Jim Kirk was used to this sort of treatment. Hey, he used to get into bar fights all the time - most of them his fault. And he also had Frank, his stepfather... simply being Frank. But despite this, Jim didn't really like getting jumped. On Academy campus of all places.
Actually, Jim wasn't even sure who exactly attacked him, but he sure did have some idea of who was behind it. If the whispers of "Gary, let's go," meant anything. Honestly, there had to be a 'Hate Jim Kirk' club at school. It's where all his haters gathered in jealousy of his dashingly good looks, ease with the ladies, and his intelligence. Psshh - as if. Nope. Gary Mitchell hated him because his father died on the Kelvin before George Kirk saved everyone with his own death. Revenge - never really gets old, does it? And the others, well, they hated his intelligence and ease with his classes in the Academy. Hey, they just don't compare to what Jim's lived through. So yea, Jim kind-of knows who ambushed him. Not that he'd ever tattle, that's for cowards. Plus, Jim's fought so much for one lifetime that fights like these didn't really bother him. Or so he told himself.
So Jim Kirk pushes himself off the floor of the hallway, happy to find that none of his bones were broken - at least by feel. Which probably isn't reliable from his high pain tolerance after Tarsus IV. But hey, at least the pain is on like three out of 10 on his scale (which is probably a seven on most people's). Jim kneels, taking a deep breath and getting his bearings. Dizziness? Check. Nausea? Slight check. Bruises? Double check. Looks like he took one hell of a beating.
Why not fight back? Well, funny story. Starfleet higher ups know Jim Kirk and his juvenile delinquent record. It's not pretty. So if they knew he was caught in a fight (which they'd see if his attackers had visual evidence on their bodies), they'd assume he started it. And if they assumed, then they'd ship him right out of the Academy, neat little bow and all. And even though Jim took to the Academy on a dare, it's his first real chance at a future he's seen since arriving on Tarsus IV. If Jim were to admit it, he'd say that he doesn't really want to stay in the corn fields of Iowa, guzzling Jack Daniels and crappy beers, chasing a handful of skirts a week. Jim knows he has potential. He just doesn't want to waste it anymore.
Swallowing back his nausea, and shaking his head against the dizziness, Jim breathes deeply as he stands up, using the wall as a little support. Convenient he was on his way to the bathrooms. Now he can wash out the cuts and get rid of the blood. Yay. And he can get a damp towel for the blood he now smeared on the wall outside of his shared quarters. Fan-freaking-tastic.
At least his roommate won't have noticed. He can sleep through anything, unlike Jim who wakes up from nightmares and the slightest noise of anything in the middle of the night. And his roommate, frankly, is an idiot. Won't even notice the black eye, blood, and limp. Score.
"Don't you look great," Uhura walked up to Jim, heading to their shared linguistics class. To the one teacher that seemed to like Jim Kirk, at least a bit. Helped that she was saved by his dad during the Kelvin incident as a little kid.
Jim grunted back to her in response. It was his first class of the day, and he felt even worse than before, now that glorious adrenaline had left his system.
"What? Another bar fight gone wrong? You shouldn't even be picking them. Heck, why would you even go to a bar on a Tuesday night?" Uhura chastises, anger slowly showing itself in a simmer.
Jim doesn't correct her. He just keeps walking. She wouldn't believe him. Maybe she'd think he wasn't at a bar. But who would think that inhuman Jim Kirk has been repeatedly bullied over the past five months? Probably no one in the world. No one in the galaxy, even.
"Whatever. I just don't understand why you guys do this to yourselves," she says, letting go of some of her anger and examining her books. She's a master at linguistics, she knows when a conversation is over. "What'd you think of last night's reading?"
"Easy. Vulcan is very easy. 'Specially with our teacher," he acknowledges, not wanting to reveal too much of his intelligence. Then people wouldn't underestimate him and be pleasantly surprised later. Keeps people, most people, uninterested. And that's the way he likes it.
"Yeah. Vulcan's not too bad. Wait until we try Orion," she teases him, trying to make up for some of her anger.
