Chris Pike was not a happy man on Sunday morning.
He woke up fine. He stretched, went for a short jog, and took a shower just fine. He got dressed in civvies just fine, because it was Sunday and he was not one of those nuts who wore the uniform twenty-four/seven (like Marcus, for example.) Fed the dog just fine. Then he checked his messages before he replicated eggs and bacon, and it all went to shit.
He'd gone to bed early the night before and therefore had not read Spock's message about the Waffles-Kirk-Mitchell-Incident until he looked at his comm while eating breakfast. He immediately called Jim's apartment and got hold of McCoy, who looked exhausted and nervous but confirmed that they hadn't answered the door or the comm for anyone.
"Good, keep it that way." Chris said, scrubbing a hand over his face. "Don't make any outgoing calls, just wait until I contact you. Either myself or Spock will come by personally to check up on you, probably this afternoon."
McCoy nodded and signed off. Chris had no doubt that Jim was in capable hands, and if worse came to worst Jim already knew how to deal with the press. There had been a number of incidents in Iowa, reporters following him to school or cornering him on bike rides to ask him weird, invasive questions. It was bad enough that they were allowed to harass him on the anniversary of the Kelvin Disaster, which was now a national day of remembrance, but they'd catch the poor kid on any day of the year just so they could sell a few extra papers.
Things had been better after Tarsus IV, Jim had said. Of course, Jim had been home schooled after he'd come back, so that helped keep him out of public places where he could be targeted. Then as a young adult he'd learned to introduce himself as Jim, just Jim, and later had fabricated a fake ID good enough to fool even the cops. That had cut down on paparazzi incidents a lot, in spite of his drinking and brawling habits. Of course most of Riverside knew exactly who he was, but their focus had long since waned.
The Admiralty had convened a special meeting when Pike had commed ahead to let them know that the Kirk kid had enlisted. By the time the shuttle had arrived in San Francisco security had been swarming the place and Jim's records had been altered carefully. Of course they had already been highly classified, but now there was a dummy account in place that listed him as simply Jim Kirk. It listed a brief medical history, a list of known allergies, and gave Chris's comm number as an emergency contact. Chris made a mental note to have that amended with McCoy's and Spock's information as well.
He sent off a copy of Spock's message to Marcus and marked it urgent. If Mitchell had leaked Jim's identity to the media there could be a serious situation brewing, and Chris knew that Marcus would stay on top of things. The public would no doubt be interested to learn that the Kelvin Baby was following in his father's footsteps, and would watch his career unfold with great interest. And that would be fine at some vague point in the future, when Jim was securely on board a starship and could not be chased down by goons with cameras. For now, though, the kid would need peace if he were going to complete his three year plan successfully.
Technically speaking, Chris wasn't required to do any sort of work involving students on Sundays. Unfortunately he'd learned early on that when dealing with kids there is never an off day. They weren't kid kids, but most were straight out of high school and not legal to drink. There was no doubt that one of his advisees would get up to some kind of mischief over a weekend that required Chris to make some phone calls on their behalf at the very least. And really, it wasn't like Jim had brought this particular crisis on himself.
He pulled up outside the apartment and buzzed the door, which opened almost immediately. McCoy must have been watching the monitor like an overly paranoid hawk. He looked a little bedraggled, wearing sweats with socks and not having combed his hair. The doctor practically dragged Chris through the door and locked it behind him. The lights were down, the shades were pulled, and Jim was nowhere to be seen.
"He's in his bathroom, tossing his waffles." McCoy answered Chris's question before he'd asked it.
"Rough morning?"
"Understatement." McCoy pointed at the tv, which was muted but which was currently displaying a photo of Jim with the tagline KELVIN BABY AT STARFLEET ACADEMY? scrolling across the bottom. His tone turned accusatory. "I thought Marcus was dealing with this."
Chris spread his hands in a placating gesture.
"He's doing what he can, but the media are vultures and the paparazzi are a thousand times worse."
"Well somebody better do something, because Jim's stress level is through the roof." McCoy ran a hand through his already mussed hair. "He's puking, he's going to get dehydrated and wind up back in the hospital. He's convinced he's going to get shipped back to Iowa."
