#sorry did i say spock? i meant blade

[pacificsaury]

2.01 The Broken Circle

"we must steal the enterprise" ← it's almost tradition at this point whenever an enterprise is involved

[dreamthinkimagine]

Happy Birthday

Spock’s birthday - 2nd place from the vote! This is dedicated to @heartsywritesthethings because I saw that it’s their birthday! Sorry it’s late.

WARNING - sad!spock

“Alright, Spock,” Bones McCoy said. “You can go.” Spock “happily” complied and walked out of Sickbay as he put his blue uniform shirt back on over his black undershirt. Jim making him go to Doctor McCoy for a physical was illogical. The doctor did not know what to make of his biology since he was half-human, half-Vulcan.

McCoy pulled out Spock’s files and went to sit at his desk to write another report on how he was, for the most part, guessing, that that green-blooded - that Spock was healthy. As he went through the files, he noticed something he’d never seen before - Spock’s birth date.

March 26th, 2226.

No, Spock couldn’t be in his forties - although Vulcans age slower than humans; but Spock was also half human. I guess he ages slower than humans, but maybe faster that Vulcans? McCoy thought and wrote the report.

When he got back to his Quarters, he looked on his calendar, the one hanging on the wall with a picture of three puppies playing on a farm with the Georgian flag in the back ground, and noticed that today was March 25th. He changed into his pajamas and sat down in his bed with his PADD in his lap and sent everybody, except Spock, an anonymous notification.

“Dear Everyone,

Tomorrow is Spock’s birthday. We didn’t celebrate it last year. In fact, we didn’t acknowledge it at all. Meet us in the Mess Hall tomorrow after work to give him the best party of his life. P.S. - DO NOT TELL SPOCK!!!”

***

The next day, once his shift was done, Bones made his way to the Mess Hall to see if anyone showed up. When the doors opened, he saw everyone else there with music, food and decorations. It was better than he thought it would be and more.

“Hey, Bones,” Jim said as he approached the doctor. “This is great, isn’t it? All we need’s the Vulcan of the hour.”

“Well, let’s get ‘im!” Before they left, they made sure everyone was quiet, as noise could attract Spock’s curiosity to the room.

***

They knocked on his door, but no one answered.

“Spock?” Jim called as he knocked. “Spock, I want you to come out right now. That’s an order.” Still nothing. Jim and Bones figured that he must be somewhere else. Spock would never disobey a direct order. Never.

“Any ideas, Bones?”

“Wanna try the Mess Hall again? He might’ve gone there while we were trying to find him.”

***

“SUR-prise...?” Was what they were met with when the doors to the Mess Hall opened.

“Sorry, Captain, Doctor,” Scotty said. “We thought you were Spock.”

“If you’re gonna get nasty, I’m goona leave,” Bones joked.

“Don’t leave,” said Uhura smiling.

“So he hasn’t been here then?”

“No, Captain,” said Scotty.

“He’s not in his Quarters either. Does anyone have any ideas on where to check?”

“The Bridge,” said Sulu.

“Yeah, the Bridge,” said Chekov.“I think I saw him going there on my way here.”

“But I saw him leave there with the rest of us,” Jim said.

“He could’ve gone back,” said Bones. “Sounds like something he’d do. Overworking is probably his sick, Vulcan way of celebrating.”

***

Sure enough, when they stepped onto the Bridge, they saw Spock hunched over at his station, with his face in his scope.

“Spock,” Jim said. Spock stood and turned to face his Captain. “What are you doing here?”

“I have come back to check my calculations.”

“Don’t lie to me, Spock.”

“It’s your birthday,” said Bones.

“That is true.”

“Then why are you working?” Jim asked.

“Because there is work to be done. It is illogical to cease working operations simply because it is the anniversary of my birth.”

“But, Spock, why don’t you celebrate,” Bones said. “We want you to celebrate.” Spock took hold of the railing and began to lean on it as he lowered his head.

“Spock, what’s wrong?” Nothing. “Spock, tell us.”

