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The news hits him hard. The subspace transmission that the Kelvin had been destroyed. Among the dead, Captain Robau and Lieutenant Commander Kirk. Among the survivors, a baby born on the escape shuttle, the child of George Kirk.
He hears the news while planet side, and it takes what self-control he can muster to not crumble and collapse and cry. George is gone, his George. But does he even have the right to call him that anymore? When they were young and fast and had no worry about what tomorrow would bring them. He was his George. And, a part of him reminded him with a snarl and barred teeth, he would always be his George.
He hears the news while planet side because George was supposed to come home for the baby’s birth. He and Winona were disembarking at the next station to come back to Earth. They were supposed to be here. And Chris would meet up with them. They had made plans. And Chris just wants to curl into a ball, to hide beneath the covers and wonder, for just a moment, if his old letterman jacket still smells of George. George had given it back to him the night they ended things. And Chris had put on a brave face, if he couldn’t have that piece of George anymore, he wanted to keep him close to him however he could.
He’s not sure what to do. For the first time in his life he truly feels alone. His chest heaves, heart constricting in his chest. There’s a sour taste in his mouth; so poignant and pungent that he feels it in his very blood. Like the first time George got him to drink Ferengi Wine, his mind buzzing and blank, limbs heavy as George’s hands wrapped around his biceps to hold him steady. He remembered laughing at one of his horrendous jokes, and he remembers the taste of his lips that night. How they ran through the streets to get back to their dorms in the pouring rain. How they had stopped just outside the entrance. A lone streetlight above them, illuminating them in iridescent light. And they froze, breaths heavy.
He doesn’t remember which one of them made the first move, but he remembers kissing George Kirk, the way his hand twisted in that sinful blue shirt he wore that made his eyes shine brighter. Remembers the way George’s fingers felts against his hips, pulling him closer before they had the chance to pull apart.
Short-lived, wild, and cruel was the time they spent together, so good, so right, but so short. Almost a year playing their games, their tracks separating them as they both delved deeper into their studies until they weren’t a ‘they’ anymore. That day, when George showed up at his door right after their last final. When it was weeks in between anything more than a hello and a goodbye . Chris’ jacket in his hands and a small box full of trinkets that had been left at George’s.
Chris didn’t need words, didn’t need to hear George’s speech how they just weren’t made for each other. Not anymore. He remembered going numb, stepping aside to let George in, watching him pick up the antique books he had left a few months ago. They were silent. They would be silent for months after that night.
Until their capstone class that had put him, George, and Winona in the same lecture hall. How Chris had met Winona a few times before, they were amicable, barely even classified as friends on that first day. And George had looked at them. Their eyes meeting and for a moment Chris was naively hopeful, and wrong as always.
But then George began to date Winona. And it was weird. They were good together, good for each other. And Chris was happy for them, he really was. At least, that’s what he kept saying to himself. He and George became friends again. Nothing like they were before.
And a year passed and George asked him to go to the bar with him. And Chris had agreed. Ever hopeful and ever wanting to be close enough to George Kirk’s fascinating gravitational pull. He’d allow himself to stay in orbit, even if it felt like being sucked into a black hole. He’d stay. Just to be able to bask, if only for a moment, in George’s radiant glow. That night, George told him he wanted to marry Winona, and when, not if, when, he did, if Chris would be his best man.
Chris had agreed. Had felt his heart skip a beat as George beamed at him, a hand coming out to clasp at his shoulder as he laughed. He would be George’s best man, only to be selfish and keep those eyes, those radiant smiles, in his life. He would be anything for George, he’d even be alive.
And now it was all gone. And Chris allowed himself to truly break down and cry. To mourn his best friend, the love of his life.