Chapter Text
“I was still a cadet,” Pike says. “It was my final year at the academy and I had a practicum posting on the USS Mendel during the winter break. We were in Gamma Hydra system collecting data when we received a distress call from the Kelvin saying that they were under attack by an unknown Romulan vessel with extremely advanced weaponry that seemed to appear from a lightning storm in space.”
“Nero,” Leonard whispers.
Pike nods. “By the time we got there, the Kelvin was gone. Between our ship and a few others that arrived at the same time, we picked up all the survivors. One of those survivors was Winona Kirk, an engineer who’d given birth in the medical shuttle during the evacuation. Her partner, George, had been the First Officer, promoted to Captain, and he’d sacrificed himself and the ship so that his family and the crew could live.”
“Shit,” Leonard says. He vaguely remembers hearing about that now, though not a lot of details.
“If I’m being honest, we were all pretty scared to approach Commander Kirk. I mean, she had a newborn and she’d just lost her partner and what the hell are you supposed to say to someone on the worst and best day of her life? Unfortunately for me, they’d given her my quarters. Not that I minded, I was fine to bunk down elsewhere, but I really needed my PADD and a change of uniform…”
Chris Pike is nervous as he chimes at the door to what used to be his quarters. He seriously considers turning around and leaving, but he’s a Starfleet cadet, for fuck’s sake, and on the command track. If he can’t face a grieving person, he’s not going to make it on any truly interesting assignment. So he stays where he is and waits.
When he’s finally let in, he approaches woman and baby cautiously.
Commander Kirk graces him with a half-smile that doesn’t meet her eyes. “Guess you drew the short straw, huh?”
“Sir?” Chris asks.
“I can’t imagine you volunteered to come comfort the hormonal widow.”
“No, I, um…” Chris swallows. “These used to be my quarters, sir. I just need to grab a few things, if you don’t mind, and then I’ll be out of your way.”
“Please, call me Winona,” Winona says. “As long as you’re here, though, would you mind holding James for a second? He fusses if I set him down and I really want to grab a quick sonic.”
The baby is in Chris’s arms before he even has a chance to think about an answer. He looks down at James, who isn’t doing much, just sleeping really. He doesn’t weigh much, either. Chris remembers someone saying he’s premature.
He figures you’re supposed to rock babies, so he starts swaying a bit.
He’s still standing there, swaying and staring down at James, when Winona emerges from the bathroom.
“I think he likes you,” she says.
Chris smiles politely and goes to hand the baby back to its mother, but Winona brushes past him and heads for the bed.
“It’s been such a long day,” she says (Chris imagines it’s been more like two). “If you wouldn’t mind staying a few minutes longer, so I could grab a brief nap…?”
Chris looks down at the baby again, trying to figure out a polite way to refuse. When he looks up, Winona is already curled up on the bed, fast asleep.
Resigned to giving up another hour of his off time, Chris takes a seat in his own desk chair and waits for Winona to wake up.
Which she does… about five hours later.
“I can’t believe he slept so long,” Winona says. “You’re like a miracle.”
“Look,” Chris begins, “I really need to be—”
“I know,” Winona says, “I tricked you. I’d like to say I’m sorry, but I’m not. I needed help and you were stupid enough to walk in here.”
“It’s no problem, but I—”
“Look, you don’t need to worry that I’m going to break down on you, okay? I’m just not the type. But it would really help me out if you could stay. We can sleep in shifts or share the bed. I promise not to take advantage.”
Chris can’t help but be charmed by her honesty. And moved by her need.
He stays.
“I’ve never met anyone quite like Winona Kirk before or since,” Pike says, and even though Leonard’s sure the story can’t end anywhere good, he sees Pike smiling at the memory.
Jim, he sees, is smiling, too
“Over the next couple of days, I helped her out or just kept her company whenever I wasn’t on shift,” Pike continues. “And during that time – in between the breast feeding and the diaper changes – she told me her life’s story…”
Winona Davis is eight years old when she and her third grade classmates see one of the school janitors have a heart attack on their way back in from recess.
He collapses right in front of them and the teacher calls for paramedics, but no one seems very upset when they arrive to take him away. No one seems in much of a hurry.
