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James Tiberius Kirk was a dead boy. He wasn't sure how he was a dead boy. But, he was a dead boy. Or at least, that's what Sam liked to tell him. James didn't like Sam, but that was okay because Sam didn't like James either. That being said, not many people actually liked James. Winoa certainly didn't. Neither did Frank, now that he thought about it, but that was alright too.
James wasn’t terribly fond of any of them.
“Mum.” Sam asked, his head cocked to the side and hand frozen in midair, the pasta slipping off the ustensil with a wet plop. “Are any of my grandparents alive? I had to make a family tree in class today and I don’t think I know when Dad-George’s parents died?”
Winona was not a particularly loud woman. She wasn’t particularly nice either (if your name was James, at least), but she was not typically a woman to freeze under pressure. No, Winona was more likely to explode, all that pent up grief and anger erupting out of her skin and bearing down on James with steely eyes and firm hands.
James did not like Winona.
He did not like it when she came back down from the black. He did not like it when Sam lit up at the vid-screen and smiled so wide that James could see his molars. He did not like that Frank seemed to get more heavy handed or that Sam was more likely to shove him around even more. But, above all else, he did not like how Winona would pretend that James did not exist.
Sam and Frank, for all their gnashing teeth and backhanded attitude, at least they acknowledged that James existed. At least they bothered to pay attention.
Winona’s fork hit the table with a gentle clatter and, maybe, James wouldn’t have noticed what happened next, if it wasn’t for the fact that Winona turned her head and looked at him. James had seen Winona before, what with her picture plastered around the house and her gentle smile when she spoke to Frank and Sam on the vid-screen. James had seen her before, but this was the first time he could remember her looking at him.
This wasn’t like the few times she had picked him from school or dragged him out of whatever mess Sam had thrown him into. This wasn’t her hand turning into steel claws on his shoulder or the back of his neck. No, this was Winona looking directly at him.
Once, years ago when James was smaller and had wanted Winona to look at him, he had grabbed one of the many picture frames off of the fireplace mantle. He had stared and stared and stared at her image, comparing the angles of her face to his own. Sam had always said that James had Winona’s eyes but Sam was wrong.
James didn’t think his eyes had ever been so scared.
But, before James could do more than stare back at Winona, her chin lifted and she turned back to her son. “Your father’s family is dead. I only met them once, and they died before you were born.”
Her hair, long and blond, (so much like James’) fell in front of her face as she ducked her head and cut into her steak.
Surprisingly, Sam let the matter drop and Frank simply dropped a hand to her wrist and gave her a comforting smile.
At the far end of the table, James nibbled on his toast and wondered why Winona looked so nervous even while Frank absently rubbed his thumb along her wrist. There was something else going on, he decided as Winona asked Sam about his soccer club. There was something else going on and James was going to find out what it was.
…***...
"...dare you!" Winona shrieked, her voice shooting up to the rafters and shaking the ceiling.
In the hall, James curled his knuckle in between his teeth and did his best to disappear. Winona did not shout. She did bark orders and snap out curt words, but she never did anything so uncouth as to shout or shriek.
"I am perfectly capable of taking care of the boy!" Winona continued, hardly even pausing for a breath.
"Are you?" Another voice responded, this one softer but no less cold than Winona herself. "According to Starfleet operations, you have not been on earth for more than six months in the eight years since Cousin George slipped into the stars."
"My husband has no problem taking care of him." Winona spat back and James could almost picture the way her fingers were curled into the arms of her chair. He was pretty sure he could still trace the halfmoon scars on his shoulders.
For a moment, all James could hear was the soft shuffling of… his brow furrowed. That couldn't be tissue paper, it would make no sense. Confused, James just about turned his head and leaned towards the crack of the open door, but the second voice cut him off.
"Ah yes, Frank. Your second husband. My sources say that he is a heavy drinker and a…"
"Have you been following us?" Winona shouted again, the sound of her hands striking the desk echoing into the hall.
The second person sighed and James could only imagine the look of frustration on their face. "Cousin George may not be accessible to us, but that does not matter. You married my cousin and that makes you family. I have every right to be concerned about you and your boys."
"I don't need your help." Winona snarled.
