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I
Winona knew people thought she was a bad mother. Her own mother had even said it to her face. She knew that people saw her as a terrible parent. They didn’t understand. George had been the one to want children. He was the maternal one. Paternal. Whatever.
Sam hadn’t been so hard. She had a few good memories of his babyhood. She had been almost contented being stuck in Iowa, if only to see George so happy. It hadn’t lasted. They’d gone back into space when she’d gotten an opportunity to work on some projects. She’d been happy aboard the ship. Jimmy’s unexpected impending arrival had complicated her life, but George had been so sure they’d find a way to stay in Starfleet and raise their family. She had wanted to give Little George a sibling. But then Little George had demanded they call him Sam and they were having a funeral, her mother holding their newborn in her arms.
Jimmy, from the word go, had been a challenge. Sending her to Tarsus IV had been meant to help her shape up. It had been meant to give Winona the space she’d needed to earn her stripes to better support her family. It had been meant to show Jimmy that a little bit of conformity on her part would serve her well.
Mom and Dad had wanted her to stay on the farm but were getting on in years. Frank couldn’t handle her and Winona didn’t really want him to try. And given that Frank lived at the farm, it seemed better to send Jimmy out to Tarsus where she could carve out a space of her own. Sam was at University. Her children were growing up. Winona’s parents had never given her space, and she was determined not to do that to Sam or Jimmy.
Tarsus hadn’t been meant to harm her. It had been meant to give her opportunities Winona had never had. A girl her age wanted to explore the Universe, not be stuck on some farm in the middle of Nowhere, Iowa. Winona knew from firsthand experience.
“Chris?”
Winona stopped next to Chris Pike. His gaze was filled will the loathing that defined their mutual regard for one another. She could hardly be expected to get along with the man that had always held the better part of her husband’s heart. Once upon a time, she’d wished they’d have an affair, just so Saint George could have been a little more human.
“This is a mess, Winnie.” Chris ran his hands through his hair, “You have no idea.”
She was certain she did have some idea. They were on a Vulcan ship. And although Vulcans were generally service-minded, they were not the population one thought of when they considered who would be on the front line humanitarian aid. Winona had also heard a snippets of information as she had traveled to this vessel. “Well, Jim was in the City, so I’m sure this is where they’re holding kids waiting to be picked up.”
Vulcans, after all, liked checking boxes.
“How like you to assume Jimmy landed on her feet.”
Winona’s response was cut off by the hiss of the frosted doors. Chris hauled her to the side of the room as a young Vulcan was shoved bodily over the threshold as he struggled to break free and bolt back into the corridor.
“Dvun'uh! Dvun'uh!” The younger Vulcan was ageless in the way that all Vulcans were until they were 250, but his words were insistent and hardened.
Winona shoved Chris’ hand away. She began to speak, until she noticed amid trying to follow Vulcan that the younger Vulcan had blood on his arms, streaks of red against pale skin that was sickly green in the bright lights above them.
The older Vulcan’s face was impassive as he gripped his younger counterpart by the arms. Winona had never seen a Vulcan voluntarily touch another being, especially not one in the midst of a screaming fit.
“Ti'amah!” The younger one did not take kindly to this treatment. “Ti'amah! Bath'paik!”
The elder Vulcan simply went along as though he had not heard the insult plain in that final word, and pressed his younger companion into a chair, “Hafa'uh, Spohkh. Nam'tor du kobat.”
“Stay?” Spock demanded, as though his brain could not process the language of his birth. Winona knew she would never tolerate that kind of back talk from her children. “Father, por shinsarat.”
“Though logical from your perspective, your actions were not to Miss Kirk’s wellbeing, nor your own.” The elder Vulcan spoke softly to his son.
Winona looked at the child, and wondered if he had been on Tarsus IV. She thought it unlikely, considering Vulcans were very filial and did not like to leave their wider community with children in tow. Still, she knew illness when she saw it. Her breath caught in her throat.
The sound drew the attention of the Vulcans in the room.
The elder spoke, “Lt. Kirk, I am Sarek, Vulcan ambassador to Terra.” He made a small gesture to include the young man glaring at her, “I make known to you my son, Spock. My wife remains with the healers.”
“I will retrieve Mother.” Spock shoved to his feet, “She has much to say to you, Lieutenant.”
“Spock, your mother will join us as she is able.” The Ambassador seemed unruffled by the plain scorn in his son’s voice. “I am certain the lieutenant would appreciate some words as to her daughter’s condition.”
