Dislaimer: I do not own, I love.

Measure of a Man

Pike/Kirk

Starfleet - home to directives and discipline. Where leaders were made followers and the spoiled children of rich diplomats and politicians roamed the heavens with false ideas of grandeur and godhood.

It wasn't for him.

Jim Kirk liked his life and the live-and-let-die ways and the freedom that being a loner gave. "TEAMWORK" was a one-way ticket to martyrdom and the only person he wanted to look out for was himself. The universe didn't give a rat's ass about Jim Kirk. It had seen fit throw him every fucked-up situation that life could bring.

Starfleet killed George Kirk. And empty platitudes like "peace and intergalactic unity" were the excuses his mother used to cruise off-world so she wouldn't have to deal with the reality that her family was as dysfunctional as the ideals of the service that gave her a paycheck every month. His uncle and primary guardian was a hateful drunk who tried his damndest to be lord over someone since he couldn't control the somethings of his life (mainly that of keeping a fucking job, the sorry bastard). The one person Jim did look up to, his older brother Sam, had left him abandoned in the grips of the devil. Kirk had been made an unwilling sacrifice.

With a swift head-jerk he downed the fifth (sixth?) straight shot of Jack, slamming the small glass down on the bar slab and letting the liquor burn down his throat to replace his increasingly dark thoughts with those of what - or who - he would do next. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, his sharp blue eyes scanned the scene before him, visually cruising the plethora of able bodies around - male, female and more than a few off-worlders.

Sex was sex in all incarnations - it wasn't the who, it was the feeling, and most humanoid species tended to prefer the same methods - with some notable exceptions, of course. Pansexual was the term used now, replacing the "gay, straight, transgender, bi-sexual" labels of old. Nowadays lines were so blurred no one really thought much about who was what anyway. Some species reproduced asexually and others had more than two variations on gender. Kirk had never cared much for labels.

Rocky's Pub was a tiny shack in the ass end of Nowhere, Iowa. It always held a steady flow of Federation people, mostly from the nearby shipyards for the non-indigent where Starfleet built its vessels. The federation had chosen this place mainly for its ample supply of able-bodied blue-collar workers searching for an earned wage. Sure, one could live off all the social programs now in place, but, in this part of the country at least, people still liked to put their hands and their heads to use to at least feel like they earned it. The Federation's new utopia wasn't made for the average man - just for some liberal elites who felt that pity and handouts were better than hand-ups.

Contrary to his rap sheet, Kirk was NOT an idiot. In fact, if all his previous arresting officers would have taken the time to look deeper in his personal file, they would have seen his genius-level IQ scores and all of the invitations for him study at the planet's most prestigious universities, including Starfleet, which he'd tossed aside. Still, at some point, when folks in authority, including dear Uncle Frank, had told you you weren't shit, would never be shit, and shouldn't expect shit - even the strongest of minds started to believe a tiny bit of it after a time. Frank never hit him - that wasn't his style. Not that it mattered much anyway. Physical wounds always healed. But psychological ones were forever.

Still, he was a KIRK. And that came with more than its fair share of defiance. And, whenever James Kirk focused his attentions on something - good things almost always followed.

And at that moment, he saw something good approaching the bar as he downed his sixth (seventh?) shot of Jack. A tall, slender brown-skinned beauty was wending her way through the crowd, a megawatt smile spreading across a pretty face with high cheekbones.

The bright red uniform gave her allegiance away immediately. Starfleet fresh meat, he thought wryly as he turned to watch her order.

The music was loud and thumping and she had to yell over it - giving him ample time to watch her lips work as the vowels and consonants slipped out.

She'd definitely do for the night.

"I'd like a Clamidian fire tea, three Budweiser classics two Cardassian sunrises and-

"-the Slush-O mixes are good two," the bartender offered at the momentary pause.

"A Slush-O mix too - thank you."

His attention moved from the sight of gorgeous brown legs in the calf-length black boots and a little skirt - and he took the momentary pause in conversation to make his entrance.

"That's a lot of drinks for one woman."

She shot him a glance and turned back around to the front of the bar.

"And a shot of Jack - straight up!" she yelled to the nodding head of the bartender, who was busy mixing her order.

"Make that two - her shot's on me," he offered.

"Her shot's on her."

Feisty. This was one of those rare circumstanceswhere the object of his attentions put up a fight, but that was good too - he enjoyed the thrill of the chase just as much and it made the eventual conquest that much sweeter…and it WAS looking to be rather sweet.

"Don't you want to at least know my name before you reject me?" he tried, switching tactics to account for the unexpected, yet welcome turn of events.

"I'm fine without it."

"You are fine without it."

At the smile and shake of her head at his insistence, he grinned. She was even more appealing than he'd first thought and the fact she continued to resist his advances spurred him on.

"It's Uhura."

He mentally rolled the moniker over in his mind, letting the vowels and syllables slip around his tongue before he continued his teasing. His mind was being drawn away from between her legs and focusing instead on the intensity of their back-and-forth. She was turning him on - intellectual foreplay was even better than physical stimulation - especially when the one doing the stimulating was as stimulating as her.

