Chapter Text
“Can you tell us anything else, Jimmy?”
He doesn't like that. They shouldn't call him that. But Jim looks away from the too-fixed smile of the Starfleet lieutenant, raising his arm to brush at the healing cut above his eye.
He wants to ask about Kevin. They say that Kodos is dead and he doesn't quite believe it, but even this doesn't matter. He just wants to know what happened to Kevin.
“No,” he says. “Nothing else.”
The lieutenant nods. “You're very lucky,” she tells him. “You're one of only nine people from the assembly that day who survived, Jim.”
(There could have been another).
“Most of you were young,” she adds, as though to herself. “ - isn't that funny?”
“Hilarious,” he snaps.
She seems to realize that she's overstepped. The woman sighs. “Should I take you back to Sickbay now?”
“I can find the way.”
“I'll take you back,” she says, ignoring his protest entirely. He stands stiffly – ignoring the woman's outstretched arm – and limps to the door.
The USS Intercessor is not a large ship, as Starfleet vessels go, but she's respectable. The halls are long and winding, gleaming with a soft, professional finish. Crewmen stride past Jim and his unwanted escort on the way to their postings, giving the young man a wide berth. They all look strange and bright to him. Well-fed, too.
It makes him strangely angry, and he squashes this feeling ruthlessly.
Spock would have a lot of things to say, he thinks, at such illogical notions. Jealousy for what others have -
But Spock isn't here right now, is he?
Despite the words of the lieutenant sent to assess him Jim is in a room with only one other child – a thirteen year-old boy named Thomas Leighton. Half his face has been burned off and his right eye is mangled beyond repair. The Sickbay doctors whisper over possible options and treatments whenever they think the two teenagers can't hear. Leighton seems grimly resigned to his fate.
Lucky, indeed, Jim thinks.
The ship is headed to Earth. Jim doesn't know what's happening to the colony. He doesn't know what has happened to the four-thousand people that Spock says lived normal, happy lives on Tarsus. He doesn't want to know. He just wants things to be normal again. As normal as possible, anyway.
The Starfleet officers keep trying to talk to him.
Captain Renez comes to Sickbay personally again and again. After suffering through his attentions a few times Leighton plays up the pain from his head injury – (though he has admitted to Jim that with modern painkillers he mostly feels numb from head to toe right now) – and gets away with rolling over and shutting his eyes. Bastard.
When Renez comes in today he turns his attention to Jim, smiling pleasantly and pretending not to notice the way Jim pointedly stares at the wall. “How are you feeling, kid?”
This is such a useless question he doesn't bother answering.
Renez doesn't seem perturbed. “Bet you're looking forward to getting back to Earth.”
“Better than here,” he says evenly.
“Looking forward to seeing your family?”
On Tarsus, Jim had dreams of his family. He dreamed of his aunt and uncle disappearing in flashes of light. After the massacre he dreamed of being in Iowa with his mother and father. Like nothing had ever happened.
But the past can't be changed. His mother will want to know what happened. His brother will ask about the deaths. His father is in Starfleet, an officer – he will wonder, he will know. He might ask if Jim has had to take a life.
Jim doesn't know how he will answer.
“Not really.”
“Isn't there anything you're looking forward to?” Renez asks.
“When I was a kid, I wanted to join Starfleet,” Jim says. “I wanted to be a captain.”
There's a pause.
“Do you still want to do that?” asks the man. Like he's not sure he wants to hear the answer.
“Yes,” says Jim.
He can tell this comes as a surprise. “...Because of this?” Renez asks. “Do you want to help people, like we did?”
“No,” Jim says. “I want to join Starfleet so I can be better than you. So I can stop people from dying like everyone on Tarsus did. Like they did because of your mistakes.”
They don't really have anything to talk about after that.
Jim learns from whispers over the next few weeks that Kodos' men had fed the four-thousand surviving colonists with food stored away in warehouses. It was originally intended to serve as winter emergency supplies to supplement the crops. There was still food in these warehouses when the relief-ships arrived.
He is informed that with these warehouses the colony could have – barely – managed to support about eight-thousand people until the day the ships arrived.
Winona Kirk and Sam, his brother, are at the Earth spacedock to greet him when the Intercessor docks. George Kirk is nowhere to be seen – still on a tour of duty, he is told.
Winona clutches him around the neck and cries while Sam stands back. Her skin is warm and soft under Jim's touch, folding in with a healthy flexibility that signifies stores of extra fat and water. The strength of her grip crushes his ribs.
They go home in a private transport with Sam staring at Jim in awkward silence the whole way. Winona keeps trying to speak, but she says all the wrong things. She starts to ask how he is and looks like she wants to cry, because it's a stupid question. She starts to ask if he's okay and trails off because this question is too. She says, “I'm so glad your home,” and he can't quite stop himself from thinking that it doesn't feel like home.
(She says, “I love you, I love you, I love you” and he doesn't let himself think at all.)