“Miss Kirk is presently in surgery in order to address several of the injuries she suffered in her struggle to survive, as well as to protect and care for several children she rescued from the killing fields.” Spock’s diction was precise and cutting, “The traumas she has suffered are untold. Why it was decided to send a young woman with significant allergies, irrespective of genocidal maniacs, to a underdeveloped farming colony escapes my logic.”
The way he formed the word logic reminded Winona of a phaser being charged in her ear. His cheek enraged her. He had no right to question her. At the time, she had done the right thing. “Ambassador, as a mother, I feel—”
“No.” Spock interrupted her, “I can’t know what you feel, nor do I particularly have interest thereof. Unlike you, Lieutenant, I would never abandon my family because it was best for my selfish goals and self-centered aspirations. Unlike you, Lieutenant, I would never repudiate a member of my clan because I was afraid of their abilities. Unlike you—”
Winona knew that her face was nearly puce. Fury raced in her blood. Her daughter was sick, she was very stressed, and this boy thought to call her to the carpet? She hadn’t had a moment to simply think since before her last shift, and her head was spinning from the transport.
“Enough.”
Winona was glad to see this young man put in his place. She smiled at the Ambassador, careful not 0to show her teeth.
“I will not allow you to say something you may regret in time.” The ambassador only had eyes for his son, and missed the look of shock that flashed across Winona’s face, or so she supposed. “There will be time later to consider how to logically express your concerns.”
Winona could not believe it. Then she realized that parenting was different on Vulcan. She thought perhaps the ambassador had chastised his son. It had to be one in his culture, because the young man swallowed, glared once more at Winona, and shoved his way pointedly through the swinging doors.
Winona blurted, “Are you sure he’s Vulcan?”
The ambassador’s voice was emotionless as he replied, “My son is as Vulcan as the Forge, Lieutenant.”
As the Vulcan Ambassador to Earth swept from the room, following in the footsteps of his son, Chris spoke, “Brass ones, Winnie.”
Winona knew that, once upon a time, questioning the paternity of a Vulcan child was more than enough cause for war or a blood feud. Winona knew they would understand that it had been Spock’s fault. He had goaded her, insulted her, and challenged her. That should never be allowed from a child.
II
Winona had spent the last fourteen hours waiting for this moment. Jim was finally going to notice that she was here. Winona felt the meal she’d just eaten twist in her belly as Jim came awake on a gasp, a few minutes before the drugs were meant to be effective.
“Kids?” She rasped, her eyes flying around the room until they landed on Winona. She hauled in air. “Where are the kids?”
“What kids?” Winona was still a little bit sleepy from her night in the stateroom provided to her by the ambassador’s wife.
By the time she had recalled the kids Jimmy had fallen in with, Jimmy was screaming, her voice a horrid gargle of nails and space junk, “What the fuck did you do to them, Winona?”
Winona flinched as alarms began to ring, bringing the Vulcan doctor to Jim’s bedside at a pace, that on anyone else, would have been a sprint.
“She—” Winona could hardly breathe, much less speak.
She had never been very good with hospitals, with sickness. She was so very afraid to touch Jimmy, who was like a living ghost. She looked like a demon, her hair sticking up and her gaze filled with vengeance. What if Winona hurt her?
“Miss Kirk. You are in hospital.” The doctor spoke firmly but gently, even as Jim began to sit up and reach for the blankets, “You must remain in this bed.”
The Lady Amanda swirled into the room on a cloud of swishing silk and otherworldly scent. She paid no mind to Jimmy’s screaming.
“Jemima, the children are under guard one floor above us.” Amanda pressed her hand gently against Jimmy’s forearm, “I promise you. As soon as you are well, you’ll see them.”
Suddenly, Jim stopped screaming. Winona doubted she had understood Amanda’s words.
The silence echoed.
After a few loaded seconds, Jim whispered something that sucked the air from the room. “I’ve died.”
“The neural deficiencies you are experiencing are a side-effect of the blockers administered during surgery.” The doctor spoke, “You will not remember this interaction.”
Jim clutched at Amanda with every bit of drama Winona had ever known her to possess, “We’re dead, Amanda. I’m sorry. Please don’t hate me. I couldn’t make him stay.”
“Nobody died, Jimmy.” Winona insisted, “For God’s sake, calm down.”
