Work Text:
James Tiberius Kirk. The name that had followed him throughout his life like a ghost—a constant presence that lingered behind him, sometimes comforting, sometimes suffocating.
Jim.
The name he had chosen for himself, the name that was casual, easy, and free from the expectations tied to his family. It was a name that reminded him of simpler things: the dusty roads of Iowa, the wide-open fields, the sound of his mother’s voice when she wasn’t away on another mission, and the memory of a father he never knew.
Kirk.
The name that followed him everywhere. Unavoidable. Inevitable. The legacy that hung over him like a cloud, whether he was ready for it or not.
Jim had always been somewhat unaware of the weight of that name, despite it being branded on his life from the very moment of his birth. His father, George Kirk, a name revered in Starfleet circles, had died in the line of duty on the USS Kelvin when Jim was still in his mother's womb. His mother, Winona Kirk, had never been able to keep her family together after that. She had thrown herself into Starfleet, and Jim had spent most of his childhood on Earth, raised by his stepfather, Frank, who rarely spoke of George Kirk and whose bitter attitude only fueled Jim’s sense of abandonment.
But now, as he stood on the charred surface of Tarsus IV, surrounded by the wreckage of a world long dead and burnt to ash, Jim was about to come face-to-face with the legacy he had spent so long trying to ignore.
---
The planet was silent except for the occasional hiss of a dying fire or the whistling of wind. The nine survivors, ragged and bloody, stood amidst the ruins, their eyes scanning the horizon. Jim Kirk stood at the front of the group, blood caked on his face, the phaser still clutched tightly in his hand. He wasn’t planning on using it—he never had any intention of firing—but the grip on it was a lifeline. It was the only thing that kept him grounded, made him feel like he had some control over the situation.
A few yards away, a sleek ship descended from the sky, its engines thrumming against the desolate air. The USS Enterprise. Jim had seen the ship on the holos before, but nothing had prepared him for the sight of it coming down, looming over him, shining brightly against the ashen world.
He didn’t lower the phaser, but his eyes narrowed. He had learned long ago that the galaxy was full of lies and half-truths, and just because someone wore a uniform didn’t mean they could be trusted. Not after what he’d seen. Not after Tarsus IV.
The ship landed with a soft thud, and five figures stepped out. All human. They were dressed in the pristine uniforms of Starfleet: four officers and one crew member. Jim didn’t drop his guard. The Captain—at least Jim assumed the man in gold was the Captain—was tall, dark-haired, with piercing blue eyes that seemed to study Jim with a practised intensity. Two medical officers flanked him, both dressed in blue, and an officer in red stood off to the side, clipboard in hand. A translator? Jim wasn’t sure, but he wasn’t in the mood for questions.
“Stay there!” Jim shouted, his voice rough from days of screaming and lack of water. His thumb hovered over the phaser’s trigger, though it wasn’t aimed at anyone. He just wanted them to stay back. He needed time. He needed to figure out if they could be trusted.
The Captain, Captain Pike, according to the insignia on his chest, raised a hand, signalling for the others to stop. His eyes flicked to the phaser in Jim’s hand before rising to meet Jim’s gaze, unwavering.
“My name is Christopher Pike,” the Captain said, his voice firm yet calm. “I am the Captain of the USS Enterprise.” He motioned to the others. “This is Commander Natasha Jules, my first officer, Dr. Alina Edwards and Dr. Andrew Simply, our medical staff, and Ensign William Sharpe, our translator. Do you understand me?”
Jim didn’t answer immediately. He was calculating the situation, his mind running through every possible scenario. He didn’t want to trust them. He didn’t want to let anyone in. He’d been alone for so long, had learned to survive on his own. But the Captain’s voice was soothing, like a promise that things could be better, and Jim hated it.
“My name is Jim,” he said finally, his voice raw. He didn’t bother to introduce himself fully. He tentatively introduced the other eight children. The children, most of them too frightened to speak, gave weak waves or slight nods, but they stayed behind Jim, unsure of what to do next.
The Captain nodded solemnly, his eyes briefly scanning the group of children. “Is there anyone else?” His voice held a softness, an empathy, as though he could already feel the weight of their situation.
Jim’s gaze turned toward the horizon, to the blackened remains of the colony. “Did you scan the planet?” he asked, voice distant. Pike nodded.
“Then you already know the answer,” Jim muttered. His stomach twisted. The people on this planet were long gone—either executed or lost to revolution. The idea of being the last ones left, of surviving while everyone else perished, made his blood run cold.
Dr. Alina stepped forward, holding out a medical kit. Her face was kind, but Jim didn’t trust kindness anymore. Not after everything he had seen. “We have medical supplies on board,” she said gently. “Let us help you.”