The fields of Iowa are like something from a half-remembered dream. Or a nightmare. When they get to the house he goes inside and ignores his mother's calls. He doesn't want to look at these strangers or the alien-Earth sky.
Everything smells clean and sweet and he wants to gag on it.
Jim's files are sealed, which is something, and he returns to his classes as though there has been no interruption.
His linguistics and language instructors all praise him for his fluency in Vulcan, his sophisticated understanding of grammar and phonetics.
At home Jim takes to walking through the fields and digging his feet through the moist soil. He plucks half-ripe tomatoes and snap peas from their vines, letting the sour flavors burst over his tongue. It's bad husbandry. It's also incredibly reassuring, all this fresh food, and his mother never says anything.
Sam follows him sometimes. Sam's interest lies with animals more than plants, so this seems strange to Jim. He mostly doesn't talk, but once he comes up close and says, “You don't use the telescope much anymore. We got a better one, you know.”
Jim shrugs.
“I hear you can see the stars better on pre-industrial worlds,” Sam continues. “Did you look at them there? On Tarsus?”
“We were sort of busy.”
This is a lie. Jim loved the stars on Tarsus. He loved the different perspective of familiar constellations and patterns. Until the famine, anyway. Eventually he was too busy to notice such mundane things as beauty.
There wasn't much beauty then, anyway. Jim doesn't like the color blue anymore.
Sam waits a minute, then says, “You have time now. To look.”
“Maybe I don't want to look,” Jim says.
“Then what do you want to do?”
Jim considers this and shrugs. They keep walking in silence for a moment, the sun rising overhead. Jim reaches out and plucks up a still-green tomato. It breaks onto his tongue like salvation.
Jim sleeps in small corners when he needs to be safe.
This is no surprise to Jim himself; it is a tremendous surprise to his family, who only find out after they spend two days tearing apart the property to find him only to eventually discover his small nest in a particularly dark corner of the barn, crammed behind piles of broken machinery. Sam has to climb over a huge, obsolete hovercar to reach his sleeping form.
“Jim?” he asks. “Jim, wake up, Mom's going crazy - “
Jim peers at him out of the darkness. “I was resting.”
“Yeah. No shit. You have a bed for that.”
Jim shrugs and starts to climb out.
He's told that these are all maladaptive behaviors. The way he sleeps and hoards food and doesn't like holo-vids where people get shot. Jim takes this to mean he shouldn't talk about his problems. It seems to make people more comfortable if he pretends to be normal. He is good at pretending, at hiding. Hiding is survival.
Hiding makes his mother smile and Sam return to his own life. So it seems to work, at least.
Over the years he thinks about the Vulcan child with bones like cut glass. He remembers a six year old child sitting between them, reaching out with hopeless hands and not really expecting anything. He thinks of hunger that dimmed to normalcy and blue grass on the dirt. He remembers the bite of death.
Jim learns that Kevin Riley is a common human name. Searching for it in databases turns up nothing of use. As for Spock -
Jim does not look up Spock's information. He has no need to find out what a Vulcan obituary looks like.
He joins Starfleet as soon as it's legal and puts the memories of Tarsus IV far, far behind him.
(That's what he tells the fleet psychologists, anyway).
At Starfleet no one is interested in his past or his strange quirks. Jim is one cadet among many. He is noted for his academic distinctions, and that is all.
His friend and roommate, Gary Mitchell, thinks he needs to socialize more. “You spend all your time in the library, Jim,” he says. “It won't kill you to talk to people.”
“I talk to plenty of people. I'm in clubs - “
“You're in the aviation club because it gets you extra hours on the flight simulators,” Gary says. “You're in the linguistics club because you want to practice your Vulcan, which is the absolute worst language, by the way. You're in the Engineering society because that's your minor. The only thing you do that could be considered 'fun' is the chess club. The chess club, Jim.”
“It helps develop strategy,” he defends. “There have been studies.”
“Yeah. I'm sure it does. And you're a nerd.” Gary sighs. “People love you, do you realize that? When you actually try and interact with them, I mean. Which you normally don't.”
“I'm busy. We're here to learn, Gary - “
“Yeah. And when we get our postings we'll have a job, which will probably last... oh, decades... and we'll be on our ships to work. Do you plan to never do anything fun, Jim? You have to have a life sometime. You only get one.”
Jim doesn't answer.
“Come with me tonight, alright? Let's go for drinks. I have some friends you might like to meet.”
Jim concedes mostly to make Gary happy. The bar isn't too raucous, since most of the patrons are Academy cadets like them. He spots some familiar faces and Gary leads him to a group of women near the front. Jim actually smiles in exasperation when he sees this; somehow it doesn't surprise him that Gary's 'friends' don't include any other men.
Jim orders an Andorian Ale and takes a seat, settling in to talk with the half-tipsy cadets. There is a girl named Carol Marcus from his Tuesday classes who tells him that he's a bit too serious.
He wonders if Gary planned this.
“You act like every botany lesson contains life-or-death information,” she says.
