Chapter Text
Jim stretched and yawned in the captain’s chair. They’d been in orbit over the planet Caelora 5 for two hours, during which absolutely nothing happened. At least from Jim’s perspective, because for Spock and his crazy science team, apparently Caelora 5 was nothing short of a treasure trove with its extremely rich flora in all shapes, sizes, and colors.
Jim knew he should be happy that the scheduled research was proceeding smoothly, but he was so bored that his inner adventurer secretly wished for some unexpected development. Nothing dangerous, of course – after all, Spock was down there, leading the research team – but maybe a teeny-weeny first contact with an unknown sentient species? A harmless little encounter with a Romulan spy researching the same flora for potential military uses? Or why not, at the very least, even just a small, modest, insignificant, barely-there scientific breakthrough?
“Captain, we’re being hailed by the landing party”, Uhura said, her professional voice cutting through the monotony.
“Pipe them through”, Jim answered, hoping that one of his wishes would be fulfilled. The viewscreen flickered to show the inside of the Starfleet science station on the planet, and Spock’s face, calm and composed as ever. Probably not Romulan spies, Jim thought.
“Captain, permission to beam aboard”, Spock requested with an unreadable expression.
“What? Finished already? You said it would take two days…” Jim was shocked. Caelora 5 wasn’t his favorite place, but to dispatch two days’ worth of research in two hours? That was suspiciously quick, even for Spock.
“We are far from finished, but I wish to discuss a certain matter with you”, Spock explained reluctantly.
“And we can’t discuss it over the comms?” It wasn’t that Jim didn’t want to meet with his first officer and boyfriend, but he simply couldn’t fathom what could be so important to warrant a personal encounter only two hours into the research. Certainly not a scientific breakthrough, so fast? Maybe a discovery of some sort?
“I would prefer to converse with you in person, captain, if you do not mind.” Spock said this with a tad more insistence, and accompanied it with an eyebrow raise, subtly indicating that further fussing was uncalled for. Jim took his hint and decided that deliberately taunting the Vulcan would be illogical.
“Very well, I’ll be waiting for you in the ready room”, Jim relented, astonished as even this concession was deemed insufficient.
“Our quarters would be preferable”, Spock replied smoothly, his expression still neutral. Jim did his best to cover his surprise, realizing that the longer he quarreled, the later he would learn the truth. Romulan spies seemed like a possibility again.
“Uhura, you have the conn”, he mumbled to the comms officer as he headed to the turbolift. By the time he got to their shared quarters, Spock was already waiting for him there. He still looked totally composed, but something about the unnatural stiffness of his back and shoulders betrayed tension. Jim walked over to him and gave him a small kiss on the lips, returned but without lingering.
“Okay, what’s up? You okay? Spill”, Jim asked, seeing Spock’s hesitation. “Or did you just miss me? Because while I’m always happy to oblige, we’re kind of in the middle of the shift…”
“Your personal attraction, while considerable, was not the reason for my visit”, Spock commented, and the seriousness in his voice gave Jim pause. He noticed that there was a small object in Spock’s hand – a data chip, Starfleet issue, exactly like those used by the Enterprise crew. Could be Spock’s. Maybe they made a groundbreaking discovery after all.
“What have you got?”, Jim asked, nodding toward the chip.
“We have found a data chip, accidentally left behind by the previous Starfleet crew working at the Caelora research station”, Spock answered calmly, his eyes never leaving Jim’s face. “The USS Pasteur.”
The way Spock pronounced the name of the ship – with emphasis, but also tension – indicated that it should ring a bell for Jim, but honestly, he couldn’t quite place it. Of course, he knew such a vessel existed and was dispatched mostly for research missions, but why would finding a data chip left behind by this ship’s crew warrant a conversation in person, in their quarters? Or was it the chip’s content?…
“Okay, so some moron from the Pasteur forgot their data chip”, Jim prompted, becoming a little impatient. “If memory serves, standard procedure would be to scan the content for mission-relevant data, and should the situation require it, return the chip or at least the content to its owner at the first occasion. I assume you did this. What does it contain?”
