Title: Left Behind
They'll always leave you
Or
You can leave them first
It's been a theme throughout his life and no matter how hard he tries to change it, nothing changes.
He's three perched on the edge of a chair staring at his mother. Her forehead is wrinkled as she reads a data Padd and makes notes. He's thinking about what he heard some of the other kids say about their dad...and he wants to know what happened to his. Why isn't he there to play with him or talk with him like the other kids say their fathers do. Sam just tells him to shut up when he asks and mom grows quiet but he really has to know...
"What happened to my dad?"
His mother glances up, her head swinging upward and her eyebrows knitting together. "What?" She shifts a stack of data Padds on the table and glances away again.
Jim asks again, more insistent this time. He wants an answer...he needs an answer.
His mother acts like she hasn't heard she stands and walks into the kitchen, rummaging through cabinets. Packages tumble off the shelf and wrappers crinkle. Her head re-emerges and she's wiping her face on a dishtowel like it's suddenly dirty. When she finally looks up her eyes are reddened and her voice is slightly muffled as she tries to smile and it looks like a sick grimace. "How about some cookies?."
Without waiting for an answer she pulls out a plate and with a shaking hand tips a whole package open crunchy disks fall out and scatter across the counter but Jim ignores the offering he's like a dog with a bone. He asks the question again and this time his mother falls completely still. Her lips are pressed together in a tight line and her eyes are growing bright. She takes a breath before speaking .
And delivers the words like a death pronouncement., "He went into space."
She breaks off...Jim waits, his curiosity silently demanding an answer.
"And he didn't come back." Then she's gone, disappearing from the kitchen but he can still hear her starting to sob in the living room.
It'll be another year before he learns that not coming back means dead. And another year after that before he fully grasps the concept of death.
When he finally does it doesn't change his first opinion.
His dad left him too.
XXXX XXXX
He's six and scuffs his shoe along the floor. "But why do you have to go?"
His mother doesn't stop packing her bag. "I already told you Jimmy, I have business to take care of and I'm the only one close enough who can complete the assignment in time."
"Can't I come with you?" He asks even though he knows the answer will be the same as it's always been. He's right again. As she starts up the same excuses why he can't go, he tunes out. Instead he grabs her comm badge from where it's laying and hides it underneath the clothes she's already packed. It'll only delay her for a few minutes but at least she'll be with him longer.
He tries another option. "Can I go with Sam to the Marshalls' house? Why do I always get left here?"
"They invited him to stay over not you, plus you're six and he's nine."
He scuffs the floor harder with his shoe, this time leaving a smear of drying mud. "Can I stay down the road with Ms. Perkins?"
"She's not home half the time; you'd be alone in that house most of the day at least."
"So?"
"So you're not ready to stay by yourself."
He scowls but doesn't remind her that he'll be staying by himself when she leaves. He's already tried that in the past and she stolidly refuses to believe that her husband, Frank would leave a then five—now six year old home alone while he went out and drank with his friends.
A quick search commences as she discovers the lost comm badge. Jim rescues it from where he stashed it as she frantically moves stuff around her room looking for the device. "Here." He holds the silver equipment out and waits patiently as she goes through her routine of a one-armed hug for him before she grabs her bag and walks down the stairs toward the door. Franks gets a quick kiss and then his mother's gone. He stands at the door, irritated that Franks chooses to stand behind him and he can feel the man's warm liquor laced breath on the back of his head. But he's more irritated that his mother gets in the air skimmer and takes off without once ever looking back.
And he's even more irritated that she's leaving him again.
XXXX XXXX
He's eleven and Sam is walking away. His brother's last words ring in his ears. You'll be fine.
But he knows he won't...and it's not just because now that Sam is gone Frank will start on him even worse. It's not that.
He's not going to be fine, because there's something wrong with him. After all what else could it be that makes everybody leave him?
His father's dead. His mother's off planet, in some star system light years away. And his brother is walking down the road planning on never coming back...And not once did any of them stop to think of who they were leaving behind...him.
Suddenly nothing matters. He drops the soapy sponge in the bucket and slips into his father's old car. If they really don't want him...maybe he'll just do them all a favour. Wind is blowing in his hair and music is blaring through the radio. And as he reaches the edge of the praecipe that will lead to a short tumble into the quarry and a quick death, he isn't sure what he wants...
But it's not that...
He tumbles from the car and gets up. He's shouting his name when the officer asks, because he doesn't care anymore.
The words are harsh and defiant as he squares his shoulders and faces the man.