“My mother used to plan a minuscule celebration, or party, for the family on my birthday. My father always objected, but she did not care. As I grew older, five-years-old, the Vulcan children realized that my mother...and I...celebrated my birthday. They made a mockery of my family; despite my father being an ambassador.” Spock sighed. “Since then, my birthday was one of the days I had to work the hardest. To prove my family worthy of being called Vulcan.”

“Is that why your father wanted you to go to the Vulcan Institute of Technology so bad?” Jim asked.

“...One of the reasons.”

“Spock, no one is going to judge you here. Or on Vulcan.” Spock looked up at his Captain. “You’ve more than proven your family’s worth. You’re the only Vulcan in Star Fleet; that says something. Besides, since you are the only Vulcan in Star Fleet, no Vulcan is going to see you let go every now and then; and it’s not like any of us are going to tell.”

Jim hugged his Vulcan friend, who, after a two seconds, straightened out and whose eyes widened. When Bones wondered why, he discovered that Jim had began to wriggle his fingers against Spock’s sides.

Bones smiled as he walked to Spock’s back and began to scribble his own fingers against Spock’s neck. “You work too hard. You need to have some fun every once in a while. That’s a medical order.”

“C-cease these attem-attempts t-to...HAhahaha!”

“Good job, Spock,” Jim said and moved to his stomach. Spock grabbed Jim’s wrists, but his “superior Vulcan strength” was failing him; so he curled up.

“Ahahahaha!” When he curled up, his back popped out which gave Bones the opportunity to scratch at backs of his ribs. As a result of the new tickling, Spock straightened out and began to twist.

“Ihihihihihaha! Dohohohon’t!” Suddenly, Jim went for Spock’s underarms and McCoy went for his hips. Spock began to slowly fall to the ground and he loved it.

When he fell to the ground, not only was he vulnerable, but he knew that neither his Vulcan logic nor his human emotion were holding him up as they did on a daily basis. His logic earned his job and respect and he never could get rid of that emotion that drove him to perform his job to the highest degree; and the emotion to fight for his friends. Now he wasn’t human nor Vulcan; he was Spock. Just Spock. A Spock of whom his friends loved and would do anything for.

As Spock was on the ground, he couldn’t help but curl up again - exposing his worst spot.

“Jim, what’s his worst spot again?” Jim made his way to Bones.

“Right here,” he said and skittered his fingers right under Spock’s shoulder blades.

“AHAHAHAHAHAHA!!” McCoy followed Jim’s example, except he dug in. “NOHOHOHOHOHO!!”

“Don’t tell me ‘no’, Spock,” McCoy said. “When it was Joanna’s birthday, you and Jim taught me that birthdays are meant to be celebrated, not mourned. Including your birthday.” They both ceased their tickling.

“A-Agreed,” Spock said, causing the other men to smile. Spock got up, but not before some revenge.

“Spohohohohock! NOhohohohohoho! Dohohohohohohon’t!” Jim laughed when Spock tickled his belly.

“Stohohohop ihihit! You grehen-boohohoded - hahahahahaha,” came from McCoy’s mouth when Spock got the backs of his ribs. “Don’t do that again,” he said when Spock stopped.

“I make no promises, Doctor.”

***

“Sur-PRISE!!” The crew said when Spock, Kirk and McCoy entered the Mess Hall.

“Sorry,” Scotty said. “This time we didn’t know if you were Spock or not.” As Spock saw all the crewmen there to celebrate him, he became healed; his memories no longer bothered him. Birthdays were meant to be celebrated.

And he was happy.

[if-weshadows-haveoffended]

Felcities of Rapid Motion- Chekov x Reader

A/N: I’ve survived two 8am lectures and I’ve got another two to go. Also, archaeology is the bastard lovechild of Science and History, pass it on. I’m so sorry it took so long, anon, I got a little stuck but then I figured it out. Also, thanks to everyone for sending in prompts, they should all be finished very soon :) I’m still open for all sorts of things though :)))))))

This is just a little Jane Austen inspired, but like not really, I decided Regency AU was a terrible idea unless you wanna 60k fic it. Also feat Bond!Karl Urban (hehehehe). Also, I wanted to try something a little new with romance that isn’t as IN YOUR FACE is kinda just starting out and blossoming, hopefully it’s still good???