“Yes,” the principle says, looking down at a PADD, “the risk of heart attack was nearly 60 percent.”
“Come on, kids,” the teacher says, “let’s get back to class.”
Winona asks her mother about it when she gets home.
“This is why people ought to take more care about whom they bring into the world,” she says sharply.
“They’re still people,” her father tells Winona later. “They just lead harder lives.”
For years Winona can’t see a Non-mod without worrying he or she might drop dead in front of her.
When Winona turns eighteen, she gets on the first shuttle to Starfleet Academy and doesn’t look back. She’s going to miss her father, but she and her mother haven’t gotten along in years. Winona is through trying to please her; she’s going to work on pleasing herself.
George Kirk pleases Winona very much.
He’s a fellow cadet who starts off as a one-night stand, but then he makes her breakfast, and Winona figures there are worse things to build a relationship on than sex and food.
George’s version of their beginnings is much more epic. Winona teases him mercilessly over his romantic tendencies.
They get married because it means they can be assigned together.
Or because they’re madly in love.
Winona wouldn’t say she’s given a lot of thought to children. But George has. And George is the sort of guy who can make you believe in his dream, without even trying.
She walks into the clinic for the initial round of testing with a bright vision of the future.
She walks out an hour later questioning everything she thought she knew about her past.
She hadn’t told George about her appointment, planning to surprise him. She doesn’t tell him now. She comms her dad instead.
“You should have told me you were going,” her father says.
“And you would have what?” Winona demands. “Told me my entire life was a lie?”
“Tell me the name of the doctor,” her father says. “I’ll send enough credits to make her forget your visit and misplace your results.”
But that’s the last thing on Winona’s mind. “Dad, where did I come from?”
From an affair, apparently. With a Sioux woman whose tribe didn’t believe in genetic testing or modification and who would have been happy to raise Winona.
Except that she died when Winona was less than a year old.
Her father had convinced her mother to take Winona in and raise her as their own. He’d also convinced her mother to spend most of the couple’s small savings falsifying Winona’s identity.
He’d be spending more of that savings on this doctor.
No wonder her mother never really seemed to like her. She probably resented the hell out of Winona.
Winona resents the hell out of life.
She tells George everything the following night. Their whole courtship feels like false advertising to her now and she figures the least she can do is offer him an out.
A full refund, minus a few taxes and fees.
He doesn’t take it.
Instead, they lie down together on their bed and he holds her tight.
“Nothing has to change,” he whispers, just before falling asleep.
But Winona lies awake all night knowing that everything already has.
Listening to this story, Leonard keeps sneaking glances at Jim’s face, can’t help but wonder how Jim felt hearing it for the first time. Such a vivid picture of a mother – of parents – that Jim never knew.
Does it make him feel closer to them? Or farther away?
“I was so young back then,” Pike is saying, “and so stupid. I couldn’t believe she was telling me she was a Non-mod. And I really didn’t get it...”
“He was right, though, wasn’t he?” Chris interrupts, confused. “Couldn’t you just go back to the clinic and get the IVF? I mean, okay, sure, you’re a Non-mod, but they’d catch any defects and fix them, right? I mean, that’s why reproductive engineering is free to anyone – so everyone has a chance to have normal children.”
“I do have normal children,” Winona says, glancing over at the bassinet in the corner where James is actually sleeping without being held for once.
“So you did go back to the clinic,” Chris concludes with a sense of relief. He smiles.
Winona doesn’t. “No.”
“But you—”
“I thought about it. Of course, I did. But then I wondered, what would I be saying about myself if I did everything I could to make sure my children didn’t end up like me? I’d always been happy with who I was. Was I supposed to start hating myself just because of one little test? So I talked it over with George and we agreed to stop taking birth control and see what happened.”
Chris’s eyes widen. “Wait – are you saying James wasn’t…?”
“Both my sons are exactly who they were meant to be,” Winona says, voice firm. “Have you ever thought about what it means that the clinics are free and available to everyone?”
Chris doesn’t hesitate. “Yeah, it means the system is fair.”
