Star Trek and some of the characters herein are the property of Paramount and Viacom and this little not-for-profit bit of fanfic was not written with the intent of infringing on that. Captain Brandt belongs to me. Now as to the other characters and their universes... I know some of them belong to DesiLu but I'm not sure of the others. But again, no intent to infringe.
This story is one in a series about the relationship between James Kirk and Suzanne Brandt. The Kirk-Brandt Chronology lists all the stories, both in order of occurrence and order of creation.
Notes
The SCA is the Society for Creative Anachronism. I figured the 23rd Century version of that organization would have a branch dedicated to 20th Century culture.Well, this is absolutely as low as I go. After a fun e-conversation with Wildcat (who should *not* be blamed for this), I realized that there's an ep of the Dick Van Dyke Show that you wouldn't even have to rewrite (well, not much) in order to star Kirk, Brandt, and Spock. Stick with me on this one, gang. But if you find the first section entertaining, thank Carl Reiner, not me.
Kirk and Spock are in a suburban living room, circa 1965. They are dressed casually, also circa 1965. They gaze seriously into a bassinet.
Jim: Spock, who do you think he looks like?
Spock: It is difficult to say. Why do you ask?
Jim: Well, at first I thought he looked like me. Then later he looked like Suzanne. And today, coming home in the cab, he looked like Ralph Murchison.
Spock: Who is Ralph Murchison?
Jim: The cab driver. You know how they have to display their picture?
Jim: No, Spock, you don't understand. There was another woman in the hospital, Mrs. Korg, who had a baby boy on the same day. And they kept getting things mixed up. They gave Mrs. Korg Suzanne's jell-o and she got Mrs. Korg's rice pudding. And she got Aunt Martha's dried figs and we got the flowers from Dick and Betty Friedman.
Spock: Who received T'Millie's plomeek soup?
Jim: Spock, listen to me. We don't *know* Dick and Betty Friedman.
Spock: Jim. Are you trying to say that you believe you were given the wrong child?
Jim: Well...yes. I mean Kirk and Korg are pretty close.
Spock peers closely into the bassinet.
Spock: Upon closer examination, I find a remarkable resemblance between you and this child.
Spock: No. Jim, the odds against such an occurrence are approximately four million, seventy-five thousand, eight hundred and twelve to one.
Jim: Suzanne would never agree to it.
Spock: We could devise a test of our own.
Spock: Perhaps if we compare the footprints on the hospital paperwork with the footprints of this child...
He runs to the desk and returns to the bassinet with an inkpad and a piece of paper.
Jim: All right. Hold this. (He hands Spock the paper and presses the baby's foot to the inkpad.) Paper. (Spock hands him the paper and he presses the baby's foot to it. He hands the paper to Spock and gets the hospital papers from an envelope on the coffee table. They compare the two.)
Spock: Now by comparing the two--
Spock: --we should able to determine--
Jim: Spock--look! (He gestures anxiously at the paper.) That baby has six toes!
Spock (looks closely at the paper and then even more closely at Kirk): That is your thumbprint.
Jim: Oh. Well, what do you think?
Spock: It is my opinion that both footprints came from the same being.
Spock: I would stake my scientific reputation on it.
Jim nods happily, then looks more closely at the papers.
Jim: That does it. Look at this! (He holds up the hospital paper.) Baby Boy Korg!
Spock: However, this is not my area of expertise.
Suzanne enters from the bedroom. She looks great for a woman who just had a baby. *Unbelievably* great.
Jim quickly covers the baby with a blanket.
Spock: I must go. I think I hear T'Millie calling me. (He cocks a pointed ear.) Yes, my wife! (He nods solemnly to the bassinet.) It has been an honor knowing you. (He leaves hurriedly. Well, hurriedly for a Vulcan.)
Suzanne: What was that all about?
Jim: Oh, nothing. (He takes Suzanne's hands and leads her to the sofa, where they sit.) Suzanne... how much do you like that baby?
She is momentarily taken aback by the question and then the light dawns.
Suzanne: Oh my goodness, you're *jealous*! That Dr. Spock knows *everything*!
Jim (pacing, irritated): He doesn't know everything! He doesn't know that you're one in four million, seventy-five thousand, eight hundred and twelve!
Suzanne: Is that what the count is up to? You *have* been busy.
Jim: No, not that. Did you know that one in four million, seventy-five thousand, eight hundred and twelve women has the wrong baby?
Suzanne: Well, that's a neat trick. How does she manage it?
Jim: She doesn't have it while she's having it. It's after she has it that she has it.
Jim: Remember in the hospital when you got Mrs. Korg's rice pudding? And Dick and Betty Friedman's flowers?
Jim (sits down and takes her hands): I think they gave us the wrong baby.
Suzanne: Oh, Jim, don't be ridiculous! (She goes to the bassinet.) Of course they didn't!
