Even drunk and bloodied, James looked like his father. The same swagger, the same arrogance. That same fuck you smirk, like they were laughing at some cosmic joke no one else could hear. For a handful of seconds, looking at James had been like going back in time twenty years, like looking at a ghost. Pike's heart lurched sharply in his chest. He wondered what George would have thought of the bright, angry, hurting young man inside the bar who had George's eyes and Winona's stubbornness. He wondered what George would think about Chris encouraging Jim to join Starfleet, to follow in his father's footsteps. Once upon a time, Chris and George had made a pact to serve together, to explore the galaxy and protect the Federation from anyone who would dare to threaten it. Once upon a time, they'd made an old-fashioned oath, sworn in blood, that their friendship would endure even if they served on different ships in different sectors, that they'd find a way to watch out for each other, even if light-years separated them. They'd never even had a chance to put those oaths to the test, but maybe, just maybe, Pike could still do his part. He'd look out for George's son, kick Jim's ass when needed and give encouragement when needed and guide him towards a future that George'd never had. Chris could think of no better tribute to one of the brightest, best men he'd ever known.
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