Not mine. Don't own.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

"Ouch."

Jim had managed to sober up a bit in the few hours since the fight and subsequent reaming from Pike, but it didn't do anything to improve his mood. Moping in the bar parking lot under a shabby light with only a bike for company probably wasn't so shit hot of a decision either.

"Fucking Cupcake." He kicked at the gravel and winced, because everything fucking hurt. The shoulder roll was met with resistance so he put more pressure on the rag that was halfway up his nostrils instead, tilting his head back to look at the barely lightening sky as much as stop the bleeding. He licked at his swollen lip, tasting blood and something that tasted like a bar rag. Sexy as all get out, Kirk. It was something of a joke around here that he liked pain. Untrue. He liked the fighting. The aftermath- not so much.

"Fucking Pike."

Pike. Now there was something to fume about. Starfleet bigshot. Calling him son. Acting like he knew about James T. Kirk, when the truth was that nobody knew dick about Jim Kirk, except for his record and the fact that he can't keep it in his pants. And Jim liked it that way.

"Fuck Pike." And his spit-slick hard sell shit. Genius level. Repeat offender. Join Starfleet so we can all sing songs of solidarity, Jim. Kum Bai Yah, Jim. We'll just gloss over the fact that you'll never pass the psychological evaluation, Jim. Yeah, fuck Pike.

Jim tentatively removed the rag from his face at looked at it, trying to discern if the bleeding had stopped or slowed or something. He tossed the mix of blood and motor lubricant to the side in revulsion, wishing, not for the first time, that he still smoked.

His hand went to his pocket instead, pulling out a set of keys. He tossed them in his hand, watching them catch the light. Yeah, he was pissed. "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." Who pulls that kind of shit out of their ass at a moment's notice?

That bastard.

He stood up with a groan, arching his back to get it to crack, and shifted uncomfortably as the feeling returned to his ass. Not like the cycle was going to do it any favors, anyway. Still scowling at the keys as if they offended him, Jim swung a leg up and straddled the bike.

Fucking Pike and his fucking cools lines. And everything.

The key stabbed into the ignition viciously; the touch pad activating the motor and the data screen, which had the time.

He could make it to the shuttle on time.

He winced again, but this time it had nothing to do with physical pain.

Hopefully, the ride would give him enough time to figure out something better to say than "You whistle really loud."

~*~*~

A few hours later, he was almost giddy. He was the shit. Do it in three.

Awesome.

They were exiting the ship. Him and his new friend, whatever, but they were a little wobbly on bourbon legs; well, him more wobbly from pain and the start of a hangover, and they were kind of falling against each other on the way out. He saw Pike at the entrance, greeting people- like a goddamn flight attendant. Better uniform, though.

Fucking Pike.

Show him, anyway. Jim smirked at Pike over a few people's heads and reveled in the way Pike's eyes narrowed in calculation. Pike was greeting the others by rote, but he was looking at Jim. Kinda pissy too. That's right old man. You don't know what you let yourself in for.

They shuffled closer, then they were there, and Pike said something to Johnny or Lenny or- fuck, Bones, then nodded at him, because he's James T. Fucking Kirk, never mind that he nodded at everyone else too.

"Cadet Kirk."

"Old man."

Pike stiffened a bit, and his eyes crinkled in that fucking way he had, which made Kirk's day.

"I haven't signed those slavery papers yet." Then he breezed by, making sure to pinch Pike on his still firm ass. Jim resisted the urge to look over his shoulder to see the expression on Pike's face. It was enough that he could feel eyes bore into the back of his neck as they half trotted, half scrambled down the- was it a gangplank?

His own laugh made him stumble, so he slung his arm over Bone's shoulder to steady himself, almost pulling them both down.

"Jeezus, kid." Bone's whiskey sour breath sighed against his cheek like fine grit sandpaper. "Don't try to fucking kill me this early."

"Doing a fine job of it on your own." Poor bastard. Sad sack with a bitch and a kid. Smart though.

Bone's just made a snorting sound of derision.

"So. I guess you usually top, right? Because of the kid and all."

"Jeezus, Kid!"

Jim laughed all the way into the welcome center, Bones sputtering as he was half-dragged along in his wake.

He could still feel Pike's eyes on him.

It was good to be Jim.