“Standard procedure, Jim, would be what you just said”, Spock answered with uncharacteristic softness. “However, after I identified the owner of the chip… I judged it more prudent to bring it to you personally.”
“That’s great”, Jim acknowledged. “So whose was it? Don’t look at me like this, remembering the crews of every Starfleet vessel isn’t part of my job description! Stop playing these games and just tell me what’s the big mystery, okay?”
“Very well”, Spock answered soothingly, although his unflinching gaze still seemed to suggest that Jim should somehow know the Pasteur’s whole complement by heart. Or maybe someone in particular… “The chip belongs to lieutenant Winona Kirk.”
Caught unprepared, Jim froze momentarily, electrified by the long unheard name, which shared the second element with his own – much to his displeasure. He found his bearings quickly, however, and almost immediately adopted a look of professional disconnect.
“You should have followed standard procedure, Spock”, he said indifferently. “Just scan it for useful information and then file it away somewhere… if the Pasteur signals that it’s missing, we’ll make sure to send it back. But since it hasn’t so far, I assume it contains nothing of value…”
“Jim”, Spock interrupted him, coming a few steps closer. “Sometimes officers also use their chips to store… more personal data. Do you not prefer to scan the content personally before we proceed further? Lieutenant Kirk is, after all, your mother…”
“She’s my mother my ass!”, Jim yelled suddenly, surprised by his own aggressiveness. “The fact that she gave me a part of her genes and carried me in her belly for a few months doesn’t make her my mother.”
“Actually, one might argue that precisely…” Spock tried to appeal to logic, but Jim wasn’t particularly logical where this topic was concerned.
“Any of Frank’s countless whores was more of a mother to me than Winona Kirk!”, he snapped, successfully shutting Spock’s mouth. “Just check the chip and proceed with the mission. I’ll be on the bridge.”
“Jim.” The silky, gentle voice carried compassion, but also reproach. “The decision is yours… but you might deem it unwise, eventually. It is not logical to…”
“You know what?” Jim suddenly changed his mind. If Spock was going to throw logic at him, he’d much rather just go through the motions and parse the data himself. After all, it was no big deal – Winona was just a Starfleet officer to him, and a quick check of an officer’s data chip was a completely standard, undemanding task. “Just give me the damn chip. You’re right, it won’t hurt if I check it out. Satisfied?”
“I am… uncertain”, Spock admitted, looking at Jim hesitantly, but he obediently handed him the chip. “Do you wish me to assist you while you scan the content?”
“Assist me how? So now you think I’m unable to find mission-relevant information on a data chip?”, Jim asked, momentarily shocked by his own hostility. Winona Kirk was just a stranger, he reminded himself. No one worth yelling at Spock over.
“I merely anticipated that you might need… support”, Spock answered timidly, shielding himself from Jim’s misplaced anger behind another layer of his Vulcan disciplines. Jim felt an urge to yell at him again – because how could he be in need of emotional support over just going through a stranger’s data chip – but he managed to control himself and only answered, as neutrally as possible, probably colder than necessary:
“No support will be required, Spock. Need I remind you that you have a team waiting on the station?…”
“Very well”, Spock answered, resigned.
“If I find anything of use, I’ll pipe it down to the station’s computer directly”, Jim added in a more conciliatory tone. Spock nodded and left.
Jim was relieved to be rid of him. Spock was his boyfriend, but Jim really thought about him more as if they were married, or more than that – committed for life. However, there were things about humanity and human relationships that Spock simply didn’t get. For him, giving birth to someone who had your genes equaled being a mother. Jim couldn’t accept this definition.
