Disclaimer: Completely, utterly, categorically and sadly not mine, and no, I'm not making any money off this.

A/N: Yes, the timeline here is unrealistically fast. If you want my internal logic, feel free to PM me; otherwise, I'm claiming Author's Privilege here.

Thank you all for the wonderful reviews and feedback; you guys are the best! And a great big thanks to xxtaintetayxx who betaed this, or you'd still be waiting.

He'd lost and he knew it, but he was James T. Kirk and he didn't believe in no-win scenarios, even the one staring him in the face.

"This really isn't necessary," he tried one final time, only to have his lover pin him under a steady glare. Bones was not yielding on this front, and his folded arms and furrowed brows screamed as much.

"I can always call Pike," was the surprisingly mild retort and Jim winced again. He'd put off calling his mother back for two damn days because Bones had put his foot firmly down on the first day and used medical privilege to ban Jim from all comms, stating firmly that emotional stress was still stress and for once Jim was going to have a nice, quiet day if it killed them both. The second day he'd woken to more calls for immediate debriefings to clarify certain issues with his story, which had pretty much meant defending his actions yet again while assorted Admirals grilled him on why he'd chosen to do this or that, what had prompted him in breaking such and such regulation, and what might he have done differently? It had lasted most of the day, with Spock of all people storming the conference room briefly to retrieve Jim for his mandatory lunch break where he'd been plied with sandwiches by the anxious Scotty, and the Admiralty hadn't kicked him out like he'd half-expected at that point; instead, they'd unofficially confirmed his field promotion and dismissed him with their congratulations. Jim had then wrapped up the day by cajoling Admiral Archer into giving Scotty another chance for helping Jim to save the planet. If they were promoting him, he was damn well going to have the best on his ship and that meant keeping the sandwich-happy engineer on his ship to pull off the impossible when Jim asked for it. He still needed to compose his requests for the rest of the command crew he'd served with, but that would have to wait until after the call because he'd been too damn tired last night to bother.

By the time he'd stumbled into Pike's hospital room in response to a summons from the man, he'd been bleary-eyed and so close to incoherent slurs that Pike had taken one long look and kicked him and Bones out to find dinner and bed. In that order.

Bones had been busy himself. Somehow he'd found the time between checking on patients and detailing his own actions as Acting CMO to the Medical Admiral to go tattle to Pike about Winona's call. This of course meant Jim had woken to a recorded lecture on how he wasn't the cocky kid Pike had recruited but a valued Starfleet officer in his own right who'd done more for his world and the Fleet than Winona would ever manage. There had also been a list of comments Pike felt were worthy of immediately terminating the call, a firm reminder on the merits of his actions and the "goddamn miracles you pulled off, kiddo, including saving my grateful ass," and the command that since Pike didn't think Jim was capable of terminating the call if it came to that, Dr. McCoy was officially standing in for him and he had the Captain's express permission to pull the metaphoric plug at any time.

Besides, he was as grateful as he was nervous. This was Bones; no matter what happened here, only Pike would ever know the details. Even more importantly, he trusted Bones when he didn't quite trust himself. If Winona reverted back to type and started blasting him, Bones would terminate the call on the spot and then he and Pike would probably put their heads together and come up with some sneaky and very nasty vengeance on Jim's behalf. Jim, though…he wasn't sure he'd hang up on his mother no matter what she said, because the odds were decent he'd heard it before, and he didn't need that shit, not now.

"Right," he said, rubbing his hands down his jeans. He'd gone casual, which was a slight slap in the face to his image-conscious mother—sure, his jeans were clean and fit well, as did the t-shirt, but they were a far cry from his newly issued uniform, or even the reds.

"Jim," Bones said quietly and his strained smile turned smaller and real as he met worried hazel eyes.

"It's okay," he promised, and meant it. He'd done it, had made himself the man who'd become the youngest Captain in Starfleet history and he'd done it despite what his mother had thought of him. He didn't need her approval anymore. Wanted it, yeah, but needing it was an entirely different matter.

