Yup, again.
Sorry that the chapters are rather short.

Cruise To The Edge

I. Crawling

There's lots of special people out there.

I'm not one of them, really. I'm just a normal person who had a lot of luck. Luck, as in surviving a disaster that was supposed to kill me. Luck, as in being in the right place at the right time. Luck, as in having people who were on my side.

Of course, I'm quite brilliant, too.

There are many more like me in Starfleet, though. Many more who never made captain. Many more who weren't supported by the admiralty, who haven't had that kind of trust put into them. I made captain within four years because the right people liked me. And, well, yes, also because my dissertation is not only outstanding, but also quite popular.

After all, I wrote about the Kelvin, and George Kirk. Everybody likes to read about it anyway, even more so because it's a first-hand report. Everybody likes being reminded that heroes still come from Earth. At least some of them.

I don't ever read it. I try never to think about it, even. It still gives me nightmares. Well, that's not exactly surprising, right?

Anyway.

I did a good job writing it. Even without the popular topic, it would've been brilliant.

No, I'm not bragging.

If I weren't good, I'd never have been offered captaincy of a ship. I'd never have been sent out into space, being responsible for the lives of several hundred people. Nobody ever thinks of that when they dream about becoming a starship captain. That your decisions are the matter of your crew living or dying. When everything goes well, you're not even once reminded of that fact.

When something goes wrong, however, suddenly you're painfully aware of every single life on your ship depending on what you impose next.

Also, you're supposed to do quick thinking. You're supposed to come up with an ingenious solution for whatever problem as quickly as possible. Preferably before it's too late.

I've had plenty of wrong.

As crew member, as member of the senior staff, and, most of all, as captain.

Sometimes I think I'm a disaster waiting to happen. Sometimes I think it's just bad luck. Sometimes I think it's good luck, actually, that it happened to me instead of another captain. After all I got most of my crew out of various catastrophes, alive. Sometimes I think it's punishment.

Because all the pain and guilt and responsibility – that's gotta be too much for one person at some point.

I've long been past that point.

I'm still in the game.

Maybe I'm addicted. I just can't stop. Going out to the stars, like so many generations of humans dreamed about. It's like a gift, a possibility. One that I certainly don't want to throw away.

I often wonder whether this is being selfish. Whether I'm keeping some young genius who hasn't had the same chances from getting his shot. But then I think, what if I'm better? Making the wiser decisions, and quicker? What if stepping back costs people lives I could've saved? And then I think that I'm getting decidedly too full of myself. And that, maybe, my staying could cost lives, too. What if the others are better than me? And then I'm back to disaster waiting to happen, and guilt, and punishment.

I kind of keep reminding myself of that, actually.

Really, I'm a little masochistic. At least mentally. Also, I'm probably mental, too.

Who of those like me isn't?

Those like me.

Yup, this is me, punishing myself.

Making sure that I never forget that I'm different.

Because that's what they call it, don't they? Different. Strange. Wrong.

I didn't believe that it was wrong in the beginning. I used to read lots and lots of old books, and was always interested in the twentieth and twenty-first century. Back then, it wasn't wrong, at least not in America. It was quite normal, actually, and who frowned upon it was seen as intolerant. And, well, it can't be all that bad and morally rotten if – once – it was seen as perfectly okay, right? I don't know what made people change their minds within ten years. If I knew, maybe I could do something about it.

Maybe it's because of Starfleet. No. It definitely is.

When I myself was still convinced it was okay I found lots of quotes and justifications that, I thought, might hold in a discussion. Well. They didn't even hold in my own mind. I was told differently too often, with so much conviction, a hell lot more than I myself had, that those doubts that had always been there sprawled like weed.

Sometimes I wish I was living in the twenty-first century. It would've made my life a lot easier. Probably also a lot more boring, without proper space travel accessible for everyone who's got the brains for Starfleet Academy.

Still.

I think I'd trade the stars for being seen as normal.

But, as it is, I'm here.

And people actually do think I'm normal. Which is only because I never told anyone. It's my huge and dark and tearing-me-down secret.

Not even my family know.

I'm a very discreet person, and don't want anyone who isn't involved anyway (and not even those, really) to know even the slightest bit about my private life. Which is probably what has brought me here, to my position as future captain of the flagship. If anyone knew… I'd be gone from Starfleet faster than I could open my mouth to protest.

Knowing that sucks.

What also sucks is that I can't allow myself to be in a relationship, not even if the opportunity came up. Not now, not ever. That I've never given in is probably the only reason that nobody's found out yet. For a man in my position, as popular as me – it's hard to keep any secret a secret. Whatever I tell anyone sooner or later makes its way to the front pages. So, it's still a secret because literally no one knows. I've never talked about it to anybody, and I wouldn't even spill it under torture.

I sigh, and try to forget about the unfairness of the world just for a few minutes. Until I've taken care of that childish bar brawl (not that I haven't had my fair share of fights) happening in front of my every eyes at least.

I whistle – I taught myself that in order to whistle at especially pretty women, because even I recognize those, thinking that it would make hiding the whole ordeal easier – and make a show of my authority, and get rid of those silly cadets-to-be. Who are under my supervision. Awesome. There'll be a few brilliant ones amongst them, and quite a few good ones. Most, though, won't even make it into the second month.

I'm about to turn around and head back to my apartment, spontaneously having decided against getting drunk like initially planned, when I see him.

He's all bloody, and looks worse for wear, obviously having been bashed up neatly. Also, he is in a position that looks quite uncomfortable, and is rather ridiculous. And... he's got the most striking blue eyes.

Ranting at myself I actually make for the bar, intending to ask whether the bartender knows this boy's name. He seems to be a local. No, I'm not just thinking about trying to get this idiot to join Starfleet simply because he's got pretty eyes.

Except that I am.

I've long gotten used to it, actually. I find someone I like – I admire them from a distance – I lose sight of them – I never think of them again. Well, of most, at least.

So, I think it's okay that I'm doing this. He'll be some farmer's son whose family could never afford sending him to San Francisco, because it'd mean losing manpower. Also, as soon as I talk to him, I'll see that he hasn't got the wits, either. So, I can allow myself that little chat. It's not as if he'll ever turn up at Starfleet. And even if he does, we'll probably never see each other.

My whole perfectly acceptable plan goes down the tubes when the bartender tells me the kid's name.

James fucking Kirk.

Oh, sometimes I hate fate. (Not just sometimes.)

Because I know, I can't let the boy waste away in Iowa bars. And he looks pretty wasted away already. Which is not a surprise, really, with how Winona acted when she and her baby son made it back to Earth without her husband. And I just can't let him down, can't let Starfleet down, because of her loss.

So now my conscience's telling me that I have to get him to accompany me to San Francisco, instead of just forgetting about him in five minutes. Awesome. Talk about U-turns.

Fucking incredible.

So, I sit down and do my job, all the time practicing my skills at looking through someone instead of looking at them. I do what I'm paid for, as a recruiting officer, using persuasion, and the guilt trip, and every other rule in the book. It's just my job, really. I'll get him to join, because I have to, because he's Jim fucking Kirk. And once he's joined I won't ever really see him at the Academy, except maybe for a few courses.

It's a pretty good plan, actually, and I'm proud of myself for how I'm sticking to it. Even emotionally.

It's a pretty good plan until I'm told that I'm to be made his academic advisor.

Awesome.

Bloody frigging goddamn awesome.