“Mrs. Kirk.” The healer glanced her way as Amanda spoke softly to Jimmy, “It is physiologically impossible for her to be calm given her mental turmoil. I cannot give her any further medications without severe risk to her respiration. Patience would be most logical at this moment.”
Winona huffed. When Jimmy had broken her arm at six, she hadn’t so much as sniffled until George’s mom had come over with Winona’s mother. It seemed Jim had found another softie in Amanda of Vulcan. Jimmy needed to remember where her bread was buttered. It wouldn’t do her any good to be coddled.
Some might have called Winona cold. Even so, she knew Jim best. Jim didn’t want or need her cuddles. Jim related to the world in one way and one way only: survival. Perhaps people would have blamed Winona for that fact, but at this point she wasn’t going to try to change Jim.
Jim’s gaze flitted over her form near the end of the bed. She breathed, “I know I’m dead. Winona’s here. She even looks sad. That’s not reality.”
“I’m here, Jim.”
“Winona would never show up. Only imagining this because I’m dead. Well, fuck.” With that, Jim passed out against the pillows.
Winona ignored the look on Amanda-the-perfect-parent’s face.
“T’sai Amanda, we must consider our next steps.” The healer glanced at his PADD, forgotten on the side table during Jim’s episode, “Her psionic activities…”
“I am her mother, in case you’ve forgotten.” Winona did not try to hide the spite in her voice.
The healer’s glance turned owlish. “I am aware of this fact and made concerted effort to include you in this discourse. I am also aware that the Lady Amanda is the senior ranking female of her House aboard this vessel and should be addressed in accordance with common decency.”
“Nam-tor ri thrap wilat nem-tor rim, Hakausu Awidat.” Quickly, she looked at Winona and said, “I’ve never been one to stand on ceremony when it concerns my children. I would expect no less of anyone else.”
Winona accepted those words.
“There are things you need to know, Winona.” Amanda said, tucking the blankets tightly around Jim as the Healer busied himself with the monitors, “But they need to be Jemima’s words, and explained in her own unique way.”
Winona knew she was being given the run-around. Still, whatever had to be said, she agreed with Amanda. Jim was a strong young woman, and Winona would be the last person to question it.
III
Winona’s good nature evaporated like steam. The rescued kids had been sent home to frantic parents and families, and Jimmy was healthy enough to make the trip to Iowa.
“Jemima, Iowa is your only option.” Winona repeated herself, “You’re going home to the farm.”
“I’m not going.” Jim cast her glance around the room that had been Jim’s for the past few days. She was wearing a freshly printed pair of jeans, a long-sleeved top, and thick boots on her feet. Winona’s pulse still raced when she saw the mottled bruises on Jim’s face. “How about you go back to Iowa and placate Frank?”
“Frank is your stepfather, Jim.” Winona felt a stress headache building up in the back of her skull, “When Chris comes back, you’re telling him you’re going back to Iowa.”
Jim merely arched her eyebrow. This was a new habit, no doubt picked up from that Vulcan boy who couldn’t seem to string two words together in front of Jim without his face going green unless Jim goaded him into an argument. Jim had goaded him into lots of arguments.
Winona, therefore, wasn’t surprised when Jim told Chris, “Winona says I’m supposed to tell you that I’m going back to Iowa to live on the farm with Frank the Fuckface.”
Winona did not react outwardly to that obvious taunt.
Chris set down the food tray he was carrying in front of Jim, “Eat your cake, Jimmy.”
Winona did not miss the tone of Chris’ voice or Jim’s grin as she tucked into a dessert that was not a part of her soft-foods diet. “Winnie, a word, if you please?”
Winona rolled her eyes, and stood. “Nothing you say is going to change my mind, Chris. So let’s just get this over so I can get Jimmy home before I go back to work.”
Winona was led into an ambush. She knew one when she saw it. She was going to kill Chris. He led her a conference room that held not only Amanda and the ambassador, but also Council Woman T’Pau and a few other equally terrifying Vulcans.
They got the niceties out of the way, such as they could with a room full of Vulcans and an irate engineer.
It was T’Pau, she of inter-galactic fame, who got down to business. “I will make this as plain as possible. We object entirely to the prospect of sending Jemima to Terra with the man you call husband. It will not stand.”
“Elder, while I appreciate your planet’s generosity,” Winona bristled, “I will make the best choices for my daughter.”
Winona knew she had to tread carefully with someone like T’Pau. The woman was frankly terrifying and could destroy her career if she so much as blinked in a way that displeased T’Pau.