He'd proven himself to his own satisfaction in a way even surviving Tarsus and keeping his kids alive hadn't done. He'd saved the goddamn planet, and probably the Federation too if what Pike claimed was accurate, and in Jim's opinion Nero had been batshit nuts enough to carry through his threats of destroying every Federation planet. Even more importantly, he hadn't done it alone. An entire crew had trusted him enough to put their lives and the lives of their loved ones in his hands and together they'd won.

His father had saved eight hundred lives in the twelve minutes of his captaincy. Jim had saved countless billions in the first twelve hours of his. And as his battered ship had ridden the blast away from the black hole, the nagging voice in his mind—the one that sounded suspiciously like his mother telling him he'd never be half the man his father was—had fallen silent.

Yeah, he knew who he was, and he was content with that. Winona could approve or not as she pleased; it simply didn't matter anymore. Not in the ways that really counted, like the gentleness of Bones' hands as he'd gone over Jim when there'd been a moment to spare and they were only half-dead with exhaustion, or the unsurprised approval in Chris Pike's eyes the first time he'd been coherent enough for Jim to make his initial report to his Captain, three days out from Stardock.

Winona could say whatever she wanted to, and it might hurt, but she didn't have the power to break him, and for a moment the epiphany left him breathless.

Now then was the time to call, when he was still riding the discovery that he had a family right here, and that it was more than enough for him. He turned to the comm and punched in the numbers, bracing himself as it buzzed until a female face flashed up. Winona had aged well; she was pale but composed as she faced the viewscreen, and she was still as beautiful as he remembered even with the lines of tension bracketing her mouth and the lines at the corners of her eyes.

Her eyes were wide and blue, a darker shade than his, and damp from the looks of them as she smiled at the screen, pressing one hand against her mouth. But she didn't say anything, didn't break the silence that was turning tenser by the moment.

He had to say something, couldn't stand to let the silence stretch. He couldn't bring himself to say Mom; she hadn't acted as his mother in a long, long time and even then it had been grudging at best. She didn't deserve the name. Fortunately there was a relatively painless alternative at hand.

"Commander," he said carefully, quelling the brief and savage surge of pleasure at the realization that the son she'd sworn would end up in a gutter somewhere had ended up outranking her at an absurdly young age.

"Jim." She sounded pained, but he didn't give a fuck. She was lucky it was Commander and not something worse.

"You called," he noted, keeping his voice impersonal as he offered the reminder and the prompt, and she swallowed hard.

"I—yes. Yes, I did. I wanted to see you, talk to you. Apologize to you."

He'd—never expected that, and it shook him because she'd never once apologized. For all that she'd done wrong, for all that she'd turned a blind eye to, she'd never once apologized. He hadn't really thought she was capable of it, but here she was with an apology bursting from her like it'd been held back for far too long.

"Apologize," he repeated flatly, too at a loss to do anything but parrot her words back to her while he tried to figure out what her game was. If she meant it or not, because she'd never bothered before and he didn't get what could've caused a paradigm shift this drastic in her. It couldn't be him almost dying, because he'd come close to dying more than once during his rebellious childhood—hence driving the car into a quarry—and it was a fucking miracle he'd survived Tarsus.

"I'm sorry, Jim," his mother told him, only her clenched hands and white knuckles betraying her strain. "I'm so sorry. For everything."

Jim had to know why, had to know what had triggered this turnaround before he could even begin to consider whether it was sincere or not. "Why?" he asked, and she blinked. "Why now?" he elaborated and a slow flush worked up her pale cheeks.

"I—you destroyed that ship. The one that took your father from me—from us."

"I avenged the man I never knew, and that made me worthy of an apology for all the shit you put me through," Jim translated, suddenly weary to his core because he really should've known at this point. "Figures."

Her eyes flashed, temper he'd inherited from her flaring into hot life. "No, dammit, that's not why!"

Jim sat back, focus so complete on her he barely even registered the quick glances he flicked up at Bones, a silent and grim-faced reminder that he was no longer alone.

"Then why?" he inquired, spreading his hands. "Explain it to me, Commander."

She winced, anger fading to leave her pale again, but she didn't back down in the face of his cool sarcasm. He had to admire her for that, even as part of him hated her for not taking the easy out as he'd learned to expect.

