Disclaimer in first chapter.┘┌┘┌┘┌┘┌
Crossing: Star Trek
Character: James T. Kirk
"Sometimes I-I wish I had an o-older brother... someone to look out for me, you know?" the little boy sniffled, grabbing the proffered tissue and blowing his nose loudly. He snorted with humorless laughter, eyes far too old for an eight-year-old, "While I'm at it, why don't I wish for parents who aren't drinking all the time. Parents who care.
The old woman beside him smiled, face transforming hideously: "Wish granted."
One subtle twist of reality later and the boy was gone. Police would later investigate the Harris's after complaints about their child's truancy were filed. Criminal abuse and neglect charges leading to a possible murder investigation would see that Tony and Jessica spent the rest of their miserable lives in prison.
Across town one lonely little redheaded girl sat up in bed crying, though she did not know why.
Halfrek cocked her head to one side, breathing in all the misery and pain this one wish had caused on both
sides of the equation. "Sweetie," she muttered, "if you survive that
then you have my blessings." Her smile was full of pointed blue teeth, "Not that the blessing of a demon is worth much..."┘┌┘┌┘┌┘┌
Miles and realities away, a little boy blinked as he was swept up into a protective hug. He didn't know what was going on -- wait, no... This felt... familiar? But why? Little Xander had never been hugged in his entire life, so why would this sensation fill him with comfort?
He blinked again and remembered a lifetime as the cherished son of two colonists: Jessica and Anthony Harris, botanists assigned to catalogue the flora of Tarsus IV.
He had barely a moment to respond to the hug before he felt a sudden jerk, and then he was falling to the ground. Screams and the blasts of phaser-fire echoed around him, but all he was aware of was the sight in front of him: the blank, brown eyes of his father. Another shriek tore his attention away from the cooling corpse, just in time for him to see a woman -- his mother -- throw herself in front of the blast meant to take his own life.
Xander sat, frozen in shock and terror as two uniformed troops came slowly towards him. He stared up at them with wide, terrified eyes -- strikingly similar to his father's -- as the one on the left raised his gun. The little boy couldn't see their faces, and for some reason that scared him more than the gun, he saw his own face: white, thin, and panicked, reflected back at him from their black visors, but he couldn't see their
Some small part of him rebelled against the fear and snarled its defiance, I should be able to see the faces of my executioners, my
Grimacing in anger he howled and threw himself at them, knocking the one who'd been about to shoot flat on his back. His little fists didn't make much of a dent against an adult, and he heard the shrill whine of the other soldier's phaser powering up.
Absently he heard a muffled grunt, and then a gurgling sound and then one strong arm was pulling him off his soldier, tugging him away. He struggled violently, kicking and biting, lashing out until he realized that the arm holding him were almost as skinny as his. He watched a second arm come into his line of vision, wielding a phaser, and shoot the soldier. The beam of red light fizzled, dimming as the man went limp.
As if the death of the soldier had been some secret signal, Xander went limp too. Tears were running down his face, not that he was aware of them. He slumped to his knees as the arm loosened, crawling over to the body of his mother and tugging ineffectually at her shoulder, trying to turn her.
"Look, kid," a high, piping tenor came from behind him, "we gotta head out. More men'll be coming soon."
Xander turned away from his mother and took in the other boy: he was taller and skinnier, with floppy blonde hair and big blue eyes. He looked to be about thirteen and seemed about as threatening as a puppy, all arms and legs and wide mouth... but there was something in his eyes, something Xander recognized: an anger, a hunger, a spirit of survival.
"You coming?" the boy asked.
"Will you teach me to shoot?"
The boy appeared surprised for a second, then -- for just a moment -- the hard look on his face dissolved into a delighted smile: "Kid after my own heart! What's your name?"
"Alexander Lavelle Harris, call me Xander."
"Well, Alexander Lavelle Harris -- my name is James Tiberius Kirk. Grab that other guy's gun and let's go." He turned towards the door, obviously expecting his instructions to be followed, "We gotta move fast and see if we can find any more survivors or stupid soldiers." Glancing back, he smiled at Xander calmly inspecting the gun. "Make sure it's set to red, we don't wanna have to face these guys again if we double back. Don't worry, red just means 'sto - "
what red means," the unchildlike-child interrupted harshly.
James paused, then nodded seriously, "Then shoot straight, Xan. I've got your back."┘┌┘┌┘┌┘┌
A/N: Like, love, loathe? Review! Suggestions welcome! (Next up: Deadpool!)