Hey everyone!

Here's a oneshot which started off as a sad NY one shot and ended up four and a half days (approx. twenty hours) of intensive writing and rewriting later as this monstrosity before you. Warning! Tarsus, Frank, Mean!Winona (and I mean, mean) all the nasty jizz you can imagine. And yet it's a New Years shot. It was (I'll admit it) a later insert into the plot but I hope it doesn't come off as half-baked. So Merry Christmas and have a freaking AWESOME New Year, and all the brilliance of new beginnings!

.~*~.

He had come back four times. To the house where he grew up, and to her, she thought. Since that last time when he'd slammed in at three in the morning, picked up some used clothes from the machine, his wallet and his fathers' jacket, and walked right out. She had watched from the second floor window, the yellow light no doubt catching his attention as he looked up. His face had been expressionless, even as he caught her eye, and even though he knew he wouldn't be seeing her again for a long time, he didn't wave goodbye.

To be perfectly fair, neither did she. She couldn't. They didn't work that way (they didn't work at all, really). Breaching that barrier was difficult for both of them, had always been difficult. He looked too much like his father, reminded her too much of her much-happier past, and the future she had been dreaming of her whole life. And she blamed that innocent child for that loss when he was too little to know better, when she should have known better. He grew up thinking that she didn't love him and that he'd committed some sin worthy of her eternal hatred, and she couldn't imagine that.

She'd grown up knowing she would meet someone like him (George), known what her wedding would look like, and known what every moment with him would feel like. It just had to be that way because it couldn't be any other way--it would just hurt too much if it didn't happen. As a result of her impossible standards, she hadn't even met him when all her friends were married and having kids.

She was hoping she'd meet him at a ball, and he'd be a prince (not necessarily nobility, but family wealth was required) wearing a tuxedo with a rose tucked in his pocket, and he'd be so perfect. He'd be tall, dark and handsome, and would sweep her off her feet, and it would be love at first sight and it would be mutual, and by the time the moon set they'd have pledged themselves to each other and would be lying sated after a night of sweet love-making in the rose-garden outside. That bit had been added when she turned fourteen and had seen ancient holo-vids of Titanic.

Well. At least she met him at a party.

It was, however, at her own engagement party, and as anyone could imagine that didn't work out well with anyone. He wasn't super-tall, and he wasn't dark, though he was kinda cute. He had pretty blue eyes, and reminded her of Pierce Brosnan, that really old movie star, always kissing the back of her hand and complimenting her eyes. The sweet love-making came much, much after, and eventually she was okay with that.

The eloping and the secret marriage were small concessions when she was with someone she loved so much, so completely. She'd planned that wedding her whole life, but when she looked into his eyes and he told her he loved her, it all went out the damned window, as long as she was with him. Her parents publicly disowned her, and she'd expected it. She was a society girl, it was improper to elope. They had to defend their honour, and she didn't really mind. She even understood. George's parents were dead. At least she still had hers.

But she remembered, sitting on a cushion on the floor by a window looking out at the forget-me-not-blue sky outside, she'd dreamed of a better brighter future, if not a giant fancy wedding (in the spring, in New York).

She'd wanted to move to the country and hence the house in a small town, Riverside, Iowa. She'd paint the kitchen cabinets yellow and he'd be at work in the cafe beside their house, and they'd grow desert roses in their garden, where their child would grow up loved and free of the burdens of the world. He'd build snowmen and have hot chocolate on Christmas morning, and they'd have wonderful birthday parties for him, and they'd give him everything a child could want. She swore she would be a good mother; how could she not be? She'd been planning this her whole life.

But plans don't always work out, and then instead of the bright, happy future she'd envisioned, she ended up hosting a funeral, then sitting on a dusty floor as the grey sky rumbled and burly leering men repossessed everything in her home, her childrens' home.

If George were alive he wouldn't let those men look at her like that, he'd defend her. But he wasn't alive, not anymore. If she could have gone with George, she would have. But she had been in labour, and taking that child with her would have been murder. What would have happened to Sammy? Back home? He wouldn't even have grandparents to live with, he'd be alone.

So she lived, even though living was a gross exaggeration, really. Sammy was untainted. He had her natural brown hair, and her fathers' green eyes. He was shy and loved to read and reminded her of the man she had been about to marry. Jim, though, was different. He had his fathers' pretty blue eyes, and his summery blonde hair, and even his dramatic flair and sunny disposition. He was the embodiment of George, and maybe more because he was so smart.

And because he was so smart he figured it out early on that there was something wrong with him. From the way she treated him, anyway. She really couldn't help it. Every-time she looked at him George's last words came echoing in her head, that he loved her, and she would practically break down. She'd have to stop everything she was doing and put her head between her knees and call for her smelling salts because she felt like fainting, or throwing up, or both.

