The World Before
By AngelQueen

Disclaimer: Star Trek is the property of Paramount. I make no claim on it and write this purely for entertainment purposes. No copyright infringement intended.

Contrary to popular rumor amongst the 'Fleet, Christopher Pike had not been recklessly, hopelessly, unrequitedly in love with George Kirk. He did not pine for the man in noble silence, stoically standing as George's best man when he married Winona Wilson. He didn't mourn him in his heart, forsaking a family of his own out of some misplaced sense of fidelity to a dead man.

Chris is positive he is not that pathetic.

(When Jim hears those rumors years later, he throws back his head and howls with laughter.

Chris just rolls his eyes.)

Chris is the baby of the family, the youngest of five with four older sisters. The sister closest to him in age, Lily, had had a thing for twentieth and twenty-first century culture, and since Chris was younger than her, Lily took great pleasure in making him her slave. As a result, he got a very thorough grounding in the entertainment of the era.

There's one line from an old law enforcement show she used to make him watch all the time, NCIS ("Mark Harmon was freaking hot!" Lily exclaims). Of everything on that show that he watched – all fifteen seasons – there was one line that stayed with him.

"Strangers become brothers in a foxhole."

Chris thinks that's probably the best way to describe him and George.

Explosions fly all around them, sending dirt and debris raining down on them. Chris and his three companions duck down in the little crater of the ground that they use for cover, covering their eyes and heads. It's kind of useless, though, because they don't wait for the air to clear before they're leaping up and returning fire.

There's no time to think of how fucking insane this is, that four cadets can't possibly hope to hold off dozens of encroaching Klingons. There's no time to curse Commander Simmons for thinking that this place was a safe place for tactical training. Of course, there's no real point in cursing Simmons either, since the fucking coward runs after the first blast and is shot in the back not a second later.

Chris is pretty sure that Starfleet commanders are not supposed to be cowards. He'll have to ask his advisor about it – if he lives to get back to the Academy.

The sound of rapid footsteps approaching cuts off any lingering thoughts and Chris and the others whirl, ready to shoot at the first glint of a bat'leth. The five security officers don't even hesitate to throw themselves in with the cadets, though, completely ignoring the phasers leveled at them.

One of them, a lieutenant, lands in a roll next to Chris. In the same fluid movement, he pushes himself up to fire past Chris' shoulder. The sound of someone crashing to the ground fills his ears, but Chris keeps his attention on the other man.

The lieutenant grins at him. "Is this just a party for cadets, or can anyone join?"

Chris leans up and fires a few more shots, ignoring the latest explosion just a few yards away. "Open door policy, sir," he shouts back over the noise.

Federation shuttles fly overhead now, opening fire on the approaching Klingons. Chris lets himself a small sigh of relief. Maybe he and the others will live to make it home.

"George Kirk," the lieutenant introduces himself as they peer over the edge of the crater, more cautious now.

Chris doesn't get the chance to return the name offer until later, but he doesn't forget the other man either.

So, that's how it starts. Hardly an auspicious beginning, by any means. They survive the planet and the Klingons, there is an eventual award ceremony where flowery speeches are made about 'bravery in the face of adversity', about 'courage above and beyond the call of duty' that Chris inwardly seethes about when he remembers Simmons cutting and running and leaving four cadets to keep themselves alive. There's no mention at all of that.

(It isn't until years later that he realizes that the Admiralty will use any excuse they can find for these kinds of ceremonies. They also never cease to piss him off.)

Chris finishes at the Academy, writes his thesis on the lack of emergency training given to officers in the field, and uses Commander Simmons as a pointed example in the paper. He has to restrain himself from also pointing out that Simmons only had his position because his uncle was an admiral.

Chris is pretty sure he's going to spend most of his career hating admirals and having to bite his tongue about them.

Anyway, once Chris finishes with the Academy, he's given a lieutenancy, junior grade, and thrown onto the Endeavor. It's there that he meets George Kirk again.

"Hey, it's you!"

Chris turns at the voice, his lunch in hand. Sitting a short distance away are two people, one male, the other female. He stares for a second, and then recognition hits him.

"Kirk, right?" He sees the rank insignia on his uniform – a full lieutenant – and instinctively straightens, adding, "Sir."

George waves his hand. "We're off-duty, kid," he says, nodding toward the empty seat. "It's George." He nods toward his companion as Chris tentatively sets his plate down. "That's Winnie."