Jim turned his gaze toward the others, his children, his responsibility. They needed to get off this planet. They couldn’t stay here. And yet, despite his inner conflict, Jim knew there was no other choice. Starfleet had come, whether he wanted them to or not.
He sighed, his fingers loosening around the phaser. “Alright,” he said, voice strained. “Fine. But no funny business.”
One by one, the children made their way toward the ship, some with more reluctance than others. But they were all too tired to fight. Jim stayed behind, still gripping the phaser at his side, his eyes never leaving the Captain.
When Pike stepped forward, his eyes meeting Jim’s, there was no hesitation. “Give me the gun, son.”
Jim’s grip tightened on the weapon, his heart racing. He didn’t want to trust anyone—certainly not someone who called him “son.” His jaw clenched, and he met Pike’s gaze with an almost defiant stare. “I’m not your son,” he muttered.
Pike didn’t flinch, just looked at Jim with that steady, unwavering expression. “Snippy,” he said, his tone dry but not unkind. “But I know it’s not loaded.”
Jim froze, shouldered dropping. He lifted the gun from his side, his face flushing with embarrassment. He hadn’t had the chance to find more power packs after the planet’s collapse. He looked down at the empty weapon, his pride wounded, and reluctantly handed it over. He sighed, “Was it obvious?” He placed it in the outstretched hand.
“Only to the trained eye,” Pike said, taking the phaser and slipping it into his waistband. He didn’t mock Jim; instead, he simply nodded.
The two of them walked toward the ship together, the rest of the crew waiting by the ramp. As the hatch closed behind them, Jim couldn’t help but feel a small sense of relief. Maybe they would be safe on the ship. Maybe the galaxy wasn’t all bad.
---
Hours later, Jim found himself on the Enterprise—the heart of Starfleet. The place that represented everything Jim had been running from his whole life. Starfleet. His father’s legacy.
He was clean now, no longer caked in mud and dust, and dressed in an oversized gold Starfleet uniform. His hair had been washed and combed, though it stuck up a little at the back. He felt awkward in the uniform, the gold fabric swallowing him up. He glanced at himself in the mirror and almost didn’t recognize the boy staring back at him.
The other children were already settled in the med-bay, most of them asleep or heavily medicated. Jim stood near the entrance to the bridge, unsure of where to go or what to do next.
The lift doors slid open, and he stepped into the bustling heart of the Enterprise, the bridge. The officers—professionals, serious, confident—turned to look at him as he entered. He felt small, like a child playing dress-up in a world that wasn’t his own.
Captain Pike stood up from his chair when he saw Jim. His gaze swept over him, lingering for a moment. “Jim,” he said, a hint of something softer in his voice.
Jim nodded awkwardly. “Captain.” He shifted on his feet, not knowing where to look.
Pike chuckled lightly. “The gold suits you.” He glanced down at Jim’s oversized uniform,
Jim had shrugged at that, disinterested in the colour of the uniform. He didn’t care about the bright gold Starfleet colours or the perfectly pressed fabric that hung loosely on him. All he cared about was getting out of this mess. Getting away from all of this.
The other children had been tucked into bed, attended to by the medical officers. Dr. Alina Edwards had treated their wounds with a steady hand, while Dr. Andrew Simply had administered sleep aids to help them rest after the chaos they'd been through. But Jim? Jim hadn’t slept for days, not properly. The adrenaline from the constant fight for survival hadn’t left his body yet.
And now he stood in front of these Starfleet officers, some of whom had served on the USS Kelvin, the very ship his father had captained. The weight of that fact had been slowly sinking in since the moment they’d arrived. Jim Kirk, son of George Kirk—the name was a burden and a blessing all at once.
“We are headed to San Francisco, Starfleet headquarters,” The Captain added at the end, clearly for Jim’s sake. “There, we will get you and your friends situated, find places for you to stay and in the long run, foster families.”
Jim blanched, although from the outside he imagined it was taken more somberly then intended.
“I have a family?” Jim recoiled, confused at the suggestion otherwise. “I’m not from Tarsus IV, I live in Iowa”.
As they all stood together on the bridge, the hum of the engines surrounding them, Pike glanced at Jim, his voice carrying a quiet weight. “Iowa? How did you end up on Tarsus IV?”
Jim felt the question hang in the air, a thousand answers running through his head, none of them feeling right. The thought of returning home, of facing what would happen when Starfleet learned about his connection to the legendary Captain George Kirk, was almost too much to bear. But the truth was like a sharp stone lodged in his throat. It had to come out.
“Iowa, yeah,” Jim said, his voice a little flat. He wasn’t sure how to phrase it, how to say the words that had been on the tip of his tongue for so long. He swallowed, the knot in his throat tightening. “My stepdad, Frank, he sent me there after I got arrested. I... I don’t think he wanted me around, not after that. Tarsus IV... it wasn’t rehabilitation.” He hesitated, looking down at the floor. “It was a punishment.”
