milliways_bar | (no subject)

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Jim Kirk has had a very long day. A very long week. Dinner with the Klingons, arrest and trial for killing the leader of the Klingons, a trip to the worst penal colony known to man, a daring escape, and an equally daring rescue of the president of the Federation. Oh, and saving hopes for peace from a conspiracy. And himself.

He's barely eaten, he's barely slept, and he is glad that Starfleet standard issue uniforms absorb odor, since he could use a shower.

So when the Bar decides to grab him, he isn't sure he wants to be here. But he could use some coffee, too. And it's not like he's in any rush to get back to Earth, anyway. His retirement can wait a few hours more for a night's sleep far away from everything.

"Coffee. Black."

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Steve takes out his earphones and greets Jim with a big smile. "Long day, Captain?"

"Captain. You might say that." Jim's smile is weary. "Let's just say that I might be getting too old to save the Federation again.:

"I think you need something stronger than coffee for that."

"Anything stronger, and I might fall asleep first. Besides, the last time I had a drink of something stronger, I came close to starting a war." Or at least closer than he planned. "Can't believe that was less than a week ago."

"You want to tell me the story?" Steve says, grinning even wider. "Because I am really curious now."

It can't hurt around here, can it?

"Well, I'll give you the highlights. Six months ago, the sworn enemy of the Federation suffered a major disaster. And sued for peace. Incredibly, we opened negotiations, and my ship was volunteered to escort their leader to Earth. That was the occasion where someone decided that having a bit of alcohol at the state dinner was a good idea."

The someone, he understands now, was committing treason even with this suggestion. Valeris was a cunning one.

"But isn't that normal? Champagne, brandy, wine for the main courses?"

"Have you ever sat at a table with people you fought against in a war? And talked about peace? Even under the best of circumstances, sobriety would be important.

"And the drink of choice was...potent." He is off Romulan ale for good now.

"Never," says Steve. "I'm just the muscle."

"I suggest you do whatever you can to avoid it, then. We weren't given a choice." He's still mad at Spock, even if Spock was right. "As bad as that dinner was, though, things got a lot worse.

"When the chancellor returned to his ship, two humans went there and killed him. And left me to take the blame."

"They framed you?"

"Yes. Though I don't think they expected me to go to the Klingon ship and offer help." Pause. "They being a conspiracy of Klingon and Federation officers who were convinced that it was better to let the war go on." He still isn't sure what role the Romulans played, so even here he will edit them out for now.

Steve's jaw clenches.

"Why?" he says in a flat voice. "Money? It always seems to come down to money."

"Fear of the future. Something I understand better than I wanted to admit. We'd all been used to seeing the other side as the enemy, and to justifying at least part of lives based on that. There's talk of the fleet being closed down, for example. Which is a foolish thing to think since our mission is supposed to be peaceful. But it's how we came to think. And how they came to think, even though a war would leave them with no hope of saving most of their own people." He shakes his head. At their stupidity. And his own.

Steve fidgets with his pencil. "Fear is slightly more understandable motivation...

"Does it ever seem to you like we just pay lip service to peace?"

"Sometimes. It is worth noting that in my day, peace is more the norm than in yours. Earth is not the same cauldron of hate you know. But when we get out there, even though we're supposed to seek peace at every chance, it doesn't always work that day.

"Especially with the Klingons, who have a warrior ethos somewhere between Sparta and ancient Japan." Or so he's been told. He will never know what to think of them, even if he gets past his prejudices.

"I was meant to be a perfect soldier," Steve says, "and I still find the warrior ethos to be self-defeating."

"The perfect soldier never asks questions, though. And that makes for a less than perfect human.

"And given the choice, I choose the human every time." Jim is not a warrior. He knows that. And it bothers him that it's still in his make-up somehow. Where did such outdated ideas come from?

"Steve smiles to himself and murmurs, "Yeah, I never got that part down."

He says after a moment, "Maybe it is something in human nature. The times I'm in now...as good as things can be, there's this ugliness... Maybe it was always there and was just hidden better when I was a kid."

"It's always there. The hard part is to confront it. To open your eyes to not just the ugliness in others but yourself. And then to say, today I will not give in.

"Which is harder than I ever believed." Did he really condemn a race to die because one member of that race killed his son? Did he really do that?

"But you do it, no matter how hard it is."

He pauses, studying Jim's face.

"Don't you?"

"In the end, I did. But it took going through hell to get there.

"And by hell, I mean a frozen penal colony where I was sent to die after being convicted of treason by a Klingon court. When you're left in a place like that, you have time to think." At least in between forced labor and unlikely escape.

Steve reaches over and rests his hand on Jim's shoulder a moment.

"I am so, so sorry."

"Thanks. But in the end, it managed to work out. If barely." He isn't sure he believes it yet. Might need a few weeks to see it clearly.

"How did it work out?"