Disclaimer – don't own Star Trek, don't even own this premise. Only dabbling where others have gone before.

A thousand thanks to Chemical Blaze for her late night editing sessions and constant willingness to help a slasher in need, and to SeaDragonLife for putting up with my procrastination in getting her stuff done, and looking over my work anyways.


Whoever invented workaholic husbands needed to go fuck themselves, seriously. Jamie was sick of waking up to an empty bed. Spock and Bones were both working Alpha shift this week, while Jamie was technically on early maternity leave. The bed was always cold by the time the captain awoke, and even though Bones was always carping on her to eat breakfast because it was an important meal for the baby, without one or two husbands eating with her, food had no appeal.

Especially when all too often, she wound up vomiting whatever she ate. She was constantly nauseous, and the taste of food simply revolted her.

So what else was there to do? She wasn't allowed on the bridge until her second trimester started, she couldn't kill time by eating, and if she moved too much, her head threatened to explode in pain. Spock was Acting Captain during her maternity leave, which left her with exactly no paperwork to complete and exactly nothing to do. There wasn't even a lousy PADD in their quarters.

To kill a few minutes, Jamie headed into the refresher to use the sonic shower. Water showers were far too much of a luxury when the Enterprise was in deep space, but the sonics did the job. They weren't as satisfying as a real water shower, but she was desperate enough to waste time that it didn't matter.

"Lock door, over ride Captain's code Bravo-India-Tango-Charlie-Hotel."

In order to step into the sonic shower, she had to disrobe. Literally, disrobe, because she wore little to bed, and had taken to wearing an old bathrobe around the quarters. She untied the belt, and let ship's gravity pull the garment to pool around her feet.

Someone had the brilliant idea to install mirrors in the captain's shower – she had a full-length mirror behind the automatic door, and another one occupying the one wall not devoted to other things. Sometimes, she enjoyed the mirrors. James Kirk had a rockin' bod, and she knew it. Sometimes, they told her what she wanted to see.

But...who was that in the mirror? Couldn't be the captain of the USS Enterprise, certainly not. The pathetic creature that stared back at her had sallow skin, which glared in contrast to Jamie's own, healthy, sun-kissed skin. The lips were far too thin, and chapped. Definitely not the lush, kissable lips from which Spock sometimes couldn't tear his eyes. Was...was that a zit on her upper lip? Bones described her eyes as being 'Georgia sky blue', which was typical of his Southern charm. The woman in the mirror had pale, washed-out eyes. Her eyebrows drooped as though even they had lost the will to arch, much less tease her husbands. When was the last time she washed her hair? It was a mess!

And she was, she was fat! Once shapely breasts hung flabby and ugly, with stretched, oversized nipples. Things snowballed from there. Her waist ballooned to the same width of her hips, and, oh god, her thighs. She pressed one finger into her thigh, and watched the resulting mark in the mirror-image fade.

Horrified, she turned to examine her ass in the mirror. It was Bones' favorite part of her, he joked sometimes, but now? For fuck's sake, no wonder neither man had stayed long enough to wake up with her in weeks. She was, her body was hideous. There was no way around it. She was pregnant, and she was ugly.

Tears threatened to spill from those washed-out baby blues, which just fanned the seed of self-disgust into a roaring inferno of rage. No one made Jamie cry, ever. She had a fool-proof defense against that particular female weakness – fighting.

And what better opponent than the lying mirror that showed her the body of someone else, but with her face?

Jamie folded her hands into fists, cocked her arm, and drove it into the reflective surface. It shattered with a satisfying crunch, and the shards dropped to the floor. That place in her mind that anchored the bond she shared with Bones and Spock twinged painfully, but she ignored it in favor of slugging her other fist into a cracked but not shattered part. The glass cut shallow lacerations over her knuckles, but the pain wasn't nearly enough to counter her anguish yet. There was still an entire mirror left to mock her pregnant body.

With each impact, a little more blood coated her knuckles, and each time she lifted her bare feet to move further down the mirror, she set them down again on broken glass. Not that she noticed the fresh slices in her hatred-fueled rage. When she ran out of mirror to shatter, she let herself land on her knees. She stared at her bloody hands, her anger fading into a numb dissociation.

All her life, she had solved things with her fists. The night before she joined Starfleet, she'd been in just another of a long series of bar fights. Pike had intervened a number of times during the three years she spent at the Academy; she just could not stay out of trouble. Bones had patched her up after more fights than either cared to remember, and she had been so advanced in hand-to-hand combat that the teacher made her a Teacher's Aide her first year at the Academy.

Her independence was the primary factor that made her the best candidate for Captain. Admiral Pike often commented that her 'fight or flight' instinct was heavily geared towards fight, and that it would be an invaluable asset in her diplomatic incidents. Admiral Pike liked to brag about her, about her natural leadership, her charisma, but in the end, he left her too.

Every single person in her past had left her. Dad got himself blown up by crazy, time-traveling Romulans rather than deal with a daughter. Mom took as many off-planet assignments she could get her hands on, leaving her and Sammy with the Boyfriend-of-the-Week. And Sammy, even her big brother Sammy, she adored Sammy; even Sammy left her. Why the fuck would she try to keep the pretty illusion that a marriage bond would keep someone with her?

Two years was plenty long for a marriage, and a lot longer than many. It was stupid to have thought she could be allowed to raise a baby with its father. It was time for Spock and Bones to move on, find someone else. Nothing had changed, including her position for the past twenty minutes.

