Chapter Text
Jackson knows of Jim Kirk, has done for many years.
He saw him first when he was young, blond hair matted and black eye blooming on his childish face. Frank wasn't good to him, the whole town knew. But then, Frank wasn't good to anyone, so that didn't surprise them much (why Winona married him, they'll never know)
He remembers walking past the boy as he sat with his head propped up on his knees, arms wrapped around them. He remembers baleful eyes peering up at him, daring him to say something. He doesn't, he keeps walking.
(Maybe he should have stopped?)
The next time, he was older. The wariness and distrust that he projected was much greater, making the thirteen year old seem more like thirty. He wonders what happened to change him so. No, not change, simply deepen a crack that had already existed (His mother's constant absence, Frank's constant displeasure). He remembers thinking he should say hello, offer a smile and welcome him home. But no, once again distrustful eyes lock on to him, analytical, distrustful, daring him to do him wrong (he wouldn't like the result). So he doesn't. He walks on by and continues to the store.
(Maybe he should have said something?)
He saw him a few weeks earlier too, come to think of it, passed out drunk on the front step of the town’s only bar. His eye once more purple, his lip sluggishly leaking blood onto his shirt. There's lipstick on his neck, and he wonders if the injuries came from a spurned boyfriend (or wanna-be boyfriend, trying to be chivalrous). He thinks about picking him up, helping him home. But he remembers the eyes. Jim Kirk doesn't want his help, Jim Kirk doesn't want anyone’s help.
(Maybe he should’ve carried the man home?)
He has just clocked in at work the final time he sees Jim Kirk in person. He rides in on a gorgeous looking motorbike (oh how he wants one like it). “Nice ride” he says, remembering the boy, the teen, the man (this wasn't what he meant the first thing he said to be). Kirk throws him the keys and tells him it's his now, and he wishes he had stopped, wishes he had talked to him, wishes he had helped him. The bike is expensive, and he has done nothing to earn it. Then he looks Kirk in the eyes. There is no dare there, no silent challenge. Just a quiet hope, anticipation, and maybe a little apprehension (everyone knows how George Kirk died. Everyone). He struts on to the shuttle and disappears from sight.
(He feels guilty, so guilty, but Kirk seems to be alright)
Three years later, he hears about Vulcan, about Nero, about the hero that Jim has become. He takes great pleasure in telling his children (he's a father now, that's a thing) that their daddy’s motor bike was given to him by the great James T. Kirk. They don't believe him, but then, their daddy is only an engineer in Iowa, how would he know Mr. Captain Kirk? He thinks that if he saw Kirk now, he would say thank you.
Maybe he could've helped Kirk, but then, would he be the same person? Probably. He knows he can't change his actions (or the lack of them, specifically) but he can help others. When he receives an award for his work in reducing family violence, he mails it to Kirk. It was thanks to him, anyway.
(Maybe it worked out in the end after all)