A/N: I hadn't intended to write a companion piece to 'Into the Maelstrom' (haven't written the same story from multiple points of view since my earliest works from a year and a half ago), but it seems Jim Kirk had other plans, haranguing me for days, insisting his side of the story be told. If even a certain Vulcan is unable to say 'no' to this man, then how the hell am I supposed to manage it? ;-)
This, too stands on its own, but carries more weight if you understand the events that transpired in 'Six Degrees of Separation.'
Beta: Once again, swimming in the deep end without a life vest.
The Winds of Change
When he'd initially entered this unassuming little watering hole, there had still been a touch of sun in the sky, the last orange and purple rays kissing the horizon as Sol continued on her journey toward the Eastern Hemisphere.
At first, the place had only been occupied by a smattering of people and he'd managed to commandeer a lonely table in a dingy back corner, facing the door. With complete detachment, he'd watched the crowd build for the night, along with the noise level and the thick haze as it hung ever more prominently from the ceiling, spewed forth from the candles burning on the tables, the glowing ends of what appeared to be an endless chain of cigarettes, and the lungs of a small number of patrons.
After several hours he'd already lost track of how many drinks he'd consumed, so he'd instructed his waitress to leave the empties as a visual reminder of just how much alcohol it was taking to still not successfully overcome the sense of numbness permeating his body, to combat the crushing feeling of suddenly being adrift, without purpose, that pervaded his thoughts.
He'd long since stopped watching those coming and going, focusing instead on the activity around him. Seeing evidence of the easy camaraderie between groups of friends who were laughing and talking together, playing a round of darts or a hand of poker, the boisterous crowd of Academy cadets obviously intent on releasing a good deal of pent-up tension, and the couples, oblivious to all but each other, only served to emphasize just how truly alone he was at this moment. To bring home to him again exactly what he'd lost, and how much that loss had cost him, was still costing him, and would continue to cost him for quite some time to come.
He was startled back to reality by the sound of a throat being cleared softly beside him. He turned slowly, his gaze gradually focusing on a petite woman. Almost immediately his mind provided an assessment: A little round about the middle, probably in her mid to late fifties, mousy brown hair streaked with gray hurriedly pulled back in an untidy ponytail, wisps that had managed to elude capture gently framing her face. But it was the eyes that struck him – deep-set, a dark chocolate shade of brown, unable to hide the concern that wasn't registering on her face. His heart clenched; words froze in his throat for an instant. They reminded him so much of another set of eyes…
He tried to conjure up a grin; wasn't quite sure if he'd managed it. "Is there a problem, miss?" He was amazed that he'd been able to get the question out at all, let alone do so in a strong, unwavering voice.
Her answering almost-smile only added to the surreal illusion, the ghost of another, more familiar face appearing briefly before his eyes.
"Not at all, I just wanted to let you know we'll be closing in a few minutes."
"Thanks." It was a relief to look away, focus instead on the glass in his hand. He drained it, watching the dim light refract off the rim as he twirled it absently between his fingers.
"You okay, mister?" she asked, settling herself into one of the vacant chairs. He could feel those eyes, full of worry, roaming over him.
But that wasn't the question he heard. Another voice, several octaves below this one, sounded in his ears. "Are you all right, Jim?" From somewhere, he heard his own voice answer her. "Just dandy." He still refused to look at her, willing her to take the hint and leave him the hell alone.
No such luck.
"Is there something I can do? Someone I can call for you?" She was unable to keep the concern that hadn't reached her face a moment ago from manifesting in her voice.
He felt a laugh rising in his throat – a coarse, hollow sound, something to be choked on. "No one left to call." And he had no one to blame for that but himself. By his own hand, as a direct result of his actions, he had, without a doubt, lost everything that mattered to him.
"Whatever it was that happened, it's not the end of the world, you know. There are better ways to cope than drowning your sorrows," she assured him earnestly.
He found the condescending edge to her voice bordering on the infuriating. Best to nip this in the bud right now. He put forth his most appealing smile, finally meeting her gaze. "I'm not drowning my sorrows, I'm celebrating."
"Celebrating what? You could've fooled me."
"I just made admiral." He found himself no longer able to meet those reproachful brown eyes, so indicative of the past, a most painful reminder of that which would never be again. In addition, that admission conjured up a whole new set of feelings of loss; different than the earlier ones, but just as profound in their own right.
