Hello all!! As promised, this is the start of the hurt Jim portion of the story :D I really tried to come up with a better reason for Frank to be so incredibly hateful toward Jim (other than prison) and simply couldn't think of a better idea. He's just one of those people who doesn't need a reason and would gladly tear down everything that someone had built up. To quote Alfred from The Dark Knight, "Some people just want to watch the world burn." That's Frank, cut and dry. There's very little rhyme or reason for the way he acts; mayeb if I were a better author I could come up with one but for now that's what I'm stuck with O.o Also, I kinda based the pay scale on what an Air Force soldier makes so thats where the money system comes from. It would have been alot simpler for Frank to break into a bank via computer but he needs to torment Jim a little more in this chapter :p Hope you all like it!!


The evening air felt warm and humid, the smell of the river hanging heavily atmosphere. A few stars had just begun to peek through the dimming sky, twinkling brightly to the earth below. Just past the stratosphere, the large, looming shape of Starfleet's docking platform could be seen. The sheer size of it was still amazing, even after being in the academy for three years.

Jim stepped off the motorcycle he'd borrowed (There was a repair shop almost next door to the academy and the owner owed Jim a favor from time to time) and looked across the dusty parking lot. He still wasn't sure exactly what had dragged him here; maybe the desire to conquer the fear that Frank had managed to instill in him after all these years. It was a complex, no doubt, but one he wasn't able to get past. Mavericks had been around for at least seventy years and there had been very little effort to make it look any different. The walls were dull and splintering, the paint peeling away from the wood in long strips. It had probably been grey at one time but now it just looked like a thick layer of dirt and grime that had been caked onto the rickety walls. The windows were hazy from years of smoke and dust and the neon sign outside simply said 'ricks' due to the fact that no one seemed to notice or care that four of the letters had burnt out.

Despite the warm evening, Jim had dressed in a plain t-shirt with his black leather jacket tossed over his shoulders. He wore a pair of thread-bare blue jeans and steel-toed work boots that probably weren't too out of place in a bar like this. Maverick's was usually inhabited by steel workers and mechanics from the academy. There was a large scrap field about a mile away where many of the parts for the newer ships were made. Melt down enough abandoned cars and you can make a pretty decent panel for a ship. Maverick's was also well known for being the local hotspot for cheap liquor and gambling so the rest of the crowd could be accounted for by that alone. The shredded asphalt crunched beneath his boots as he stepped away from the motorcycle, making his way toward the bar.

The door swung open slowly and for an uncomfortable second, every eye in the room turned to Jim. He offered a small smile and walked into the bar, ignoring the table full of men by the door who snapped and snarled curses at him as he passed. The room smelled like smoke and alcohol; a classic bar scent. A few televisions hung from the walls, each playing something different, and the low whine of music over the overhead speakers could be heard past all the racket. Tables and chairs were tossed out all around the floor, most occupied but a few remaining empty save for a few lone drinkers. One man stuck out in particular and Jim swallowed, making his way over to him.

Frank had his back turned, a cigarette hanging from one hand and the beer bottle from the other. He was leaned back, watching some kind of sport on one of the TVs. Jim walked to the other side of the table, keeping his hands tucked firmly in his pockets. "Ah, Jim…" Frank smiled darkly, turning his attention to the younger man and taking a sip of his beer. "So glad you could make it."

"Cut the shit Frank." Jim snapped irritably, glancing around the room as he spoke. He'd half-expected to see Pike or someone else from Starfleet occupying one of the other tables. The last time he'd gotten into a confrontation this uncomfortable, Pike had been there to call off the cadets and save Jim's ass. However, tonight there were no familiar faces except for the one grinning back at him like the devil himself. "What the hell do you want?"

Frank regarded him carefully for a minute before smirking and stubbing out the cigarette in an ashtray on the table. "Well you like to get straight to the point, huh?" He smirked again and nodded to the chair across from him, moving his feet for Jim to sit down.

The younger man shifted uncomfortably for a second before finally sliding into the seat. He rolled his shoulders back, sitting up taller than he usually did, and looked the other man straight in the eye. "Answer me."

Frank sighed and rolled his eyes, muttering something about impatience and finishing his beer. He set the bottle on the table and motioned for a another one from the bar. A few seconds later, the bottle was removed and new one had been placed in front of him. "I need your help." He said finally, looking across the table at his ex-stepson.

Jim nearly laughed in his face. "You want my help?" He chuckled in disbelief and shook his head. Upon seeing the serious expression on the older man's face, Jim narrowed his eyes and leaned forward a little. "No."