“Maybe it does. There could be poisonous plants on any world we come across,” he tells her. “We should be able to identify them. Knowledge of farming techniques and the culture of rural communities could be important. And being able to detect toxins - “
“Don't you just stop to smell the flowers?” she sighs. “I get that this stuff is important. I do. But you never seem to enjoy anything.”
“Of course I do,” he says.
“Prove it,” she says. “I'm going to that gala next week – that academy event, you know - “
“Gary says it's going to be formal and boring.”
“Yeah, well, that's why Gary can't keep a date,” she says. “Be my escort. Show me you know how to have a good time.”
A smile curves around the corner of his mouth. “Carol, I do think you're trying to trick me into something.”
“Are you scared?” She teases.
“I think I can take a challenge,” he decides. “...When can I pick you up?”
Gary thinks of himself as decent with women, but only in the sense that he can be charming and pleasant enough to keep someone's attention. Jim has noticed that Gary, himself, doesn't seem to enjoy the company of his partners beyond the bedroom; he views them as goals, and any interactions prior to sex are careful games of strategy.
Jim is different. Gary stares at him in disbelief when he says he's going to the dance. “That's really not what I meant when I said you needed to get out,” he complains. “Everyone there will be stuffed into their dress uniforms, talking about weather and politics – you'll hate it, Jim.”
But he doesn't. It's a nice place, really. Carol links her arm in his and they rotate around the room slowly, making small talk with older cadets, instructors, and visiting officers. The hall shines with soft white light and the low murmur of a dozen alien languages hums just under the edge of hearing. Drinks are served in tiny triangular glasses that make Jim grin a bit. He loves Starfleet designs.
“Let's dance,” Carol declares. “You haven't proven anything yet, James Kirk.”
If he hasn't, he thinks he proves himself with the dance. Carol laughs against his shoulder as he swings her around the dance floor with excessive exuberance. They attract a few indulgent laughs, especially from older officers; when he senses she's tiring and the music slows he twists around so she's facing him, her crystal-blue eyes glittering, and slows their lurching steps to a gentle sway.
“So you are alive,” she says, a bit breathlessly. “I'd wondered.”
He grins at her.
He takes her home that night and thinks he proves it even further. In the morning she shoves him out with half-hearted threats, saying he's stayed too long and interrupted her work. He thinks he might come back and see if she'll let him interrupt again, sometime.
Things aren't always easy.
Gary tries to call Jim Jimmy exactly one time. Jim breaks his jaw before hyperventilating on the floor of their shared dorm room for half an hour and neither of them talk about it again.
Gary must have suspicions about him. Jim keeps a store of non-perishable food hidden in his room, which definitely isn't regulation, but it makes him feel better. Sometimes at night he gets up and squirms under his bed frame, sleeping on the ground where he can't be seen. They don't talk about that either.
The closest Gary comes to trying to help, Jim thinks, is to introduce him to a man named Leonard McCoy. “A doctor. He minored in psychology,” says Gary pointedly, and goes on to talk about McCoy's work at the local hospital until the man waves him off, looking vaguely bemused.
Jim likes McCoy, but he has no intentions of spilling his secrets.
He thinks he would like to spend more time with Carol. He does not know that he could love her but they have fun; she has a way of pulling out the best parts of himself. But Carol disappears suddenly, transferring to another Starfleet campus without warning.
Near the end of his first year as a cadet Jim volunteers to help when a few visitors from the Vulcan Science Academy visit campus to participate in a research symposium. He's showing three Vulcans – Voris, T'Mar, and T'Lyra – around the grounds, though they do not seem particularly impressed.
“The computer labs are more out-dated than I would have expected of such an institute,” says T'Mar to T'Lyra.
The computer labs have been updated the year before, but Jim just smiles. “Let's go see the engineering workshops – I think you'll like those.”
The Vulcans exchange dubious glances.
As they walk, Jim can't help but keep returning to the same thought. “Can I ask you something?” he questions, turning and addressing – T'Mar, he decides. She looks friendly, or at least the least strict out of the three. Then, knowing how literal Vulcans can be, he amends: “Something about your language? I'm fluent in Vulcan, but there's a certain word I've never been able to translate.”
T'Myra raises a delicate eyebrow. “What word?”
“T'hy'la.”
All the Vulcans seem to stiffen. T'Lyra in particular looks at him almost incredulously. “ - I am afraid we cannot assist you,” says Voris after a beat.
“Why not? Why does it matter?”
“It is a private topic.”
He stops, forcing the Vulcans to stop walking as well. “It's important to me.”
“Why?” asks T'Lyra.
“A Vulcan said that to me – again and again,” Jim says. “And then he - “ Jim hesitates. “ - He's gone. I never got to ask what he meant.”
They look at him for a moment. And this time when T'Mar speaks her voice is almost gentle. “He is dead?”
“ - Yes.”
They tell him what the word means and politely look away when he starts to cry right there on the Academy greens.
As a cadet Jim takes a brief run with the USS Jubilant, a training vessel. It's an interesting case – not just because it gives him the exciting opportunity to finally work with the inside of a Starship, but because he's seeing, in real time, the glaring flaws of his fellow cadets.
