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fate

chapter 6:
ignite

The report for Starfleet, Jim muses, is going to be hell.
He can't remember half of what happened besides the blinding panic and the painful pounding of his heart in his chest. Sure, in the back of his mind he files it all away, every command, every order he gives his crew, while their unknown enemy is tearing the Enterprise apart, but he won't be able to think back on the events without thinking of the constant fear that makes his hands shake and his throat dry.
They should have left her back on the starbase.

An unreasonable part of his mind that doesn't want to focus on what matters right now is angry – at her for not listening, at Spock for spilling out some logical reason why she will be safe and sound aboard the Enterprise, at Bones for convincing him that he will look out for her.
And most of all at himself for knowing that he would never forgive himself, if he would miss the birth of his son. What could go wrong, right?

Everything. Like it always does – but in the past year or two Jim has become carelessly comfortable. After the disaster in form of a rogue admiral and Khan, things began to… work out. There were still tricky missions they saved from failing at the last possible second, injuries along the way and hard times that weighed on their minds more than once, but nothing came even close to what they have lived through before.
Jim's life isn't quiet and easy – never was and never will be, and at some point along the way he might have crumbled and started to doubt his decision to do what he does day in day out, if it weren't for the excitement his private life has gifted him with after Khan.

At first it purely was a give-and-take.
She tried to live through the nightmare her father has left her with; the stares, the undeserved blame, the guilt and the picture in her mind of a crushed skull and too much blood.
He tried to keep breathing after cheating death itself and to find out how the hell he was supposed to just go on after that. And after losing the only father figure he ever cherished. After losing himself somewhere along the way.
They silently sat in each other's company for hours. No words. Too many tears. One drink too many led to what it always does, but for once he didn't feel as empty afterwards. The look in her eyes, pleading and broken, was enough to keep him there. Just this once, he kept telling himself, and pulled her bare form against his chest again and again and again.

Jim isn't someone who falls in love. He doesn't do relationships, period, because he is too fucked up in his head and too scared of messing it all up. But she doesn't go away. No matter how ugly he gets, no matter how much he tries to push her away. She stays there – as a friend, he dizzily realizes and begins to love- like her a little bit more – and is helping him without even seeing how strong she really is.
Two months after Jim's return from the dead and them beginning to sleep together she decides to see the counselor of the Enterprise. In the back of his mind he is aware that it's an unspoken requirement of the Admirals for her to get a posting on a starship, especially after the death of her father and her involvement, but it is all her. Her wish, determined and not an ounce embarrassed like Jim would have been. It's not a sign of weakness, not with her, not when she looks so strong and confident while comm'ing Bones to get an appointment with Dr. Montell, while she sits beside him in the large bed on the cream colored sheets. Naked, with tear tracks still visible on her rosy cheeks and completely open for Jim to see to the bottom of her soul.
All the hurt, all the pain, all the rage and helplessness, hovering beside her insatiable confidence that it'll be alright in the end.
He has no clue how she does it, but it is what keeps him glued to her side.

Through her therapy.
Through a year of torment from the media and admiralty alike.
Through his depression Bones has seen coming since Jim woke up in a sterile hospital room too empty inside.

And then, weeks before the Enterprise is about to set out on her first five-year-mission, Carol hands him her request to be stationed aboard his ship with a kiss that says it all. It is nothing like what he is used to. It's soft, breath-taking and full of what she thinks of him. It's admiration, endless patience and love. So much of it that it takes him three days to talk to her again, even though he accepted her request right then and there.
It's obvious what she feels, so obvious in fact that Bones catches on to it and tells him to get his head out of his ass before someone else steals her away. But he can't, no matter how much he wants to tell her the words that mean the world to him, even though his mother said it to Jim not even once.
And she understands. She doesn't address it, gives him soft kisses instead when he wakes up from a nightmare and reassures him that they are still alive, and from time to time she gives him even more, if he needs it to eliminate the fear from his eyes.

Ultimately she is what keeps him going.
Bones helps him over his depression before they are evaluated for the upcoming mission. It's messy, half of the time they are drunk and more than once Jim wants to bail on him and leave everything behind and just run like he always does – but it works. His best friend holds him close through painful sobs and tells him what he needs to hear no matter how hard it is to listen. It works – he doesn't run. It's Bones after all.
Spock begins to… talk. Openly. About things Jim never imagined them talking about. He ignores Jim lashing out when he mentioned the loss of Admiral Pike and instead tells him about his mother. In an odd way it helps. Once more he is reminded of the older Spock's words, about the friendship he shared with a different Kirk. After a particularly upsetting talk that unravels a knot deep inside of his chest, he sends the ambassador a message. It's a simple thank you and the confirmation he knows the older Spock secretly seeks.

