I've noticed that in many fanfictions, Kirk is always abused by his step-father Frank and that his mother is always "Off-planet" which seems to translate to "never home or a part of his life." For some reason, that bothers me, so I came up with an alternate theory. Maybe Kirk just couldn't deal with being the son of a famous man. Also, Tarsus, which is enough to mess anyone up. I also have a hard time believing that his mother would just be AWOL for the rest of his life. I wouldn't think she would be that negligent. Anyway, if you read this, have fun with the story, I hope it makes you think.

He isn't George Kirk.

That much, of course, was obvious. If one looked, the differences were plain. Frank was taller, heavier, had a darker complexion. Any casual observer could see that.

If one were to look closer, there were other variances. Kirk's roughly the same age as him, but he acts more boyish. His face is younger, his eyes still shining with a youthful innocence. Franks own eyes had long since lost that view of the world. He's a harder man, his face more ragged and his posture more defensive.

All of these dissimilarities were clear to see to anyone looked close enough. But there was one difference between George Kirk and Frank Waller, the one thing that defined how each acted, the one thing that no one would ever have to look hard to find.

George Kirk has Winona Lively's love. And Frank Waller does not.

Frank and Winona were good friends in high school. They had dated in college. Then Winona had wanted to join Starfleet and Frank did not. Space made him nervous and he was just as happy to have his feet permanently planted on the Earth. They had tried to work it out, and they did. For about six months. But Frank's dreams kept him solidly grounded, and even when Winona was not physically up among the stars, her mind still was. The two of them parted on amicable terms. Well, mostly. Frank would never admit how much their parting tore him up, but it was what she wanted and so he gave it to her.

Then she met Kirk, a man destined for greatness in Starfleet. A rising star among the cadets, a shoo in to have his own ship in six years. Two years later, when he graduated from Star Fleet, he asked Winona to marry him.

She said yes. Of course she did. Frank was invited. He didn't go. She called him. He ignored her.

Ten months later, he heard news of the birth of their son. Well. That was fast. He didn't send a gift. She called him. He ignored her.

Three years later, word reached him that she was pregnant again. And Kirk had been promoted to First Officer of the Kelvin. He and Winona would spend a year on board while their son – Johnny, Sam, whatever his name was – was Off-World at some sort of school, staying with his grandmother. Frank was glad that Winona was having such a wonderful life, he really was. But…did it have to be so wonderful? She called him. He ignored her.

And then, not three months after Frank had finally decided that he really did miss her friendship, that the next time she called, he wouldn't ignore her, that maybe he could be "cool Uncle Frank" or some shit, word reached him once more.

The Kelvin had been attacked. First Offi - Captain Kirk had taken command of the vessel after Robau's death. He had saved the lives of over 800 people – including Winona and her newborn son – by sacrificing himself. Frank called her. She ignored him.

Then Frank was nervous. Nervous that maybe Winona wouldn't recover from this. He remembered how torn up he was about their splitting. And they hadn't been married. With kids. And she hadn't died. Worse, she hadn't died in some tragic, noble sacrifice while he watched while trying to give birth to her son.

Okay, well that train of thought got weird, but he knows what he meant. So now he was nervous that it was all too much for her. He remembers his mother, or rather, remembers the stories of his mother. She had suffered from post-partum depression after his birth. She didn't live to see his first birthday. And his mother hadn't even had reason to be depressed. Not like Winona did, anyway.

Two weeks later, he's watching the news cast of Captain George Samuel Kirk's memorial. Not funeral, for there is no body to recover. He sees Winona with her elder son. She's deathly pale, dark circles under her eyes, and a vacant, numb expression on her face. Her pain cuts through him. He was never overly fond of Kirk – though jealousy may have been a part of that, he admits – but he can see what his death is doing her, and for that, he grieves.

The next day, he calls her again. She ignores him.

Every day for the next month he calls her, hoping that she'll answer, that there will be something he can do. She doesn't answer. What can he do?

Finally, he gathers all his courage and gets on a shuttle. It isn't hard to find out where she lives. She's now the famous Mrs. Kirk, tragic widow of Starfleet's greatest hero. The shuttle touches down in the city, and it's a long walk to the little house that she resides in, but he needs the time to steady his nerves, to figure out what he's going to say to her after three years of silence.

