George Kirk had been waiting for the day that his wife would come and join him in the afterlife. He had wanted to hold her one more time, wanted to kiss her just one more time before he had to die, but the world didn't always allow time for that.
His first couple of years dead he simply seemed to float, never really keeping track of time. He basically came to terms with his own death. He mourned that he would never get to know James like he had known Sam. He regretted leaving Winona to be a single mother.
But most of all, he hoped.
He hoped that Winona had found someone else, someone to help her carry the burden. He hoped that Sam would get over his death. He hoped that Jim would be okay without a father. He hoped that his family would be happy in his absence. But most selfishly of all, he hoped that Winona would join him soon.
At first it had been because he had missed her. But that soon changed.
Four years after his death, George found that he had the ability to watch his small family, unseen. He was thrilled; he was like their own personal guardian angel.
George would never forget the scene he first saw upon his arrival.
Winona was standing in the kitchen, as beautiful as ever. George nearly choked on the sight his wife made. She was smiling softly as she flipped pancakes, humming some obscure tune or another. Every once in a while one hand would drift up toward the locket he had given her and a small expression of sadness would cross her face. But then she was back to smiling and humming.
George knew that she was strong and the way she had moved on after his death made him proud. He knew in an instinctive way that she was being strong for their children.
A small movement caught his eye and George turned his ghostly head towards the kitchen doorway. He recognized Sam instantly.
His little boy had grown into a lean 11 year old with his mother's sparkling hazel eyes and his own dark brown hair. George smiled at him through his tears.
Sam moved up beside his mother and simply watched what she was doing for a couple of moments as she flipped pancakes. Finally he spoke.
"I drew a picture, mommy," he said quietly but proudly. Sam had always been the quiet child, George thought fondly. As much as he loved Sam, he hoped that Jim had his outgoingness. Either way, he loved his boys all the same.
Winona's smile turned into an outright grin as she reverently took the piece of paper from Sam. She had always treated Sam's art that way, like it was the most precious thing in the galaxy. George felt his heart warm at the familiar sight and he floated behind Winona so that he too could view the picture.
"It's gorgeous, sweetheart," Winona praised. Sam had drawn a starship, quite well for someone his age. Sam had always been good with his hands. "Let me just hang it on the fridge."
Winona turned and walked through George. Just as she returned to the stove and began teaching Sam how to flip a pancake, George's eye was drawn once again to the doorway. But this time it was by a sound rather than a visual.
Tiny feet were pounding down the hall. George leaned forward in anticipation. This would be his first time ever seeing his youngest, James Tiberius Kirk.
The sight of the four year old as he came skidding around the corner literally stilled the breath in George's lungs.
Jim had his mother's blond hair and straight white teeth. The rest was all George.
Bright, intense blue eyes didn't sparkle, but glowed with life. A straight nose, George's straight nose was situated between two smooth cheeks, still round from youth. Even the way he bounced into the room screamed of his father.
He was everything that George had ever hoped for. More tears slid down the hero's cheek as he watched his littlest boy approach his mother. George looked to Winona, wanting to share the joy with her even if she didn't know he was there with her. What he saw on his wife's face froze him cold.
Gone were the sparkles of love in her hazel eyes, gone was the welcoming smile. Instead she watched Jim approach with a detached expression and bitter eyes. George hardly noticed that Sam had stepped back from all of them and was watching what was about to happen with a hooded gaze. But he did notice and that look that hid all thoughts told George's mind many things, things he would think on later as soon as he could pull himself away from the sudden mood swing in Winona.
Jim approached his mother cautiously, still smiling brightly but wariness etched in every line of his body.
"I drew a picture too, momma," he said cheerily, extending the paper formerly hidden behind his back to his mother.
A long couple of seconds passed as Winona simply gazed at the paper and Jim's smile faded ever so slowly. Just as the little boy began to retract his picture Winona's hand shot out and snatched the paper. She straightened it briskly and gazed at it for all of five seconds before nodding and looking at her youngest.
"It's good," she said shortly, curtly, coldly. George stood in stunned silence.
Jim, however, did not. He beamed at his mother as if she had just given him the moon, the stars, the entire freaking galaxy all in one moment.