But Carol… she keeps him breathing. Deeper and easier than before.
She keeps his heart beating, steady and strong, but makes it speed up whenever she glances over her shoulder at him with no ounce of hero-worshipping admiration he usually gets from people outside his crew. It's familiar and comforting and exactly what he needs, so he grabs her hand when they meet the rest of the command crew for dinner in a glaring sign for everyone to see. There are news articles all over the Federation the next day, he still is their poster-boy after all and not all of them are pretty, but the look in her eyes she gifts him with when they sit down and he presses a soft kiss onto her blushing cheek (it's the first time he ever gives one that isn't wild and needy) is worth all of it.

And then, months later when they are in the middle of a heated mission that threatens to degenerate into a catastrophe every second, he turns to her crouched form to his right behind the overturned crate, studies her ruffled hair and the confident way she aims the phaser in her petite hands, before she tells him they'll figure something out…
"I love you."

It's out before he can think about it, but never before has he been that sure of something. She is as perplexed as he is, which nearly gets them killed if it weren't for Scotty beaming them out in the last possible moment, but when she flings her arms around his neck and whispers the same words over and over again, he can't help but smile as broadly as he did when they gave him the Enterprise.
It's equally as meaningful for him.

And then they just… live.
It shouldn't be as unfamiliar to him as it actually is, Bones shouldn't have to give him tips on how to not mess up what they carefully build for themselves, the bridge crew shouldn't be as gossipy about every step they make forward, slow and oh so shakily –
But he lets them, because it makes him feel being part of a family more than he ever was back in Iowa (or even with his loving uncle and aunt on Tarsus, even though that's a whole other can of worms he quickly pushes as far away from his consciousness as possible).
Carol stays in his quarters more often than not and between awesome sex and witty flirting that makes Bones fake-gag, they share well-kept secrets of their past piece by piece. It hurts more than he expected it to and is more freeing even than sitting on his beloved chair on the bridge (even though it's a close call).
They grow and love and live, get better and become a team to be reckoned with –

Until Carol disappears for a whole day, doesn't answer his comms and finally appears in front of him with a tear-stained face seconds before he is about to send out security. She is afraid, shaking and over-all a mess. And pregnant, she admits in a timid voice that doesn't want to fit to his confident and strong girlfriend.
Pregnant. When the thought finally settles and he feels he isn't about to run or collapse, she tells him that she hid because she feared he would send her away to the closest starbase asap. For several moments he actually considers it – space isn't the right place for a kid to grow up and be born in, he of all people should know. But then he thinks about not being close to her for months, probably years; about having a kid that grows up without a father exactly like he did; about her moving on, because he forced her to; about meeting his kid one day as a complete stranger…
Well, he grew up in Iowa and what good did it do? Space can't be that bad, he muses and tells her a second later only to be rewarded with a sobby laugh.

They are not alone.
Bones, Spock, Uhura, Scotty… the whole command crew would rather die than have something happen to the kid. They will be fine.

For seven months they actually are and her belly grows and she complains, but he couldn't be more in love with her than he is now.
Then they are sent away on a seemingly short mission through a mysterious nebula Carol has to see with her own eyes, because most of all she is a scientist, but it all goes to hell somewhere between Bones announcing that the baby should be due any day and an unknown enemy tearing through his ship without mercy.

There are red lights blinding him in his daze, an artifact that seems to be important enough to destroy what is important to Jim, and while he sends her with Bones and the promise that he will come back to her (because it feels too much like what he read in Pike's dissertation), he loses sight of her and himself along the way.
The ship is dead, tumbling to the ground in a heap of fire when she reaches the atmosphere.
And all he can do is watch.

It hurts.
He can't breathe, can't think. They are dead. So many. Again. His fault. No way to communicate, no way to fight back. He is lost. It all is, even Carol and –
Then Chekov is there and keeps him going, if only so he can be what his lost and too young crew member needs right now. His Captain he can count on, always and no matter how dire the situation; Jim always has a plan up his sleeve with a wicked grin on his lips and it is what Chekov looks for in his face, while his own eyes are clouded by fear and the same pain that rushes through Jim's veins.
Damn it, the kid is like a brother to him and what kind of older brother would he be, if he let him crumble under the weight that isn't his to carry? (one like Sam, he muses silently)