~*~*~*~

See, it went down like this. After a month of acclimatization, orientation, introductions to, physical inspections of and brain shrinking (which he was able to champion through like the bullshittingest of bullshitters that ever bullshit), he was assigned his advisor, and it was just not on. Feeble and wet, with a droning voice that hemmed and hawed at him until he thought he would gouge out his own eardrums just for some fucking relief. The guy must have reached captain by being a sychophantic ring-knocker, or giving a gold star blow job. Jim got up in the middle of the conversation, said a quick no thanks, and left, almost rejoicing in the mark that would surely go down in his record.

Later, he was kind of put out at the look of surprise on Pike's face when he slid into the chair before his desk and grinned. Thankfully, the surprise quickly morphed into irritation, and that was loads better.

"How the hell did I become your advisor? Last time I checked, you-"

"Checking up on me? You really do care." Jim swung back and forth again in the swivel chair, quite sure that it would drive Pike up a wall.

"I've taken up an interest in your career track. Now answer the question."

"Your secretary has a thing for blue eyes and a sob story." He batted his lashes. "Who am I to deny him what he wants?"

Pike huffed.

"Keep your shirt on. And don't get him in trouble. If he hadn't made the change I would have found another way. What can I say? I'm irresistible."

"That's not what I've been told." Pike was clearly not comfortable with the direction this conversation was taking. Crazy awesome.

"Checking up on my love life too?"

Pike's mouth firmed into a line of distaste. "Making sure you keep out of trouble. And quality-wise, there is a far cry between what you hit on and what you go home with."

"Ouch."

"Is there a reason for this visit, kid? Or are you just wasting my time?

Jim stopped swiveling and leaned forward on his elbows, suddenly intent. "Maybe I just wanted to see if you had a thing for blue eyes and sob stories too."

Pike rolled his eyes, then leaned back in his chair, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I am an old man, which means too old for this shit. Get to the point cadet."

"I want an accelerated command track."

Pike opened his eyes to see Kirk looking at him with complete seriousness. Christ almighty.

"You sure about that? It's a tough thing to do. No shame in taking the full four years."

"I can do it. I just need advisor approval."

And Pike thought: Maybe he can.

The resulting conversation lasted about half an hour, but it was probably the most surreal of Jim's life. Starfleet command. What the hell was he thinking?

"Kid, I don't know what's going on in that crazy head of yours, but if you keep this up, you'll be Captain before I can blink, and I- well, I'll be full grey."

Kirks' smirk was just this side of lecherous as he said, "Then it's a good thing I have the hots for older men, isn't it?"

"Get the fuck out of here. I'll have the paperwork sent to you."

Jim sighed in relief, and this time his smile was genuine. "Thanks old man."

Pike stood up, trying to look severe, and Kirk followed his example. "Show some decorum and respect, Cadet Kirk. I am your commanding officer. It's Captain Pike."

Kirk stood at attention. "Captain Pike."

"Dismissed Cadet."

Jim turned and strolled to the door. As he was leaving, Pike could have sworn he heard him mutter "Kinky."

Pike sat down, hunched over his desk and tried to rub away the headache encroaching on his temples. Then he reached for the communicator and pressed a button.

"Stephen! Get your ass in here."

He had a secretary to throttle.

~*~*~

It's a good idea to keep tabs on what Kirk is up to. Pike doesn't actually have spies, nothing so organized. He just has different people in different places that will give him a heads up on Kirk's status before they give a heads up to Starfleet security. Its not exactly regs, but he's not exactly a by the regs sort of guy, at least, not when it doesn't suit his purpose. Starfleet calls it a pain in the ass. He calls it pragmatism.

Its not really much of a surprise when he gets a call a week after reaming his secretary, but he had hoped the boy could hold out for longer. "Stupid brawling bastard."

He's too tired and rumpled from bed to care about the uniform, so he grabs some jeans and a pullover after rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He was going to a dive anyway. Probably a good idea to ditch the uniform, even if he feels like its sacrificing some little amount of authority in front of Kirk.

Pike snorts at the thought. As if the uniform impresses the little shit.

He's out the door and in the car in a matter of minutes, and if he wasn't already mad, he would be now, because he's going to have to find someplace to park this damned thing and the bars haven't even let out yet.

