad idea to streak at the wedding, right?" Winona asks as she walks back into the room with her pants half-done. "I mean, it's a great idea, but would it be a bad idea?"

"Do you really want all those instructors knowing what you look like naked?" he asks. He raises an eyebrow and leans over to her, and he zips up her pants the rest of the way.

"They already do," she replies, and apparently, she doesn't feel the need to elaborate.

"I vote for waiting until the reception," he replies.

They look to his mom, who raises her eyebrow and shrugs.

"I suppose you could leave your clothes as a trail to the reception hall," Lily says.


"By the authority conferred onto me," intones the admiral Winona had somehow blackmailed into officiating, "By the United Federation of Planets, the United Governments of Earth, the United States of America, and the City of San Francisco, I pronounce you espoused beings."

"We should kiss," Winona says quietly. "You know, 'cause we're so traditional."

"So cute, you think we need a reason," George says as he leans in and kisses her, trying his best to stop her from turning this obscene.

Four 'harrumph's of Admiral McKenzie later, Winona pulls away and grabs his hand, then turns to their audience of parents, cadets, and a totally not misty Chris Pike.

"Everyone to the student center to see George's wedding present!" she yells, and she drags him off the platform and down the steps and down the aisle towards the hall they commandeered for their reception. (George was really, really trying to avoid thinking about how she was able to do all this, and he hoped her dad was just richer than he looked.)

As they reach the student center, Winona stops and grabs George around the waist. "You should close your eyes!"

"Like hell I will," he replies, and takes the opportunity to run ahead of her. "Also, I didn't get you anything -- I figured the life-changing parasite would be enough. And, you know, me."

She rolls her eyes and George dashes ahead again, but briefly looks over his shoulder to grin at her.

Except he looks ahead too late and smashes his knee cap into a car some jack off had parked right on the fucking lawn behind the building where she had led them.

"Fuck!" George yells as he grabs his knee. "Shit! Goddamnit!"

"Did you scratch it?" she asks, leaning over to check out the spot just above the fender.

"I'll never walk again," George whines.

"You don't have to, you idiot," she tells him. "You just ran into your wedding present."

"What do you mean I just -- wait -- hold -- this is mine?" he asks.

She grabs his hand again and follows him as he runs his free hand over the surface of the car, a gorgeous red 1969 Corvette that --

"There's only -- there aren't any left in North America, are there?" he asks breathlessly. "They were all destroyed in the war like two hundred years ago. How the fuck did you --"

"There's plenty of them left," she replies. "Well, sort of. If by plenty, yeah, I mean like, ten. And now, one's yours!" As they reach the front of the car again and George considers making another lap of the car, she sits on the hood and grins at him. "There I was, prowling the junkyard while looking for something else and wouldn't you know! An ugly, beat up, neglected Chevrolet Corvette that just needed a little love came out of it."

"That's not a metaphor, is it?"

"Fuck. You."

The wedding party catches up and begins gasping in wonder at the car and caressing it, but George just kisses his wife (fucking hell, his fucking wife) and informs her, "I am so going to get you pregnant all over again. In this car. Like, five more times."

"Pretty sure your uterus has a big NO VACANCY sign on it right now, George," she replies, grinning wider than he's ever seen her. "But don't worry -- soon as Salias says it's okay, we'll get you barefoot and knocked up and baking pies on the farm, okay?"

"I want like, ten kids," he says as he joins her on the hood of the car, the party starting around them but also kindly ignoring them.

"Easy for you to say -- somewhere along the line, I started to get fat as if I was the one carrying a kid," Winona laughs.

"We'll head out to one of the outer colonies and get implanted with a kid apiece," he continues. "And in twenty years, we'll have our own mini-fleet: half brilliant engineers, half amazing... you know... whatever it is I do."

"Handsome motherfuckers," she chimes in. "Anyway, we'll see how this first kid goes."

"Sounds good," he replies. "Ooh, there's the cake."


George reads over his final essay in his final class for the third time, corrects a few more phrases, and raises an eyebrow at the red box flashing in the corner of his PADD.


He tells himself to stay calm, and takes a few moments to submit his final and compose a soothing message to Winona.