Title: Felicities of Rapid Motion Tags: Chekov x Reader, Blatant Archaeology, Bones’ southerness Ratings: T (I really should wash my mouth out with soap) Words:1,300+ Prompt: “You look... You like you should; eyes filled with stars and a smile that could make a goddess jealous.” Prompt List: here (x) Master List: here (x)

The Felicities of Rapid Motion

It is a truth universally acknowledged that a Vulcan High Councillor and a Star Fleet Captain in possession of mutually beneficial intentions must be in want of a ball.

It was a rare occasion aboard the Enterprise, and rarer still back in the Academy. But the thought of a Ball wile drifting in the endless stars and galaxies of the universe was enough for every crewmate aboard the scientific vessel to fucking wet themselves.

“And you, missy? You got a date?” You rolled your eyes at Bones and returned your eyes to the fragments of stone you had been gently scraping away at. Perhaps if you were lucky, there would be traces of the ancient civilisation’s DNA left in it, before it was severely affected by the meteor impact.

“I don’t know, Bones. I mean, I’m so close to figuring out this little detail. You know, it could completely re-write Xenoarchaeology’s interpretation of the fall of-“

“Okay Ensign Y/L/N, we get it, you’re gonna conquer the universe with your historical mumbo-jumbo.” Bones gently rolled his eyes before leaning on the bench, a little concerned. “But you gotta have a break, kiddo, can’t have you fallin’ asleep in the labs and on equipment.”

“No, I mean I can’t even find a date!” You laughed a little, though really not minding the fact. Or at least you thought you didn’t… never mind. “And besides, as if I have a ballgown or something to wear.”

“Well unfortunately for you, I’m a doctor not a fairy godmother.” Bones twirled a stirring rod that you had left beside a couple of beakers and test tubes. “Well, about dates, you can’t ask the people you have lunch with, can you?”

“Well, I tried setting up Montez with Fonteyn and that absolutely failed because Montez it turned out just wanted to get into my pants,” You began ticking off people in your little dining hall group. “And, well, It just doesn’t bother me as much as I thought it would-“

“What about Russian Whiz kid?” Bones tried with a raised brow.

“God no, I turned him down because I thought it was a joke. Turns out it was a real date.” You shuddered a little at the memory. There was no way that Ensign Chekov was serious, or so you had thought. You’d scoffed a little in the turbo lift, unable to believe what it was you were hearing. But it turned out he’d been in earnest.

And then the guilt began to eat at you, your heart sinking in complete and utter terror, unable to believe how callously you’d just turned Chekov down.

You thought for the briefest glimmer of a second that you’d seen the hurt pass before his hazel eyes. But in an instant they glimmered mischievously once again, a puppyish grin pulling at his mouth and his fingers raking through curls.

You’d fucked up. You’d done fucked up.

So you did whatever was humanely possible to avoid Chekov until the whole fiasco had blown over.

So pretty much until the galaxy collapsed in on itself.

Chekov realised that in retrospect, using the phrase “Did you know that the phrase cinePADD and chill was actually inwented in Russia?” to pick up a girl, was a terrible mistake. Especially if the intention to date said girl was rather serious.

But now, sweating in his rarely-worn tuxedo, he was genuinely worried. Ensign Y/L/N didn’t have a date as far as he knew (Bones told Uhura who told Sulu who told Kirk who told Spock who told quite literally the entirety of the Bridge), and while not everyone was required to have a date, he hadn’t seen her all night. Well, the night was still young.

Perhaps he just hadn’t seen her amidst rich silks and sumptuous velvets. Perhaps he’d just missed her, wearing a thin waft of chiffon and dissipating like autumn fog.

