No one had ever told him what to do no one had laid down the law pointed out right from wrong and told him what to do the way kids should've been from birth but that was what fathers were for weren't they and he had certainly had a large gap in his life where in another universe a father would have fit nicely so who was going to tell him what to do? His mother? She hardly had a handle on herself after Jim was born let alone her two sons. The fact was no one, no one at all had told little James Kirk that respect was vital and a sharp mouth was offensive and opinions were wrong. So why it was that anyone looked at him with distaste with disappointment with defensive glares had always been beyond him. How could you blame ac child who had never been taught who didn't have the resources? He had posed the same question during church school once. "What about the kids who never learn about Jesus, do they go to heaven when they die?"

"Well the only way to get to heaven is to believe."

"But they didn't know, no one told them it's not their fault they don't know!"

"I'm sure God makes exceptions, Jim."

So if God could make exceptions and people were supposed to strive to be God why couldn't they make exceptions for him why was it his fault he didn't have parents or mentors or anyone who loved him enough to break down the way the world worked so that he might have a chance of succeeding, just a small chance of making something of himself – something someone would be proud of. He used to dream about getting lost in a city full of people and he would cry and scream but the few looks he got were of disdain, disgust, disregard, as though they couldn't believe a young boy would ever conduct himself in such a manner. But he was lost and cold and alone and scared and why wouldn't they help him he's lost he never meant to be but oh God he is and no one will help him. And the isolation he felt deep in his core after the dream would stay with him when he quietly woke up, cold sweat plastering hair to his forehead. And he would walk stiffly to the living room where his mother would be yelling at a red faced George, her eyes watering and face tearing in a grief he didn't yet understand as a young boy but damn did he feel the thickness of it in the room, choking out anyone who dared breathe. And one night he would tell his brother in the strange quiet of the night when his eyes had been watering,

"Don't ever leave me here George."

"I wouldn't."

"Promise," and his tiny voice broke on the small word he had held in his heart for so long.

"I promise."

And when he woke up George's dresser was empty and that was when he learned that it was easy to lie especially if the person you were lying to wanted nothing more than to believe everything you were saying. It was the only thing his family had ever taught him.

Jim shot up in his bed, rubbing his hands on the sides of his face demanding of his mind a happier set of thoughts. His daily quota of self pity had been more than sufficiently filled for the day. He had hardly woken up and yet already his mind was bombarding itself with regrets and injustices. He was too young for this bullshit.

He glanced at the clock through half lidded eyes and sighed in aggravation to an indifferent room. He gripped his sides with opposite arms, almost as if giving himself a hug and tried to motivate his body to get up. Come on, he had to get up. He was captain for fucks sake and this was his job no one cared about his shitty childhood or the respect he had earned but had yet to receive he had to get up.

And so, like every other morning, he did. Some small thought pushed him from the covers and over the cold floor to a brightly lit bathroom that hurt his eyes and he stood there for a moment wondering what the thought could've been.

He looked tired and cold and lonely in the mirror and thought of that one song from Mulan and how it did not apply to him at all. His reflection showed a little boy too afraid to grow up and grow attached and that was exactly how he felt at night when breathing became difficult and dreams scared him more than missions and memories were pushed aside to deal with at some undetermined time.

But once he had thought of it the song was stuck in his head and he hummed it all the way down to the bridge, realizing he only knew a handful of the lyrics. That was going to get annoying. Maybe he would look them up later just to satisfy his curiosity. Or maybe he would learn to refrain from comparing his life to Disney movies in the future.

"Captain on the bridge," called Chekov, and he wondered if it was some sort of competition to say it first because the kid had a self satisfied smile on his face when Jim sat in the chair.

"Update, Mr. Sulu?"

Jim swiveled to face his leading pilot and was met with a cheery but worn face. He wondered when Sulu got off shift and if he slept when he did. If he could sleep. They were a ship of broken down mental cases as no one had been spared the grief that came with genocide and he often wondered how much it haunted the rest of the crew because when he closed his own eyes flashes of a consumed planet still played with the horrific soundtrack of screams he had only imagined. It was a wonder no one had jumped ship yet.

