Twelve Minutes
Fandom: Star Trek XI
Pairing: Gen
Series: Becomes, a Woman
A/N: This series is meant to illuminate the stories of the women of Star Trek. Some of them have names, some of them a line or two. Most are simply background. I take liberties with this fact, as it allows me to create for them lives and names.
This was supposed to be Renee's last mission. Technically, her last mission had been months ago, a nice, routine milk run. A last taste of the strange camaraderie the Kelvin's crew had developed over the past year. She would miss it, and it was nice to feel the way they all clicked, all ran smoothly and perfectly together, one last time.
But she was ready to do something different. She was going back to the Academy, to teach. It was what she'd always wanted to do, really. She liked the fact that her crew, even when she had just signed on, didn't hold that against her. And Renee, in turn, appreciated being on a ship with 900 people who were just as smart as she was.
It was always supposed to be a temporary assignment, to give her experience on a starship past what was technically required. To help her grow, so she could groom the next generation of Starfleet officers. That's what Komack, one of the newer admirals, had told her.
Technically, her last mission had been months ago. Technically, she should be in San Francisco writing up her syllabus. And then, there had been some sort of emergency, and here she was.
Renee was sure there was a kind of dark, vaguely humorous irony in this. She could see Kirk, the XO, Narita, the Communications Officer, could see their fingers flying over consoles. There was no hesitation there, no fear. Kirk's wife, Winona, their tough-as-nails Chief Engineer, was currently in sickbay, hours into labor. Renee could see no doubt of success in Kirk's eyes, and she knew Winona well enough to know there would be none in hers, either.
She was unsure whether to be in awe of them or to weep for them.
Perhaps, she should have been weeping for all of them, sobbing with every rock and shudder of the ship. Intellectually, yes, she should have. But she couldn't. Renee was a professor, an academic. She did not belong here, on a starship, fighting for the lives of 900 people. And yet… Somehow, in that moment, everything came into stark, crystal focus. Her life did not flash before her eyes, no, but everything seemed clearer. Renee could feel her every breath, every heartbeat, as she never had before.
Every second that passed seared itself into her mind.
They were going to die, and she was the only person on the bridge who seemed to realize that glaringly obvious fact.
Somewhere, she could hear Robau give the order to evacuate. She caught his gaze, watching her. He was a good captain, close to his crew. He knew she wasn't supposed to be here, wouldn't, in a few more minutes, if things worked out right. Renee almost smiled at him, but something caught her attention. Her eyes darted to the viewscreen, where a bald, tattooed Romulan had appeared, presumably from the enemy ship.
Her blood went cold.
They were all going to die. Realization seemed to strike them all at once, and the bridge was focused on Robau. All except Renee. She couldn't bear to look at him.
She was never supposed to be here.
Renee isn't sure what she had expected, but this isn't it.
She's standing on the porch of this old farmhouse in Iowa, shifting nervously on the creaking, whitewashed wood. She can't hear movement inside, and she wonders if she should knock again. The door is dark, navy blue, paint peeling off the wood. Renee doesn't blame them for wanting to live in a house like this. It's old, really old-she doesn't think they even made houses out of wood after the 21st century. Space doesn't feel anything like this. She can't blame them for wanting to feel something different.
And okay, if she's waxing philosophical about the door, it's probably time to knock again.
But before her hand has time to move, the door is swinging open. And there's Winona.
She's wearing a loose white tank top and a pair of shorts, and she's got her son cradled against her shoulder, clutching a strand of her hair that's fallen from the knot at the back of her neck. Renee notices the dark circles under Winona's eyes, how pale she is. Somehow, she manages to look strong, despite the way she hangs back, wary, her hand going protectively to the baby's back.
"Hey, Winona," Renee says, feeling as if she's talking to a stray dog, like Winona's a second from either attacking her or bolting. "Can I come in?"
Winona doesn't look like she wants to do it, but she opens the door wide enough for Renee to step through. There's music playing somewhere in the house, and Renee is vaguely surprised at how clean and bright it is. There's a soft breeze blowing in through the open windows.
Renee's apartment is a mess, and if her shrink sees something Freudian in that, she can only imagine what he'd say if he saw this.
"You want coffee?" Winona asks. She's patting the baby's back absently, but her eyes are locked on Renee. It's too intense, and Renee squirms under her stare.
"Yeah, sure."
Winona disappears into the kitchen. Renee is probably supposed to follow, but she can't move.
She hear footsteps, small, rushing down the stairs. Renee looks up. It's Sam. Renee's never met him, but she's heard George and Winona talk about him before. He's six, and he breaks Renee's heart. He's too young for this, for his dead father and his broken mother.
"Mom?" Sam's frozen, standing at the bottom of the stairs. His brown eyes are huge. Renee wants to hug him, but he looks terrified at her just standing there.