"Come on, kid. Don't-"

"Frank, how the hell did you ever get here?!" Jim blurted, something that had been bothering him since their meeting earlier in the day. Frank had been in prison for the past ten years and should still be there so the fact that he was in California, in a bar, without guard swarming all over the place, was a little confusing.

Frank simply smirked and reached into his pocket, pulling out a thin metal band and laying on the table. "Simple, really." He said, pushing it across the table for Jim to see.

It was a prisoner identification band, usually attached to the person's ankle. The band was thin but durable; nearly impossible to get off unless you wanted to resort to cutting off a foot. On one side, a thin square of material shimmered brightly in the hazy bar. It was a microchip, slightly more durable than the band itself, and it contained the prisoner's information and identification number. It was open; the locking mechanism had been tripped.

Frank smirked as Jim examined the band. "Those things are pretty easy to rewire once you figure out the code sequences." He said casually, taking a sip of beer and setting the bottle back on the table.

Jim's eyes widened and he looked across the table. "You…" He stopped; it sounded impossible even by his standards. "You rewired a prison band and broke out?!" He whispered hoarsely.

Frank just nodded, looking entirely too pleased with himself. "Sure did." He looked back at the band and grinned. "Don't worry. Prisoner 6001829 still exists, he's just not me." Upon seeing the blank expression, Frank rolled his eyes and explained. "I reprogrammed the chip to another prisoner's identification. Some petty thief whose up to be released tomorrow." Frank laughed darkly, the sound rumbling out of his throat like knives on glass. "He'll be surprised to learn he's still got five years to go."

Jim shook his head in disgust. "You son of a bitch…you pinned the rest of your sentence onto someone who didn't even deserve it!"

The older man shrugged innocently and crossed his arms over his chest. "And?"

Jim growled in the back of his throat and stood, nearly knocking his chair over in the process. "I'm leaving."

"Jim." Frank said casually.

"Fuck off." Jim snapped, rounding on the man and glaring at him hatefully. "Did you really think I was going to come here with an "everything is fine" attitude and listen to your bullshit with a smile on my face?!" The words were coming out laced in acid, bitter and sharp as years of torment resurfaced. "Why in the hell should I ever help you?!"

"Because you don't want me asking your mother."

The reply was simple but it drained every ounce of rage out of Jim. Instead, a cold weight fell to the pit of his stomach, making him physically sick. Clenching one fist, Jim narrowed his eyes again and glared at Frank. "You stay the hell away from her…" He growled in a feral voice he hadn't used in about ten years.

Frank simply smirked again and nodded back to the table. "As I was saying Jim, I need your help."

After a split second debate, Jim grudgingly sat back down, glaring daggers across the table.

Smiling back at him, Frank continued. "I need money. As you might imagine, prison doesn't pay very well and the judge stripped me of my title and assets once the verdict was made." His smile faltered a little and his eyes darkened murderously. "But you remember all of that, don't you Jim?"

"Yeah. And if I had my way about it you'd have gotten longer than fifteen years."

The blow came hard and fast and Jim's head jerked to the side suddenly as a fist connected with his jaw. It felt like being hit with a baseball bat. His teeth ripped through the inside of his mouth, blood rushing over his teeth. It took him a second to realize what had happened and he winced, swishing the blood out of his mouth and spitting. He glared at Frank only to be met with the same cold look.

"I'd watch that mouth of yours, boy. It always did get you in trouble." Frank said in a deadly quiet voice.

Jim refused to break eye contact as he spit blood again. A tense silence passed between them, neither speaking for several seconds. Finally, Jim sighed in defeat and glared at the table. "Fine. Howe much do you need?"

Frank smiled coldly and rolled his shoulders back. "Let's go for a walk, hm? It's a nice night." He grabbed his beer bottle and stood slowly, walking over behind Jim's chair and grabbing a fistful of his jacket, hauling him to his feet. His fingers dug painfully into the juncture beneath Jim's shoulder blade but the pressure didn't let up. Keeping a firm grip, Frank casually steered him through the bar and out the door. He pushed him toward the parking lot but then turned abruptly, dragging him to one side of the bar and letting go.

"And we're out here because…?"

"Come on, Jim." Frank chuckled, lighting another cigarette and taking a slow drag on it. "You can't make a business deal in a place like that." He nodded toward the bar.

Jim felt his jaw clench painfully. This was going nowhere. "Frank, tell me what you want so I can get out of here. I've already spent more time with you than I ever wanted to."