~*~*~*~

When he finally finds Kirk, he's next to the bar, sitting on the concrete and leaning against the brick façade as he nurses a tender cheek, one that's just beginning to flower into a nasty bruise. The flickering old-fashioned neon is making Kirk's pout look almost surreal. His friend is hovering near him, fidgety, and keeps looking at him with spasming hands as if he wants to do something. Pike can't tell if he wants to help him or kill him. He can sympathize with both.

"Son."

Kirk looks up, confused, as does his friend. It takes them a moment to realize who is speaking to them, but Kirk's friend is the only one to straighten up into some drunken semblance of attention. Kirk smirks, and regrets it instantly as the movement of his cheek telegraphs pain.

"Well, shit." The drawl is southern fried and slurred.

Pike looks at Kirk's friend, McCoy, he thinks- promising med student. "Yeah. That's about right."

Kirk just slumps back and groans.

"Both of you stay right here. You won't like it if I have to track your asses down. I'm going to go in and settle up. Smooth some things over. And you better believe that I don't like kissing bartender ass on your behalf."

Despite himself, McCoy actually smiles when Pike kicks Kirk in the leg before entering the bar.

~*~*~*~

The twenty minutes Pike took in the bar were uncomfortable, to say the least. Most of it was a tense, accusatory silence, until Bones just couldn't keep the question from tumbling from his lips.

"Jeezus, Jim. What the hell is a Captain doing cleaning up your goddamn mess? You should be in the brig. Ain't no way I'm gonna take a hit on my record because you don't know when to shut that damn fool lip of yours."

"Eh. I think he likes these damn fool lips. What can I say. I've got serious skills."

"You've got serious issues," Bones said fervently, before taking the flask out of his pocket. "And probably syphilis." He was about to take a swig when a hand reached out and plucked it from his grip.

"Hey-" Bones turned to find Pike, calmly spilling the rest of his whiskey onto the pavement before recapping the flask and smacking it against Bones' chest. Bones took it, looking gobsmacked.

"Well, at least one of your friends has a brain in his head. Too bad he wasn't using it half an hour ago."

Pike looked at McCoy. "I called you a cab. I suggest you take it."

He then turned to Kirk, eyes seething. "Follow me and get in the car." Jim opened his mouth, but Pike cut in before he could argue, or make a sexual advance. "Shut the fuck up. I'm doing the talking, and you're doing the listening. If you don't, I'll finish your beating then take you to the brig myself. On the charge of being a complete shithead."

Jim couldn't stop the small snigger that left his lips. Suddenly Pike was on him, pulling him up, twisting his bloody shirt around his neck, and squeezing, eye to eye and brutally serious.

"Don't. Test. Me."

Jim gurgled, then coughed as Pike dropped him like a sack of potatoes. Pike spun on his heel and started to walk away, expecting Kirk to follow. Jim scrambled up, glancing at Pike, then Bones, then back at the movement of Pike's perfect, perfect ass.

"Uh." Jim cleared his throat, then tried again. "Uh. Bye Bones." He launched himself into a painful jog to catch up with Pike.

"Yer an asshole, Jimmy!" Bones yelled at his retreating back.

"Tell me about it tomorrow." He didn't know if Bones heard him, and couldn't bring himself to care. Pike had smelled really, really good.

~*~*~*~*~

Pike's car was a low slung little rocket of a thing, black and faceted. He approached the driver door and said, "Chris Pike, double aught two three- passenger." The car blazed to life with a hum, inner console lighting, headlights on and automatically adjusting, both doors raising with a hydraulic whoosh.

"Oh, nice."

"Don't try to butter me up, kid. It's a car. Getting in and holding your tongue would impress me a hell of a lot more."

Kirk acquiesced, but his expression was mutinous as he adjusted his- five point!- safety harness.

"So would acting your age."

"I…" Jim started, but trailed off when Pike turned to stare at him. He shivered, and this time it had almost nothing to do with lust.

"So help me, if you don't let me speak my peace, I'm going to gag you. And believe me, whatever scenario your perverted little mind is coming up with, it isn't that one. You won't like it one bit, you childish control freak."

Kirk's mouth closed with a snap of teeth that were already fight loosened and aching.

Pike eased the car out of park, merging into traffic and headed down the street. He turned in a direction that Jim knew was the long way to the main campus.

The harness was a little too tight on his sore ribs, but that didn't stop him from hunkering down lower in the seat, prepared to let Pike's stupid fucking lecture roll over him. He could shed it like a duck sheds water.

