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Chris sighed as he exited the building, after yet another round of debriefs. As a senior officer, and one of the key players in the rescue team that was first on scene on the planet, he had to be there. But that didn't mean he enjoyed it. Really, they just spent days and days discussing the same things over and over again. He was glad to have some time dirtside – it had been a long stretch out in the black, and he and Shay could definitely afford to spend some time fixing up their house located a short distance away from Starfleet Academy. Unfortunately, most of his time had been taken up by Admirals who felt the need to hash and rehash their actions on Tarsus.

Chris took a moment to soak in the late afternoon sun, and was thinking about walking back to his house, glad to have some time to think, when someone shouted his name, startling him and drawing his attention away from his thoughts about dinner and a relaxing evening.

He turned around, and watched, confused, as Captain Mercer of the USS Yorktown walked briskly towards him. He hadn't been aware of the Yorktown's arrival back at Earth.

Ben Mercer smiled as he caught up to the newly promoted Commander. "Chris, it's good to see you again."

Chris nodded courteously. "Captain, I didn't know the Yorktown returned to Earth."

Mercer shrugged. "The second wave arrived a couple of days after you guys left, so the Yorktown and the Endeavor were able to depart. We brought more survivors back with us. The review boards wanted our statements as well, so here we are."

Chris grimaced at the mention of the review boards. He was really tired of the way they kept repeating the same questions, as if he would have a different answer if they kept asking him.

Mercer chuckled a little. "They're pretty relentless, aren't they," he agreed.

Chris nodded again. "It's been days of nonstop questions, and not even new ones. I don't know why they expect I'm going to change my story."

Mercer shook his head slightly, leading Chris over to a nearby bench. "It's their job," he said. "They aren't trying to trip you up and you're not in trouble. But Tarsus IV was a Federation Colony. They need answers, and to be honest, they need someone to blame. Have you seen the media coverage?"

Chris winced. It hadn't been pretty. All the networks were talking about the genocide, and somehow, they had gotten information on Kodos' lists, the number of casualties, and several other details Chris knew had been deemed classified before the Seymour had even reached Earth.

Mercer nodded knowingly. "Starfleet needs to point a finger somewhere, and unfortunately, they can't even say they caught the man responsible. Kodos is in the wind." He looked around briefly, to make sure there was no one within hearing distance, before he turned back to Chris. "You didn't hear this from me, but we found a body, burned beyond recognition. It's in our report. We found it in the Governor's personal suite, and even if we can't positively identify the remains, I think Starfleet is planning on telling everyone it's Kodos."

Chris furrowed his brow. He understood the need to blame someone. With the horrors that had been released on Tarsus, people needed to point a finger somewhere. Without Kodos, they were left with pent up anger and nowhere to release it. Giving the public closure could stop riots, or panic. It was a necessary evil, but Chris did understand.

That didn't mean he liked it.

Mercer shifted in his seat. "I know how you feel," he stated calmly. "It sucks, and it's not right, but giving the public a body could prevent widespread panic. And giving the survivors closure could help them heal. They deserve to be able to put it behind them."

Chris sighed, rubbing his face with one hand. "It's not right," he agreed. "They're lying to everyone, and I hate it. But I understand. We'll all be gagged under Order Twenty Three, and if we say anything, at the very least, we'll be dishonorably discharged, and more than likely, sentenced to hard time."

Mercer shrugged. "We're middlemen. It's not up to us to make the hard decisions. We do our jobs, to the best of our ability. Can you tell me whether or not you regret going down to that planet?"

Chris shook his head immediately. "Not one bit," he replied forcefully. "I helped save people. That makes it worth it, no matter what else."

Mercer smiled. "From what I heard, you did more than just help. How are those kids doing?"

Chris pursed his lips. "Most of them were reunited with whatever relatives they had, or sent to foster homes in the area. Tom and JT, two of the ones in the prison, were transferred to Starfleet Medical. Tom was released in the care of his cousin three days ago."

"What about the other?" Mercer asked, genuinely concerned.

Chris grimaced. "He's refusing to tell anyone his real name. I have a feeling the Admirals are going to want to talk to him more than any of the others. They'll grill him for details, and probably just do more damage. As for where he'll go… eventually, when Starfleet's done with him, he'll probably be sent to a foster home."

He didn't want Jim to have to go through all that, and had considered the possibility of springing him on more than one occasion, but knew it wouldn't do much good if Jim wasn't strong enough to be released from the hospital.

Mercer sighed. "I'm sure he'll be fine." Chris just jerked a shoulder in response. The Captain cleared his throat. "Anyway, I actually had another reason for searching you out today."

Chris raised an eyebrow. "What can I help you with, sir?"

