"You wrecked your own place," Jim said with more fondness in his voice than there was amusement. "Just like a drunken frat boy left to his own devices." ...coming, of course, from someone who'd been that drunken frat boy.
Seeing her was a relief, even if he didn't remember what it had been like to be fifteen again, or what it was like to be the Admiral Kirk that old Spock had been so familiar with; that man that he both wanted nothing to do with and wanted to be like so badly at the same time. It was an odd sort of conflict. He wasn't that James Kirk, he knew he wasn't, but at the same time...he craved to have that sort of greatness surrounding him that so easily gained respect and admiration from everyone here who was familiar with that television show. To be told he'd been the man for a period of time and to have woken up in his uniform? It was...surreal, to say the least; and an experience he couldn't help but feel cheated out of.
He shrugged out of that awful red jacket, so that he was left in just that long-sleeved white shirt with the awkward and thick collar, holding the too-red thing out so he could stare at it. "...Starfleet really wore these for a while?"