Chapter Text
ShiKarh, VULCAN.
It is Sarek's wish for Spock to become an admirable scientist. Therefore, Spock's education is his priority if he wants to attend the Vulcan Academy of Science. Spock attends the best education center in ShiKarh and certainly one of the best in Vulcan, Sarek chose it because it seemed like the best option for Spock's vocational preparation. Nevertheless, he did not agree with today's school trip.
The alumni walk the corridors of the USS Callisto, listening to Starfleet cadets' lecture about the basic functions of the starship, along with what Spock already knows, the purpose and inner workings of the United Federation of Planets, and their constant efforts of space exploration under the principles of liberty, rights and equality.
"Hybrid," calls one of Spock's classmates, S'wek and the group leaves them behind.
It's been a few days since the fighting incident and he is supposed to have this under control, he always has. Inexplicably though, one of his fingers twitches like Spock wants to make a fist.
"Did you run crying for mommy?"
As soon as Spock's mother is mentioned he finds it hard to suppress himself from clenching his jaw.
The other two, Sered and Sobek grab Spock's upper arms and start dragging him down the corridor. Spock won't argue, not after what happened last time and the most logical reaction for him is to call for help, given that their behavior is not adequate. But S'wek has a hand covering Spock's mouth as they corner him against a door.
"You will regret fighting back, freak," says S'wek.
Spock shuts his eyes, waiting for a blow to cross his face or sink on his stomach but he can only hear the hiss of a door sliding open. He is pushed inside of what seems to be a small shuttle, just big enough for an average person.
An evacuation pod.
“Sol System, Sector 001, Alpha quadrant, Class M planet, Earth,” the computer reads.
Spock didn't know the starship was on operation but when the computer reads the craft’s destination aloud Spock's blood freezes in a natural response (escape) incapable to be committed. The upper half of the door entrapping him is see through, so Sered, S'wek and Sobek can see the tears running down Spock's cheeks and his hurt human eyes.
The USS’ systems finally detect the intrusion and an alarm goes off. It's the last thing Spock hears before the shuttle detaches from the ship and sends him away to yet another planet he is an alien to.
*****
Iowa, EARTH.
Jim would prefer his dad's motorcycle but Frank, the man his mother married, has it locked in the garage. His bike will have to do.
Jim lowers his pace as he sees the sea of people passing the streets. He spots a woman lifting her baby from their stroller and Jim puts his bike to a halt. He reaches for his bag and fishes Sam's old Polaroid camera. Jim tilts his head to the woman in a silent permission to take a picture and she smiles kindly. Jim smiles back and frames the woman holding her baby close to her chest.
"Thank you!" shouts Jim as he stores the photograph and camera back in his backpack.
Jim is late to his ballet class and in the Academy the Waltz of the Flowers plays as slippers and pointe shoes caress the wooden floors. Jim pedals as fast as he can, panting and sweating. As soon as Jim arrives to the Academy he throws his bike to the alley and starts opening his backpack, taking out his slippers. He sits on the edge of the staircase to change his shoes and strip to his plain tee. Jim runs upstairs and opens the studio's door, peeking his head inside. When he's sure he will go unnoticed he rushes to his place next to his partner, pirouetting along like he's been there the whole time. The choreography is different, more adequate for young learners, but Mrs. Katja is pretty demanding. Too much for a class of eleven year-olds anyway. In this choreography the male dancers of the piece, Jim and other three kids, dance along with four girls but don’t lift them, unlike the original dance. That doesn't stop Jim from messing everything up, as he misplaces one foot and twists his ankle. He falls to the side, crashing against Johnny.
The music stops abruptly.
"Kirk!" Mrs. Katja shouts, taking off her glasses.
Jim grunts when Johnny pushes him aside. "'m sorry," Jim says.
"How long have you been here? I thought you were absent," she continues. "You didn't warm up."
The whole class stares at Jim, some whispering judgingly. Johnny gets on his feet and Jim follows.
"I rode my bike all the way from home," Jim explains.
"I don't care if you climbed Mount Everest this morning, you need to warm up and stretch," the instructor crosses her arms over her chest, like she's towering over him. "Why are you late anyway?"
“I went to Coralville to collect new thermal protection materials because one of the Maquis Raider's is old and damaged and useless.”
“Maquis—? Wha—Why do you need thermal protection?”
“Because air molecules become very volatile which generates significant heat that ends up flowing into the cooler interior of the Maquis Raider destroying the systems or killing the passengers.”
Mrs. Katja sighs. "Why is that so important, Kirk?"
"I'm building a starship."
The class bursts into muffled laughter.
"What's the matter?" asks Johnny. "Wanna go to space to die like your daddy?"