Winona's in the hallway in a second, still holding her other son. She looks between Sam and Renee for a moment, and Renee's stomach clenches.
"Sammy? Sammy, come here," she says, holding out her other hand. Sam takes it, looking at Renee suspiciously. Winona retreats back to the kitchen and this time Renee follows.
Winona gestures to the table with her head, slipping her hand out of Sam's grip expertly, reaching into a cupboard for coffee mugs.
Winona drinks her coffee black. Renee normally puts milk in hers, but not today. She doesn't want to think she's too afraid to ask. There's just something about the atmosphere around this woman.
Winona sits across from her at the small kitchen table, sitting the baby in her lap. Sam parks himself on the floor nearby, and Renee feels his dislike, as if she is somehow other, and intruder.
"His name is Jimmy," Winona says, slowly. "I don't think I ever told you that."
"No, you didn't." Renee pauses, feeling awkward. "He's beautiful."
Winona gives Renee a look like she's about to either laugh or cry. "I know. Poor kid."
Renee doesn't know what to say to that.
"So why are you here?"
It's a good thing Winona was an engineer. She's a genius with engines, but she's godawful with people. George was always great with people.
"It's been a year," Renee says. She didn't mean to say that. She'd meant to say 'I don't know.'"
"Look, if you're trying to get me to some bullshit Starfleet thing, you can tell Komack to fuck himself. I'm not interested." She's toying with Jimmy's hair, soft and honey blonde like her own. Renee shoots Sam a glance when Winona swears, and her eyes drift to the floor when she finishes speaking.
"No, it's not that." She isn't exactly surprised Winona doesn't get it.
"Good. I fucking told Komack, I'm taking three years off. No space till Jimmy's old enough to stay with George's parents." Renee's amazed at how gentle her voice is with the boys, standing in stark contrast to the complete lack of emotion when she says George's name. "So if that isn't it, then what?"
"I just… I don't know. It's been a year. I'm teaching now. And I'm on three different anti-depressants. It's been a year, Winona."
Winona just laughs. "And you think that's supposed to be enough? You always were naïve, De Luca." Renee shrinks back, gripping her coffee cup. Winona's leaning forward, eyes crushingly intense.
"So your life sucks, and you think maybe if you can talk to someone else who was there that'll help? You think you'll be able to sleep again?" Winona's holding Jimmy too tight, and he starts to cry. Winona's face immediately goes soft, and she hums a lullaby, rubbing small circles in Jimmy's back as he snuggles into her shoulder.
She looks up at Renee a moment later, eyes cool. "You're a professor, De Luca. You're an academic first and an officer second. And…" Of all times, this is when her voice catches. "Starfleet's going to change after this, you know. People like you aren't going to be the best and brightest anymore."
Renee can't speak. She can't breathe.
Winona's right. Renee doesn't know how she knows. Everything in her is disgusted by it. But Winona's right.
It's just…. She doesn't want to think about what kind of people Starfleet needs now.
Her coffee's gone cold.
"I wasn't supposed to be there."
Winona looks at her, this fierce, penetrating stare. Like she's trying to figure Renee out. It's disconcerting.
"Wishing you weren't doesn't change anything."
"I know." She does know. It's just… She almost died, and you don't just go on living after that, like nothing's changed. Renee looks around her and there's no way to deny it. Everything's changed. The house is utterly devoid of George's warmth, of whatever Winona was with him.
"Sometimes," Winona continues, and it's slow, calculated, like she wants to make sure it comes out right. "Sometimes there isn't an all right. Sometimes you don't hit equilibrium. Sometimes it doesn't ever stop hurting. You have to do something with that, De Luca. Otherwise, you'd better go shoot yourself in the head now."
It's so strange, hearing Winona give advice. It's harsh, and Renee's not sure what to make of it, but it makes Winona, badass, larger-than-life Winona, seem human. It's amazing and frightening all at once.
Renee stands up. "Thank you," she says. Winona doesn't move. Jimmy's curled sleepily in the crook of her neck, and she's still holding him protectively, even though there's nothing for her to protect him from, here.
"I'm sorry about George," she says, knowing it's a filler, knowing she has nothing else to say. Winona seems to understand, because she gives a curt nod and doesn't say anything.
Sam runs up and hugs her on the porch. Renee doesn't understand Kirks.
Twenty years later
Jimmy Kirk is in her Advanced Tactics class. He's got George's eyes, Winona's strong, uncompromising presence, and a smile that's a weird mix of both of them.
She still doesn't understand Kirks, but she does understand that he is what Winona meant when she talked about a new kind of Starfleet officer. The kid's going to be great, a legend. Renee was on the Kelvin. She knows a hero when she sees one.