Long Way Home part seven
Part Seven
Jim could feel eyes on him the next morning in the mess. A tide of whispers broke out in his wake. He should have just had breakfast in his quarters.
Then Bones slid in next to him. Spock, to his surprise, sat down on his other side. Uhura set her tray opposite of him and gave a pointed glance to someone behind Jim. Scotty ambled over and sat next to Uhura, the scent of his mug suspiciously sharp.
“Oh, gimme,” Jim made grabby hands for Scotty’s drink.
“Now, now, Capt’n, I cannae do that,” Scotty held it out of reach.
“I hate you,” Jim slumped in his seat. He felt raw and drained. Sleep had been a brief trip through some of his worst nightmares.
“Here,” Bones plunked down a steaming cup of coffee in front of Jim.
Jim eyed the doctor’s hands. “You’re not going to hypo me, are you?”
“You’re a damn fool.”
“It’s a valid concern.”
“Eat your damn meal.”
“You eat your meal.”
“Damn it, Jim.”
“Nutritional intake in the morning has been proven to increase efficiency,” Spock said.
“I’ll get my job done, Spock. Jesus. I’m not going to fuck this up, too.”
“Captain,” Uhura said, the tone of her voice sharp.
“What?”
“That’s…” She glanced between him and Spock, who had gone stiff in his seat. “That’s not what he was trying to say.”
Jim blew out a sharp breath, glancing at Spock from the corner of his eye. The Vulcan looked…Jim blinked and turned to him. Yeah, it was there all right, pretty masked by the stiff posture and the eyebrows-of-doom, but it was there - Spock had been hurt by what Jim had said.
Guilt kicked him in the gut. “I’ll trade you my eggs for your toast,” Jim offered.
The too-stiff posture relaxed by a fraction as the brows drew down. “Why would I trade my toast?”
“I hate eggs.”
The puzzled expression was back in Spock’s eyes. “Eggs are a nutritional food choice, consumed by many alien species.”
“Oh, God. A lecture on eggs,” McCoy stabbed at his sausage. “It’s too damn early in the morning for this.”
“Aw, c’mon, Spock!”
“My meal is adequate as it is.”
Jim peered at the line to the replicators. “I want some more toast.”
“Eat your damn eggs, Jim.”
Jim shoved the offending mess onto Bones’ plate as a response.
“Goddamn it!”
They had one last day at Sirius One before they were due to head out. To where, Jim was still in the dark about since the Admiralty had yet to send them their next assignment.
Which meant Jim had to stay on board, or risk the throng of eager reporters who were camped outside the hard air lock to the Enterprise and also in front of the transporter pads. They’d already caught one intrepid individual trying to sneak on board to get an exclusive scoop.
Jim had little to do in his rooms but read and watch the vid feeds. The news cycles were hot with the news of Frank’s arrest. Jim had gotten Uhura to ferret out a report of what had happened - and then hacked the feeds himself to get a copy of the incident. He hadn’t been able to watch it all the way through. There had been no hesitation in Frank’s swing, no mercy, nothing. Just a relentless rise and fall of the man’s fist, until the body crumpled to the ground - god, Jim could remember the way the dirt would stick to the back of his throat, get into the sticky blood running from his nose, he could remember -
Jim pressed his hands to his face as he pushed those memories away. It was a long time ago. Too late to change anything, now. Nothing could be done about it. He did, though, contact Admiral Pike about helping the family Frank had attacked. Jim didn’t want his name near them, didn’t want to hurt them again, but hospitals and funerals were expensive, even in this day and age.
The statement Jim had fed the press had knocked the ball back into his mother’s court all right, but Winona Kirk Grunberg was a smart woman. Jim had always figured he had gotten his devious side from her.
When Frank’s first court appearance was held, expedited because of the press coverage, reporters had swarmed his mother as she left the building. They’d shipped the trial to Earth, since both Frank and the victims had been citizens of the planet. Luna Space Port hadn’t had the resources to deal with the fall out of Frank’s rage. As Winona had left the courthouse, Jim had to admire her brave face. Why she still stuck with the loser was beyond him. He had a moment to take her in - then Sam had stepped out from behind the door to take her arm and face the reporters. Together.
