Five Times James T. Kirk Should Have Apologized And One Time He Actually Bothered To - K/S - PG-13
Title: Five Times James T. Kirk Should Have Apologized And One Time He Actually Bothered To
Fandom: Star Trek XI
Pairing: Hinted Kirk/Spock
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: ~3700
DISCLAIMER: Boldly going where plenty of others have gone before - and I am far too young for any of this to belong to me.
Five Times James T. Kirk Should Have Apologized And One Time He Actually Bothered To
1. The Time With His Brother
Jim Kirk is eight years old and thinks he owns the whole state of Iowa, if not the world. At least, he would, if his brother would shut up for five minutes.
They started fighting because Sam threatened to run away for about the tenth time that week. Frank was on his back about something that Jim was too young to care about or bother to try and understand. Sam had a black eye that he swore he got at school. Jim wasn't so sure, but if it came from school, why would Sam need to run away?
Now, they're still fighting, and Sam just says over and over, "Jimmy, I can't stay here and watch you forever, you'll understand when you're older" and some other crap he learned from grown-ups. Jim has no tolerance for that kind of thing, and he doesn't have the attention span to listen.
It's rapidly becoming obvious that he doesn't own the world tonight, because the thought of Sam actually leaving him alone with Frank forever makes something go cold in his chest.
It ends with screaming, and with Jim charging his much bigger brother with his fists flailing. Somewhere, he manages to get a hit in and now Sam has another black eye to lie about. Or he has to admit his eight-year-old brother hits as hard as his step-father, whichever.
Frank is yelling when he comes in and pulls Jim off Sam. Jim doesn't hear him, he just breaks free and runs out the door, leaving Sam to take the heat for it. And it serves him right, too, for being a coward and saying he's going to leave like that.
Jim finally slides back in way past dark, climbing in the bedroom window so Frank won't see him. Sam is waiting for him, and Jim sees the split lip he acquired in the past few hours and it strikes that same cold chord in his chest.
He opens his mouth, but then shuts it again, and Sam pulls him close.
Maybe they only own the world together, and that's why Jim can't stand the thought of Sam running out on him.
2. The Time Without His Brother
Jim Kirk is ten years old, and he still owns the world. Today, that world got a little dimmer, but he refuses to think about it. If he thinks about Sam's empty bed or the look on his brother's face...
"Jimmy, I can't."
There was no goodbye, because neither one of them could say it. Jim swung at him, and Sam let him, but there was no real power because all the anger was eaten up by that cold feeling that he'd been trying to forget about for the last two years.
Their mom was off-planet, of course, or Sam never would have left. For awhile, Jim blames her, but it's not really her fault. And he blames Frank, because it is Frank's fault, for being a drunken asshole and taking things out on Sam too many times. But more than that he blames himself, because he wasn't worth staying for.
His mom doesn't stick around, and now Sam won't ever come back here. There was no false promise, no hope that Sam might someday come home to rescue him. That's not the world they live in, and even at ten, Jim is too aware of that.
The decision to take the Corvette isn't even so much a decision as it is something that happens. Frank beat the crap out of Sam too many times for Jim's liking, and Jim is just running on anger and adrenaline. It's not really even Frank's car, so what right does he have to it? It should be Sam's car, should be Jim's car, should be anyone else's car. And maybe if he crashes it into something, it won't be worth selling anyway, and he can rub Frank's face in that. It's just a bonus that the car is fun to drive.
In the split seconds where his whole life pounds in his ears as the car races toward the quarry, he thinks of just riding it out, going out in a blaze of glory and giving Sam a reason to come home. But if he's not there to see it, there's no point, and he ejects barely in time. He can feel his heart racing, and his palms burn from where they slid along the dirt, but he's never felt alive like he does right now.
To hell with Sam, then.
He stands up and talks to the cop as if there's nothing wrong in the world, because he's realized what living is about, and the rush is still there, Sam or no Sam.
Frank knocks the adrenaline high out of him, literally, and he lays in bed, bruised and aching, and hates Sam with all of his being. He heard that his mom is coming home, because he got arrested, because Frank wants to throw him in juvenile hall for the stunt with the car, and because Sam is gone.
Even when the judge orders him to, he refuses to say he's sorry to Frank, and it earns him another thirty hours of community service.
