Everyone knew something was coming.

Bones knew it. Even if he hadn't caught Jim with his hand in the cookie jar, no way would he have missed those telling smirks as he researched and made secretive notes. He disappeared for weekends at a time and came back smelling like an Orion pleasure slave, which wasn't anything new, but the pages and pages of programming code definitely was.

He didn't have enough programming experience to make head or tail of it, but Kirk had a rock solid foundation, a real flair for computers, and anything he lacked in particular knowledge was certainly made up for by Gaila. Len had dug a little, and found out that despite looking like the dizziest green cheerleader on the planet, she was also a bit of a computer wunderkind. It also made him a bit uncomfortable that it surprised him, since he thought he was above stereotyping, and was also well versed in Orion physiology and pheremones.

Then he found out that she had been a pleasure slave, which made him feel like ten kinds of asshole. She was also kind and considerate, and brought him a sandwich when she brought one for Jim, then opened his wardrobe and critiqued his casual clothes and discussed oddball physics theory at the same time. When her pheromone cycle peaked she was polite enough to not visit his dorm.

In another life, or even later on in this one, she would have been perfect for Jim. Bubbly and brilliant, but she had the depth and conviction of a survivor, the kind that made someone beautiful instead of just pretty, and the determination to live life to its fullest. If any woman had what it took to snare Jim, it was probably her.

Jim just didn't have it in him, not at the moment.

He was dating her, liked her a lot, but Leonard would catch him looking at Gaila with a squirrelly look on his face, one that looked vaguely disbelieving. Of course, Jim used to look like Leonard like that too, but stopped sometime during first year. He didn't want to linger over what it meant.

Jim had been giving him some different looks recently, and he couldn't put a name to them either. But it did cement one thing in Leonard's mind.

The kid was up to something all right, by his own admission, even. Leonard knew he wasn't going to like it one damn bit, no matter what Jimmy said. And if it bit Len on the ass too?

Maybe he should requisition a hypo or three in case he needed to reassign Jim's gender.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Pike had his own theories.

After his apology he sat down and gave himself a stern talking to. Things had gone to shit with Jim. Yes, it was mostly his fault. For being blinded by his own assumptions, for letting things get out of hand, for finding Jim as seductive as cheesecake on a shit-hot fork.

That was where he went wrong. It wasn't when he opened his mouth and let out a stream of viciousness he didn't even really believe. It was long before that, before his cock overruled his brain and he became Kirk's advisor, even before Iowa.

He'd been bored. Landlocked ennui. He hated being grounded.

Space- the vastness, the possibility, the excitement of living in the now and that indefinable moment when he made a decision that worlds turned on- even the thought had him half-hard, but it wasn't really a sexual thing. He even missed the tedium of long trips, expanses of nothing filled with the soothing hum of nacelles if he stuck his hand against the inner hull next to his bed. It had a meditational quality that even the relentless paperwork couldn't destroy. He knew who and what he was in space. Space defined him, more than any words or uniform could hope to.

He wasn't the person on the ground that he was in the black. Everything here was disjointed and wrong. He had a life up there. Here, he had a townhome that still looked like a showplace because he was never there, and colleagues, not friends; mutual fucks, not lovers. He had oversight of his ship, which was so close to launch he could taste the dilithium, but it had been years of wait and brief hops off world were poor panacea. Busywork. Paperwork, teaching, glad handing the people that expected it. But none of it was real like space was real. He was in his prime and had years to find his way on earth when he was too doddering to command a ship.

Everything real, and good, and Christopher Pike was in the fucking stars, and maybe that's where he went wrong because maybe he saw the same restless wanting thing in some farm boy in a shit bar in Iowa.

Damn if he didn't. So angry, flippant and out of step, so high on adrenaline and blood because blood was real, and it was his, and it helped ground you when it felt like every other tether and cable had snapped. Sex worked briefly, because you could lie to yourself that the other person might just feel a bit of the same, but with blood, you could see it, and the visual cue could be more stimulating to the mind than ten empty orgasms.

He should have treated it. Drained the wound, nursed its infected edges before it got too out of hand, before James Goddamned Kirk sounded like a good idea.

Should have stepped up. Been completely the Captain here as much as he was in orbit, instead of becoming obsessed with Pike 2.0, trying to shape him from potential and raw material.

They had joked about it, but Chris thought that maybe he was the one with the issue after all, because what else would you call it when you wanted to fuck the person you tried to create in your own image? Narcissism?

When he laid it out, dispassionately, in his own mind, he conceded that it sounded a bit psychotic. In actual practice though, it had been- intense, amazing like the stars were amazing and just touching him for those brief moments was like freefall in space. Satisfaction, marrow deep, taken in finding something so real in a world of make-believe. Sublime.

He knew Kirk now, now that it was too little, too late, now that he had the bits and pieces and the ayes dotted. Chris hadn't succeeded after all, hadn't managed to duplicate himself. Instead, he had added to a work already in progress, fire that tempered. Added another straw to the camel, another weight to the world, but instead of crippling Jim it had honed him like a fucking razor.

