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It's not that Jim doesn't love his mother because he does. Sure, she wasn't around for a whole lot of his childhood and he'd missed her every time she left to go up into the black, but he still loves her. She's his mother; he can't not love her.
That doesn't mean that it doesn't take him three weeks to work up the courage to send her a message after he leaves Iowa for San Francisco with nothing but the clothes on his back. He's not scared of her reaction, exactly, except that he is.
He's not sure how he's able to manage a live vid conference except he's pretty sure he now owes favors to three different comm officers, two of his mother's direct superior officers, and Captain Pike, but he figures that's a small price to pay to have this conversation out all at once and not spread out over weeks or months of recorded messages.
"Hey, Mom," he says, sitting up straight in the chair at the comm station. He's having sudden misgivings about wearing his reds for this, but it's not like his enlistment is going to be a secret for much longer, though he probably could have picked a more tactful way to break the news.
God, he's such an idiot sometimes.
Mom doesn't bother with a hello. Instead, she jumps straight into the interrogation, her tried and true approach when dealing long-distance with Jim for as long as he can remember. "When did you enlist, Jim?"
"A couple of weeks ago." He feels like he's twelve again, Frank sitting behind him while he tried to explain away wrecking Dad's car to Mom, light years away but still more than capable of leveling her disappointment at him. "It was kind of a sudden decision."
And Mom looks a little disappointed now, but not nearly as disappointed as she was a decade ago. "And you are the same James Kirk who told anyone who would listen that Vulcan would freeze before you'd join the organization that practically orphaned you, right?"
"That's a low blow, Mom." And, god, if that doesn't hit him where it hurts. He'd been newly fifteen and angry and Mom'd been gone again, so he'd hacked the lock on Frank's liquor cabinet and gotten drunk off his ass on cheap whisky before sending Mom a message he'd later barely remember composing, but would always regret. "You know I didn't really mean that. How many times do I have to apologize for being a stupid bastard?"
"Of course you meant it, Jim," Mom fires back, not as pissed as she was the first time they'd had this argument, but still angry. "Booze doesn't make you say things you weren't already thinking. It only makes it easier for you to say them."
Jim doesn't want to fight about this anymore. He knows she's right and he might not be able to admit that out loud yet, but he is capable to ending this now before it gets out of hand again.
"I didn't finagle this call to fight about that, Mom," he says after several deep breaths to calm himself.
"Then why did you call, Jim?" she asks and she sounds tired. She looks tired. For as long as Jim can remember, his mother's always been this larger than life persona, always just on the periphery of his life. Now, though, across light years and through modern vid conferencing technology, it's easy to see her as human, with the lines settling into the corners of her eyes and the gray liberally streaked through her braided hair. She's just a woman who survived circumstances that would have crushed a lesser person and it's easy to see her like that now.
"I wanted to let you know where I was so you wouldn't worry when you called the house and there wasn't an answer," he tells her, going for the simple answer. "I put everything on standby and locked it all up, so there should still be a house standing when you get back." He doesn't say that he called hoping to gain, not her permission because he's a grown man and doesn't need her permission for anything anymore, but her blessing, maybe even her approval, though he's not sure he'd ever admit that last part.
"I'm not worried about the house," she says with a small smile. "If you and your brother never managed to burn it down or blow it up while you were both living there, I've no doubt it'll survive while empty. Although, now that I think about it, there was that one time with the fireplace in the living room--"
"Mom!" Jim can feel his cheeks burning with embarrassment and curses his fair skin. He's always been quick to flush with anger or embarrassment; he only wishes it wasn't quite so visible to anyone with eyes. "You promised you'd never bring that up again!"
"It's a mother's prerogative to embarrass her children, promises notwithstanding," Mom says and her smile's almost blinding after her earlier anger and disappointment. "Besides, I don't get to make you blush all that often. I've got to take my chances when I get them."
"I'm sorry I didn't call you sooner," Jim says after a short silence, meeting Mom's eyes for the first time. "I didn't even know I was going to join until I did and after that…" He glances down at the console in front of him, unwilling to finish his thought: I didn't want to disappoint you.
"What changed your mind, Jim?"
And he knows she's not asking about the overdue call, but he still doesn't know how to answer her. Pike dared him to do better than his father and Jim hasn't turned down a dare since he was six years old, but that's probably not the answer his mother's looking for. He could tell her it was either Starfleet or prison, but he's sure she doesn't want to hear that, either.
"Jim?" He glances up and Mom looks so much like Sam did the last time Jim saw him nearly eight years ago now, weary and concerned and proud, that Jim finds himself speaking without considering his words. It's not a first for him by any means, but it's the first time he's done so with his mom in a long time.
"I was killing myself." He keeps his eyes glued on the console because he's not sure he'd be able to keep going if he looked at Mom right now. "Too much booze and too many fights and not enough of anything else. A trained monkey could've done my job. I was still living in the house I grew up in, alone, surrounded by all the shit left behind by everyone who'd already left. I think I was almost hoping to end up in prison to get away from it all for a little while."
"What changed your mind?" Mom asks again, her voice quiet and soothing and he remembers her voice sounding like this when he was a kid and she was home and she'd tell stories and sing to him and Sam every night before bed. He's missed it.
"Captain Pike looked up my record and threw it in my face after I had my ass handed to me by some of his cadets," he answers with rueful little laugh. "He told me I was better than that. He dared me to do better and you know me. Can't say no to a proposition like that."
Mom's sudden bark of laughter has Jim snapping his head up to see his mother's head bowed, her right hand over her mouth, her eyes bright. It takes a few minutes for her laughter to die down and then she says, still smiling bright enough to power a starship, "You joined Starfleet on a dare? Why am I not surprised?"
"Because you know me," he answers with his own smile.
"That I do," she agrees, her smile slipping away slowly. "And that's why I want you to promise me you'll be careful, Jim. No more stupid stunts. No more drunken brawling. Respect the uniform if not the person wearing it."
"I'll do my best," he says. He can tell that Mom noticed his dodge and lack of promise, but that's okay because he's fairly certain she wasn't actually expecting one even though she asked for it. She really does know him too well for that.
"I guess I'll take what I can get." She glances away from the screen for a moment. "I've gotta be going now. I'm glad you called me, Jimmy."
"Me, too."
"I love you." Her eyes are suspiciously bright, but Jim can't comment for fear of his own rapid blinking being called into question.
"Love you, too, Mom."
Only after the screen goes dark does Jim reach out and press his fingers to where his mother's face had been.
end