First Arrival
2014-Aug-25, Monday 06:38 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
star_bornHe should have been dead. He had thought that several times in his life, actually. But inside that chamber, poisoned with radiation, he really should have been dead. In fact, he knew he had died. He had felt it, the moment where he couldn’t hold his hand up to the glass anymore, the moment that his eyes lost vision, that singular moment where he was alone and scared. And then it was all gone. Blackness.
But then there were voices. Pike. His mother. His father. They were echoes, but loud enough to wake him.
And then he was awake. And there was light and Bones in white and Spock looking humble.
That had been almost a year ago. Now he was alive and well, hell, he was better than ever. At least physically. And maybe he had grown some mentally too. And maybe there were a few more emotional bruises too. But he was alive. And so many were not.
But the reminder only made him more restless. He missed his ship. He missed his stars. And they were his stars. It reminded him of a quote from The Grapes of Wrath, “...We were born on it, and we got killed on it, died on it. Even if it's no good, it's still ours. That's what makes it ours-being born on it, working it, dying on it.” It couldn’t have been truer for James Tiberius Kirk.
But they were grounded while repairs were still being made, while it was being prepped from the promise of a five-year mission that still had him giddy. And as he stared up at the skyline from his apartment window, he really wished he was back home.
...And then he was.
A literal blink of the eye and his scenery had suddenly changed. No longer was he leaning against the glass of his apartment window, but the thick glass of the Enterprise. His vision of buildings and vehicles and fading sun were gone, replaced with the pitch blackness of space and the scattered lights of stars.
It was so sudden that he was reeling backwards, eyes a little wide with surprise and disbelief. Damn, if only all of his wishes were granted so instantaneously.
“What the hell?” Was this real? He was still in his blue jeans, shirt, and leather jacket he had been in. He hadn’t had anything to drink, so this wasn’t one wicked hallucination. But the more he looked around, the more wrong he realized this was. The uniforms on crew members were different, faces unfamiliar. And was he in a bar? When the hell did his ship get a bar?
Maybe he really did die. That made as much sense as anything else at the moment.
But then there were voices. Pike. His mother. His father. They were echoes, but loud enough to wake him.
And then he was awake. And there was light and Bones in white and Spock looking humble.
That had been almost a year ago. Now he was alive and well, hell, he was better than ever. At least physically. And maybe he had grown some mentally too. And maybe there were a few more emotional bruises too. But he was alive. And so many were not.
But the reminder only made him more restless. He missed his ship. He missed his stars. And they were his stars. It reminded him of a quote from The Grapes of Wrath, “...We were born on it, and we got killed on it, died on it. Even if it's no good, it's still ours. That's what makes it ours-being born on it, working it, dying on it.” It couldn’t have been truer for James Tiberius Kirk.
But they were grounded while repairs were still being made, while it was being prepped from the promise of a five-year mission that still had him giddy. And as he stared up at the skyline from his apartment window, he really wished he was back home.
...And then he was.
A literal blink of the eye and his scenery had suddenly changed. No longer was he leaning against the glass of his apartment window, but the thick glass of the Enterprise. His vision of buildings and vehicles and fading sun were gone, replaced with the pitch blackness of space and the scattered lights of stars.
It was so sudden that he was reeling backwards, eyes a little wide with surprise and disbelief. Damn, if only all of his wishes were granted so instantaneously.
“What the hell?” Was this real? He was still in his blue jeans, shirt, and leather jacket he had been in. He hadn’t had anything to drink, so this wasn’t one wicked hallucination. But the more he looked around, the more wrong he realized this was. The uniforms on crew members were different, faces unfamiliar. And was he in a bar? When the hell did his ship get a bar?
Maybe he really did die. That made as much sense as anything else at the moment.