Not Quite My Mirror Image
by Eris
"What are we gonna call him?"
– George Kirk
"Tell me your name."
Her name.
Fuck. What's her name? Names are important, she knows.
Goddamn it but she doesn't remember what her name is.
"Can' r'member."
It pisses her off that her brain's not working properly, because she can remember how to speak and count in all the known Federation languages (and even in fucking Klingon, for fuck's sake!) and she can remember what the Federation is and why not a lot of people speak Klingon and she knows how to do a lot of things that she knows not many people know how to do, but throughout all that clutter in her head, she can't fucking remember Her Own Fucking Name!
"Okay," that oddly-sexy male voice says.
Something—hands, feels human, humanoid? she wonders—flattened themselves on her back, and they move over her skin, pressing comforting circles.
It's only then that she realizes she'd been shifting over his lap in agitation. Through the atrocious tastes and smells and feelings that suddenly bombard her, she blushes (fucking blushes) when she feels Humanoid Male Companion's involuntary reaction to her unconscious wriggling. He doesn't seem bothered by it though. In fact—
"No…" she breathes sharply when his hands gripped her hips and bucked his body into hers. Her mind registers then that she's got her legs wrapped around him, feels her damp underwear slide over her moist skin at his motions, and she whimpers and flinches when something painfully solid catches on the now-flimsy fabric and flicks roughly at the sensitive bud at the apex of her thighs.
"Shh," his lips find a new patch of skin on her chest (her bare, not-clothed-like-her-back-is chest and what the fuck happened to her dress?) and his tongue traced along the edge of her mercifully still-there bra, "I'll be gentle this time."
I'll be gentle this time.
The sentence wasn't so much a key than it was an old-fashioned wrecking ball. It bashed in the door that separated her from her memories and let it all gush out like water from a busted dam.
Her name is Jordan T. Kirk. Daughter of George Kirk, a Federation hero because he became the father she never knew, and Winona Kirk, deadbeat mother who didn't even give Jo a chance to defend herself against her stepfather's version of her apparent delinquency and shipped her off to Tarsus IV for rehabilitation. She struggled and starved and survived past Tarsus IV, only to fall into the hands of her Uncle Frank, who must've been really angry that he lost his punching bag because he often used her as a replacement before he realized he could practice his Jack the Rapist persona on her.
Blood was on her hands. No, scratch that. She bathed it in, from her father to her lost kids on Tarsus IV to her psychopathic uncle. (To Romulans from the future.)
She's accepted into Starfleet anyway. Chris recruited her. Admiral Christopher Pike. Her mentor and the only father-figure she has in her life. He's probably out of his mind with worry by now. He hates it when she doesn't check in and tell him the What's Up about his 'baby.'
The USS Enterprise. Starfleet's most prized flagship. Jo Kirk is captain of the Enterprise, and her crew, who she knows respects her now that she saved Earth (and also secretly loves her a-fucking-lot because she's too damn cute not to love), must be turning the universe upside down and inside out looking for her. Bones would be getting his bitch on, nagging people to keep fucking going and don't you fucking dare stop until you find her or I'll hypo your ass until you can't sit down for fucking years. Spock would be all Vulcan stoic on the outside and Human worried on the inside, that brilliant mind of his thinking and going through possible scenarios and figuring it all out just in time to save her. Pavel would calculate how to save her and be all enthusiastic about it, bright-eyed and cute-curls excited as he puts the beat down on Bones' cynicism and Spock backs him up on his telemetry. Sulu would drive them all to the ends of the universe and come down with the landing party because he's got this not-so-secret crush on her, and he'll whip out his sword and slice and dice everyone who gets in his way, Ninja-Fencing Style. Scotty would beam them all down and keep it all together long enough to beam them back up before they all die horrible deaths (because he's got amazing timing, that Scotty). And Uhura…well, she would pick a language (perhaps Klingon, because the way Klingon cuss words roll off the tongue is absolutely delightful) and bitch a bit less than Bones would, but some sort of ass-smackery is sure to occur.
Dedicated people, her crew.
"Eyes on me." She flinched expectantly, confused when the pain didn't come, and he chuckles in her ear, clearly enjoying himself. "I told you I'd be gentle. I meant it. Your fragile body can't take much more electrocution. You'd die, and I haven't even gotten to the best part yet."
The words bring back the harsh memories of her captivity, of knives slicing into her stomach before being healed over to start 'fresh,' of a hot mouth sucking and blunt teeth biting at her most intimate places, of promised lies and brutally honest touches that just fucked with her mind and body. The human male holding her now has been her only companion, but no one else had to come in and 'visit' her for her to know that he's the most dangerous person she's ever met, in every way that matters.
She shudders, her body feeling the ghost of his tortures sizzle under her skin, and it's a horrifying realization that she's gotten used to the pain-pleasure-pain technique he's been etching into her soul.
Hope was a luxury she no longer had, and she can barely remember the last time she wasn't in this darkly-lit room, lying on that god-awful table and seeing only this man—no, this monster.
Risa. Yes, she'd been on Risa for shore leave. One minute she was stepping into an old antiques shop to look for a birthday gift for Uhura, the next she was being thrown down to the ground for bumping into him.
Jim Kirk. Captain James T. Kirk. An alternate reality version of her, where she'd been born male.
And evil.
She fully blames the time-travelling Romulans for her alternate self's evilness.
"Tell me your name."
She closed her eyes and thinks, Never. "Can' r'member." Thank god she really hadn't remembered earlier. Once she'd heard who he was and seen how corrupt he'd become, she'd refused to tell him anything.
In retrospect, that was probably why he broke out the barbaric toys and started trying his hand at eating her alive in the extremely enthusiastic effort of breaking her.
And that was before he tried his hand at cooking her with electricity.
She hears him sigh and she's abruptly released from his embrace. The floor greets her ass with a hard smack, and she feels the soft flutter of her torn dress fall open around her like some cliché scene from a holo-movie. It probably would've worked better if she'd landed on a bed and hadn't just been manhandled by a lunatic.
"Tell me your name."
His painful grip on her leg surprises her enough that the whimper escaping her is genuine. "I don' know."
He paused, and she peeks up at him, sees him looking at the tinted glass at one of the walls of this dark room. She hates herself for flinching when he looks back at her.
"My doctor says I used too much electricity last time." He's pouting, and it would've looked normal on him if she hadn't known how twisted he really was. "Claims I could've scrambled your brain."
Bones. Good ole Bones. He's like Superman—always off saving Lois Lane.
…Jo Kirk hates Lois Lane.
"Coulda, woulda, shoulda," she drawls, meeting his delighted gaze. "I'm made…of strong'r stuff."
Jim Kirk's smile is all kinds of pleased and wicked.
"Excellent."
Author's Note
No idea where this came from. Muse, what is this? A new fic, or a one shot that will never evolve? (Like Pikachu. Haha! …oh god, I'm sorry. My brother watches Pokemon and it popped into my head without any warning! Must. Get. Rid. Of. Pokemon. In. House.)
Hope y'all liked it anway!
Review?
xoxo,
~E