Chapter 15: XXII-

When Jim was twenty-two, he got into the bar fight that changed his life.

(From there on out, it more closely resembles a rollercoaster.)

"Now, Mrs. Kirk, I need to reiterate: this is a double blind study. Neither you nor the staff here at the clinic will know if you have the placebo or the treatment until the trial is over in a year. Are you positive you wish to halt your regular treatments for that long to participate in this study?"

"It hardly feels like my current regimen is doing anything. At least this way even if I only get the placebo I'll be furthering the work for a cure. It's more useful than I've felt since this whole thing started, and it's certainly better than nothing."

She signs the forms with a flourish, beginning the work of packing up the papers while the doctor starts sending out messages to the relevant people. Jim makes sure to grab a copy of the treatment information before they leave the office.

The new treatments are supposed to stimulate extra growth in the myelin while preventing the immune system from causing further damage. It's administered intravenously, and requires her presence in the hospital three days a week.

Before they make it out of the room, the doctor looks up. "Remember, Mrs. Kirk, once you start these treatments, you're not to drive, so be sure you have a way to get to and from the clinic lined up."

In the 'car on the way home, Winona frowns. "This would be much easier if they'd let me drive."

"You know why you're not allowed, though. They have no idea what the side effects are going to be, and even a small amount of perception changes could lead to a crash.

You know as well as I that fucking around with neurons can be unpredictable."

He's rewarded with a snort. "And you know as well as I, Jim, that sometimes you just need to complain about things. We'll work out a system when the schedules for treatments are finalized."

Jim brings her to and from the appointments, but since they take most of the day, he spends his time working in the shop and doing any other work he can find that will take his mind off everything and make the days go by even the tiniest bit faster.

There was a settlement after the Kelvin, Starfleet had done that much, but they've hardly touched it over the years. They get a statement every month detailing how much more of the stipend has been deposited into the account, but Jim has never actually seen it used.

With these new treatments, however, they've begun to take money out. When the medical bills got higher than he could bring in, and Winona wasn't working any more, they began to spend it, but Jim keeps working because it still doesn't feel like their money. If he doesn't count it as money they have to spend, he can focus on working and exhaust himself with his work, rather than focus on what-ifs and could-bes. If it's not really money they have, he has an excuse to be working so hard.

He's never really been one to allow himself much introspection, anyway. That's a dangerous road, after all.

Mr. Cospell lets him work on his own projects sometimes, and he spends almost a whole day disassembling the engine on his 'bike, trying to improve the fuel efficiency and examining the parts, checking everything over before he puts it all back together.

He remembers building this bike, remembers going through the junkyard for parts, breaking apart old bicycles and cars and anything that looked like it would have the part he needed. It was as much a distraction as it was anything else, and it certainly worked, for the time he spent on the 'bike. Even now, eight years since he started looking for parts, his 'bike is in pristine condition, although much of that can be attributed to the way he opens it up almost monthly to make sure it continues running smoothly. He really doesn't need any more unexpected bumps in the road, and after all the work of putting it together, he's not about to let his bike fall into disrepair.

Even with his frequent checks, he feels something loosen once he's started disassembling, and by the time everything is back in place he's almost ready to deal with the world. There's something to be said for rituals and the relaxation they bring, and he's been so focused on his task that he startles a little when Mr. Cospell walks over and sits down on a stool nearby.

"Son," he starts, and Jim knows it's how the man speaks to everyone, but he still has to fight the instinctive urge to flinch. "When you're finished with this here beauty of a machine, could you spare a minute or two to talk?"

Jim looks over as he slides the last piece into place, wiping his hands on a rag as he turns around and hoping with fervor he didn't know he had in him before now that this man has not finally checked out Jim's record. It's not one that endears many people to him.

"I just finished." He tries to keep his voice light, tries to get back into that Zen place he was just a minute ago. "My time is all yours, sir."

This earns him a smile, as Mr. Cospell motions for Jim to pick a stool of his own and sit. "Now, you know better than that, Jim. I watched you grow up, and I've told you more than enough times that it's Jasper to you. I don't know the first thing to do with a title like 'sir'."

It's a familiar discussion, because, despite the beliefs of some, he can actually be respectful when he wants to, and while most older adults have done nothing to earn his respect, Mr. Cospell has put up with far more from him over the years than could rightly be expected, really. "Well, you should remember how this conversation usually goes, Mr. Cospell, seeing how we've had it so often over the years. So what can I do for you today?"