But as the gala drew on and the band played more songs, it became apparent to Pavel that she simply wasn’t there. She wasn’t mingling with remaining members of Vulcan council, trying glean pieces of history, or with Star Fleet officials, trying to find a post to some undiscovered planet.

“She’s not here,” Bones raised a ridiculously well-groomed brow, taking a sip of whiskey. It was rather difficult for Pavel to get a word in with the doctor as he had been besieged with various members of the crew, attempting to get laid, preferably with Bones still in the suit. “Decided to stay behind in the labs,”

“Oh,”

“Don’t worry Chekov, you had nothing to do with it,” Bones clapped him hard enough on his shoulder blade for his grimace to give way to a slight wince of pain.

“Do you zink she’s lonely down zere?” Pavel hazarded a question, sure that Bones probably wouldn’t cuff him behind the head. The gentle implications of his statement said that it was definitely his fault that she was spending her time alone. Probably enjoying her time alone as it meant a certain escape from him or anyone else.

“Probably not, son, she’s got millennia-old bits of dead bastards.” Bones replied before swiftly walking away at the sight of an engineering lieutenant who seemed to have her feelers wrapped tightly around Bones whenever in the vicinity.

It seemed rather rude, Pavel finally decided; to simply leave her alone without at least saying sorry. Perhaps she had just panicked? Or perhaps she really did not like him, either way it warranted a proper apology. And someone had to be concerned for her wellbeing.

It soon dawned upon him, after several minutes she was not in any of the labs. He couldn’t spy her studious form in any of the reflective, sanitised surfaces- the sharp, alcoholic smell assaulting his nose.

Eventually he found himself wandering to the emptied mess hall, hoping that perhaps she was helping herself to a serving of synthesised ice-cream.

And there she was, sitting cross-legged upon the floor, still dressed in her uniform and her hair in it’s usual carefree style. She stared out quietly, head resting in her hands, seemingly unaware of the distant noises around her as her eyes glittered with the colourful glow of the nebula.

“Y/N?” Pavel hesitated a little as he slowly drew nearer and nearer, locked in her gravitational pull and unable to leave- not that he would want to. “Are you alright?”

“Hm? Oh, it’s nothing. I never really liked galas that much anyway.” She shrugged slightly before turning to face him, her cheeks dampened with slight tears. “I’m- I’m sorry about the whole… shitfest,”

“Eets’s alright, I vas terrible,” He laughed, deciding that it would be for the best to join her on the cold floor tucking his legs and wrapping his arms around them. “What?”

“The tuxedo suits you,” She smiled, reaching out to tap the bow-tie Sulu had painstakingly knotted for him as he fidgeted, Kirk adjusting Chekov’s insignia cufflinks. “Did everyone look lovely?”

“Qvite,” He nodded enthusiastically in memory of what could only be described as a blur of fabric and spilled drinks. “Bones vas running avay from everyone, Uhura vas dancing, Kirk vas singing. You’d look lovely with them,” he added as an after-thought.

“Me? No, no…” She protested quietly, turning her head away from his gaze and facing the nebula once again, the now golden glow casting swirling patterns of light, dancing upon her beautiful face. “I look terrible-“

“No. You look… you look as you should,” Chekov refuted in all earnest before softening, realising how much he was telling the truth. She did look at home, at peace with the uniform, wearing it with pride. “Mesmerising, vith eyes filled vith stars and a smile zat could make a goddess jealous.”

“That was… poetic.” She admitted, shaking her head but her dazzling smile gracing her face, wiping away the now drying tears. “Was it true?”

“Of course,” He answered. “Are you lonely? Vould you rather be at ze party?”

“No, no. I’ve got you, haven’t I?”

She was right, Chekov thought. He was incandescently happy by her side, simply sitting back and watching the nebula, the gala drowned out in the stillness and her presence.

[sshbpodcast]

Tales from the Holodeck: TOS Fanfic: Chris’s Story

A Star to Steer Her By celebrated getting through all of Star Trek: The Original Series by writing our own TOS fanfic series “Tales from the Holodeck”! We each picked two crew members and two special guests and did pretty much whatever we wanted. You can listen to the fanfic in the podcast episode, but here’s Chris’s short story in written form. Enjoy!