“It means that we’re supposed to think the system is fair. We’re supposed to believe that everyone’s been given the same choice so that we’re allowed to blame people who make the wrong choice – or people whose parents made the wrong choice. We get to say, ‘They deserve what they got,’ and wash our hands of their problems. Only that’s not really choice at all. It’s just, ‘Do what you’re supposed to or suffer the consequences.’ Real choice would be offering more than one livable option. Real choice would be, ‘Engineer your children or not – you’ll be supported either way.’”
“But why should all the people who cared about having healthy children be forced to support the children of people who didn’t care enough about their kids or the public welfare to go to a clinic?”
“Because they’re children. And because any one of them, all of them, could be amazing. I happen to think I turned out pretty damn well.”
Chris can’t exactly argue. Honestly, he’s been half in love with Winona since the night they met. “You were lucky, though,” he says.
“Sure,” Winona agrees easily. “Lucky to be healthy and smart. Lucky to have found a job that I loved doing. Lucky to have met George. Unlucky, too, though. To have lost the mother who loved me. To get stuck with another mother who didn’t. To have lost my partner on the day of my son’s birth. There’s no escaping luck – good or bad.”
“Okay, things happen,” Chris admits, “but still, why shouldn’t people try to give their children the best shot in life?”
“Of course they should, but not by trying to control everything. Have you ever read classic literature? Or watched really old movies? The best stories are never about following a precise plan. They’re about the unexpected. The surprises you love and the ones you hate, too. The shifting paths and the unforeseen destinations. Taking risks. Making the best of what you’ve got. Absolute control is a myth. And so is absolute responsibility.”
Chris looks over at the bassinet as he thinks over Winona’s words, and Winona, following his gaze, walks over and lifts James into her arms.
“We’ve lost some things,” she says softly. “An openness to the unbidden. Our capacity for unconditional love.”
Chris’s eyes rest on James. “But aren’t you afraid for him?” he asks.
“Terrified,” Winona says.
“I think about that conversation all the time,” Pike says. “It completely changed how I saw the world.”
Leonard frowns, because he knows it doesn’t end there. “I don’t understand. If she loved Jim so much, what happened to her?”
Pike takes a visible breath. “When I came off shift a couple of days later, I found her lying in the bed. Jim was crying and she wasn’t moving, and I think I knew it the moment I saw her face.” His words slow and stiffen, like each one has to be coaxed from his throat. “She wasn’t breathing. Her skin was cold. I commed medical, even though I knew it was too late. I picked up Jim to comfort him and that’s when I noticed Winona’s PADD flashing. She’d left a vid message with detailed instructions for taking Jim to her father, where they’d left Sam when they shipped out on the Kelvin. And then, at the end, her last words: Sorry I didn’t tell you. I didn’t tell George, either. And, yes, it was worth it.”
“Wait.” Leonard focuses on his confusion instead of the tragedy. “What was worth it?”
“The CMO did an autopsy. When I told her that I was taking the baby to Winona’s parents, she decided I counted as family and told me what had happened. It turns out Winona had an extremely rare genetic mutation that made pregnancy very hard on her body. The doctor was surprised she’d managed to survive the first one. It was probably what killed her biological mother.”
“And she knew? There wasn’t a treatment?”
“No one had bothered trying to develop one. They just added the mutation to the list of reasons to discard an embryo or pursue a therapeutic termination.”
“Sorry, Bones,” Jim quips, a slight quiver to his voice, “guess we can’t get me pregnant, after all.”
Leonard huffs out a helpless laugh, sharp and short and totally inappropriate to the moment. He gropes for something better, something to say or do, but comes up with nothing.
It doesn’t matter. Pike isn’t finished.
“So we got back to Earth and I took Jim to his grandfather, James. I met Sam, who was almost four and seemed active and happy. And I met Candace, the woman who’d raised Winona. She was mostly quiet. I told them what had happened with the Kelvin and after, and then I left. I was due back at the academy and everything seemed fine, so I just left.” The last words ring bitter with self-recrimination.
“Stop it,” Jim says like he’s said it a hundred times. “You didn’t know. You couldn’t have known.”
Pike shakes his head. “I thought about you. I could have checked in.”