He waits for Jim to seat himself before he speaks again, thinking through his words before he lets them out. "Jim, you're probably the best damn mechanic we've got here, you know that. And I know that you'd never listen to me if I tried to push you towards a vacation. But I've been watching the work you're doing, and it's pretty clear you're not just here for the money or the machines or even just as a way to kill time. You've got that look in your eyes, son, and while I can't expect you to stop trying to work yourself into oblivion, I want you to consider it, okay?"

Jim wonders, for the briefest of moments, if he can get away with lies or even just some half-truths. He can't lie about his mom, that news spread around Riverside faster than a blink, but (as happens with such information transfers) not everyone knows the whole story. Just what Mr. Cospell knows is anyone's guess, but Jim is not in a gambling mood these days.

Instead of concocting a lie, he just offers up a rueful smile and pretends like he's actually in control of when he stops working. "I suppose we're lucky I've got a schedule to stick to, then."

That gets a laugh out of the older man, who pats him on the shoulder as he mutters, "If you didn't have other responsibilities, I dare say you'd be living in this place. And Silliman has yelled at me for that enough over the years that I won't let you make the same mistake, you hear?"

Jim can't help laughing a little at the admonishment, and it doesn't take long for Jasper to distract him with conversation until he forgets some of the restlessness in his bones.

No one comes into the shop for the rest of the day, and as Jim is helping to clean up, Mr. Cospell reminds him, as he does every week, "You and your mother are more than welcome to come over for dinner on Wednesday, Jim. Silliman is making pot-stickers, last I checked, and there's always far more than the two of us can eat."

Jim makes his usual non-committal noise, shrugs, and gives his usual reply, "That sounds delicious. I'll check with mom and see if she's up for it, but this week has been pretty rough."

They've gone through this song and dance before, and Jim has used variations on the same excuse every time, but no one really wants to be wrong about how Winona is doing, so no one ever tries to confront him about it. Few people really want to acknowledge the sick, and it's not really a comfortable discussion for anyone involved when their sickness is called into question. Jim would feel bad about using his mom as an excuse, but as he drives home he remembers the time he did take up Mr. Cospell on his offer. A home-cooked meal had sounded too good to refuse, and it was his first month staying home, and he hadn't had time to get any groceries yet, so they were going to be stuck with replicated food if he didn't accept the offer. He hadn't been prepared for how nice the Cospells would be, how sympathetic and understanding. It set him on edge, and he couldn't settle or enjoy the food, no matter how hard he tried.

Let it not be said that Jim Kirk cannot learn from his mistakes.

He's put up with a lot of things throughout his life, but pity has never been something he has handled well. Not from the first time someone recognized him as George Kirk's Son, not after Tarsus, and certainly not now.

There's a reason he's spent the past years more or less nomadic. Every time someone would ask him if he was planning on settling down, he'd brush them off with a joke or redirect the question back at them, never quite sure how to articulate his situation so they'll understand.

It's not like he hasn't tried staying in one place for more than a few weeks, but every time he does that, something goes wrong. He always manages to say the wrong thing and suddenly it's more comfortable to leave than to stay, and it's not like he's ever really felt at home anywhere, anyway. He's tried to find somewhere to call home before, tried to find somewhere he could use his name and not get stared at, somewhere that his past would not haunt him, but it eludes him almost constantly.

Once, in Louisiana, he thought he'd found somewhere he could stay for a while. But as he sat at the counter of a diner one night, eating his dinner and considering his plans for the next day, he'd overheard a few too many conversations.

The first one was a traveler, just passing through on her way to New Orleans, who recognized him, but had the tact to loudly ask the waiter about it, rather than acknowledge his presence. "Is that James Kirk?"

"I'm sorry, Ma'am, I have other customers to assist. If you wish to order more food, let me know."

Jim had a moment to appreciate the waiter's discretion before the woman leans over the back of her booth to the couple sitting behind her. "That is him, isn't it? That's James Kirk, here, in this town. What's he doing here?"

He'd left enough money to cover his bill and been out of the restaurant, planning out his next route, before the stranger got an answer.

At least in Riverside, while everyone knows his story and probably discusses it at length when he isn't present, they do have the tact to withhold their gossip while he is around. The fact that he got into more than a few fights over the behavior over the years might have helped with that.