[images © Paramount]

“The Heir”

by Chris

Random Picks: Dr. McCoy, Sulu, Trelane, Apollo

McCoy stared at the report in his hand. Normal. Everything normal. He was beginning to tire of “everything normal,” because he had lost track of the number of times “everything normal” soon turned into some damn-near disaster for the Enterprise and everyone on it.

His frustrated contemplation was interrupted by Nurse Chapel walking into the room, carrying a small handful of data tapes.

“Well?” he asked as she put them on his desk. “How’s the mother?”

“A little annoyed we keep taking her baby away from her, but otherwise doing well.” She paused and stared at the tapes for a moment. “She wants to know why we’re doing so many extra tests. It’s making her concerned something is wrong. And I don’t intend to lie to her.”

“And you’re not.”

“Doctor...well, I’m not entirely clear why we’re doing all these tests. I’m worried something might be wrong.”

“You saw the obstetrician’s report. Everything’s fine.” He stood and put on his best, unconcerned smile and hoped it would lend credibility to what he was about to say. “But since we don’t know who the father is - which it is her right to keep to herself, Nurse, I know - we don’t have a full medical history of her child. I just want to be as ready as possible in case something unexpected should come up.”

“Mm.” She raised her eyebrows in a way that reminded him all-too-much of Mr. Spock at his most frustratingly sardonic. But unlike the Vulcan, this was not followed with a barb and she simply headed for the door with a professional-but-on-the-edge-of-curt: “I’ll bring along the next batch along as soon as they’re ready.”

“Thank you, Nurse.”

Down in the rarely-used Maternity bay, Carolyn Palamas held her child as it dozed. She smiled at the boy, even now still barely believing he was there. By rights, he shouldn’t exist. From the moment she was told she was pregnant right up through the whole thing...she was waiting to wake up from a dream, or receive the devastating news that it had all been some kind of misunderstanding, a false positive caused by...well, something.One didn’t need to be in Starfleet long before realizing the universe made far, far less sense than everyone taught you as a child.

Her head snapped up as she heard the doors to the bay suddenly opened, and she unconsciously held her baby a little closer. She assumed it was going to be Chapel again, taking her child away for another round of vague exams. She was always so afraid. What if they figured it out? He’d surely wind up in some Starfleet medical lab, poked and prodded and…

“Hi, Lieutenant,” came an unexpected voice.

“Oh!” She smiled. “Sulu, hello!”

He stood in the doorway, holding a large vase containing an odd array of things that were certainly recognizable as plants and flowers, but definitely none she’d ever seen. The stalks mostly hid him from view, and after a moment he peered around them.

“And what’s all this?” she asked.

“A neat little concoction of flowers from Rigel, Tarsus IV, and Andoria. Ordinary flowers on their homeworlds, but proven to create a relaxing influence on humans and a handful of other species. No adverse side-effects, don’t worry. And Nurse Chapel has said neither you nor the baby should be allergic.” He glanced over at a small table next to her bed. “May I?”

“Please.” She watched as he plunked them down, and was almost immediately aware of the collective aroma. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Nice to flex my botany muscles here and there, on occasion.”

The door suddenly hissed open again, and in a moment Doctor McCoy was in the room, making a face that Palamas supposed was meant to be friendly. But he couldn’t hide the concern from his eyes. That was replaced somewhat quickly, however, by mild surprise when he spotted Sulu.

“Oh,” he said. “Sorry, didn’t know you had a visitor. I can come back later.”

“You don’t need my child?” she asked, her tone somewhat more venomous than she had meant.

“No. No.” He pursed his lips. “He’s fine. Perfectly healthy. Couldn’t think of any other tests to run if I wanted.”

“And you’re sure you don’t want to?”

“Well, I should…” Sulu began.

“Carolyn,” came a voice from, it seemed, every direction at once. “The physician only wants what is best for our child. Forgive him his overzealousness.”

“That voice…” McCoy mumbled. “Impossible!”

