Stardate 2233.02
1840 hours
"I still feel like I should at least stop by the bridge," James Kirk said, feeling unable to look at his father.
"I understand," George Kirk replied. "You're the captain, but I'm guessing your CMO told you to take it easy."
"You picked up on that, huh?" Jim asked.
He felt a bit of embarrassment at the thought that his father might have overheard his conversation with Bones, which only made looking at him even more difficult.
"There's no shame in it," George replied. "Your face was so smashed up that I couldn't even tell whether or not you got lucky and ended up with your mother's nose."
Jim laughed and finally managed to make eye contact. Growing up, he'd talked to his dad in the same way that many kids talked to imaginary friends and as he got older, he quit talking out loud, but he never stopped wondering if he'd grown into a man his father would be proud of. Now he was terrified to find out that he wasn't.
"So did you win?" George asked.
"Huh?"
"The fight that left your face looking like a slaughterhouse dumpster?"
"Well, I guess I technically won," he said through a crooked smile. "But in hindsight, I'm not exactly proud of getting into a fight in the first place. It was kind of a misunderstanding."
"I guess we all make mistakes," George said in a reassuring tone. "Did you get into a lot of fights as a kid?"
Jim carefully considered the question for a moment, and imagined Spock haranguing him for discussing anything with his father that was on a topic more serious than the weather. But he really couldn't see the harm in giving his father a general overview of his childhood, especially since his father would miss out on him growing up. He did his best to avoid thinking about tiptoeing around that conversation.
"Well, I guess I did my fair share of brawling," he finally admitted.
He ran his hands through his hair and sighed. "Fair share" wasn't exactly accurate. He'd probably logged more fights at Riverside Elementary than any other student in the school's history. His mother said he was acting out and it was only natural; his stepfather said he was a troublemaker and needed more discipline.
"You're a Kirk," George grinned. "I can't say I never got into a few scraps of my own. It seems like you grew out of it though, if you made captain at- how old were you?"
"I was twenty-five," he admitted. "Though it wasn't exactly a traditional promotion."
He paused at the turbolift and deliberated visiting the bridge. Bones had only told him to take the night off, but that didn't mean he couldn't just check in with his people. Surely by now they'd heard about Chekov, and he wanted to make sure they were doing ok.
"Do you mind?" he said, pointing toward the door. "It'll only take a minute."
"It's fine. Let's go."
As they exited the lift to the bridge, the tactical officer called, "Captain on the bridge," and most of the crew turned to stare.
"Carry on," he said.
Jim barely recognized half of the people here: most of them had been newly assigned at Yorktown and looked like they were on loan from their second or third year at Starfleet Academy. Still, they definitely deserved some praise after successfully engaging the Romulan ship and rescuing him and the rest of the away team.
He was pleasantly surprised to find Lieutenant Uhura standing next to the captain's chair. She was looking back and forth between him and his father, a weird look sketched on her face. He understood it: it was a weird situation.
"It's good to have you back, Captain Kirk," she said. "And Commander Kirk."
"Spock tells me he left you in command. I have to say, I need to start making you take a few more shifts in the chair. You did great work, Lieutenant," he said, before raising his voice to add, "All of you. I know I have yet to get to know most of you, but well done."
"We heard about Chekov," she said. Her tone was soft and her eyes were full of pain. He knew there was no judgment here, but it didn't help his mood.
"Yeah," was all he could think to say.
It would be appropriate to hold some kind of memorial when things settled down, and he definitely wasn't looking forward to it. She gave him a pained look and nodded. She was incredibly intuitive, and seemed to sense he wasn't ready to talk about it yet.
"What's our current heading?" he asked, desperate to change the subject.
"We're holding position, sir," she explained. "I was waiting for either you or Commander Spock to relieve me or give me some guidance, but it seems like we should start searching for the Kelvin."
Jim knew that he was quickly approaching the need to face some harsh realities. If he had heard Spock correctly in the shuttle, the current stardate was 2233.02. Getting his father back to the Kelvin within the next two days mattered more than anything else, but he was afraid to think on that eventuality for long.
"We're getting a few encouraging readings on long-range scans, but nothing conclusive," she added. "I was hoping Commander Kirk could get with the navigator and give us an idea of its last known location, and then I was wondering if someone could tell me what we're supposed to do when we find it because it seems like it would be a little unsettling to just stroll up and ring the doorbell, if you know what I mean."
"True," he agreed, turning back to George. "Can you get our helmsman straightened out?"
His father nodded and walked over to the young ensign, who Jim was pretty sure was called Richards, and he moved closer to Uhura for a more private word. "Where is Commander Spock?"
She lowered her voice and said, "He's talking to the Romulans in the brig. I haven't heard anything for almost an hour. Dr. McCoy tells me you're supposed to be taking the night off."
Jim sighed; Bones had already called up to the bridge. He had to admire his doc for being thorough.
"Don't worry, I'm not going to tattle on you," she added with a gentle smirk. "I'm glad you stopped by, but we've got this covered, and you know I'll call you if I need anything. Go talk to your dad."
"Thanks Lieutenant," he said.