She barely looks up from her plate. "Winona," she corrects. There's a minute pause, and she adds, "Call me Winnie again, Kirk, and you won't be getting any. Ever again."

Chris may have ripped the higher ups a new one in his thesis, but he's still fresh out of the Academy and its rules about strict adherence to protocol and such. He's gapes at their behavior, his food all but forgotten in front of him. Kirk's a lieutenant, and so is Winona – Winona Wilson, from Engineering, some voice in his brain supplies. They're both officers and they're fucking? Isn't that against regulations?

"You gonna eat that?" George asks him innocently, gesturing to the applesauce cup on his plate.

Yeah, Chris has to get used to the inane and insane alike pretty quick when it comes to George and Winona. They're both professionals on-duty, of course, but off-duty they're… well, they're like fucking teenagers.

"But it's mine!"

"When are you going to use a fucking barrette, George?"

"I don't know! It might come in handy someday! I may have to pick a lock!"

Chris blinks. "Hairpins are supposed to pick locks, not barrettes," he points out. Having four sisters has made him something of an expert in hair accessories.

Winona nods emphatically, pointing at him. "There, you see? Chrissy gets it! Now, gimme!"

George pouts, but hands it over.

Winona only ever calls him Chrissy when she's fucking with his and/or George's heads.

(Jim only ever calls him Chrissy when he's supremely pissed off at him. It happens more often than most people would think.)

After the Endeavor's two-year mission ends – in a blaze of heroics, of course, that involve all three of them but as far as Chris knows the details are still classified – Captain Fred Collins recommends Chris back to command school. "You should be issuing orders and playing at the big table, Pike," the man says gruffly. "The fact that you were able to prevent Kirk and Wilson from blowing up the Neutral Zone says that."

Chris hardly argues with him, of course. The idea of having his own ship someday is what first drove him into Starfleet in the first place. So it's back to the Academy for him, though not before he stands as a witness for George and Winona's wedding.

Again, he does not stand in noble silence watching the man he loves marry someone else. He gets into the spirit of things, and watches his friends get married in a singularly… unique style.

George is wearing the veil. It's white – "off-white for fuck's sake!" – and gauzy and overdramatic. It looks ridiculous next to his dress uniform.

Winona is wearing her own dress uniform, but with an engineering smock thrown over it, covered in grease.

Captain Collins gapes at them. Though the man has long accustomed himself to the absurdity that is George and Winona, this definitely strange, even for them.

"Lost a bet, sir," is all George will say on the subject of the veil.

Chris doesn't even try to mask his smirk. Damn straight.

The captain nods and clears his throat before getting into the ceremony. Fortunately, he doesn't have to say much, because the bride and groom have prepared their own vows in advance.

"I promise to shoot anyone who tries to kill you," Winona says.

"I promise to get you your own ship to play with," George replies.

They do this complicated handshake that's all sliding and fingers and snaps.

Chris wants to slap his hand over his eyes, because really? Is this the kind of thing they want to tell their kids about some day? Instead, he just settles for sighing and handing over the rings.

His friends are crazy. Should he have really expected anything different?

Command school takes four years of his life, but they're four years that Chris enjoys immensely. They throw everything at him, from tactics to diplomacy, and he fucking thrives. This is what he's meant for.

And in the midst of those diplomacy classes which are opened to people both in and out of Starfleet, he meets a fellow student named Amanda Grayson, who puts them all to shame. When he hears that she goes toe-to-toe with Sarek of Vulcan, Chris isn't surprised one bit. Amanda isn't a person to hold back on her opinions, and she wouldn't do so even for someone so respected in the diplomatic community. Nor is he surprised when she kicks his ass in the course of those 'discussions' (in the most diplomatic way possible, of course).

But then she marries him some time later, and Chris sees that Amanda is just as crazy as George and Winona. He seems to collect crazy people.

It surprises Chris how much he enjoys his time on Earth. When he was first at the Academy he'd been impatient, eager to get off the planet and out among the stars – though the incident with the Klingons had helped cure that to some extent. Maybe it's because of what he's learning this time – he eats up the command track like a starving man.

Maybe it even helps that George and Winona are also on Earth. They've been tapped to become part of the crew for the Kelvin under Richard Robau, but have to wait until the ship's been refitted. In the meantime, George takes a few additional classes while Winona buries herself in the Kelvin's engines.

A year after their return to Earth, George Samuel Kirk Junior is born.