“The girl is the future of our Clan, irrespective of her humanness. What is, is. While we would have desired for a Vulcan for Spock, his katra is equally human and so allowances must logically be made.” The male Vulcan next to T’Pau seemed to not have heard her, “It is therefore evident that someone must look out for her highest interests.”
“What?”
“Winona—” Amanda beseeched her, “No one here wishes Jemima was anything else than the wondrous girl she is. You must understand that this was not a choice on anyone’s part.”
“What wasn’t a choice?” Winona demanded, her good intentions gone.
“Jim hasn’t mentioned…?” Amanda began, and then stopped midsentence, “No, I don’t suppose she would have. She is a desperately private young woman.”
“It is to her credit.” T’Pau insisted, “Though it does place us in the unfortunate position of having to explain eons of history as they relate to your daughter.”
“Just tell me.” Winona knew that Jimmy had once again stuck her foot in it, “What’s she done now?”
“Jemima and Spock are,” Amanda began, “—please do forgive the imprecise translation. We will elaborate.” She forged onward, her caveats issued, “Jimmy and Spock have a very unique bond.”
“More need not be said.” The elderly male Vulcan interjected, “To speak of such private matters is neither logical nor honorable. We will not intrude any farther.”
The ambassador spoke, “Uncle, you agreed to full disclosure. I remind you your presence here is conditional on honoring your word.”
“You have always been too permissive with our ways.” His uncle insisted, “We need not discuss it. It is not done.”
“Yes we will.” Winona insisted, “You expect me to make a big deal of this? So our kids like each other. Big deal. That’s what PADDs are for. It’ll pass.”
Winona had the satisfaction of watching the uncle turn emerald.
Before anyone could say anything more, the door to the meeting room slid open to reveal Jim and Spock. “Well, nobody’s come to blows. We must be early. Hey, everybody.”
“Greetings, honored ones.” Turning to Jim, Spock added, “It was statistically unlikely that any physical altercation would take place.” Spock advanced on the table, and pulled out a chair for Jim, “However, I understand your futile attempt at diffusing the obvious interpersonal tension in this room.”
Jim took the seat with a smile, and slid forward. She looked so slight in the chair meant for a Vulcan’s lanky frame that Winona could barely look at her as she grinned at Spock. “Thank you, Captain Obvious.”
“As I have told you repeatedly, I am not a Captain.” Spock settled into the next chair easily, all bafflement and earnestness, “Nor is my family name ‘Obvious.’”
“And yet, you’ve stated the obvious once more, which means that the idiom holds water.”
“Even though your phraseology is intended to irritate me, I concede to your point. However, I—”
The old Vulcan clearly had had enough. He looked as horrified as it was possible for a blank face to express, “Let us return to the matter at hand.”
“As you say, Uncle.” Amanda quickly grabbed control of the conversation, if only to soothe the obvious ruffled feathers.
“Jemima and I have discussed the position in which we find ourselves, and have logically discerned that a separation at this time is not something to which we are inclined to countenance.”
“Spock…” The Ambassador rightly understood how his words were received by Winona.
“Nobody is going anywhere together.” Winona declared, “I don't care how permissive you all are, but I don’t let kids make adult decisions. Frankly, this entire discussion has me questioning if further contact is…”
“Oh, shut up, Winona.” Jim sighed, “I have enough anxiety. I don’t need secondhand panic.”
“If you would learn to control your empathy, you wouldn’t—” Winona had told her and told her to get a grip on her brain. Now Jim was facing the consequences, and Winona wasn’t going to say she hadn’t warned her. Didn’t she have enough problems right now? Why did Jim always want to complicate everything?
“It isn’t empathy, Winona.” Jim faltered, looked at Spock, and then back at Winona, and seemed to make up her mind.
“No.” She looked at the others in the room, “Look. You guys tell her. You can put it very logically. I can’t and I’m not—”
“Your request is all that is sensible.” T’Pau assured her.
Winona was not going to let Jim off the hook. She said what she had to say, knowing her arrow would hit a tender spot in Jim’s present circumstances. “I didn’t raise a coward, Jim.”
“You didn’t raise me, Winona.” Jim’s eyes filled with tears, but she took the bait as her spine straightened. “And frankly, after what I’ve just survived, I think I am entitled to choose a little bit of my fate. I shouldn’t have to expose my soul to you to justify a choice.”