3. The Time With His Mother
Jim Kirk is fifteen, and he might own the world if he wasn't on probation for some stunt at school involving the principal's house and a whole lot of spray paint. That alone wasn't enough for probation, but with the ever-expanding list of shit that he's pulled in the past five years, it ends up being enough to stick him there.
One more thing and they'll stick him in juvie for real, as if he cares. It might even be a welcome change from his home life, anyway. He's taken to couch surfing the past few weeks. His mom isn't off-planet now, though, and she keeps trying to contact him. Every time she finds him, he finds another couch.
She finally gets in touch with him at a friend's house, and he kicks himself mentally for being predictable. She's a smart lady, though, and always has been. He watches her face on the vid screen. She looks tired, and he knows he should go home to her, but he also knows he won't. She chose this life, and he chose the one he's living now, even if it means he ends up running from the cops before he's eighteen. So what, it's not like it matters. His dad was the hero, and he's just the kid left behind with no dad and no brother, and a mom that has no idea who he even is.
"Jimmy, I want you to come home," she says, and he crosses his arms and just stares at her, the very picture of rebelliousness. He says nothing.
She looks like she's been crying, and it hits him all of a sudden. He's never seen Frank be mean to her - and he better not ever see it - but he gets scared for her for just a minute. What if...
"You know it's your birthday next week. Come home."
Oh. That..
What she's really saying is, "It's the anniversary of your father's death next week." And it's not his fault or his responsibility, and he can feel himself clam up.
"Goodbye, Mom," he says, and reaches to turn the vid screen off. Just as it flashes off, he sees her eyes close, and she really is crying. He feels bad, but the damage is done. It's not like he's going to call her back.
It's not like he ever calls her back.
4. The Time With His Father
Jim Kirk is nineteen, and he owns whatever he wants. It's been two years since he moved out of Frank's house, and he's never missed it. He's had less trouble with the law since then, maybe since he doesn't feel the constant need to rebel. But he's had more time at the bottom of a bottle now, and more time waking up with people whose names he can't remember.
Tonight in particular he's been kicked out of two bars. He's drunk enough that he can't walk straight, and driving the bike is a serious error in judgment. He knows it when he gets on it, and he doesn't care. Who needs good judgment, anyway? He's found it to be highly overrated.
Of course, that could be the alcohol talking.
He doesn't even see the guy crossing the street until he's inches away. The world slows down and sharpens into a few seconds, and his blood rushes all up into his ears, pounding away as it does so. He jerks the bike and it spins along the dirt road. He forgot how fast he was going. Maybe he wasn't looking.
He hears the guy he didn't hit cry out, but he can't do anything but hit the brakes and hope that's all he hits.
The bike stops spinning, but Jim doesn't have any control over it now, and it skids, hits a rock, and flips.
He doesn't remember anything else until he wakes up in a bed, staring up at a sterile white ceiling. He hates hospitals.
Winona Kirk is there, staring at him with something that might be anger, might be fear, and is definitely worry. He groans and tries to sit up, but it hurts and his head spins like the bike did.
He can hear his mother start talking, but he only catches a few words. Reckless. Out of control. Should know better. It goes on like this, and she manages not to start crying until Frank storms in. Jim gets pissed then, but all he can do is lay there and squeeze his eyes shut against the migraine that suddenly pounds in his skull.
He hears them arguing, softly, but it doesn't matter to him. Maybe he can just imagine them both away, but...
"Frank, he's going to kill himself like this," Winona says, desperate. He's heard that tone before. So what if he dies at top speed in the middle of the night? Isn't that just like his daddy, isn't it the same fucking thing?
He can't hear anything else intelligible for awhile.
"Not your problem, he made his choice," Frank is saying. Jim wonders if he can stop the headache and fight the painkillers off long enough to get up and punch him. The forecast on that is more than a little cloudy, like his thoughts, and he stays lying down.
She says something else, then leaves, crying for real now. Great, and he's probably the one that's going to be blamed for it, even though it's really Frank's fault. For the first time in years, he wishes Sam was there to take the heat.
He's probably the worst little brother in the galaxy. It's only fitting, since to hear Frank tell it, he's the worst son, too.
"Your father would be ashamed of you." he hears. Then the door slams and the world is blessedly silent again.
He doesn't bother to get angry this time, because he knows it's probably true. George Kirk was a hero or some shit, and James Kirk is a loser laying in a hospital bed, lucky he doesn't have brain damage.