He was dealing with it. Better than Chris was.

Pike knew Jim now. Inside and outside. In his head and deep in his body where Pike had touched too soon, too hard, too briefly. Yeah, he knew Jim.

And that was how he knew Jim was up to something too.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Pike was in the overhead again, looking down, and he realized as soon as Kirk entered the room that things had come to a head. He recognized that smile, that strut, the way he looked at McCoy, as if to say: wait till you get a load of this.

"We are receiving a distress signal from the U.S.S. Kobayashi Maru. The ship has lost power and is stranded. Starfleet Command has ordered us to rescue them."

"Captain."

"Starfleet Command has ordered us to rescue them—Captain."

Annoyance flashed in Uhura's voice as she glared, and Chris felt for her, really, even though her behavior could be considered questionable, because if anyone's behavior was fishy here, it was James'. That fucker. He wasn't taking it seriously, even though they had given him another shot at the test after tanking his last one so thoroughly. They cited trauma, and compromised decision making and poor Jim, which was all true, but Jim should have been on his knees thanking the testing board instead of thumbing his nose at them. He wanted to stop the test and drag him out by his ear. Tell him not to do it.

"Klingon vessels have entered the Neutral Zone and they are firing upon us."

"That's okay."

Oh no. Don't do it, Jim. Don't you fucking do it. It became his mantra, and as he looked at McCoy, he could see something similar playing out behind that ever-present scowl.

"Yeah, don't worry about it."

Chris' forehead hit the glass in front of him. Behind him, he could hear a bit of activity, and an incredulous "Did he just say that," which perfectly matched the looks of bewilderment on several of the cadets' faces.

Jim. Jim. Jim. Jim. Jim.

McCoy spoke up, and said something appropriate to the situation, but all Chris heard was 'what the fuck are you doing?'

"They're firing, Captain. All of them."

"Alert medical bay to prepare to receive all crew members from the damaged ship."

He sounded lazy and post coital, sharpening only briefly when Uhura questioned him. Fleeing, leaving the overhead so he wouldn't have to see sounded appealing, but a morbid need to know how this played out kept him glued to the glass.

"Alert medical."

"We're being hit, shields at sixty percent."

Still more flippancy in return.

"Should we at least, oh, I dunno—fire back?"

"Mmm—no."

That was all the warning Pike had, in the moments before things went weird. Before the lights flickered, and around him panels of information blanked out, consoles dead or blinking erratically. Technicians buzzed nervously around him as they tried to figure out what just happened.

Pike could have told them. In the moment before everything powered down, something indefinable had curled Jim's lips and settled into those unnatural blue eyes, making a brief home for itself.

What came next was no surprise, just a confirmation. The next minute blended together a bit in his mind as he tried to process just what had happened, what the ramifications were. Lights came up, power back on.

"The Kobayashi Maru is still in distress. But—the Klingons have stopped firing." Uhura sounded punch drunk. "They are dropping shields and powering down their weapons."

"Fire on all enemy ships. One photon each should do. No reason to waste munitions."

"Signal the Kobayashi Maru. Tell them they are now safe and their rescue is assured. Begin rescue of the stranded crew."

"Anything else?" This time, Kirk looked up at the overhead viewer, and Pike was ready to swear that Jim was looking directly at him, despite the one-way glass. And he was smiling.

There was an even bigger flutter behind him, but Pike couldn't bring himself to participate. Instead, he closed his eyes and focused on breathing.

Fuck.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

When Leonard McCoy answered the door, he didn't look happy, but he did look all yelled out. He didn't look surprised either, just gave him an evil eye and leaned in the doorway with arms crossed like he's the bad guy in some forgotten spaghetti western.

"Is Jim here?"

There is movement within the room, and McCoy straightens with a shrug before stepping aside to let Chris pass. He leaves barely enough room for him to squeeze by, and Chris has his number, but can't fault the man for trying to get a leg up in a potential confrontation.

He was good at intimidation. If McCoy hadn't been one of God's own doctors, he would have pushed for him in command.

Jim is standing in the middle of the room, back to him, wearing casual clothes, sneakers and jeans.

"Can I speak to you alone?"

Chris can hear a cough of protest from behind, but Jim just half turns and nods, and that was apparently enough to make the doctor subside.

"Both of you! I swear. If your brains were trilithium you couldn't blow your nose. I'll go walk around the quad. But if you think I won't come down on you like the hammer of God if you can't behave yourselves, then you don't-"

"Bones. Later. Please?" It was very polite, but firm.

Chris couldn't tell which of them had McCoy venting his spleen- probably both, but he was gratified all the same when he closed the door, leaving him alone with Jim.

It would have felt nice, if things weren't so grave.

"Do you want to explain to me what you were trying to accomplish?"

"There was no try about it. I beat the K.M." Jim turned fully to look at him, looking satisfied. Practically serene.

"Beat it? You hacked the test."

"Never forget that no military leader has ever become great without audacity. If the leader is filled with high ambition and if he pursues his aims with audacity and strength of will, he will reach them in spite of all obstacles."