Mercer smiled. "Come on, Chris, none of that 'sir', now, we were doing so well." Chris snorted, and Mercer chuckled. "My First Officer has requested a transfer to a Starbase, so I find myself in need of a replacement. You up for it?"

Chris stared. "Uh…"

Mercer laughed again. "I know, new promotion, and now this? It's ok to be surprised. I spoke with Halloway, and while he'll miss you, he'll approve your transfer."

Chris shook his head slightly, snapping out of his stupor. Unexpected, definitely. But a happy surprise. He had known he was on the fast track for his career, but he still hadn't expected to make First Officer so early. In most cases, an officer would spend at least a year as a Commander before being promoted to First Officer. He looked back up at Mercer, who was watching him with a knowing smirk on his face. "I'm honored, sir, really. But my girlfriend –"

Mercer shook his head. "Halloway knew that, he moaned and groaned about it for a while, but Lieutenant Commander One will receive her new orders as soon as you say yes."

Chris grinned. "I'd be honored."

Mercer nodded. "I thought so." He stood up. "Welcome aboard, Chris. We ship out in ten days."

Chris stood up as well, and took the Captain's offered hand. "Thank you, sir."

Mercer sighed. "Come on, Chris. We used to be friends. Can't you call me Ben, at all?"

Chris shrugged. "You're my superior. My Commanding Officer now."

Mercer shook his head. "If I have to make it an order, I will. You can 'sir' and 'Captain' me to death all you want in front of the crew, but in private, I expect to hear my name at least once per conversation."

Chris snorted. "Aye, aye, sir."

Mercer just sighed and started to walk away.

"Ben," Chris called out, stopping him before he could get too far away. Mercer turned around. "Thank you."

Mercer nodded, smiling. "I'll be in touch. We'll talk more tomorrow."

It was Chris' turn to nod, before the two men headed in their separate directions.

XXX

Chris stopped by Starfleet Medical three days before the Yorktown was scheduled to depart for the Delta Quadrant. He had spent a good deal of time with Captain Mercer and the rest of the Yorktown's Command Crew over the last week, becoming familiar with his new colleagues, and discussing their newest assignment.

Doctor Boyce caught up with Chris as he made his way up to the third floor. "Chris."

Chris turned slightly, and nodded a greeting.

Boyce sighed. "He's not here."

Chris stopped abruptly. "What do you mean?" he asked sharply.

Boyce stopped as well, turning to face his friend and former colleague. "JT. He somehow managed to walk out of here last night. Quite impressive actually, considering he had a guard stationed at his door, and video monitors that all went offline at 2300. The kid was gone ten minutes later."

Chris fought the urge to laugh. He had contemplated breaking Jim out before Starfleet could question him, but it seemed the kid had gotten there first. He was worried, of course, but he knew that Jim wouldn't have left unless he was sure he was strong enough to get away clean.

"I bet the board is pissed," he commented neutrally.

Boyce looked at him sharply. "Halloway told them he had a witness who could positively identify Kodos. They've already spoken with the other eight, but none of them were really able to give them a good picture of the man, or everything he had done as Governor. You know, he thinks JT is the one who sent us the information on Kodos' plans."

Chris forced himself not to react. He suspected the same thing, but he had carefully avoided asking the kid anything. He wasn't sure he really wanted to know.

Boyce shrugged. "Halloway might want to question you more soon. You may have avoided answering anything before, but he's not an idiot, and neither am I. The kid told you something, didn't he?"

Chris swallowed, and shook his head. "Please, Boyce, don't –"

Boyce held up one hand. "I'm not going to dig, or demand an answer. You're entitled to your privacy, and the way I see it, so is the kid." He paused for a moment, and then sighed again. "You take care of yourself out there, Chris. Captain Mercer's a good man. Congratulations on the promotion."

Chris nodded absentmindedly. "Thanks," he replied, before making his way out of the building. There wasn't much point in him being there, since the kid he had been intending to see was no longer in residence. He only hoped that Jim would be all right, and he trusted that Jim would contact him if he needed to.

XXX

Jim exhaled softly as he waited for the shuttle to empty out, so that he could exit without any prying eyes seeing him. He didn't want to be back here, but until he thought of a better plan, it was the only place he knew he could have a roof over his head.

Riverside, Iowa. The place he grew up. The place Frank lived. A place he hated with all his heart. Farmers, hicks, people who were born, lived, and died in the same small town, who never felt the need to get out, to see the world. People who didn't care about what went on beyond their own fields. A one-stoplight kind of town.

He promised himself he would only be here for a little while. As soon as he had a plan, he would leave.

