disclaimer: I do not own Star Trek, I only take the characters out for a spin when I get muse.
warnings: Language, OOC-ness, sexual things, and more. Rating might/will go up in later chapters.
Breep. Breep. Breep.
He fumbled in a sleep induced haze, feeling the smooth of foreign, polished wood, and the curve of the plastic. Finding the switch he pressed down on it, effectively silencing the annoying sound coming from the alarm clock. Kirk rolled back over onto his back, the heavy weight of the comforter making the movement noisy, and stared at the blank ceiling. A heavy sigh passed through his lips as he wondered why he was still there, still there being a hazard to his mother.
A mother that could barely look at her son without thinking of her late husband, or bursting out into tears. There were the rare glimpses of pride in that face, proud that she was at least raising her son. But it was usually disgust. Accusing eyes latching onto his, laying the message down for all to see.
He could hear her voice now, laced with a sorrowful venom, she just couldn't help it.
How dare you, the sweet face would say, time slowing to make it all that worse, how dare you waste the life your father risked his life. How dare you disgrace his name.
Kirk? In turn he would just smile a carefree smile, maybe laugh in that accusatory face. Get looks of disgust from anyone nearby who could read the silent signals between mother and son. Once, once, someone had voiced their thoughts aloud. They had said he was apart of the trash of the human race. The lowest of the low.
And he. He had laughed.
It was ingrained into his body, his mind, the people around him's minds. It was how Kirk was. He was never anything but a troublemaker, scum. There would never be anything different to him. Even if it was getting old, even if they couldn't stand to look at him, hear his voice, hear about him in the local gossip mill, he hardly changed. Perhaps got more devious, more raucous, but it was never any different if you stripped it down to the basics.
It was old. Change was in order, for all sides of the conflict. But it felt as if he couldn't change.
Like he would be breaking some age old law that this was all James T. Kirk was to be.
A low life.
"Jim?"
He turned towards the tentative, light voice of his mother, surprise barely showing at the lack of hidden scorn in her voice. She sounded reserved, like she had finally given up on her son. That he was never going to be anything but a cheap imitation of the real thing. He wasn't his father.
He tried not to sound cautious. "Yes, mum?"
"Are... are you going to the new bar in the outskirts? That space-y... themed one?" Oh. That's what it was. It was always like this when a new bar opened up. His mother would act different, he would be strangely forlorn, but he would go to the bar anyways, drink, and get into a fight. Because that's what Kirk did.
"Of course, mum," he answered, trying not to sound reprimanding, but failing. Why would it be any different than usual?
"Oh." Was that a smile he saw creeping onto her face? It was gone as soon as he had noticed it, the resigned look returning. But suddenly it seemed fake, forcibly fake. "Have fun."
The door clicked shut, creaking as it went. "Sure."
He groaned, rolling out of bed, and trudged towards the bathroom connected to his room. Bare feet dragging across the worn cream color carpet, then onto cold tile. Setting the shower to a reasonably cold temperature, stripping and then stepping in. He shivered, goosebumps crawling along his bare skin, but he adamantly refused to leave the refreshing cold.
Kirk had to wash away whatever was occupying his body now, wash it away, so that it was Kirk there. Just Kirk. No one else then what he was supposed to be. Nothing. Scrub away the remains of that groggy being that had little self confidence. Wash away that peaceful thing. That soft-bellied creature. Scrape it from his mind.
There, clean. He stepped out of the shower when it got cold, making sure to turn it off this time, and grabbed a blue towel. Drying himself off as he rummaged through his closet, intent on finding an outfit that didn't have traces of dried blood on it. Finding the perfect one, with one last look in the mirror to make he sure he looked good, he headed down the stairs.
"You sure this will work, Christopher?"
He froze. A deer in the headlights. Oh god. Who was Christopher? One of his mother's many adventures? Kirk vaguely remembered hearing the name before, but it slipped his mind. Must have been when mum was in one of her moods, he surmised, tuning into her conversation the best he could.
But he had arrived at the end of her conversation. "Alright, I believe you Christopher, just... you know. Bye."
