Well, this was written fast! I didn't expect to finish it for a few days but I was inspired! This chapter is completely dedicated to memory sequences all concerning Jim. I wanted to show you a bit of what MY Jim was like in the past, I wanted to give him my own little stamp of uniqueness.
Thanks so much for the wonderful reviews! I hope you enjoy this little flashback!
Chapter Eighteen: The Memoirs of James T Kirk:
"Jim, sweetheart, you had better get your ass down those stairs or there will be trouble! You can't be late today or your lecturers will skin you alive!" Winona yelled from the bottom of the stair case, holding her son's college bag in one hand and a plate of toast in the other as she waited for him to finally get in gear.
When she received no answer she growled under her breath and set the plate and bag down, venturing up the stairs as she balled a fist in annoyance at his continually unimpressive behaviour.
Goodness knows why he was such hard work, but since hitting thirteen he had been an absolute monster. Okay, since he had hit eight he had been a monster but recently he was completely uncontrollable. She had always dreaded the teenage years and now he was in them (or more like half way through them) she was struggling to make him understand right from wrong and her bank balance certainly showed that. What with the number of times she had been forced to bail him out of a prison cell for stealing or vandalism, or violence. Who knew where his violent streak came from?!
It had been just three days since his eighteenth birthday, not that it mattered much as he seemed to loath celebrating it anyway, and he had been drinking and doing... All sorts before the legal age. It was just a number to him, a number, and a slip of paper saying he had an apartment ready and waiting for him to move into whenever he was ready.
Her little boy was leaving home, flying the nest, or making his own nest, whatever you wanted to call it. And despite the difficulties of the past years she was going to miss him like hell.
Winona knocked twice, loudly on his bedroom door and waited for a response before she sighed heavily and twisted the door handle, pushing the door open and stepping into his (shockingly) tidy bedroom.
Clothes were discarded on the floor near the bed, which was unusual as he usually put them away or in the washing basket; that was when she saw two sets of underwear and her stomach twisted as she had a good inclination as to why his bed was so lumpy.
Steadying herself, the exasperated woman strode over and yanked the covers down off them both; her eyes almost popping out of her head as she saw her adorable son curled up in the arms of another man.
She shrieked, "JAMES TIBERIUS KIRK!"
The sun was setting over the sandy expanse of the Iowan horizon, throwing up brilliant shades of purple, pink, orange, and pastel blue into the darkening sky. It would be dark soon; the stars and the planets would be revealed upon the midnight canvas of magnanimous space.
Lying back on the patchy brown ground outside his mother's house, Jim rested his hands behind his head and stared vacantly up at the wondrous beauty before him. Certainly, such a scene was more attractive than the curves of a woman's body or the contours of a man's fine figure, although they came as a close second.
He so desired to be among those stars, hidden and free; space was such a liberal place, where anything could happen beyond the boundaries of human consideration. He longed to be unbound, unconstructed by the categories of nature and society; he longed for disorganisation and untamed by those around him who held the chains of civilization.
In space he could be anyone, he could do anything, beyond the borders of imagination and out there: on the final frontier. Anything was possible, and maybe one day he would be lucky enough to venture where no man had ever gone before. It was a cheap dream to be sure, now a day everyone was going off, and joining Starfleet; they all wanted the same vision, the same outcome, and the same pay packet. He didn't care about the money; he cared about the adventure, the journey.
Maybe he just wanted to be a better person.
His attention was drawn by the sound of footsteps; he sat up slowly as he saw the very same young man his mother had found him in bed with just days earlier walking towards him; he offered a smile.
"Hey John," he offered, watching as the dark haired male took a seat beside him, "You... Don't look so good. What's wrong?" he asked.
"My folks found out about... Us," he sighed, his piercing blue eyes meeting Jim's deep sea ones, "They weren't happy... And..."
Swallowing uncertainly, he faltered slightly, "And what? John?"