Let them leave...let them all leave...he doesn't care.
XXXX XXXX
Except he does...
Thirteen years old and he finally knows what it's like to feel loved completely and sincerely. Not like a obligation to be begrudgingly filled or a chore to be completed. Instead he knows what it's like to have his hair affectionately tousled as he gets home from school and is met with a smile and a plate of cookies. Instead he knows what it's like to hear a voice raised in encouragement as he wins a race instead of hearing swearing deprecations about how he's a waste of time.
He should have known it wouldn't last...but he got complacent. He finally forgot and now he's reminded.
Twisted, broken, bloodied bodies. Faces he can't bear to see because he knew them when they were alive and vibrant. They're gone. He knows it wasn't their choice. He knows that of the tens and hundreds of bodies strewn around nobody would have chosen to die they way they did.
But still it feels like a betrayal, because they've left him too.
XXXX XXXX
He's nearly fourteen and he feels stupid. He should be used to what's happened now. Instead he stares almost dumbly at the small rag wrapped body waiting to be covered with a waiting mound of dirt. There's only a few of them left now...
One by one they keep going. Starvation, illness, weapon fire, dehydration...the list goes on and on. He doing his best to save them all, he's doing more than any teenager should have too...but still it's not good enough...and they're leaving him.
He drops the first scoop of dirt on the body and an unseen tear escapes down his cheek.
XXXX XXXX
He's sixteen and high as a kite. He's drunk too but that isn't what makes him slam the door shut to his house and run out. He has a few credits in his pocket, a hypo of the good stuff for when his current high wears off, a few odds and ends, and the clothes on his back.
He thinks about going back and apologizing. Or maybe packing some of his stuff up, but in the end he just keeps walking. He hasn't talked to his brother in a long time, or seen him either. His mother is once again off on her frequent assignments off planet. And he's left behind with his stepfather. He can't take a second more in that house or around that man, or he's going to kill him...
He's knows that because he wants to and that weapon in his hand had felt too right.
It's a long walk to the shuttle depot, but once he gets there he'll beg, borrow, steal...pretty much whatever's necessary to buy himself a ticket off planet. And then he's leaving.
He gives a half smile through a mouth tangy with blood from a split lip. He imagines the look on his mother's face when she comes home to find him gone. He wonders if Sam will ever try to contact him and realise his little brother has been years long gone.
It feels good to finally be the one leaving everybody else behind.
XXXX XXXX
He's seventeen, eighteen, nineteen, twenty, twenty-one... the years blur together sometimes. He's gotten good at being the one who does the leaving.
He's sixteen and in a drug den on Kalchek prime and the room is hazy with smoke. He wakes up feeling slightly sick and a whole lot high. His head is spinning as he takes a last hit off a half-filled hypo lying in the middle of the room and then walks out the door into the night before anybody can demand credits or anything else as payment for the night's festivities.
He's seventeen and it's a whorehouse, a house of ill-repute, whatever. The name doesn't matter. What does is that somehow—he can't even really remember all the details—he managed to get involved in the life. All he remembers is what was supposed to be a fling that went bad—really bad. At first he tried to get away but even that desire faded a little more with each day of his drug filled stupor. It's not really so bad he convinces himself and he's too high most of the time to care about anything except getting his next hit. Now he's lying tangled up with somebody's sweaty limbs, and this customer has been way to rough. Even lying still he can feel a few broken ribs, a lot of bruises and he's bleeding from at least one orifice. When the person—he isn't too sure of the gender—falls asleep he makes sure they stays that way—permanently. He grabs his clothes pulling them on as quickly as he can over his bruised body and then snatches a discarded wallet lying on the floor. It had a good wad of credits and a few coins from different planets... enough to meet his quota and still the jitters he feels starting. He stashes the wallet in his pocket and walks away.
He's nineteen and laser beams lance overhead and a few feet away he sees one of the other men fall. He's close enough that he might be able to reach him. The man's eyes lock with his own, and then Kirk moves. Not towards the man, he doesn't forget what the man's done and he'll be more than happy to let the disgusting creature meet his maker. Because after all the things he's seen the man do...to innocent people he can't begin to think of the mercenary as human.