When George finished up at the helm, they descended to Deck 5 and headed for his quarters. He cringed at the dirty uniform hanging over the back of a dining chair and the old socks and underwear he'd left in the middle of the floor several days earlier, but overall, his quarters were pretty tidy.
"Have a seat," he said, quickly trying to pick up his dirty clothes. "And what do you drink?"
"I didn't raise you as a whiskey drinker?" George teased.
Jim swallowed hard and ignored the obvious correction. He entered the small kitchen and opened the first cabinet from the right to reveal his limited collection of spirits. He did indeed have a bottle of whiskey: Ensign Chekov had given it to him at his birthday party several months earlier.
He pulled the bottle down, retrieved two tumbler glasses from the adjacent cabinet, and joined his father at the dining table. He slumped into the chair across from him and poured himself a drink, and then waited for his father to do the same. Now that they were finally alone, the silence seemed to weigh heavier than before. Jim sipped the burning liquid and sighed.
"You want to talk about it?" George asked.
"I don't even know where to start," Jim admitted, folding his hands on the table.
"The beginning, the middle, the end: start wherever you want," George replied, spinning his glass around on the table absentmindedly.
"I screwed up and I lost someone under my command. Not just someone: a close friend," Jim explained. "His name was Pavel Chekov, and I've known him since I was at the Academy."
"That's rough," George replied. "I know exactly how you feel, because I messed up too. Their names were Gabriel McAvoy and Francisco Hernandez. Lieutenant Hernandez was supposed to get married when we got back. Me and Winona – your mom – we were invited to the wedding."
"I've lost people before," Jim admitted, staring at him hands uncomfortably. "A few months ago, my ship was destroyed and I lost nearly half my crew, but that was different; it was just a mission from higher command gone wrong because of misinformation. Chekov died because I made a stupid choice to scout out a temporal rift against the advice of my first officer."
"The Vulcan?" George asked.
"Yeah, Commander Spock."
"He seems like a pretty logical guy," George smirked, taking a big gulp of the liquor in his glass.
Jim made a face, laughed, and replied, "That he is. But he's my best friend and I trust his advice. This time I didn't, and now another good friend of mine is dead."
"I'll admit Commander Spock really rubbed me the wrong way when I first met him," George began.
"You and me both," Jim laughed.
"But he saved my life, apparently against his better judgment, and he went through that temporal rift twice to get you back, so maybe I was a little quick to form an opinion," George finished.
"Yeah, that's Spock for you," Jim explained. "Irritating and logical and loyal to a fault."
Another uncomfortable silence began to build, and George finished his drink and said, "Hernandez and McAvoy were the first people who ever died as a direct result of a decision I made."
"I had a good mentor coming up through the Academy, a guy named Captain Christopher Pike. I feel like if he were still alive, he'd be saying all kinds of things about not dwelling on the past and not imagining all the what-ifs, but-"
"But it's easier to give advice than take it?" George finished.
"Exactly," Jim answered, also finishing his drink and fighting to keep the tears from building in his eyes.
"We can sit here all night beating ourselves up, if that's what you really want to do," said George.
Jim reached for the bottle of whiskey and painfully thought of Chekov as he unscrewed the cap and poured a second round of drinks for the both of them. Moping and crying would be the easy thing, and it felt like it would be the right thing, but he couldn't ignore the opportunity sitting in front of him. He would have the rest of his life to grieve, but maybe Bones was right: he needed to talk to his father while he had the chance.
He raised his glass and said, "To Chekov, Hernandez, and McAvoy." George raised his glass in return and they both took a long drink.
"I'm sure Commander Spock would be upset with me for saying this, but I get the sense that you and I don't know each other very well," George said after nearly a minute.
Jim looked at him, sighed, and leaned back in his chair. He started to wonder if getting drunk with his dead father was a good idea.
"That's because we don't," he announced, leaning forward to put his glass down on the table.
George said nothing, but also set his glass down, and Jim sensed his father was coming to the same conclusion about mixing family, alcohol, and time travel.
"I guess I shouldn't-"
"You died," Jim interrupted.
George bobbed his head awkwardly and asked, "Was I supposed to die on that planetoid?"
"No, but not very long after," Jim admitted. "I'm not sure if I should be telling you any of this, but I'm also not sure what the right thing is here. Everything's already so screwed up."
"Was I at least there when you born?" George asked.
Jim considered his words, and answered, "You were alive when I was born, yes."
"Well, good," George said with a pained grin, picking up the whiskey glass once again. "Can I- I wonder- did I?"
"Just ask," Jim said in exasperation.
"Did I die well?"
"That's… kind of relative, I guess," Jim said clumsily. "What's a 'good death?'"
"Fair point," George admitted.
"I don't know that there was any reason for you to die," Jim said, feeling tears threatening to blot his eyes again. "But I think everyone would agree that you died a hero."
"Look, I didn't mean-"
"No, it's fine," Jim interrupted. "I'd be wondering the same things if I were you." He finished the last of the whiskey with a hearty swig, sputtered, and set the glass down with an audible "clink" on the hard table.