Captain Pike's brow furrowed, but he didn’t press. He just listened. His eyes were kind, though, understanding, like he knew Jim was still holding something back. “What’s your full name kid? I’ll make sure we get you back home to Iowa” Pike turned to survey the room as he waited for the kid's answer.
“Its James, Sir” Jim shrugged, “James Tiberius Kirk”.
You could hear a pin drop in the silence that followed, Pike whipped his head round to look at the kid. The kid whose blue eyes now made sense.
James T. Kirk’s brow furrowed at the sudden tense silence. “Yeah I think Tiberius is a bit of an odd choice as well, but it was my grandfather’s name apparently”
Pike walked towards the rambling teen, “Did you say Kirk? As in your father is George Kirk?”
“Erm, “ Jim drawled, “Little concerned that you knew that. Were you friends or something?”
“Friends? Your father was Captain of the USS Kelvin. He saved 800 lives” Pike raised his arm, gesturing vaguely around them, “Some of this crew were on the Kelvin, they are only alive because of your fathers sacrifice. I studied the USS Kelvin for my thesis”
Jim glanced round, looking at the faces of the crew. Everyone was staring.
“I know who he was, I just didn't think it really mattered” Jim will admit, he was a little nervous that everyone was staring at him with such intensity.
A red shirt from across the bridge stood, “You look just like him.” Jim felt a lump form in his throat, “Oh”, he swallowed. No one had ever compared him to his father.
“The thing is...” Jim started, his voice barely above a whisper, “I don’t... I didn’t think it mattered. I mean, all this Starfleet stuff, my dad’s legacy... I didn’t think it mattered.” He looked up, finally meeting Pike’s steady gaze. “But it does, doesn’t it?”
Pike didn’t answer immediately, but there was a shift in his expression—a deepening of the respect he already held for Jim. He leaned forward slightly, his voice softer now, more earnest.
“Jim, your father’s sacrifice on the Kelvin wasn’t just an act of heroism. It was a promise—a promise to the people of Starfleet, to his family, and to you. His legacy isn’t just a name. It’s the kind of man he was. That’s something that never goes away, no matter where you go or how far you run.”
Jim blinked, and for the first time, the idea didn’t feel as foreign to him. His father had been a man who had given everything. For others. For his crew. Jim had heard the stories, of course. The hero who had saved 800 lives. The Captain who had fought and sacrificed everything, right up until the end. But Jim had always kept that man at arm’s length, knowing he could never measure up.
Until now.
But then Pike smiled—a small, knowing smile. He nodded, as if everything made sense now.
“You look like a Kirk, and I don't mean in just appearance alone,” Pike said, his voice low. “I see it in your eyes. You’ve got his fire. That’s something no one can take away from you, Jim.”
Jim looked around the bridge, meeting the eyes of the crew who were now watching him closely. There was no judgement in their gazes, only quiet respect. One officer in red, an ensign, stood up from his station and made his way toward Jim.
“I never knew him,” Jim replied hoarsely, his voice thick with emotion. “I never knew who he really was, not until now.”
“Your father was a hero, Jim,” the ensign said, his voice cracking just a little. “A damn fine man. We all owe him.”
Jim didn’t know what to say to that. How could he? The truth was too big, too overwhelming. He was the son of George Kirk. He didn’t know if he was ready for that legacy. He wasn’t sure he was strong enough to live up to it.
But for the first time, he didn’t feel alone. For the first time, he felt like he wasn’t just running from his name.
Maybe it was time to stand up and face it.
---
The rest of the journey to Starfleet Headquarters was quiet, but not uncomfortable. Pike sat with Jim for a while in the observation lounge, talking about the Enterprise’s upcoming mission and offering Jim a taste of what his life could be like—if he was ready to take the leap.
They had passed through the stars, heading toward the heart of Starfleet itself: San Francisco. The city stood at the edge of the bay, its golden gates framed by the rising sun, as the Enterprise prepared to dock at Starfleet Command.
Jim didn’t know what his future held. He wasn’t sure if he was ready to accept the mantle of his father’s legacy or if he even wanted it. But one thing was certain: he was no longer running from it.
He had a family, his father’s legacy, and now, perhaps, he could find his place in it.
---
As the Enterprise touched down at Starfleet Headquarters, Jim stood at the observation window, watching the lights of San Francisco blink to life in the distance. His reflection was barely visible in the glass, but in his mind’s eye, he saw his father’s face. For the first time, he understood.
Maybe he wasn’t just his father’s son.
Maybe, just maybe, he could become his own man.