Fic: Life So Unfair
Title: Life So Unfair
Author: sunriseinspace
Character(s): Winona Kirk
Rating: G
Disclaimer: I own nothing about Star Trek (2009), its plotlines or characters, including any recognizable dialogue.
Summary: "You know, I used to think it was awful that life was so unfair. Then I thought, wouldn't it be much worse if life were fair, and all the terrible things that happen to us come because we actually deserve them? So, now I take great comfort in the general hostility and unfairness of the universe."
A/N: I wrote this last month for the September Drabblefest on where_no_woman and finally decided that, yes, I needed to post it here, too. : )
+++
When she walks into the bar, you recognize her immediately. It’d be hard not to, after all the months and years you’ve spent studying her life, memorizing the twists and turns of fate as you pursue your own destiny. You’ve seen her face so many times on the holoscreen, alongside articles and biographies, in news feeds and documentaries, learned her history inside and out - at this point, you almost know her better than you know yourself and that, you swear to yourself, is what makes your hands shake as you pick up your drink and walk over to where she’s perched on a bar stool.
“You’re Lieutenant Commander Winona Kirk, right?” you ask, the slightest quaver - excitement, nervousness, star-struck wonder - in your voice. She turns to face you, pushing long silver-blonde hair over her shoulder and away from startling blue eyes to look up at you, a vaguely amused twist tilting her mouth. You quickly drop onto the stool next to her, uncomfortable with the feeling of towering over such a remarkable woman.
“Yeah, just call me Winona,” she responds, reaching out to shake your hand with a firm grip, and you feel the rough brush of calluses against the comparatively soft skin of your own hand. “You’re at the Academy?”
You nod eagerly and she smiles, a spark lighting her eyes at your reaction. You have so many questions you want to ask, so many mysteries you’d love to unravel about the woman sitting in front of you. You take a sip of your drink and cough lightly as it almost goes down the wrong way, trying desperately to corral your thoughts into some sort of order. Winona watches you patiently, slowly working her way through her own drink as she waits for you to speak, her eyes filled with the same sort of acceptance that Admiral Pike’s often are. Finally, after five minutes have passed and you still haven’t said anything, you decide to bite the metaphorical bullet.
“How did you do it?” you blurt and immediately feel your face flush as you scramble to temper your curiosity, to explain it in some way that takes away the rudeness, the blunt, face-slapping honesty. “I mean, just, any of it - raising your kids, keeping your job, doing everything you’ve done so far - after, after...that,” you finish lamely, but the dimple at the corner of her mouth tells you she knows what you’re trying to ask. So you take a deep breath, think for half a second, and actually ask it. “It’s so unfair that it happened to you,” you say, like it doesn’t happen to half the families with members in Starfleet, losing a loved one before their time, “how did you...”
She smiles at you, knowing eyes sweeping first over your uniform, then your hands, lighting briefly on the brand-new band of metal circling your left ring finger. And, yeah, it’d been an important question in the past, something you wanted an answer to, but only in the abstract, not something that ever really mattered, not where it counted. Now, though, now you need the answer, need it like your next breath, like the feel of your lover’s heartbeat under your fingertips, like the instant spark you feel when you see their face. Your hands shake with the need to know and you play with your ring, watching the shadows of the bar warp and shiver in the smooth metal instead of the sad, understanding held in the curve of her smile.
“You know,” she says, her voice soft and melodic under the general white noise of the bar, “I used to think it was awful that life was so unfair.” You look back up at her and you think you can almost see back through the years, to the young woman, the new mother, railing against life and the universe as she clutches her children to her chest, broken heart on full display in her eyes. The image makes your heart skip a beat, the brief cessation filling you with all the loneliness she must have felt, but it dissipates as she swipes a hand across her forehead, brushing her bangs out of her eyes. Still, though, you want to reach out and touch her, console her in some way, though the line of her shoulders and the perpetual curve of her mouth tells you she’s long past the need for a stranger’s false sympathy - she’s strong now in a way you’re not sure you could ever be.