"Clausewitz. Part of your thesis. " No use pretending he hadn't read it. He was sure Jim would know.

"Old Carl had a point. You even said it when you got on your soapbox in that bar. Something Starfleet's lost, yeah? Overly disciplined. Fossilizing. That all equals a lack of audacity, wouldn't you agree?"

Chris inclined his head and remained standing even as Jim sat on the sofa, free and easy, arm spread across the back of the chair. It threw his delts into high relief and the sleeve rode up, exposing just a curl of dark hair. Not smell, but sense-memory made him want to bury his head there. Not rushed or angry this time. Time to get slow and dirty and really appreciate sweat and semen and the taste of it on skin.

"It wasn't cheating. Look at the mission brief. No limits defined, other than the fact that a rescue attempt must be made. Short and sweet. I just didn't solve it in the way they expected. They want particular answers, they should start with particular questions."

"You know they don't see it that way. You had to know it would come down to this. Some of them want to make an example of you. Some of them have been wanting to nail you to a wall for a while, and you just handed yourself over."

"Yes. But isn't this what you wanted? Someone who would use their knowledge and improvise? Jump off a fucking cliff? I thought that's what we were about. If you thought I'd sit back and smile and nod and do things by rote just to graduate, you could have saved your breath in Iowa."

"This is different. You could be dishonorably discharged."

"Begin as you mean to go on. I picked that thesis for a reason. I don't know, call it lingering sentiment over how we met. Audacity. Audeo. I dare. Yeah, I fucking dared."

"And if you get kicked out?"

"Then I get kicked out. I honestly don't care." And he didn't. Pike could see that perfectly. Jim's eyes were smiling and he looked confident in a way he never had before. He had been brash, cocky, but never centered and satisfied with who and what he was.

" I don't have to prove myself to anybody else." Jim raised a self-mocking eyebrow. "Not anymore. My own terms, or not at all." He looked thoughtful. "I'm James T. Kirk. I lost sight of that for a long time, you know, but now? I can do anything I feel like doing. I don't need Starfleet for that. I don't need to be George Kirk's son for that. The private sector won't know what hit it."

"No regrets." It wasn't a question. More of an acknowlegement.

There was still a nod of agreement. "I made the only decision I could live with. I want no problems meeting my own face in a mirror. If I let myself get pinned in place by expectations instead of innovation, just so the admiralty can sit back and admire their handywork and fucking test scores, I don't know that I could. Win the test and go down in history, or perform adequately and lose. There was no question."

"What about McCoy? Are you just going to ditch him?" And me. But he couldn't say that without sounding insane. Or obsessed, even though he would admit to a bit of both.

"He's still my best friend. On a starship or a space station, in the next room or lightyears away. I don't need my hand held and he doesn't need a friend that requires maintenance. That's what ex-wives are for." Jim rolled his neck as if working out a kink and let the corner of his mouth lift in amusement. "Do you really think I'm going down for this? I'm your former protégé. Please. If you can't dazzle them with your Knowledge, then baffle them with your Bullshit. Create a class on social engineering and I'll teach it for you, I'm that good." Jim turned his head to look out the window, and Chris had the feeling that he was being dismissed. "By the time I'm done with that hearing they'll be giving me a commendation for original thinking."

And Jim was looking into the dimming light, hair turned gold, skin warmed by the sun. His tan contrasting with his white t-shirt and perfect, even teeth. Focused. Empowered.

Exceptional in every way.

Jim had become everything Pike had wanted for him. More, because this Jim wasn't predicated on the idea of what or who Chris Pike allowed him to be.

And it was beautiful.

Almost too beautiful to look at.

He had to leave, was leaving, when Kirk's voice stopped him.

"Hey, Pike?"

"What is it?" His voice sounded hoarse in his own ears.

"This. It isn't an unwinnable scenario."

It was probably the closest to don't worry he would ever hear. It also made a sort of optimistic sense. Compared to everything else the kid had managed to pull off in his time- "No. It isn't."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

"Well?" McCoy was leaning against a support in the hallway, waiting for him to leave.

"Well, what?"

"Are you going to help the kid or not?"

The doctor probably deserved some sort of explanation, but what to tell him? How did he explain why he wouldn't do it, even though he could easily whisper in the right ears- had planned on it before coming here. That he felt and understood in his gut Jim's need to handle this to the end, damn the torpedoes. Jim was strong, a fighter; he had to prove his mettle. If he was going to be Captain someday he had to handle worse than a pissy ivory tower inquiry. Murderous Klingons. Romulan deceit.

Chris admired it, even though he feared the outcome.

So hard to put that into words that had any real meaning. Instead, he walked past McCoy without looking at him, giving a little shake of his head. "Don't call him that. He isn't a kid anymore."

He could hear the short bark that passed for McCoy's laughter echoing behind him.

"Well it's about damn time you noticed."

Point to McCoy, but it still didn't go down any easier. "Asshole."

"Dumbass." It was almost cordial.

The fact that this exchange made him feel better than he had in ages probably said a lot about his mental state.