In the hall, James couldn't help but recoil, his eyes wide. Frank had often commented that the only thing he saw in James that he recognized was his stubbornness.
James always bared his teeth in response.
"That does not negate the fact that you need it." The second voice responded coolly.
“Fuck off!” Winona shouted, and James found he had the perfect view to see the vid-screen go dark.
In the reflection, Winona turned ever so slightly, her eyes lighting upon him in the doorway. James couldn’t find it in himself to blink.
“How would you like to go on a trip?” Winona asked, her expression tightening the longer James stayed perfectly still. “There’s a program, far away from here, on Tarsus IV. I think you’d like it.”
James didn’t say anything at all.
…***...
“If you are going to stab a man,” the woman said with a tone of fascination and wicked glee, “you should make it count.”
The woman was a wraith of a figure, something that James would have expected to come crawling out of a dungeon with blood on her lips and hunger in her eyes. He would have even expected her to come waltzing out under the stars, her long limbs draped with shadows, but instead, there she stood. A figure of stick bones and pale cheeks, out in the dreary sunlight with nothing more but a smile on her face. “If you are going to stab that man,” she repeated, her voice steady and soft, “you need to take that blade and twist.”
Slowly, her smile spread and split across her cheeks in a wide cut and James could see the hunger in her eyes. It was the same hunger that haunted his stomach and ate away at the blood in his veins. (He was always hungry. Always. Jim was thirteen years old and he was starving. )
As if she were doing more than commenting about the weather, the woman held out her arm and dragged a finger from her wrist to her elbow. Her fingernail left a small gouge in her skin. “You could always cut here, along the vein. There isn’t much meat or muscle here, so you wouldn’t have to go too deep. Or, you could,” the woman twisted her head and pointed to a spot behind her ear, easily pulling away a thick black braid from her pale skin, “stab here. It doesn’t take much skill and the man would die nearly instantly if you struck true.”
James Kirk was thirteen years old and he stared at the woman who had blood up the side of her neck and what might have been bits of bone sticking out of her braids with awe. Beside her, the axe she had been twirling like a batton was sunk a foot into the ground.
James wasn’t worried about the weapon.
Ever so slowly, the woman gave him another soft smile, her knees drawn up under her skirts as she knelt on the dusty earth. “Of course, you could always go with rat poison, hemlock, cyanide, arson, or a good old fashion beheading. The choices are endless.”
Far below them, the city burned.
The woman didn’t look back as the screams drifted up to them on the breeze. It was the first time in over a month that a breeze had blessed Tarsus IV and James couldn’t help but sway into the buffeting winds and wails. In front of him, the woman’s lips dropped down into a soft pouting coo as her hand came up and carded ever so gently through his thinning and brittle hair.
“There’s that smile.” She crooned to him, her voice coiling around his bones and nipping at the underside of his jaw. “Your first masacre, at the age of thirteen. Your father would have been jealous.”
Jim nearly purred under her attention.
“Sic goriamus allow subjectatos nunc.” She whispered to him as she wrapped boney fingers around his wrist and helped him guide the knife down into the neck of the guard pinned between them. The same guard that James had managed to brain with an errant rock just before the woman crested the hill. “And I promise you, they will taste delicious, my cousin.”
Ever so carefully, James leaned down and breathed in the fear of the man below him, preening under the woman’s proud gaze.
“Go on.” His cousin, his precious, perfect, wonderful, cousin coaxed. “Your father would be proud.”
Slowly, James pulled the knife back out, making sure to twist the blade ever so slightly on the way out. There was no need to make this painless, after all. Not with what the guards had done to him. (To those corpses that had been his kids, once upon a time.) No, there was no need to make this painless at all.
Whipping the blood off of the blade, James threw himself forward into his cousin’s arms. He is too skinny and too small. It would take nothing for his bones to snap with one good tug. So, it should hardly be surprising that it took nothing for his cousin to pick him up and drag her battle axe out of the dust behind her. “I,” she said with all the dignity all of his father’s family seemed to possess, “am your cousin Wednesday Addams, but you may call me Mum. And I have been looking for you, mon petite.”
James didn't want to let her go. His cousin. She was different. Odd.
Dark .