Two weeks later, their holding pattern snaps. The day, initially, is no different from any other. They get up, make breakfast, make their way over to the treatment center, Jim heads to the garage to while the day away. When they get back to the house, things start to change.

Since she started the trial, Winona has been as tired and sick as before, though it had not grown significantly worse. This day, however, is a good day, and when they get inside, she moves to the kitchen and starts making dinner.

"Mom," Jim starts, "I know you said today went well, but you're feeling up to making dinner? For the last few weeks you haven't even been hungry when we got back."

The smile he is treated with is refreshing. "You know I wouldn't be doing this if I didn't feel up to it. Now, you go get out of those grease-stained clothes and I'll keep working on dinner. I'll let you know if I need any help."

She winds up forgetting about the rolls until the smoke alarm goes off half way through their meal, but it's more progress than there's been in a long while, so Jim doesn't feel too guilty about how relieved he is.

Five months into the trial, she's feeling well enough to go on walks in the evenings after dinner. At first they're just walks around the property, then to visit neighbors. By six months in, Winona is back to gardening, clearing out the weeds that have begun to overtake the flower beds in front of the house.

Her progress is slow, and it is not easy, but each day she can do a little more, and Jim allows himself the hope that things will return to normal.

As they near the end of the year and, consequently, the drug trial, Jim begins to feel more restless than usual. Mostly, he writes it off as nerves. If this was all just the placebo, he's not actually sure what he will do. Each small bit of progress has felt like something of a victory, and if it was all fake, then they just threw away a year of treatments that were actually helping at least a little bit, for nothing.

His mom is nervous, too, he can tell by the way she has started knitting again. Before, it was something to do with her hands so she wasn't constantly fidgeting in frustration and worry, but then her coordination grew too poor to continue. That she is capable of knitting again is a good sign, and they both know it, but there's something very dangerous about hoping, and Jim has known better than to let himself hope too hard for a long time.

And yet.

When they get to the clinic, Jim expects to have to wait in one of the uncomfortable waiting room chairs while the doctors do the exit interview with Winona. Instead, he's ushered in as well, one of the nurses explaining, "We need you to discuss the impacts the trial has had on your mother, especially regarding her behavior at home and her overall health."

It's a relief to walk into the room with his mom, to sit down on the other side of the desk from the lead doctor and wait to hear the results.

Her hair is much shorter than the last time Jim was in this office, and it's been colored mauve. He has half a mind to comment on the changes, but, well, he's a little preoccupied.

"I'm not going to bother with the formalities just yet," she starts, clearly aware that they're waiting on the information she holds. "Mrs. Kirk, I would like to thank you for participating in this trial. You were one of the patients who received our drug, and we are very impressed by the results we have gathered during your sessions. I would, however, like to gain a more full understanding of your experiences with the treatments, beyond the questions we asked you while you were in the clinic each week."

They spend two hours answering questions regarding her reactions to the treatment, the timeline of her recovery, and the side effects she noticed while on the drug. When they've exhausted the questions and even Jim is beginning to droop, Dr. Suares wraps up.

"I would like to thank you again for participating in this trial. The insights from your treatment will be invaluable. Now you have the choice of returning to the treatments you were on before our trial, or continuing with our drug, and allowing us to monitor the long-term effects it has on patients. The choice is yours, and I ask that you at least take the weekend to think it over and discuss it with anyone you need to before you get back to me. Thank you again, and I'll talk to you about your answer next week."

It isn't really much of a decision.

After four weeks more of the drug, they reduce the appointments to once a week, and Winona and Jim go out to dinner to celebrate.

While they're waiting for their meals to arrive, Winona looks at him and declares, "Jimmy, you don't have to stay and look after me anymore. The treatments have been working well enough and I'm healthy enough now that I can look after myself."

As he opens his mouth to argue, she continues. "I know you, Jimmy. You don't like being stuck here, and Ms. Drew next door has agreed to drive me in to treatments, so don't you go insisting you have to stay for that."

It's not a very long discussion.

Sam and Aurelan are visiting in a month, while Sam is on-planet looking for work (and though he insisted the decision was not due to any of this, the words "Not going to be three weeks away if it comes back," had been heard coming out of his mouth during the conversation). After their visit, Winona insists, "You, James Kirk, will stop moping around this town and go back to 'finding yourself,' or whatever it was you were doing, you hear?"

Though her tone allows for no argument, she is smiling, and Jim knows she expects nothing less of him than to sulk for a while before he finally comes to terms with her decision, which is probably why she gave him until Sam's arrival.

