How did you find me, the old man asks, as if Jim intended to stumble upon the strange Vulcan on this icy wasteland of a planet. As if it was supposed to happen, as if it was not some freak of chance but the workings of destiny. He has never much cared for destiny, if was in fact destiny that landed him with a brute of a stepfather, made him an angry delinquent with nothing to lose, cast him among the blood and burning bodies of a failed world and its tyrant king. If that's what destiny wants of him, then screw destiny.

Spock might speak of parallel universes, of divergence and mathematical constants, but to Jim it just seems like excuses. Is he truly that confined, fated to follow in a dead man's footsteps regardless of whether he has earned it? Is anything of him of worth, if it is not tied to this destiny?

But then, he thinks, if destiny has landed him here, with this amazing crew and a chance to finally do good in the universe, and already Spock speaks of unrecognizable divergence, then maybe it isn't so bad.

He doesn't plan to listen to destiny.

The version of this collection on Archive of Our Own also includes my other two short Trek fics. Here, I'm not going to bother deleting and reposting.