He's twenty-two and back home in Iowa...Not even sure how he wound up there. But in any case he finds a bar and proceeds to commence his typical plan for the night. Get drunk...start a fight...get a girl...and leave... He doesn't really care about the order, but his plan is going nicely. Until some man in a Starfleet uniform ruins it. Suddenly he finds himself sitting at a table, with a dizzy feeling that threatens to be a concussion, a wad of blood-soaked tissue up each nostril and a lecture about how he could be better. He wants to punch the man, because who the hell does he think he is acting like he knows him. But something stops him, and the man seems a little too familiar. So instead of being the one who saunters insolently away mid conversation, Kirk finds himself watching as Christopher Pike walks away after delivering his speech like he was offering salvation.
XXXX XXXX
Kirk still isn't sure how the whole Starfleet thing happened. But as he stands in his cadet uniform he decides his decision must have been due to a concussion or maybe he was drunker than he realised, because he hates rules, and pompous officials. And Starfleet has quite a few of both. He's learned from an early age—thirteen in fact, that all they ever mean is death . They've got all the answers for hundreds of scenarios but nothing for the real-life ones that really matter.
But instead of leaving the first day out of orientation, he stays. At first he says it's because he has to beat Pike's dare. Then he says it so he can find the name of the pretty and delightfully elusive linguistic student. Later he says it's because, somebody has to keep the Georgia doctor he's nicknamed Bones from flunking.
He still can't admit that maybe he's finally tired of leaving...
He hangs around McCoy-that's the doctor's real name— every moment he can get. Kirk's like a shadow except he doesn't just stay behind and silent. Instead he's in front, , at the side, pretty much all around... and he's always saying something. Whether it's slightly lewd remarks about the cadets walking by in messhall or gasping refusals as he tries to dodge a hypo spray once he's managed to have his third allergic reaction of the month, he's not really silent.
He's constantly pestering the doctor, talking to him, being around him. It's like he's found one thing worthwhile about the whole academy and he's hanging onto it for dear life. He keeps pushing farther, being more annoying, almost clingy, he halfway insults the man, picks at him, tries to start a fight, does anything and everything he can to push him away...it's like a test he's determined to have the doctor fail. It's like something he has to prove to himself and then he can finally move on...Everybody leaves.
And Kirk just wants to get it over with.
Because he knows it'll never last. The feeling of belonging that he has marginally managed to achieve is nothing more than a facade. The few acquaintances that threaten to become friends are nothing more than more misery waiting to happen. Kirk knows something will happen to shatter the normalcy that has somehow crept into his life. He knows that once again he'll find himself alone and rather than wait for everything to come crashing down on his head he wants to destroy it himself.
Everything's going to well. He's the top of most of his classes and a close second in the others. He finally has a few people who apparently actually like him at least a little bit and many of the others give him a grudging respect. Finally he feels like he belongs and that scares him. He doesn't want to relax, he doesn't want to let his guard down , because it's all just an illusion.
They always leaves..one way or another he's sure all of it will go away ...and he doesn't want to wait for the slow run towards the end. He wants to meet it on his own terms.
He flunks a few tests...not bad enough to actually damage his grade, but enough to push the limits. He wants his teachers to begin to doubt him, he wants them to show how they truly feel.
He's just an ass enough to several students that they stop hanging with him and as he watches them glance at him and look away he feels bizarrely satisfied that once again his expectations are becoming fulfilled. A few more flunked exams, lewd comments, picked fights and he's sure he was right. People want to get away from him or him to go away. In the span of a few days he manages to have at least five faculty members calling for his head and at least ten times that number of students severely pissed with him.
McCoy catches him at the end of a class he has deliberately made a fool of the teacher in and hisses "Are you trying to make everybody mad at you? You know that professor is head of the review board?"
Kirk just keeps walking and McCoy grabs his arm stopping him. "Seriously, they're going to expel you if you keep up this . How long do you think before it'll be before they kick you out for this cocky I—don't—give—a sh—routine ?"
He tries to pull away from McCoy without answering but the doctor is holding his arm tightly. So instead Kirk smirks and because he's trying hard to be an ass he answers. "Long enough to see them kick you out first." Then he laughs at the expression crossing the doctor's face and pulls his arm free from the suddenly loosened grip.
He feels better being the pariah. He feels better because at least then he knows what's coming next and he can plan for it.
He'll walk away before they have a chance to leave him .
A part of him knows he's being irrational, but a large part of him doesn't care...this is what he's chose and no matter whether he's hastening his own end it has to be on his own terms.
