A/N: Fixed a few typos. Nothing to worry about now. Oh, and it's a tragedy because of what Kodos did. Plus, I might end up killing someone other then the usual redshirt.
Alone again, he stretches his wings
Two eagle wings, like those an angel might have, protrude from his shoulder blades
However, he is no angel
Do angels kill men?
Do angels drink the night away in some hell forsaken dive, only breaking the endless stream of alcohol to engage in bar brawls to break some unfortunates nose or jaw?
At least, in a corner of the closest pub, liquid courage clutched tightly in his hands, nobody thinks him good or pure
They look past the golden locks, the pretty face, the angelic wings, and see him as one of them
A freak
A lonely soul
A man without a home, without a purpose
A man who has long ago taken his heart and placed it in a steel lined box guarded behind a wall of beer, unfriendly words and split knuckles
A man with nothing to loose and everything to risk
And on and on it goes until one day it happens
Every single one of the men who society forgot are offered a chance
A chance at becoming something more then dirty hotel rooms lit with a single naked bulb with cracks in the wall and rats under the bed, more then doing odd jobs, some legal, most not, to earn money which is then squirrelled away to spend in the pub
And finally, it is James T Kirks time
Although it has been years since he went by that name
And this single chance, this one hope, comes in the form of a Vulcan
Instantly he knows things will never be the same again
Vulcans are equivalent to unicorns around here
The general attitude is that pointy eared bastards can go stick it
And Vulcans view Jim's kind as the scum beneath their boots
So when this Vulcan approaches Jim just as he is ready to leave this town and go find another, he is wary
The Vulcan introduces himself as Spock, and claims that he needs Jim's help
Spock knows things
He knows about the child molester/abuser asshole known as Frank
He knows about how his mother couldn't bare to look at him
He knows about how Sam ditched him
He knows about Tarsus
He knows that Jim is one of the surviving nine to have heard Kronos give the kill order
He knows that after Jim was "rescued" by the Starfleet dickheads, he went AWOL
And began the existence (not quite a life) he leads today
And it is that last part Spock is here for
The other eight are dead, but Kodos has been caught, and they need Jim to confirm that it really is him
Jim agrees, of course
Maybe he can sense the winds of change that swirl around him, ruffling the gold feathers of the wings upon his back
Maybe he is tired of going to a new place every night, never staying long enough to form connections with anybody
Or maybe he is finally giving in to the bitter stirs of vengeance that fester deep in his gut
Whatever the reason for making the choice, it is made, and Jim follows Spock to where his shuttle is docked
From the fancy shuttle to the expensive-looking starship Jim travels
He is told that the starships name is the Enterprise, and that with her warp drive capabilities it should only be a two day trip
He is lead down pristine white hallways and passes many brightly uniformed, neat crew members from every side of the galaxy
In his muddy, torn jeans, battered leather jacket stained with patches of motor oil and blood with slits cut into the back, heavy boots that have seen better days and a filthy t-shirt that was once light grey but now is closer to black, Jim sticks out like a sore thumb, and that doesn't even include his wings, which flutter nervously.
He is shown a room, told it is now his and left alone.
After a quick search, revealing three cameras, he slings his falling-apart duffle bag through an air vent and crawls up after it
In the air vent it is quiet, it is secluded and he feels safe
He is woken by the sound of voices outside the door to his room
"Kirk? Myself and the CMO are about to enter the room. Do not be alarmed. No harm will come to you on this ship."
The doors hiss open, and the green blooded hobgoblin enters, flanked by a stranger carrying a medical kit.
Kirk does not care for doctors and their hypo sprays
He hates the way they poke and prod
And then ask questions they don't expect to be answered truthfully because the true answer is glaringly obvious but too painful to admit, and too taboo for them too even consider
So he remains hidden above, watching the men below as they shuffle around
They won't spend long looking for him, this he knows
Nobody ever does
Not the police, not the girls who visit him in the night seeking one thing that they know he, with his looks and reputation, will provide, not the tough guys with the loud bikes and the assortment of weapons
They don't bother with him because they think him a rat, a feathered rat at that. They don't bother wasting the time looking for him, a nobody, because he isn't worth it. He is beneath them
So he waits and watches for Spock and the doctor to leave, as everybody before them has done
But they don't
Spock takes a seat on the bed, and begins to meditate, while the doctor sorts through his kit
"Kirk, if you are listening, we aren't leaving anytime soon. We just want to check you over, see if you're healthy. We don't want to hurt you, we want to help."
So the doctor could speak
And what's more, Jim could feel the mans words eating away at the defences that encircled the chest that hid his heart
Throwing caution and years of solitude to the wind, Jim jumped out of the air vent, landing on the floor with a thump
"So have at me doctor"
"McCoy. Leonard McCoy"
The doctor said, introducing himself, and Jim inwardly winced
"No. Not your proper name. I'm not calling you that, anymore then you're calling me James Kirk. My name is Jim, McCoy, you can be...what do doctors do...Bones, cause doctors fix broken bones but not broken hearts"
He saw Bones glance at Spock, and Spock gave a tiny, nearly unnoticeable nod
Unnoticeable without a few years of the type of training Starfleet dished out, or a life time of learning to read body language like a book
"Ok then Jim, I've just got a couple of questions. First, why can't I call you Kirk, why am I now Bones, and why didn't you give a nickname to Spock here?" Bones asked, his tone friendly and light, but his eyes burning with curiosity, worry and perhaps fear? Ah. Bones was afraid his new charge was mentally unstable, or "bat-shit crazy" as the locals put it.
"George Kirk was a great hero, so James Kirk must be too. However, Jim isn't no hero. Ask anybody you like."
There it was again. The glance of he's-more-messed-up-then-I-thought
"And me and Spock?"
"Leonard McCoy is head doctor on a shiny new ship were everybody acts like they have poles shoved up their asses. Bones...Bones is somebody different. Bones is whoever you want him to be. Spock however is a Vulcan. Vulcans always act like they have poles shoved up their asses. Not even a chance at being somebody new would change that."
"Uh huh. Now, tell me about your wings." Bones asked, swiftly changing topic
At his words the magnificent wings that had been folded, resting against his back unfurled and tensed, ready to either flee or sweep the offenders out of the way
"What about them?" Jim replied, his tone neutral but his whole body tense, ready for shit to go down
This time, when Bones looked at him, he actually saw Jim
Not the cocky rebel
Not the rat
Not the drunkard
Not the sex god
Not the champion pub brawler
Jim
The winged man of about 23 who was desperately trying to cover up that he was scared shitless
Bones may not have been a shrink, but he could tell when something had caused a man so much pain and misery that they hated it when anybody even mentioned it
Jim's wings had caused him pain
Because it was not normal to have wings
Jim was not normal
And people like to crush anything that doesn't comply with their own sense of "normal"
A/N: Please review for the love of Tribbles. I'm not sure if I should continue this, I just wanted to see people's response and feedback. So please, review.