Chapter Text
Winona Kirk was absolutely positive that this—the seventh version—would not be the last document she wrote for her upcoming six week posting in the Delta Quadrant, smoothing over whatever ruckus Captain Marcus had stirred up. If she was being honest, she wasn’t sure about how she felt about this mission, her first in half a decade. She used to dream of the stars, couldn’t imagine a life without the hum of a star ship beneath her feet – the best (the birth of her two sons, her marriage) and absolute worst things in her life (the death of her husband, her brother’s death, Jim’s injuries) could be marked by Starfleet missions.
She’d resigned her post as a Starfleet officer in the wake of the Tarsus IV incident, bitterly regretting ever trusting the care of her children to her brother--even though he himself hadn’t survived the incident. Instead she split her time between Iowa and San Francisco as a member of the Diplomatic Corps. But now she was being recalled into active duty, her expertise being needed for what Starfleet brass officially referred to as a ‘delicate’ matter, which roughly translated into an absolute clusterfuck. She was looking forward to spending a few days in between her initial briefings visiting with her eldest son George, who was thankfully happily settled at Starfleet Academy. Jim on the other hand, was something of a loose cannon—too much like his father sometimes.
A horrific crash jarred her attention away from her PADD, and she found herself running a hand to smooth over the regulation style bun she still wore her hair in out of habit more than anything else. She listened as her son raced clear across their condo, careless of whatever he knocked over in his mad scramble to answer the door as it chimed. At eighteen, Jim was more reckless than clumsy but that didn’t stop him from getting into trouble any less than when he was a child and Winona would get increasingly passive aggressive com messages. This time, she could only hope it was something relatively innocuous like a chair that had been tipped, and not something fragile or expensive or some combination of the two. Sighing, she moved to set aside the PADD and went to see what all the excitement was about.
“Bones, Bones, Bones!” Leonard McCoy had been inside the Kirk household for a grand total of forty-five seconds before Jim Kirk appeared at the door, practically running into the older man.
“Good God man, you ever going to stop growin’?” Leo muttered, even as he dropped his bag to the ground in favour of wrapping an arm around Jim. It’d been too long since Leonard had seen Jim, eight and a half months to be precise. He’d barely had time to call his own folks between his coursework, exams and his rotations over the holidays, let alone see Jim even for a day or two, as much as it had pained him to admit it. He’d stayed up with Jim via video call to greet his birthday back in January at the start of the last semester, just so he didn’t have to spend it alone, but it hadn’t been the same. Although eight years younger, Jim was the closest thing to a friend Leo had. He’d missed him, for crying out loud. Not that Leonard was ever going to admit that to anyone else but himself.
Jim’s reply was muffled, as he latched onto Leo just the way he always did. It didn’t matter that he wasn’t eight years old anymore and Leo wasn’t just shy of fifteen either, wondering how he ended up entertaining this kid that his parents saddled on him one warm Friday night in June just because an old family friend was in town—Jim always clung. He’d learned of course to appreciate it in recent years, watching as Jim steadily regained his health and much later most of his confidence (although Leo didn’t miss the way he wore it like armour, wanting desperately for the world and everyone else to overlook the jagged scars that had never healed despite how long he’d spent in Starfleet medical all those years ago, recovering slowly but surely) but he’d just had a frankly terrifying shuttle ride, and he wanted the chance to sit down on stable land for two damn minutes before being accosted.
“Can’t have you hanging over me all the time, Bones,” Jim replied easily, only loosening his grip when he heard footsteps behind him. Leonard could admit to himself, just how good Jim looked—strong, healthy, content almost. He was relieved. He’d been worried despite multiple assurances from Jim himself that everything was “a-okay” because Jim Kirk needed everyone to believe that. Even though Leo secretly hoped he’d be the one Jim went to if things weren’t. He’d yet to see proof of that, hearing about his various stunts pulled throughout the year only after the incident, sometimes much later whether that was due to his own hectic schedule or Jim’s reluctance to hear exactly what Leo thought of his hair-brained schemes (reckless, mad, insane were usually his go to descriptors) he wasn’t sure.
“James Tiberius Kirk, what on Earth –“ Winona’s voice called out before Leonard had seen her, exasperated and fond in equal measure when she rounded the corner from her study, and caught sight of Jim and Leo still standing just inside the doorway. Leonard hadn’t missed the way she relaxed and smiled softly when she said, “Oh good Leo, you’re here.”