There is an issue when your father is known as a hero pretty much in the whole planet. Before he knows it, Jim is throwing himself at Johnny, screaming at the top of his lungs and punching Johnny right and left.
"Children! Children! Stop at once!" Mrs. Katja runs to them but Jim doesn't stop until she drags him away from the collar of his tee.
Once Jim realizes that Johnny has a bloody nose he stumbles back and says, "Forgive me, I'm sorry!"
"Kirk...," the instructor warns.
At a lack of words, Jim whispers almost to himself, "I'm sorry... I practiced... I just wanted to dance."
Needless to say, the instructor sends Jim out of her studio for the rest of the class. He waits sitting on the sidewalk and clutching his backpack like a life line. When it's two o'clock the class is over and Jim can start waiting for Sam. Johnny, and some of his friends pass next to him and for some reason Jim feels the need to follow them.
When they notice Jim’s presence they turn around and look at him like he is a dog with rabies.
“Are you gonna play dolls?” asks Jim, noticing the Barbie and Ken dolls Haania, Min-Ji, Ewan and Johnny are holding.
“You don’t have a doll,” Ewan remarks.
Jim opens his backpack, looking for his own. “This is Waffles!” Jim explains, waving the pink, three-eyed, plush doll.
Everyone laughs.
“Your doll is ugly, you can’t play with us,” Haania says and with that the four of them turn their backs on Jim and walk away. They laugh and mock Jim and Waffles, using words like: stupid, lame, poor.
Tears well up in Jim’s eyes as he sees them leave. There must be something wrong with him, he thinks, but it’s Waffles he is mad at. He slams his doll to the ground letting his anger out. Jim takes a few steps towards his bike but a gush of guilt threatens to eat him inside out so he runs back to retrieve Waffles. He apologizes to it, regretting being so violent before. He remembers throwing himself at Johnny, making his nose bleed and it’s not better.
Something must be wrong with Jim.
*****
Jim's house is the only one in a several miles’ ratio, so when he sees the fancy black car with government license plates take a left towards his home Jim suspects bad news for Frank.
"Child services..." Jim mutters to himself and follows the car, pedaling faster to get home first.
As suspected, Frank isn't home when Jim goes in. So this must be fun. Jim kicks off his boots and runs to the garage to get nails and a hammer from Frank's toolbox. The social worker can't be long; so he must act quickly. Jim locks himself inside the house, nailing the wooden door to the frame, splinting his fingers in the process. He runs to the kitchen as he hears the car pulling over. Jim takes the trash can and fishes all the beer cans that Frank consumed in the course of the week and scatters them around on every surface he can, including the coffee table and the entry hall's carpet.
The social worker steps out of his car, taking off his aviators to have a better look at the Kirk's residence. The porch has a thick layer of dust, the lightbulb of the entrance is broken and there's a small bike laying on the ground. He climbs the four steps to the front door and rings the bell.
There seems to be no one home.
Seventeen minutes later, a man, who must be Frank Doser, arrives in a classic Corvette model.
"Who is it?" Frank asks once out of the car.
"Child services, Iowa Department of Human Services, Frank Doser? George and James stepfather?"
“Oh, I didn’t know a social worker was coming,” Frank seems bothered.
“We do not announce our scheduled visits.”
Frank slams the door of the Corvette. “You wanna come in?”
"I would appreciate it."
When Frank slides his key card to unlock the door it doesn't open. Frank grips the knob and tries to force it.
"That kid..."
"Is there a problem?"
Frank kicks the door but it stays where it is, now with a huge dent and stained with mud.
"Can I?" asks the social worker.
"Have your way."
Once inside the social worker raises an eyebrow to the beer can mess. Frank tries to avoid eye contact. The previous calm that led the social worker to believe there was nobody home now is replaced with loud music. A stereo is playing a guitar riff probably to its maximum volume and then a voice follows, winded but screeching in effort.
"IIIIIIII! can't stand it, I know you planned it, I'm-a set it straight, this Watergate, I can't stand rockin' when I'm in here!”
Frank walks to the corridor and the social worker follows him because Frank doesn't seem to mind. They stop on the first door, where the music is evidently coming from.
"Cause your crystal ball ain't so crystal clear. So while you sit back and wonder why
I got this fuckin' thorn in my side!"
When Frank turns the doorknob and opens the door, they see Jim jumping on his bed incessantly, his hair flying up and coming back to cover his eyes when he lands on the worn mattress. Frank storms inside the room, leaving the social worker waiting outside. The music suddenly stops and Jim complains.
"Heey!"
"Out!"
The two emerge from the room, Jim red faced and sweaty and Frank looking at him disapprovingly.
"Who are you?" Jim asks the social worker, scrunching up his nose.
"Christopher Pike, social worker, and I presume you are James Kirk?" Pike comes down on one knee to look be at eye level with Jim.
