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cjs_owndisclaimer. Not mine. Never have been and I'll only ever be playing in the sandbox.
title. No Matter What
rating. R for content
characters. Winona Kirk, Jim Kirk
summary. postpartum depression untreated in face of grief can do damage.
warnings. Discussion/mention of child abuse.
notes. Written for this prompt at![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
st_xi_kink.
Her face had been plastered across the news media as Captain George Kirk's widow; lost in the aftermath of the Kelvin's destruction, was the news of Jimmy's horrifically commemorable birth. And because of those two things - her face burnt into the memories of millions of people and the absence of an announcement about her newborn son - strangers would come up to her on the street, come to her San Francisco home, step in front of her car.
Alone in the world with a fatherless child, she'd secluded herself in what should have been a happy, calm Iowan house. Instead, she was constantly on the phone with Command, trying to drown out the cries of her infant son while discussing posts, orders, and research. And if not answering to her superiors, she was turning away any number of curious gawkers from her doorstep.
She'd told this to her mother when the elder woman had arrived at the home just before Jim's first birthday. Touch-starved, he'd clung to his grandmother as a limpet would, screaming if she put him down.
"Winona," She'd said, "Sweetheart... I know you didn't expect this kind of life, without George, but this is your son - look at him. Honey, I think you need to seriously think about quitt..."
"No. I'm not quitting Starfleet," Winona'd cut her off. "I just... He cries no matter what I do. Pick him up, put him down, feed him, change him, play, sing - all he does is scream and cry, Momma."
The next day while Jeanette watched over her grandson, tears quietly falling when the boy turned his attention to the scattered mess of toys, Winona had gone to the shipyard where she met a man. He'd said his name was Frank and when he made her smile, she'd known - he would be her second husband, a good father and as long as Jim had one parent that wasn't fucked up, he might actually forgive her for not being able to love him.
But hindsight was twenty-twenty. She later realized that maybe she should have noticed the way he'd never called Jim anything but "James" or the way he'd always gripped her boy's arm a little too tight. Away on missions for months at a time, she had often been distracted during their bi-weekly chats and missed the healing bruises and cuts.
Her heart broke to think back to the day he'd crashed George's car. So angered by the loss of something she had cherished as a tangible connection to her beloved husband, she'd returned home on emergency leave with the assumption that Jim would be home, sent to his room until Frank could reach her and they could decide punishment. Instead, she'd found no one at their residence and frantically called the authorities, who had directed her to the Riverside Hospital.
Before the doctor had finished talking about how badly beaten Jim was, she could no longer see anything besides red. Her vision was colored with it and a slideshow of old injuries flitted through her mind, words echoing over them.
Beaten. Life Support. Signs of previous abuse. Ongoing.
The police never held it against her - attacking Frank with one of their phasers - which was good because she never did recover the memory of doing so and it had already been set to stun, thank god, so no blood on her hands anyway.
It was the first and only time in Jim's life that she felt anything for the boy outside of cold affection and sadness.
title. No Matter What
rating. R for content
characters. Winona Kirk, Jim Kirk
summary. postpartum depression untreated in face of grief can do damage.
warnings. Discussion/mention of child abuse.
notes. Written for this prompt at
st_xi_kink.Her face had been plastered across the news media as Captain George Kirk's widow; lost in the aftermath of the Kelvin's destruction, was the news of Jimmy's horrifically commemorable birth. And because of those two things - her face burnt into the memories of millions of people and the absence of an announcement about her newborn son - strangers would come up to her on the street, come to her San Francisco home, step in front of her car.
Alone in the world with a fatherless child, she'd secluded herself in what should have been a happy, calm Iowan house. Instead, she was constantly on the phone with Command, trying to drown out the cries of her infant son while discussing posts, orders, and research. And if not answering to her superiors, she was turning away any number of curious gawkers from her doorstep.
She'd told this to her mother when the elder woman had arrived at the home just before Jim's first birthday. Touch-starved, he'd clung to his grandmother as a limpet would, screaming if she put him down.
"Winona," She'd said, "Sweetheart... I know you didn't expect this kind of life, without George, but this is your son - look at him. Honey, I think you need to seriously think about quitt..."
"No. I'm not quitting Starfleet," Winona'd cut her off. "I just... He cries no matter what I do. Pick him up, put him down, feed him, change him, play, sing - all he does is scream and cry, Momma."
The next day while Jeanette watched over her grandson, tears quietly falling when the boy turned his attention to the scattered mess of toys, Winona had gone to the shipyard where she met a man. He'd said his name was Frank and when he made her smile, she'd known - he would be her second husband, a good father and as long as Jim had one parent that wasn't fucked up, he might actually forgive her for not being able to love him.
But hindsight was twenty-twenty. She later realized that maybe she should have noticed the way he'd never called Jim anything but "James" or the way he'd always gripped her boy's arm a little too tight. Away on missions for months at a time, she had often been distracted during their bi-weekly chats and missed the healing bruises and cuts.
Her heart broke to think back to the day he'd crashed George's car. So angered by the loss of something she had cherished as a tangible connection to her beloved husband, she'd returned home on emergency leave with the assumption that Jim would be home, sent to his room until Frank could reach her and they could decide punishment. Instead, she'd found no one at their residence and frantically called the authorities, who had directed her to the Riverside Hospital.
Before the doctor had finished talking about how badly beaten Jim was, she could no longer see anything besides red. Her vision was colored with it and a slideshow of old injuries flitted through her mind, words echoing over them.
Beaten. Life Support. Signs of previous abuse. Ongoing.
The police never held it against her - attacking Frank with one of their phasers - which was good because she never did recover the memory of doing so and it had already been set to stun, thank god, so no blood on her hands anyway.
It was the first and only time in Jim's life that she felt anything for the boy outside of cold affection and sadness.