They're walking back to their dorms and McCoy is silently fuming. He's been that way for most of the week ever since Kirk made that comment about him being kicked out, and it has only increased as the days have progressed and Kirk's gone out of his way to piss off the doctor. And Kirk in a sick way is almost pleased with himself. They were partnered for classes today...which normally would have been okay. But this time Kirk purposefully volunteered for the shuttle flight, even though he knew McCoy was deathly afraid of shuttles, then he proceeded to fail the simulation. After said failure he defiantly ate food he was halfway sure he was allergic too, thereby forcing the doctor who was still really angry at him to save him from anaphylaxis.
Then Kirk decided to ignore McCoy's suggestions for him to rest and instead went out to a bar where he waited until he saw a woman his friend was clearly interested in. Five shots of liquor later, and a few flirty comments and he and the woman are coming out of the back room, with clothes dishevelled and a self-satisfied smirk on Kirk's face. Kirk ignores his McCoy's glare and pretends he doesn't care.
Inside it feels like his stomach is sinking. He's waiting for him to walk away; he's waiting for him to leave. He wants the doctor to just glare at him with disgust and walk away from him. Instead the man grabs him and drags him out the bar insisting that he go home because "Allergy medication and eight drinks do not mix well damn it!"
He doesn't bother to correct McCoy's count because it's a lot more than eight drinks but even he can't remember how many now. Kirk complies even though he's kind of confused and angry at why McCoy just won't leave. He wants to shake the doctor's hand off when he reaches out to steady him as he starts walking but he's too drunk to make it to his dorm on his own and McCoy begrudgingly helps him the rest of his way. He wants to tell him to piss off when McCoy starts grumpily scolding him, but he's sure it's not a great idea to open his mouth at that moment. He collapses on his bed facedown too tired to even undress. He really doesn't feel good and if he smothers in his sleep and chokes on his own vomit well then great at least he won't be alive to see McCoy walk away too.
He twists his head to where the doctor is standing over him and growling about responsibility and him being an ass. He doesn't really mean what he wants to say , but he has to say it because right now he hates McCoy. He hates pretty much everybody in the whole universe.
And he hates himself for once again forgetting that he's always going to be alone...because they always leave. The words fall out as he remembers his mom riding away in an air skimmer, or Sam with a bag hitched over his shoulder dragging his feet down the driveway, or the blood covered corpses of his family on Tarsus. He blurts the words out because it's what he wants to say to all of them."F—k you."
F—k you for leaving, f—k you for leaving me and getting out when I couldn't.
McCoy just looks at him confusedly... Kirk turns away and falls asleep.
He shifts and wakes in the morning. He's covered with a blanket and doesn't remember grabbing it. Somebody has changed his clothes, he opens his eyes more and sees that the bed linen is fresh too. His head is pounding and his mouth tastes gross like puke.
He's confused for a bare moment, and then it all comes back and he stills. He's ready for it, but yet he isn't. He waits another minute trying to summon the energy to get up and pack his bags and just walk away again. Because who was he to think that he had finally found a place to belong, who was he to think that he had finally found someone who wasn't going to just up and leave him.
There's something wrong with him,, that's why they always leave. It's better to push them away then watch them go Those are all the thoughts going through his head.
Then he hears a snore.
He turns his head and finds McCoy fast asleep in a chair with his head pillowed on his arms. And for a moment all he can do is stare. Then he calls out "Bones?"
The man starts , then turns his head and blinks a few times before saying. "Oh you're awake."
He sounds irritated and still a tad angry.
"Why are you here?" Kirk can't help asking, he was expecting him gone...he wanted him gone. Then he had a reason to leave himself.
McCoy scowls and stretches before answering. "Well, you should be grateful somebody cares enough about you to take pity on your idiotic ass. Do you know how many people have died of aspiration of their stomach contents? It's..."
Kirk tunes all the rest out and sits up. He's still staring at McCoy watching the doctor grow increasingly impassioned as he lists puke related deaths from Jimmi Hendrix to the 22nd century Terran general Clarence Garrovick
The doctor finishes. "So no I wasn't leaving you."
The rest of the conversation fades away and Kirk is left with only the last few words...he's still confused but before he can think more about what the doctor has said McCoy is leaning closer and asking a question.
The doctor has that nosy, prying look that Kirk has come to associate with awkward questions that he doesn't know how to answer and doesn't really want to. "What's going on with you this week? You're acting like you... I don't know...want to get kicked out or something."
He stands up and ignores the doctor. He doesn't want to talk about what's going on. He's sure the man wouldn't understand. McCoy hasn't lived his life. It's late and classes will be starting in an hour. Kirk snatches up a uniform shirt and replaces his T-shirt.