"I blamed you," she said with obvious difficulty, putting the truth Jim had spent his entire life battling into words for the first time in twenty-five years. "I told myself you were the reason I couldn't go down with George, standing at his side." She paused, her throat working for a moment. "It was easier to blame you than to blame him for choosing to die."

Jim took offense at her words, because she didn't have the right to say it. She hadn't been the one standing on the bridge facing down Nero, she hadn't made those choices. He had. He'd stood in his father's shoes, walked the same essential path his father had when he'd gone on that suicide mission, taking the risk that he'd end up sacrificing himself to save his world and his ship as George Kirk had twenty-five years earlier. The fact that he'd survived pulling it off didn't negate the rest.

"He chose to save us," he corrected harshly, because that had driven him as well.

Winona Kirk gave him a trembling smile, heartbreak still lingering in her eyes after over two decades. "I know, Jimmy. That's why I hated him. I never thought I'd have to live without him, and I punished you for it in his stead. And I am so very sorry."

"Why?" he whispered, and the single word encompassed so very much, all the questions and rage and bewilderment of his childhood, all the grief and the anguish of his teenage years and the weariness he bore now as he faced her.

Her voice cracked again. "You're so much like him, Jimmy. Oh, it's Sam who bears his name, but you—you're everything glorious about him, everything that drew me to him. It hurt to look at you and see his eyes looking back. It hurt to look at you and know how proud he would've been."

It was everything he'd ever thought he wanted, absolution and confession all twined into one, and instead of exonerating the small part of him that had always wondered what he'd done to make Mommy hate him so, it made him feel sick. He remembered his mother as a proud woman who wouldn't bend even when she should've; he didn't like seeing her bring herself down this ruthlessly. And he didn't know what to do, how to cope with what she was saying. It was true, that much he didn't doubt, but that didn't mean he had to enjoy this.

He hadn't done anything to spark her aloofness, and really, that was all he'd needed to hear.

"It's all right," he said, even as his eyes skated away from Bones' rather incredulous glower. "I wasn't the easiest of kids, I know that."

"You weren't the easiest because I wasn't paying attention." Winona wasn't about to let herself off the hook now that she'd worked herself up to confessing. "I didn't know what to do for you and I didn't want to put in the work to understand it. You were so different from Sam, and it's not an excuse, but it is a reason. I'm sorry for that too, Jim." Her lips curved in a faint, pained smile. "I can't imagine what you felt when I said you didn't have the brains to get into a good college."

Jim's lips twitched despite the sourness lingering in the back of his throat. "Every Ivy-league within five hundred miles came after me," he admitted a touch wryly. It'd been a way out, but he hadn't taken it. He couldn't regret it now, though, because that path had led him here.

Winona had led him here, unwitting as it had been. For that, he could forgive just about anything.

"I bet," she said with a watery laugh, and he flashed a quick smile.

Then she sobered again and he braced himself all over again for whatever she was about to dredge up. "Jim, for what it's worth, I didn't know about Tarsus." She leaned forward, her eyes steady through the tears filming them as she spoke each word with deliberation. "I would never, ever, have sent you there had I had the slightest indication, Jim, I swear that to you. Your aunt didn't let on anything was amiss, and the rumors were kept quiet around Starfleet. I did not know. By the time I heard the news it was over." Her hands knotted as she held her son's gaze unwaveringly. "I would have done anything to get you back, Jim, and I'd sell my soul to go back and change things. But I didn't know."

He was older now and wiser, and he understood what the teenage him hadn't; what to him had been obvious red flags in retrospect simply hadn't raised many alarms among most people. And Starfleet had kept those rumors quiet rather than risk letting them explode in the fertile grapevine of the Fleet, so it was no wonder Winona hadn't heard anything until far too late. That much, he believed.

"I believe you," he said aloud, the words easing something deep inside. She hadn't known. She hadn't sent him there on purpose or through carelessness. Bones was watching carefully, but the older man didn't argue so Jim ignored him.

"Thank you," she said hoarsely, bowing her head for a moment. "I—when I heard the news, on the holo, I realized you could've died and I wouldn't even have known until it was over." She didn't waver as she met his gaze steadily. "And I realized that I'd treated you horribly. I realized you were the last gift your father gave me, and I threw you away. Your father would be very proud of you, Jim. And very ashamed of me."

