Chapter 1
Uncle Frank isn't very smart. But Jim is. She's smarter than half of the people in Riverside. Or even in all of Iowa. Of course she's never been any further than the borders of Riverside, and so she can only assume she is. And she thinks about it all the time. Leaving that is; just to find out for sure who else is out there. She wants to know what the world has to offer her when this hell-whole of a farm Uncle Frank calls home only offers her misery. Jim admits to being wild like a caged animal. Hell, she's a Kirk. It comes with the territory. It's probably why she can't identify with all the other kids her age. She likes to act out when Uncle Frank pushes her too far. Just one word about her parents is all it takes these days, and he knows that.
James Tiberius Kirk is already a thirteen-year-old delinquent because of that man.
Can't be helped, really. Puberty is taking over, pumping unbridled adrenaline and hormones through her veins. She's bleeding from places she'd rather not bleed from and has no one to talk about it to. The anger from absent parents curls deep within her and drives her to lash out at the world, trying to serve back the unfair hand in life she's been dealt. It's so goddamn unfair sometimes. As she gets older, she gets angrier, more questioning. Why did her dad have to be a hero? Why did her mom leave her behind? Why the hell was she named after men she barely knew?
Sometimes Jim would like to believe that maybe her parents didn't know she'd be a girl. Or perhaps they had some sort of foresight for her personality. Maybe they saw her in her dark blue overalls, rolling around on the ground, throwing untamed punches at Johnny, the boy who can not keep his goddamn hands to himself, in the middle of recess for all to see; trying to prove herself (to them) that's she not just some pretty pig-tailed girl who tolerates being doted on.
Maybe they knew she was the kind of girl who likes to pick up old parts from the junkyard so that she can start putting together some mode of transportation for herself. When she was seven she had made her own scooter. When she was ten it evolved into a bicycle. And now she was working on building her own motorized bike. The building for it is a little early. She wont be able to ride it tills she's sixteen, but she'd rather start now and have something to look forward to. No more Uncle Frank lugging her around when he damn well pleased.
The more Jim thought on these things, the more she at ease with the name she felt. And then she was glad she bore the name. It was a good strong name to have, despite the lack of what it said she should have between her legs. It didn't matter. Because she'd rather not be a Pam or some Suzy Q. People will take one look at her and take in the pretty blue eyes, the long corn-colored hair, those pouty pink lips and the golden tan of her skin, and they would just coo and fawn all over her. Then when she told them her name (James Tiberius Kirk) and they saw that determined and hard look in her eye, recognized that last name, they fumbled and thought twice, trying to figure her out and coming to no conclusion. And then she'll open those pouty pink lips, reveal just a little of her genius, and crush them, right along with their idiotic preconceived notions.
Why was it so hard to believe that the beautiful blonde girl with sky blue eyes was actually intelligent, and that her life goals did not include being some kind of shallow model? Good looks, though helpful at times, didn't earn her a whole lot of respect.
But that's the way of things. Humans can't seem to understand her. Maybe that's why she finds herself in her own company instead of the company of others. Jim will spend hours sitting on top of the roof of the house while Uncle Frank drinks himself into a stupor. As he thumps around in the living room, cursing and knocking over furniture, probably looking for her, his personal punching bag.
She'll lie back on that roof and ignore all the angered grunts and shouts and nasty little tricks he tries to use to goad her into coming out so he can have some fun. She'll let down her hair up here, literally as well as metaphorically, because it's the only place where she feels comfortable. She knows it's strange to wear your hair in a ponytail all the time, at least, that's what all the other girls say. They don't understand, and often say that if they had 'such nice long hair', they'd do all sorts of things with it. Jim doesn't. She can't explain why she refuses to let her hair down in the presence of others, or why she keeps it in the same ponytail everyday. Probably one of those defense mechanisms she's read about. She does like to read, to learn.
She refuses to skip a grade; doesn't need people to talk about her more than they already do. She's mostly self-taught anyway. Sometimes she spends hours at the library after school, just so she won't have to go home right away, and just read.
She'll read and read so that when she's forced to come home, she'll have hours of subject matter to think about, to distract her when she eats whatever slop of food Uncle Frank is kind enough to make for her. Then quickly she'll make her way up to the roof. She'll lay back and watch the stars, feeling a twinge in her heart that tells her that up there is where she really belongs, not down here. Gravity's been unkind to her, arresting her to the soil of Earth, when all she wants to do is float away. Maybe somewhere up there, her mother can be found. It's wishful thinking; she knows the truth of it all. Uncle Franck never lets her forget that she's not wanted. By anyone on this planet.