McCoy is still prying, his voice boring into Kirk and it's doing nothing for the headache he has. Finally he snaps. Kirk's eyes are wild as he snarls. "You want to know what's wrong? You really want to know?"
He stabs a finger into his own chest and answers. " I don't fit in here and sooner or later everybody is going to realise I'm just the Iowa screw-up with a dead hero father who I can't be like. I don't belong here!"
He knows he should stop but he can't now that he's started. "People are just tolerating me, and when they realise what I am they're just going to walk away. So I'm not going to give them that chance. F—k this...I'm gone."
McCoy just stares at him, silently. The doctor's gaze is unwavering and Kirk turns away and starts randomly grabbing clothes stuffing them into a bag.
"You really think this?" It's not such so much a question as a statement. Because in that moment McCoy realises something that he's sure even Kirk hasn't. Underneath all the cocky bravado and I-don't-care brilliance is a person who's insecure as hell...And he wants to know what's the reasons but something else tells him that he desperately doesn't want to. Before he can decide, Kirk turns back to him.
Venom is dripping off the other man's voice as he speaks. He gives a self-deprecating laugh that sounds half-deranged. "I don't think I know. From the time I was born, when I was a kid in Iowa, when I was thirteen on T—" He breaks off for a moment and when he starts back his words are the story of a foregone conclusion. "People always leave..."
There's something more to all this and McCoy makes a mental note to find out. But right now he has to figure out what to say because Kirk's turned back and is continuing to pack, shoving items almost violently into his bag. He speaks so low that McCoy almost misses his last words. "So I leave first."
"You mean you give up." Those words weren't what he meant to say but as Kirk turns back to him with eyes blazing he knows it's the right thing.
"What did you just say?"
"I said you give up." McCoy is slightly apprehensive at the look crossing his friend's face but he continues. "You making some god damn excuse about why you have to leave but there really isn't one. I don't know what else you're talking about, but the only person walking away right now is you. You're so afraid you might actually succeed that you're leaving before you get the chance to."
"That's not what this is about." Kirk's voice is shaking with anger and some other indefinable emotion.
"Then what is it about Jim?"
Kirk doesn't answer, he just stands still, a shirt still clutched in one hand and his face blank except for eyes...
"You can't keep running from everything."
"I'm not—"
"'You are. You've got what it takes to make it in Starfleet, hell you definitely got it more than me." McCoy clears his troat and adds a touch of joking to his voice. "If you don't belong , then I sure as sh—don't but I'm a divorced, ex-alcoholic older than most of these cadets— doctor who hates space... And yet I'm still here."
Kirk swallows an looks like he wants to say something but isn't sure what. McCoy glances at the time , and stands up. "Astro nav starts in fifteen minutes , I'm not giving an extra assignment because you want to have a god-damn pity party."
The scowl Kirk gives him isn't quite up to par, but he finishes dressing and leaves the half packed bag sitting on his bed as they start off to class.
They're nearly there when Kirk says almost so low that McCoy can't hear it. "Thanks, Bones."
"No problem, you can be sure I won't be letting your clingy ass walk away any time soon , somebody has to be around to save you when you decide to try chocolate covered strawberries again for the tenth time because a cute cadet offered them to you and maybe you aren't allergic anymore "
And as they walk into class Kirk hears the unsaid promise...I'm not leaving you too.
Kirk doesn't quite know if he should believe him, and three years later when the doctor is given a posting on the Enterprise and Kirk is about to be left Earth side he already knows what to expect. And it's not like he really blames the doctor, after all he has assignment and Kirk's predicament is his own fault. But still a small part of him that he'll never admit to can't help hurting as he watches McCoy start to leave. It's not until the doctor turns back and helps him sneak aboard a shuttle bound for the ship that he finally starts to realise that maybe leaving on your own or being left behind once they get tired of you aren't the only options.
Maybe he doesn't have to be alone...
Not really sure if this fits in the after Tarsus collection...parts did of the story and parts didn't. If you really think this story doesn't fit in this collection then feel free to tell me.
Anyway, this one is kind of a character study. I see Kirk has having issues with abandonment and difficulty having friendships or relationships because he's always on guard and always wanting to avoid being hurt.
We can kind of see that in the movie when Gaila tells him she loves him and he responds by remarking "weird".
Sorry for the length of this piece! And if any of you would like me to write on a specific aspect of After Tarsus I do accept prompts!
Oh and by the way, I was rereading my fic and noticed that if you were looking at this with slash goggles it might appear to be implied, but that wasn't my intention and I definitely don't ship McKirk
Thanks for reading...until next time.