It was a recorded feed. The time stamp said it had happened in the middle of the night, Sirius One station time. Jim stared at his brother. Sam had - Mom had gotten Sam to -
“My husband is a good man,” Winona was lovely in a simple, dark blue dress. No science uniform for her; no, the dark blond hair was drawn back from her face, green eyes ringed by wet lashes. “Frank has a problem, a drinking problem. None of this would have happened if those poor children had left him alone. Privacy signs are to be respected,” Winona pressed a white handkerchief to her mouth for a brief second. “Frank was a wonderful father to my Sam. This isn’t his fault. Someone drove him to it.”
“Mom,” Sam had her elbow.
“If Frank hadn’t been tormented by your no good -”
“Mom.”
Jim let his head fall back against the couch and sighed. The reporters erupted around them. Many were waving data padds at them, shouting questions.
“Isn’t it true your younger son James was admitted to the hospital for a broken leg?”
“Isn’t true Mr. Grunberg was arrested two weeks after you were married for being drunk and disorderly in the town next to yours?”
“Isn’t it true -”
“James’ broken collarbone -”
“ - broken ribs -”
“ - cracked cheekbone -”
“He got what he deserved,” Winona shouted at the reporters, tears glittering on her cheeks. “Frank was driven to drink! If Jimmy hadn’t been such an awful boy, none of this would have happened!”
Jim stabbed the button to end the feed and slumped back into his seat. Just fucking perfect, he huffed a laugh at his ceiling.
His door chimed. He groaned out loud, but whoever it was, they were insistent.
“Come in,” Jim put his feet up on the coffee table. He was off duty and be damned if he was going to get out of his comfortable position.
Spock entered. Of course. The Vulcan was without his Uhura shadow. “Captain.”
“Spock.” Jim rested his head on the seat back. “What’s up?”
“Up is a relative word. In space, there is no up or down. The -”
“It’s a human phrase, Spock.”
“I see.”
“Is there something wrong?” Jim raised his head to squint at the Vulcan. “Did we finally get our orders? Because the shit’s about to hit the fan. Again.”
“A most peculiar phrase.”
“We humans. Peculiar is our middle name.”
“The homo sapiens race does not have a middle name, as you put it. It is two words, of Latin origin -”
“Spock.”
“Yes?”
“What is it?” Jim waved a hand. “And sit down. Jesus.”
Spock sank down into the chair closest to the couch. “There was another news cycle.”
“Yes.”
“I also obtained a copy of the medical report.”
Jim could feel his shoulders start to knot up. “So?”
“The amount of damage indicated by the files is quite extensive.”
“Thank god for modern medicine.”
“The percentage of damage as compared to the dates for which -”
“Spock. Get to the point.”
The dark head bowed. “I do not have a…point. I am simply,” Spock frowned, head turned to one side. “Vulcans - I have never heard of such violence against the young before.”
“What, your old man never slapped you around?”
Spock’s head snapped up. “The youth of Vulcan are their most prized possession. To strike such a youth is not logical.”
Jim rolled his eyes. “Good for Vulcan.”
“I have observed many times that humans, also, prize their young. Which leads me to question why such an event could occur if -”
“Humans are known for their violence, Spock,” Jim threw an arm over his eyes. God, he was tired. “Child abuse has been pretty much eradicated - at least from the main news sources, but it does happen. Parents hit their kids - sometimes it’s just a spanking, sometimes it’s more.”
“They do not publicize it.”
“Nope. Half the reason this is so big is because they were at a space port,” Jim sighed and let his arm drop. “Frank would have never passed a psych eval to travel with Mom on her ship if she hadn’t greased the wheels with someone - but he’s been after her to take him on a trip for years. She should have just left him in Iowa. At least there everyone knows to keep their kids away from crazy old Frank.”
“Then people in your acquaintance were aware of,” Spock lifted the padd.
“The whole town knew Frank was a miserable drunk,” Jim laughed, but it sounded brittle, even to him.
“And they did nothing.”
Jim peered at Spock. “My mom has - or had, at least - weight with the Admirals. She was a hero’s wife. Plus Frank’s family pretty much was the law enforcement and the town lawyer. The Kirk homestead was a bone of contention between my father’s parents and Frank’s folks. When my mom married Frank, my dad’s parents cut her out of the will. The house will pass to me and Sam when she dies - not that Frank hasn’t tried to get his hands on it and the land. He has, lots of times. Goddamn man,” Jim shook his head. “Me and Sam were just…George Kirk’s kids to Frank. Maybe,” Jim laughed. “Maybe he figured if he drove us to it, we’d either kill each other or ourselves in some stupid way and then he’d have a way into the will.”
