James Tiberius Kirk (
boldygoing) wrote2017-09-19 10:09 am
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L'shanah tovah [for losthunter]
Jim Kirk has not celebrated any holidays with his family for a very long time.
Sure, they started talking again after his enlistment in Starfleet made its way into several Earth newsfeeds, the usual media vultures seeking attention for their coverage of George Kirk's son returning to the fold, so to speak. Confined mostly to text-based messages, and a few short video calls, his grandparents have reached out to him over the past few years, trying to reconnect, to mend old fences, and giving a standing invitation to come visit whenever he's ready.
He's always had an excuse for not going, citing existing plans to spend time with Bones, to study for upcoming exams, or being out of the solar system on Starfleet business, among other things. But with the Enterprise still out of commission as her repairs and overhaul nears completion, and having spent several weeks sharing living space with his mother again, he can't really wiggle out of it this year.
Not that he's even sure he wants to, anymore.
His family life has never really been the poster child for well-adjusted people, but... they're still his family. And maybe it's time to stop running away from his problems and pretending they don't exist. He's not a traumatized thirteen-year-old anymore, overwhelmed and isolated in the knowledge that none of them can truly appreciate the horrors he lived through, lashing out at a world that allowed such things to happen to him. He's turned his life around, cleaned up his act, and started down a path that is far more important than just fulfilling his own wants, regardless of the legality. And this particular holiday seems like the appropriate time to try to make amends.
Fortunately, he doesn't have to deal with it alone.
Jim patiently waits just outside a public transporter terminal in the Chicago suburbs, sitting on a park bench. While still wearing civilian clothes, he's on the slightly more formal side of things today in a white dress shirt and dark pants, though he's not bothered to wear a tie. It's about mid-afternoon, and the streets are mildly busy with people out for a stroll or out running errands of some kind, a steady flow of foot traffic both on the sidewalks and beaming in and out at the transporter platforms. He idly watches them pass by, keeping an eye out for his expected guest, whose PINpoint coordinates should bring him out exactly where everyone expects people to appear out of nowhere.
Sure, they started talking again after his enlistment in Starfleet made its way into several Earth newsfeeds, the usual media vultures seeking attention for their coverage of George Kirk's son returning to the fold, so to speak. Confined mostly to text-based messages, and a few short video calls, his grandparents have reached out to him over the past few years, trying to reconnect, to mend old fences, and giving a standing invitation to come visit whenever he's ready.
He's always had an excuse for not going, citing existing plans to spend time with Bones, to study for upcoming exams, or being out of the solar system on Starfleet business, among other things. But with the Enterprise still out of commission as her repairs and overhaul nears completion, and having spent several weeks sharing living space with his mother again, he can't really wiggle out of it this year.
Not that he's even sure he wants to, anymore.
His family life has never really been the poster child for well-adjusted people, but... they're still his family. And maybe it's time to stop running away from his problems and pretending they don't exist. He's not a traumatized thirteen-year-old anymore, overwhelmed and isolated in the knowledge that none of them can truly appreciate the horrors he lived through, lashing out at a world that allowed such things to happen to him. He's turned his life around, cleaned up his act, and started down a path that is far more important than just fulfilling his own wants, regardless of the legality. And this particular holiday seems like the appropriate time to try to make amends.
Fortunately, he doesn't have to deal with it alone.
Jim patiently waits just outside a public transporter terminal in the Chicago suburbs, sitting on a park bench. While still wearing civilian clothes, he's on the slightly more formal side of things today in a white dress shirt and dark pants, though he's not bothered to wear a tie. It's about mid-afternoon, and the streets are mildly busy with people out for a stroll or out running errands of some kind, a steady flow of foot traffic both on the sidewalks and beaming in and out at the transporter platforms. He idly watches them pass by, keeping an eye out for his expected guest, whose PINpoint coordinates should bring him out exactly where everyone expects people to appear out of nowhere.
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"So, James, what was your role in Starfleet?" He asks Jim's grandfather.
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Winona looks a little worried, at that reminder. But Jim smiles, looking forward to the trip. "Thanks. They finally set the date for the Enterprise's rededication ceremony in February, so if everything goes according to plan, we should be shipping out not too much longer after that."
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"But I can't wait to learn about the adventures that he had, and the new places that he visited, and the new cultures that he was able to discover."
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"I don't want to lie, I wish you weren't going," Winona says, looking down at her empty plate so she doesn't have to make eye contact.
"Mom..."
"It's dangerous out there, Jim. Anything could..." She doesn't finish the thought, but she doesn't need to. There's only one way that sentence ends, only one person he knows she's really thinking about. "Five years is a long time."
