Don't believe in no-win scenarios

It's not that Jim forgot about the second present he gave Verity way back a month ago on her birthday. How could he forget, when he'd had to dig out the key to the house to get it replicated? It's sat out on his desk in his quarters every day since, a bold reminder that Jim Kirk was seriously doing this.

Jim Kirk was going to try to have a normal family. A family who celebrated (some) holidays. A family who came together. Not a relationship. Hell no. But...you know..siblings? A family? He almost worried Sam or his mother would try to reach out to him. Thankfully no such messages yet. Which means Jim is free to spend time with the people he actually wants in his life.

And that means getting Thanksgiving put together.

He'll call Clint later. First things first. Calling Big Sister.

"Verity? It's Jim. You busy?"

There's a message stuck to a door, last door on the left of a certain apartment complex in a certain New York. It's replicated paper, definitely a different sort of feel to it than one would expect in 2013.

Paper isn't the preferred message delivery device in the 2250s. Replicated paper and replicated ink.

Clint

Head to my place when you get this. Bring Ver.

Bones knows you're coming, he'll get you where you need to go. Don't bring your bow, we're not leaving home.

See you soon hopefully,

Jim


((Feel free to post without me until you guys actually get through the door to the Enterprise. I'm stuck in training/meetings and won't have another solid break for 2.5/3 hours from now. Will post actively after that time.))

New York circa 2013 isn't such a bad place, Jim has decided. There's so much to take in and watch that he's certain he could be kept busy for months on end just trying to learn everything he could. Clint had explained currency to him today--Jim knew what it was, just not how it all divvied up. He'd done a bit of research on a clunky old machine Clint had told him the name of and Jim had subsequently forgotten. Some kind of ancient PADD device on an obsolete web browser.

Some girl had shown up hassling Clint about something or another a while ago, and the archer had assured Jim he wouldn't be gone long and left. She was too young for Jim to pay much attention to, and Clint didn't need Jim tagging along for every babysitting job he ended up getting drug off to. Or it was a neighbor asking him about a leak in their ceiling, in which case Jim was just a jerk.

Wooden stairs creaked in protest when Jim finally left the apartment building, being careful to lock up with the spare key he'd gotten from Clint that was stowed safely in the pocket of his purple sweatshirt he was borrowing. Eggs again for the third day in a row didn't seem appealing, and Clint had given him a bit of money, so Jim is heading down to the corner to grab a bite of whatever awesome smelling food was being sold by the vendor he'd been watching from the window for three days now.

"Bro, look! At the corner by the falafel stand bro!"

There, at the corner, was a scruffy short haired blond in a purple sweatshirt and sweatpants, fumbling in his pocket for the correct change to pay for his order. Truly, an easier target would never happen. He didn't even look like he'd had his morning coffee yet. (Jim hadn't). The next thing Jim knows, his delicious smelling food is strewn on the street as a couple thugs in tracksuits drag Jim off into an alley trying to beat the shit out of him.

"What the hell?!" That was his breakfast, assholes!