"Shipped back to Iowa?" Chris frowned. "For what? It's not like he leaked his own identity to the press."
"You guys told him the Academy wouldn't tolerate any disruptions for the student body, right? So he sees himself as the disruption and figures you're going to kick him out."
"Shit, no, the Admiralty wants him. What they meant was that they weren't going to put up with a bunch of 'look at me, I'm the Kelvin Baby' bullcrap, but so far he's done the opposite of that. Security will keep the media off campus if they have to tail him twenty four seven." Chris motioned toward Jim's open bedroom door. "Tell him he's not going anywhere, don't let him keep freaking out."
McCoy strode through the door and Chris followed at a distance. Jim's room was sparse and tidy, just like the rest of the apartment. Probably partly due to the doctor's influence, and the fact that Jim didn't have a lot of stuff to begin with. He'd turned up at the Academy with nothing but the clothes on his back, after all. The bathroom door was open, revealing Jim on the floor in pajamas. McCoy was leaning over him, talking softly.
Chris kept his distance, resting an elbow on the dresser and checking his comm. He was sure that if he got too close McCoy would tell him off for crowding the patient. The grouchy-beyond-his-years southerner was definitely the best doctor around, but Chris had already decided the man was a damned menace. Overdramatic, perpetually scowling, constantly complaining, always bossing Jim around. Chris kind of liked him.
McCoy coaxed Jim up out of the floor and into a chair in the corner of the bedroom. The kid really did look awful, like he'd aged ten years in a day. There were dark circles under his eyes and a tension in his frame that Chris didn't even know how to interpret. McCoy disappeared for a moment and returned with a cold glass of something clear and fizzy. He handed it to Jim.
"Just take a sip." he ordered, with an air of authority that must only come with the knowledge that you know best, "And then I want you to lay down."
The fact that Jim didn't argue or try to fight McCoy manhandling him onto the neatly made bed spoke volumes about how shitty he must feel. Chris knew Jim's personality type, and knew perfectly well that he wasn't the sort who would normally show weakness in front of his superiors. Well, weakness was relative; the kid had just been through a major trauma and this was less a matter of weakness and more a matter of simple human durability.
When Jim was more or less settled McCoy motioned Chris out into the living area, ordering down the lights as they left Jim's room. They sat down at the little table in the kitchenette with coffee and doughnuts, McCoy scowling the whole way.
"What are we going to do?" he demanded, dark green eyes flashing. "Security can't follow him around for the next two and a half years, and he's already gotten some creepy messages on his comm from Dickface Mitchell and a handful of other kids, and get this... his mom."
Chris grimaced. Yeah, he'd seen that coming. Winona Kirk had all but gone off the deep end after her husband's death, and even after recovering remained overly critical of everything her younger son said or did. Chris had no idea why, and suspected that her treatment of Jim had an awful lot to do with the cadet's behavior problems as a kid. In fact, it was almost a good thing that she'd spent the majority of his childhood in space; chances were he'd be a lot worse if he'd had to deal with her day in and day out.
"Yeah, ignore her. I'm surprised he doesn't already have her comms blocked."
"That woman is nuts." McCoy asserted, taking a sip of coffee and glaring at the terminal across the room as if it were personally responsible for Jim's mother's attitude. "It's no wonder he's got issues. Was she always like that?"
"No, she wasn't." Chris sighed. It was bad story, and it wasn't his to tell. "Basically, she and George, Sr. were... into each other. Like into each other, know what I mean? Romeo and Juliet style. Fairy tale romance and all that. She used to smile a lot, before the kids. We served together for a while. Then after Sam was born she got to where she wasn't as happy."
"Sam?" McCoy looked confused.
"Jim's older brother. Ran off when he was about fifteen, Jim was twelve or so. Hasn't been seen or heard from since."
"Sh—okay, that explains a lot."
"Yeah. So she was kind of down on life, and got pregnant again with Jim by accident. Sam was planned, Jim wasn't. But George, he decided that they'd end their tour of duty and come home after Jim was born, and they'd settle for a while in Iowa so she could get over whatever it was that had her in a funk. 'Course, then the Kelvin happened and he died, and she left to go back into the black the very day the doctors cleared her for duty."
