Chapter Text
“Outside. All of you. Now!”
Chris doesn’t quite shout the last word, but he puts enough emphasis on it that every one of the bar’s patrons beginning shuffling quite rapidly towards the door behind him.
Ignoring the various grumblings of the Cadets and civvies sliding passed him, he takes a couple more steps into the room and pauses, tilting his head to peer down at the unfortunate young man sprawled on the low table before him.
“Are you okay son?” he asks with some concern; blood is spotted all down his t-shirt, and a not inconsiderable amount is smeared on his face. One eye looks like it might swell shut soon, and the beginnings of one hell of a shiner decorates his right cheek.
The young man grins up at him through bloody teeth.
“You can whistle really loud, you know that?”
Chris smiles a little to himself.
“I’ve been told, yes.”
“Huh. Fancy teaching me? I bet it would get me so many hot dates.”
“How about we start with getting you sat upright and cleaned up first?”
“No I think I’m good here thanks,” comes the cocky reply, complete with lazy smirk.
Chris sighs, wondering how on Earth he always manages to get himself into these situations.
“Well if you’re sure kid,” he rumbles, looking up and wincing at the amount of smashed furniture and glass on the floor. Damage which undoubtedly is going to end up being payed off on his own chit.
“Uhuh, totally; I am the master of sorting my own shit out.”
The response is accompanied by a groan as the battered guy rolls off the table and lands hard on all fours, his left-hand crunching into the sodden remains of a shattered beer bottle.
“The more I watch, the more I’m convinced you’re not the master of anything kid,” Chris snorts dryly.
The kid pauses and drunkenly holds one finger up to him, smirk still fixed to his face. He wobbles, clearly unstable without both hands down on the floor.
“I will have you know I am a master of being a fully grown competent adult. One who is leaving for the bathroom now.”
He wobbles again.
Chris raises an eyebrow as he tips over sideways and lands in a sprawled heap.
“Are you sure you graduated kindergarten?” Chris snarks, finally giving in and moving to help the lad get to his feet.
Having dragged the bleeding youngster into the grimy bathrooms and left him leaning over the sink with the taps running, Chris takes a moment to stop in the now empty bar and breathe deeply.
[tell me not to recruit the problem child] he taps out on a quick group comm.
[Do not.] comes the first reply.
[Another one love?] the second.
[Step away from the problem child Christopher]
[Captain, It would not be logical to enlist an individual into Starfleet who will cause multiple complications, both for the organisation, and for yourself.]
He blinks.
And curses himself
[I’m going to go recruit the problem child.]
[This is why we normally don’t let you go anywhere alone honey.]
Chris chuckles to himself, flicking the Padd off with his thumb and stuffing the device back into his inner jacket pocket. Twisting the top buckle between his fingers, he eyes the main door resignedly, before squaring his shoulders and mentally preparing himself to give the bunch of cadets still waiting outside one hell of a tongue lashing.
“Kirk!?” Chris near-spits in surprise. “He’s James T. Kirk!?”
“Sure man,” the guy behind the bar shrugs. “Comes in here a lot. Usually sits in the corner on his own frowning at the world. Occasionally tries to talk to anyone who comes in here from outta town, chat them up a bit. But he’s a bit of a nerd really, doesn’t try all that hard at it. Spends most of his time bugging the shipyard workers about progress on that new baby you’re putting together out there to be honest.”
“So not much of a trouble causer normally?” Chris asks hopefully, handing over his credit chit and receiving a cool glass of iced tea with a splash of rum in it in return.
“Well I wouldn’t say he’s an angel; he’s an all-out menace when he’s had a few too many,” the barman nods, indicating the mess still littering the floor behind Chris. “But normally he knows his limits and sticks to them.”
“But he’s interested in the work going on in the ship yard?”
“That and every other topic in the galaxy. I’ve heard him gabbling on about everything from star light wavelengths to the correct diplomatic greetings for Twi’lucko ambassadors. He’ll talk to anyone who’ll listen about anything given half a chance.”