"Go die in a ditch, you bastard."

At first, Chris isn't certain who the words are for – him or George. But then Winona glares at George, and he's pretty sure she hasn't even noticed him yet. Her attention is focused on her husband and baby. If he was insecure, he might be hurt. But he isn't, so he's not. Better Winona is pissed at George than at him.

"You have no idea how much it hurt," she continues. "This kid was huge and it fucking hurt. And you weren't there. You were out getting drunk with Chrissy —"

Not true. Chris had been attending a seminar in Paris, and George had been neck deep in making sure Captain Robau didn't kill one of the paper-pushing bureaucrats that are swarming around the Kelvin, who were shrieking about the cost to retrofit the ship. If anyone's to blame it's Communications, who took their sweet time getting a call to the orbital space dock that Lieutenant Kirk was in labor and 'kindly requesting' her husband's presence. Idiots.

She spends the next few minutes ranting at them, questioning their manhood, their birth, and a whole host of other things that Chris doesn't know because he tunes her out. Finally, though, Winona shuts up and Chris gets a look a look at George and Winona's kid.

He… looks like any other baby, to be honest. Chris' oldest sister, Elizabeth, has two kids, and he was lucky enough to see one of them as an infant, before he went out on the Endeavor. George Junior doesn't look much different. Chris chides himself, wondering how he could have thought there might be something different about this one. Babies are babies.

Except babies aren't usually the kids of George and Winona Kirk.

Chris gets to hold him for a few minutes, but then hands him back to his father, who can't stop grinning. After that, he quietly leaves the room and heads for the ground floor. Even Starfleet Medical has a gift shop.

Chris doesn't expect parenthood to settle his friends down by any means, and it doesn't. Once Winona's off maternity leave, she throws herself back into Main Engineering on the Kelvin, getting into some spectacular fights with the other engineers. Eventually, though, she has them all cowed and terrified. He figures it's only a matter of time before she's made Chief Engineer.

George also blossoms under his new responsibilities, and Robau obviously recognizes talent when he sees it. When his first choice for an XO falls through, he offers the position to George, who doesn't hesitate to accept it and the promotion to lieutenant commander.

Chris is coming close to finishing command school, and they decide to send him onboard the Kelvin for his extended field study. It's a huge stroke of luck, he realizes, that all three of them end up on the same ship again.

The only hitch in everything is that George Junior won't be able to come with them. A starship's no place for a baby, certainly not a starship headed for patrol along the Klingon Neutral Zone.

"We're going to have to leave him with George's parents," Winona says, leaning back in her chair as she feeds her son. Junior isn't interested in so much as eating the applesauce as throwing it at people. Chris makes a point to stay out of range.

"And you're not happy about it?" Chris asks. There's something in her tone.

She looks up at him, surprised, but then shakes her head, "Oh no, it's great. I'm not worried about that. They raised George and his sister, so they obviously know what they're doing."

Chris raises an eyebrow before looking down at his PADD. Considering that George is about three cards short of a full deck… he doesn't want to finish that thought. He's long held the belief that Winona might be telepathic, somehow.

"I guess I'll just miss the little kid," she says, then snorts when Junior lands a hit on her cheek with the applesauce. "Who'd have thought I might turn into one of those maternal, clingy types, eh Chrissy?"

"You maternal? Clingy? Hah, as if," Chris shoots back. God, he never used terms like 'as if' before he met her and George. They've corrupted him.

The Kelvin's mission is only supposed to last two years, an extended sweep of the Federation side of the Neutral Zone. Chris enjoys himself, though to be honest, he knows his talents and interests lie more with actual exploration than with glaring meanly at any foreign power that might consider crossing into Federation space. Still, the Kelvin is a fascinating time for him.

He's only on board for six months, long enough to complete his field study, and then he returns to Earth. He doesn't expect to see his friends until after the end of the Kelvin's tour, but the ship ends up having to make an unexpected return to Earth for repairs about six months shy of completing the mission.

"I'm pregnant," Winona announces over lunch. George smirks, a smug look crossing his features. Winona eats her salad with one hand and punches him in the arm with the other. "Don't be an ass."

Chris congratulates them. "How's Junior taking it?" he asks.

"Doesn't quite understand how we can know about the baby when it isn't here," George says, laughing. "Figure three's a little early to be talking about the birds and the bees?"

Chris doesn't dignify that with a response and turns back to Winona. "So you'll be staying on Earth?"