His mother had always told Sam when he had asked, that their father's family was dead. There was no one left on either side of the family and it was just better if they stayed with Frank. Winnoa might have lied to James, but she would never have lied to Sam.
But, Winnoa had to be lying, because she was there. His cousin. She was standing there in all her glory. Undead.
James tucked his head cautiously into her shoulder and wondered if this was what his mother's arms were supposed to feel like. Deceptively strong and above all else, safe.
…***...
Tiberius Addams, (not James, never ever Jimmy anymore,) left Tarsus IV behind with the taste of a betrayer on his tongue and the madness of his father’s blood in his veins. On the ship, curled into the steel bones of a starship, his father’s blood sang true. His mother (not Winona, never her) cradled him between two too thin arms and hummed shrieking lullabies.
Sitting there, in a bunk on a morgue ship, for the first time in his life Tiberius thought his stomach might be full. His mother still tutted and handed him another bloody steak anyway.
…***...
"Mother!" Mum shrieked as she stepped into the parlour of the largest house Tiberius had ever seen. "Mother! Father! I'm home!"
…***...
In the following years Tiberius never lost the gaunt cut of his cheeks and the ability to count his ribs. He was his father’s son, an Addams through and through. Tiberius was an Addams, and an Addams can come back from anything, but even an Addams will carry scars.
Oh, Tiberius grew up handsome and strong, but he never seemed to gain weight, no matter how much he ate. He never lost the gaunt look, gaunt even for an Addams, but it did not matter, not with his eyes.
…***...
Tiberius had a room full of bones. Every single one of them had teeth marks. (He is not starving anymore.)
He was a thin child, a wraith just like his mother and twice as vicious. He sped through the lessons Great-Grandmama taught him over boiling cauldrons and the family crypt. His Uncle Pugsly taught him chemistry and how to pick locks. His Uncle Pubert taught him how to wiggle through loopholes and talk the backwards speech of fey and lawyers. His Grandfather teaches him to refine his fighting and shows him the usefulness of dramatics. His Grandmama teaches him botany, languages, art, and the necessity of subtleness.
His mother teaches him everything else. Anatomy, gymnastics, biology, physics. He is never bored. He does not have the time.
Tiberius learns and Tiberius eats. His teeth were sharp from the constant gnawing of bones and the other children in town learn that as much as the other Addams bring along collateral damage and chaos in their wake, it was Tiberius that brought along something much worse. The other Addams are dark little wraiths that slink through shadows and bend limbs into unnatural angles, but Tiberius has Winnoa’s pigment just as much as he has his father’s blood. And Tiberius will always look like a gorgeous blond angel.
His mother coos that Tiberius will bring entire worlds to their knees.
…***...
The second time Tiberius found a girl in an alley, pinned against the wall, he learns that batting his eyes and hiding his teeth will give him unfettered access to the monster’s neck. Strangely, the girls never seem to want to split the prey between them, even if it is technically their kill.
His collection of bones slowly begins to grow.
…***...
Tiberius thrives in the arms of his family, his people, but he cannot help but look up to the stars anyway. His mother catches him eventually, gnawing on a fingerbone and staring up at the night sky.
He knows where his father’s ashes remain. He knows exactly where to point in the sky to identify his father, trapped in a loop of madness and pain. (The lucky bastard.) His father was not the first to be denied the long sleep in the family plot and sometimes, Tiberius loathes that he cannot simply dig up his father’s bones and curl around his soul like he does his Great-Grandpapa or his cousin Sazoo’si.
Tibirus looks up to the sky and he aches.
(He also dodges his mother’s battle axe, but he does not stop looking up at the stars.)
“I know, my darling, I know. You have your father’s blood.” His mother runs a hand through his hair and she drags a finger down the nobs in his spine. “You were born into blood and screams and I can’t keep you down here with me forever.”
Tiberius sticks the finger bone back into his mouth like a lollipop. “Do you think I could eat them?” He mumbles around the marrow he’s finally managed to coax out.
“Oh my darling, I’m sure you could devour the stars themselves.” His mother says.
…***...
Tiberius was twenty and his teeth ached with the need to bite into something more than the bones of his people and the monsters in the back of the alleys. His eyes sparked with the darkness of space and glinted with the ghosts of the stars. He was born into the echoes of death and he needs to go to the stars.