“Huh,” Chris says eloquently, giving into impulse and fishing his Padd back out. He swipes quickly to the United Earth citizen database, and types Kirk’s full name in with a few precise taps.
“Yeah, if you could get him outta this dead-end town and doing something with his life, you’d be doing Kirk a huge favour, not that he’ll admit it. Town sheriff would probable declare you a deity too if you got the kid out of her hair.”
Chris glances away from the Padd and frowns at the barman.
“So he gets on the wrong side of the local law enforcement often?”
“Every now and again,” the guy shrugs back, throwing a rag down on the synth-wood top and starting to mop up the spills spread out across it. “Never anything serious, just petty stuff. Aside from that time he broke into the micromart and made off with loads of tinned food anyway. He was only 16 though, and thin as a rake. Everyone knew something bad was going on with him so he got off light.”
Looking back down at his Padd and the profile now loaded on the screen, he can see immediately what the barman means.
Kirk has very little formal education listed beyond some incomplete Earth Standard Schooling certificates, but his aptitude scores are some of the highest he’s ever laid eyes on. Some of them, he suspects, might even be higher than Spock’s.
On the other hand, his criminal record is littered with small misdemeanours; everything from shoplifting to public fighting. And there’s a suspiciously large gap in his medical records and registered dwelling history.
“Oh he’s gonna be a handful,” Chris mutters to himself, wondering yet again if he should follows his friends’ advice and walk away.
The barman just smiles lopsided at him, and drops another couple of ice cubes in his glass before sauntering off into the backroom.
“You know, I couldn’t believe it when the bartender told me who you are.”
“And who am I, Captain Pike?”
“An intelligent young man who could be making something of himself.”
Kirk looks at him unimpressed, every line in his body radiating disinterest.
“Yeah, whatever,” he states blankly. He turns to look towards the bar and waves his empty glass expectantly. “Can I get another,” he calls, pulling a face when he’s ignored.
“For my master’s dissertation, I was assigned the USS Kelvin. Something I admired about your dad, he didn’t believe in no-win situations.”
“Good job I’m not my dad then,” the kid grumbles. “Cause belief sure didn’t save his ass.”
Chris leans forward and drops his empty glass down next to Kirk’s, resting his elbows on his knees.
“Sometimes son, winning isn’t about your own survival.”
“Trust me when I say that I am painfully aware of that fact,” Kirk snorts, clearly regretting it and grimacing and adjusting his nose napkins the second after.
“Well that instinct you have? To leap without looking and always put others first?” Chris continues, biting back the urge to mention George Kirk again. “In my opinion that’s something Starfleet lost.”
Kirk sighs, clearly losing his patience, and lets his head drop back. He wipes his hand once over his eyes, and Chris watches as several loose bits of dry blood flake away from his forehead.
“Why are you talking to me man?” the lad groans. “I’m really not worth the effort.”
And oh great, Chris thinks to himself, minimal formal education, a rap sheet and self-esteem issues. Goddammit, there’s no way he’s leaving this kid to suffer alone now. His conscience won’t let him.
“I looked up your file while you were drooling on the floor,” he snarks back, smiling so the kid realises his teasing. Hopefully realises anyway. “Your aptitude tests are off the charts. So what is it? Why are you still here pretending you enjoy being the only genius repeat offender in the Midwest?”
“Maybe I love it.” Kirk bites back. But there’s no conviction, no belief behind the words.
“Enlist in Starfleet,” Chris states. “Prove to yourself that you’re meant for something special.”
“Enli-” the kid laughs, cutting himself off mid-word he’s that disbelieving. “You must be way down on your recruiting quota.”
“Already over actually,” Chris grins. “But I got room for one more as good as you.”
Kirk raises both eyebrows with bemusement, and pulls one of the napkins out of his nose with a shudder.
“Trust me old man, I’m not worth the trouble. My name alone will cause you a nightmare in the ‘Fleet.”