Yeah, sorry dad, he thinks. But that could just be the alcohol talking.
5. The Time With The Captain
Jim Kirk is twenty-five, and while he doesn't feel like he owns the world, at least he saved it. But there are so many people that he didn't save. A race is left decimated, a planet destroyed. So many of the people he knew, as well, gone in an act of senseless violence. People he lived with, ate with, laughed with, slept with. Faces he knew, faces he didn't, floating out there in pieces among the stars.
Like his dad, but with less recognition.
He can feel his throat tighten, and he starts to choke on the emotion. That will be the fourth time in less than twelve hours that he's been choked, but this time it's by something far less tangible.
It's probably good that Bones is busy attending to everyone else at the moment, because he knows he'd be getting shit from him about the bruises on his face. And he won't even get into the bruises on his neck. Bones hasn't managed to catch him and sit him down yet, which is good, since he's still running the ship while Pike is out of commission.
Pike.
Oh god.
Jim wanders into the area of sickbay where Pike is laying on a bed. He knows about the parasite, knows about the surgery. They're not entirely done with that part, yet, but for now Pike is stabilized and some other people still aren't, so he has to wait. Last Jim heard, he'd insisted on waiting, same as Jim had.
He stares down at the actual Captain for a few full minutes, until he's sure that Pike's asleep. It's good, really, because if anyone has earned a few hours of rest, it's Captain Christopher Pike.
Jim is just about to turn to leave, when Pike's eyes open. Jim can see the pain flash in them before they focus. Then, they clear, and Pike smiles at him. Fucking smiles at him!
"You did good, son," he says. His voice is weak, but that's to be expected. But he sounds...proud. It takes Jim a minute to realize that's what it is, but once it clicks, he can feel himself start to choke again. He knows he must have broken a dozen or more regulations, he's still technically not even supposed to be here, and Captain Pike was tortured and could have been killed.
Jim opens his mouth but nothing comes out, and he shuts it again. His voice probably wouldn't be any better than Pike's is, really, and he's kind of afraid that once he starts talking it will just be a flood of words and none of them will make any sense anyway.
Pike nods as if he understands everything about the universe. He's always been damnably good at reading Jim, and now proves to be no exception.
"Go on," he says, "I'll still be here later. Thanks to you."
Jim swallows hard, and it hurts, but they're not entirely out of the woods yet. The ship is still damaged. So many of the systems have been totally wiped. Engineering is working on fixing what they can, but the ship is going to need serious maintenance and everyone knows that.
Jim still has a job to do, as Acting Captain. He wonders who told Pike what was going on, or if Pike even knows for sure. But there's that words thing again.
He looks down at Pike again and wishes he'd gotten there sooner. The Captain may not ever walk again, and Jim feels responsible.
So he opens his mouth again, but this time, he's cut off.
"I knew the risk, Jim," Pike says, and his tone is level. Their eyes meet, and Jim finally nods. They're all lucky to be here, and Pike knows that as well as anyone else.
He can hear Bones yelling something, and he's coming this way. That's his cue to get the hell out, or he'll be stuck here under his best friend's examination for much longer than he can handle right now. Pike nods back, and closes his eyes again, and Jim slides off before Bones can find him.
As he walks back toward the bridge, he hopes that someday he's even half the Captain that Christopher Pike is. Later, Christopher Pike will tell him he's already more than that, but for now, all he has is that hope...and the knowledge that he still has to get them all back on the ground.
6. The Time With The Vulcan
Jim Kirk is still twenty-five, but he feels young, and lost, and scared. It's been almost fifty hours since he slept at all, and it's only been seventeen since they got most of the crew back on the ground. He knows he should go to bed, or at least finally let Bones anywhere near him. The bruises are still darker than they should be in some places, but they're fading in others. He's tired, too tired to sleep.
He hasn't gone down there yet, because there are still people here. The bridge crew all stayed, and so did everyone in sickbay. All the wounded that were stable enough to transport have been taken down to Earth, including Pike. There will be a zillion questions to answer the second Jim goes down there, and they've been asking him for hours. He knows he's probably still breaking regulation to refuse them, to beg off for whatever reason, but who's really paying attention now, anyway?