She tilts her head to the side and traces a finger around the lip of her glass, a tiny heart tattoo at the base of one finger flickering like a shadow in the dim light of the bar. She smiles sardonically, eyes filled with wry amusement as she looks back up at you, grinning impishly despite the weight of her words. “Then I thought, wouldn't it be much worse if life were fair, and all the terrible things that happen to us come because we actually deserve them?” She shrugs offhandedly and you almost smile back, feeling more at ease with her than you ever thought possible. “So, now I take great comfort in the general hostility and unfairness of the universe. Means if something goes wrong, ‘snot necessarily my fault.” She swallows the last of her drink and winks, eyes sparkling mischievously at you over the rim of her glass.
You bow your head over your hands, staring at glass you’re cradling between your palms as she orders another drink and adds yours to her tab. You try to refuse but she’s firm, smile curving up on one side to dimple her cheek, and you give in with a rueful shake of your head, smiling back as she laughs at your grudging capitulation. And as the bar lights glint off her hair and shadow the corners of her eyes, again you can see the young woman she once was, before heartbreak and tragedy, the girl George Kirk fell in love with and died for. You press your lips together to stop their trembling and down the remainder of your drink, hissing at the burn down the back of your throat and playing off the tears in your eyes as a reaction to the alcohol.
The dynamic in the crowd shifts, makes you glance over your shoulder at the man standing in the entranceway. You know his face, too, from many of the same news feeds and holovids you know Winona’s and, anyway, the blue eyes and blond hair are too alike even across the bar floor for him to be anyone else. You smile again as Winona lights up when she sees her son, even as you hand your glass off to the bartender and find your coat. The ring on your finger and the nostalgic glint buried deep in slightly faded blue eyes reminds you of your responsibilities at home, how you have someone waiting for you and you don’t want to keep them up too late. You’re glad you’re not leaving Winona alone in the bar, glad that there’d obviously been a plan for her son to meet her here - you feel like you owe her something after the knowledge she just imparted to you, even if it’s just making sure there’s someone nearby that loves her.
You’ll always remember the smile and nod she gives you as you step away from the bar, will cherish it alongside the memory that life isn’t always fair and sometimes it’s better that way.
Author: sunriseinspace
Character(s): Winona Kirk
Rating: G
Disclaimer: I own nothing about Star Trek (2009), its plotlines or characters, including any recognizable dialogue.
Summary: "You know, I used to think it was awful that life was so unfair. Then I thought, wouldn't it be much worse if life were fair, and all the terrible things that happen to us come because we actually deserve them? So, now I take great comfort in the general hostility and unfairness of the universe."
A/N: I wrote this last month for the September Drabblefest on where_no_woman and finally decided that, yes, I needed to post it here, too. : )
+++
When she walks into the bar, you recognize her immediately. It’d be hard not to, after all the months and years you’ve spent studying her life, memorizing the twists and turns of fate as you pursue your own destiny. You’ve seen her face so many times on the holoscreen, alongside articles and biographies, in news feeds and documentaries, learned her history inside and out - at this point, you almost know her better than you know yourself and that, you swear to yourself, is what makes your hands shake as you pick up your drink and walk over to where she’s perched on a bar stool.
“You’re Lieutenant Commander Winona Kirk, right?” you ask, the slightest quaver - excitement, nervousness, star-struck wonder - in your voice. She turns to face you, pushing long silver-blonde hair over her shoulder and away from startling blue eyes to look up at you, a vaguely amused twist tilting her mouth. You quickly drop onto the stool next to her, uncomfortable with the feeling of towering over such a remarkable woman.
“Yeah, just call me Winona,” she responds, reaching out to shake your hand with a firm grip, and you feel the rough brush of calluses against the comparatively soft skin of your own hand. “You’re at the Academy?”
You nod eagerly and she smiles, a spark lighting her eyes at your reaction. You have so many questions you want to ask, so many mysteries you’d love to unravel about the woman sitting in front of you. You take a sip of your drink and cough lightly as it almost goes down the wrong way, trying desperately to corral your thoughts into some sort of order. Winona watches you patiently, slowly working her way through her own drink as she waits for you to speak, her eyes filled with the same sort of acceptance that Admiral Pike’s often are. Finally, after five minutes have passed and you still haven’t said anything, you decide to bite the metaphorical bullet.
