Story [Star Trek 2009] "With hands like his Father's" Kirk Vignette

?With hands like his Father's?

Genre: Drama, Family
Rating: G
Time Frame: Missing scenes, of a sort
Characters: James T. Kirk, Winona Kirk

Summary: He's wearing Captain's gold with a hero's medal at his chest when he makes his way to a forgotten corner of Iowa once again . . . In some ways, it was like his feet never forgot the steps.

Notes: After seeing Winona fall apart so completely after George's death, I wanted some closure between her and her son. So . . . here we go.

Disclaimer: Nope. Nada. Nothing is mine.

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[i]?With Hands like his Father's?
by Mira_Jade[/i]

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The night before he set out for Starfleet, he first made his way home.

The Iowa farm was aching and wide in the early hours of the morning, mournful almost as the dry lands were ruffled by a lazy fall wind. The rustle of the hoverbike against the gravel drive was as familiar as his own name, and the creak of the back door was even more so as he slumped inside. His steps were quiet, careful to avoid the loose planks in the floors that would alert the house's one other occupant to his presence.

Bringing his hand up to his nose, he was dismayed to still find blood there. With a muffled curse, he went to the kitchen sink, halfheartedly wiping at the blood on his face ? a memento of another scuffle survived, of feelings felt. He glanced at the scarlet staining his shirt with an almost amused gaze, wondering if he should let that be or change before heading for Riverside in the morning . . .

He was still undecided when there were soft footsteps whispering behind him against the hardwood floors. There was the faint caress of a robe being tied with tired hands and the familiar touch of a soft hand to the switch that brought the lights to life.

?You came home tonight,? Winona Kirk's voice was tired. A surprise loitered on it's edges that bore no welcome, no joy.

He shrugged once before turning to look his mother full in the eye.

The years had not been kind to a once breathtaking beauty ? the spark about her eyes that had been defined by stars and far off worlds was now dull and worn by solid ground. Her hair hung limply around her too thin face, catching at the premature lines about her eyes. When she raised a willowy hand to push it away, it responded limply to the coaxing. Colored in the violet from the night beyond and the stark white of the kitchen lights, she almost looked like something otherworldly ? ready to blow away with merely a touch.

He sighed once, and went to wring out a rag in the sink. ?I'll be gone in the morning,? was all that he told her ? assured her of. He was rarely home anymore ? wasn't sure if he could even call it a home, really. It was merely a bed and a meal when he ran out of other places to crash at.

?You can stay, you know.? Her tone was a bit of a chide, a bit of a routine thing that had long since given up on actual sincerity.

He paused his movements in the sink as he considered telling her where he was going. ?You don't have to say things you don't mean, ma,? he ended up saying instead. The words were a release as much as they were a baited breath ? the little kid waiting by the window for the sign of his mom in the stars above all over again.

If she heard it, she gave no note. ?But I do, Jim. You have to know that, after all this time.?

He paused, and when further words were none forthcoming, he snorted. He threw the rag back down in the sink with a disgusted sort of gesture, deciding to leave the blood where it was. It was best that the stiffs in uniforms knew up front [i]exactly[/i] what they were getting into with recruiting him, anyway . . .

?I'm leaving for Riverside in the morning.? The words were sharp, clipped. A mere parting of information rather than anything else.

Winona blinked ? the same look she had when he had told her about Frank's tempers as a child, and the look she had worn when his brother finally took off. It was a look saved for her and his father's anniversaries and