The BLTS Archive - The Apprenticeship series The Obligatory Song Story: Sweet Baby James by Bridget Cochran (bjcochran@aol.com) --- Disclaimer: I own the ideas, Paramount owns the rest. Archive at will. That includes the BLTs. In my ongoing studies of Apprenticeship, I cannot ignore the 'song genre', whether I want to or not. I mainly listen to classical music (yes, it's an acquired taste). I listened to country music at the end of '70's--the highlight of which was shaking Tammy Wynette's hand while she sang Stand By Your Man (that's someone else's story to write). '80's was rock and MTV--so, wake me up before you go-go. But there's just something about James Taylor. He is a recording artist with Warner Brothers--do him, and them, a favor and buy his recordings. WARNING: Little or no Tom angst. --- Finally, the waiting was over and Tom held the prize. The finest, most beautiful baby to be beheld in the universe rested in his arms. Tom had never been a patient man, any semblance of patience was a hard fought victory that sometimes manifested itself in his bounce; his inability to keep still. Kathryn was kind when she referred to it as eagerness. He had bounced through the past couple of days on adrenaline and anticipation. As the date grew closer, Tom grew more swamped by his inability to be still. --- "You shouldn't be here," he said from the ready room door. She looked at him from the couch. "Where should I be?" "At home with your feet up," he crossed the room, activating his medical tricorder. "I can put my feet up here," she offered and did so. She given up the confines of shoes long ago. Adjusting her red twill tunic around her distended middle, she cast a nasty look at the chirping instrument in Tom's hands. "Honestly, if I never see you with one of those again, I'll be happy." He ignored her as he scrutinized the readout. "No more Braxton-Hicks contractions. Pulse is regular. Blood pressure is a little low." "Stick around if you want to see it go up," she groaned, instantly remorseful when she saw the hurt look he raised to her. "Tom, this monitor indenting my stomach is telling the doctor all that--you wired it into his matrix--it's part of his pulse." She was rapidly losing her temper at Tom's patent overzealousness. He flipped the tricorder shut and sat down beside her, pulling her back to his chest. She snuggled deep into him, her hands pulling his arms around her. One of his graceful hands rested on her thigh, the other slid under the hem of the tunic to cup the swollen belly. And clasp the monitor attached to the inside of her waistband. "I only had one nerve left and now you're on it." Her voice was a lethal hiss. "I'd hate to think you're more interested in this baby than you are in me." Tom stopped fumbling with the monitor, running both hands over the mountain of her tummy, resting at the widest point. Nose buried in the sweetness of her hair, he sighed, "Overdoing it again?" "Way overdoing it. I'm fine, Tom." The smile was coming back into her voice. "You have to give me a little room to maneuver here." With a sigh of her own, she rested her head on his shoulder, her eyes closing to savor the warmth of him--not just his embrace, but the feeling of contentment that flowed through her when he held her. "Now is probably a good time to tell you I love you," he murmured at her temple. "The best time," she purred as she let her hands rest on Tom's just as the cargo began to roll within her. "Another planet heard from." Tom hunched forward and hiked the tunic up and scrunched the top of the leggings down to expose the stretched skin. He could watch the show for hours, and did. "I'm going to miss this," he whispered in awe. How could Kathryn not smile at him when he was like this? So full of wonder, as if no one ever had a baby before. Whoa. What was that? Kathryn swallowed, "Tom, I think my water broke." Think. Oh, it had broken, alright. Not a pleasurable sensation. He was to his feet in a moment, roughly casting her aside in his haste. "Computer, emergency medical transport for Captain Janeway, Medical author--" "Computer, belay that order. Transport Mr. Paris to Sickbay, authorization Janeway Delta 6-4 Omega 8." The look on his face was priceless as he dissolved into nothing. She slid herself into a standing position and walked gingerly to her door. All eyes turned to the sound as it swished open; she was used to it. She had been on 'leave' for the last week, so every time she showed up on the bridge, silent attention was sent her way. Her eyes sought Chakotay, who stood as she approached. "It's all yours, Commander," she smiled warmly, "I'm off the clock now for at least a week." The warm, dark eyes showed unreserved affection. "Take two weeks." "We'll see." She wasn't discounting the possibility. Chakotay looked back toward the closed ready room door. "Where's your shadow?" Kathryn gave him a tired, crooked smile, aware everyone on the bridge was in on this conversation, "I had to beam him to sick bay." She looked past her first officer to her Vulcan security chief. "He was annoying me." "Do you need assistance to sick bay, Captain?" was Tuvok's dry acknowledgement of her words. "I