She hung the phone up just in time to see Kirk finish his descent, an odd twinkle in her eyes. Having always been someone who was good at reading people he knew, he saw it as a 'I-know-something-you-don't' twinkle. "I'm going now, mum," he told her when he reached the door, and almost halfway out he got her reply.
"Have fun."
He didn't reply this time, just got on his way.
-
"Hey, handsome," a pretty brunette approached him, blinking her heavily mascaraed eyes in his direction, even darker eyes framed with blue eyeshadow. How she thought that was attractive on a brunette, or attractive at all, he didn't know. All he knew was that Kirk had a reputation to uphold.
Kirk smiled, not a genuine smile, but he doubted the girl knew that. "Really? You flatter me too much, beautiful." Inwardly he winced at that, but it was best to play the inexperienced flirt right back at her. Get what you try for. Brunette looked mildly insulted at that, but she was smarter than she looked. She caught on quick, that one.
Brunette fidgeted with the edge of her already short miniskirt, oh she knew what she was doing, letting the skimpy fabric travel up her thigh, revealing that all she wore beneath was a very small thong. It hid nothing, really, but showed everything. The smile on Kirk's face grew, and Brunette slid onto his lap, pressing her hands on chest, carefully squeezing her chest together so it spilled out over the thin tank top she wore. Fingers trailing up Kirk's neck, pausing at his ear, then Brunette leaned forward.
Lips met. Teeth clashed together, tongues slithered across each other, across cheeks, along the backs of teeth. Messy, taking in the taste of alcohol that lingered in both mouths. Faint breaks to take in the minimal amount of air, fingers roaming, hands grabbing and groping. People in all kinds of equally compromising positions doing their business just because they could. Air heavy with the sexual tension hanging about, gathering and setting. Purposely setting the mood for others.
"Star Fleet," someone heaved breathlessly, and suddenly all of that was gone.
"Uh, oh." Brunette crawled off of his lap, smoothed her hair, and headed towards the restroom. Looked like her boyfriend was amongst the red uniformed group of twenty or so. She didn't want to be seen with a lowlife, Kirk decided, huh. Thanks. Leaning back in his chair, he surveyed the new occupants of the bar. The majority of the reds were male, a major bummer, 'cause the skirts on the female uniforms were way short.
"Ugh," someone to his left groaned, "The reds always get the good ones."
"Always?" another asked.
"Yup, always. Surprised blondie hasn't gone after the red at the bar."
Red at the bar? Now that he was looking, she did look like a nice piece of ass. Grinning he walked over to the bar, ordered a drink for the both of them, and the bartender just gave him a look that said 'you're getting yourself into trouble, boy.' Kirk was tempted to stick his tongue out at the bartender, but he was too busy talking with the red.
"That's my last name," she said, laughing.
Oh? Well then. "Sooo, they don't have first names on your planet?"
He didn't remember much after that, just disinterest, not really being there. Perhaps the odd look of pity here and there, but he just wasn't there until the first punch flew. Got him good in the face, and when he swung back at the attacking red, finding a table beneath his back. Angry words flung in his face, flying right over his head. Making few retaliations, just letting the punches and the occasional kick hit him. Voices. Yelling, angry words. A commanding tone.
Put him down.
Your father was captain of a starship for twelve minutes.
Dare you to do better.
Space is a disease and danger wrapped in the darkness and silence.
"Clean slate," he muttered.
"What?"
"Nothin', Bones, nothing."
a/n: Whoop. Yeah. Right. Okay. Prologue's done. Had to add that one part from the movie with a little more flair as the beginning. It just fit with my idea. Why? No idea. Just did. And, and I'd like to add that that is the only time I'll be putting up the disclaimer and warnings. Unless of course, something truly horrid shows up. But I doubt that. There are limits to what I can write well. There will be the odd author's note up there, but most likely just down here. c:
Btw, I like it when Kirk is actually smart and serious sometimes. And slightly faking.
And yes, I can actually write serious things. u.u"
Review please. Because reviewing is my pay.
And it only takes three seconds if you don't like to type a lot.
Three seconds = a review/my pay.
So pay me. Please.