"We have Gaila. Can't be too bad," he jokes back at her, referencing their mutual green friend as they step through the open doors of their classroom.
Starfleet is a science organization, but it also acts as a line of defense for the United Federation. So what does Earth do? Reference its various militaries, navies, and air forces for training. The ones from way back to the twentieth century all the way to the single one right before the Federation was formed. So, Starfleet had a certain military flare to it. Not surprising, really.
Five minutes after arriving and standing at their assigned desks, their instructor walks in. And instantly, heels click and backs become rod straight. Well, almost instantly for the bruised Jim Kirk in the second row.
"At ease, cadets," she says, waving them to sit in their seats, much to Jim's relief.
"You all read last night on the origins of Vulcan language and several translations, yes?" she asks, not yet looking up from her desk, reading her lesson plans.
"Ma'am yes ma'am," the room calmly responds. Commander Tarris really is the easiest going. Maybe that's why everyone likes her. That, and she can speak over six languages, Terran and alien.
"Cadet Wilson," she announces, looking up at the cadet to raise her question in assessment of everyone's reading. "What does the Vulcan term 'alkum' translate to?"
"Moon, ma'am," Wilson responds, clearly relieved that he got one of the few he memorized. Way too easy in Jim's opinion.
"Cadet Uhura. Something harder... kash-to'es."
"Intelligence, ma'am," Uhura responds, slightly upset that she got -what was in her eyes - an easy question.
"Cadet Kirk," she asks, looking at Jim. His appearance startles the composed commander for a split second. From the bloody stained cut on his forehead to the black right eye screams a fight. Even the way he's sitting and holding his arms shows pain that he's concealing. A quick glance to Cadet Mitchell reveals bruised knuckles. Of course.
She'd seen this coming. Mitchell hates Kirk for his father, his intelligence, and his fame. Simple to see his hatred becoming dangerous, even in class. And she knows that Kirk is trying to gain respect from his classmates. Which, apparently, includes a plan of nonviolence.
"Yes, ma'am?" Jim asks, slightly confused as to why she's paused. Was she going to call him out for his appearance? Damn, if she makes a stink about it, the other instructors most certainly will. And he's got physical training today. Damnit.
"Po nam-tor du dash-tor?" she asks in Vulcan. "Why are you hurt," she had asked.
"Fam yehat leralmin," he responds, not missing a beat. "I cannot say," he had replied, to which only a handful of students understood the conversation. He didn't want to say, but he wanted to prove his knowledge of Vulcan.
"Cadet Kirk, front and center," she calls him down to the front of the room. In front of all of his class, which consisted of about maybe thirty people. It was the advanced class of an advanced subject for first year cadets, after all. Not that Jim cared all that much. It's not like their opinions matter to him. No one's does to him, really. Well, except maybe Bones because he's Jim's first real friend that didn't like him just because he saved his life. Man, Tarsus IV really screwed him over, huh?
But Jim complies, and gingerly stands out of his seat, trying desperately to ignore the bruises that litter his body. And the limp that follows as he slowly walks down to Commander Tarris.
"Cadet," she starts, quiet, but loud enough for the room to hear. "What happened to you?" she asks.
Jim doesn't answer. He doesn't want to lie, because he's lied so much in his life, and it sickens him. Plus, Commander Tarris is pretty cool. Why disappoint her?
"Answer me, when I'm talking to you, Cadet!" she orders.
"Ma'am yes, ma'am."
"Why did you show up to my class injured?" she asks.
"I didn't want to miss class, ma'am," he answers, avoiding the question but being a pain in the ass about it. At least a few cadets snickered. Good. Lighten the tension.
"Alright cadet. How 'bout this: you wanna tell me who did this to you?" she asks. "Maybe it was Mitchell over there, sporting some nice bruises on his knuckles. Maybe it was him and his lackys kicking you."
After some silence, from both Jim and the entire class, she tries again.
"Kirk," she sighs, "it's okay. There's no shame in telling me who did this to you. This isn't good for anybody." Looking at Jim's solid, stoney face, she tries once more. "Cadet Kirk, can you identify the cadets that beat you?"