He's assigned as a midshipmen among the engineers, who are tasked with responding to a number of carefully crafted 'emergencies'. Engineers live in a state of organized frenzy at the best of times, it's true, but there's a difference between productive chaos and plain squabbling.
Two men look like they're about to come to blows as they gesture vehemently at the engine coils.
“I'm telling you, it's a problem with the power transfer conduits - “
“And I'm telling you, they wouldn't make the test that easy – anyway the signs are more typical of a problem with the field impeller, we should run a diagnostic - “
“A diagnostic on the impeller could take hours to go through, we don't have that much time - “
“Says who?”
“Now who's forgetting it's a test - “
“Enough,” says Jim, frowning at all of them. “The fact that this is a test is irrelevant; we're supposed to approach this as though it's a problem we just found in real-time, during normal ship operations. And under those circumstances, we'd probably check the power transfer conduits first. We can run a simple scan of the impeller at the same time. If we don't turn anything up on either end, we'll try a manual check. Agreed?”
There are grudging glances. “Alright,” come a chorus of sighs. Jim resists the urge to roll his eyes. Technically he has the highest rank here, but only nominally; he's not going to stir further resentment among an already-agitated group by pointing out that he could enforce the directions if he wanted to. Best to let everyone think it's their own idea to concede, at least for the moment.
Jim assigns sections of the conduits for everyone to check and no one grumbles too much. He sets up the computer to run through the diagnostic before he leaves while the others scatter, and he's surprised when an older officer – a lieutenant in slim command gold – approaches from a corner of the room. Jim hadn't even noticed his presence.
“Good work,” he says. “Though you seemed a little annoyed.”
Jim doesn't pretend to misunderstand. “Fighting wastes time,” he says.
The man laughs at that. “Yeah. But it's human nature, and it happens. You have to be able to defuse arguments if you want to command.”
Vulcans don't waste time in arguing over their egos. Jim likes Vulcans.
“What's your name, Sir?” he asks the man.
“Lieutenant Finney,” the man answers. “Now get a move on, Cadet – this is a test, remember.”
After graduation Jim is placed upon the USS Republic. He is assigned to engineering and Gary Mitchell, who accompanies him, is given a posting as the delta-shift helmsman. Jim reads up on the crew, looking over files on everyone ranging from the command-staff to the lowest ensigns – whatever is public record.
Gary thinks he's crazy.
“This is creepy, Jim. You're an ensign. Okay, it you want to know your bosses - fair. Good idea. Be a suck up, that'll help your career. If you want to start off on a good foot with the other people in your department... well, okay, that's reasonable. But you can't expect to learn the names of everyone on the ship. It's a big fucking ship.”
“We've both memorized more difficult things than a list of names,” Jim points out.
“Yeah,” Gary says. “And, look, we've graduated. No more studying. I'm going to bed – good night.”
They are greeted to the Republic by the first officer, Commander Seran. She ushers Gary, Jim and the other new recruits on a quick tour of the ship before sending them to their quarters to settle in. Jim's mind spins with the new information and the new-ship smell. Gary runs out immediately to explore; Jim prudently sleeps so he's well-rested for the next day.
He identifies Chief Engineer Tomocan immediately and greets her on sight with a smart salute. The woman raises her brows at him before giving him his duties, showing him where the incoming repair requests come in.
Within a week Jim feels perfectly at home, and Gary is perfectly frazzled.
“I don't know if I'll ever figure out this ship,” he hisses one day over lunch. “God, I keep getting lost!”
“You've studied basic starship design, Gary. Anyway, we're new. Just ask for directions if you get confused, no one will mind.”
He's had to do this twice. People always seem perfectly happy to help.
“Not when it's you,” Gary mutters darkly.
Five weeks in, there's an attack.
Orion pirates, based on the make of the ship – though if asked, Jim thinks darkly, the Orion Syndicate will deny any involvement and Starfleet will never press the matter. The Republic rattles with the force of photon torpedoes exploding against the ship's shields.
Jim is running back to engineering with his tool-kit in hand. He skids to a halt by the turbolift and slaps a hand on the manual override. It doesn't open. He pounds it again. Broken. He bites his lip. Technically it's his job to fix broken machinery – like the turbolift – but Tomocan has ordered him to Engineering. He turns around and heads for the turboshaft.
He skids down a few levels, leaping past a swearing lieutenant, and then starts speed-walking down a more crowded hallway in an effort to avoid colliding with anyone. His heart pounds in his ears. The ship rattles again just as a shower of sparks burst through the air and the ceiling crumbles to pieces before him.
People scream, control giving way to panic. An explosion knocks Jim off his feet and he darts forward, rolling along the ground to absorb the force of the blast. His arm throbs with the impact, but he leaps to his feet immediately. The hall is filled with smoke and debris. The ceiling is on fire. Someone is breathing hard and taking in long, sucking gasps of air.