"I'm sorry Jim," he ran a hand down his face and hugged his knees, resting his chin on them as he stared blindly at the sky and the desert, "They're sending me off to join Starfleet, I guess they think it will get it out of my system or something."
"W-What?!" he exclaimed, "T... They can't do that!"
"They can... And they have," he looked down, "I don't have any say in the matter; when I tried to refuse they just... They wouldn't listen."
"Run away, we can go together. We'll just go, they'll never find us and none of it will matter..." he trailed off as he saw the hopelessness in his eyes, "You can't leave me..."
"I don't want to Jim, when we slept together I meant what I said... I wanted us to be together for a long time to come but I... I don't have any choice... I'm so sorry... I just came to say goodbye." He reached out and cupped the blonds' cheek, forcing a very weak smile, "... I'll never forget you Jim."
They met in a brief kiss before John ran his fingers through Jim's hair and pulled back taking his hand and resting his watch in his hand, a token for him to remember him by in the years to come, and taking one last long look at him; then he got to his feet and walked away without looking back, knowing that if he did he would never be able to leave.
1 month later:
James rested the newspaper down on the dining room table and ran a hand down his face slowly, unsure how he should react as he saw the headline and a picture beneath it; he sat back and hung his head as his eyes stung, resting his head in his hands as he sucked in several breaths to stop himself hyperventilating as his heart froze like ice, clenching and spasming painfully in his chest as his eyes burned with unshed tears.
John Harrison: Starfleet Cadet killed in bar brawl: aged eighteen from Iowa
Sitting down heavily in one of the chairs in the Daystrom Conference room at Head Quarters, Jim ruffled his already tousled hair and shared a glance with his newly assigned Captain, Christopher Pike before he rolled his eyes and shared a glare with Spock from over the other side of the room.
He couldn't believe Spock couldn't understand the meaning of a friendship, his future did, damnit! It was so irksome! He felt like he was running backwards on a treadmill at high speed.
Barely listening to a word Admiral Marcus was saying, he instead fiddled with the security photos which had been brought up on the PADD in front of him, he tilted his head as he zoomed in on the terrorist, scoffing as he saw how much alike he seemed to a man he had known once upon a time.
"In Harewood's confession he names the man who he was working for; his name is John Harrison. Formerly a member of Starfleet who has now gone rogue, he orchestrated the attack on the Kelvin Memorial Archive and is the reason for the forty-two deaths."
Jim's head snapped up as that particular piece of dialogue filtered into his ears and his eyes widened as that voice rang in his ears; he looked at the image of the terrorist again and zoomed in a little closer, they did look familiar but there was no way...
No, the terrorist was not John Harrison, at least not the one he had been acquainted with... A sinking feeling pooled in his stomach and he sighed heavily as feelings he had long since shut away bubbled to the surface; it was at that moment he noticed the bag 'John Harrison' was carrying.
Jim leaned against the counter in Bones's office, "Yeah, it is nothing really important just something which has been annoying me, you know earlier on you said that there were no records for anyone by the name of John Harrison? Are you... Absolutely certain Bones?"
"I checked and doubled checked, but I could have missed something; I am a Doctor not an archivist after all," he shrugged before noticing the look on his friend's face, "But I am pretty sure. Why?"
"Because it is a lie." He said softly.
"What do you mean?"
Rubbing his forehead, Jim stood straight, "Back in Iowa when I was eighteen I had a... A friend called John Harrison, he left to join Starfleet and a week after his induction he was killed in a brutal attack on a bar brawl. He was a Cadet; he should have been on record."
McCoy stared for a moment, "There was no John Harrison on record Jim, I promise you, I could not find a single one."
Nodding slowly he rested his hands on his hips, "I understand Bones, thanks man." He clapped the man on the shoulder before he walked out.
It didn't take long for him to reach the Brig and when he got there he dismissed the other crew members present; opening a link to the cell their prisoner was being held in.