“Jimmy.” Chris reached out and put his hand on Jim’s shoulder, “You’re not on the spot, here, kid. Nobody is. We’re going to figure this out.”
And so T’Pau explained, with quite a lot of input and interpretation from Amanda.
Winona wanted a couple of shots by the time it was all over. The Vulcans departed, dragging a reluctant Spock with them. Amanda made mention of chocolate milk on ice to be served in the dining room.
When they were finally alone, the silence was oppressive.
“I’m sorry, but some mythical connection isn’t going to get you out of going to Iowa.” Winona didn’t know what else to do, because she wasn’t giving her daughter up to a culture and planet she didn’t know. That, she knew now, would come soon enough. That was, if what she had been told was accurate.
“There is another option.” Chris ventured, “A compromise.”
“Yeah?” Jim’s voice was colorless, but Winona suspected it was intentionally so.
“I think Jim should come to San Francisco with me.” Chris made no mention of his posting out in the black, “I asked for family leave. They’re going to transfer me to teaching at the Academy.”
“You planned to take her with you.” Winona fumed, “We all played into your hand, didn’t we, Chris?”
He’d had her husband. Now he wanted her daughter. Still, despite what people said, she wasn’t totally unfeeling. She knew that Jim deserved a chance to be happy. What kind of mother would she be if she totally dismissed the idea out of hand? She was sure things with Spock would fizzle.
“You can go for a few weeks while you go to PT. We’ll work out long-term plans later.”
Jim hesitated. “Winona, thanks. I—I mean it.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Winona retorted, “You’re going to run roughshod over Chris. It’s his funeral.”
Jim nodded. “Well, better this way than you finally going postal.”
“Get out, you brat.” Winona smiled, “Before I change my mind.”
Jim sauntered away, looking more like herself than Winona had seen her since before Tarsus. It was enough.
IV
Winona hadn’t expected the Ambassador and his wife to pack up their family and move to San Francisco. And yet, that was exactly what had happened within two weeks of Jim’s arrival there. Frankly, it rankled Winona.
By the time her next leave had rolled around, the summer was over. Jim had to go back to school, and she had a place waiting at the county high school near Riverside. Winona was certain that Jim would understand her mother had been lenient. It was, after all, only logical.
She also did not expect Amanda of Vulcan to invite her to lunch at the embassy. The children, as she put it, were out. It was just as well, given that Amanda had set up a small table in the sunroom off the back of the massive residence.
“I came here to take Jimmy to Iowa, Amanda.” Winona wasn’t going to beat around the bush, “I know it’s been a good summer, but…”
“A good summer?” Amanda’s expression shifted, “You do understand what Jim went through on Tarsus, don’t you?”
“Of course I do.”
Winona had read the reports. Jim had stopped going to her psychologist, but Chris said she was actually doing better working through things at her own pace.
“If you did, Winona, you would never call this summer a good one.” Amanda looked positively murderous, “She’s been clawing her way out of a living hell, with no help from you, I might add.”
The lovely setting, Winona realized, was mere façade.
“Well, since we’re being so honest, I don’t think my kid is any of your damn business.”
“Your kid?” Amanda returned, a smile blooming across her face, “You listen to me. One message and you would lose custody so fast your head would spin. I don’t want to do that, because Jim loves you. She admires you. But don’t think for one second that I’ll let you take what little stability she has away from her.”
“I’m sure you’re acting out of altruism.” Winona retorted, knowing damn well that Amanda was going out on the line for her spoiled and pampered only child.
“You’d be wrong.” Amanda replied, as placid as anything as she collected a bit of salad onto her fork. “So I’ll tell you how this is going to end, and you can decide exactly how long you want to drag it out.”
“I’m sure this’ll be a hoot, but go ahead.”
Amanda produced a PADD from the pocket of her demure skirt, “These documents sign over shared physical and legal custody to Pike, and include an agreement to allow him to arrange for her future here. He’s staying in San Francisco.”
“He’ll burn you.” Winona nearly snapped the handle of her salad fork, so tight was her grip, “You’re in league with the devil.”
“Winona.” Amanda sipped her tea, “You and I both know the only hell you have to fear is that of a mother protecting her children.”
“Jim’s not your daughter. Get that through your oxygen-deprived skull, Amanda.”
“Winona, she’s a person, and nearly a woman.” Amanda ignored the outburst Winona had let fly from her tongue, as though that made her a better person. “She’s not an object to own and crow over, as though she belongs to you like a good pair of shoes.”