Winona Kirk had given birth to him, yes, and in quite dramatic circumstances. But after that, she had just dumped him and his brother Sam with one Frank Davis, a distant cousin of hers who happened to covet the Riverside farm. They had struck a deal – he could have the farm, but it came with two little boys he had to take care of. Or at least make sure they survived. That way, Winona Kirk was rid of both the farm and the kids, and could go on roaming the stars unencumbered. How very motherly of her.
However, getting mad at her now served no useful purpose – Jim was living his life, and despite the shitty start, he was finally happy, so he had no real reason to resent Winona: she had created him and gone her own way, and that was it. All he needed to do was go through Winona’s file to locate useful information. It was a task of almost insulting banality, and he had already given it much more fuss than it deserved.
He plugged the thing into his terminal and took a quick glance. There were only two files. One was titled Caelora 5 research, so it was rather obvious what it contained. Still, Jim opened it and predictably saw research results, notes, recordings, and tables. He sent it all down to the station directly in case it contained useful information.
The second file, on the other hand, was another matter. It was mysteriously called “The USS Kelvin”, and seemed to contain a series of short video recordings. It wasn’t marked as private or protected by any sort of password, so Jim wondered if it was some sort of report about that catastrophic mission during which he was born, some additional information, or maybe some musings of a more personal nature.
In either case, it didn’t seem very logical to keep a recording about a mission from over twenty years back – but when was Winona ever logical? Jim wasn’t really all that curious to see what was inside, but on the other hand – the Kelvin mission wasn’t completely indifferent to him. It was the day he was born, the day he became half an orphan. Or a full orphan, to be more precise, because a mother who wouldn’t even talk to him over the comms hardly counted. Maybe he’d learn something useful. Probably not, because he had studied that mission in detail, many times over, but… it couldn’t hurt to take a glance.
He pressed play, and immediately regretted his decision. The screen came to life to show a long-unseen, yet painfully familiar face, both younger and more destroyed than Jim remembered. Winona’s long, blond hair was left hanging at either side of her face in greasy, disheveled streaks; her eyes were red and swollen, her pale cheeks marked with long lines of tears, her lips trembling.
“So, stupid Starfleet finally forced me to follow this stupid counseling thing”, Winona said to the camera in a breaking voice, then blew her nose noisily. “And my stupid therapist forced me to record this stupid log. I’m supposed to talk about how I feel. Well, I feel like shit. My life just fell apart. My husband is dead. My love is dead. George is dead, and no amount of stupid therapy will bring him back…”
She broke into sobs, and Jim paused the recording, freezing her reddened face in an ugly crying pose. So, it wasn’t a mission log, a tactical analysis or an interview about the Kelvin disaster. It was a therapy log. The first entry was made a mere month after Kelvin, when Jim was a month-old baby. It was normal for Winona to be a mess at this point, he thought. Losing one’s spouse had to be the single most stressful event that could happen to a person, perhaps short of losing a child. Jim could understand that – the mere thought that something could happen to Spock filled him with dread. Winona had loved George and lost him.
Anyway, he probably shouldn’t watch this. Even if the file wasn’t protected, it was still private, and it contained deeply personal material. Granted – a Starfleet officer, or indeed anyone with an ounce of sense, shouldn’t leave this sort of stuff behind on a random research station. But errors, after all, were human, and it didn’t give Jim the right to exploit Winona’s forgetfulness. Besides, he had no reason to watch the recording. He considered this woman a stranger – why subject himself to what could be hours of sobbing and grief? What was there to be gained by sitting through this endless wallowing?
But if he wanted to be honest, it probably wasn’t as pointless as he’d like it to be. For all his mental efforts to convince himself that he didn’t care for Winona – didn’t consider her his mother – his whole life had been tainted by her decision to leave him behind. What if watching the video could give him some answers? Why did she abandon him? Since she apparently loved George, why was George’s son – Jim, or Sam as well, for that matter – not a consolation, a cherished souvenir of her love? Wasn’t that how the whole parenting thing worked? Didn’t parents love their children because they were living combinations of themselves and their partner? Why hadn’t it worked that way for Winona? Was Jim really so awful that it was impossible to love him? Or was grief so all-consuming that no consolation was possible?