So she can't be blamed for thinking her happiness lies with the stars.
Crash.
"…you hiding at you little shit? Come out here!"
Thump. Thump. Crash.
Jim sighs and rolls over onto her side as her uncle breaks through the haze of her thoughts. The wind picks up a little and plays with the long waves of her blonde hair, sometimes pushing it over her cheek and towards the corner of eyes like a golden curtain. She kind of hopes Uncle Frank will trip and crack his head open on a piece of furniture. She doesn't wish for him to die, no, unfortunately he is all she's got left. She just needs him incapacitated for a few days.
CRASH.
"…little bitch. I'll sell that piece of junk car, you just wait. Daddy's not here to stop me now is? Sell it, make a nice penny. Hm? What do you say Jimbo? How much do you think I can get for a legend's pretty little corvette?"
CRASH.
Jim sits up immediately, no longer able to ignore her raving uncle. He wouldn't dare. He wouldn't dare.
CRASH.
And then Jim remembers all those times, all those strange faces that came and went. All of them huddled around her father's car with uncle Frank, gazes assessing, sizing the worth of it. Jim hadn't thought much of it at the time. Thought her stupid uncle was just showing off. He does it all the time. With her, with the car, with anything that can make him seem less of a worthless pile of garbage.
THUMPTHUMPCRASH.
"Got a good little deal for it, did I mention? Got a guy who's coming in the morning Jimmy. Gonna come and get it. Maybe I oughta buy you a nice little doll? Give you a percentage of what I get. Was your dad's car after all, you should get something shouldn't ya Jimmy?" It's obvious he's stumbling around in her room now, trashing it with the hand that isn't holding the bottle of liquor. It's fine. She's learned never to keep anything important in her room, in the house.
CRASH. THUMP. THUMP.
Ice cold fire and rage, so much rage flutters through her veins. He's gone too far this time. Too far.
When Uncle Frank finally passes out in the bathroom, Jim spends the rest of the night cleaning the house and plotting.
So really, she can't be blamed when she rises with the sun the next morning, swipes the keys off of uncle Frank's nightstand and hops in her dad's cherry red corvette. Before she knows it, she's whipping down the road. Minutes later Uncle Frank seems to shake himself into consciousness and realized what's happened. He calls, cursing her and yelling all sorts of unspeakable things, threatening to call her mother and whip her ass so hard she'll see the same stars her dead father did. Jim cuts the line off mid-rant and pops the top, shoving a pair of black sunglasses on her face.
Up ahead there is a boy holding out his thumb in the universal sign for hitchhiking. Jim grins, honking eagerly, waving and laughing out an almost maniacal 'Hey Johnny-boy!' as she swerves past him. She sees his dumbfounded expression in the rearview mirror before its blocked by a state trooper on his bike. Uncle Frank must have called the authorities. And seriously, she's not just gonna pull over when asked to, she's on a roll. She just whips a hard right and continues towards the canyon.
There is a moment where she embodies adrenaline, thinks about staying in the car, going down with it, joining her father in the great beyond. But she's already spun the car to the side, popped open the door and is clawing violently at the edge to keep from going over. Her hair's a mess and there's dirt on her cheeks, jeans and t-shirt. She pulls herself up, grinning ferociously, heavily satisfied and tugs off the glasses, tossing them over her shoulder as the trooper steps down from his bike, asking for her name.
And just like everybody else, she lets him know exactly whom he's dealing with.
888
Uncle Frank is not pleased.
How does she know this?
Tarsus IV happens.
The famine happens
Governor Kodos happens, and then the massacre.
And even when she's safely back on earth sometime later, she'll never talk about it. Never explain why she was able to survive when many others did not. Never could explain how hungry she was, and how it took over, making her so willing.
She'll never forgive Frank for it. Never.
Nothing will ever undo the horrors she bore witness to.
888
You could even say that she became even more reckless after the fact. Sometimes being so close to death can either settle and subdue you or make you ever more stormier than you were before. Jim had seen these two paths and had taken the stormier road. By the time she's seventeen, she's all cunning and all about having a good time in the company of others.
She still doesn't let her hair down (literally), she never will. No one can ever earn that right.
Besides, sex is no different with or without your hair being down. Jim doesn't care enough to test it, but she does test the sex. With males and females and aliens, and why should she limit herself in this profound experience? Of course it hadn't been profound the first time she tried it, with Johnny of all people, and she had been fifteen at the time. There had been pain and discomfort and Johnny just didn't know what he was doing cause it was all over before she could blink.