“We can fix that,” Chris shrugs. “If its nepotism you’re worried about. Just think about it. An officer in four years, a Starship Captain in eight. Starfleet is a humanitarian peace keeping armada, and you could be part of that.”
Kirk sits up suddenly, all traces of lingering drunkenness suddenly disappearing.
“You want me to join you, then I got one condition. I want your name.”
Chris makes a face, instantly confused.
“It’s Chris Pike?” he repeats from earlier. “Captain Christopher Pike…”
“No you idiot,” Kirk groans, his lips twitching in amusement. “I don’t want to be a Kirk at the Academy. I’ll have every wonnabe clinging to my coattails, and all of the sceptics railing on about my taking advantage of my Dad’s legacy nonstop. Change my records to James Pike.”
Chris feels his face go completely blank for a second and then he bursts out laughing.
Chris looks across at the bundle of misery curled up in the passenger seat of his aircar again, and silently asks himself what the hell he’s doing once more.
“First things first,” he breaks into the silence, adjusting his grip on the steering wheel as they bounce over a pot hole, “When we get back to the bunkhouse, you’re going to let McCoy give you a once over.”
“Who’s McCoy?” Kirk mutters sullenly, still sulking from Chris’ refusal to share his surname. He’s also clearly not enjoying the combined effects of his post-fight adrenaline-drop, and return to sobriety.
“Another victim of life that I picked up in Atlanta, Georgia. I convinced him to sign up to the Academy Med Track.”
“I don’t trust Doctors.”
“Well you better learn to ‘cause I’m married to one.”
Kirk scowls at him, and tightens his arms around his chest, his battered leather jacket creaking slightly.
“Oh so you will let others use your name, just not me.”
“Kid,” he sighs, “if I thought it would help, I would falsify your way into my family in an instant. But A) everyone knows I’m an only child so you can’t be a nephew or a half-brother or something. B) Everyone knows I don’t have kids-”
“You could just pretend you didn’t know I existed you know.” Kirk grumbles. “Better a surprise love child than the disappointing failure son of a hero.”
“I am very loudly and openly gay son,” Chris chuckles. “And you’re not a failure or a disappointment.”
“Tell that to my mom,” Kirk mutters, quietly enough that Chris obviously wasn’t supposed to hear it.
“Well anyway,” he continues after swallowing back the ball of empathy that swelled in his throat. “As I was saying, B) my lack of children is a well established fact. And C) The nepotism allegations would be three times as bad if I let you have your way, because everyone would think I pulled my own family into my own profession for personal gain. And you’re the one who would get it in the neck for it.”
“I’m not joining as a Kirk,” the young man grunts again, turning to rest his head against the window. He peers up into the night sky, the stars vibrant and clear in the dark, cloudless sky. Chris watches him from the corner of his vision, keeping his own eyes firmly fixed on the road before them.
“I didn’t say you had to,” Chris smirks as the gates of the shipyard finally come into view. “I just said you couldn’t join as a Pike either.”
“I may have had a very stupid idea,” Chris smiles sheepishly, lying back on his bunk and holding the Padd up above his face.
“How stupid are we talking? Just a Risa III in 2231 kind of stupid, or Admiral Johansson’s lizards kind of stupid?”
“I recruited the problem child kinda stupid.”
Phil rolls his eyes on the other end of the video connection.
“I knew you would,” the doctor drawls fondly. “Who is he then, and do have to go to admissions again, and sweet talk the admin team for you again?”
“Oh he’s only George Kirk’s son, no biggie,” Chris grins smugly. “And I will love you forever if you go to admissions and register him for me tomorrow morning.”
“You recruited George Kirk’s son!?” Phil chokes, his eyes going wide. “I thought his mother had expressly forbidden the ‘Fleet from having anything to with her and hers ever again?”
“He’s twenty-two, he can make his own life choices,” Chris mutters back, pushing his damn fringe out of his eyes again. “Besides, I promised him he could drop the Kirk-name and history anyway.”