Ethically, viewing another person’s therapy log was probably indefensible. But Winona owed Jim some explanations, many times over. She could have given them to him on her terms, at any moment of the last… twenty-five years. She had chosen silence, so it seemed quite fair to use the only chance he might ever get to learn why his mother didn’t love him. After a long hesitation, Jim pressed play again.
The sobs resumed, but didn’t last very long. After some more hiccupping and sniffling, Winona pulled herself together and said:
“So, yeah… um, my therapist… one Dr. Amara Okoye, no idea where they got her, but she sure has tons of medals and rewards… she wants me to write or record a diary where I’ll reflect on my feelings… Fortunately, she said I get to decide if I share it with her or not, so I won’t share it and I think it’s stupid.”
Winona paused, looking at the camera blankly.
“So, my feelings”, she continued after a moment. “My feelings suck. It was George’s funeral last week. More a memorial since they never retrieved his body. A huge ceremony, probably half of Starfleet was there. Speeches, medals, decorations… who needs this stuff? First they sent him to his death, and now… do they think it makes any difference? I know it was his decision, I know. I know otherwise we’d all be dead. And to be honest, I’d prefer it that way, by far. To be dead.
“Life without George… feels like a chore. Get up, shower, feed the baby, change the diaper… Such horror. I’d rather just stay in bed, but try to stay in bed with a wailing baby. Well, last night, I didn’t get up when he screamed. I took a sleeping pill and shoved earplugs in – I don’t even know how long he kept going on. Sammy said something in the morning that Jimmy had been bawling on and on, but honestly, I don’t care. I don’t care.”
She paused again, her face wearing a desolate, lost expression. There was a brief noise in the background, the door opened, and a child’s voice said hesitantly:
“Mommy, Jimmy’s awake… I think he wants the bottle!”
“Will you distract him a moment, honey? Mommy is right in the middle of something… I’ll come in a moment, okay?”
The five-year-old Sam appeared briefly on the camera, cute like a little angel but uncharacteristically serious for a child his age. Then he disappeared, probably to try and soothe his brother like his mother had asked him to, but without much success – the baby was still bawling in the other room.
“Fuck… record a diary my ass”, Winona complained, her voice, this time, bitterly angry. “He’s been like this the whole month! Honestly, I can’t go on like this any longer… Why won’t someone just take him away? They’re forcing me to follow this useless therapy; why won’t they just hire someone to take care of the baby and give me some actual relief? I have to hold him, rock him… I hate this… I don’t feel any need to touch him, to look at him… He’s so much like George! Even the blue eyes… but Jim’s are even bluer than George’s were. The nurses say it’s the radiation – he was born so close to the explosion…
“How many women give birth in the middle of such a mess? The explosion, the rushed evacuation, George saying goodbye over the comms, the sheer stress of it all… Any other woman would probably lose the baby, but ironically, mine popped out just fine, and now I’m saddled with him, and…”
The baby wailed even louder, little Sam called out for his mom from the other room, and Winona hit the stop button angrily. The computer blanked out briefly before starting the following recording, but Jim paused it, staring at the screen in shock.
“Well, so sorry the radiation didn’t kill me, you stupid bitch!”, he spat out, aware of the futility of his rage and yet unable to hold it in. His mother openly wishing him dead wasn’t exactly the kind of explanation he’d been looking for, but there was no taking back what he had just heard. The weight of her words crushed his stomach, constricted his lungs, and took root irreversibly in his bruised heart, opening yet another wound.
Well, he was just reaping what he had sown. What on earth had made him think listening to this damn log was a good idea? After all, he knew the punchline. He knew whatever he’d hear, the real-life outcome was Winona dumping him and Sam with Frank and disappearing into space. She had called, even visited a few times, but had only ever spent time with Sam, whom she had eventually taken to a Starfleet pre-admission training, then to the Academy, to an outpost with her… But never any catching up with Jim. Knowing that, how could he expect anything other than hatred and rejection on her part?