She didn't let that discourage her though, she doesn't believe in no-win scenarios, and what people might call promiscuous, she thinks is a healthy dose of sexual revolution. If guys and Orions can do it, why can't she? And she's smart; she knows she can reproduce, so she takes the necessary precautions to ensure she doesn't. She's fucking up her life, sure, but why should she take the responsibility of fucking up an innocent kid's life?
She doesn't just sleep with everybody. She probably sleeps with more women than she does with men. She's always careful whom she chooses. She has her secret little process of elimination. Sex takes up some of her time; the other part of it is spent fucking with the people of Riverside. Hacking into different databases, hotwiring cars and vandalizing here and there. She's a troublemaker, not a rebel.
Idle hands are the devil's workshop after all. So what happens when those idle hands belong to a genius?
Frank had finally learned to leave her be. Jim didn't want his support anyway. That's probably why when she saw the 'Help Wanted' sign at her favorite bar, she decided maybe she'd be good at bartending. She was self-taught after all and she'd read about all the great little drinks they were expected to make. The manager had protested at first, she was underage, but then she batted her eyes and twirled the end of her ponytail and made him laugh. He laughed and couldn't deny she was good. And if a pretty little thing could keep the customers coming back every night, he might just take the risk. All she had to do was lie about her age and never do anything more than a little heavy flirting with the customers. He said that's what got his last bartender in hot water, and the costly damage to his establishment had been unforgivable.
So Jim took the job, bartending the bar just on the edge of town, near Riverside's shipyard, batting her eyelashes, grinning coyly and earning sizeable tips. Tips that got her packing and moving into her own place. Finally free from Frank, who had been eyeing her with a suspicious look of lust as of late. She couldn't risk it. She knew the warning signs. All he needed to do was to drink himself into a stupor, make a move and she'd be hauled away for killing the bastard because he couldn't keep his hands to himself.
She does not tolerate being manhandled by anyone.
But she's gone before he can try. And she's happy, really. She's got a decent job and she's taking care of herself. And she tries to convince herself that nothing is missing, ignoring how the night sky still calls out to her. Or how her talents feel wasted on drunk and horny patrons who forget that they already tipped her, and will tip her again. And for a moment, the pretending goes pretty well.
That is, until she arrived.
Jim wasn't stupid, she knew what was happening, what all those red uniforms meant. She knew where they came from and where they were going. She knew why they uncomfortably reminded her of what her father was, and what he had done. But Jim's never anything but stubborn, and played dumb when they came around and talked enthusiastically about just what they planned on doing in those red uniforms.
Bartenders were supposed to be a listening ear, unfortunately. But this night, when she came in, Jim didn't mind so much. The dark beauty had strolled up to the bar, all curves and slanted eyes, wrapped perfectly in that regulation uniform and long dark hair reaching down to her waist. She picked up a menu, ignoring the drools and the stares left to right, and rattled off all the drinks she wanted. Jim grinned and waited patiently, even suggested a drink, which was well received, and pounced.
"That's a lot of drinks for one woman," Jim says, not even sparing her own hands a glance as she makes them. She's got this, and she's kind of showing off too.
The dark beauty lifts an eyebrow before dropping her gaze back down to the menu.
Jim presses, "How about a shot of jack on me?"
"My drink's are on me, so no thanks," she replies evenly, not even sparing Jim a glance.
Jim smirks. She loves a challenge. God, Mr. Demo was gonna kill her for what she was about to do. "Don't you even wanna know my name before you just reject me?"
"I'm fine without it."
"You are fine without it. Very."
Silence.
"If you don't tell me your name, I get to make one up for you."
Her eyebrow twitches with a hint of annoyance. "Uhura."
"Well don't that just beat all? That's exactly what I was gonna make up for you. But, they don't have last names on your world or something?"
A sigh. "Uhura is my last name."
"They don't have…first names on your world?"
"How are those drinks coming along?" Uhura replies sweetly.
Jim grins. "My name's Jim by the way, thanks for asking."
Uhura looks unimpressed.
Jim rolls her eyes and starts putting some of the drinks on a tray. "So you're a cadet, what's your focus?"
Uhura straightens and cocks back her shoulders with pride. "Xenolinguistics. And you have no idea what that is," she says, giving Jim an assessing gaze.
Jim can feel the judgment, she's familiar with it. Her grin slips just a little, and that competitive edge comes out before she can bottle it back up again.
Challenge accepted.
"Linguistics," Jim starts, finishing the last drink and leaning forward against the bar. Uhura lets Jim into her personal space, recognizing the challenge, and Jim starts falling for her again. "The study of alien languages, morphology, phonology and syntax."