"Enough about me," George said with false cheerfulness. "Tell me about you."
"What do you want to know?"
"Everything."
Stardate 2233.02
2345 hours
Spock had spent the past two hours in his quarters, trying to logically piece together the limited information he was able to obtain from the Colonel and the Centurion. The situation was direr and more complicated than he had initially believed.
Though the Colonel had not said it, he had been able to deduce that her government had dispatched other warbirds to intercept the Narada and prevent the eventual destruction of Vulcan. It had been more difficult to infer why the Romulan Star Empire would invest itself in such an endeavor, but during the course of his three-hour interrogation, the Colonel had made three very serious mistaken admissions.
The first had been casually mentioning a prolonged war, the second had been suggesting that Romulus was nearly uninhabitable as a result of some sort of disaster, and the third had been admitting to having met Ambassador Spock. Those facts, taken together with the present circumstances and the contents of the late ambassador's final message finally led him to his conclusion.
Ambassador Spock had been trying to prevent a devastating future war between the Empire and the Federation, one that was presumably initially provoked by Vulcan's destruction. The political climate in 2263 certainly suggested that war was on the horizon. The only logical conclusion was that the Romulan government in 2271 had somehow discovered the temporal rift created by the Narada's destruction and managed to contact Ambassador Spock to negotiate a way to procure peace before the war even began.
The ambassador had previously explained that in his later years, he had made several attempts to reconcile Vulcans and Romulans, and therefore, it was logical to believe he would have had private motivations for communicating with the Romulan government of the future. It was also logical to assume that his death had unfortunately put an end to those discussions, but the Romulans had not abandoned the idea of preventing the war.
Spock found himself facing a peculiar dilemma. If the Romulans were successful in destroying the Narada before it could destroy the Kelvin, Vulcan would be spared. Unfortunately, existence as he understood it would vanish. Aside from selfish considerations, such as Nyota and their unborn child, that had much wider implications. Everything that had transpired since the Kelvin's destruction would be in jeopardy. The door to his quarters swung open and Nyota entered, looking extremely tired.
"I didn't know if you were still awake," she said, flopping down in the lounge chair across from him. "Scotty relieved me on the bridge. We still haven't found the Kelvin, or any Romulan ships that you said we should scan for."
"Understood," he replied. "You performed admirably today, Nyota."
She smiled wanly without looking at him and said, "Admirably. That's high praise, coming from you."
He was about to ask after her health when she stood and sat down in his lap. She curled her legs up underneath herself and rested her head on his chest. She could often be emotional, but she was rarely so quietly affectionate.
"What are we going to do?" she asked.
"I presume you are referring to the child."
"Everything."
"I believe it would be more appropriate to ask what you wish to do," he replied.
She adjusted her body to rest her forehead in the dip of his sternum. "I was ready to quit Starfleet a few hours ago, but being in command, I felt- I can't describe it. I felt hungry, almost. I love Starfleet, and I don't want to resign my commission."
"You do not have to."
"Well, I can't stay on Enterprise indefinitely, unless the ship has a nursery I don't know about, or unless the captain is willing to make some extraordinary exceptions to policy. Starfleet's regulations about families on deep space missions changed because of the Kelvin, in case you didn't remember."
"I am aware of Starfleet's policies regarding children on starships in remote sectors of space," he said. "But I presume your statement was an indirect means of asking me whether I intend to remain aboard Enterprise without you."
He could feel her body shudder and knew she was on the verge of tears.
"I do not," he added.
"But even if we get lucky and end up getting assigned somewhere together at first, it might not stay that way forever," she stammered.
"I was prepared for the eventuality that we would one day be given separate assignments, and I believed we would find a way to endure. This child adds a unique complication to each of our continued career paths, but that does not mean this child is unwelcome."
"But what will happen if I'm the one who ends up with the non-family friendly assignment someday?"
"I believe the only logical conclusion is that I will be left to care for the child," Spock replied.
"And you would do that?"
"You seem surprised."
"Do you even know anything about raising kids?" she asked.
"Do you?" he responded.
She scoffed and sat up and he could see tears freely flowing down her cheeks.
"Nyota, many things are not inherently evident, but must be learned. I am capable of learning to care for our child," he explained.
"I just can't stop worrying about everything. You've mentioned that things were really hard for you growing up, you know, since you're half human," she said, curling her bottom lip. "What if people are awful to our child?"
"I believe that point is irrelevant to the matter," he argued. "Our child will face difficulty and adversity regardless of the circumstances of his or her birth or genetics. That is a simple consequence of life, but it will not change the fact that this child will exist."
"I just don't know how we're going to make it work," she sighed, returning her head to his chest.
"Nor do I, but there are many events in life that cannot adequately be anticipated."
"I both love and hate how you have an answer for everything," she sniffed.
The intercom panel by the door chimed, and he could easily perceive Nyota's frustration. She stood to allow him to get up and answer it.
"Spock here."
"Sorry to bother you, Commander," came the voice of Mr. Scott. "But I believe we're detecting at least one Romulan vessel on long range scans on our side of the Neutral Zone. I think you'd better get up here."