Instead of going to sleep, which is what he should do, what he desperately needs to do, he goes up to the Observation Deck and just stands there staring at the cracked glass. They're lucky they lived through this, every last one of them. And while he's glad to be alive, it...wears on him. Survivor's guilt, they call it.
He sits down against the wall and buries his face in his hands. The whole thing just hits him all at once, and it's too much to process. Six billion Vulcans, dead. Countless Starfleet officers, dead. And here he is, commanding a ship like he actually has any idea what he's doing, alive and kicking and hurting and...
He hears the door open and scrambles to his feet. It's all fucked up, but he has an image to maintain, and he's supposed to be the man in control, whether he feels like it or not. He's surprised when he sees Spock standing there, and he knows it shows on his face.
"Captain, are you well?" Spock asks. Jim wants to laugh at that, because of course he's not well, he's not fucking well, how could he possibly be well.
But all he says is, "Yeah, I'm fine," and his voice is still a little raw. He can see Spock's mouth twitch as if he might frown, but he doesn't. Of course he doesn't.
Jim wishes he had even one tenth of the Vulcan's ability to hide his emotion like that. At the same time, though, he knows that Spock is suffering like no one else still on the ship is. He's lost his home, his mother, and most of his race. He's one of the few remaining Vulcans, and Jim is aware that he feels like a failure. He knows that the older Spock, the one he must not mention, felt like that. He knows that the pain of the loss runs so deep that it's fathomless.
Even feeling it second-hand like he did when the other Spock did...whatever freaky Vulcan mind thing he did, Jim can't remember the name just now... Even that can't possibly compare.
He thinks back to their confrontation on the bridge. It would have been right if Spock had choked him to death. He'd have deserved that and worse, and he knows it. Saying what he'd said was unforgivable, and he can't understand how Spock can stand there and look at him as if he's...as if he's worried about his well-being. Why should he be? After all of that...
You never loved her.
His own words pound in his ears and all the things he'd felt when he managed to pull away from the other Spock scream through his mind again. He hasn't really had the time to process it. He's been running on adrenaline for days and days now. Anyway, he had a job to do, had a planet to save, all that stuff. He hadn't had time to just think. And now that he does, he's sure he'd rather drown in a bottle than deal with this.
But he won't. He'll just stand here and stare at Spock and suffer because he deserves it. After the shit he put Spock through to prove he was emotionally compromised...how can he do anything but deal with his own emotions now? That wouldn't be right, somehow.
Their eyes lock, and Jim takes a step toward Spock. But he's shaky, and starts to stumble. Spock puts a hand out, as if to catch him, but Jim manages on his own.
"If you do not mind, I would...like to accompany you for a time," Spock says. The words sound almost awkward, or the Vulcan approximation of awkward. Jim has no idea what to say, so he just nods. His throat feels dry. How can Spock even stand to look at him?
Spock stands and looks toward the broken glass, as Jim had been doing just minutes before. Jim stands nearby until he can't take it anymore, and slides back down against the wall as if his legs just will not hold him up. Spock tilts his head very slightly in Jim's direction, but he doesn't turn toward him.
The silence stretches on between them for about half of forever, and Jim can't take that anymore, either.
He closes his eyes and sees all the things he had no business seeing that the other Spock had shown him.
"I'm sorry," he whispers, almost inaudible. Then again, louder.
I'm sorry.
I'm sorry.
I'm sorry.
When he opens his eyes, Spock is crouched before him, on one knee. The Vulcan reaches out, though he is hesitant, and places a hand on Jim's shoulder.
"Captain," he says, and the word sound more natural coming from him than Jim ever would have guessed it would. "You need not apologize. Your actions upon returning to the ship were the only logical. Please do not dwell on all of this on my account."
As simple as that, Spock absolves him, and the tears he had almost cried back on Delta Vega come back to haunt him.
Oh god.
He reaches out for Spock and wraps his arms around him. He feels the Vulcan tense under his embrace for a full thirty seconds before returning it.
"Jim," Spock says, softly.
Jim nods against Spock's shoulder, though he doesn't know why. It's only the second time Spock has said his name, but this time it's not in the face of certain death, and Jim realizes that he likes hearing it that way, even more than he likes hearing Captain.
He lets go, and Spock stands up, though he does not leave. Instead, he turns back toward the portals, hands clasped behind his back.
This time, the silence between them is welcome.