Jim cautiously moves around, wincing as the ship trembles, and eventually comes close enough to see someone shuddering against the ground. He searches for a name. “Lieutenant Caster?” he asks. “Lieutenant, come on. You need to get out of here - “
He pulls the man to his feet and helps the lieutenant stumble away. He can hazily make out more forms slumped through the hallway and shakily moves his legs forward.
He recognizes the next person, too; but she doesn't move when Jim calls her name. He bends down and touches her neck to find out why.
It has to be almost fifteen minutes before a medical team arrives. Jim has helped two people into sitting positions away from the worst danger-zones, though they still seem woozy. When the doctor approaches he reports, “Doctor Mordan – Lieutenant Caster is injured but I believe made it to Sickbay. Lieutenant-Commander Yuxley is unconscious – I think she has internal bleeding,” he reports, pointing. He hadn't wanted to move her. A nurse descends immediately. “Ensign Denevi and Lieutenant Chu are injured but coherent – Chu might have a concussion.” He pauses. “Ensigns Smith and Yung are dead.”
Doctor Mordan blinks rapidly, looks at him a moment, then turns away. “Get that man on a stretcher!” He barks.
Sighing with relief, Jim staggers over to brace himself against the wall for a moment. Then he sighs, straightens, and begins the long trek back down to Engineering.
Jim doesn't expect to be noticed after only five weeks aboard the Republic. He certainly doesn't expect positive attention, and for years he puzzles over the idea that anyone would see fit to give him a commendation just for doing his job, comforting his crewmates, and making sure they get properly taken care of.
“He even knew their names,” Mordan makes a note of telling the captain. “All of them.”
“Really?” asks the captain. Half-joking, Captain Shionoyo asks Jim, “Do you know the names of the whole crew, Ensign Kirk?”
And Jim replies seriously, “Yes, Sir.”
A little astonished, the man stares back at him. Apparently seeing no hint of deceit, he then asks: “Why?”
Jim considers this question for a long, long while.
“Because Smith and Yung died,” he says. “They deserve to be remembered. Don't you think, Sir?”
(Two commendations, Jim thinks, is just excessive.)
The USS Farragut is Jim's first deep space assignment, and with this posting comes a promotion to lieutenant. He is placed on the phaser station, which is – not the most thrilling task, admittedly.
It's an important one, though. Mostly Jim's day-to-day duties include running endless diagnostics to ensure that all systems are functional. He holds drills and simulations to ensure that in the case of an emergency he will be able to respond to enemy combatants quickly. He practices strategy and studies battle tactics on the off-chance that his advice will be called for in a firefight. This is not out of the question, but officer at the phaser station is only consulted for strategic input if something has gone very wrong on the bridge; if there's an attack his job is mostly just to point and shoot.
The Farragut gets in a few scuffles and the first officer, who personally heads the tactical division, commends him for his reflexes and quick thinking every time. None of this means much after Tycho IV.
People died planet-side. Jim knows because he was there and he saw it with his own eyes. What he saw, he doesn't know; some sort of horrible white fog that descended, touched his crewmates like the ghost of death, and swept on. Behind the cloud men and women keeled over as though in prayer, their heads sinking into the earth. Captain Garrovick clutched his head and screamed with a bloodless throat. Jim had called the ship for an emergency beam-up while the survivors had screamed.
He was one of only two survivors. He is always a survivor.
But now the cloud is following them into space. Jim readies the phaser banks on the bridge's order. “Shoot for the center,” the captain says over the comm – but where is that? The cloud is an undulating mass of crackling gas. Around him the air seems clear, but people are choking already.
Jim shoots.
He must have waited too long; the shot has not hit. The fog flows by and vanishes against the ship's hull.
“It's getting inside,” someone says. There are wheezing sounds over the comm. Jim is the only one in the phaser room and he suddenly feels very alone. “It's getting inside - !”
“We need phasers,” Jim says. He stands up, abandoning the useless ship's weapons. “If we can shoot it - “
“No, we need to evacuate,” says the first officer firmly.
“There'll be no one to evacuate soon!”
Giving up on the hope of receiving legitimate orders, Jim races from the room.
The weapons storage isn't far from the phaser room. Security guards are milling around the halls in a panic; in his own red-shirt it's not hard to slip by and grab a phaser, though someone does shout at him to sign out the weapon as he flees. There's no time to be concerned for protocol, though; they can bring him up on charges later.
He follows the crush of security officers as they run down the hall. People are yelling over his head about casualties and how to approach the 'entity'. He thinks of Captain Garrovick's body. He thinks of corpses toppling over like wilted flowers.
“Shoot to kill!” He shouts. No one really argues.
It comes into sight like a desert mirage, wavering and dancing above his eyes. The press of officers in front of Jim kneel down; more are in the way. He doesn't dare shoot yet for fear of hitting them.
Shots ring out.
The smell of burnt air and ozone is underscored by the red glare of phaser-fire. Jim has never seen it at such an intensity, and for just the briefest instant he clenches his eyes shut as bile rises in his throat. But when he opens his eyes again the bodies in front of him are not vanishing. The cloud is moving. People are growing as white as the fog itself, toppling like unbalanced stone.