She shakes her head, much to his surprise. "No, we'll be back on Earth in time. Kid's not due 'til the end of March. Plenty of time to get back here before then."

A pregnant Winona on a starship. Chris is pretty sure that the engineering crew's collective heads are going to explode.

He almost wishes he could be there to see it.

So, they go. Chris has plenty to do to keep him busy. He's almost finished with command school, and just has to do his dissertation. Their farewells are simple ones, full of confidence that they will be seeing each other again soon enough.

It never crosses Chris' mind that he'll never see George again.

Then it comes. The news that sets the world on its ear.

Stardate 2233.04. February 28th, by the old calendar. Fucking Valentine's Day.

(Even decades later, Chris still hates the holiday. It takes over twenty years to just be able to celebrate the day as the first example of Jim surviving overwhelming odds stacked against him.)

The reports are muddled and confused at first, some reporting the Kelvin's destruction with nearly all hands – only a few medical shuttles got out, no escape pods, huge disaster – but then things are cleared up quickly when a single, hard voice comes over the comm.

Chris will never forget how Winona sounded that day. It's like listening to a complete stranger.

"Current headcount of survivors show eight hundred twelve crew members, Command," Winona says, her voice rigid and cold. "Add one infant born during the evacuation makes eight hundred thirteen total."

Eight hundred thirteen survivors. The Kelvin's compliment had been nine hundred fifty-four. Chris absently does the math in his head. Eight-five percent survival rate. Given the reports that have been flooding in, that's a fucking miracle.

"Roger that, Lieutenant Kirk," Admiral Lewis says, his expression grim and pale. "What of the senior staff? Are any of them available to give us more information?"

Of course they'd want to hear from the senior bridge crew, Chris thinks. Winona's given them some good intel so far, but she was in sickbay and then on a medical shuttle. Hardly in the middle of everything.

"Captain Robau is dead," Winona replies without inflection. "I was told that he took a shuttle over to the attacking ship, likely to buy time for the evacuation. Lieutenant Commander Kirk is also dead. He piloted the Kelvin on her final run."

George is dead. The news doesn't send Chris reeling, not yet. For the moment, it's just words, and he can only keep listening.

"Lieutenants Sportelli and Shrat and Ensign Tomar are all undergoing medical treatment," she continues. "All three were on the bridge when the evacuation order was given by Acting Captain Kirk. They're currently in medically induced comas. I'm sure they'll speak to you once the doctors bring them out of it."

Admiral Lewis opens his mouth to speak, but is cut off when an unhappy cry shrills over the comm channel, the cry of an infant.

"Doc, hey Doc," Chris hears Winona say, her voice a bit fainter, "here, take that."

Then Winona's gone, leaving Admiral Lewis to try and get more information out of one of the doctors, who's less than happy to be wasting her time when she could be helping the injured. Winona doesn't return, even when the Admiral demands that she get back on the channel.

It's the one time Winona's behavior even feels remotely normal, when she practically tells an Admiral to fuck off, she has a baby to take care of.

The next several weeks are chaotic, to say the least. The Kelvin survivors are transported back to Earth. There are inquiries, investigations, inquiries into the investigations, investigations into the inquiries. Chris watches the Admiralty go so completely insane that former Federation President Jonathan Archer and former Vice President T'Pol pull themselves out of retirement and reactivate their Starfleet commissions to take charge, to try and get the rest of the Admiralty to take their heads out of their collective asses.

Chris is there with George and Winona's family when her shuttle brings her down from the refugee ship. George's parents are pale and shaking, as is Winona's mother, which leaves Chris holding onto George Junior. The little boy is quiet and solemn. Even at his tender age, he seems to understand that something is terribly, terribly wrong.

Winona practically storms off of the shuttle, her eyes narrowed with determination and drive. She carries a small carryon in one hand and a swaddled bundle in the other. It's the baby. Jim, Chris reminds himself. George's mother mentioned earlier that George and Winona had had just enough time to name him Jim, after Winona's dad.

Winona's a whirlwind of energy. She holds onto her mother and her in-laws, offers what comfort she can, hands them Jim to distract them. She takes George Junior from Chris and hugs him tightly, whispering words of love into his little ear. Her eyes land on Chris and she stares at him for several moments. Then she reaches out and lays a hand on his shoulder, only to slide it up and tug on his earlobe, something she used to do to annoy him back on the Endeavor.