"No, Commander," Jim says, shaking his head just enough.
"Are you saying you don't know who attacked you?" she asks, a bit confused, but intrigued none the less.
Jim takes a deep breath. Maybe Commander Tarris will believe him, but the higher ups definitely won't. Plus, who likes a tattle tale? Worse yet, who likes a coward? A coward who doesn't enjoy fighting anymore since it's ruined most of his life. From birth to childhood to his present life.
"I never said I was attacked, Commander," he answers, finally looking his unswollen eye into her perfect set of green crystals.
"Oh?" she responds. "Enlighten me, then, Kirk. You beat half your body just by sleeping?" It's a few seconds later, but the commander doesn't yell. Kirk's in enough pain.
"I- I sleep pretty hard," Jim says, looking for anything to say. He certainly can't say a bar fight like he does with Uhura, Gaila, or Bones. In fact, he just wants to distance himself from fighting, if he can help it. He needs to gain his classmates' respect, or he'll never be able to command anyone.
Jim watches in disbelief as Commander Tarris snorts at his response.
"You got spirit and grit, Kirk," she says, a smirk still present on her face. "Take the day off. Go to medical, tell them I sent you. And I'll know if you don't go to medical. You don't have to answer any questions," she tells him, walking to her desk and writing a little note for him on an old fashioned sticky-note.
"Cadet Lance, pass forward Kirk's PADD," she orders, resulting in Jim's bag and tablet being sent down the rows to the commander. "Go Kirk," she orders as Jim accepts the bag and note in disbelief, slowly turning around and walking away. Half in shock and half in pain.
It's once the doors shut that Commander Tarris gets angry.
"Cadet Mitchell, front and center," she snaps, causing the bulk of a man to rush to her.
"Answer me now and answer me honestly, Cadet. Did you or did you not attack Cadet Kirk?" she asks, getting in his face despite her 5'3" frame against Mitchell's 6'3".
It's when Mitchell doesn't respond that everyone fears Commander Tarris for weeks to come.
"ANSWER ME, CADET! DID YOU ATTACK CADET KIRK?" she yells in his face, just like the old drill sergeants used to.
"Ma'am yes ma'am," he fearfully responds.
And it's then that Jim's classmates, and eventually most of Starfleet, got a different view of Jim Kirk. Not the full picture, but sure as heck not the flat out lie they once believed in. And Jim can settle with that.
"You know, this doesn't seem like a bar fight to me," Bones answers standing next to Jim's biobed.
"Hey, you can't interrogate me this time, Commander Tarris gave me a 'Get Out of Jail Free' Pass," Jim says, holding up the note but wincing in pain with the movement.
"Stay still, you infant," Bones says. Trying to read all of the injuries on the biobed readout. This is the first time Bones has treated Jim in the Medical wing. It's usually just patch up jobs with his Medkit in his own dorm. But Jim always refused any relation to Starfleet Medical except Bones. It was more than the simple case of "I don't like doctors".
"You've gotta lot of past injuries on here, Jim. And they really don't seem like bar fights either," Bones tells him. To which Jim simply raises his piece of paper slightly, making Bones chuckle. Guess it's a conversation for another time. For now, he'll settle with patching up his friend.
"Here, I'm gonna help you sit up, and we'll take off your shirt. I gotta get the dermal regenerator on a bunch of these bruises."
Jim groans, but gingerly pushes his body up off the bed. It was so nice to lay down. He doesn't do more than slightly raise his arms so that Bones could get off his shirt. He trusts Bones.
"Woa there, Jimbo," Bones whistles. "That's a lot of bruising you got there. And would you look at that? A Starfleet standard issue boot print. Wouldn't you know?" Bones asks, shocked at what happens to this kid.
"That's really somethin'," Jim responds, getting more tired the longer he stays sitting up right. So much so that fifteen minutes after the dermal regenerator on his back, Jim starts to tilt over. Or, in his defense, the room moved on its own.