Uhura grins slow but sure. "I'm impressed," she admits, leans in a bit more, and then lowers her voice, "I thought you were just some pretty farm girl who sells moonshine and keeps her redneck cousins out of jail."
Jim doesn't take the jibe personally. She can tell Uhura is warming up to her, and if she plays her cards right, Jim can win her over. "Ah, so you are familiar with the Dukes of Hazard. You know, I get that all the time. S'pretty decent show when you get into it. I wouldn't mind showing you my own little collection."
Uhura throws her head back and laughs out loud, drawing the attention of the other patrons.
Jim thinks, mission accomplished. That is, until some dumbass intercepts before she can claim her prize.
"Aren't you supposed to be serving drinks? I'd like a few, you know, today if you're done trying to fuck this cadet on top of the bar."
Uhura hisses and Jim rears back, assessing the guys and the few goons that lurk behind him. "Relax Cupcake, you'll get your turn."
Cupcake licks his lips. "Now there's an idea," he says with a wink.
Jim frowns. "Fuck off. I don't have time to play around with idiotic giants who have little baby dicks."
Cupcake snarls. "I'd watch it if I were you missy. Maybe you didn't notice, but there are five of us and only one of you."
"Then go get some more guys and then it'll be an even fight," Jim grins and leans forward, patting Cupcake on the face.
Cupcake snarls again, grabs her wrist with bone-crushing force and yanks her over the bar. Jim manages to grab an empty vodka bottle on the way of being hauled over and smashes it over his head with it. He drops like a rock and the other goons move in.
And that's when the real destruction starts.
The bar is in a frenzy, watching the spectacle as five guys try to swing at Jim and fail when she roundhouse kicks them all in their face. She manages to keep them all down, but at a cost. She's so busy with the five of them that she misses as Cupcake regains his bearings and lands a powerful punch to the side of her face. She stumbles back, still caught in surprise, as another punch catches her in the bottom of her lip. Uhura yells and jumps on Cupcake's back, hitting him in the back of his head when he doesn't listen to her protests. Jim takes a moment to drop to her knees before Cupcake and punches him right in his junk.
Again, he drops like a rock.
Jim pants from the adrenaline rush of it all, climbs to her feet and assesses the damage. All of them are on the ground, laying in piles of broken glass and the splintered wood the tables that collapsed when she threw them at it. A smile starts to spread and she winces when pain laces her jaw, and she thinks better of having a celebratory grin. Uhura is staring at her with an almost awe-struck gaze that morphs into something thoughtful, and as Uhura opens her mouth to voice these thoughts, a loud whistle pierces the all too quiet atmosphere and the entire group of red uniforms stand at attention.
An older gentlemen, which Jim's libido acknowledges that he is quite good-looking, is standing in the doorway with his head cocked and amused look on his face as he sizes up the situation. It's then that Jim realizes what she must look like, standing in the midst of it all, and she kind of wants to laugh. But there's too much pain in her jaw, and her eye's throbbing with an oncoming black eye, and she is so fired, she just knows it. Before she can escape with all the dignity she has left, the old man introduces himself as Captain Christopher Pike, and how he would like a word with her.
He makes sure to clear out the place before they have their little chitchat. Uhura actually pats her on the shoulder on the way out, looking somewhat apologetic and Jim watches her go, well, watches those legs walk away, and sighs a little regrettably herself. Not the way she wanted to end the night. Captain Pike sits down and motions to the seat on the other side of the only table in the bar that's still in tact. She sits down reluctantly, and by the look in his eye, she's not sure if she's about to get her own little reprimand.
What comes next is a complete surprise.
"Enlist? Ow, fuck," Jim holds her jaw with the bag of ice her manager was kind enough to give to her right as he fired her. Mr. Demo had an unyielding nature, but he was still a softie at heart. She knows he doesn't really want to fire her, but he'd warned her about his intolerance for heavy damage in his bar. Jim works her jaw slowly, "Wow, you guys must really be low on your quota."
"Not at all," Pike replies smoothly. "But I'm no fool, James. I know something extraordinary when I see it. I know that instinct of leaping without looking when I sense it. And in my opinion its something Starfleet's been lacking. You, James, I know who you are."
Jim stiffens in her seat. "And who am I Captain Pike?"
"Your father's daughter," he says.
Jim wants to say 'fuck you' but she's got a little respect for her elders. "Are we done?"
"I looked up your file while you were being fired. Your aptitude tests are off the chart. So what is it? You like being the only genius-level offender in the Midwest?"
Jim grins slowly, ignoring the pain in her jaw, and lets her eyelashes flutter. "Maybe I love it," she says lowly, seductively.