He—didn't know how to react to that either. Winona didn't condemn herself often, but he couldn't doubt her sincerity. "Look, it's over and done," he said finally, groping for the right words and settling for the ones that came to mind. "Thank you for apologizing, I needed to hear that." He paused, mind catching up to her words as he gave her a quizzical look. "Wait a sec, I know you knew I'd enlisted, Pike told me right before he pretty much adopted me. How did you not know I was in danger?"

Winona—blushed? "I—er—oh, this is embarrassing," she muttered to herself before she blew out a breath, wry humor filling her eyes. "I thought you'd hacked my comm and set it up as a joke."

It took a second for the words to sink in, and for a moment Jim contemplated outrage that she'd thought that of him—except, really, it wasn't that far-fetched. His hacking skills were definitely up to Starfleet protocols, as he'd rather conclusively proven with the Kobayashi, and he wasn't above impersonating a Starfleet officer. And until Chris Pike had yanked him off his ass, metaphorically as well as otherwise, he'd never so much as considered joining the 'Fleet.

"I didn't think of it or I might've," he admitted, and started to laugh.

It broke the tension for a few blissful moments, but as their chuckles faded they eyed each other cautiously. Jim was exhausted; he didn't do emotional messes that well, and their short conversation had dredged up some of his worst nightmares with painful efficiency. Yes, the catharsis of his mother's apology was good—Bones would've ended this long ago if it wasn't—but Jim was still running on fumes and adrenaline, and he'd just about hit his limit.

It was time to wrap this up, and he was opening his mouth with the intention of doing just that when she looked up into the comm again.

Winona cleared her throat. "I could hop a shuttle at the Shipyards," she offered and Jim stiffened, breathing hard at the very thought of facing her. Bones shifted, his face dark with anger as he made a move towards the comm and he fought for control because he couldn't do this again, and doing it with Pike glaring at her wasn't going to help matters either.

"No," he snapped, speaking with more force than strictly necessary, and she blinked. "No," he repeated more calmly. "I don't think that's a good idea, Commander."

Her face—it crumpled, and it was so atypical an expression that he hesitated, quelling his instinct to terminate the call and end this misery.

She was trying. It was awkward and the skeletons of his childhood were littering everything they said and didn't say, but she was trying and that was more than she'd ever done before. And Jim realized he didn't want to let it go of this, maybe because he didn't want to be the asshole who couldn't let go of the past.

Christ, if Bones or Pike ever heard him talk like that they'd ream him out, but it was true. Selfish, perhaps, but true nonetheless. And because it was, he let out a breath and met her halfway.

"Look. This is my private comm. We're leaving soon, but…we can still talk in the black." He met her eyes as she lifted her head. "We can talk." It was the most he was prepared to offer, but to his relief she took it, her eyes lighting.

"Talking." She let out a breath of her own and he realized he wasn't the only one who didn't know what to say, what to do, if there was a "next" to get to. "That—that sounds good, Jim." She drew up a smile, and if it wavered, it was also genuine. "I'll send you my comm number."

He nodded back, picking his words with care. "Good. That sounds good." He hesitated, but it was the truth and it would please her. "I'm glad you called." And he was. Scared shitless, exhausted in a way that went far beyond the physical, and he'd have nightmares tonight from the ghosts seeing her had brought up—but he was glad.

She smiled—a true smile that he'd rarely seen on her face and never caused by him—and the tiny bit of him that was five years old and just wanted his mother's approval eased at the sight. Winona Kirk was a beautiful woman still, and for a moment, faced with the blazing warmth of that smile, he caught a glimpse of the woman she'd once been, the woman who had won the heart of George Kirk.

"So am I," she said simply, and he gave her a faint smile of his own. "Goodbye, Jim."

"Goodbye."

The screen went black, and it was only when Bones tugged him up and straight into a stranglehold that he realized he was shaking.

"That was harder than I thought," he confessed, and Bones snorted above him.

"You did good, kid."

"Yeah." It wasn't a fix, he didn't think anything could fix this; too much had passed between them. But it was a start, and that was going to have to be enough.

TBC