There's no sulking when Sam and Aurelan are visiting, as they have news that takes everyone's mind off of Winona's sickness.

"A baby? Oh, Sam that's wonderful! Is this why you wanted to move back planetside?"

"Well, it certainly didn't dissuade us. We were considering the move even before we found out, and it sealed the deal."

"Oh, Sam, Aurelan, this is wonderful! You'll have to be sure and tell us if there's anything we can do to help, okay?"

Sam laughs a little at that, and Jim shares a smile with him – there's no way they're going to make her do any work so soon after things got better, but she wouldn't be herself if she didn't offer.

"Thanks for the offer, Mom, but for now all we need to do is visit. How about we all go out to dinner, and take it from there?"

It turns out, it really is as simple as that.

It's hard for him to articulate the restlessness. He knows how it feels, and he's tried to explain it before when people questioned why he ran off, but people seem to have a hard time understanding. It probably has something to do with the root of his problems, but, well, he learned long ago not to poke sharp sticks at that particular bear. So he pushes down the urges to get on his bike and drive until he's staring up at an unfamiliar sky, and he keeps working in the garage and helping his mom. Some days, though, the restlessness gets bad enough that he cannot stop himself from speeding down the interstate for a few hours, just to feel like he's going somewhere again. The itch is back before he's even put his bike away at home, but it's easier to ignore for a while.

He'd feel bad for suddenly leaving, but when you're going stir crazy, there's no thinking about how others are going to react.

When his mom starts practically pushing him out the door, he has to wonder if maybe she knows the feeling too. She is, after all, the one who kept returning to space, even when it took the people she cared about most from her. She must know the pull to go, to explore, and to not be stagnant, how strong and insistent it gets, how it refuses to accept any other outcomes.

With her behind him, pushing him on, it's easier to head out of town, though it doesn't take long before he's pulling off the road and into the packed parking lot of a bar at happy hour. From there, well…

When he leaves Pike behind in the bar, the restlessness is back with a vengeance. Usually a fight like that would leave him subdued and settled, but tonight there's no stopping his mind from wandering, no stopping his brain from wondering what it would be like to just keep traveling forever.

It's hard to ignore the words from Pike, and as he drives out to the shipyard he can hear them echoing in his head. "I dare you to do better," over and over and over again, egging him on, driving the restlessness on, and there's a reason he never examined it too closely, dammit.

But when he looks out on the ship in progress, the future flagship of the fleet, the restlessness that he has grown so used to shifts, morphing into something stronger, more urgent, but also something that soothes at the sight of the ship. It reminds him, distantly, of the feeling he had the first time he went into space, but that brings back all of the memories of that time, and it's a good thing he gave up on sleeping tonight, anyway.

It's not really a decision, he realizes once he's made it. Over the course of his life, he's been accumulating reasons not to trust Starfleet, not to join them and not to listen to them and not to even discuss the organization with anyone. But Pike's words make him think that maybe he could be more than just a pawn, that he could do something worthwhile with Starfleet's resources.

As the sun rises behind him and he looks at the skeleton of what will one day be a magnificent ship, Jim can't help but remember officers handing out food and refusing to let him slip out of the room on their watch. He thinks about those officers who he trusted with his secret, who helped the others without even asking questions about how they got there or where the adults were. He thinks, maybe, it would be nice to be able to help someone else in the way they helped him.

By the time he gets home to tell Winona what he's decided, he's getting his confidence back, and manages to tell her his decision (though he tones down what details of the fight he can) without faltering, without backtracking and changing his mind.

It goes over better than he might have expected, which was stupid of him, really, because of course his mom would be okay with it. She was okay with him fucking off and restlessly traveling the country for so long, of course she'd be okay with him joining Starfleet. At least there he'll be in one place for four years, and he'll be given the training such that if he ever does get into any trouble out in the universe, he'll be able to handle the situation.

"Are you seriously just coming in now, Jim? Do you know what you're doing to your brain, keeping these hours? Not to mention whatever's in your system right now."

Maybe picking a doctor to be his best friend wasn't Jim's smartest choice. Being nagged immediately on entering his room isn't the ideal way to end a night, but then again it is, if the chronometers are to be believed, no longer night.

Still, Jim likes to think they've been good for each other, as roommates. Jim gets Bones to lighten up and relax on occasions, and Bones makes sure he doesn't die in his sleep. Well, there's definitely more to it than that, but he's being ushered into bed and handed a glass of water, so maybe it's not the time for coherent thought.