Jim: Suzanne, he doesn't even look like us!
Suzanne: All I see is our baby with a blue foot.
Suzanne: How did it get there?
Jim: Spock and I put it there.
Jim (trying to sound official): Just conducting a series of tests.
Suzanne: Jim, there is no test that is going to convince me that that is not our baby!
Although she is shaking with anger, her hair never moves.
Jim (puts his arms around her): Oh, honey--
Jim: --I know how you feel. But I'm sure our baby will be just as cute as this one.
Jim (sternly): Suzanne. I think you should go to your room.
She awakens with a gasp, looks around, and sighs in relief.
"Oh my god. What a nightmare."
"No, worse. You and I were married and living in a tract house and we had a baby. You and Spock put ink on its foot--"
"Probably that SCA Sitcom Festival. All those images of subservient women..."
"No, I'm going to make myself a cup of tea."
She gets out of bed and slips into a warm robe.
Suzanne is sitting in an apartment, circa 1955. She is wearing a period housedress and talking animatedly on the phone.
Suzanne: Well, you know, I never believed her--
T'Ethel enters from the kitchen.
Suzanne: Oh, listen, Carolyn, I have to run. Yes, dear, let's get together real soon. Good-bye.
Suzanne: Boy, that Carolyn Appleby can talk. What's up, girl?
T'Ethel: Spock and I wish to invite you and your mate to share a game of bridge with us this evening.
Suzanne: Sure, we're free. Oh, let me show you what I bought this morning.
T'Ethel: Suzanne. Didn't I hear Jim tell you that he'd cut off your allowance if you made one more unnecessary purchase?
Suzanne: Boy, those ears don't miss much, do they?
T'Ethel: They *are* sensitive.
Suzanne: Wait til you see this.
Suzanne hurries to the bedroom and returns with a tribble in each hand.
Suzanne: Aren't they adorable?
Suzanne and T'Ethel pet the tribbles who purr contentedly.
T'Ethel: Jim isn't going to like this.
Suzanne: Once he's stomped around and yelled at me in Spanish, it'll be fine. Come on, I'll make us some coffee.
She sets the tribbles on the coffee table and the two women exit to the kitchen.
Fade out/fade in. Three hours later. The living room is knee-deep in tribbles. The two women enter from the kitchen.
Suzanne: So I told Carolyn--What's this? Oh my goodness--the tribbles!
T'Ethel: Suzanne! Surely you didn't buy fertile tribbles!
Suzanne: I don't know! I didn't think to ask! What am I going to do?
T'Ethel: I think I hear Spock calling me.
Suzanne: No, you don't. Help me hide these things.
Fade out/fade in. Order has been restored in the living room. Not a tribble in sight. Suzanne sits nervously in the center of the davenport. Jim enters from the hallway.
Suzanne: Hello, dear. And don't call me honey.
Jim (crossing to the closet): How was your day?
Jim opens the closet to hang up his coat and thousands of tribbles tumble out around him. He turns slowly, his hands on his hips.
Jim: Suzanne. You got some 'splainin' to do.
"Oh--oh, it was just a dream."
"No. Tribbles. You were trying to hide the tribbles and you were an absolute idiot. And... never mind. We're never going to another vid festival."
"Agreed. Now let's get some sleep."
"You know, it's funny. I usually dream in color."
Goodnight, Daddy. Goodnight, Jim-bob. Goodnight, Mary Ellen. Goodnight, Grandpa.
Hi, Mom. Hi, Pop. Hi, Rick. Hi, Dave. Hi, Jim.
Straight to the moon, Suzanne!
Calm down, dahling. I'll make us some hotcakes and then ve'll go into Hootersville.
What's that, Lassie? Chekov fell in the well?
Holy tractor-beam, BatKirk! What'll we do now?
Your mission, Captain Kirk, should you decide to accept it--
Excuse me, Brat. Shouldn't we use the cone of silence?
Howdy, boys. Where's Captain Kirk? Got some mail for him.
He's over at the saloon, Wrangler Suzanne. But I wouldn't go there if I were you--
Danger, James Kirk! Danger approaching!
Skipper, Spock's found a way to get us off the island!
Jim... I'm worried about the Beaver.
Here's Jim who has done each girl he's met
For love or fun or on a bet!
Suzanne has access to the props
A girl can get from Special Ops!
What a wild duet!
But they're captains--
Both captains spring to a sitting position, hearts pounding with terror.
They hold each other and look nervously around the room.
The camera pans down the street, where a dark-haired man in a business suit stands under a streetlight.
"Submitted for your approval. Two Starfleet captains, deprived of a good night's sleep by dreams that are frighteningly real. Dreams of the TV shows they could have ended up in. And the fanfic that would have resulted. James Kirk and Suzanne Brandt don't know it but they have just entered...the Twilight Zone."
The camera pans up to the stars twinkling coldly over the city.
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