“You thought I was fine.”
“Or I was too scared that I might discover you weren’t fine.”
“It’s in past, Chris. Leave it there.”
A look passes between Jim and Pike, and now Leonard finally understands this intimacy between them. The last of the jealousy he didn’t even realize he was holding onto drops away.
“What happened to your grandfather?” Leonard asks after a moment, drawing the attention of both men back to him.
“What do you think happened?” Jim asks without malice. “Haven’t you noticed the theme?”
“He died,” Leonard surmises.
Jim nods. “Transport accident, apparently.”
“Less than six months after I left Jim there,” Pike adds. “When I discovered you two in the bar, I looked it all up. I think it’s safe to assume that with James gone, Candace decided to wash her hands of Winona once and for all.”
“Jesus,” Leonard mutters.
“Not that you weren’t a great recruit,” Pike says, “but when I saw Jim and found out what had happened, I knew I needed a way to get him to academy and give him at least some of opportunities Winona and George would have wanted for him.” Pike smirks. “Also, I figured if he was half the person his mother was, we could take down the whole system together.”
Leonard nods. “How can I help?”
Jim lays a hand on Leonard’s arm and squeezes. “You already have.”
“That must have been something,” Leonard says later, when they’re lying together in his bunk. “Finding out who your parents were after all those years.”
“Yeah, it was…yeah,” Jim says. “I wanted to tell you about it…”
“I know you did, kid.”
“So,” Jim says, after a minute of silence, “turns out my mother actually loved me. Can you believe it?”
Leonard snugs Jim’s shoulder tighter underneath his arm. “I could never have believed anything else.”
Leonard’s not naïve (anymore). He knows that a society like theirs doesn’t just transform overnight.
But it kind of feels like it has.
They’ve been back on Earth for over a week and Leonard’s head hasn’t stopped spinning. It still feels like he’s trying to catch up.
At the moment, Jim’s role in the revolution seems to be ensuring that it’s televised. Half the time Leonard turns on a holofeed, the first thing he sees is Jim’s face, wearing a charming smile as he recounts the dramatic tale of how he helped the Enterprise save Earth, or somber-faced as he tells an abridged version of his heart-wrenching backstory.
Honestly, Leonard’s more likely to see a projection of Jim lately, than Jim himself. Not that he’s complaining.
He’s proud.
(If still ever so slightly insecure about what use a hero and revolutionary poster child will have for a grumpy old doctor like him.)
Even more exciting (and unsettling) are the other stories currently dominating the holofeeds. Stories of citywide strikes of unskilled workers. Stories of Non-mod janitorial staffs occupying buildings and businesses around the country. Stories of patrons waking up to find their Non-mods have simply walked away during the night.
It’s not everyone or everywhere (yet), but the movements seem to be spreading every day.
Still, nothing Leonard sees on a holofeed hits him quite so viscerally as the sight he’s faced with every time he steps out his door.
An empty hallway.
So many empty hallways.
And not just because almost all the cadets in the top two classes are dead. (Though Leonard’s already been to three group memorials.) The most notable absence is all the bodies in identical cream-colored pants and tunics who used to move quietly and efficiently through the dorm, avoiding Leonard’s eyes.
The Non-mods.
There’s virtually no one left for them to serve, but they haven’t simply abandoned the Academy.
In fact, they’re running it.
The abrupt departure of nearly all official personnel had left some gaps – gaps everyone soon knew would never again be filled by those who left them. But luckily for Starfleet there were still a few people on hand who actually knew how to do all the things that needed doing – even if they’d never been allowed to actually do them before.
By the time Leonard and the rest of crew of the Enterprise had set foot back on solid ground, a major percentage of the Academy’s daily functions were being managed (and managed well) by Non-mods.
Non-mods who’ve made it clear they have no intention of returning to their former positions.
Non-mods Starfleet can ill afford to do without.
After their conversation about Winona Kirk, Leonard had learned that integrating the Academy and Starfleet was always the first and most important goal on Pike’s (and Jim’s) list. Who knew it would already be half done by the time they arrived?
While Jim’s been out on his press junket, Pike’s been meeting with members of the brass all week, working out the details of making it official.
