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Those Who Run
"Where you grew up becomes a big part of who you are for the rest of your life. You can't run away from that. Sometimes though, running away is what makes you who you are." - Helen Mirren
James T. Kirk was running. He had been running for so long that sometimes he wondered if he even knew how to stop. Whether it was from Frank, the asshole, Kodos, the son of a bitch, or just his own plain stupidity, Jim was running from his past and pretending that sometime it wouldn't come back to bite him in the ass. Even now as captain of Starfleet's newest ship, he excelled at burying the past behind a facade of bright smiles and laughter.
He was always one step ahead of the memories, the nightmares. Pft! Who needed sleep anyways? Sleep was for people who hadn't been on Tarsus IV, hadn't seen Vulcan implode, and weren't captain of Starfleet's flagship. There was plenty to do to keep both his mind and hands busy. Scotty could always use help in the engineering department and there was a never-ending flow of paperwork and reports to write. Then there were admirals that needed ass-kissing (it seemed they hadn't quite forgiven him for wrecking the Enterprise...not just once, but twice) and hell, if all else failed he could go bug Bones, his CMO was so easy. He loved his ship, the crew, the captain's chair, the way the warp drive hummed when he spent hours in the engineering bay trying to escape from the hustle and bustle of the bridge. All of those things helped him forget.
His crew was his family - yes, even Spock - which was something he had never had. The Enterprise was his home more than Riverside, Iowa had ever been. No one on the Enterprise judged him for who his father was, he earned their respect on his own. Though when he thought about it, willingly giving his life to save them probably helped. Good thing he had Bones; he was always putting him back together.
Jim had joined Starfleet, when he was more than halfway drunk, because of a dare from Christopher Pike. "Your father was Captain of a Starship for twelve minutes. He saved eight hundred lives, including your mother's and yours. I dare you to do better." It was the best choice he had ever made. He didn't like Starfleet, at least not all of it. After all, every organization has its corruption. Admiral Marcus was proof of that. Jim had made a lot of bad choices in his life but Starfleet was not one of them.
He had grown up much faster than most children. He had to. On Tarsus he took it upon himself to protect the other children who had escaped the genocide, and had watched as they died until only nine were left. By the time he turned sixteen and filled out an application to be an emancipated minor he had long lost the taste of innocence that most children still possessed.
Jim had learned the hard way that no matter how much or how far you run, your past will always catch up with you, and so he made it a rule to not stop running, because as long as he ran, he would have time to prepare.
He didn't trust easily. Hell, he had known Bones for almost four years and the complete trust he had in the doctor was something that his friend had worked very hard to gain. The rest of the Enterprise's crew had his trust, sure, but not to the extent that his CMO did, there were two people Jim trusted completely, one was dead and the other was Leonard McCoy, who had been dubbed Bones during their first meeting, both hungover and on the recruitment shuttle to San Francisco.
"Space is disease and danger wrapped in darkness and silence."
"Well, I hate to break this to you, but Starfleet operates in space."
"Yeah. Well, I got nowhere else to go, the ex-wife took the whole damn planet in the divorce. All I got left is my bones."
He was drunk that night, big surprise, and the owner of the local bar he frequented had called Bones after Jim had started a fight that left him with a broken and bloody nose, two lovely matching black eyes and bruised knuckles. It was the anniversary of the Tarsus genocide and the doctor had come, sat down beside him and asked "What the hell were you thinking?!"
For the first time in years Jim stopped running and let himself remember everything from the color of Kodos' eyes to the names of his self appointed charges. McCoy listened, exclaimed in anger when it was appropriate, and dragged Jim back to his dorm when it was all over. The first thing Jim said to him the next morning was, "Thank god, I still have my clothes on." And McCoy knew he would be fine.
Some said that they argued like a married couple, but Jim would never admit that he enjoyed their verbal sparring and treasured his friendship with the southern doctor. Bones was never afraid to call his friend, and later captain, out on his bullshit. "Damn it, Jim! If you're bleeding out of your ears you are not okay!" He was quite vocal with his care and his southern drawl made it all the more effective. McCoy cared and though Jim didn't enjoy getting hypoed in the neck every time he refused to come to the medbay, if he thought about it, sometimes sedation was the only way Bones could get him to come.
Somehow they complimented each other, the perpetually grumpy southern doctor and the always smiling son of the late hero. They made an odd pair. Bones with his gruff caring and himself, who he liked to think made the best out of it.
Jim knew that McCoy knew that he was running, and had been for a long time. He understood that Bones showed that he cared by acting like a mother hen and if it made Bones feel better than that was okay with him.
His crew knew there were parts of their captain's past that he would rather stay buried; and he knew what would happen when (because they would, sometime) they learned exactly what that was. First would come the anger, revulsion that any adult could ever hit a child or murder four thousand innocents, then would come the pity. They would pity him for having to watch and having to endure. He couldn't stand the thought of them pitying him.
For now though, they didn't ask and he was perfectly happy to keep running.
Jim had made a lot of mistakes as a teen. He had never been proud of most of them but when he joined Starfleet he began to genuinely regret them. He could lose his ship if the higher-ups found out about some of the lesser ones and he endangered his crew with the greater. He had enemies, had gotten involved with a lot of bad people both on and off planet after Tarsus, and when he thought about it, border skirmishes with the Klingons were the least of his problems. That's not to say he didn't regret some of the mistakes before joining Starfleet, but joining the Federation had given him a different perspective. He had regretted a lot of things when he was forced to face the consequences and he knew the consequences he hadn't faced yet were bound to make him regret pissing off whoever got to him first. So he ran, tried to forget (though he never really, truly did), because it was easier that way. If he thought on it too much he would probably go crazy wondering who was going to jump out of what shadow and slit his throat.
He didn't only run from people. In fact, people were usually the least of his worries. The memories of the things he had seen, things a child should never have to, haunted him. Some people wondered why he didn't sleep; those who had known him long enough knew. Memories were horrible things and sometimes they came at the most inopportune moments. Memories, though, are just that, memories. They have already happened and there is nothing anyone can do about it.
He forgot to eat sometimes, forgot that his body needed food. He had trained himself not to want it and would have, if it was possible, trained himself not to need it. Starvation had taught him to eat little and save the rest for those who needed it more than him. He forgot to sleep too, at least that's what he told Bones. For some reason the doctor never really believed him... Jim knew that Bones knew the real reason.
He ran, but the things he ran from, whether people or memories, made him who he is. Without Frank he wouldn't have survived Kodos and without Kodos, he never would have survived his teens. They taught him things that kept him alive, and shaped him into who he is. So he did whatever he could do to forget; drinking, sex, getting into fights, whatever it took. Smiling, standing up straight and trying to escape, James T. Kirk did what he did best and kept on running.