"So, you're a cadet, you're stunning, what's your focus?" He shifted around to face her directly, angling his body in a way that he could stall her quicker should she attempt to leave.

"Xenolinguistics - you have no idea what that means."

Before she had even finished her sentence, his brain had already deconstructed the word according to root, suffix, prefix and order of origin and he was quick to the reply:

"The study of alien languages, morphology, syntax…" his voice dropped low as he leaned in closer, looking her in the eye.

"It means you have a talented tongue."

Seconds later, he was getting his ass handed to him by four sets of fists - the need to fight took over him and a sudden burst of adrenaline rendered him momentarily sober after the first hit connected to his jaw. The pain felt good, and even though he was outnumbered - he'd be damned if he didn't take a few of those sons of bitches down with him.

.

.

"You all right, son?"

He was splayed out on a table - white lights flashing in front of his eyes as the room slowly stopped spinning and ultimately came to a halt. His head pounded, and the club - formerly filled with music - was now much quieter, save for the sound of a broom and the tell-tale chinks of broken glass on the floor.

He winced in pain as she slowly slid down the corner of the table and rolled over - placing his feet back onto the floor. It was a minute before he focused enough to look up.

The man who had spoken was tall and rugged looking, dressed in the dark grey stiffly-pressed uniform of the service. The grey at his temples and the wrinkles around his eyes showed his age - but that was about it.

An authority figure.

"Yeah, I'm fine." Kirk grunted, bending down to dust himself off. "Who the hell are you?"

"Captain Christopher Pike."

Starfleet. As far as he was concerned, they had nothing to talk about.

He could feel his eye already beginning to swell and knew there'd be some nasty bruises in the morning. Looking around him at the scene of overturned chairs, broken glass and spilled drinks, he searched for a napkin to stop the blood from pouring out his nose. If it was broken, it wouldn't be the first time.

The uniformed man tilted his head to the side and studied him, as Kirk ignored him, turning his head and spotting a napkin on the nearby bar counter. Walking over he grabbed it. Spying his jacket on the floor nearby, he bent down and picked it up too. Where is my wallet?

On the table he'd just come from. As he approached, he ignored the single set of eyes burning into the back of his skull. He breathed deep and a sharp pang hit him, making him gasp aloud and forcing him into a chair while he tried to collect himself.

"Your father didn't believe in no-win scenarios." At the mention of his father, Kirk looked up sharply and snorted.

"Yeah. He sure learned that lesson, now didn't he?"

Depends on how you define victory. You're here, aren't you?"

At the obvious appeal to his perceived familial loyalty, Kirk laughed. It came out as a hoarse, choked snicker.

"Look Pike, I'm not interested in what you're trying to sell."

Pike took a seat in the chair across from him, resolve etched across his features. Kirk stared back, not backing down from his own position.

They looked at each other long and hard - each set in stubborn silence. Realizing he wasn't going to get anywhere, Pike sighed.

"Look kid. I looked up your file. You think just because your daddy died and life dealt you a bad hand you can just give up? Or do you stop being stupid long enough to believe you were meant for something more? Maybe you're satisfied being the only genius-level repeat offender in the Midwest."

"Maybe I love it," he shot back, ignoring the sting Pike's words had made on impact.

"Your father was captain of a starship for twelve minutes. He saved 800 lives. I dare you to do better. Shipyard, 0800 hours tomorrow."

As soon as the words left his mouth, Pike rose and turned to leave. The retort died on Kirk's lips, as the captain exited without casting a second-glance back at him - leaving him alone to look at the sagging structure and signs of destruction around him.

Was this really all there was ever going to be?

.

.

The shipyard buzzed with early-morning activity as crews arrived to begin clocking in for work. In the foreground, a large, looming skeleton of steel and fiberglass hung suspended by huge anti-grav units between rigs and cranes. It was far from glamorous, but the cadets and new recruits entering the small shuttlecraft in its shadow knew what it would one day be - and most of them aspired to be on it.

The Captain stood outside the craft, checking off the names as the bodies entered, one by one. By any of Starfleet's standards, this trip and been productive: he'd brought along the highest performing freshmen of their class and they'd paid off - He'd gotten one of the best doctors in the Southeast [if this is McCoy] whose professional resume virtually ensured him a place aboard a starship - if he could sober up enough and pass a psych exam. Two shipyard workers had signed up - both were heavily skilled in engineering and engine assembly - skills that Starfleet desperately needed, as engineers were always in much demand and short supply, and there were even a couple fresh-faced recent high school grads with high GPA's - alpha crop, looking to escape the corn fields and find refuge beyond the clouds.

Still, as he checked off the last name, he couldn't help but feel a pang of regret that the one element that made all the cogs in the wheel work together, was missing.

I should have tried harder, he thought ruefully, turning to head into the cockpit of the shuttle.

Just then, the loud popping of an engine throttle and marked the approach of a vehicle. He turned and squinted in the morning sunlight, seeing a motorcycle roar into the gates in their direction.

The corners of his lips turned up as the figure dismounted, and tossed his keys to an astonished-looking worker passing by.

"I can graduate in four years you say?" Kirk asked as he walked up to Pike, looking the older man dead in the eye.

"I'll do it in three."