He considered stopping the recording and dumping the whole chip into the matter recycler, for the outrageous confession to be destroyed forever, but the minute this thought crossed his mind, he knew he wouldn’t do it. Glued to the screen as if under a spell, he pressed play with some sort of dark, masochistic satisfaction, not entirely devoid of defiance. The universe threw this log at him? Fine. The universe needed to learn just how thick his hide was. He had survived Winona’s criminal neglect; he would survive hearing about it too.
The second log was from three days later, and the Winona who appeared on the screen seemed less agitated but more defeated. Her hair was more or less combed, her clothes clean, but her face still bore telltale traces of long crying fits. Her expression looked resigned and hopeless.
“Okay, so… doctor Okoye wasn’t happy I’d been sluggish with the therapy log. Apparently, I’m not making progress… I’m not sure if I want progress. What progress are we even talking about? I regret I made it out of the Kelvin. I should have died there with George. Jim would die too, and Sam… Sam would be taken care of, somehow. By someone who actually wants to live.
“I have no strength to deal with them. With Sam, at least, I can talk. I can look at him and I’m not instantly reminded of that horrible day… We talk about daddy, a little. Sam knows the truth; he’s too smart to be lied to. I prefer it this way, because I wouldn’t be able to lie. But Jim? I can’t hold him. I can’t look at him. I’m so relieved at least they didn’t try to make me breastfeed, because I’d have killed myself. Or him. Or both of us.
“It’s actually quite ironic, because I really wanted him. I wanted another baby. But I wanted him as a part of our family – George, me, the kids. We were supposed to take some time off Starfleet. I’d stay at home longer, he’d take easier assignments, closer to home, to come visit more often. Then we’d switch. But now? I just can’t deal with another baby. I don’t want him. Every single look at him is the reminder of the family I wanted, and I’ll never have. It’s like an insult, a slap. I don’t think I’m even fit to take care of him. I might be downright dangerous for him.
“The one good thing doctor Okoye did was getting me some help. So now they sent me a babysitter, who comes daily and takes care of them for three to five hours. They’re on a walk together right now. She’s a nice girl, but she annoys the hell out of me. She’s always like: ‘Oh, the baby is so cute! Look at these tiny hands! Tiny feet! And the eyes, so blue, like an angel’s!’ You can take him for good if you like him so much. I really wouldn’t mind.
“Oh no, they’re back from the stroll already. I can hear Jim screaming – he keeps blubbering like this, sometimes for hours. At night, I just plug my ears and take sleeping pills. I think Sam watches over him, but the thing is, nothing helps – he can howl endlessly, like he’ll never stop. What the fuck is wrong with him? He’s healthy, fed, warm… What else does he want? Oh damn, she’ll call me in a moment if he doesn’t finally stop screeching! I’ll finish later…”
Winona stopped the recording, probably to go deal with the baby. Jim fleetingly regretted having caused her so much trouble – he had no idea he had cried a lot in his infancy; how would he know? And anyway, weren’t mothers supposed to deal with this sort of thing? Didn’t evolution give them some kind of nurturing instinct, that would make them hold and soothe a crying child rather than get angry with them? Maybe George’s death stole Winona’s instincts. After all, she said she had only wanted Jim as a part of a perfect, happy family with George at the helm. Without his father around, he was apparently nothing but a burden. A crying, unwanted burden.
The following log was from five days later, and Winona showed up for it crying, neglected and disheveled again. She looked like something bad had actually happened, and Jim felt a pang of worry – irrational as the situation dated from twenty-five years back.
“I’m a hopeless mother”, Winona whined to the camera, sobbing. “It turns out I really almost killed him.”
Jim jumped a little in front of the screen.