When she looked up, Jim was gone.

She got married a second time to a mechanic named Frank. She never changed her last name and he knew it was because she didn't love him as much as she'd loved George. It didn't take a genius, so that was good because Frank was nothing like George. He never had the same spark or the same degree of warmth (she didn't think she did either). But she needed a companion, and so did he (his wife had died). It was in effect a union of convenience and it helped that Starfleets' pension for widows was pretty nice and she'd agreed to share it.

But he had been in the military and believed in discipline. Jim was a free thinker, creative and energetic. Oil, meet water. They clashed time and time again, and she always looked away when Frank looked at her son thoughtfully. He wouldn't, she knew. He wouldn't dare. She didn't—she wasn't as attached to Jim as Sam, but he wouldn't dare presume she would be okay with that. She wouldn't hurt a child, even if it was the one who had ruined her life. Or at least, that was her logic then. Jim had ruined her life because she would have died if not for him, and death would have been better than this… this existence.

Frank beat Jim with a leather belt. She didn't stop him because whatever it was he probably deserved it. He tried to behave, tried to follow orders, she could see it. But he resisted any rule that didn't have meaning, because he insisted rules were there for a reason. When he asked, demanded an explanation, Frank took it personally as an insult and beat him up. In hindsight it didn't take much to fracture Franks' delicate control and she should have told the boy. But she didn't. And he probably needed a father figure as it was.

It didn't take long before he started rebelling. She was expecting it. He was the type, and he had a cause, so. But what took her by surprise was the force of his anger. He got destructive. She would even have understood if he destroyed stuff (she locked up George's old belongings) but he became somewhat self-destructive as well.

Everyone had been shocked when he drove that car off the cliff, because no one had seen such a degree of vandalism in that small town in the middle of nowhere, but she knew there was more to it. She knew him because she was his mother, whether she liked it or not. She knew he had an angry streak, and she knew he'd been thinking of going with the car. He kept it quiet and told only his brother one night, when she'd heard Sam scream to never do something like that ever again. But she had left it alone.

But that one day. He'd screamed that he hated her, like young boys do. And unable to stop herself, she'd screamed that she hated him too. The kitchen had frozen in silence, and he'd looked at her with a look of satisfaction, like he'd known it was coming.

She packed his bags and sent him to live with her sister on Tarsus IV.

She was off planet for the next few months, with no word from either Frank or Jim, and it was probably better that way. She didn't want to know. She went home, went to the house for a brief shore-leave and could smell alcohol on the doorstep and could hear female laughter from inside. She turned away and booked a hotel room, and limited his access to her bank-account. Her savings were being spent on booze and sex, and while she didn't hold it against him, she had to be selfish too.

When she got back after the project on Evanus X was over, the garden was not weeded and Sam was living with the neighbour who gave her an incredulous look when she walked up their driveway. She didn't really care and smirked as she took her son back, and never once thought where Jim was, and what he was doing.

A year and six months (to the day) later, she got a call from a man, saying that Jim was on Earth and could she come pick him up. She got herself a bottle of Saurian brandy from an underground dealer and drank herself into oblivion. She ignored the messages on the phone from the guy at the hospital and one day, a white van dropped off a gaunt, unrecognizable boy at her gate. She didn't go out to meet him. To be fair she didn't know what had happened on Tarsus, she just thought her sister had given up and sent him back. She didn't know until a family showed up at her door, asking for Jim.

They were laughing and smiling, even though their boy had a similar gauntness to his figure. It was a man and a woman and their young son and their dog, and they reminded her of what they were supposed to be. She demanded to know who they were and they paused, stunned. "We snail-mailed Jim, we told him we were coming."

She shrugged. I musta burnt it. Jim doesn't live here anymore. And it was the truth. He was sixteen. Old enough to find somewhere else to be. She didn't want him around there. And they had cried. They told her Jim (her Jim?) had saved their kids' life on Tarsus. She'd asked what the fuck happened on Tarsus, and they'd turned disbelievingly stony-eyed and had walked away.

She'd gone online and researched a bit about Tarsus and had found an ad that the family had put up, looking for Jim. She had rolled her eyes. Must be some kind of mistake.

She'd lived her life until the Narada incident when all of a sudden reporters were leaving hundreds of messages on her phone, begging for interviews. She only had to turn on the holo to see the ever-famous video of Jim Kirk leading his triumphant crew off the shuttle, and as everyone fell into the loving embraces of their family and some guy turned to ask Jim for a statement, they realised he was gone, and that there was no loving family waiting for him with open arms.