Jim doesn't remember falling asleep, but when he opens his eyes again, it is hours later.
Spock is still standing there, waiting for him.
-fin
Fandom: Star Trek XI
Pairing: Hinted Kirk/Spock
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: ~3700
DISCLAIMER: Boldly going where plenty of others have gone before - and I am far too young for any of this to belong to me.
Five Times James T. Kirk Should Have Apologized And One Time He Actually Bothered To
1. The Time With His Brother
Jim Kirk is eight years old and thinks he owns the whole state of Iowa, if not the world. At least, he would, if his brother would shut up for five minutes.
They started fighting because Sam threatened to run away for about the tenth time that week. Frank was on his back about something that Jim was too young to care about or bother to try and understand. Sam had a black eye that he swore he got at school. Jim wasn't so sure, but if it came from school, why would Sam need to run away?
Now, they're still fighting, and Sam just says over and over, "Jimmy, I can't stay here and watch you forever, you'll understand when you're older" and some other crap he learned from grown-ups. Jim has no tolerance for that kind of thing, and he doesn't have the attention span to listen.
It's rapidly becoming obvious that he doesn't own the world tonight, because the thought of Sam actually leaving him alone with Frank forever makes something go cold in his chest.
It ends with screaming, and with Jim charging his much bigger brother with his fists flailing. Somewhere, he manages to get a hit in and now Sam has another black eye to lie about. Or he has to admit his eight-year-old brother hits as hard as his step-father, whichever.
Frank is yelling when he comes in and pulls Jim off Sam. Jim doesn't hear him, he just breaks free and runs out the door, leaving Sam to take the heat for it. And it serves him right, too, for being a coward and saying he's going to leave like that.
Jim finally slides back in way past dark, climbing in the bedroom window so Frank won't see him. Sam is waiting for him, and Jim sees the split lip he acquired in the past few hours and it strikes that same cold chord in his chest.
He opens his mouth, but then shuts it again, and Sam pulls him close.
Maybe they only own the world together, and that's why Jim can't stand the thought of Sam running out on him.
2. The Time Without His Brother
Jim Kirk is ten years old, and he still owns the world. Today, that world got a little dimmer, but he refuses to think about it. If he thinks about Sam's empty bed or the look on his brother's face...
"Jimmy, I can't."
There was no goodbye, because neither one of them could say it. Jim swung at him, and Sam let him, but there was no real power because all the anger was eaten up by that cold feeling that he'd been trying to forget about for the last two years.
Their mom was off-planet, of course, or Sam never would have left. For awhile, Jim blames her, but it's not really her fault. And he blames Frank, because it is Frank's fault, for being a drunken asshole and taking things out on Sam too many times. But more than that he blames himself, because he wasn't worth staying for.
His mom doesn't stick around, and now Sam won't ever come back here. There was no false promise, no hope that Sam might someday come home to rescue him. That's not the world they live in, and even at ten, Jim is too aware of that.
The decision to take the Corvette isn't even so much a decision as it is something that happens. Frank beat the crap out of Sam too many times for Jim's liking, and Jim is just running on anger and adrenaline. It's not really even Frank's car, so what right does he have to it? It should be Sam's car, should be Jim's car, should be anyone else's car. And maybe if he crashes it into something, it won't be worth selling anyway, and he can rub Frank's face in that. It's just a bonus that the car is fun to drive.
In the split seconds where his whole life pounds in his ears as the car races toward the quarry, he thinks of just riding it out, going out in a blaze of glory and giving Sam a reason to come home. But if he's not there to see it, there's no point, and he ejects barely in time. He can feel his heart racing, and his palms burn from where they slid along the dirt, but he's never felt alive like he does right now.
To hell with Sam, then.
He stands up and talks to the cop as if there's nothing wrong in the world, because he's realized what living is about, and the rush is still there, Sam or no Sam.
Frank knocks the adrenaline high out of him, literally, and he lays in bed, bruised and aching, and hates Sam with all of his being. He heard that his mom is coming home, because he got arrested, because Frank wants to throw him in juvenile hall for the stunt with the car, and because Sam is gone.
Even when the judge orders him to, he refuses to say he's sorry to Frank, and it earns him another thirty hours of community service.
3. The Time With His Mother
Jim Kirk is fifteen, and he might own the world if he wasn't on probation for some stunt at school involving the principal's house and a whole lot of spray paint. That alone wasn't enough for probation, but with the ever-expanding list of shit that he's pulled in the past five years, it ends up being enough to stick him there.