"Let's go get you ready for the day, Jimmy," said Sam abruptly, still watching his mother through wary eyes. But it was not wariness for himself but for his little brother. Sam strode out of his room and Jim bounced happily out after him.
"See, she does like me," George heard Jim say out in the hall.
"Of course she does," said Sam kindly but shortly. George could tell that Sam did not believe that for a second, but just said it to make Jim feel better. Soon their footsteps faded from hearing.
George walked closer to his wife, peering intently at her face. It was beginning to sink in that this, this change was real. Her eyes were still cold and murderous and George looked down at the proffered drawing just so that he wouldn't have to look at her distant face anymore. What he saw made him gasp.
It was amazing that it was made by crayons. The coloring and shading were just such that the object of the picture just seemed to flow across the page.
The subject itself was simply a framed family picture. There was a mom and a dad and two boys, which much was easy enough to tell by stature and hair length. But beyond that, an imagined streak of light distorted the picture's occupants. Yet the identities of the people were clear.
They were George, Winona, Sam, and little Jim.
As he continued to stare at the picture, George felt tears prick his eyes. There was something just terribly sad about the picture, like a whispered question in a foggy world. It was like Jim was asking for the happiness in the portrait, tentatively, as if he had been denied such a thing all along. The way he had left out the true faces of the people was also heartbreakingly apparent. Apparently Jim subconsciously couldn't really imagine it happening, couldn't imagine having the family he had so painstakingly depicted in a picture inside a picture.
Suddenly George was struck with an uncontrollable reaction to see into Winona's mind. Did she understand the full significance of this image? Did she know what her coldness was doing to their youngest?
The answer to his questions was all in her face. She looked at the picture in continued rage, accusing it for even existing. Before George could stop her, even if he could have, she ripped it in half, threw it into the garbage incinerator, and flipped the switch.
George stood ethereally, his shocked face beginning to slowly tighten into an angry mask. How dare this woman destroy that which her own child had painstakingly created? His child, even? He raised a fist in impotent anger but a small sound kept his clenched hand from falling on the woman he loved with all his freezing heart.
Jim stood in the doorway, face slack with shock, a small whimper of emotional pain dying on his lips.
George immediately ghosted over to him, his parental instincts demanding that he go over and take away his child's pain now because his mother was the cause of it.
And because the mother was the cause of it, George turned angry, confused eyes to his wife, instincts screaming for him to nullify the threat but seeing his life partner there in place of one.
Winona and Jim stared at one another for a long moment. Jim's chin trembled and tears gathered in his blue eyes. Winona's jaw tightened and she leaned toward the incinerator knob without breaking eye contact.
Thank God, thought George, she's going to turn the blasted thing off. She's going to comfort Jim now. Say she didn't mean it. Any minute now.
Smiling sadistically, Winona turned the flames on high, destroying even the ashes of Jim's heart.
The flames crackled behind her, casting the kitchen in an eery red light in the middle of the morning. The shadows flickered across his wife's face and abruptly everything became clear.
Winona was never going to comfort Jim. She never was going to kiss him good night, was never going to bandage his wounds. She wouldn't be there for him when he first fell in love, or when he needed advice for one thing or another. George was looking into the mouth of Jim's hell, Jim's future and Jim's past in this house.
And, God, when George looked into Jim's eyes, his fucking wonderful eyes, George saw understanding of what horrors would await him in the future.
George saw something crack in those clear, honest eyes, saw a certain naivety disappear from Jim's soul.
"Mama?" asked Jim disbelievingly yet acceptingly and George knew this wasn't the first time Jim had used that broken, lost voice. The bridge he'd seen burn in his son's eyes was now trying to repair itself. George knew it was a fruitless effort as he stared into the cold eyes of one Winona Kirk.
A small sound of surprise drew George's eyes back to the door where his son stood. Sam was now leading Jim away from the door, eyes weary but knowing.
"We need to leave for school in ten minutes, Mom," he said quietly. Winona turned around and began putting pancakes in bags for the boys' lunches. George sporadically remembered Winona's fondness of breakfast for lunch.
"Alright, sweetie," Winona replied cheerfully as tears coursed their way down Jim's now stoic face.
Welcome to the nightmare George Kirk. Your son has been waiting for you.