The way is clear so Jim lifts his phaser and fires.
“Retreat!” Someone is yelling. “Get back, everyone, get back!”
In his peripheral vision Jim sees people scattering. He raises his other arm to steady the hand grasping his phaser. The cloud is getting closer. It reaches out to him.
He feels strange and tired. But he just needs to aim properly. He doesn't know why the phaser isn't working, but -
“Dammit, Kirk!”
Hands yank him back. The cloud rears over him, so white that the image blazes and burns itself into his retinas. He shoots one last time, and the scent of ozone lingers in his nostrils as everything fades to black.
Over two hundred people are killed on the USS Farragut. This is nearly two-thirds of the crew.
The remaining survivors from the Farragut are given relatively easy postings to measure their stability following the disastrous Tycho mission. Jim, after some consideration, is assigned to a teaching post at Starfleet Academy where he gives lectures to cadets on the Command-track and assists in practical assessments.
It's not a bad job, but Jim didn't join Starfleet to be stuck Earth-side talking to a bunch of kids eager to get away from him so that they, too, can get out into space.
He spends a lot of time practicing his shooting. Phasers haven't bothered him for years, but there's a difference between being able to stay calm in the midst of controlled fire and being truly comfortable with a weapon in your hands.
He participates in so many mock-drills with the senior security cadets that he becomes a familiar face. At one point the grizzled Caitian lieutenant who runs the classes, a gray-furred male with rigid whiskers and constantly twitching ears, asks to talk to him.
“You act like you have something to prove, Kirk,” he says. “I know why you're here. What happened on the Farragut – that wasn't anything any man could have stopped.”
Jim doesn't agree or deny this. “It never hurts to be prepared,” he says.
The instructor twitches his jaw, then tilts his chin. “Maybe give it a bit of a rest?” he suggests, not unkindly. “My students could use a break. It's not good for their egos, being beaten so often.”
Jim can take a hint.
He goes to the opera the next night at the suggestion of another colleague. He does not recognize the name of the piece. It is an old, old play called Holodomor.
When he gets inside, he looks down at the small pamphlet he is given. The opera is being sung in a native earth language, but Standard translations are available on screens. On his pamphlet there is even a tiny heading under the title.
'Red Earth,' it says. 'Hunger.'
The opera is about starvation and famine. The death of millions in early twentieth-century Ukraine. It moves many in the audience to tears.
Jim stares at the stage stone-faced and does not blink.
But as soon as he leaves the dark theater room it is like a pall is lifted. People relax and smile. A man who steps around Jim digs into his bag for a communicator, taking it out and calling his wife to remind her to cancel an appointment. A pair of women start laughing in the corner; one pulls out a small flask from her purse.
They leave the sorrow behind them without a second thought. For Jim it lingers not only because of what it means to him, but, he realizes, because he is always thinking of the famine. He is always thinking of starvation. He is always thinking of death.
Perhaps that needs to change.
As First Officer on the USS Concordance, Jim finds that knowing the names and faces of his crew is not the same as knowing them as people.
When he's not filling out his duties and working to make the life of Captain Uvija easier, Jim socializes with the crew and learns their habits, their passions, and their flaws.
At the academy cadets on the command-track were warned that they would need to distance themselves from subordinates. “You can't command people you know,” the instructors said. Now more than ever, when everyone is Jim's subordinate except the captain, he realizes the folly of this.
He has to make sure that the crew respects him and never forgets his rank; this does not mean he cannot be friends with the crew, and it certainly doesn't mean that he shouldn't interact with them. When Captain Uvija debates who to send down for a landing party two months into the trip, Jim looks over the options and hums.
“Not Thompson,” he says. “He's getting over a stomach-bug. Feris loves the cold. He used to vacation on Andor when he was a kid, he knows how to get around...”
There are some people he doesn't, he can't, know intimately. That's fine. It's enough to learn their names and greet them in the hallways. If he can learn about them, though – all the better.
(Jim likes knowing who he's trusting with his back.)
“God, Jim, I thought you were over this.”
Jim looks up as Gary Mitchell steps into the bar, followed closely by Dr. McCoy. “Over what?”
“Moping! You're going to be a captain, Jim – smile, for once in you life!”
Jim laughs, because he is, in fact, a much more relaxed person than Gary knew at the academy. Gary looks relieved, and Bones sits down and signals to the bartender for a drink. “I'm perfectly happy,” he says. “I'm glad you're coming along, Gary.”
“I'm glad, too,” Gary grins. “See, I knew there was a reason I took pity on you.”
“Nepotism at its finest,” McCoy drawls. He takes a sip from his drink. “Though I don't know what you're going to accomplish with this clown as your first officer, Jim.”
“I suspect you'll keep us both in line, Bones.”
“What fun for me.”
Jim rolls his eyes at McCoy's old-man act – the doctor is only a few years older than himself – and takes a swig of his own drink. Synthehol; he can't risk getting drunk, not tonight. “How's Pike?” he asks abruptly.