"I gotcha. Figured this would happen," Bones grunts as he catches Jim from falling on to the floor. "The dermal regen really takes a lot outta ya. Saps up all your energy healing something in a fraction of the normal time. Just lay down and rest," Bones says as he lays Jim down flat, the kid's unreal blue eyes becoming just a bit foggy from the exhaustion. Kid barely sleeps as it is. Jim's stayed in Bones' dorm a few times, and boy does the kid get nightmares. He barely enters a deep sleep, waking up every few minutes to feet walking by or a stray wind. And when he does get that deep sleep, he enters a nightmare. About what, Bones might never know, but it's gotta be simply horrifying to wake a man like Jim Kirk and reduce him to hyperventilation, flinching, tears, and flashbacks.
To avoid that, Bones may have reached over to his trusty dusty hypospray filled with a sedative. And he may have injected it into Jim. But hey, Jim was so tired he could barely feel a pinch or hear a hiss. But he did swear he felt Bones' callused hand pushing his hair back. And he'll swear that he did not enjoy it and that it did not make him sleepy, no sir. Not that it stops Bones the next time.
It's the evening when Jim doesn't wake up in his dorm room. He's not being attacked by Mitchell and his goons or by his nightmares. No. Jim wakes up like a normal person in the Medical wing of the Academy campus. He wakes up to Bones mother hening him and telling him what happened. Apparently he got some cracked ribs and a close call with internal bleeding. Huh, they didn't feel that bad at the time. Good thing Bones is here to patch him up, right?
As he starts to get restless in his biobed, and as the memories start to threaten their way back, Jim's godfather, Cpt. Christopher Pike walks in. Yay, his two most favorite people in the world. Scratch that - the universe. They both chuckle at that - oh wait did he say that out loud?
"How ya feeling, son?" Pike asks. Man, there really is a reason that this man in dress gray is his favorite.
"I feel kind of funny. Bones, what did you do to me?" Jim asks, starting to become very concerned, but unable to work himself up to a panic.
"Just some low pain meds your damn allergic system can handle. And then laughing gas before," he says with a simple shrug as if it weren't a big deal. "You were asleep most of the time, though. So don't get your panties in a twist."
"Jim," Pike says, taking a seat with a frown marring his features. "You should've told someone what was happening. You could've at least told me," he leans towards Jim, clasping a hand on his shoulder, trying to ground him in the conversation.
"Doesn't matter. Didn't wanna be a bother. No one would've cared anyway," a very loose lipped Jim Kirk admits. Well, seems like this is the one and only time to get honest answers from the cadet. Drugged.
"When will you understand that people care? We're not Winona, and we're not Frank. You've got me and Dr. McCoy for as long as we breathe, you understand me?"
"Ssir, yessir," Jim slurs his words just a bit, but Pike smiles none the less.
"Good. Now, rest up and go to class tomorrow. And let me know if someone does this again," he says, gently rubbing Jim's bruised shoulder before getting out of his seat.
Maybe Jim Kirk will finally let people help him. Maybe he'll understand that he doesn't need to bury his pain to protect others from theirs. And when he probably doesn't, he has two people to do it for him.
Alright! A few things. "Dopamine Lover, you really should've been working on A Special Spider," you say. And I know, I know. But I watched some scenes from Hacksaw Ridge and loved the movie. And I saw a similar scene to what I wrote and went: "Wow, I love how that played out. Can I write this? Nah, it's weird to write about real people. Hey, know who isn't real? Cpt. James T. Kirk!" So, yeah. Sorry.
And yes, this really is a scene from Hacksaw Ridge shoved into the Star Trek AOS universe. Not really a secret there. Rights go to both of the fandom's creators (or however I should phrase it). And then I just went crazy with it. I ask forgiveness.
The Vulcan in here is just off the internet, I don't know Vulcan (but I wish I did).
About A Special Spider: I've been in a writer's block. Don't worry, I'm still going and I was on a two week vacation without wifi. But I'm brainstorming! This just got in my way in my head. And I started and went, "wow. This isn't half bad. Why don't I finish and post it?" Good question. So I did it. But now it kind of seems "meh". Probably because Kirk seems out of character. Oh well.
Thanks for reading! Please review! This a one-shot, don't worry!
Love,
Dopamine Lover