Finally, the shuttle was empty. Jim knew this was his chance, so he stood up from his hiding spot amongst the cargo at the back, wincing as he felt the lingering pain from his ordeal wrack his emaciated frame. Perhaps he should have waited a few more days to enact his jailbreak, but he knew Starfleet would be questioning him soon. That doctor really shouldn't have given him a PADD when he'd asked. Honestly, the firewalls Starfleet used were a joke; it had only taken him a few minutes to navigate his way into their secure database and see what was going on with the review board, and the debriefs. He had seen everything – the statements from both Starfleet officers and the other eight people they had found in Kodos' prison. He hadn't wanted to read Tom and Kevin's statements, but he told himself he needed to, that he had to know. Neither one had told the board his name, or what they knew about what had happened to him. Just what they had experienced, and he was grateful.

He was glad to see no mention of his real name in the debriefings from the Starfleet officers, so he knew that Chris had kept his word, but he also saw that asshole Captain Halloway present him as a witness. He knew the man wanted to question him about anything and everything relating to Kodos, and Jim wouldn't do it. He just wanted to forget.

Jim slipped off the shuttle and made his way through the shadows to the exit. He was at the Riverside shipyard now, a place he knew quite well. He had spent a lot of time at the shipyard, before Tarsus. Commander Peterson was a good guy, and he knew that Jim needed a place to escape sometimes, when Frank got to be too much. So he let Jim hang out at the shipyard, and taught him about engines, and starships. He had been rewiring computer consoles as long as he could remember.

He recognized a few of the men he saw as he evaded security patrols, officers who had been working at the Shipyard for over two years, and had been around since before Jim had gone to live with his aunt and uncle. It was late evening, and work had stopped for the night. The shuttle he had stowed away on had been the last one for the day.

Soon enough, he was out of the Shipyard, and walking down the dirt road that would take him into town. Not that it was much of a town – a bar, a couple of cafés, a church, a small grocery store. There were a couple mom and pop type stores mixed in, but it really couldn't be called a town.

Jim's home – or rather, the place where he resided – was located a good hour or two walk out of town – only ten minutes or so by car – so he had plenty of time to think as he walked.

All too soon, though, he was reaching the farmstead he knew used to belong to his father's parents. They had given George and Winona the home when they had gotten married, moving to an apartment more suited to their aging bodies. When Frank had moved in, he had made it his own rather quickly; the floors had soon become littered with trash and empty beer cans, dust gathered in the corners, dirt collected on the carpet. Jim had never known what the house had looked like when his father lived there, but he doubted it had looked anything like it did now.

The door was unlocked, so Jim hesitantly made his way inside, holding his breath to not make any noise. It was pretty late, and he hoped that Frank wouldn't be awake.

Sure enough, the floor was still littered with beer bottles and cans. Trash was piled up, and even in the darkness, Jim could see cobwebs in the corners.

Jim accidentally kicked a bottle as he made his way to the stairs that would take him to his old bedroom. A grunt from the direction of the living room almost stopped his heart. He turned his head, and saw a truly disgusting sight. Frank was passed out on the couch, wearing a wife beater muscle tank and a pair of ratty sweats. His beer belly was showing clearly in the expanse of skin that lay between the bottom of the tank top and the top of the sweatpants. He had a grizzly beard that seemed to be longer than it had been when Jim had left two years earlier.

Frank snored loudly, and Jim forced himself to calm down. He was halfway up the stairs before he realized that the snores had stopped. He swallowed harshly, and turned around. A series of heavy steps sounded out in the silence, and then Frank was standing before him.

He stared at Jim for a minute, his piggy eyes taking in the teenager's thin frame. "So, you're back," he said, a mocking tone to his voice. "Knew you couldn't make it work."

Jim grit his teeth and forced himself to nod steadily. Frank didn't say anything else, and went back to the couch. As soon as he was alone again, Jim turned and hurried up to his bedroom.

He felt better when he was in his room with the door closed, even if there was no way to lock it. He looked around his room, observing the changes. There was dust all over the place, and his room looked almost like it had been looted. The dresser was open with clothes spilling out, as was the closet. His bed was unmade, and stood slightly crooked against the wall.

He sat down on the mess of sheets and drew his knees to his chest. "Home sweet home," he muttered sardonically.

XXX

Several weeks passed and Jim was still in Riverside. He wasn't wasting his time, of course. He had become rather adept at stealing on Tarsus. He didn't like it, but if he wanted to get out, he needed money. He was still too young to get a job, so this was the only thing he could think of.

He visited Commander Peterson, and the few people he knew in town that weren't awful.

No one had known where his aunt and uncle had lived when he had been sent away, and Frank had made it quite clear that he was back because he had screwed it up, just like he screwed everything up. Fortunately, the few people who really knew him didn't believe Frank, but most of the town just sighed and shook their heads, as if to say, 'that's Jim Kirk.' Burden, waste of space, to be pitied and looked down on. Not worth trying, because it wouldn't work anyway.