“Anxious to leave,” Gary snorts. At the look on Jim's face: “No, really. He's itching to get out. No hard feelings.”
“Well, that's something.”
“When are you going aboard, anyway?”
“Tomorrow. 1400 hours. The transfer of command is at 1500. He wants to talk to me first.”
“Impart some captainly wisdom?”
“Or warn me to keep his ship in one piece,” Jim opines. “Some captains can get pretty possessive, I'm told.”
Not that he would blame Pike. He hasn't been aboard the Enterprise yet, but he's seen her in spacedock, and she's a beauty.
A ship of his own, finally. The Enterprise. A shudder runs down his spine like a premonition.
He has waited so long for this promotion – but somehow he feels like there's something he's forgotten, a thought hovering just out of reach. What is it? Nothing could be more important than this, his first command -
“And then you'll get to meet the rest of the crew,” Gary muses. “Who seem to be mostly in awe of your legend, by the way, seeing as how they haven't met you yet - “
Jim slaps him on the shoulder and Gary laughs. The helmsman adds, “But you know all of them, don't you? With your whole creepy file-reading thing.”
“Actually, I'm behind,” Jim admits ruefully. “I started alphabetically. I'm on the 'R's.”
There's a 'Kevin Riley' on the list. Jim spent a long time staring at that name.
Probably a coincidence, he keeps telling himself. But maybe...
“Seriously? First time you haven't memorized a roster, and you're the captain?”
“There was an emergency evacuation of my shuttle on the way here,” he lies. “Then my bags got mixed up and I lost the files.”
Gary waves away the excuse. “Whatever. They'll love you.” he says it so assuredly Jim can only shrug and take another drink.
“The transfer ceremony can't be worse than that play we put on for Telegos III,” he says after a beat. Gary snorts.
“Well, the whole crew will be waiting – and watching,” McCoy says. “Don't make a fool of yourself.”
Captain Christopher Pike has dark hair shot through with strands lightened by age; his eyes are bright blue and piercing. He strides up to Jim and snaps a firm salute before the still-Commander can afford the same courtesy, but Jim returns it smoothly enough.
“Captain Kirk. A pleasure.”
“Captain Pike,” Jim nods. “I'm still a commander for the next hour – thank you for welcoming me aboard your vessel.”
Pike's lip twitches – Jim can't tell if it signifies approval or amusement. At the transporter station on the far-end of the room Jim recognizes the chief engineer – though he hasn't read this man's file yet, either. McCoy has mentioned him, though... Scotty, or just Scott, right. It's an honor, being beamed up specially by the chief.
He knows Captain Pike's first officer is called Number One – though he hasn't seen her name yet in his files, more is the pity, and suspects now that he never will – and the ship's Navigator is Vincent DeSalle. Gary is the helmsman and there's a Vulcan science officer. He hasn't reached the name of the communications officer, either.
He's hoping for a confirmation of the man's name, but Pike doesn't introduce his engineer. “Walk with me,” he says, and turns around with the air of one who expects an order to be followed. Well, that's alright. Jim plans on listening – no need to offend anyone.
As he passes by the doorway, though, he glances around and calls, “Thank you, Mr. Scott,” and has the pleasure of seeing the chief engineer grin at him in return.
The halls are packed with a suspicious number of crewmen, who all look very busy doing nothing in particular. Seeing Pike, they scatter off with quick and self-important strides – but not before taking a long, careful look at Jim.
Pike rolls his eyes. “As though they won't see you soon enough,” he says.
Jim just grins.
They take the turbolift to level 15, where command-quarters are located. A very private meeting, than.
“I don't typically bring crewmen to my rooms to talk,” Pike notes wryly, “But seeing as they're conveniently emptied at the moment - “
A pair of ensigns pull around the corner at a half-run and skitter to a halt in front of the two, yelping in mortification. “Captain!” One says. Her friend elbows her. “Er, captains - “
Jim laughs aloud. Pike looks skyward. They side-step and rush on. “Sorry, Sirs!”
“And think, all this will be yours,” Pike deadpans. No hard feelings, indeed. He's clearly ready to leave the Enterprise, or is at least able comfortable enough about his prospects to have a sense of humor. “Now, let's - “
There's a Vulcan at the end of the hallway.
For a moment, he can't hear what Pike's saying. He can't see the burnished white walls of the Enterprise. His vision is clouded in blue. There is a sour dry rot in the air and he can't breathe - he can't breathe because he hasn't eaten in days. None of them have eaten.
Spock hasn't eaten.
“Jim,” Spock says.
Spock should never sound so broken. They're close - Jim reaches out and he's finds that Spock's a little taller than him now. His hand fits around the curve of the Vulcan's cheek, pressing along the sharp jut of his bones. Vulcan-thin. But healthy.
He exhales.
And then he is on the Enterprise. The halls are bereft of noise. Spock's dark eyes look the same as they did nineteen years ago. Jim lowers his hand, trembling.