think I can manage." She climbed the two steps to the lift door, giving up on any semblance of a stride, giving into waddling. She was approaching labor, she had the right. "You don't think that was funny, do you?" was the first thing she heard when she stepped off the lift. Tom leaned against the bulkhead, grim lipped and arms folded, irritation plain. "Not funny exactly," she smiled as she moved past him, her gait unwieldy. He pushed away from the wall to fall into step beside her, grasping her hand. "Coming on too strong again, huh?" "You're concerned," she allowed. They entered sickbay to find a privacy alcove already erected. Tom led her behind it and bent to take off her shoes, straightening quickly. "You forgot them." Kathryn shrugged, unable to stop the rueful smile. "I guess I had other things on my mind." It was her first acknowledgement that she was as excited as Tom was. Some one had to be the sensible one. But she was safe in sick bay now, soon to be a mother for the first time; she could give into the thrill that was now engulfing her. Tom read the emotion radiating from her eyes and clasped her to him. For a split second. Then he turned all business, peeling off her sopping leggings and panties, before pulling the tunic over her head. For one moment he admired her full and beautiful body, savoring the ripeness before he settled her hospital gown over her. The look they shared--of anticipation, of satisfaction, of love was long and full. Their lips had barely touched when the doctor came around the screen. "I'm sure that's where all this began," he huffed, "but I have to run a couple of diagnostics." He stopped talking a moment to eye his tricorder, then looked at the Captain squarely. "Your blood pressure has elevated." "I'm sure it has." She accepted the hand up into the biobed from both the men. The medbridge emerged on either side, and the two men performed the detailed diagnostic in silence. "How did that contraction feel?" "That was a contraction?" Kathryn frowned up at the doctor. "Yes, but you're in early stages yet." He hit a button and the bridge disappeared. "It will be several hours." "Several hours? I have to stay here for several hours?" Tom was helping her into a sitting position. "This **is** a sick bay," the doctor walked over to his main console. --- After an hour of sitting staring into space with a hologram and a husband staring at her, Captain Janeway was finished. She threw the cover off and swung her legs over the edge of the biobed. "Where do you think you're going?" she heard in stereo. "Whoever said **great** minds think alike," she muttered, not even bothering to grace the two with a look. She moved slowly to the replicator to procure a simple robe. She moved to the door. "Kathryn, where are you going?" Tom moved to stop her. She looked up at him, exuding command calm. "Home." "No, you're not." Her eyes narrowed. "Stand aside, Mister." He folded his arms. "No, ma'am." Now the eyes were slits. He was insubordinate, but she was in no position to call him on it. He'd win. She'd try another tack. "Look around, Tom. I'm going to be here for hours--it's stark and impersonal." The doctor snorted from his work station, but said nothing. "I want to be home, in our bed, waiting for our baby." She placed her palm on his chest, and looked up into his eyes. And, as if he wasn't lost already. "Please, Tom." When she put it that way, used that tone of voice, he could deny her nothing. He looked at the doctor for help. The holographic image of an older man knew that sometimes wisdom was the better part of valor: he shrugged. Tom looked down at his wife. "What about the necessary medical equipment." "Beam it to our quarters." This was the thrifty Captain speaking? "You can't beam med supplies intraship for a non-emergency." "I sure can," she said. "But that's an unnecessary use of energy." Kathryn smiled sweetly. "I'm the Captain. I'm having a baby. Indulge me." Tom took her into his arms, as close as was possible. "Aye, aye, skipper." He looked over his shoulder at the doctor. "You heard the Captain," he growled with laughter in his voice. "Beam whatever we need to our quarters." "Should I follow eventually?" The doctor was as dry as toast. "When your ready," Tom said as he followed his hard headed wife into the corridor. --- Firmly ensconced in her bed, Kathryn Janeway smiled down at her husband who was catching a quick nap. A true fighter pilot, he could take a nap anywhere, anytime and be rested to handle any situation. Including the impending birth of their son. Yes, Kathryn knew they were having a boy. She didn't want to know. Had asked Tom to keep that information to himself when he did the initial pregnancy scan, here in this room. He'd promised. He'd been pretty good about it. Didn't mention it once. But he began to whistle the same song over and over again. When he noticed her looking at him, he'd stop. "What's that song?" she finally asked one night after dinner. They were snuggling in jammies of the couch, Kathryn with a ration accounts padd, Tom with a new holoprogram for flight training. She felt him shrug into her back. "Dunno. Just something stuck in my head." That