Meanwhile, Leonard’s been waiting, watching the chips fall, wondering what it’s all going to mean for him (and feeling like a selfish asshole for wondering about that at all).
As if in answer to Leonard’s thoughts, Jim staggers in, looking exhausted…and slightly manic.
Also, handsome as fuck.
(Pike had suggested that Starfleet issue him a uniform for his press appearances and Starfleet decided they could use all the recruiting help they could get. Jim wears it extremely well.)
“No more interviews,” Jim announces as he drops heavily onto the couch and starts to pull off his boots. “Ever.” He tosses his hat in the direction of a small table by the front door, but misses by several feet.
Leonard walks over and picks it up. “Seems like you have the PR thing pretty well covered by this point. Surely Pike could figure out something else for you to do.”
“He has actually.” Jim jumps to his stocking feet and starts pacing. “Several things. My choice. Could tour the country, maybe internationally, recruit other Non-mods, give speeches, et cetera. Small risk of assassination, but Pike would send along some security.”
Jim flashes a quick smile, but Leonard doesn’t think it’s funny.
Jim goes on.
“Could stay here, help sort out the practicalities of this whole integrated Starfleet thing in some sort of official capacity. Kind of like half-instructor, half-union rep.”
Leonard nods. “A lot of people here already think of you as their leader.”
Jim pauses for a moment, then resumes his pacing. “Or Pike says I can go back out with the Enterprise when she’s ready.”
“Yeah?” Leonard asks. “What kind of commission are they offering?”
“Captain,” Jim says.
“Oh, that’s ni—” Leonard does a double take. “Wait a minute, did you just say captain? They’re offering you captain of the flagship?”
“Apparently so. What? You don’t think I can handle it?” There’s a laugh in Jim’s voice, but it rings a bit hollow.
“I know you can handle it,” Leonard says before there can be any misunderstanding. “It’s just…holy shit, Jim. You’ve come a long way from ‘nowhere else to go.’”
Jim laughs again. “Yeah, I guess I have.” He looks down at the movement of his own feet. “It would be hard, though. Everyone would be watching and scrutinizing my every move. There’d be all these people back here counting on me to succeed to prove that we can do it. And then there’d be all these other people just waiting for me to fail and prove that we can’t. I wouldn’t just be a captain, I’d be a symbol.”
“You would.” Leonard nods as he studies Jim’s face. “But you still want to do it, don’t you?”
Jim looks up. “Yeah. I do.”
Leonard swallows. “Then go for it,” he says. “Don’t let anything...” or anyone “…hold you back.”
Jim gives a brisk nod, then starts speaking rapidly. “Pike thinks it would be best if they let people volunteer to serve on the crew. He doesn’t want me stuck out there with a boatful of people trying to challenge my authority, so he’s giving everyone who was onboard – everyone who’s seen me in action – first shot at retaining their positions, including battle promotions. Well, except for Spock, since he was promoted to captain and now I’m captain, so he’s back to first officer, if he even decides to come back out which I’m not sure about because of the whole Vulcan thing and all…” He trails off.
“Jim…?” Leonard asks, not quite certain Jim is saying what Leonard thinks he’s saying.
“So, um, you could keep your field promotion to CMO.”
Leonard’s eyes widen. His mind races. Jim’s right, it’s going to be like living under an old-fashioned magnifying glass. And it’s going to be dangerous, and Jim, with so much to prove, is probably going to be trying to get himself killed every other day, and it’ll be Leonard’s job to make sure he doesn’t succeed. And it’s going to be weird, suddenly having to share Jim with an entire starship full of people. And their relationship is going to have to change, at least a little, maybe a lot, because it’s time to start rebuilding on a foundation of equality.
And it’s going to be breathtaking, watching Jim finally able to fulfill all his potential.
It’s only when Jim starts talking again that Leonard realizes he’s forgotten to answer.
“You can take some time to think about it,” he’s saying. “I mean, I know you really hate space, so I’d understand if you didn’t fe—”
Leonard holds up a hand to cut Jim off. His smile feels too big for his face. “When do we leave?”
FIN.