Chris feels the prickle of tears, but blinks them back. Now's not the time. Not yet.

It's a complete clusterfuck, despite Archer and T'Pol's best efforts. The Admiralty is more interested in covering their collective asses than actually learning anything of use. There's a token effort to locate the ship that attacked the Kelvin, but no one hears anything, not the ships sent out in pursuit, not the Starfleet Intelligence spooks, no one. Finally, the Admiralty closes the inquiries and investigations, pays the life insurance policies on those who died as well as hazard bonuses to the survivors, and sticks their heads in the sand.

Chris refuses to accept it. Over a hundred Kelvin crewmembers died, one of his best friends died, and there have been no answers, no attempt to give closure. Someone has to do something.

By the end of June, Chris has scrapped his initial dissertation subject – some such bullshit about command structure and the hierarchies – and informs his advisor about his new topic – the Kelvin and her final minutes.

His advisor, Commander Robert April, stares at him intently. "You don't have much time, Chris," he says, his tone quiet. "Do you think you'll be able to pull it off?"

Chris returns the older man's stare, unflinchingly. "I have to, Commander." For George, for all of the others who died. For Winona, for Junior, for Jim. For everyone who survived to pick up the pieces. Answers are needed, and since the Admiralty has thrown the gauntlet away, it's down to him to pick it back up again.

The next several months of Chris' life are consumed in his research. He doesn't know how April does it, but the older man gets his hands on several reports and articles pertaining to the Kelvin and the Admiralty's actions that Chris hasn't previously seen. He interviews the survivors, from Lieutenant Sportelli to Doctor Palla, who pulled Jim into the world while George exited it. He hesitates to ask Winona – because in all honesty, she wasn't involved in most of what happened, only becoming embroiled in the aftermath, in trying to lead the survivors away from the Neutral Zone. Asking her to relive those last moments of George's life seems unnecessarily cruel, but then, on a wet, cool Sunday morning, a brief text message appears on his comm.

Don't go trying to treat me like some fragile flower, Chrissy. Get your ass to Riverside by noon.

Chris stares at the message. Two simple sentences.

Yeah, he's convinced now.

Winona's a fucking telepath. Damn it.

The words, written and spoken, blur together.

…encountered what was described as a 'lightning storm'…

"… tore through our shields like they were made of fucking paper…"

"… coming apart at the seams, ripped Lieutenant Johnson right out of the ship…"

… Robau transferred command to Lieutenant Commander Kirk and ordered him to begin the evacuation…

"… Lieutenant Parteck and Ensign Pierce stayed behind, to keep the warp core from blowing…"

"… Robau bought us twelve minutes, Chris. Twelve minutes and a suicide run saved our lives…"

… autopilot destroyed, Acting Captain Kirk piloted the Kelvin into the attacking ship, blocking any attempts to fire on the escaping survivors…

"… haven't done shit! They keep talking about liability and the press, for God's sake!"

"… fucking admirals…"

By the time he's finished with his dissertation, Chris needs to sleep for about a month, but he doesn't. Instead, he polishes it until it shines and hands off copies to all of the pertinent parties – his professors, Commander April, and a bunch of other people who he's not sure why need a copy but gives them one anyway. Then he proceeds to sleep for a week. Not all of the rest that he needs, but definitely a start.

When Chris bothers to step outside of his quarters again, Starfleet is in complete chaos.

It's fucking great.

"Well, Lieutenant, you've certainly thrown the fat in the fire."

Once, Chris would have been alarmed by such a statement. Now, he just takes it without comment, waiting. He doubts that Jonathan Archer, former Federation President and recently reinstated Admiral of Starfleet, is going to leave him hanging with just those words.

The older man stares at him from behind his desk, his eyes twinkling merrily. He's amused, not angry.

"You wrote a fine tribute to the Kelvin, those who died, and those who survived," Archer says, "and you managed to insult just about ninety-five percent of Starfleet personnel ranked Commodore and above without actually coming out and saying it —"

"— ninety-four-point-seven percent, to be exact," Admiral T'Pol interjects coolly from her own seat. Chris can't tell how she's taking the whole situation, but then, he's not supposed to. Chris doesn't have much experience with Vulcans, given that most of them avoid Starfleet. T'Pol's considered something of an eccentric in that regard.

"Just round up on the percentages, T'Pol, it's easier," Archer responds with an ease that probably comes with associating with someone for over eighty years. Chris thinks that if she was a human, T'Pol would roll her eyes.