And then, hours later, maybe even days – somewhere in between his worry and the fear of in what state he will find her he lost count – they beam her aboard a too old starship and in the arms of a furious Bones. Spock is injured, but not too badly and he already helps the agitated doctor to carry their moaning crew member to a free cot in what had to be the medbay once, before Jim is able to chase the spots in front of his eyes away and stumbles to her side with tears in his eyes.
He is so relieved it actually hurts. Bones complains with barely hidden sympathy that he told him he would have an eye on her, no matter the circumstances and then he begins to take care of her and the baby. Because it's on its way, was so since they touched down on the hostile planet, but as amazing as Carol is she refused to give birth to their child without Jim by her side and on a planet she never wants to see again. Even though she endangered herself in the process. Bones is worried about her and doesn't even hide it. For another second it feels as if the ground opens up beneath his feet, but then a strong hand grabs his arm – Spock – and keeps him upright.
He can see it. She is alarmingly pale, her right hand is grabbing his weaker than he would have thought she would with all the birth-related pain and the way her complaints and threats against Jim suddenly break off makes his heart stop.
But she is still there, eyes firmly fixed on Jim's blue eyes, while she visibly forces herself to breathe steadily in and out. Bones presses a hypospray into her neck more carefully than he ever has with Jim (probably because he has a soft spot for her like the rest of the bridge crew) and tells her to keep pushing.

He knows he should be excited, he should watch, it's the birth of his first child –
but he can't move his eyes away from hers that silently beg him to keep her afloat.

It's closer than Bones wants to admit.
Jim can feel it in the tremble of her hand, can see it in her eyes (still so strong, still no sign of fear) and it's there for everyone to see, when she blacks out for a second or two. His hand is on her cheek, a brief kiss to her head, words tumbling out of his mouth without reaching his own ears. Maybe it's a trick of his mind, trapped in the panic that tells him it's exactly like it was with his father. Just the other way around, a scenario none of them had ever thought about (because it always is about Jim, about him risking his ass to save them all).

The next moments are a blur.
Something goes wrong, suddenly there is panic all around him, noises he only ever accustoms with the sickbay of the Enterprise, Bones' voice, raised and heated, arms pulling him back –

"Jim?"

His mind comes around again while he sits on a chair in front of a kneeling Bones, whose voice is too soft to be of any good, who has a comforting hand on his arm, ohgodpleaseNO –
He smiles. There is a gleam in his eyes Jim hasn't seen before, not once and in his arms…

The world stops turning.

His son.
Alive, squealing and looking at him with eyes as blue as his.

Jesus Christ, this is his child? He is a father?
(and still alive and kicking, take that fate)

"Yes. Take him, come on."
There is a laugh in Bones' voice that makes him ten years younger and then he holds him. It's as magical as everyone always said it to be, but still so much different than what he expected. Jim would give his life for his crew without hesitation, but for him…
It isn't hard to imagine why his father did what he did after all, even though it takes everything to finally admit it to himself. To know his kid safe and sound with its mother –

He lifts his head so fast that it hurts and with tears appearing in his eyes that have nothing to do with the pain, he looks at Bones' patient form still kneeling on the ground.
"Carol?"

Bones' smile doesn't waver and it calms his stuttering heart even before his best friend reassures, "She'll be fine."

"An' is awake," a groggy voice interferes from somewhere behind Bones and before the doctor is able to turn his head, Jim is on his feet and by her side. She is still pale and beads of sweat tell him what she just went through, but the look on her face when her eyes land on the small bundle in Jim's arms is the most beautiful sight. Her laugh is like a chime to him and before he presses a long and hard kiss to her lips (he had nearly lost her), he carefully places their son in her waiting arms. He fits perfectly.

"So, still David?" she asks with a soft tone in her voice that makes his legs tremble, while she watches her son gaze up at her curiously.
They have decided on a name with no legacy whatsoever. It's not like their parents are something they want to associate with their child and the pressure of bearing the name of a dead hero is something Jim never wants to do to his kids (Sam has been fighting with that particular legacy half of his life).
With a mischievous gleam in her deep blue eyes she suggests her favorite one once more – David James Kirk. With a shake of his head he declines. Then…

His eyes meet hers and immediately she knows something is up.
Instead of pressuring him she stays quiet and watches his face for an expression that reveals what he thinks.
He is the closest thing that ever came close to a parental figure in his life, he saw more demons in Jim's eyes than anyone else before Bones, he trusted Jim. Always. Maybe…

"Let's name him Chris," he mutters and it's dead silent around him. He knows the others are still there.
The gleam in Carol's eyes intensifies. She knows why, she knows what it means to him and nods even before he says it out loud.

"David Christopher… Kirk."
He nearly slips up and says Pike, but for once there is no painful stab in his heart.
Her laughter fades into congratulations from all sides and while he is in Bones' tight embrace (both will deny that tears were involved), a shiver runs down his spine. A deep, familiar laughter in the back of his mind. The ghost of a hand on his shoulder. He has seen too much out in space to question it, but for once he isn't eager to know.

And then, with a kiss onto his son's head, they formulate a plan to rescue the rest of their crew and do what they always do best –
Save the universe.