“Not an object?” Winona snarked, “I’m not the one whose entire extended family seems to have placed bets on her fertility.”
Winona had been furious the first time someone had come up to her in the mess and asserted in Vulcan-esque Standard that they were hoping for a fruitful and prosperous union between two teenagers. It was disgusting.
“You forget to whom you are speaking. Our struggle to have children was blasted across the Federation, remember? Their good wishes, their hopes, are not misplaced even as they are premature.” Amanda insisted, “So when members of my House approach you and wish them well in a fashion they deem logical, I’d appreciate a little civility. A bunch of Vulcans seem to have more of a desire to shield Jim from pain than you do. That doesn’t say much, does it, for your compassion and empathy?”
“Insults won’t get my signature, Amanda.”
“There is no insult in the truth, Winona.” Amanda stared back at her, “What is it you want? Is it a captaincy? Credits? Or is it, perhaps, the unassailable knowledge that, for once in her life, you did something that was best for Jim without once thinking about how it impacted or reflected upon you?”
Later that night, after sobbing herself hoarse and drinking half a bottle of Romulan ale, Winona signed the documents and submitted them before her courage failed her. For the first time, she felt like a horrible mother. This time, however, she was determined to be the best horrible mother she knew how to be.
V
Winona Kirk watched the officer across the bar smile widely at the man sipping a mint julep on the stool beside her. Winona’s heart pounded. She was beautiful. Her whole face shone with joy and contentment.
Winona’s hand holding her beer trembled. Quickly, she set it back down on the table she had been sharing with Ridgeford. Gathering her courage, she strode across the bar and spoke to a woman who looked like her dead father reincarnated, “I can’t believe you actually jettisoned the Vulcan.”
Jim laughed, “Winona!” She flailed and grinned widely at the man beside her, “Bonesy! This is my mother, Commander Kirk. Winona, Bones McCoy, the best doctor Georgia ever produced.”
“Don’t damn me with faint praise, girl.” The man grumbled, “I’m the best doctor in Starfleet.”
“And modest, too.” Winona replied, returning his greetings.
She had just settled into the next seat when Jim’s whole face brightened. Winona forced herself not to react. It had been years, and she still lit up like a candle around that automation she’d married.
“Jemima, I do not believe this establishment is worthy of our patronage.” Spock, as usual, only had interest in Jim, “The lavatories did not meet any basic standard of cleanliness.”
“Spock…” Jim scolded him fondly as Dr. McCoy rolled his eyes in silent commiseration with Winona.
“I am merely postulating that the potentiality for cross-contamination of the food and drinks is statistically very high.”
“Why do you think I brought Bones along?” Jim bantered, sipping something that looked vaguely chocolatey, “Here, you won’t die. I tested it.”
“You indicated to me that you wished to encourage Leonard in his courtship of Miss Chapel.” Spock ventured, looking dubiously at his glass as Jim pressed it into his grasp.
“I don’t need help from y’all, and just for that, Jim, if you have a reaction to something, I just might use a needle rather than a Hypo.” McCoy bristled, his accent growing even thicker. “You’re a cautionary tale. Women take one look at the two of you squabbling like overgrown children and run, wondering how I got mixed up in this mess.”
Jim made no bones about glaring at McCoy.
“Commander, my greetings to you.”
Spock remained standing, leaning into Jim’s space. Winona realized that she had taken his seat, but made no move to give it back.
“Spock.” Winona returned, resigned to his presence on the edges of her life. “How’s the professorate treating you?”
“It was a meaningful professional undertaking.” Spock acknowledged, “Barring a period of decreased efficiency originating from Marcus and his interference.”
“I heard about that.” Winona commiserated, “He was an ass.”
“You have said the same of me, so I suspect we were well matched adversaries.”
Winona had to bite back a smile.
“Oooh, Winona!” Jim blurted, excitedly, her hand falling to Spock’s elbow to prevent falling off her stool, “Spock and I have news! We’re going into the black! On the Enterprise with Chris.”
“We received our assignments today, hence this celebratory interlude.” Spock added, “Jemima will be continuing her work with the gun crews while liaising with the chief navigator.”
Jim sipped her own drink, something fruity and awful-looking. “Spock got the XO posting.”
McCoy gulped at his mint julep and glanced at Winona, “Which, if you ask me, stinks of nepotism, First Officer.”