“God, how could I be so thoughtless! So blind! Yesterday, he screamed for hours, and the babysitter that Starfleet had sent said something had to be wrong. I told her he howled like this all the time, and she said that proves something is wrong. There was blood in his poop when she changed his diaper, and he was almost choking on his screams. We called emergency services.
“It turned out he’s allergic to cow’s milk protein. By continuing to give him the same formula, I kept making it worse… Now the doctors said he has some… gut inflammation, or something… He’s dehydrated, exhausted… anemic, as well…
“They asked me why I didn’t come earlier. They said: ‘He must have cried a lot.’ Well yes, for fuck’s sake, he cried a lot! How was I to know?… Some babies just cry a lot… Give me a fucking break! I just lost my love, my life is in ruins, and the fucking doctors think I should distinguish between different kinds of baby wails!… It would be so much easier if at least he was normal, but of course he has to be allergic, because that’s just my luck!”
She cried some more, hysterically, and then finally wiped her face on her sleeve and continued, her voice barely a whisper:
“I think I’m unfit to be a mother. George died to protect our son, and I almost killed him because I didn’t pay attention when he puked, screamed and pooped blood. I think they might connect the dots and not give him back to me. A part of me would want nothing better than to just be rid of him, but still… he is George’s son! He has his eyes… Bluer than his, but… still alike. To give him away, cut all ties? Perhaps never see him again? And what if one day I feel better?
“No, this is nonsense. All I can do is hurt him. He’d be better off without me. I wonder if they’ll take Sammy from me, too. He reminds me of the happy years with George… I don’t want to lose him. But I want what’s best for him. I don’t know what’s best anymore. I should probably talk to doctor Okoye about this. Maybe I’ll show her this log. I think she’s in my corner, sort of. For now, I think I’ll get some sleep. Jimmy’s at the hospital, so I finally have some peace. Sammy’s already sleeping.”
With an exhausted yawn, she turned the recording off. Jim took a deep, sharp breath. He had always known Winona didn’t want him – Frank had repeated it to him often enough, and besides, her actions were self-explanatory in this regard. However, from knowing that to hearing it announced loud and clear, there was a long way. He was barely over a month old, in the hospital due to her flagrant neglect, and there she was, complaining about her misfortune at having an allergy-prone baby! Shouldn’t she be by his side? Or spare even a small thought for how badly he must have suffered, screaming all day like he did? No, because she apparently preferred wallowing in guilt and self-pity!
“You’re damn right about this one: you’re a nightmare of a mother!”, Jim told the screen venomously. “I was better off with Frank than I’d have been with you! When I once drank cow’s milk accidentally and had a bad stomach crisis, he took me to the hospital the same day! Immediately!”
Before he was done speaking, the next recording had loaded, dating from a week later. Winona wasn’t crying, but she had a disgusted, annoyed expression, contrasting sharply with the smiling, contented baby she was holding in her arms. Jim guessed rather than recognized that the baby was himself, and found the sight disarmingly sweet – just as he would with any baby, of any race or species. Too bad Winona didn’t seem to share this opinion.
“Doctor Okoye keeps harassing me about the logs”, she said irritably, like her therapist had made her run a marathon. “So let’s get it over with… The doctors helped Jim, and he’s no longer sick. Unfortunately, it means they discharged him from the hospital and I’m saddled with him again. I asked them if they wanted to keep him a few more days for observation… but they said he was fine.”
Wow, Jim thought. Sorry for being allergic, and then sorry for getting better after just a few days! Why didn’t she just leave him there, since he was so much trouble?
“I switched the formula like they told me, and he seems to tolerate it better”, she said with a sigh, “but he still cries a lot. He only calms down when I hold him. At night, I know he’d calm down if I took him to my bed, but I just can’t. It’s normal to just want my sleep, isn’t it?” She directed the question at the baby, her tone spiteful, accusing. The baby, however, seemed overjoyed at being spoken to, because he smiled even wider and vocalized cheerfully. Winona didn’t smile back.