God, where has he seen people like them before?

"Back to the matter at hand," Archer continues, holding up a PADD that Chris assumes has a copy of his dissertation. "You gave a thorough timeline of what happened when the Kelvin encountered the "lightning-storm in space", explored the actions of the crew during and after the battle, as well as the resulting behavior of Starfleet in the weeks after." The admiral cocks his head. "It's that last part that has many of the Admiralty in quite the tizzy. You didn't name names, but you pointed out some of the gaping holes and flaws in Starfleet's response to the disaster. Some are taking it personally."

That had actually been kind of the point. Chris still feels that Starfleet fucked up big time, and he won't apologize for that. "Sir," he starts slowly, only for Archer to shake his head.

"I'm not one of them, Lieutenant," the older man assures him. "You were right in every single thing you wrote." He sighs, his shoulders slumping a little. "Starfleet dropped the ball." He glances at T'Pol and murmurs, "We should never have left."

Suddenly Chris feels like he and Commander April are no longer in the room, that they're witnessing something incredibly private. T'Pol's voice is surprisingly soft, even soothing when she responds, "It was logical, Jonathan. We were needed on Andoria. We left Starfleet in well-trained hands —"

"And look what they did with it," Archer growls, and Chris can see the anger flaring in the other man's eyes. The moment ends quickly, however, and Archer turns back to Chris. "I'm putting you in for a commendation, Lieutenant, and a recommendation for a promotion to full lieutenant. Also, I have your orders here. You're to report to Captain Wilcox on the Dublin in two weeks."

The Dublin is a deep-space exploration vessel, in the midst of a five-year mission. Deep-space exploration, something Chris has always wanted.

"The Admiralty will think I'm punishing you by sending you out to the middle of nowhere, Pike, but I think you're clever enough to figure out that that isn't the case," Archer says, and he's right. Chris does understand. He's being given an opportunity here. He's made a splash with his dissertation, opened himself up to gathering allies and influence as he works his way up the ranks.

Shit, he thinks as he leaves the office, I think I just planted the seeds of a revolution.

George, Chris thinks, would have loved the idea.

The next several years – fuck, the next two decades – are busy ones. Chris takes the opportunities as they come. He makes friends on his missions, people he will never want to be without. It isn't easy, and the impulse to keep people at arm's length, to avoid feeling the pain that losing George caused, is always there, something he struggles with every day. But with people like Phil Boyce and Number One, it becomes manageable.

He keeps in touch with Winona, mainly through messages and letters. Their career paths have diverged. She buries herself in engines and warp cores, Chris concentrates on moving up the ranks. Still, he always looks forward to what Winona sends to him.

… Borden is a fucking moron. Who the fuck did he screw to get to be Chief? Captain Watkins isn't into guys, so I doubt it was her…

… driving the teachers insane. Jim's too smart, they say, too bored…

… you and Number One fucking yet, Chrissy? If not, what the hell are you waiting for? Dumbass…

Chris hears other things too. She remarries about ten years after George's death, some farmer from Riverside, and although there is little coming through official channels, Chris still hears things, things Winona doesn't tell him. Whispers about George Junior (who is called Sam nowadays) running away from home, whispers about Jim destroying George's old car, whispers about the stepfather's intense dislike of the boy.

(He doesn't get a clearer picture until years later, when Jim is grown and wary of any kind of authority. Chris is finally able to get his hands on the classified details of Jim's file… and has to wrestle with the compulsion to visit Riverside for reasons other than checking on the Enterprise – namely, visiting Frank Hallie with a phaser rifle in hand.

Losing touch with George Junior and Jim is one of Chris' biggest regrets.)

Chris makes Captain twelve years after the loss of the Kelvin, becomes the youngest man to ever do so. The ceremony is dull as a tomb, though it's nice to see his family come to celebrate it. His sisters come, bringing their husbands (or, in Patty's case, her wife) and children, and so do his friends. Number One is as formal as ever, but Chris has learned to see the subtle nuances of her manner and knows that she is pleased for him.

Phil just sighs and asks, "I don't suppose this means you'll be any less reckless, will you?"

It isn't until the auditorium is emptying and Chris is about to take his leave that Winona appears. Though they've kept in contact through letters, this is the first time he's actually seen her in over a decade. She's older (obviously – so is he), but she's still beautiful. Her hair is tied back in a bun at the base of her skull, but she still stands there with the same casual slouch.