"About 48 hours away from Earth, sir," Sulu responded with a smile in his tone and a hope behind his eyes that Jim wasn't sure the man had ever lost. He was probably just glad to be alive. After all, he had nearly died attempting to stop the destruction. And Jim had saved him. At least he'd had enough sense to do that.

"Great. How long have you been here, Sulu?"

"12 hours, sir."

"Jesus, go sleep. We can handle this. Nothing but smooth sailing from here, right Chekov?"

"Right, sir," the ensign replied cheerfully.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes I'm sure, go." Jim waved him away good naturedly. He wished some days that he could make every wrong thing with the people on board this ship right but helping the small things was nice, too. Sulu gave him a grateful smile, tilted his head, and made his way out.

Jim looked around at the people left sitting, standing, mumbling to themselves. There was a shroud of relaxation that seemed settled around them all and Jim felt a small breathe leave him. The raised shoulders and rigid movements that had been so typical of any visible person on board seemed gone, or at least less prominent. And he knew why.

They were going home. Well, home for most of them anyway. Home for the holidays, wasn't that how the song went?

Chekov said something to a young ensign passing and she giggled and Jim smirked. They really were getting on alright. Maybe he had managed to shoulder the majority of the pain that had come with the past years on mission and that was good. He was strong enough to handle it, he knew he was. God willing his people would be smiling brightly more than he would be secretly regretting and that was all he could ask for. The only Christmas present he needed was his crew's sanity and that seemed possible for once.

"Morning, Spock," he said to the turned back, hunched over the science station. The Vulcan picked up his head and turned partially towards his captain.

"There is no relative time in space, captain, as I'm sure you know, therefore morning is a subjective term," he responded by way of greeting. Jim could only see the side of his face but knew that he was pulling his leg. Despite his constant strive for emotional incapability, Spock remained funny.

"Of course, how human of me," he laughed, crossed one leg over the other and swerved his chair back to face the vastness of space. The black seemed all consuming and Jim couldn't help but think that it was because it had swallowed many things before, he had watched it happen and where did they go? Of course he knew the answer was supposed to be nowhere. Space itself was curved and it stored the heavy things in bubbles so tightly curled they could not see them, could not distinguish them from the rest of what they saw. And yet there was another Spock sitting on a Vulcan colony some tens of light years away that said otherwise. Space is disease and danger wrapped in darkness and silence, he heard Bones say from somewhere in the past. Of course it was. He knew that. That's why he was there.

"Lt. Uhura," Jim called over his shoulder.

"Yes, sir?"

"What are you doing for Christmas?"

"If that's an invitation, sir –"

"No, no," he laughed lightly on the words. The assumption only pricked him a little in a deep place hidden away, "I'm just curious, I promise."

She looked him over skeptically. Uhura was always kind and caring and protective, just not always towards Jim. She had reason, of course, to be wary of him. He wasn't saying her suspicion wasn't justified, he only wished she could let it go one day, that they would be friends – good friends even – he would like that.

"I'm going to stay with my mother," she answered after a moment, a small smile hidden behind her eyes. She had wonderful eyes, and such an intelligent mind that even without her predisposed attractiveness Jim was almost completely sure she would still be the hottest girl on board.

Jim smiled, nodded. He liked knowing things about people. Little things, big things, either way they made up an entire existence that he could only get a vague understanding of in his short acquaintance with them. It was nice to know that all around him were tiny worlds existing all by themselves inside of people's heads. Comforting, almost, to know life was much bigger than him. And maybe that was another reason he was sitting on this God forsaken ship, surrounded by a soundless planet swallowing vacuum. It was a forced perspective.

"What about you, Captain?" She asked warmly, quietly, after a moment. Jim looked up, surprised.

"I'll see when I get there," he said nonchalantly with a wave of his hand, a smirk on his face. She looked sad for a moment, pitying, and Jim was taken aback by it. But the look was gone a moment later and she rolled her eyes as she always did when he said something unnecessarily suave.

"What are you gunna do, Jimmmy?" an angry voice rang in his head, "You fucked it all up, where are you gunna go now? No one'll take ya!"

"I'll see when I get there," he answered calmly, a fire behind his eyes.

And she cried but she had no right to the tears.