"And she left the kids here."
"Right. And the funk she was in just got worse after Jim was born, she was more and more focused on work and less and less likely to come home to the kids when she got leave."
"Hmmm, sounds like she was postpartum."
"Huh?"
"You know, like postpartum depression. Some moms will hit an emotional snag right after their babies are born, nobody's sure why. Something about hormones adjusting and stress, that sort of thing."
"Oh, right. I've heard of that. Baby blues."
"Yeah, exactly." McCoy nodded, thoughtful. "Since you said it started after her first kid was born, and got worse right after Jim, I would make a connection there."
"But surely her doctor's evaluated her for it?"
"Not necessarily. She might not have let on to them that anything was wrong. She probably felt guilty about the way she felt, might have been convinced that she was a bad mother or didn't love her baby enough. It happens. So she bottled it up and got a heavier dose the next time she gave birth. But after Jim was born, even if her doctors were wise to her emotional state, they might have easily written it off as grieving for her lost husband."
"Hmmm. I wouldn't have thought of it that way."
"Of course I can't make a diagnosis without talking to her and getting a full history, but that sort of thing can easily slip right through the cracks. There's even a worse flavor of it, postpartum psychosis. There was this woman back in the twentieth century, Andrea Yates, who was famous for drowning her kids in a bathtub."
Chris choked into his coffee, staring at McCoy incredulously. The way he'd said it, so nonchalantly, was almost disturbing.
"Christ, McCoy!"
"Yep, and her doctors even knew that she was sick. They told her husband to never leave her alone with the kids, and he did anyway, and bam—everything went to hell. Anyway, Jim's mom could be a candidate for a round of serious meds and psychotherapy."
"Yeah, well, I've been thinking that part for years." Chris shook his head sadly. "She used to be a really bright, loving woman. These days, it's best to keep her at arm's length from Jim. She's in the black right now so she's not going to turn up on your doorstep, but don't let him take any live calls and don't respond to anything she says."
"Got it." McCoy nodded. "She needs to get help, but right now I've got to focus on Jim. Maybe you can put in a word to her commanding officer, have her evaluated?"
"Yeah, I can send them a tip." Chris drained the last of his coffee. He could use more, but now that he had seen that Jim was fine, he needed to head out and see what he could do about setting up a security detail on Jim for tomorrow morning and getting a live comm with Marcus. "You guys stay in and rest until tomorrow. The faculty will be informed of the situation, and a standard newsletter will go out to all students regarding harassment. The pap won't make it on campus, even if we can't keep legit reporters out. But nobody's going to be following Jim around except campus security. You might see somebody with a microphone, but they won't come near you."
"What about that guy last night?"
"He must have already been in the neighborhood when Mitchell put the word out. It won't happen again." Chris stood up, poked his head into Jim's room. The kid was face down on the bed, maybe asleep, maybe wallowing in self-pity. "Mitchell is going to be punished to the fullest extent that we can manage. Due to treaties with Vulcan, telepathic communications will stand up in court, so Spock can testify to the bastard's intentions without Jim ever having to be involved."
"That's a relief." McCoy peered in at Jim too, appeared satisfied with what he saw. "I don't think seeing Mitchell again would do much good for his mental state right now. He flat out denies that he's been assaulted, but as far as I'm concerned that's exactly what happened."
"That's how the Admiralty will see it." Chris nodded grimly, striding across the beige carpet toward the door. "But it'll all be classified, and Jim's name won't come out to the public. It'll be a 'Party A' versus 'Party B' type situation, and Mitchell is probably going to wind up doing time. Serves him right, using telepathy like that. I'm sure he's not the only one to abuse it, but I'm just so used to Vulcans, you know?"
"Yeah, they're weirdos but at least they got rules."
"All right, I'm off." Chris shook McCoy's hand. "Look after Jim, lock the door behind me. I'll be in touch."
A/N: Sorry for the delay, this chapter took a long time to write. I want to keep Pike's point of view in here consistently, but this is really a story about Jim and Bones, so I struggled with it. I wanted us to see Spock again too, but I just couldn't make it happen.