“I feel so trapped”, she continued. “I talked to Chris Pike about returning to duty. He was George’s best friend, I thought he’d understand. But of course his reaction was: ‘What about the kids?’ Everyone only cares about the kids! What about me? I hate this life… I hate staying here, looking every day into these blue eyes reminding me of what I lost… If at least I could go to space again, throw myself into work… Maybe I’d forget… Maybe heaven would have enough mercy to give me an opportunity to join George and die in the line of duty…”
Tears rolled down her face and rained down on the baby, who was startled at first, but then laughed happily.
“What are you laughing at?!”, Winona yelled, startling her son again. “Do you think my life is funny? If not for you, I’d be off to somewhere interesting already! With a little luck, maybe I’d be dead! But of course I can’t, because mister king of the universe must be held all the time, like royalty!”
She shook the baby, who finally caught up on her hostility and started crying. The recording was switched off in the middle of curses and a new wave of angry sobs. Jim blinked, shocked speechless by her behavior. Okay, so she wanted an out. She was depressed, bereaved, probably didn’t know what she was doing. But to take it out on an innocent infant? She complained he was crying a lot, but on the recording she basically yelled at him for being happy!
This woman definitely wasn’t in her right mind. Maybe she would have liked her baby better if he’d been glad to be left alone in his cot all day long. But like any infant, he had needed her affection, her presence, her closeness. And she had hated him for it.
The following log was recorded over a month later. Winona looked quite different on the screen. She was dressed more formally, her hair tied neatly into a bun, her face radiating relief and hope.
“This is probably my last log”, she said, although Jim knew there would be more videos. “Adieu, doctor Okoye, therapy, and all of this nonsense I’d been subjected to in these horrible, horrible months. Looks like I’ve finally found an out. I’ve found a way to make everything work: the kids will be well cared for, I’ll be back to work, and yet I won’t have given them up – we’ll remain in touch, and I’ll share official custody.
“The answer proved to be much easier than I’d thought. His name is Frank Davis, and he’s a cousin of mine. As it turns out, he’s very fond of the Riverside farm, and upon learning that I won’t be settling down there, he contacted me to ask if I wouldn’t sell it. I said no, but I told him he could use it indefinitely, if he was willing to take care of my kids until they were grown enough to take care of themselves. He was completely baffled at first, but… then he understood he could have the farm without even paying for it. It’s not like I’ll go back to live in the place where I had intended to be happy with George…
“So, legally, it’s a little complicated. But since Frank is the kids’ uncle, and they’re half-orphans, we managed to make it work. Of course, my Starfleet colleagues are giving me grief, especially Chris Pike who thinks I shouldn’t leave behind a baby this small… But honestly, I don’t care what they think. They can call me an awful mother all they want. They haven’t lived my life, they don’t know what I’ve lost. They don’t know what it’s like to look a thousand times a day into George’s eyes… but bluer than his.
“I actually think it’s for the best, for all concerned. I don’t know Frank very well, but he looks like such a nice guy. We used to know each other quite well as children – we’d regularly spend the holidays together. I have good feelings about this arrangement. To be honest, I was at the point of slashing my veins… or giving my children away to strangers. As it is, we’re still family.
“It’s not uncommon for a mother to be temporarily absent due to service. I’ll call them on subspace. They’ll get to grow up on the Kirk family farm… it’s beautiful there, and peaceful. It’s for the best. Everyone is satisfied. There, with some luck I won’t be around for more of this stupid therapy thing. Bye, stupid logs. You never helped anyway.”
Jim stopped the recording, staring into the void. ‘Everyone is satisfied.’ What a joke. Winona got her freedom, Frank got the farm, the kids got a home. A perfect little arrangement… with someone she herself admitted she barely knew. An arrangement that saddled Jim and Sam for years with someone who didn’t love them, didn’t care for them, didn’t even like them – at least Jim. Someone who had no problem hitting a child.