“...Maybe we should go to my quarters,” says Pike cautiously. “ - Right. Right now.”
Spock takes him by the wrist and starts to walk.
(Touching hands is special, Jim), and that's something Spock said once, but it occurs to him now that wrist-touching is special too, because when he's in Pike's quarters – firmly tethered to Spock – the captain follows very, very slowly, staring at them like he's approaching a deranged animal.
Spock is alive, so Jim doesn't particularly care what anyone else thinks.
“I saw you die.”
This is not what he wants to say. He wants to say a thousand things, like I missed you and stay with me and never leave but this is important, too. He has to know. He has to understand.
“I do not know what you saw.” Even Spock's voice is something to be savored, precise and low, with that same care given to each word that Jim once found – still finds – so endearing. “I was told there was a fire in the room after I fell unconscious. And that I was the only survivor from the list. I assumed - “
“There were nine of us. That I last heard. I don't – I don't even know about Kevin,” because it has to be said. “He might... But I – I saw you die, Spock. You weren't moving.”
“They said I was in a trance,” Spock provides, and Jim -
Jim has heard of trances. He knows what that means. He could have – he thinks of the possibility, the chance that he could have fled and left Spock's still-living body to die without knowing, and he wants to be sick. If Starfleet hadn't shown up – if Spock had been alone -
He leans forward and wraps his arms around Spock, and without any hesitation at all feels the embrace returned.
“...So,” says Pike. “Should I move back the ceremony, then?”
The ceremony occurs on time. Jim is experienced at working under pressure, pasting a smile on his face and looking right at Pike even though he knows Spock is somewhere on the Enterprise – not in the room with the other senior officers, as he should be, of course. That would be far too distracting.
This is by far the best day of his life, but not for any of the reasons he might have imagined before.
His father and brother have made a special trip out just to watch this ceremony, though Winona Kirk was unable to make it. At the reception afterward they both come up to talk to him – George especially is beaming with pride.
Jim wants to be somewhere else. People keep trying to talk about the Enterprise. He has heard enough about the Enterprise for tonight. He wants to find -
“My son the captain,” says George Kirk fondly. “Congratulations.”
Jim offers a blinding smile. He shifts his weight against the ground.
He wishes Spock had come.
“How are you, Sam?” he asks. His brother blinks at the question, asked a bit too urgently, but Jim doesn't want anyone else to talk about how much he's looking forward to being a captain. “How's Aurelan?”
“Very pregnant,” says Sam, almost automatically. Jim snorts, and Sam grins. “We're doing fine. I applied to the Earth Colony II research station. Not sure I'll get the posting. Deneva is a little dull, though.”
“That sounds better,” says Jim immediately.
Sam rolls his eyes, but is kind enough not to comment on Jim's distrust of small colonies.
“Come on, Captain,” says George Kirk brightly. “Circulate, circulate - “
Jim walks around and mingles with his new crew. Pike introduces him to Lieutenant Uhura, which saves him the trouble of realizing he never learned her name; he thinks “She can help me keep up my Vulcan” before he realizes that this is completely unnecessary and has to shove the thought away so he can keep standing.
Because this is his crew, and because he makes an effort, he stays far longer than he wants to. When Sam and George are gone and he finally deems it acceptable Jim makes his apologies, leaves, and exits the room at a deliberately slow walk.
His heart is pounding.
People greet him in the halls, saluting as he walks by. They're all smiling at him. Everything seems distant and unreal, but he smiles back.
He's not really smiling for them.
Spock meditates the same way he did as a child. He's sitting at the base of Jim's new bed in the captain's quarters – Jim's quarters – and his shoulders are lax and loose. His face is soft with peace as his chest rises and falls. Jim smiles softly at the sight. He steps inside the room and, when Spock doesn't take note of his presence, sinks to the ground to watch.
He doesn't know how long he sits there. Spock stirs eventually, his eyes slowly lifting open with a lazy languor. Then at once he catches sight of Jim, his breath catching his throat. “T'hy'la,” he says. The identifier is so immediate that Jim feels something in his chest clench. “I apologize – I did not notice you enter - “
“It's alright,” he says. “I like watching you meditate. You know that.”
There should be some awkwardness, he thinks. They are not children anymore; this is not a famine-stricken world. But Spock relaxes immediately. Jim pushes himself to his feet.
“Were you alright?” he says. “ - After.”
“...My father ensured that I had excellent care,” Spock says.
“That's not an answer.”
“I am well.”
“And that's an evasion.”
Spock looks at him, and asks, “Do you still speak Vulcan?”
“ - Come here.”
Spock lets himself be pulled down onto the regulation bed so that they're facing each other. Jim is still wearing his dress-uniform. The itchy gold collar is tight around his throat, and Spock is wearing long black Vulcan robes. Their knees knock together on the small mattress, their breath mingling.
Spock doesn't seem to mind.
“I learned a new word, t'hy'la,” Jim laughs, reaching out to entwine their arms.
And they rest there long into the night.
(And many nights after.)