“A most illogical man.”
“You can say that again.”
“You did not…report his behavior?”
Jim felt his mouth turn down. “Report it to who? The sheriff? Frank’s cousin. The teachers? Married into Frank's extended family. Doc Roberts? Eighty if he was a day and too old to do anything.” Jim shrugged. “He never killed me, so hey. It’s fine. The hospital patched me up when I was stupid enough to go home when I knew he was awake. Lesson learned, moving on.”
Spock’s hands had curled around the data padd. “I see,” he said.
Jim snorted. “You should probably thank the guy,” he laughed as Spock’s stare snapped to him. “Because of Frank I learned how to take a lickin’ and keep on tickin’. See, it was good for something after all.”
“Jim.”
The way Spock said his name caught Jim up short. “Yeah?”
“I will never thank this man.”
Jim ran a hand over his hair and shrugged. “It was just a joke.”
“I do not see the humor.” It might have been wishful thinking on Jim’s part, but Spock almost seemed…angry on his behalf.
Jim sighed. “Yeah, I guess not.”
Spock stood. “We have also been given our orders.”
“Yeah?” Jim perked up, swinging his feet off the table. “Hot damn, Spock. Why didn’t you say so? Where to?”
“Fourth quadrant of the neutral zone.”
“No man’s land?”
“I do not understand.”
Jim waved it off. “How long?”
“Four weeks. We are to visit Meridian, Central and Omega stations.”
“Awesome. We ship out in the morning?”
“Eight hundred hours.”
Jim clapped his hands together. “Perfect.”
Spock paused near the door, turning back to face Jim. “Goodnight,” he said.
“Night,” Jim called after the retreating back. Weird.
There were even more stares the next day. Jim resigned himself to it - his mom was a persuasive lady. He could bet she had pled her case to any and all media outlets interested. It was understandable that some of his crew would see her side.
“Captain,” Uhura said as she slid in opposite of him. They were alone for the moment. Jim had gotten up early, sleep too elusive for him to catch for long.
“Uhura,” he pushed the remnants of his French toast across his plate. Well, most of his French toast. It had tasted like Iowa dirt every time he choked down a bite.
“Hey,” he said. “I’m sorry, you know.”
Her fork stopped mid-air. “You’re…sorry?”
“About your date night,” Jim set his chin in his hand as he watched her. “You’re dripping.”
She snatched up her napkin and dabbed at the table. “Captain…Jim. I - Spock and I…”
“You crazy kids should get out more,” Jim grinned as she narrowed her eyes at him. “Hey, I know. Take in an art museum or music performance. That’ll knock your socks off.”
“Captain,” she glared at him, but it wasn’t the Stare of Death, so he laughed.
“Oh, come on, live a little.”
“I live just the way I like,” she glanced up at him as she fussed with her tray. “Is that your idea of fun? Loud music and brainless grinding on a dark dance floor?”
Jim snorted. “I’ll have you know a lot of thought goes into that grinding, thank you very much.” He batted his eyes at her. “And yeah, sure, loud music and drinking sure sounds like something Jim Kirk should like, doesn’t it? For a - what was that you called me?” He sat up and snapped his fingers. “Brainless mouth breather, was it?”
A dark look flashed across Uhura’s face. “Gaila was my friend.”
“She was my friend, too,” Jim snapped back before he could stop himself.
“Oh, please.”
“Gaila was -,” Jim snapped his mouth shut. Jesus. This would come up now, just his luck. “Forget it. You obviously know all.” He was about to get up when Uhura grabbed his wrist. Jim jerked away before he could stop the movement.
“Cap - Jim.” Uhura’s ire was gone.
“What?”
“Gaila was what?”
“I don’t want to talk about this,” Jim glared at her.
She glared back. “Gaila was what?”