Spock would probably have some sort of scientific answer, detailing how her optic nerve still interpreted data, and her brain was simply refusing to read it, but the simple fact of the matter was that she had just spent the past twenty minutes staring at her bloody hands without seeing them.

The sound of feet pounding against the floor dimly reached her, though her brain refused to interpret that data as well. Two different voices, both distinctly male, rose as they discovered the locked refresher room. A Southern voice snarled at the other, before the quieter voice input an override code.

"Access denied."

The captain's code she used to lock the door was one of the few on ship with only one override, and the only person who knew it was not present. Scotty had programmed that code for her, formulating it specifically so she could have alone time, away from everyone else on ship. He knew the only other override, and wouldn't use it unless she was in danger.

"Fuckin' hell, Jamie. Let us in, baby, please?"

She didn't answer, not even when it was her Vulcan who called through the door.

"Let us in, ashayam."

Why were they here? They didn't want her anymore, and she couldn't even blame them. She didn't want herself. She was ugly, and fat, and her body was hideous.

She didn't realize she screamed that until something slammed against the locked door, and two voices protested. The words layered over each other until none of them could be discerned, and Jamie dropped her face into her hands.

Apparently, she had not married complete idiots after all, because one of them – probably Spock – found the presence of mind to find a phaser, and vaporize the door out of the way. Cursing filled the air in two languages as she became visible in the wreckage of the shattered mirrors. Her husbands wore their Starfleet-issued boots, having come from shift. The glass crunched under their feet, and Bones had that damned tricorder that never seemed to leave his side out and in his hand. He was crouched in front of her, scanning for any injuries to the baby, and Jamie once again lost it.

She shot up, standing quickly enough that the room threatened to spin, and if she'd had anything in her stomach, it would be sloshing around unpleasantly. As it was, she had to swallow heavily before laying into them.

"Don't even fucking pretend to care, assholes. I know how disgusting I look – don't try to spare my feelings, you two-faced, cheating, lying fucks!"

Spock made as if he would reach for her, but Jamie just cocked a well-abused fist, and slammed it into his nose. Green blood trickled to complement her own dried blood, and wasn't that a fucking slap in the face. From his expression, Spock clearly had not been expecting that particular move, which just showed that he had forgotten something crucial in their relationship. Jamie's two preferred methods of dealing with unpleasantness were either flirting her way out of trouble, or fighting.

"Don't even know why I was surprised neither of you come home anymore. I am the least sexy person on this ship. So, you know what? Go ahead, fuck Chris, fuck Uhura! Don't pay the slightest bit of attention to the woman carrying your baby, just, just go fuck someone else."

Her legs moved unconsciously during her rant, and she found that she had made it to the bed. It was completely unmade. Neatness didn't matter when your husbands didn't love you anymore. She tried to take another step, and sent herself tumbling into the bed. The sheets were cold, and so was her pillow. She curled herself around her pillow, the one she hadn't needed before she became pregnant. Before she became pregnant, she'd had a pair of incredibly willing, living pillows to curl up with while she slept. Even if Spock was doing his 'I am a Vulcan, therefore I require four-point-three-seven-six times less sleep than humans' thing, Bones was a champion cuddler.

Jamie buried her face in that cold, impersonal pillow, and sobbed into it brokenly. Everything was a mess – she was ugly, her husbands didn't love her anymore, and her beloved Enterprise purred along without her. Why was she here? Fuck it, why was she even in space?

The bed shifted with the addition of two different weights, one on each side of her. For all his perceived slenderness, Spock actually weighed more than stocky Bones. Apparently, Vulcan bones were very solid, and Vulcan muscle was denser than human. With that information, it was Spock behind her, and Bones in front, not that it made any difference.

Her skin erupted in goosebumps as three long fingers settled over her eyebrow, above her eyebrow, and along her jaw. The physical pressure was light, incredibly light, but the mental power behind the fingertips felt like an explosion behind her eyes. Mind melds were scary things, even if they were so familiar. Those ritual phrases Spock used both felt like home and like she was about to be attacked. Having the thoughts of someone else in her head reminded her too much of the time right after Sammy ran away, of when she heard his voice in an empty room when he wasn't there.

But Spock's mind was familiar, as was Bones'. The three-way meld was a very recent development, and T'Pau had supervised most of the early attempts. As familiar as they were, though, her husbands had very different headspaces.

Bones felt like the old, hand-made comforter probably still on her bed in Iowa. He was well-worn, old fashioned, and always ready for her, no matter what she needed. How could she forget that? Through good times and bad, the doctor had stayed by her side, even before they admitted their attraction to each other. He was the first person at the Academy who had seen Jamie Kirk, not George Kirk's rebellious daughter, and he was the first person she asked for after a fight.

She eased into his embrace, sobbing now for an entirely different reason.

On the other hand, Spock was more like that one sweater she kept year after year, despite the furious battles they would wage over current fashion versus constant warmth. It was straight-laced, too, but fit her curves like a second skin, and protected her from the weather. Spock was incredibly by the book and followed every regulation, but he was so perfectly in tune with her that it startled her sometimes. And, like the sweater, Spock placed himself in more danger than he was due in order to keep her from getting hurt.

The final piece snapped together, like the last part of one of the jigsaw puzzles she and Sammy used to put together, and Jamie let her body relax also against the slightly-colder Vulcan behind her. Her body was sandwiched between her wonderful husbands while her mind luxuriated in their pooled consciousness. It had been months since the last time they lay like this, the three of them melded as one being, and Jamie really, really missed it.

"I'm sorry, sweetheart."

"T'mesh, k'diwa."

"I love you."


ashayam - beloved

k'diwa - beloved

t'mesh – my shame