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Going to bars was Jim’s favorite pastime. Or diversion. Or addiction. Choose the label, he didn’t care. It was simply where he’d go to spend what time he wasn’t working at the mechanic’s. Bars held the allure of numbness from blessed alcohol and the occasional woman looking for the same shallow physical connection he needed to feel alive.
Occasionally, though, they held the added appeal of a good fight. Sometimes, it was with locals that definitely had some sort of superhuman strength - because he never lost a fair fight, thank you very much . Other times, it was with goody-two-shoes who thought he should stop hitting on the fairer sex who “clearly” weren’t interested - please, he was easier on the eyes than any other idiot at the bar.
But there were three fights that stood out amongst all the alcohol-blurred memories - memories which also informed his assistant teaching in hand-to-hand combat during the academy.
The first time, it was an accident.
“Please, that's a joke. The ship was destined to fail. No way to save it.”
Jim frowned as he overheard a pair of red clad men in the corner. Of course, men was a relative term. They were Starfleet cadets, probably still wet behind the ears and hadn't even been on a ship yet.
“Yeah, he wasted his time trying to save the crew.” The other replied, snickering. “It was stupid, he didn’t even try to save the ship.”
Jim hated ( admired ) his father for abandoning his family but no one was allowed to talk about him like what he did was nothing!
Jim saw red and was running straight towards the cadets, fists raised, before he even knew what he was doing. The fight was a bloody mess on both sides. Needless to say, Jim never went back to a bar in San Francisco that close to Starfleet.
The good part? He was quick to realize what the cadets had been talking about after his first failed test.
The best part? He beat it after the third time. Take that.
The second time, it was a coincidence.
Jim sighed as he sat nursing his drink. He was on some backwater planet trying to forget the fact that he was just a short flight away from Ananta, his almost-cousin, but was met with a closed door. He briefly considered dropping his crusade but found he couldn’t keep going without at least knowing the fate of those he had tried to save. So he went down the list of names.
A few hacks later, he discovered he would never be able to see Aminah’s small but warm smiles ever again. She had committed suicide not even a year after .
The news sent him straight to the bar, fuming, looking for the numbness of alcohol and itching for a fight. He needed something to make him feel alive, something to stop the aching desire to follow Aminah.
In walked a group of laughing Starfleet officers that Jim didn't care were new ensigns celebrating their first successful mission after the academy. The red shirts and swirl on their shiny new Starfleet pins indicated they were operations: engineering or security. Jim hoped it was the latter and marked them as the next victims to take a beating from his all-too-frequent bar fights. Or at least give one, he didn’t particularly care which by that point.
Their loud guffaws grated on Jim’s nerves and before he could regret what he was doing, the first punch was thrown. Jim gave a savage grin at their shocked and almost fearful faces. Their expressions quickly morphed to anger and the fight started.
Jim would swear it was the best fight he'd had in a long time, until the next time.
The third time, well it could be a coincidence, if Starfleet was stupid enough to believe it.
Jim had given up on life a long time ago. He had found his kids, though part of him wondered if he might have been better off not knowing some of their fates, dead before they could get off the hellhole, dead despite surviving. He never found the courage to finish. Thomas Leighton was the last one and might actually have found a better life, married and doing something useful with his life - agricultural research. But he never ended up following through, couldn't bring himself to knock. He was sure that the man would be better off without him coming back into his life.
Jim wasn’t an idiot. He knew he was a mess, constantly getting in trouble with the law. Alcohol and a pretty girl was enough for him now. But every once in a while, he hacked into Starfleet databases to show those bastards that he was still better he would always tell himself. It had absolutely nothing to do with wanting to feel talented, to feel able, to feel special, to feel real.
Jim savagely went to jab the PADD at the unbidden thought, trying to exit the servers but an idea quickly formed as he saw a different file that he’d never bothered to look at before. Flight schedules.
And would you look at that? A group of cadets and recruits were scheduled to land and spend a night in the Riverside, Iowa Starfleet shipyard. Jim doubted that many ‘fleet idiots could land and avoid a bar. Perhaps it was time to revisit that bar nice enough to forget to check his ID or didn't care enough whom they served when he had been sent back to Iowa so long ago. Two for the price of one. Plus, maybe there'd be a girl lacking enough good sense to refuse him. Three for one, even better.
Of course, the rest, as they say, is history.