Jim lifts his chin to appear a bit taller. “You don’t look like a social worker,” Jim says, staring at Pike’s strong jaw and broad shoulders.
“I’m a special classification.”
"Did you ever kill anyone?" Jim asks, raising an eyebrow.
"We’re getting off the subject,” Pike says, getting up on his feet. "Why were you alone at home?"
"He was supposed to wait for Sam to pick him up from ballet," Frank provides.
"Let's allow James to talk."
Jim looks up at both innocently, with the eyes that his mom can't stand to see.
Pike signals both of them to sit on the couches. "Tell me, James, are you happy?"
Jim takes a big mouthful of air. "I’m adjusted…,” Jim turns to look at Frank, sitting next to him and with a stern expression on his face. Jim turns back at Pike. “I have three meals a day, and look both ways before crossing the street. I have my own bedroom and take long naps and get disciplined.” Jim stiffens on his place, already scared of what Frank will say but Jim can’t have child services on his house and cover his stepfather.
“Disciplined?” Pike asks, leaning forward.
“Uh-huh… It’s really good when you want to raise a well-behaved kid…” Jim utters, with a disbelieving smile.
“Why don’t you go play in the hall,” Frank jumps before Pike has the chance to say anything else.
Jim obeys, adding a “Yes, sir,” merely out of spite.
Pike turns at Frank like he’s threating him. “Let me illuminate to you the precarious situation in which you have found yourself,” he asserts. “I don’t like what I’m seeing here. The fact that Winona Kirk isn’t here makes you the kids’ guardian and if you do not fulfill the profile to raise them then we will have to take them with us. I’ll be back later this month, you better change my mind.”
On his way out Pike finds Jim sitting on the floor playing Battleship by himself, humming and somehow entertained.
Pike crouches down to hand Jim a business card. “Call me next time you are left alone.”
“Yep,” replies Jim, accepting the card with his eyes fixed on the board game.
Frank stares at the door until Pike's car is out of hearing range. Jim thinks about running to his room, locking himself, keeping quiet and coming out the next day. Instead, he waits for a reaction. Waits for Frank to lash out, yell, throw things. And later he will wait for bruises to form on his face.
*****
Today’s photograph might be Jim’s this month’s favorite. Jim tapes it on the wall next to his bed but ends up staring at the one under his pillow while clutching his doll tight. There’s a knock on the door and Sam follows, holding a plate with a cold slice of pizza and smiling sadly.
“Hey, Jimmy,” he says with that lower voice that their mom uses sometimes.
“Hi…” Jim says weakly.
“You hungry?” Sam asks coming to sit on the bed next to Jim.
“Thanks.”
Sam leaves the plate on the nightstand and focuses on his little brother. He brings a hand to Jim's face, lifting his bangs to touch his forehead. Sam’s expression changes to a frown as he lifts Jim’s chin and sees the red marks.
“Jimmy—“ Sam starts.
“It’s fine.”
“No, it’s not! Where else did he hurt you?” says Sam, beginning to examine the usual, wrists, forearms, lower back.
Jim struggles away when Sam bends him forward to lift his shirt. “It’s fine, okay?” he protests. “Human services came today.”
Sam's eyebrows shot up almost to the top of his head. “Human—?“ he says as understanding dawns on his face. “You don't think they’ll take us away, do you?”
Jim looks down and shakes his head. “Mom won’t allow it.”
“Mom won’t be back for another three months, Jimmy.”
“When she finds out—“ Jim starts but suddenly the lights go out and there’s a low sound like a tremor or a thunder.
Jim and Sam look at each other, puzzled. Jim rushes to the window to look up to the skies.
“What is that?” asks Sam, pointing at a blinking light falling diagonally across the starred sky. “Maybe a shooting star?”
“It’s not a shooting star,” Jim argues.
“Mom always made us say a wish to shooting stars.”
“It’s not a shooting star!”
“Just make a wish, Jimmy,” Sam says, lowering his voice. “It might be better than a shooting star.”
*****
Narada mining vessel of the ROMULAN EMPIRE.
“Sir, we have detected a small craft around star 40 Eridani A.”
“Why is that information of my interest, Commander?” asks Captain Nero.
“The Federation has emitted a missing alert to the United Federation of Planets, it is Ambassador Spock, sir.”
Nero sits back on his chair. “When was this alert transmitted?”
“Stardate 2244.43,” Ayel states. “Sir, in this reality Spock must be twelve years old.”
Nero considers his options, elbows propped on the board. Anger ridden and seeking revenge, Captain Nero decides to lay blame for the destruction of Romulus on Ambassador Spock, who swore to avoid the disaster. Finally, he orders, “Set a course to follow that pod, commander. Warp six.”