“How did you do it?” you blurt and immediately feel your face flush as you scramble to temper your curiosity, to explain it in some way that takes away the rudeness, the blunt, face-slapping honesty. “I mean, just, any of it - raising your kids, keeping your job, doing everything you’ve done so far - after, after...that,” you finish lamely, but the dimple at the corner of her mouth tells you she knows what you’re trying to ask. So you take a deep breath, think for half a second, and actually ask it. “It’s so unfair that it happened to you,” you say, like it doesn’t happen to half the families with members in Starfleet, losing a loved one before their time, “how did you...”
She smiles at you, knowing eyes sweeping first over your uniform, then your hands, lighting briefly on the brand-new band of metal circling your left ring finger. And, yeah, it’d been an important question in the past, something you wanted an answer to, but only in the abstract, not something that ever really mattered, not where it counted. Now, though, now you need the answer, need it like your next breath, like the feel of your lover’s heartbeat under your fingertips, like the instant spark you feel when you see their face. Your hands shake with the need to know and you play with your ring, watching the shadows of the bar warp and shiver in the smooth metal instead of the sad, understanding held in the curve of her smile.
“You know,” she says, her voice soft and melodic under the general white noise of the bar, “I used to think it was awful that life was so unfair.” You look back up at her and you think you can almost see back through the years, to the young woman, the new mother, railing against life and the universe as she clutches her children to her chest, broken heart on full display in her eyes. The image makes your heart skip a beat, the brief cessation filling you with all the loneliness she must have felt, but it dissipates as she swipes a hand across her forehead, brushing her bangs out of her eyes. Still, though, you want to reach out and touch her, console her in some way, though the line of her shoulders and the perpetual curve of her mouth tells you she’s long past the need for a stranger’s false sympathy - she’s strong now in a way you’re not sure you could ever be.
She tilts her head to the side and traces a finger around the lip of her glass, a tiny heart tattoo at the base of one finger flickering like a shadow in the dim light of the bar. She smiles sardonically, eyes filled with wry amusement as she looks back up at you, grinning impishly despite the weight of her words. “Then I thought, wouldn't it be much worse if life were fair, and all the terrible things that happen to us come because we actually deserve them?” She shrugs offhandedly and you almost smile back, feeling more at ease with her than you ever thought possible. “So, now I take great comfort in the general hostility and unfairness of the universe. Means if something goes wrong, ‘snot necessarily my fault.” She swallows the last of her drink and winks, eyes sparkling mischievously at you over the rim of her glass.
You bow your head over your hands, staring at glass you’re cradling between your palms as she orders another drink and adds yours to her tab. You try to refuse but she’s firm, smile curving up on one side to dimple her cheek, and you give in with a rueful shake of your head, smiling back as she laughs at your grudging capitulation. And as the bar lights glint off her hair and shadow the corners of her eyes, again you can see the young woman she once was, before heartbreak and tragedy, the girl George Kirk fell in love with and died for. You press your lips together to stop their trembling and down the remainder of your drink, hissing at the burn down the back of your throat and playing off the tears in your eyes as a reaction to the alcohol.
The dynamic in the crowd shifts, makes you glance over your shoulder at the man standing in the entranceway. You know his face, too, from many of the same news feeds and holovids you know Winona’s and, anyway, the blue eyes and blond hair are too alike even across the bar floor for him to be anyone else. You smile again as Winona lights up when she sees her son, even as you hand your glass off to the bartender and find your coat. The ring on your finger and the nostalgic glint buried deep in slightly faded blue eyes reminds you of your responsibilities at home, how you have someone waiting for you and you don’t want to keep them up too late. You’re glad you’re not leaving Winona alone in the bar, glad that there’d obviously been a plan for her son to meet her here - you feel like you owe her something after the knowledge she just imparted to you, even if it’s just making sure there’s someone nearby that loves her.
You’ll always remember the smile and nod she gives you as you step away from the bar, will cherish it alongside the memory that life isn’t always fair and sometimes it’s better that way.