The point is, Bones is a great choice for best friend, even if he does nag and frown pretty loudly (yeah, McCoy frowns of disapproval are so powerful they come with sound) when he thinks Jim has been drinking too much (and, yeah, he has hinted at the a-word a few times, but Jim always manages to tune him out in time).

He'll just have to make sure he doesn't let him slip away. People always seem to figure out how to leave.

And maybe he said some of that out loud, because now Bones has that sad look on his face again, but sometimes that look just happens, and Jim can't figure out what brought it on, but he really wants to stop it.

He'll have to work on that sometime when it isn't his birthday.

He likes to think he's gotten better over the years. He likes to believe he's not the boy he used to be, but when Bones finds the stash of non-perishables under in his dresser, he has to admit he's not really "normal."

"So, kid, are we going ta talk about this any time soon?"

"I don't know what you want to talk about, Bones. It doesn't hurt to be prepared, is all."

Jim's attempt at brushing off only earns him a flat look. "Yeah, and I sprouted wings last night." He pauses, collects his thoughts, and pushes on, "Look, the way I see it, you can take your pick of conversation topics, but I get the feeling they're all connected. So. Where would you like to start?"

Deflecting always has been one of Jim's strong suits. "How about we talk about Jo? How's she doing, these days?"

"Look, Jim. I've let you be for two years, now. Figured you'd let me in eventually, but I can't ignore it, probably shouldn't have for this long. If you can't tell me, that's okay, I just need to know that you're talking to someone who can help. You can't just bottle everything in and hope it goes away."

Jim knows he owes Bones information. At the very least, he should have warned him about what sets off his panic attacks when they first started rooming together. And he had intended to, but it was a lot easier to provide a list of his known allergies and leave it at that.

And he knew Bones knew something was up. He's always been aware of those watchful eyes every time his scars are on display, always been careful to maintain his façade of normal eating habits and a medically perfect body weight. He knows his nightmares have woken him up, and he's tried to be considerate during bouts if insomnia, but it definitely hasn't gone unnoticed.

It doesn't help that he's living with a man who has been trained to recognize this sort of thing; a man who has studied trauma and PTSD and disordered eating and all sorts of other conditions Jim likes to pretend aren't actually in his vocabulary.

Still. While he can bullshit the best of them, finding the words to genuinely explain any of this proves too difficult a task.

"Look, Bones, it's – well, the thing is – " Giving up on that train of thought, Jim pauses. Breathes in. Breathes out. Thinks. "So, you're right, we probably do need to talk, but I gotta tell you, I don't know how to start just now. Can you give me some time?"

Bones hasn't quite been tense, this whole conversation, but it's been a close thing. At Jim's words, McCoy seems to lose some of the stiffness in his posture. "If you'll actually talk to me, you can have as much time as you need. It's not good for you to keep it all locked up like this."

"We'll talk about it, I promise."

He spends the whole next week strategizing, trying to figure out how much he must say explicitly and how much he can trust Bones to figure out on his own. He can guess that his friend suspects neglect and abuse, but also knows that's too simple. He's not sure he can bear seeing his friend's face when he finally gets it.

When he can't bring himself to avoid it any longer, Jim waits until Bones is on rotation, sure to be gone for another few hours yet. He gives himself time to ground himself before he grabs a PADD and brings up the encyclopedia article for Tarsus IV. He places it on McCoy's desk and turns his back on it, and forces himself to get some work done. He needs to finish his research paper for tomorrow, and he doesn't think he'll be able to stay up all night on it tonight.

He leaves for a run around campus just before Bones usually gets back, and extends his run by a few miles, to buy time. Jim knows, honestly, he does, that his friend won't think any less of him because of this, but the rhythmic beat of his feet on the ground helps him think through the potential ramifications of his actions for the hundredth time. If this doesn't go as expected, he's going to have to find a way to live with all of the pitying looks and overly-cautious interactions and, fuck, he's got too much time left here to deal with that. If this does work out, though… Well. It might be nice, he reflects, to have someone here know because he told them, instead of because they read it in his file before he ever met them.

When he gets back to their suite, Bones is sitting on his bed, holding the PADD and looking distraught. Jim sits down near him on the bed, hands palm-up on his thighs, and waits.

He doesn't have to wait long.