He doesn't register any details about the actual house when he gets there. He has tunnel vision now; all he can see is that front door, as he slowly approaches it. His anxiety gets worse with each and every step, but soon he's raising his hand and before he knows what he's doing, he's knocking.

An agonizing three minutes later, Winona opens the door. She looks like she's fairing even worse than he imagined. When he'd seen her on the news, she had looked grief-stricken, yes, but she had at least been composed. He realizes, much too belatedly, that she was being filmed. Of course she would seem composed. Noble widow of George Kirk, that was who she would have to be now.

"Oh. Frank," she says, and he flinches slightly at the hollow sound in her voice. "I thought you would be another…sympathizer." And though he knows that that she is supposed to sound disgusted, it's just that same hollow and dead voice.

"Winona, I…" He looks at her uncertainty, no longer sure what the hell he is supposed to do. "I came to…check on you."

She stares at him for a long time, and he fidgets and withers under that gaze. He feels as though he's 19 again, and she caught him sneaking out to a bar. Finally, she beckons him to come in. At her indication, he sits at a kitchen table, and he notices that every bit of the house he's seen so far is clean and tidy.

She's sitting opposite him, staring at him, and damn, he isn't a psychiatrist. He doesn't know how to handle this. He doesn't know the signs of depression or suicide or proper coping. Why didn't he do some research – any research? And so he asks the first thing that comes to mind, something he'd heard a doctor once mention to his father.

"Have you cried yet?"

The words are out before he can stop himself. He's going to smack himself, he is. Winona is just staring at him, like he's lost his mind, and he probably has. What, in the name of all things sensible, is he doing here; talking to a woman he loved to distraction about the death of the man she loved to distraction?

Then, slowly, miraculously, she shakes her head, though she looks scared as hell to admit it. And then she's talking to him, slowly at first, but then faster. It makes him wonder if she's talked to anyone at all. His heart breaks for her.

"I…I've been afraid to cry. I felt as though… it's the one thing that will make it all…final. True… Crying for G-Ge-him, will… make it official, means he really won't come back. And…and I have the boys. I have the boys, and I'm trying to be strong for Sammy, he doesn't need to see his mother be a basket case all the time. But I just don't know. I don't know how to deal with this. And I don't know if I'll ever be able to deal with it, and that makes me more afraid than anything else. That I'll never be strong enough to think about him without want to break down, that I will live the rest of my life in this kind of numb state, where I'll never be able to even think his name or of the time we had together. That I won't be able to look at my sons without seeing him, that I'll resent my own sons for having his DNA."

Her voice is shaking, her breathing unsteady. Frank knows what to do now, knows that this is the one thing in life he was meant to do. He knows that the reason for his existence is to make sure that Winona Lively-Kirk doesn't fall into her grief and waste away, doesn't waste her extraordinary life.

He stands and crosses to where she's sitting. He kneels before her and grabs her hands gently. He gazes into her eyes, trying to communicate only affection and acceptance and comfort.

"Cry, Winona" he says, as softly and gently as possible. "Let yourself cry. Let yourself fall apart. I'll be here."

For a long moment she stares. Then the tears well up and she throws her arms around his neck, buries her head in his chest, and falls apart.

He holds her for hours while she sobs and wails and mourns her loss. When her cries finally quiet into soft sniffles, he strokes her hair until she falls asleep, finally exhausted, tears still wet on her face. Gently, he lifts her up and finds a bedroom. Placing her softly on the bed, he pulls the blankets up over her. He finds a chair and carries it into the room, determined to be there for her when she woke up.

He isn't George Kirk. He never will be George Kirk. He knows better than to even try.

But he is Winona Kirk's friend.

He isn't George Kirk.

He seems to remember having that thought before. It's been nine years since the man's death. Nine years since little Jim Kirk lost his father before he even knew him. Nine years since Frank had gone to Winona's home and helped piece her life back together.

He'd promised her he'd be there as long as she wanted. She hadn't asked him to leave yet. That was probably the cause of his current frustration. People…misinterpreted their situation. Frank got a lot of grief for that.