One more thing and they'll stick him in juvie for real, as if he cares. It might even be a welcome change from his home life, anyway. He's taken to couch surfing the past few weeks. His mom isn't off-planet now, though, and she keeps trying to contact him. Every time she finds him, he finds another couch.
She finally gets in touch with him at a friend's house, and he kicks himself mentally for being predictable. She's a smart lady, though, and always has been. He watches her face on the vid screen. She looks tired, and he knows he should go home to her, but he also knows he won't. She chose this life, and he chose the one he's living now, even if it means he ends up running from the cops before he's eighteen. So what, it's not like it matters. His dad was the hero, and he's just the kid left behind with no dad and no brother, and a mom that has no idea who he even is.
"Jimmy, I want you to come home," she says, and he crosses his arms and just stares at her, the very picture of rebelliousness. He says nothing.
She looks like she's been crying, and it hits him all of a sudden. He's never seen Frank be mean to her - and he better not ever see it - but he gets scared for her for just a minute. What if...
"You know it's your birthday next week. Come home."
Oh. That..
What she's really saying is, "It's the anniversary of your father's death next week." And it's not his fault or his responsibility, and he can feel himself clam up.
"Goodbye, Mom," he says, and reaches to turn the vid screen off. Just as it flashes off, he sees her eyes close, and she really is crying. He feels bad, but the damage is done. It's not like he's going to call her back.
It's not like he ever calls her back.
4. The Time With His Father
Jim Kirk is nineteen, and he owns whatever he wants. It's been two years since he moved out of Frank's house, and he's never missed it. He's had less trouble with the law since then, maybe since he doesn't feel the constant need to rebel. But he's had more time at the bottom of a bottle now, and more time waking up with people whose names he can't remember.
Tonight in particular he's been kicked out of two bars. He's drunk enough that he can't walk straight, and driving the bike is a serious error in judgment. He knows it when he gets on it, and he doesn't care. Who needs good judgment, anyway? He's found it to be highly overrated.
Of course, that could be the alcohol talking.
He doesn't even see the guy crossing the street until he's inches away. The world slows down and sharpens into a few seconds, and his blood rushes all up into his ears, pounding away as it does so. He jerks the bike and it spins along the dirt road. He forgot how fast he was going. Maybe he wasn't looking.
He hears the guy he didn't hit cry out, but he can't do anything but hit the brakes and hope that's all he hits.
The bike stops spinning, but Jim doesn't have any control over it now, and it skids, hits a rock, and flips.
He doesn't remember anything else until he wakes up in a bed, staring up at a sterile white ceiling. He hates hospitals.
Winona Kirk is there, staring at him with something that might be anger, might be fear, and is definitely worry. He groans and tries to sit up, but it hurts and his head spins like the bike did.
He can hear his mother start talking, but he only catches a few words. Reckless. Out of control. Should know better. It goes on like this, and she manages not to start crying until Frank storms in. Jim gets pissed then, but all he can do is lay there and squeeze his eyes shut against the migraine that suddenly pounds in his skull.
He hears them arguing, softly, but it doesn't matter to him. Maybe he can just imagine them both away, but...
"Frank, he's going to kill himself like this," Winona says, desperate. He's heard that tone before. So what if he dies at top speed in the middle of the night? Isn't that just like his daddy, isn't it the same fucking thing?
He can't hear anything else intelligible for awhile.
"Not your problem, he made his choice," Frank is saying. Jim wonders if he can stop the headache and fight the painkillers off long enough to get up and punch him. The forecast on that is more than a little cloudy, like his thoughts, and he stays lying down.
She says something else, then leaves, crying for real now. Great, and he's probably the one that's going to be blamed for it, even though it's really Frank's fault. For the first time in years, he wishes Sam was there to take the heat.
He's probably the worst little brother in the galaxy. It's only fitting, since to hear Frank tell it, he's the worst son, too.
"Your father would be ashamed of you." he hears. Then the door slams and the world is blessedly silent again.
He doesn't bother to get angry this time, because he knows it's probably true. George Kirk was a hero or some shit, and James Kirk is a loser laying in a hospital bed, lucky he doesn't have brain damage.