When their gazes meet, she smirks. "Hey, Captain Chrissy."

Captain or not, Chris can't stop himself from hugging her tightly and laughing. Fuck, he's missed her.

He captains the Cheyenne, then the Yorktown. He gets to do some exploration, but scientific advancement for the sake of it has taken a backseat with Starfleet, in favor of militaristic improvement so as to avoid looking weak to the other races of the galaxy. Starfleet becomes more and more rigid, taking refuge in rules and regulations.

It drives Chris mad. He does all he can to fight it, pushes the rules and the Admiralty when he can, encourages others to do the same, but it feels like he's fighting a battle that's already lost. Most officers are already set in their ways, whatever those ways will be.

So, when the Yorktown comes in for an extensive overhaul and the Admirals offer Chris the new flagship, he leaps at it for more than one reason. Oh, sure, the flagship (to be called Enterprise, in honor of Archer's NX-01) – who the fuck would turn that down? Still, he also takes it because one of the conditions is that he has to recruit for and teach at the Academy until the ship is ready to go.

A chance to bring back innovation and risk-taking by molding the minds of the cadets before it's beaten out of them? Chance of a fucking lifetime.

Chris should have known that it isn't going to be that easy. The Academy has a fucking rule or regulation for everything. It's going to take time to figure it out, to work within the rules to get them changed (or repealed, if the case may be).

It's hard, it's difficult – because seriously, cadets are fucking annoying, the little bastards – but Chris has never given up on anything before and he isn't going to start now.

Hope comes amid blood, bruises, and blue eyes.

Chris stares at Jim Kirk, now a grown and restless twenty-two. He was telling the truth when he said that he couldn't believe it when the bartender had told him who he was. He can see the basic resemblance to George, but Chris sees more than that in Jim's razor sharp gaze.

The restless, unending desire to keep moving. The ferocious gleam that shows the desire to run instead of walk. The longing for something that could take a lifetime to achieve.

Jim Kirk is white-hot, unshaped metal. He could be the bell that signals the changing of the guard… or the sword that ends everything.

Chris doesn't let opportunities like these slip past him.

"Enlist in Starfleet," he says, and refuses to be discouraged when the younger man just laughs at him. When he talks about how he could potentially have his own ship, he sees the speculative gleam that flickers in Jim's eyes.

Jim has lived under George's shadow his entire life, the specter of a father who died heroically saving hundreds of people. It's a hard thing to live up to, but Chris isn't blind. Those characteristics that he sees in Jim's eyes will take him far, much farther than George's twelve minutes of fame.

Chris isn't going to let that opportunity slip past Jim either. It's not just because he feels he owes his best friend, but because Chris hates to waste potential and Jim deserves a more fulfilling life than booze and bar fights.

He stares down at Jim. "I dare you to do better," he says before he turns away.

It'll work. He won't think otherwise, not for a minute.

It works.

Chris spends the entire shuttle trip back to San Francisco trying not to cackle. Starfleet isn't going to know what hit it.

Once he has Jim enrolled and settled into his dorm, he returns to his office and sends a brief message to Winona.

Jim's enlisted, he types. Care to make a wager on how long it takes for him to send an admiral into hysterics?

There's a reply the following morning.

Twenty credits on within the next thirty days. Ten more on it being Komack.

Chris grins.

NOTES:

On Jim's birthdate: I'm someone who subscribes to the idea that nu!Jim has a different birthdate than his Prime counterpart. In the original 'verse, it's stated that Winona was pregnant with Jim on the Kelvin, but that she still gave birth to Jim in Iowa (if his statement to Gillian Taylor in The Voyage Home about being 'from' Iowa also means being born there). But when Nero appeared and sucker-punched the Kelvin at the edge of the Klingon Neutral Zone, she was sent into premature labor. Hence why Jim gets a new birthdate. Just my take on it.

On Archer and T'Pol: J.J. Abrams stated that the 'Admiral Archer' referenced by Scotty in the film was in fact meant to be a reference to Jonathan Archer. Taking that and the information provided by the Archer article on Memory Alpha, I attempted to piece together a plausible explanation as to why Archer would still be in Starfleet. Also, T'Pol's fate after Enterprise has been left wide open, and since I maintain that Archer and T'Pol are complete BFFs, I decided to include her as well as the one who keeps Archer from killing people who piss him off.