At first, he understood. It bothered him, but he understood. The people loved George Kirk; he was the perfect hero. So he understood that people might not realize that Frank spending all that time with Winona was simply because she couldn't handle moving on by herself. He knew that she needed a small part of her life before George, untouched by his memory, to cling to. Miraculously, his previous callousness - not going to the wedding, not contacting her, and not even meeting the man – gave her hope that life could go on without her husband.

And so he was there. He made sure she ate her meals and had food in the house. He listened every time she wanted to talk. He did anything and everything he could think of.

But…

He didn't want this; didn't want to be the slimy bastard who was poaching on the fame of the poor, widowed Mrs. Kirk; didn't want to be hated by thousands of people who didn't know him from Adam. But most of all, he didn't want her children to hate him.

And hate him they did. Though maybe hate was too strong a word for little Jimmy; the young boy admired his brother more than anything, and that meant that if Sam hated Frank, Jim did too, even if he didn't understand. For Sam, however, the word was probably accurate enough. Young Sam was old enough that he had fleeting memories of his father. Old enough to know and understand the disgust aimed at Frank. And young enough to let it influence him.

Frank knew it didn't help that he reacted poorly to the criticism aimed his way. He had never been good at dealing with that, never been able to handle the silent glares, judging, and accusations that his mother's family aimed at him since his own childhood. Winona told him that it didn't matter what others thought, they knew the way things stood, she appreciated him in more ways she could say, the children would come around. He wanted to believe her, he really did.

Frank knew that his personality was probably partially to blame. Frank, by nature, was more callous than was considered seemly. Loud, bumbling, known to drop swear words, known to get a little drunk when he felt the situation demanded. Admittedly not something any boy would want in a father. But Frank was not the father of Sam and Jim Kirk. He hadn't even wanted kids of his own. He couldn't help but think that he was just doing the best he could.

Yet still he was frustrated. It was his frustration that found him in his current position.

Winona had gone to visit her ill mother off-planet and had left the kids in his care. It wasn't the first time he had watched them without her, but it was the first time he was responsible for getting Sam home from a friends. And, like so many things in his life, Frank failed.

It hadn't even been his fault, really. 1 o'clock at the Willard's, Winona had told him before she left. And so, at promptly 12:45, Frank and Jim headed out to pick up the boy. Ten minutes later, the car breaks down. It takes him over an hour to finally pick up Sam, and by then the boy is furious and the parents of his friend are giving him dirty looks.

When they're back at home, Frank is brooding over repeated misfortune with the Kirk boys when he overhears a snippet of their conversation in Sam's room.

"I think it was an accident, Sam."

"Oh, please, Jim, don't be dense. The man hates us and was trying to avoid having me around as long as possible."

"But…the car…"

"He's just trying to replace Dad. You don't remember him, you wouldn't know. I can't stand living here anymore. I heard Mrs. Willard talking to her friends. She says that Frank's just waiting until Mom agrees to marry him, that Mom and Frank used to date. She says Frank had been waiting for Dad to die for years, hoping he could be with her. He didn't even go to Dad's memorial. Mrs. Willard said that Frank's just hoping to get rich off of Dad's fame – "

And then, before his mind caught up with his actions, the door is hanging open and the kids are staring at him a little slack jawed. Frank remembers shouting something, but he isn't sure what it was. Then Sam, with one disgusted look at the man, picked up a bag and storms past Frank and out of the house.

Frank knows he followed him, all of the dark thoughts he's been trying to repress for nine years suddenly pouring out towards the young boy.

"You know what, get the hell outta the house! When your mom comes back, she can deal with you. Go ahead, go! Run away! You think I give a damn?" He told the kid, with Jim following behind him, watching the exploding scene with worry on his face.

"Wait, where are you going?" Jim asked his brother nervously.

"As far as I can get" came the short reply.

He knows he should have stopped, knew it even as the harsh words poured from his mouth. "Which won't be far enough. This is my house. Not yours, not your mothers. What do you want Jimmy?" He rounded on the boy, annoyed that he too is witnessing Frank's outburst.

The child – really, he is just a kid – stares up uncertainty. "I just don't want my brother to go."