Yeah, sorry dad, he thinks. But that could just be the alcohol talking.
5. The Time With The Captain
Jim Kirk is twenty-five, and while he doesn't feel like he owns the world, at least he saved it. But there are so many people that he didn't save. A race is left decimated, a planet destroyed. So many of the people he knew, as well, gone in an act of senseless violence. People he lived with, ate with, laughed with, slept with. Faces he knew, faces he didn't, floating out there in pieces among the stars.
Like his dad, but with less recognition.
He can feel his throat tighten, and he starts to choke on the emotion. That will be the fourth time in less than twelve hours that he's been choked, but this time it's by something far less tangible.
It's probably good that Bones is busy attending to everyone else at the moment, because he knows he'd be getting shit from him about the bruises on his face. And he won't even get into the bruises on his neck. Bones hasn't managed to catch him and sit him down yet, which is good, since he's still running the ship while Pike is out of commission.
Pike.
Oh god.
Jim wanders into the area of sickbay where Pike is laying on a bed. He knows about the parasite, knows about the surgery. They're not entirely done with that part, yet, but for now Pike is stabilized and some other people still aren't, so he has to wait. Last Jim heard, he'd insisted on waiting, same as Jim had.
He stares down at the actual Captain for a few full minutes, until he's sure that Pike's asleep. It's good, really, because if anyone has earned a few hours of rest, it's Captain Christopher Pike.
Jim is just about to turn to leave, when Pike's eyes open. Jim can see the pain flash in them before they focus. Then, they clear, and Pike smiles at him. Fucking smiles at him!
"You did good, son," he says. His voice is weak, but that's to be expected. But he sounds...proud. It takes Jim a minute to realize that's what it is, but once it clicks, he can feel himself start to choke again. He knows he must have broken a dozen or more regulations, he's still technically not even supposed to be here, and Captain Pike was tortured and could have been killed.
Jim opens his mouth but nothing comes out, and he shuts it again. His voice probably wouldn't be any better than Pike's is, really, and he's kind of afraid that once he starts talking it will just be a flood of words and none of them will make any sense anyway.
Pike nods as if he understands everything about the universe. He's always been damnably good at reading Jim, and now proves to be no exception.
"Go on," he says, "I'll still be here later. Thanks to you."
Jim swallows hard, and it hurts, but they're not entirely out of the woods yet. The ship is still damaged. So many of the systems have been totally wiped. Engineering is working on fixing what they can, but the ship is going to need serious maintenance and everyone knows that.
Jim still has a job to do, as Acting Captain. He wonders who told Pike what was going on, or if Pike even knows for sure. But there's that words thing again.
He looks down at Pike again and wishes he'd gotten there sooner. The Captain may not ever walk again, and Jim feels responsible.
So he opens his mouth again, but this time, he's cut off.
"I knew the risk, Jim," Pike says, and his tone is level. Their eyes meet, and Jim finally nods. They're all lucky to be here, and Pike knows that as well as anyone else.
He can hear Bones yelling something, and he's coming this way. That's his cue to get the hell out, or he'll be stuck here under his best friend's examination for much longer than he can handle right now. Pike nods back, and closes his eyes again, and Jim slides off before Bones can find him.
As he walks back toward the bridge, he hopes that someday he's even half the Captain that Christopher Pike is. Later, Christopher Pike will tell him he's already more than that, but for now, all he has is that hope...and the knowledge that he still has to get them all back on the ground.
6. The Time With The Vulcan
Jim Kirk is still twenty-five, but he feels young, and lost, and scared. It's been almost fifty hours since he slept at all, and it's only been seventeen since they got most of the crew back on the ground. He knows he should go to bed, or at least finally let Bones anywhere near him. The bruises are still darker than they should be in some places, but they're fading in others. He's tired, too tired to sleep.
He hasn't gone down there yet, because there are still people here. The bridge crew all stayed, and so did everyone in sickbay. All the wounded that were stable enough to transport have been taken down to Earth, including Pike. There will be a zillion questions to answer the second Jim goes down there, and they've been asking him for hours. He knows he's probably still breaking regulation to refuse them, to beg off for whatever reason, but who's really paying attention now, anyway?
Instead of going to sleep, which is what he should do, what he desperately needs to do, he goes up to the Observation Deck and just stands there staring at the cracked glass. They're lucky they lived through this, every last one of them. And while he's glad to be alive, it...wears on him. Survivor's guilt, they call it.