"That's great!"
He noted with some consternation that her tone didn't match the enthusiasm of her words.
"Congratulations! That last round is on me." She paused briefly, clearly bothered by something. "Most of the Starfleet brass comes in here, but I don't recall seeing you before. Did you just get stationed here?"
The derisive snicker clawed at his trachea again. "You could say that. I've been away for a while."
"Well, welcome back, Admiral…?" She paused expectantly.
"Kirk." This was rapidly becoming unbearable. He had to get the hell out of here. He stood abruptly, hurriedly slipping on his jacket. "I'll just go settle my bill." Blindly he tossed a handful of credits onto the table, hoping it was enough to fully cover the tip, his only thought at present one of escape.
But she wouldn't let him go, jumping to her feet as well. "Kirk, as in Captain Kirk? Of the Enterprise?"
He felt his breath catch in his windpipe, tried desperately to swallow around the sudden stricture there. "Not anymore," he whispered, too softly to be heard.
"I beg your pardon?"
"I said, 'to be sure.'" He felt his lips curve into a smile in a last-ditch effort to hide his inner turmoil. Oh God, ohGodohGod! His stomach was churning, the bile rising in his throat, an unexpected wave of nausea washing over him. If he heard one more bit of praise for his actions over the course of the five-year mission he'd surely lose it.
"Really? I'm honored. Can I shake your hand?"
Mechanically, he stuck out his hand. Please, let's just get this over with, he begged silently.
"Pleased to meet you, Captain…uh, sorry – Admiral," she said, shaking his hand warmly. "Name's Jeannie, and I own this place. You're welcome back any time. And forget your tab – it's all on me tonight."
"Thank you, Jeannie, but I couldn't—" he started, dropping her hand, preparing to make some excuse – any excuse – and bolt for the door. But her next words hit him with more force than a Klingon disruptor set to kill.
"Nonsense, I won't take no for an answer. You see, my niece was among your crew, a petty officer first class serving on the Quartermaster's Staff. She got back a few days ago. This is from my sister," she said, raising herself up on her tiptoes. He was surprised as soft lips were pressed briefly to his cheek. "She was so relieved when Lindsay returned in one piece from her tour of duty," she continued, "especially since none of the other Starships made it back." She stopped abruptly, and he could see the tears swimming in her eyes. "Jamie said that if she ever had the pleasure of meeting you, she'd kiss you herself for bringing her daughter home safely. Now I can let her know you've been properly thanked."
For an instant he was utterly dumbstruck. His bull-headedness may have caused him to screw up his own life, may have forced Spock into believing it was necessary for the Vulcan to purge once and for all the very essence of his humanity, but at least he'd managed to get something right. Against overwhelming odds he had brought the majority of his crew home intact to their families and loved ones. Provided them with a chance to move on to bigger and better things; to realize their almost limitless potential. He reached out and grasped her shoulders lightly.
"Thanks, Jeannie, you have no idea how much that means." He kneaded her shoulders gently beneath his fingers. An image formed of the young woman in question – vibrant, carefree, positively oozing personality, so full of life and future promise. "Give my best to your sister, and your niece – Petty Officer Richardson if I'm not mistaken."
"You're absolutely right." Her look of complete shock told him she hadn't really expected him to remember that particular senior enlisted crewmember at all.
Maybe it had finally come to an end; that chapter of his life where he'd be on the front lines, making a difference, was now over and done with, but at least he'd been given the opportunity to do so. In spite of the path his life would now take, the fact that he was already mourning what used to be, it meant so much to be reminded of that. Most people never even had the chance to do what he had done.
It certainly didn't erase the pain, but at least let him know that in some small way, he'd had a positive impact on the life of another.
The mood was broken as one of the busboys wriggled past them and began clearing the table, glasses tinkling softly as he dropped them three and four at a time into an oversized bin.
"I should go and let you folks clean up." He started for the door.
"Don't be a stranger, Admiral, I meant what I said – you're welcome here anytime." She beamed at him, her look thankful, radiating her heartfelt gratefulness.
This time an authentic smile broke over his face, rife with genuine warmth and sincere gratitude. "I appreciate that, and thank you for the drinks." He turned once again, making his way to the door and stepping outside, instantly enveloped by thick, damp fog, churned and swirled about him by the brisk ocean breeze.