Chapter 2
He almost quit the first day. But of all the negative nouns used to in reference to the name James T. Kirk, "quitter" was not one of them.
He'd left Iowa without a dime in his bank account and nothing but the clothes on his back. He hadn't told Frank about his plans (not that he ever had in any situation) and Winona would find out soon enough, he figured (he'd stopped calling her "mom" long ago).
Upon arrival to campus, he was told to call the folks in the dark uniforms "sir," a title he held in the ultimate contempt. There was added insult when it came from people younger than him, smaller than him, and far less intelligent (he knew) than he was.
And less than four hours after getting off the shuttle, he got into his first fight. It began when he was assigned a room, a roommate whom he had yet to see, and a set of uniforms, plain underwear and a basic hygiene kit. He had set his stuff down, and turned to head out the door to look at the campus.
In his black leather jacket and well-worn jeans, he stood out against the sea of red and black. Still, most of the people and other beings going back and forth ignored him.
Until.
He had just stopped in his tracks to admire a particularly long (and green) set of legs when something collided with him from the back - knocking him face-first into the pavement.
"Welcome to Starfleet, cupcake." The sound of a chorus of laughter met his ears and, almost as if on auto-pilot, he raised himself from the ground, dusted himself off, and with lightning-quick reflexes, hauled of a punch that impacted with the jaw of its intended target.
The fight was on.
It took four armed Starfleet officers to pull them apart and Kirk was promptly dragged off to the holding cells in the campus security office and tossed unceremoniously onto the floor of an empty one at the end of a long, gray hallway.
There was a dull hum as a laser field delineating the line he couldn't cross switched on.
Now that he'd had time to calm down, Kirk sat down on the hard steel bench in the room, and rested his forearms on his knees as he hung his head.
Great. Just great…he'd come all the way to San Francisco on a pipe dream just to wind up back in a fuckin' jail cell.
.
.
Pike was in his office, filling out last-minute forms on the new recruits when his communicator chimed with an incoming call. Reaching over, he grabbed it and flicked it open with a jerk of his wrist.
"Pike here."
The longer he listened the quicker his mood began to sour. Rising from his chair, he cut the informant off.
"I'm on my way. Keep him there. Let him stew."
He strode out of his office and out of the building to walk around the campus and get some air. He was pissed. Angrier than he should have been and it took him by surprise - normally, he didn't get this riled up - especially over people he didn't know.
But this kid - he was special. He came from different stock and if there was one thing Pike couldn't stand to see - it was wasted potential.
And Jim Kirk had plenty of it.
Starfleet had been keeping tabs on the younger since he was in grade school. When he graduated, the service extended him an invitation to join their ranks - not because his mother was a highly-decorated Commander (Winona was an expert in her field of Communications Engineering and had several commendations for valor) or because his father's name was etched in the list of some of the greatest heroes (The Kelvin had become standard tactical study and was even the inspiration for field simulators for command-track cadets). No. All that wouldn't have helped Kirk at all because his personal record was piss-poor. Outlandish conduct, aversion to authority, hell, by the time he'd become a sophomore in high school, he'd been arrested a dozen times - no; the real reason why Starfleet had wanted him so badly was because of his test scores.
At or near perfect on every standardized test he'd ever taken. A genius. And Starfleet could use an intellect as sharp as his.
There was also a sense of loyalty. Pike had served aboard the Kelvin. He was one of the 800 that made it off the ship alive that fateful day. He had watched from the pilot's seat of the shuttlecraft as what remained of the Kelvin crashed into the mysterious tentacles of that thing that had attacked them.
He had stood silent at the memorial service for the Kelvin as the widow of Captain Robau tearfully accepted her late husband's medals and commendations. And he, along with the other 800 survivors, watched as a uniform-clad Lieutenant Winona Kirk, holding a tiny infant in her arms, her face set in unflinching stone, accepted George Kirk's. It was silent, save for the sniffles of Captain Robau's wife, and the plaintive cries of the living reminder of Commander Kirk's sacrifice.
Twenty-two years later brought him once again before Kirk's legacy. And this time, it was because of loyalty - for the sacrifice of one life for 800 others - that Pike knew he couldn't leave Iowa without him. For Pike, upon seeing George Kirk's boy for the first time, could tell there was a fighter's spirit in the kid - a diamond in an extremely rough shell, but once polished and smooth, it could shine brighter than a thousand stars in the galaxy.
He'd vouched for the younger Kirk - getting him into Starfleet Academy on his recommendation.
Which is why he was so furious now. It wasn't some misplaced sense of pity. No - it was the feeling that if something didn't change, James Kirk would never have the chance to live up to his potential.
Starfleet was, after all, a humanitarian and peacekeeping armada. But its first goal was to save lives. And souls. Leave no man behind.
Now, the anger having passed, and his steely determination rising back to the forefront, Pike turned and headed across the quad toward the back entry gates to the campus where the security stations were located.
.
.
He didn't know how long he'd sat staring at the drab, gray wall but the sound of approaching footsteps and the whirr releasing the force field holding him in the tiny room alerted him he was no longer alone.
Rising quickly, he looked up just as Captain Pike entered.
"Come on, Kirk."
Hearing the edge in the Captain's voice and recognizing the command, he followed behind the man as they left the cell. After Pike finished signing him out and they had left the building, Kirk felt compelled to speak up.
"Look, Pike -"
The older man turned to face him abruptly.
"You will address me as Captain. Do I make myself clear, cadet?"
Startled, Kirk could only utter a "yes."
"Yes WHAT, Cadet Kirk?"
"Yes—yes, sir," he mumbled, slightly intimidated by the anger he saw plainly across Pike's features.
"Listen here, and listen well. I saved your ass today. You want to go back to your crappy life in Iowa? This is your first and only pass, mister. The next un-sanctioned fist you throw will see you out of here so fast your head'll be facing the wrong way around! Is that clear, CADET?"
"Yes, sir," he responded quietly.
He felt Pike staring at him a few seconds longer, and then the older man turned and began walking again. He followed until they arrived at his dorm.
"Meet me in the gym at 0500 hours. If you're late - you're gone. Got it?"
"Yes, sir," he said, his voice firmer now as he made the attempt to stand up a little straighter. He'd be damned if he wound up back in Iowa. He wanted to stay. He'd do anything to stay. And if he had to add "sir" to his vocabulary and stay his fists, he'd do it. And when Jim Kirk put his mind to it, he could do anything.
.
.
After the scene with Pike, Kirk trudged up the stairs to his room and activated the entrance code to his room. The doors swooshed open and he walked in, taking note of the almost identical stack of uniforms and a hygiene kit on the other bed on the other side of the room. It seemed his roommate had arrived.
The whooshing sound of a sonic flush tuned him to the fact that someone was in the bathroom and he turned around just as the doors slid open.
"Hiya, Bones!" he said, cheerily slapping the still-clearly drunk older doctor on the back as he stumbled out of the bathroom, shaking off his dirty coat.