Frank shrugged and blew out smoke. "What does Starfleet pay you, Jim? About $30,000 a year?" He looked up to the docking platform that was nearly hidden by the night sky now. "And since you just became captain, I'm sure you got a pretty nice bonus. Up to about $40,000 now probably." He did a few calculations in his head and chuckled. "You're looking at close to a hundred grand, kid."

"What's your point?" Jim snapped. Money wasn't an issue; if it would get Frank the hell and gone away from him, he'd pay whatever he wanted.

"I want half."

Jim was slightly surprised but he nodded. "Fine. I'll wire it to you."

"No."

"No?"

"Cash only. I'm not stupid Jim, I know computer transactions can be traced."

Jim sighed heavily. "So why don't you just do it yourself? Hacking through a bank security system would be like a walk in the park for you."

Another shrug. "Because it's much more fun to get it from you personally."

Jim growled deeply in the back of his throat. "Fine. I'll get you cash but I can't do it now. The banks are closed."

Frank smirked and nodded. "Oh, I know. Get it to me by the end of the week and we'll call it even."

Ignoring the iciness in his voice, Jim rolled his shoulders back and looked toward the parking lot. "Are we done?"

"Not quite."

"Ugh…God, Frank what the hell do you-"

"Resign as Captain of the Enterprise."

That did cause Jim's anger to falter. "What…?"

"Resign as Captain of the Enterprise." Frank repeated simply.

For a second, the words wouldn't come. There was nothing but a cold dread welling deep in his chest. "Are you insane?!" Jim nearly shouted, his eyes scanning the parking lot absently. "Forget it!" He turned and started to walk off back toward his bike.

"Jim."

Unable to ignore the nagging confusion in the back of his mind, Jim shot over his shoulder, "Besides, if I resigned you wouldn't get your money. Nixes the deal, huh?"

"Not really.

"'Not really'" Jim muttered, striding across the parking lot irritably.

"Your resignation will take at least a day or two to process. That gives you plenty of time to empty out that portion of your account." He smirked and shrugged. "I just need enough to get out of town and on my way." He explained innocently.

"Forget it!" Jim growled again.

"Fine, fine." Frank said, taking a drink from his beer bottle. "Just make sure there's no one you care about on that next mission of yours."

Jim stopped instantly, wheeling around again. It was the second time he'd tried to leave but couldn't and it was really starting to piss him off. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?" He growled, stalking back toward the older man.

Frank shrugged again, another thing that was starting to piss him off. "Jim, I spent most of my life working on the computer systems for most of the Starfleet ships; I wrote the programs for at least four of them. Do you really think I couldn't work my way through them again and disable a few of the vital systems and codes for the Enterprise? I could tear down your defense shields with one key stroke. I could re-write the override systems for every corridor in that ship and make it nothing more than an orbiting prison. And you know, there's this really cool program that keeps your ship from collapsing due to the pressures of space? That could all be gone in under an hour." Frank's eyes glinted dangerously. "Simply put, son," He said, the word 'son' coming out like a slap. "You stay Captain, you're entire crew dies. Understand?"

Jim couldn't speak; he felt like the words had literally been drained from him. His mother had met Frank at the academy almost twenty years ago. He was a computer specialist and had been for most of his adult life. It was no surprise he was rewired the prison band (though it was still astounding in its own right) and there was absolutely no chance he kidding about this either. Hell, Frank could probably get past any security system on the planet with no one even realizing there had been a hack until it was too late. The Enterprise wasn't safe and neither was Starfleet. With Frank out of prison, every computer in the world was subject to attack.

"Well?" Frank asked, taking another drag on his cigarette.

Jim clenched his jaw. If he stayed Captain, every member of his crew was in danger. Becoming Captain was the only thing he'd ever done right but his crew was more important than any of that. He couldn't risk that again; not now, not ever. "Fine…I'll resign" He said, the words feeling like acid in his mouth.

"Good, glad we could come to an understanding." Frank smiled as if the news had completely mad his night. "Show me your letter of resignation, signed and dated, tomorrow evening and I'll make sure your precious ship and all of her inhabitants don't become the biggest fireworks display this side of the 4th of July."

Jim didn't answer. He felt like he'd been punched in the stomach and the warm night felt even heavier than it had before.

"See you tomorrow, Jim" Frank said, patting the younger man on the shoulder and starting back toward the bar. "Oh, and Jim," He said, turning back toward him a few seconds later. "One more thing…"

There was a glint of light and Jim didn't have a chance to react as the still half-full beer bottle slammed full force into the side of his head. There was an explosion of white and the dull feeling of his face hitting the concrete before everything went black.


So there it is: Frank's a prick and Jim is now unconscious in a parking lot. Woot!! Hope you liked it and I'll see you all soon!! :D