His mother, with her bird bone fingers and pale skin, packed him a bag and gave her blessings with little more than a nip on his cheek and a quick brush of his hair. “You will write.” She tells him, her mouth set in a stern line. “And you will not die in the stars.”
Tiberius took her blessings and her orders with his family’s grace and disappeared into the winds. He had graveyard dirt in his pockets, fuses in his boots, knives in his sleeves and poison in his veins. (He was born into screams and stardust, and he cannot live without both.)
Tiberius Addams marched his way to Riverside under the echoing words of wisdom from his Great Grandmama and swirled a knuckle bone around his teeth. Even the Addams listened to the news of the stars and Tiberius knew that the bones of the starships were built in canyons and quarries like the one in Riverside.
(He couldn’t help but wonder what the bones of a starship would taste like.)
Tiberius walked into Riverside, a town that never quite forgot his father, and the earth trembled. He had bones strung around his neck, graveyard dirt in his pockets, and his father's eyes burned in his face. (Under his shirt his ribs were jutting out, skin pulled tight against bone, and his heart tapped a steady rhythm far too slow.)
Tiberius stepped into town with his father’s blood and a quiet rage all his own, and then he walked into the shipside bar. The moment the door clicked shut behind him, Riverside collectively held its breath. He had not been back since he drove his Father's car off a cliff and he was not surprised to see that absolutely nothing had changed.
The day was positively awful. The sun shined brightly overhead and the heat curled through the air, tearing away any bit of humidity Tiberius might have brought with him on the winds. Riverside was not dank or damp and the only thing Tiberius liked about it, was the way his skin crawled.
He rolled a bone around in his mouth and he plunked himself down at the bar. There was no doubt he was an Addams, not with his face and his eyes. The barkeep didn’t even blink, George had lived here for years after all. A glass of brewed hemlock tea was placed before Tiberius and he slipped a gold coin behind the bar. Credits might have been the official currency of earth and the Federation, but gold was still the standard for his family.
The bar was rowdy, the ceiling was carpeted in spiderwebs, and there was a slight scent of must and blood drenched into the very wood of the establishment. It was not home, but Tiberius’ shoulders slumped in relief at the sensation of chaos thrumming through the air.
All too soon, a young woman stepped up to the bar beside him and Tiberius deftly pulled his tea into the cradle of his hands. The woman was obviously a cadet, wrapped up in cadet reds and the tired expression all the sign-ups seem to carry like extra luggage. His mother would be envious of the bags under her eyes and the severity of her ponytail. Tiberius simply wondered how well her bones would crack under his teeth.
Academically, of course. He knew better than to do such acts without permission.
The cadet waved down the barkeep and ordered a wealth of drinks. It was curious, as Tiberius knew those drinks to be rather bland and weak. (Then again, he was an Addams. ) But he watched her order, and he couldn’t help but wonder as he rolled the bone around in his mouth. It had been years since he had interacted with someone not used to the Addams traits.
How would little Miss. Cadet react? Would she scream or would she smile? Would she understand ?
Tiberius had never quite forgotten the reactions of Winnoa or Frank when his family blood sang true. Nor could he forget the beauty of hurling himself through forests and cliffs, laughing as armed guards graciously played tag with him. (He also never forgot the shocking realisation that most people didn’t get back up after they stopped breathing. The poor souls without Addams blood were ever so vulnerable.)
So, he smiled at the cadet and tilted his head to the side. “That's a lot of drinks for one woman.”
He was allowed to be concerned. She wasn’t an Addams, he could tell, and even he knew that much ethanol wasn’t good for the human liver. Although, that much poison could make the organ taste exquisite, but only if it was left to marinate correctly.
“They're not just for me.” She snapped, her voice echoing with rolling drums and screaming fires.
The woman turned to look at him and Tiberius could see a little furrow in her brow beginning to develop. He wanted to tell her that if she kept scowling like that, she would have to start beating boys and girls away with a stick.
Between her stranger-danger boots, a ponytail that begged to be braided with jagged metal and poisoned beads, and her sharp tongue, Tiberius knew he would have to creep along in the shadows to ensure she made it back to the barracks safe from any monsters in the alleys.