He sits down against the wall and buries his face in his hands. The whole thing just hits him all at once, and it's too much to process. Six billion Vulcans, dead. Countless Starfleet officers, dead. And here he is, commanding a ship like he actually has any idea what he's doing, alive and kicking and hurting and...
He hears the door open and scrambles to his feet. It's all fucked up, but he has an image to maintain, and he's supposed to be the man in control, whether he feels like it or not. He's surprised when he sees Spock standing there, and he knows it shows on his face.
"Captain, are you well?" Spock asks. Jim wants to laugh at that, because of course he's not well, he's not fucking well, how could he possibly be well.
But all he says is, "Yeah, I'm fine," and his voice is still a little raw. He can see Spock's mouth twitch as if he might frown, but he doesn't. Of course he doesn't.
Jim wishes he had even one tenth of the Vulcan's ability to hide his emotion like that. At the same time, though, he knows that Spock is suffering like no one else still on the ship is. He's lost his home, his mother, and most of his race. He's one of the few remaining Vulcans, and Jim is aware that he feels like a failure. He knows that the older Spock, the one he must not mention, felt like that. He knows that the pain of the loss runs so deep that it's fathomless.
Even feeling it second-hand like he did when the other Spock did...whatever freaky Vulcan mind thing he did, Jim can't remember the name just now... Even that can't possibly compare.
He thinks back to their confrontation on the bridge. It would have been right if Spock had choked him to death. He'd have deserved that and worse, and he knows it. Saying what he'd said was unforgivable, and he can't understand how Spock can stand there and look at him as if he's...as if he's worried about his well-being. Why should he be? After all of that...
You never loved her.
His own words pound in his ears and all the things he'd felt when he managed to pull away from the other Spock scream through his mind again. He hasn't really had the time to process it. He's been running on adrenaline for days and days now. Anyway, he had a job to do, had a planet to save, all that stuff. He hadn't had time to just think. And now that he does, he's sure he'd rather drown in a bottle than deal with this.
But he won't. He'll just stand here and stare at Spock and suffer because he deserves it. After the shit he put Spock through to prove he was emotionally compromised...how can he do anything but deal with his own emotions now? That wouldn't be right, somehow.
Their eyes lock, and Jim takes a step toward Spock. But he's shaky, and starts to stumble. Spock puts a hand out, as if to catch him, but Jim manages on his own.
"If you do not mind, I would...like to accompany you for a time," Spock says. The words sound almost awkward, or the Vulcan approximation of awkward. Jim has no idea what to say, so he just nods. His throat feels dry. How can Spock even stand to look at him?
Spock stands and looks toward the broken glass, as Jim had been doing just minutes before. Jim stands nearby until he can't take it anymore, and slides back down against the wall as if his legs just will not hold him up. Spock tilts his head very slightly in Jim's direction, but he doesn't turn toward him.
The silence stretches on between them for about half of forever, and Jim can't take that anymore, either.
He closes his eyes and sees all the things he had no business seeing that the other Spock had shown him.
"I'm sorry," he whispers, almost inaudible. Then again, louder.
I'm sorry.
I'm sorry.
I'm sorry.
When he opens his eyes, Spock is crouched before him, on one knee. The Vulcan reaches out, though he is hesitant, and places a hand on Jim's shoulder.
"Captain," he says, and the word sound more natural coming from him than Jim ever would have guessed it would. "You need not apologize. Your actions upon returning to the ship were the only logical. Please do not dwell on all of this on my account."
As simple as that, Spock absolves him, and the tears he had almost cried back on Delta Vega come back to haunt him.
Oh god.
He reaches out for Spock and wraps his arms around him. He feels the Vulcan tense under his embrace for a full thirty seconds before returning it.
"Jim," Spock says, softly.
Jim nods against Spock's shoulder, though he doesn't know why. It's only the second time Spock has said his name, but this time it's not in the face of certain death, and Jim realizes that he likes hearing it that way, even more than he likes hearing Captain.
He lets go, and Spock stands up, though he does not leave. Instead, he turns back toward the portals, hands clasped behind his back.
This time, the silence between them is welcome.
Jim doesn't remember falling asleep, but when he opens his eyes again, it is hours later.
Spock is still standing there, waiting for him.
-fin