Pike sighs. "Okay. Okay. Maybe you do," he reaches in his pocket and pulls out a handkerchief and tosses it to her as he stands. "Maybe you can settle for a less than ordinary life. But you feel like you were meant for something better. Four years, and you could have your own ship. We're leaving tomorrow, shuttle for new recruits leaves at 0800-"
"Goodnight Captain," Jim says and turns away from him.
Pike stares at her for a little longer before he turns and heads to the door. Before he leaves, he pauses and says, "You know your father never made captaincy, hadn't even graduated, but he still managed to save over a billion lives, including your own. I dare you to do better." And he's gone.
Jim just sits there. She lowers the bag of ice and runs her tongue over her bloody, swollen lip and winces when she comes in contact with the split. She glances down at the handkerchief Pike left behind, and as she picks it up, she realizes that her knuckles are bleeding also. She frowns and gazes at the floor, Pike's words swirling around her head.
Pike is the reason why she rides through the night, trying to think up all the little reasons why she shouldn't go. Jim doesn't…isn't surprised when she finds more reasons to leave than to stay. But she is surprised that she actually throws all caution to the wind, rides up on her motorcycle, tosses some worker the keys and claps Pike over the shoulder, and says, "Four years? I'll do it in two." She's kidding of course, she suspects to get it done in three, but she wanted to goad Pike like he did her the night before.
She climbs aboard, salutes Cupcake and his goons and continues towards the back, where an empty seat can be found, right next to Uhura, who cutely pretends that she doesn't know Jim.
Jim struggles with buckling herself in. "Never did get that first name," she points out.
Uhura grins coyly.
"I figure I deserve it after all, for defending your honor," Jim continues pleasantly, ignoring the indignant glare to her left.
"My honor?" Uhura splutters.
Jim cocks her head and grins obnoxiously. "Exactly. Glad you see it my way, now, about that name…"
"You-"
There is some commotion that cuts Uhura off mid-rant and they both turn to see a flight officer pulling out a very disgruntled (and perhaps slightly intoxicated) man from the bathroom. She pushes him over to where Jim and Uhura are, and they go back and forth before the flight officer threatens to physically put him down. The scruffy man scowls and sits without another word, right across from Jim and Uhura. The flight officer nods in satisfaction and walks off. Scruffy man begins to mutter and reaches in his inside pocket as he turns to the cadet on his right and says, "I might throw up on you."
"Uh…um…I think these things are pretty safe," the cadet replies, inching away quickly.
Mr. Scowl isn't convinced. "Don't pander to me kid, one tiny crack in the hull and our blood boils in thirteen seconds."
Jim snorts. "Wow. That's pretty dark."
Mr. Scowl turns his sharp gaze to her, and somehow it seems to soften slightly. Jim suspects that it has to do with the fact she's a girl. Or maybe it's the black eye, and the whole battered wife look Jim's got going on for the moment. "Trust me, darlin', it ain't dark if it's the truth," he takes a swig from his silver flask before he gestures around them wildly. "Solar flare might crop up, cook us in our seats. Hell, some of the damn passengers are blue. And wait'll you're sitting pretty with a case of Andorian shingles, see if you're still so relaxed when your eyeballs are bleeding." Mr. Scowl grunts, takes another sip from his flask, and mutters, "Space is disease and danger, wrapped in darkness and silence."
"I think I like you," Jim says matter-of-factly, a goofy grin plastered on her face.
Mr. Scowl raises a skeptical eyebrow.
Uhura interjects, "You do realize Starfleet operates in space. Why even come at all if you have nothing but disdain for it?"
Jim leans forward, curious for the answer too.
Mr. Scowl sighs and slumps in his seat. "Got nothing left waitin' for me here. The ex-wife damn near took everything in the divorce, hauled this planet off with her too practically. All I got left is ma' bones."
"Bones!" Jim crows and smiles devilishly. "You know, I think I just might call you that."
"Do what you like darlin', got nowhere to go but up," Bones toasts the sky with his flask. Then, as if he thinks better of it, stops before he takes another sip and offers it to Jim. "You got a name?"
"Jim Kirk," she replies and accepts the flask.
"McCoy. Leonard McCoy," Bones echoes and watches her take a sip from the flask. "Jim short for something'?"
"James."
"Huh," he merely says. "How'd you get that shiner?"
Jim grinned and looked at Uhura, who seemed to have decided to stay out of the conversation. "Good question, Bones. Uhura, how did I get this shiner?"
Uhura ignores her.
Bones frowns in confusion.
Jim decides that maybe this will be the best decision of her life.