He didn't re-enroll in school. Frank didn't really care, and he still hadn't heard anything from his mother. If anyone asked, he could just say that he had graduated while living with his aunt and uncle. It was even true. If anyone took the time to actually look at his file, they would see his intelligence scores, the fact that he tested out of high school at seven years old, and the two Bachelor's degrees he had to his name. But no one ever looked.

Jim spent a good deal of time walking the streets of town, picking pockets where he could, and shoplifting small items to pawn later, so that he could save up for a ticket across the Atlantic,. He had made a promise, and he had decided that before he thought any further, he needed to make good on that promise. But tickets to Russia were expensive, and if his calculations were correct, with his current plan of action, it would take him around six months to save up enough to leave.

He also checked up on his kids to the best of his ability. He hacked into Starfleet's records, and found out where they had all been sent; he then did his own research to see what they were doing. Most were seeing shrinks regularly – Jim didn't try and find out what had been said in those meetings, respecting their privacy – and were enrolled in local schools. Sha'al had returned to her home world, but Trina and Navan were still on Earth. All seemed to be doing well, though, which made Jim feel better. Most of them were still in America, though one or two had moved in with family that lived in other parts of the world or universe.

As the days and weeks blurred together, Jim just kept himself focused on the end goal. Get enough money to fly to Russia. After that, he'd figure something else out. The first step was to just get out of Iowa.

Thinking about his plan kept him going when Frank slipped back into the old routine with ease. A shove to the kitchen to get him a beer, or dinner. A beating when he disturbed Frank's rest as he tried to navigate the piles of trash in the living room. A thrashing when he got caught picking someone's pocket three months after returning to Iowa.

It took Jim almost a day to be able to move again, and even that was somewhat limited motion, but he forced himself to keep going.

The second time he got caught, a couple months later, it was for shoplifting. In his defense, he really needed the toothbrush, and it wasn't like Frank would get him one. Frank was livid when the cop brought him home, and barely even waited for the door to close before he was throwing Jim against a wall and coming at him with feet and fists.

Screw it, Jim thought as he tried to protect his head. In the last five months, he had saved up enough that he thought he could probably make it work. And he wasn't going to spend another day with this man if he could help it.

Eventually, Frank got bored, and wandered off in search of more beer. Jim lay there for a while longer, trying to force air back into his lungs. He could feel at least one cracked rib, and he thought his collarbone might have received the same treatment.

After a while, he could hear Frank leave through the front door, and he knew this was his chance. Slowly, he dragged himself up off the floor and made his way up to his bedroom. He had kept a packed bag under his bed for the last few months, so he just had to grab it, and his leather jacket, and he was ready to go. The jacket was something he had found while exploring the attic a month earlier. On the tag, in worn writing, was the name 'George Kirk'. Jim had taken it, in part because it was a nice jacket, clearly expensive and loved, if the wear it showed was anything to go by, but also because it had been his father's. He didn't really have anything to link him to the man who had not had the chance to raise him, and he relished in the opportunity to have some connection to the man. It was a little large on him, but he knew he would grow into it.

XXX

When Jim slipped into the shipyard, the sun was almost down. The sky was a dark blue, and some stars were already visible.

Jim looked around, readjusting the strap on his bag to alleviate some pain.

"Jim?"

Jim looked up, startled, at the sound of his name. His eyes widened, adopting an almost deer-in-headlights look at the sight of Commander Peterson.

The officer looked confused and a little worried. "Jim?" he asked again. "Is everything all right?"

Jim bit his lip, his gaze shifting from a spot just over the Commander's shoulder, down to the ground. "I was just… are there any more shuttles leaving tonight?"

Commander Peterson jerked back slightly, surprised. He studied the teenager, noting the signs of pain that he knew Jim was trying to hide, and the impressive black eye that was beginning to develop, along with the cut located above his eyebrow. He was not a stupid man, and he could guess what was going on. He probably should have confronted the kid, but instead, he just nodded, smiling tightly. "Yeah, we've got one more heading to San Francisco, the last one out. Give me a minute, and I'll smooth it over with the pilot."

Jim nodded thankfully and followed the Commander towards the hangar. A few hushed words, and Peterson was gesturing for Jim to get on board.

He stopped the teenager before he climbed on. "Jim…" He trailed off for a moment, before clearing his throat and continuing. "Take care of yourself Jimmy. You'll do great."

Jim quirked his lips, but didn't actually smile, as he nodded and boarded the shuttle.

Peterson watched them take off, thinking. He knew he wouldn't see Jim Kirk again, not for a while, at least, and truth be told, he was sort of grateful for that fact. Jim Kirk was too good for Riverside, Iowa. He needed to be out there, making his mark on the world. A small town like Riverside would just hold him back.

No, Jim Kirk deserved better.

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