An Admiral Christopher Pike (her husbands' best friend, but that didn't matter anymore. She had no ties to Starfleet) called but she made it very clear that she had no interest in Jim's life, and he had turned stormy and cut the call before she could. She had not interest whether he was a hero or not. Fuck him for spoiling the memory of George, for overshadowing his sacrifice.

She didn't even have a job anymore, and Sam had gone off to some fancy-ass university on Deneva on scholarship, and her only pleasures in life were good wine and silence, and the years flew by without her noticing.

Then Pike had called and had told her that he was sorry but George would have wanted this. And she didn't know what the fuck he was talking about but pretended it hadn't happened the moment Pike put down the phone. Then she found her credit card had been frozen, and the winery and liquor store had been told she was not allowed inside, in the name of the law.

Some science research company had called her to tell her that her interview was the following day, and she almost told them to fuck off. But then she knew she'd been given an out, and she'd take it. So she had a small dead-end job in some company, nine-to-five. But it didn't matter. It felt good to be earning again. It felt… powerful. She was beginning to live again and it was her first Christmas since.

Outside snow blanketed the world and covered all the pockmarks time had left on its face and she could imagine being young again. She felt like going outside and making snow-angels and pretending nothing bad had ever happened. But the neighbours would be scandalized. She almost didn't care. But she had something to do, something more important. If she could summon the courage to do it.

Sitting there in front of the phone it felt like a summary of her whole fucking life.

She'd almost had happiness, and it had been taken away. She'd almost got her son back. Almost. He'd come over four times and stood outside her door, not knocking or ringing the bell. He'd stood there for half-an-hour before getting back in his car or bus or on his bike and driving away. She'd almost called him six times before this.

She'd always hung up before he answered, not sure what she'd say. How would one talk to their kid if they hadn't spoken in god-knows-how-many years.

She suddenly remembered this one lady whom she'd met in the supermarket one day. Well, she hadn't met her, per se, but had bumped into her and apparently it was still in fashion to superglue yourself to random people in the name of polite conversation. She'd gone on and on and on about Jim Kirk and how he was so sexy and so awesome and so fucking perfect, she'd got a migraine on the spot.

She'd finally lost it somewhere in the cereals aisle, buying some bran stuff she'd probably never eat. She'd spun around and almost screamed, "I'm his mother, and take my word for it, he isn't all you think he is. He's a fuck-up, woman. So are you. Even his mother can't love him." She'd turned and walked away, or would have if the woman hadn't said something that had stayed with her since.

"In a world full of darkness and candles your son is a star, painting the fear and sorrow around him in glory and warmth. Bask in it while you can, you closest to him on Earth, because one day you might not be able to and there is no greater pain than regret." She'd walked away from the woman, and away from her words but she hadn't been able to sleep that night. In all fairness, she had been drunk and probably shouldn't have made a scene in a public place. Only now did she realise that her being drunk didn't make it fair.

But all that was over and gone and now she sat in front of her phone with a decision to make.

She knew she was making a bigger deal of this than it actually was. Or a smaller one. The great wall of untouchable between them in her head was no more than a pile of pebbles, super-enforced with fear and anger and history. And all she had to do was cross it without being pathetic. It was probably harder for Jim anyway. He had become an orphan when only his father had died and he had never complained.

And it was New Year. It was supposed to have new beginnings, not old blockades. She knew that in the dinner which had invited all family members of Starfleet officers, Jim would sit with his friends and pretend that he had no family, that he was an orphan and he wouldn't even be lying.

And even though she was telling herself that Jim deserved whatever family he could get this far in his life, she knew there was a bigger element of needing to assure herself that she could still have a part in his life, or even if not that she hadn't screwed him up too much. Because in truth, he was a hero, and had probably risked his neck for people countless times in his career. And she only wondered what he'd been like, how amazing he could have been if she hadn't messed him up.

So she took a deep breath and dialed his number (already memorized) and waited. The words would change her life and paint her world.

"Hello?"

.~*~.

Well? I should tell you it took me forever to write this and I'm still not happy, and uh. That might be because of the actual content which had my sister in metaphorical tears. (does boo-hoo count?) and it was kinda my intention. I know it's pretty sad on the New Years' content, but it's kinda pre-NY? If that makes sense? And I know this is a totally new style of writing for me so please please PLEASE review and let me know what you think, because it matters.

Again, Merry Christmas and a Brilliant New Year to you all! May you get many many reviews! *hint'd*

Love,

Lady Merlin

P.S. If you want a continuation, Review and I'll work on it. It really depends on the response. *hint'd*