“Nothing is impossible for the Gods of Old, Physician.” The voice now seemingly had a point of origin, and everyone looked towards it. A small burst of light appeared and grew, and in a moment coalesced into the form of a tall man in golden robes with a laurel wreath perched on top of a mass of dark hair.

“Apollo…” Sulu gasped.

“But I saw you disappear on Pollux IV!” McCoy said. “You said you were...were…”

“Spreading himself upon the winds,” Palamas choked out, her eyes welling with tears. “And he did. Or he tried to.”

“Carolyn loved me, Doctor,” explained Apollo. “Despite the cruel ruse you and your Captain forced her to act upon me. And that love was enough to hold my essence in this plain.”

“He’s been visiting me in my dreams since then.”

“And you claim…” began McCoy, before Apollo cut him off:

“I am father of the child, yes.”

“Well. That’s a new one for the medical journals.”

Apollo strode over to the bed, extending a hand and caressing Palamas’s face. He looked down at the baby and brushed the back of his hand over one of its arms. The baby’s eyes slowly opened, and Apollo beamed at it.

“I haven’t come up with a name yet,” Palamas said. “Asclepius seemed a little too...on the nose. And, to be honest, I wasn’t sure if he was real or something humans came up with after you left…”

“I shall choose a suitable name, do not worry.” He held his hands wide. “Now, hand him over.”

“What?”

“I have come to collect my son. He shall not be raised as a mere mortal. The blood of Gods runs in his veins.”

“But...but you said…” “I have changed my mind.”

“You promised!” she spat, pulling the baby tighter to her.

“I may do what I like.” An unpleasant sneer bent his lip. “Do you intend to deny me that which is rightfully mine?”

“Rightfully, hell!” McCoy snapped, making his way to the opposite side of the bed. “These two are my patients, and they’re not going anywhere without…”

“How will you stop me?”

The ship suddenly lurched, sending McCoy and Sulu sprawling. Apollo gestured and a glowing field of green held Palamas and the child firmly in place. Red alert sirens began to blare as the familiar, easily-forgotten background hum of the ship’s engines went dead.

Apollo approached Palamas, who was still surrounded by the green field. With a wave of his hand the field pulled away from the baby, and he reached out a hand for it. Palamas visibly struggled to move, to get a tighter grip on her child as the god continued to reach out…

And then, remarkably, another pair of hands emerged. They were the same green as the shield around Palamas, and attached to nothing, simple hands with wrists that became wisps before vanishing. They grabbed Apollo’s hands and shoved him back with remarkable force, sending the god sprawling at the same time that Sulu and McCoy were getting themselves righted.

“Do...not...dare…” a voice echoed, somehow far away and right in everyone’s ears at once.

“Do you hear that, Doctor?” Sulu whispered. “It’s the same voice…”

“I knew this was all going too well,” McCoy grumbled.

“No!” Apollo spat from his place on the floor, his voice sounding a little odd, somehow. Was it higher? A strange haze had begun to surround him, as well. “No, don’t you dare interfere! How can you interfere?!”

“You said it yourself,” the voice went on, sounding a little less distant. “Nothing is impossible for the Gods of old.”

“This isn’t fair!” shouted the hazy Apollo, clambering to his feet. He was little more than a humanoid outline now, the glow was so strong. Still, it was possible to tell he had begun to stamp his foot. “I listened in to every single one of your talks! You couldn’t get back to this world fully! You could only get to the space between the Winds and here!”

McCoy had made his way over to Palamas; the shield had faded from her, and she was clutching her baby. It was beginning to let out little sobs.

“You two okay?” McCoy asked.

“Yes, yes…” Palamas managed to say, staring between her baby and the glow in the room. “But, Doctor, what’s happening?!”

“What do we do?” Sulu asked, having also made his way to the bed.

“I don’t know!” McCoy shook his head. “I don’t know in either case! I don’t think this is something ordinary security could…”

“I’ll have that child!” the glow shouted, its voice no longer even remotely that of Apollo.