“My friend,” he hissed at her, sitting back down. They were drawing a few stares. “She - she was an awesome friend. She - what, did you think I didn’t care? Like I was some kind of - fuck, I don’t know, heartless fuck?” Jim laughed, his chest tight. “Oh, wait, you probably do, now. After all the,” he waved a hand. Uhura’s expression had gone rigid. “But I’ll have you know, Gaila meant a ton to me. She - she was - she deserved a hell of a lot more than me, I’ll give you that, but if you think she was just a piece of tail to me then you’re goddamn wrong.” Jim reined back his ire. “There, have I emoted enough for you now? Jesus, I sound like a goddamn imbecile.” Jim stood, snatching up his tray. “I’ll see you on the bridge, Lieutenant.” He stalked away before he could make things even worse.
Of all the days. Of all the goddamn days. He’d had a dream about Gaila in the short nap he’d managed to catch. It had been about the time he’d taken her out to the bluffs south of San Francisco on a picnic. She had laughed and called him a soft touch. It had been a beautiful day, warm enough that the cool sea air had been a blessing. Not a cloud in the sky, the sea shining as it stretched out in front of them.
Less than a week later she was dead, Jim was facing down crazy Romulans and his whole world was turned upside down. But she wouldn’t have stayed, a small voice said in the back of his head. You’re never good enough to make them stay.
Jim threw himself into his ready room until the start of his shift. Reports were safe enough to handle with his mood. They didn’t talk at all.
The bridge was quieter than usual that day. Jim was glad. His temper was close to snapping and the last thing he wanted was to start off a long haul in the neutral zone with a bad taste in everyone’s mouth.
Their first stop would be Meridian Station. Jim was looking forward to it. He had spent the first few years of his life on Meridian, the closest Federation point to Klingon space. His mother and the rest of the evacuees had been escorted there after the Kelvin had been destroyed. Winona Kirk had refused the six transport ships that had come to ferry the refugees to Earth in the first year. Starfleet had been forced to make it an order for her to leave in the second.
Jim had a few blurry memories of the time, of a blue skinned woman in a school or day care of some kind. When he was a teenager, Jim had found the apartment number of where they had lived in an old box of tax data padds in the attic. He’d been hiding from Frank at the time, and for one glorious summer he had all but lived in the library, studying all her could find on Meridian Station. He had vowed to go back one day and now he would.
The thoughts were enough to ease the worst of his anger. What he needed was sleep. Maybe it was time to ask Bones for help. God, he hated to ask. He should be able to deal with this on his own and not be such a damn baby.
His shift ended without more than ten words being spoken between anyone on the bridge. Nice and quiet, smooth sailing. Jim escaped a few minutes early, not wanting a Vulcan shadow all the way to the mess.
He stopped off at his quarters, first, splashing some water on his face. He peered at his reflection; the bags under his eyes looked worse in the harsh yellow light of the overhead.
“Buck up,” he told the mirror. “Get over it.”
In the end, Jim forwent asking Bones for a sleep aid. Jim wasn’t sure if such a request had to be logged and what it would mean if the Admirals got a hold of that information. Pike kept swearing that the Admiralty wasn’t pissed, but guys like Macintyre stayed Admirals for two reasons; they either had dirt on other Admirals or more than one other Admiral agreed with them on a vote. Jim didn’t want to take his chances with either option.
So Jim collapsed into bed, drained and aching from his run in the gym. With the dream that he’d had, he wasn’t sure if he would have preferred to stay awake another long night.
He didn’t have these types of dreams often, which was a blessing. He would have broken a long time ago if they had been a part of his regular cycle of night terrors. Not that the dream was bad, per se. It was more that it was so good, that it broke him a little, each time, to wake up from them.
It was dark in the dream, every time. He was in bed, naked, with someone, someone bigger and stronger than him. Someone with large hands that mapped his chest, curled around his hips, spread his legs. It was so dark in the dream, Jim could never see the other person’s face. But it was always a man.
It was nothing like his usual encounters. The faceless man took his time, came to Jim gentle and - and almost -
He was never held down. He was never forced. The hands would coax his responses from him instead, touched until Jim was a shuddering mess. Jim felt safe in the dreams. Safe and secure, because he knew, he knew this person, for all their gentleness, would never let him go, would never leave, would never laugh at him or at his need. Jim would be able to count on this person, trust this person, fight like fire and acid with them and still know they would always catch him, should he fall.
Jim always woke to tears still wet on his face after those dreams.
Jim vowed to sneak a hypo from Bones the very next day.
Part Eight