A/N: A short Kirk-centric vignette; a view of the Captain through the eyes of a barmaid. Set at the end of the 5-yr mission between 'Six Degrees of Separation' and 'Shadows and Dust.' Stands well on its own; no knowledge of those two prior works necessary.
Beta: None, so all mistakes are mine.
Thanks again to kes7, whose free write prompts have inspired several pieces for me of late, this one included.
Into the Maelstrom
Standing behind the bar, she let her eyes sweep over the room. It had been a typical night – patrons had included friends, lovers, a crowd of unruly cadets from the Academy unwinding after their exams, people obviously on a first date – all the usual suspects.
Except for one.
Pausing in her motions, the glass in her hand only partially dry, her gaze settled on the lone figure, seated in a dark corner. He'd been here most of the night, and while drinking steadily, had refused to let his waitress clear away the used glasses, the substantial number of empties strewn about his table providing him his only company for the evening.
What was his story? He wasn't a bad-looking guy, after all – didn't seem the type to be broken up over a woman – quite the contrary. Years of experience had taught her that this was more than just a run-of-the-mill case of drinking-to-forget-my-woes. Clearly he'd suffered a profound loss of some sort.
Against her better judgment she opened the hinged section of the bar before her, passing through the polished mahogany countertop and making her way over to his table. Just to check on him, she assured herself – he'd had quite a few drinks, and as proprietor of this establishment, it was her responsibility to see that he'd be able to get home without causing harm to himself or others. Besides, they'd be closing for the night in about ten minutes and he didn't look like he had plans to go elsewhere anytime soon.
She approached, expecting him to turn at the sound of her footfalls, but he was light-years away, locked in some private memory…or some private hell, she amended after seeing his face – quite handsome, in fact; God, he looked so familiar – totally devoid of expression, lost in a vision only he could see.
Not wishing to startle him out of wherever it was that he had gone, she cleared her throat softly. Glassy eyes were turned to her, the ghost of a charismatic smile playing about the corners of his mouth, and yet his speech was remarkably intelligible considering the sheer quantity of alcohol he must have consumed over the course of the evening.
"Is there a problem, miss?"
Well, wasn't that sweet. No one had called her 'miss' in at least thirty years. Despite the despair she saw flit across his face in that unguarded moment, his blatant attempt at flattery caused her to smile slightly in return. "Not at all, I just wanted to let you know we'll be closing in a few minutes."
"Thanks." The hazel eyes dropped to the glass in his hand. Raising it to his lips, he drained the remainder of the amber liquid in one fell swoop, his gaze remaining fixed on the empty as he rolled it back and forth between his fingers.
"You okay, mister?" she asked, seating herself in one of the vacant chairs, watching him carefully.
He stiffened, bunching his shoulders, unmistakably taken aback by this overt invasion of his privacy. "Just dandy."
"Is there something I can do? Someone I can call for you?" What at first had been mild curiosity was rapidly turning to legitimate concern.
He chuckled at that. It was a bitter, unpleasant sound. "No one left to call," he whispered to the disorderly row of glasses in front of him, not looking at her.
What possessed her to keep talking she never knew. Plainly he wanted to be left alone, but he reminded her of someone – her son, her nephew, her neighbor down the hall, perhaps – and she couldn't let it go.
"Whatever it was that happened, it's not the end of the world, you know. There are better ways to cope than drowning your sorrows." The mom in her wanted to reach out, brush his sleeve with her fingertips, offer some small measure of comfort, but she didn't dare.
That charming grin resurfaced, the pain she'd seen earlier masked briefly behind a façade of forced cheer. "I'm not drowning my sorrows, I'm celebrating."
"Celebrating what? You could've fooled me."
"I just made admiral." He looked away, darkness settling over his features once again.
"That's great!" she said brightly, clearly at a loss to understand why he found that so upsetting. "Congratulations! That last round is on me." Her brow suddenly creased in consternation. "Most of the Starfleet brass comes in here, but I don't recall seeing you before. Did you just get stationed here?"
The derisive laugh again. "You could say that. I've been away for a while."
"Well, welcome back, Admiral…?"
"Kirk," he supplied, rising on surprisingly steady legs and shrugging on the jacket that had been draped over the back of his chair. "I'll just go settle my bill." He tossed a handful of credits onto the table and made a move to step away.
Comprehension dawned quickly, and she jumped to her feet as well. "Kirk, as in Captain Kirk? Of the Enterprise?"
He muttered something, low, under his breath, his look distant again, eyes vacant. It sounded like, "not anymore."
"I beg your pardon?"
"I said, 'to be sure.'" The smile returned, but there was no warmth in it.
"Really? I'm honored. Can I shake your hand?" Good God, stop babbling already she chastised herself. You sound like a love struck schoolgirl. Get a grip on yourself. No wonder he was all alone – probably trying to avoid the weirdoes like you.
It spoke to his generosity of spirit that a hand was offered to her, when it was obvious he'd rather be anywhere else.
"Pleased to meet you, Captain…uh, sorry – Admiral," she said, shaking his hand warmly. "Name's Jeannie, and I own this place. You're welcome back any time. And forget your tab – it's all on me tonight."
"Thank you, Jeannie, but I couldn't—" he started, dropping her hand.
"Nonsense, I won't take no for an answer. You see, my niece was among your crew, a petty officer first class serving on the Quartermaster's Staff. She got back a few days ago. This is from my sister," she said, raising herself up on her tiptoes, her lips briefly pressed to his cheek. "She was so relieved when Lindsay returned in one piece from her tour of duty, especially since none of the other Starships made it back." She stopped abruptly, blinking rapidly to stem the tears that threatened to fall. "Jamie said that if she ever had the pleasure of meeting you, she'd kiss you herself for bringing her daughter home safely. Now I can let her know you've been properly thanked."
She watched as genuine gratitude softened his eyes. He reached out and grasped her shoulders lightly.
"Thanks, Jeannie, you have no idea how much that means." He squeezed gently. "Give my best to your sister, and your niece – Petty Officer Richardson if I'm not mistaken."
"You're absolutely right." She knew her face shown with unmasked incredulity – his wry look said it all. Unbelievable that he knew Lindsay's name, let alone remembered her. It seemed everything she'd heard about this man was true.
The mood was broken as one of the busboys wriggled past them and began clearing the table, glasses tinkling softly as he dropped them three and four at a time into an oversized bin.
"I should go and let you folks clean up." He started for the door.
"Don't be a stranger, Admiral, I meant what I said – you're welcome here anytime."
This time he flashed her a grin that could melt neutronium, not to mention the heart of an unsuspecting admirer.
"I appreciate that, and thank you for the drinks." He turned once again, opening the door and disappearing into the thick, San Francisco fog.