He conveniently ignored the inner voice that asked him why he ended up joining Starfleet in the first place.

"Do you know how many credits I had to shell out back there? Your tab, and then some. You aren't allowed back." His fingers started tapping the wheel in agitation as he waited at a light. "I thought, if you joined, you'd stop this candy-ass autodestruct bullshit."

"You don't know why I decided to join."

"Well, you did. And now you're stuck, so suck it up. I'm sure you've had this conversation before, and from more convincing people than me. But I'm not looking for this to be the best lecture about being a dipshit fight magnet you've ever had. Only the last one."

Pike took off once more, and Kirk averted his eyes to stare out the window until Pike leaned over and thumped him in the temple. "You make no sense, son. If you can't fight or fuck, you have no idea what to do with yourself."

Pike cursed, braking as some guy cut him off in a little yellow two-seater.

"Well," He glanced over for a moment, "that ends now."

He paused to let that statement sink in, trying hard not to laugh as Kirk's frown deepened.

"You think too loud. Yes, it was a fucking ultimatum. Yes, you are going to follow it. I'm not going to piss around with any reverse psychology to jolly you along. I don't have the time or the patience, and I have more respect for your intellect than that."

Jim snorted.

"Don't. I've spoken to your professors. You impress the hell out of them when you aren't driving them to drink. Top of your class." He pointed a steady finger at Jim. "I hesitate to tell you this because you're already so full of yourself you might as well be fucking your double, but I know you have a brain in there when you choose to let it override your cock."

They were pulling into the campus now, security waving them through after recognizing Pike.

"But grades and a smile won't mean a thing if you get drummed out for fighting. You really want that? George Kirk's son couldn't hack the pressure, so he got booted? Oh, the hero's boy had emotional problems, so sad, have to pity him. Or, hey, my personal favorite- that backwoods Iowa redneck is back where he belongs, knee deep in cowshit and corn."

Jim's face was carefully blank.

"Be a slag all you want, son. Hell, give Admiral Archer a test drive for all I care. Just channel some of that self-hatred into something a little less likely to screw you over in the long run. It gets old. What may be charming now isn't going to be charming forever. And maybe by then there won't be anyone willing to take a chance on you."

Kirk seemed to shrink in on himself. There was a tense minute before he spoke. "I'm in the Cochrane dorm. South entrance."

"I know."

Kirk gave him a withering glare as they pulled into the long drive leading to student housing. "Fuck. How hard are you watching me? Can I even take a piss without you knowing?"

"Not likely."

That surprised a laugh out of Kirk, but there wasn't much humor in it.

Pike pulled up to the curb and hit the kill switch, but didn't make a move to open the door.

"You're not the fuck up you like people to think you are, but I'm not going to give you the chance to prove me wrong. So, yeah, I'm keeping an eye on you. Somebody has to."

Kirk makes a derisive sound in the back of his throat. "So. Should I call you Daddy?"

"You're definitely not that fucked up. Oedipal, more than anything."

Kirk's glare could have fried a nacelle.

"You think I don't know how much you fudged on that psych eval? I invented that dodge. I backdoored my way into your records and laughed my ass off over the horseshit they fell for. Bet you had the doc teary eyed with your heartfelt saccharine crap." The corner of Pike's mouth quirked up.

"You are one seriously messed up boy, but you definitely don't need a father figure, and I think you know that."

Kirk was silent, in thought for quite a while, and Pike left him to it. He was quietly surprised at how pensive Kirk seemed, brow knit as he chewed on his bottom lip, like he was really mulling over what Pike had said. It left him feeling a little giddy, that maybe some of his advice had penetrated the boy's thick skull for a change. Probably the first in a while to do so. He was so impressed with himself, he even let it slide when Kirk eventually spoke.

"So, no daddy complex. Does that mean no spankings?"

Pike would have been frustrated, but the question seemed automatic, as if Kirk was on autopilot. He decided to be magnanimous and consider it almost an apology for what the kid couldn't bring himself to say. To be fair, he had given the wretched little twerp a lot to mull over. Let him have his avoidance.

For now.

He just opened the door and pushed Kirk from the vehicle with a sigh. As much as he would like to spank some sense into the kid, he wasn't exactly feeling fatherly. And that stung.

When he was back on the road headed for home, he allowed himself a big exhale as he beat his skull against the headrest.

"Christ, Chris. What the hell are you thinking?"