And of course he would choose Sam in this matter. Not Frank, who had done everything in his power for the Kirk family. Not Frank, who is ridiculed and mocked and mistreated, all for them. Not Frank who had long ago reached his limit. And so he says the one thing that will forever turn James Tiberius Kirk against him.

"Well, what you want doesn't matter. You're no one. And I asked you wash the car. How many damn times do I need to repeat myself?" He rounds on Sam. "Go."

And he storms back inside, already regretting his words and actions. He stands in the kitchen for a moment, huffing. And now he's collapsed into a chair.

The realization strikes him like a blow; he knows that what he's done may be beyond forgiveness. Hit outburst at Sam might have been warranted. Given all the years Frank had dealt with the abuse, the fact that he snapped at the boy was understandable – though he knew it didn't make it right. What he sincerely regretted was losing his temper with Jim.

He had heard that the boy had questioned his brother's accusations; that he had been at least partially on his side. And then Frank had yelled at him, saying those terrible hurtful words. The car needed to be sold, yes. Winona needed the money and really the sight of George Kirk's car – which for years she has told Frank was his now, not that he wanted it - was hurting her more than she would care to admit. But that didn't give him the right to yell at Jim.

And then the full impact of what he said to the boy, to young little Jimmy who struggled so much with his father's legacy. The child whose father had died for him, the kid who so strikingly resembled his father, the boy he just told was no one-

Frank stumbles to feet, heading towards the door. As he reaches it, though, he hears the engine of the car start and tires squeal. Wrenching open the door, he stares in shock at the back end of the vehicle, the dust cloud billowing behind it. For maybe three minutes he stands there, unable to believe that the perfect, straight-A student Jim Kirk has just taken his father's convertible for a joy ride. Then he comes to his senses.

Sprinting towards the communicator, he quickly pulls up the car's code, waiting impatiently, his panic and rage rising rapidly.

The calling tone suddenly stops, and once again Frank's mouth is ahead of his brain. "Hey, are you out of your mind. That car is an antique. Do you think you can get away with this just because your mother is off planet? You get your ass back home now. You live in my house, buddy. You live in my house and that's my car. You get one scratch on that car and I'm going to whip your as-"

The line goes dead and he stares in shock at the screen that tells him he's been hung up on. An instant later, and Frank is about to kick himself. Never mind Jimmy's forgiveness or even Winona's, he's never going to forgive himself.

He isn't George Kirk.

That seems to be the root of all of his problems, really.

He isn't George Kirk, so the first time Winona goes off-planet years, Frank messes up and Sam Kirk runs away.

He isn't George Kirk, the psychologist tells them, and so Jim Kirk drives his father's car into a quarry, nearly killing himself in the process. Winona has to come home.

He isn't George Kirk, and so Jimmy becomes a juvenile delinquent. Nothing Frank does helps. And then he does the worst thing to Jim, the one thing the young man will never, ever forgive him for: He sends him to Tarsus IV, in an attempt to give the boy time away from home, on a planet away from the one where he faced so much scrutiny. Young Kirk has to live through one of the worst terrors in human history and when he returns, his eyes are hollow and filled with horror. It's a long time before that look goes away, and soon after, Jim leaves home.

He isn't George Kirk, and so Frank makes so many mistakes. He doesn't tell Winona's children what they came to mean to him over the years. He continues to react poorly to all the criticism aimed his way. He blurts out that he loves Winona one day and the children over hear him. They would never marry, Frank isn't sure he even loves her like that anymore, but their already low opinion of him lowers even more. Later, he's too slow in making amends with Sam and the boy's wife chases him out. When now-Captain Kirk saves the Earth and galaxy, it takes him three weeks to figure out what to say to Jim and he can't figure out how not to sound like he only wants to be friends with the famous hero. Those boys have been ready to see the worst in him for years now, though really all he's feeling is pure relief that Jimmy survived the massacre of the cadets above what was once Vulcan.

He isn't George Kirk. Frank lived to comfort a grieving Winona. He lived to try and raise two boys who want nothing to do with him. He lived to know that he never expected this for his life. He lived to have many regrets.

He isn't George Kirk. He didn't die to save anyone. But he likes to think he's made a sacrifice all the same.