His soothing message is interrupted by:


» be right there «


George finds the delivery room when he hears a voice shriek, "I am changing my specialty to medical engineering because THIS SHOULD NOT HURT THIS MUCH and my husband shouldn't be fucking --"

"Here here here," George calls out as he rushes over to her.

"You should be here," she whines as she takes his hand and begins to crush every bone in it.

"I'm here, sweetheart, I'm right here, it's going to be --"

"No, I mean you should literally be here where I am, and I should be stuffing your face with ice chips and where are my fucking ice chips, George?" She moans again and screams, "This is the 23rd fucking century and I've had about five minutes too much of this bullshit!"

"Hold on, let's switch hands so you have more bones to break," George winces. "Or I could go get some ice chips for real if you --"

"George Kirk if you leave me I am going to fuck you in the ass with a photon torpedo casing and so help me if I forget to fucking take the goddamn photon torpedo out," she growls. "Oh, I should split you in half right now like this --" And as she screams from another contraction or whatever their son is doing to her, George grabs his PADD and, with one hand, frantically sends a message for help.

As Winona is about to be wheeled into another procedure room for the actual child-removal, Chris Pike falls face first into the hospital room and spills a cup full of ice all over the floor.

"Chris is here!" she croons almost deliriously. "Chris, please, George won't stop sobbing and saying horrible things -- he needs you now, please. I'll be right back, but you -- fuck fuck fuck -- you should feed him all the ice he wants, okay?"

"Chris, you better shove a piece of ice in my mouth right fucking now or she will eat us both," George hisses.

The nurses and doctors are all waiting, apparently invested in the insane saga they've been assigned that particular day, and Chris stands up, shakes his cup a little, pulls out a lone ice chip, and drops it into George's open mouth.

"That wasn't sexy," Winona informs them through her heavy gasping.

"I hate you both," Chris says as he digs for another ice chip and places it on George's tongue. George's eyebrow lifts and he glances to Winona, who laughs and sobs and doubles over simultaneously.

"We're not done with this!" she yells.

"Thanks," George tells Chris as he rushes out after Winona's gurney towards the procedure room.


George watches her wake up a few hours later and prods their baby, carefully balanced on his chest, awake.

Winona stares at George for a few moments, and then at the baby. "Oh good, now I can go back to the gym," she says.

George snorts too loudly and rubs his hand along the baby's back.

"Boy, right?" she asks sleepily. "Salias wasn't an incompetent sack of shit after all?"

"It's a boy," he says. "She definitely showed up for that day of med school."

"Did you name him?" she asks.

"'Course not," he says. "Waiting for you. Waiting for him, mostly."

"Mmm, okay. How about Randolph?"

"Never. How about your middle name?"

She glances at him and glares. "You'd do that to our son? Look at him. Why do you want to do that to him?"

"Because while you don't look like a sugary sweet Samantha," George begins, "I think he looks like a Sam."

They stare at the baby for a few moments, and he shifts on George's chest and reaches out to paw a little at their faces. George tries not to melt at being punched in the chin by his son.

"I hate when you're right," Winona sighs. "But it'll be his middle name. He can have George as his first name and we'll just call him Sam." She looks away from Sam and into George's face. "Because I say so."

"We should call him Samuel Compromise Kirk instead," George says.

"I can't believe I married you and I wasn't even drunk," she sighs.

"Drunk on love," George sings, mostly to Sam. "True love, so totally true --" He glances over and Winona has laid her head on his shoulder and gone back to sleep, and Sam won't open his eyes for a few days, so he leans his head against Winona's and watches their bundle of batshit insanity tap a tiny hand against George's chest.


"You are so drunk," Jim Kirk laughs.

"That's 'you're so drunk, Admiral,'" Pike corrects him.

"I'm pretty sure like, a thousand percent of that story was complete bullshit," Kirk replies.

"Yeah," Pike says. "Right. Captain Jonathan Archer IV wasn't conceived at your parents' wedding, probably on that car you drove off a cliff. Your mom doesn't run into me every few years on some starbase and buy me an extra big drink with lots of extra ice --"

"You're rambling," Kirk says. "I'm taking the scotch away from you, and definitely telling one of the Archers about your ice fixation before you transfer yourself to Delta Vega."

As Kirk leaves their table, Pike stares after him and sighs. "No one's ever going to believe me, George," Pike muses against his hand to no one in particular. "Thanks, you fucker."