“What did you expect, idiot?”, Jim asked himself aloud. “What did you hope to learn? That she loved you, actually adored you – but dumped you in Iowa with a random relative just because… yeah, because what? To be such a fool… She just didn’t give a damn, that’s all.”
The conclusion felt like corrosive acid, seeping through Jim’s heart, leaving holes – but it also had something reassuring about it. It was a familiar pain. After all, Jim had lived his whole life with the knowledge that his mother wouldn’t even speak to him through subspace, when she called Sam. He had no illusion that he was loved or wanted. In many ways, the log only confirmed what he had already known.
Was it easy to hear his mother say she hated him, didn’t want to hold him, wanted him gone? No. Was it nice to hear her basically wish for his death? No. Was it pleasant to learn that her neglect had caused him harm, and yet her biggest regret was when he was discharged from the hospital to harass her again? No. But all this had been part of his DNA forever. Unloved, unwanted, rejected, abandoned – he was used to all that.
So maybe the real risk of watching this recording wasn’t confirming what he had already known. Maybe the real heartbreak wasn’t his anger at seeing her look at the innocent baby with disgust instead of motherly love. No – the anger was an empowering, cathartic feeling. The real risk was that watching his clearly depressed, sobbing, grief-stricken mother might end up disarming Jim’s anger, even just a bit. And he wasn’t ready to part with it, not yet. Not just because he saw her sob on camera – anyone could do that, and there was no way it could justify ignoring one’s child their whole life.
And yet, and yet… It had been easier to hate a faceless, elusive Winona than the uncaring, rejecting, but also so openly suffering woman from the recordings. No matter how hard Jim tried, he couldn’t stay completely blind to Winona’s obvious depression, to her grief, her despair, her pathetic attempts to find a solution in a situation that offered none – because whatever she did only pushed her deeper into her mourning.
“Bridge to captain Kirk”, Uhura’s voice suddenly said on the intercom, and Jim was abruptly reminded that he was in the middle of his shift and had only excused himself for a short while to deal with the data chip. They were on a mission, and he should be on the bridge instead of wallowing in this outrageous display of bad parenting.
“Kirk here”, he said, appalled to notice that his voice was trembling.
“Commander Spock is on the line for you. Should I relay the call to your quarters?”, Uhura asked. Jim acknowledged, and a moment later his terminal showed the handsome face of his first officer, slightly less than stoic.
“Is something wrong?”, Jim asked, immediately alert, pushing Winona’s logs to the back of his mind. Spock shook his head.
“The research is proceeding smoothly”, he replied. “But I wished to inquire about your well-being. I have sensed distress…”
“No, I’m fine”, Jim answered dismissively, relieved that the mission wasn’t in danger but annoyed at Spock’s fussing.
“The data that you have sent were not the only content of Lieutenant Kirk’s chip, am I correct?”, Spock asked, undeterred. Jim couldn’t hide his annoyance.
“No, they weren’t. It’s none of your business, okay? If this is all, could you please stop harassing me and focus on your work? It looks like finding this chip put you off your Vulcan balance.”
“I see”, Spock answered slowly, processing Jim’s rude reply. “It was not my intention to harass you. I shall not disturb you again. However, should you need me, I am here, Jim. This research is not urgent. I could join you at any moment…”
“What the fuck don’t you understand about ‘I’m fine’?!” Seeing Spock jump at the profanity and the raised voice, Jim immediately regretted his outburst. But all the pent up anger and bitterness just needed an out. “Just leave me alone and do your job. Kirk out.”
Jim closed the connection, trying not to see the hurt and worry in his boyfriend’s eyes. He’d apologize later, but for now, he just needed a moment of peace, to think everything through and convince himself that nothing had happened. Because nothing in his life had changed. He had always known that his mother didn’t love or want him. The recording had only confirmed that.
There was no reason to worry. No reason to worry at all.