“And how exactly do plan on doing that?” Phil sighs in exasperation. “He’s basically ‘Fleet royalty; he’ll get clocked in an instant.”
“With a dose of hair follicle treatment and gifting you a new nephew.”
“You’re making him a Boyce?” Phil asks, his left eyebrow raising.
“You’ve got so many nephews and nieces, no-one will notice an extra one. I’m sure Joey won’t mind pretending to have another kid.”
“He does already have nine I suppose,” Phil concedes. “But he looks nothing like my brother, or his wife.”
“Which is why I’m keeping him in my room over night once McCoy is finished patching him up, and then putting him in the shuttle cockpit away from the other Cadets on the flight back tomorrow morning. Then I can take him straight to Medical tomorrow before anyone sees him and you can work your magic.”
“I think it’s gonna need more than just a change of hair colour Christopher. And why does he need patching up by a doctor?”
“I told you, he’s a problem child; he got into a fight. Bruised knuckles and a cracked cheekbone and all that. But here listen; he’s allergic to Retnax V- it’s on his public medical records- so he wears perma-contacts instead. You take them out, give him a pair of glasses, and voila! No one will look at him twice, especially if he grows his hair out a little.”
“This is insane, and you’re insane.”
“But you love me so you’ll play along right? Come on honey. People are stupid; they won’t suspect a thing and I promised him. Besides, I already told McCoy he’s a Boyce, so it would be stupid to change it again now.”
“This is getting closer and closer to the Lizards level of stupid, but fine. You better fix me some fake records before 9am though, or I’m registering him as a Kirk despite your wishes.”
“This is why you’re my favourite.”
“I damn well better be your favourite after twelve years of marriage and all the shit I’ve put up with!”
Chris smiles, and blows a kiss at the screen, shuffling a little atop the scratchy standard issue blankets.
“I’ll see you tomorrow yeah?”
“Yes, and you can introduce me to my new family member. Now get some sleep, love you sweetheart.”
“Love you too Phil, you worrywart,” he chuckles back.
“Night!”
The vid shuts off with a faint click, and Chris stares at the plain whitewashed and steel wall opposite him sadly, pretending the sudden silence in the small room isn’t oppressive at all.
Kirk knocks on the door less than five minutes later, looking considerably less bruised but still bloody and grimy. Chris steers him towards his private shower room, throws a clean set of towels and sweats at him, and then rolls into his narrow bunk.
He’s almost asleep when he hears the young man creep back in and crawl into the nest of blankets he’d left out on the low couch on the opposite wall.
Phil is waiting in the hanger when Chris finally drags both McCoy and Kirk off the shuttle, long after the Cadets have disembarked. McCoy looks like he’s about three seconds away from throwing up on everyone’s shoes, and Kirk is peering round anxiously, moving slowly sideways until he’s mostly hidden behind Chris.
“One new ID chit,” Phil grins, hooking Chris in by one arm and subjecting him to an overly tight hug and a kiss on his brow. “Two letters of acceptance to the Academy for recruits McCoy and Boyce, and one antiemetic hypo for motion induced nausea. Now where’s this nephew of mine?”
“Nephew?” McCoy asks weakly, breathing shallowly but accepting the hypo with obvious gratitude.
“I’m Jimbo’s uncle Philip,” the older doctor grins, peering over Chris at Kirk with a dopey smile. “And now unfortunately, I’m taking you both to the Clinic and subjecting you both to Starfleet’s entrance physical examination. Nothing invasive, just a couple of scans and a handful of questions,” he adds when Kirk shrinks back with a flicker of fear running across his face.
“And I’m going to find out how much paperwork has been dropped on my desk in my absence,” Chris groans, wriggling his way out of Phil’s clingy arms and stepping away. “I’ll see you boys later.”
He glances over his shoulder as he walks towards one of the hanger side doors, and smiles to himself as he catches Phil ruffling Kirk’s hair with one hand and dropping the other onto McCoy’s shoulder with an enthusiastic grin splitting his face.
God, he loves that man.