“Says the medical officer poached from the Hispaniola roster.” Jim asserted, with joy in her voice. “You know, we could make it a real family affair. We still need a chief engineer.”
“Shut up, kid.” Winona knew that was a recipe for disaster, “You know I’d kill Chris within a week, and turn into Grandma Cathy within a month.”
“I like her!” Jim protested.
Winona knew that there was a side of Cathy Jimmy had never seen. She was glad she had been able to prevent Jimmy from seeing that over the years. “She wasn’t your mother-in-law, Jimmy.”
Spock’s voice was a careful monotone as he noted, “I can conceive of no reality in which you could morph into an elderly woman who plays bridge and bakes terran delicacies in an effort to over-feed her relatives.”
They’d recently spent the term break with Cathy and George. Spock had no doubt been horrified. Well, Cathy probably loved him. Last Winona had heard, she had been pleased as punch that he was “a nice Jewish boy” never mind that he was “a bit weird and pale.” It seemed Cathy had gotten over demanding perfection for her family’s partners. To her mind, it was thirty years too late.
“Thank you, Commander, but no.”
Spock accepted her refusal with a quiet query, “I would welcome your recommendations as to a qualified alternate.”
“You know, I think Montgomery Scott would be good for The Enterprise.” Winona suggested, “He’s on the Excelsior but should be up for promotion. He just might want a new ship.”
McCoy chortled. It seemed he knew Scotty.
Jim demanded, “What’s so funny?”
“Nothing.” McCoy insisted, “You’ll just love Mr. Scott, Spock.”
“I am Vulcan, and therefore do not concern myself with emotional attachments I do not experience.”
“You record messages for your dog.” McCoy tossed out, clearly trying to ruffle Spock.
“Incorrect.” Spock insisted, “I-Chaya is a sehlat, and is an honored member of our clan. Therefore, keeping I-Chaya apprised of our undertakings is only logical, irrespective of his comprehension thereof.”
“I need a fucking drink.” Winona asserted, “I pity the Federation. Jimmy, good luck, but stay the hell out of the Gamma quadrant.”
“We’ll message you when we’re in your neck of the woods, yeah?” Jim understood the demand for what it was.
A loud clatter erupted as the doors opened and a few more people spilled into the bar, calling out greetings to Jim. Jim waved, but made no invitation for them to join. McCoy ambled over, with a nod of farewell to Winona. Spock, bleating on about some experiment, strode over to quiz one of his colleagues.
“Well, I’m just going to—” Winona gestured to her table, knowing she had better things to do than stare out a window and should probably get back to her temporary assignment while they were refitted, “I’ll let you be.”
“Stay, Winona. Let me buy you a drink.” Jim asked, “Without you pushing me to make something of myself, to be strong and get shit done, I’d be the only genius-level repeat offender in the Midwest. You gave me wings.”
“Don’t let nostalgia make me into a saint, Jimmy.” Winona reminded her, knowing that reflection like this was common before people went on deep space missions.
“I’m not. I know you’re not Mother of the Year.” Jim insisted, “You wouldn’t know how to parent a tribble. You’re still an asshole. But, then, so am I. It’s genetic.”
“So is a predisposition towards obesity.” Winona noted, studying Jimmy carefully. She had put on a little weight. She’d yo-yo’d hard since Tarsus, but her body tended towards a plumpness as if her body anticipated another famine.
Jim retorted, “Oh, fuck you, Winona.”
“I’m just saying, Jimmy.” Winona drummed her fingers on the bar, “You’ve easily gained ten pounds recently.”
“Pot meet kettle.” Jim shot back, smoothing her regulation blouse down primly. “At least I’ve got the cleavage to show for it.”
Winona admitted she had a point there.
Jim smiled, “What do you want?”
“It’s the middle of the day.” Winona decided, “Get me some of that Vulcan swill that tastes like a burnt cellophane.”
“Whatever.” Jim made eye contact with the bartender, and raised her own half-empty glass gently.
In the reflection of the screen in front of them, Winona was certain she saw Jimmy grin before she hid it away. Maybe only bad mothers drank during the lunch hour with their kids, but it worked for them. It worked, and Jim was happy and making something of her potential. That was enough.
Anybody who had a problem with how Winona parented could throw themselves out of the airlock with her blessing. It had taken more than twenty years to admit it, but by every societal expectation, Winona Kirk knew she was a bad mother. Luckily, she had some pretty awful kids who were doing amazing things, so it all worked out.