“Oh, no, it can’t be,” McCoy hissed, his eyes wide. The glow faded. Standing in the middle of the room, in the same, ridiculous clothes McCoy remembered, was Trelane.

“Him again!” Sulu snapped.

“Doctor...navigator...please…” the voice echoed. “Protect my child....”

“Some mighty God!” Trelane shouted at the ceiling. “Has to enlist inferior beings to fight his fights for him!”

The superpowered child’s eyes snapped over to the bed, and seized on Sulu.

“Alright, then!” He snapped his fingers, and a rapier was in his hand. He snapped again, and the flowers in the vase suddenly became a matching weapon. “I remember looking into your mind when you were in my captivity, Mister Sulu! You fancy yourself a swordsman! Then have at you!”

Trelane lunged, and Sulu barely had time to grab the plants-turned-weapons and deflect the blade away. He returned with a slash of his own, but his opponent jumped back. The navigator then went on the offensive, pushing Trelane away from the bed, its occupants, and McCoy with a series of violent attacks that he knew had no chance of landing but that were at least moving the fight towards to door to the hallway. Trelane attempted a few blocks, but had to keep moving back even during his rare, successful deflection.

“I say, Mister Sulu, you don’t just fancy yourself a swordsman!” Trelane said with a grin, hopping back from another slash so that the door to the hall opened. “I must say I’m impressed!”

“What do you want with the baby, Trelane?” Sulu demanded, blocking a rare shot from the self-styled General.

“Why, that baby is surely going to be special!” Trelane said with a chuckle, as the fight continued into the hall. A repair crew that had been rushing down the corridor had to leap out of their way. “Apollo’s people aren’t too different from mine...we can tap into great power sources naturally. With him by my side...well, I could have all kinds of fun! Even my parents wouldn’t be able to stop me eventually!”

“Your definition of “fun” is a bit dangerous for everyone else.”

“Maybe.” He snapped his fingers again, and the rapier in Sulu’s hand was a bundle of flowers again. “But as long as I’m happy…”

Trelane lunged again, but Sulu sidestepped him and swung the bundle of plants at the back of his head. The one from Rigel had a particularly solid stalk, and the hit was enough to throw Trelane off-kilter. Sulu then hooked one of his feet in between Trelane’s and pulled, sending his opponent sprawling face-down into the deck. The impact caused Trelane to lose his grip on his own sword, and Sulu dove for it. In a moment, the navigator had his boot on Trelane’s back, and the tip of the sword to the back of his neck.

“Don’t. Move.”

“Is it technically moving…” Trelane said, and in an instant he and Sulu were back in the maternity ward, tho their personal positions had not changed. “If I do this?”

But before Trelane could say or do anything else, he felt a large hand grab him by the shoulders and effortlessly haul him to his feet. He found himself staring into the slightly-translucent but very angry eyes of Apollo.

“Oh, come on! You said…”

“As though rules matter to you, mite,” Apollo growled, his voice filling the room. “Now go. I have already summoned your parents. I shall give you a head-start. A gift to you, on the day of my son’s birth. But should you ever attempt such a thing again…”

There was a terrible sound like lighting and a flash. When everything cleared Trelane was gone. Apollo stood there for a moment, grimacing, and the he faltered. McCoy swept in and held him up, which looked entirely strange since Apollo kept fluctuating between looking very solid and almost entirely transparent.

“Carolyn…” he gasped. “Apollo…” “My...my…”

He reached towards the bed, and McCoy helped him over. He gently touched the baby’s cheek with a fingertip.

“He is perfect.”

“Yes,” Palamas managed to say, tears streaming down her face.

“I...am sorry. This act...forcing myself into this plane again. I will...truly be one with the winds now. Even our love cannot…”

“It was for our son.”

“Yes.” He smiled. He was beginning to fade again, and this time there was no increased solidity afterwards. “Care for him. Make sure he knows...who…”

“Of course.” She took one of his fading hands in her own and held to to her face. “Of course.”

And then, with a final smile...Apollo vanished.

the end

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