"Jim." The syllable carries so much weight when Bones lets it out that Jim can't figure out if he's even supposed to respond. Before he figures it out, Bones is reaching out, telegraphing his every move as he pulls Jim in and hugs him. On some level, Kirk had been expecting this, so he returns the embrace, sinking into the comfort and waiting for his friend's next words.

"Good god, man! How are you still functioning after everything you've been through?"

It's hardly more than a whisper, and not a question he has a satisfactory answer to, so he shrugs into the hug and mutters, "I think you're using a pretty broad definition of 'functioning'."

When he gets a chuckle in response, he knows they're going to be okay.

"Don't get your hopes up, Jim," Gaila reprimands, and he laughs her off.

"Look, just because no one has passed the Kobayashi Maru before, it doesn't mean I won't." There's some affected bravado in his voice, and he is grateful when she lets him get away with it.

Wight a giggle, she opens her book again, and settles in against him once more. "Well, if I couldn't get it, I see no evidence that you will. We all know I'm the smarter one!"

He leans back into her, flipping through the notes he's made of other people's experiences with the test. He's glad for their friendship, and for the casual intimacy that she so willingly provides, knowing without words when he needs it most.

"That's debatable, and the test tomorrow will settle it, once and for all, when I ace it!" Before she can add any commentary, he mutters, "Which is why I need to keep studying."

Every time he sees Uhura, he tries to guess her first name, and every time, she tells him he's got it wrong. On his way out of Pike's class, one afternoon, the man interrupts their squabble, and Jim can't help laughing as she heads off to her next class, "I'm going to get it one day!"

Pike shoots him an amused look. "I'm surprised a bright kid like you never thought to check the student directory. You've got her surname; it wouldn't take much to find her first."

"But Sir," Jim laughs, "that would be cheating! She's gotta tell me, or else where's the fun?"

"The activities you find 'fun' will never cease to baffle me," Pike drawls, and the conversation moves on to some new professor he has been training.

When the adrenaline finally clears his system, Jim can barely stop himself from collapsing. Bones is in Med Bay, tending to Pike, and Spock may not be actively glaring at him, but the Vulcan clearly has yet to fully accept his methods. Still. They just saved Earth. It kind of feels like a big deal.

Heading back, victorious but exhausted and in need of repairs, he can't be entirely sure what will come next.

He breathes a sigh of relief when his comm. chirps and Bones is on the other end, declaring, "He's going to be okay, Jim. It was a helluva lot of trauma, but he'll make it just fine."

The entire bridge lets out a cheer and, oh yeah, that wasn't exactly quiet, but they all deserve to know, really. The whole crew should know, really.

He thinks about doing it himself for about a minute, before inspiration strikes, and he levers himself out of the chair and over to the science station.

"Mr. Spock," he greets, and receives a nod in return. "Would you do the honor of informing the crew of Captain Pike's status?"

He can see Nyota smiling out of the corner of his eye (and, yeah, he never would have guessed that, so it's pretty lucky extenuating circumstances helped him out there), and grins when he gets another nod from Spock.

"I will make the announcement presently. Thank you, Kirk."

"Oh no, none of that. It's Jim, to you," he shoots back as he collapses in the captain's chair and surveys the bridge.

Yeah, he can't wait to see where things go from here.

Space is disconcerting. It looks so calm and beautiful and quiet, and it is, but it's also a deadly vacuum that's filled with a multitude of dangers and hostile species, just waiting for their chance to kill everyone and take over the universe.

Space calms Jim, makes him feel more at home than he ever has, yet there's the lurking knowledge that if he makes just one mistake he could get himself and his entire crew killed.

It's more than a little sobering.

Sometimes he wishes he'd just ignored Pike and continued to drink and sleep and brawl his way across the country, wishes he didn't have pressures and dangers and responsibilities that leave him even further from getting a full night's sleep.

But then they're out exploring an entirely new world, the first sentient beings to step on the planet, or they're meeting a new, space-ready civilization, seeing the looks on the residents' faces as they realize just how many wonders the universe has to offer.

And, really, when it comes down to it, that's worth all the sleepless nights and anxious days, every time.

... And that's a wrap. It's been far too long, but I hope I've done my ideas justice. There'll probably be follow-up type things eventually? Especially if I manage to move this over to AO3...

Thoughts/ideas/whining over the perfect ball of issues that is James Tiberius Kirk are always welcome, and if you're not feeling this website, I'm also on Tumblr!

Thank you all for coming along for the ride!