"So, why do you have the name John Harrison, if it isn't your name at all?" he demanded, resting his hands on his hips again, "And I want a straight answer, just remember where you are."
"I am well aware of where I am, Captain Kirk." The terrorist drawled in response, "It was not my choice, had it been I would have retained my own name rather than taking a new one."
"Right yeah, I forgot, you're called Khan," he nodded and licked his lips, "So who did chose the name?"
Jim licked his lips, "That would make sense then..." he paused and sniffed, "Did he alter the records?"
"Sorry?" Khan arched an eyebrow at him.
"You heard me!" he snapped, "The records of members of Starfleet, was it him who altered them... Or was it you?"
"No, no Marcus did that. Why? How do you know he changed them?"
"Because I knew John Harrison, and I know he joined Starfleet before being killed." He spat, "And that son-of-a-bitch used his name and gifted it upon a terrorist who has destroyed and belittled that man's memory!"
"I am what I am because of Marcus, do not tarnish me with such a broad category, I am a terrorist at the moment because it suited him for me to be one. I am sorry if the name of your 'friend' was harmed by that but there are bigger things at stake. What are you going to do? Hit me again?"
"Don't tempt me." He growled before he shot him a filthy look and stalked out, his temper bubbling as he thumbed the watch in his pocket, a long since immortalised token of courtship which he couldn't bring himself to part with, no matter how many years passed.
"What doesn't kill you makes you stronger... That is the motto I live by. That and the believe that there is no such thing as a no-win scenario." Jim told Khan as he leaned against the bottom of the hospital bed, "I can't help it, its the way I have always lived."
"It is a curious thing to consider. Both that what doesn't kill you would make you stronger... I cannot bring myself to agree. I would have thought it would have left you weaker to an attack of same type?" Khan asked, folding his legs as he leaned forward in the bed, "Or is it more of a... Metaphoric saying?"
Sighing heavily, Jim shook his head, "Damnit Khan, you ruined my motto... Yeah I is meant to be metaphoric, inspiring and positive. You went and killed it you ass."
"Well, given your theory it should come back stronger than before no?" he smirked.
"Ugh, why do I visit you?" he groaned.
The black haired male smirked, "Because you love my intellectual company."
The blonds' eyes narrowed in amusement, "And why do you let me visit you?"
"Because I love your enigmatic personality." He answered deftly, "Not to mention the abundance of amusing stories you keep telling me."
"Oh you enjoy the stories? That's good. Got a load more tucked away up here." He tapped his skull before he glanced at the time and sighed, "I'd better get going before the nurses make their rounds, otherwise they will go and tell Bones that I am missing. He actually spanks when you misbehave you know?"
"You must have a sore backside then."
"Cheeky." He smirked as he stood up and paused, "I'll be back same time tomorrow, okay?"
"I look forward to it, James." He offered a coy smile as he laid back slowly.
"I am sure you will." He grinned before he winked and headed out of the door, smiling to himself as he shut it behind him. He felt heady and his heart was thundering slightly as gentle warmth tickled at his cheeks.
He was treading dangerous roads here. Blushing led to childish attraction and childish attraction led to feelings... Feelings where dangerous and... Painful in the end. He would have to be careful.
Sitting in his apartment, he sighed as the last of the adrenaline from disarming the bomb left him and was replaced by infinite tiredness; he looked at the watch in his hand and swallowed thickly, listening to the sound of the shower in the bathroom as Khan washed himself.
It felt strange inviting someone into his house, he was so used to quietness and aloneness it felt very... Alien, yet not unpleasant. Khan had never asked him about John Harrison, he had expected him to do so after that strained conversation in the Brig all those months ago but there was nothing. Khan wouldn't probe him, he figured. He would tell him, but it would be in his own time. Until then, he found himself falling further and further and he didn't have a lot of time to decide what he was willing to do.
Standing up slowly, he tucked the watch into his pocket again and let out a long breath, who was he kidding? He already knew what he was willing to do, he was willing to do anything and everything.