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"I really don't think there is any job, or career out there that doesn't have some risk to it. Even as an artist, there is risks to my chosen job."
"But as much as I am going to miss him, I know that Jim is following his passion. And he has a good crew going with him."
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But the fact that it's also old, well-tread ground means that Jim is not going to allow himself to be drawn back into those same disagreements, not during the holiday of reconciliation. He's pretty sure that his mom doesn't even consciously intend to do it, driven by her worry for him, no matter how unreasonable he thinks it is. Yes, his job is dangerous. He's proven that more than once. But she's also in Starfleet, doing the same kind of job, and as Hunter has rightly pointed out, not having a dangerous job does not guarantee safety for anyone. It's his decision to make, his choice to take the risk.
"Five years is a long time," he agrees calmly. "Doesn't mean you can't get any messages from me in the meantime, every couple of weeks or so."
His mom looks a little surprised that he's even suggesting reaching out to her, but it's a grateful kind of surprise, hesitant as if doubting the sincerity of the offer yet hopeful that it is. Ruth looks between the three of them, Jim, Hunter, and Winona, and though she's never served in Starfleet, it's clear where Jim gets his diplomatic sense from. "That sounds like a wonderful idea, Jim," Ruth says.
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"I have a few portraits of Jim... if any of you would like one... just let me know." He will make sure that it is one of the ones that could hang in a family home.
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Winona still looks a little like she's waiting for the other shoe to drop, but nods a little. "I'd like that." She doesn't keep many personal items in her quarters on theColumbia, but maybe it's time to start.
Jim is really glad that Hunter is here to help defuse the tension, and leans into his touch in silent thanks.
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Hunter finishes the last of his meal. "This was delicious. You said there would be left-overs to take home?"
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It seems everyone is done with their food also, but before the meal is officially over, there's also one last ritual to perform. James stands and recites the birkat hamazon, using the shorter version out of respect for their guest, giving thanks for the bountiful meal that they've consumed.
Once that's done, Ruth whisks away the plates and other dishes before anyone gets it into their head that they need to help clean up. Hospitality is serious business in her household, and before she sets to loading the dirtied dishes into the sterilizer unit, she brings a few sealable containers to the table. "There's more of everything in the stasis field on the counter if you need it," she adds, gesturing towards the kitchen.
The containers aren't entirely like Tupperware, although they're similar in size and shape. Rather than plastic, they're made out of some kind of foreign polymer with locking lids, and a small switch on top allows the contents to be put in temporary stasis, so the food inside doesn't go bad as quickly as it would otherwise.
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"Thank you. I appreciate it."
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Doesn't mean he's going to turn down the extra food, of course.
He loads up his share of the containers with a bit of everything, enough to make at least two more meals, not too worried about whether any of the more savory dishes are touching each other and mixing up a bit. Aware that Hunter won't be able to ask about how they work in front of his family, he does lead by example, touching the switch on top once his containers are sealed.
It's... strange, but kind of nice, to be ending a meal with his family without any arguments having happened, or any resentment on his part.
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He doesn't know if that would ever possible with his father. That he could ever give Jim an important 'meet the family' moment in return.
"So are all the celebrations kept around the suppertime? Or is there something similar to the countdown to midnight?"
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"Nah, the Jewish calendar's a lunisolar one, so days start at sundown," Jim explains. "Back in ancient times, it was easier to figure out when sunset was than midnight."
"A lot of time during Rosh Hashanah is spent in the synagogue," Winona says, feeling bolstered enough to contribute to the conversation without treading on any touchy feelings. "There are long hours of services in the morning, lots of prayer, and blowing the shofar - a kind of trumpet made from a ram's horn, meant to wake us up spiritually for the renewal of the year. It's a pretty busy time; even Jews who aren't normally very observant usually make an exception for the High Holy Days."
"There's another tradition called tashlikh that a lot of people do," James adds with a grin. "You go down to a river or some other kind of flowing water and symbolically cast off your sins to be washed away, throwing pebbles or breadcrumbs into the water. It's a great excuse to feed ducks."
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"That tradition sounds like it would be very soothing to the soul."
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"Will your family be doing that ritual tonight?"
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Jim hadn't planned either way, so he just raises his eyebrows questioningly at Hunter. "Up to you. Nearest part of the river's a few minutes' walk though."
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"Just a walk by the river would be nice." Hunter smiles softly.
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"Will you be coming back afterwards, dear, or are you heading home?" Ruth asks.
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If nothing else, they won't have to worry about managing their leftovers.
"All right, you boys have a good walk," Ruth says, smiling somewhat knowingly at them.
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This new autocorrect is awful
lol
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