was it. He didn't whistle it for a week. But she was ready for him the next time he did. The programmed computer seized a few bars when he came out of the bathroom one morning. "You go ahead, Tom," she said after he was dressed. "I'll be along in a minute." He frowned down at her, "Sure, skipper. Whatever you say." He was gone. "Computer, identify the music Lt. Paris was whistling." "Working." Kathryn folded her arms over her burgeoning stomach, and waited. The computer didn't keep her waiting long. "20th century popular music." No surprise. "Entitled 'Sweet Baby James'." "Sweet Baby James?" A smile eased onto her face. "Sweet Baby James." "OOOOwwww." Real life brought her out of her musings, she lurched forward, cradling her stomach. Tom was at her side in a moment, tricorder out. "That was a doozy," he whistled through his teeth. He hit his comm badge, "Paris to the Doctor." "I saw it, Lieutenant. On my way." Tom set the tricorder down beside Kathryn to lift the hem of her gown. "You're fully effaced." He paused and a small, happy smile crept onto his face. "And our little darling is crowning." "You can call him by his name, you know," Kathryn said between puppy breaths, sweat beading on her upper lip. Tom raised his head, frown pronounced. "How do you know?" "Sweet Baby James?" She rootched to get comfortable. Blushing beautifully, Tom sighed. "I'm sorry." "Don't be," she reached for his hand to squeeze. "I love you." Tom blinked, and blinked again. He looked away and back at his uncomfortable wife. "There are times like this when 'I love you' doesn't seem adequate." "What a lovely sentiment," the doctor announced his presence with sarcasm. "How is our patient?" Tom ran the medical details down for the doctor, as the image noted them for himself. "Arrrghhh." Kathryn wanted to hunch forward but knew that she shouldn't. "This is starting to hurt." "Just starting?" The doctor moved to the head of her bed. She shot him a murderous look. Tom was still standing at the foot of the bed, hands on hips. "What are you doing up there, Doc?" "I'm going to hold the Captain's hand while you deliver your child. Squeeze as hard as you want, Captain, you can't hurt me." Mother and father both gaped at the doctor as if he were crazed. The Doc wasn't fazed. "How many times have you delivered holographic babies on the holodeck?" he asked. Tom squirmed. "About 100 times." "Almost 200 times," the doctor corrected. Tom shrugged, "It was part of the medic training." "Fifty times would have been sufficient," the doctor picked up the Captain's hand at the onset of a contraction. "Scrub up, this child isn't waiting for you to decide whether you're qualified or not." Tom delivered his son. A red, wrinkled, wriggly mass covered in goo. His hands shook as he cut the cord and delivered the placenta. Both aware and unaware the baby had been removed to be cleaned up, Tom saw to his wife--healing the episiotomies with still shaking hands. He looked up at his sweat soaked mate who now lay in panting exhaustion, so proud of her and her strength. And the fact that she didn't curse him for putting her in that position once during the whole delivery. He remembered the stories Joe Carey and Ayala had told about their wives experiments with natural child birth. The description of the episodes were colorful and profane. But they weren't married to a Starfleet captain. Carefully placing the afterbirth and umbilical in a stasis bag, Tom headed for a shower. The quickest shower on record. He brought a basin and a cloth to the bed to sponge Kathryn with cool water. He had wrung the cloth out when the doctor brought the clean and gurgling baby. Tom accepted the 3.5 kilo bundle and felt the awesome mantle of responsibility descend onto his shoulders. "Kathryn," he called softly. "He's here." Her eyelids fluttered as she forced them open, already smiling in anticipation. Tom tilted the bundle toward her, lifting the thermal blanket to give her a good look. "Oh, he's perfect." Tom smiled, he thought the baby looked like a baby bird, all wrinkled and mouth open, waiting for his worm. But, other than that, he was perfect. "Watch," Tom said and took the too tiny hand in his, uncurling the teeny fingers. Ever so gently he pressed his thumb into the fresh palm. The tiny bird opened his mouth in reflex. "I've been waiting to do that ever since I saw it on the medvids. It only lasts a couple of hours in human neonates." Kathryn's smile was as worn as she was. Her eyes fluttered again, her breathing was labored. She looked so tired, but she clutched the hand that held her baby. "Remember what you said about the times when 'I love you' isn't adequate?" Tom nodded, feeling his eyes start to sting. "This is one of those times." Her eyes once again fluttered shut. "Sing Jamie his song," she ordered. With his hands and his heart full, Tom wiped his tears on his shoulder. Softly, a little flat, he began to sing, Good night, you moonlight ladies, Rock-a-bye my sweet baby James, Deep greens and blues are the colors I choose, Won't you let me go down in my dreams. And rock-a-bye sweet baby James. --- The End --- This story is dedicated to my little bird, Meghan.