She was a ghoul and Tiberius wanted to wrap her up in chains and ropes until she glinted like the dungeons under the estate. Tiberius could see the bloodlust coiling under her skin and part of him cried at the separation from his family. If only he had another cousin here to bring out that jagged smile and help her file her nails into dangerous little points. She was a ghoul and Tiberius had never met anyone who instantly sang to him the same way she did. She reminded him a bit like Cousin Thilda, pointed knives, broken teeth, and the ability to call down Hellfire and storms.
“Is this hick bothering you?” Another cadet cut in as he wedged his body between Tiberius and Not-Thilda.
Over the man's shoulder, Not-Thilda suddenly looked a bit nervous. Not the good nervous, like when Great-Grandmama brought out her cauldron and called all the kids down for treats, but the bad kind of nervous. The bad kind of nervousness that made Tiberius and Cousin Belladonna prowl around their home and escort the little girlies back and forth from schools and jobs. The bad kind of nervousness, that ended with Tiberius building another medical skeleton for the clinic in town and Belladonna pickling another specimen jar for the mortuary training camp.
Tiberius carefully took the bone out of his mouth and placed it in his pocket for safe keeping as his blood began to sing. He hadn’t had a good old fashion fight in weeks and he would never admit it out loud, but his bones ached.
Only, when the cadet turned towards him, Tiberius wasn't prepared for the man to slam a hand down, pick up Tiberius' tea with a haughty look, and proceed to drink the rest of the cup. Tiberius didn’t even have time to warn him! (Tiberius is odd like that, he is one of the few of his cousins who understand that other humans aren't as durable.)
Instead, Tiberius sat back down on the stool and gestured for another cup. There really isn't much he could do after all. There was no antidote for that particular blend and the least Tiberius could do was document what happened next. To that effect, he pulled out his padd, one eye trained on the experiment beside him. Not-Thilda looked horrified at the other cadet's rudeness and Tiberius simply gave her a shrug as he pulled out a stylist.
The barkeep placed a cup in front of him. “I called his superior officer.” The man said, his mouth ticked down in a wonderful frown. “But I'd appreciate it if you stuck around to explain why the fleet has a new cadaver instead of a cadet.”
“Of course!” Tiberius commented happily, easily handing the man another coin for his troubles. “I'd be happy to share the results with them as well, if they care for it.”
A sharp New York whistle shot through the bar and Tiberius turned to look towards the door. (Oh, wasn’t this exciting?) Beside him, the experiment hit the ground and Not-Thilda dropped down to her knees, one hand extended to hover over the experiment’s chest.
Couldn’t she tell that the experiment had been completed?
Tiberius was on his feet before he could think the action through and he slipped up and around the Officer with a soft hum. There was something…
There was something about this one…
(Mum had always been ever so careful to make sure that Tiberius knew the scent of his father’s favourite tea. She had dragged him to her lab and showed him how some of the cousins had joined the family. She had shown him that becoming an Addams could never be reversed, but it could be halted.)
(Tiberius knew his father had never adopted anyone into the family, not even Winnoa.)
Tiberius has his nose in the officer’s neck and his teeth nipping through skin before he can stop himself. (It has been too long since he had caught even a taste of his father’s blend.) The taste of hemlock and belladonna curl over his tongue and Tiberius positively slumps into the taste of his father. (He didn’t even have his father’s bones. )
(It is telling that the officer doesn’t even move away at the hint of fang in his throat.)
“Everyone out!” The officer shouted and Tiberius couldn't help but wrap his arms around the man’s waist, a growl slipping out from his throat as a cadet stepped a bit too close. The man was his.
“Easy son,” the officer said, a hint of dark amusement curling through his voice, “I wasn’t talking about you.”
Tiberius was as docile as a plump swamp rat when the officer guided him back to the bar and the experiment on the floor. Not-Thilda was still on her knees staring at the cadaver, and Tiberius barely spends a moment wondering if this is her first look at death. (Oh what he wouldn’t give to be able to relive his first.)
“I see your father’s blood sang true.” The officer commented as he pushed Tiberius back enough to look down at him. “I’m guessing that young man took your drink?”
Tiberius hummed, punch drunk and overjoyed at the scent of family.