Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Sixteen Days to Earth

Jim hurt. Everywhere. His chest, his side, his back, his legs, his hands… hell, even his teeth hurt. 

It was his own fault and he knew it-- well, some of it was; multiple attacks by angry Romulans was more of an occupational hazard than it was a direct response to anything Jim had done personally--  but that didn’t help much when any movement sent flares of pain shooting along his nerves. The unpredictability of it all had him shaky and on edge, and his stomach reacted nauseatingly to the ever fluctuating combination of lingering adrenaline and exhaustion that he kept flipping between. His body wanted nothing more than to rest, but his mind had yet to release the anticipatory tension of expecting another catastrophe to strike at any moment, and the anxiety it caused had nestled firmly in his chest, right behind his sternum. The phantom pressure did little to help his sore and damaged torso, and the constant back and forth of emotions was doing nothing for his headache.

The guilt certainly wasn’t helping matters, either. 

Listing to the side in the sleek black and silver captain's chair–- which he still couldn’t quite believe no one was yelling at him to get out of–- to try to relieve some of the pressure on his ribs, he fought back a grimace and softly called out, “Status report. Uhura?” 

Weary with exhaustion but sitting tall and sure as always she glanced sidelong at him from her console, eyes flicking up and down and no doubt unimpressed by his slouch. “Still nothing. We won’t be in range for a good while yet, and the power for anything longer range has been diverted to compensate for the lack of warp capabilities.” 

He nodded, rubbing at his own tired eyes with a stiff and aching hand. The dirty and hastily applied bandages wrapped around his palm caught uncomfortably on his skin. “Well, thank you. Keep trying. Are we still holding on course to Earth, Mr. Sulu?” 

Sulu didn’t turn from his position. He remained facing forward, eyes fixed on the cracked and damaged viewscreen and the stars drifting past. “Aye, sir.” 

Jim jolted a little at the honorific. It would take some getting used to. Not that he’d really have time to adjust before they were back on earth and he went back to being a cadet on academic probation instead of a stowaway with a field promotion. Nodding in reply to Sulu’s answer, he let his gaze roam over the ragtag crew and felt another wave of anxiety slam into his gut. They were just a bunch of kids. With the exception of the few remaining higher ranking officers on board-- and of course not including himself, Bones, the handful of other slightly older recruits-- most of the people onboard had yet to see their twenty-fourth birthday. 

And they were all that was left. 

Half the ‘fleet, gone in an instant. 

Jesus . 

He couldn’t think about that. Not now. First things first, he had to get what was left of the crew home safely. Then he could mourn. 

Some of the crew had gotten a jump on that already. He’d had to send at least four weepy, exhausted ensigns off shift in the first few hours. After the fifth one ending up requiring a sedative when he had a panic attack in engineering, Jim had gotten a comm from a disgruntled and overworked Bones demanding that he “figure out which of these goddamn kids can pull it together and do their jobs and which ones are more of a liability than they could afford right now” and then promptly get “his own damn fool self” down to MedBay for evaluation. 

Jim had promptly seen to the first demand, putting out a ship wide comm for anyone who felt too emotionally compromised or physically impaired to perform optimally to remove themselves for a mandatory six hour reprieve, and just as quickly ignored the second. He’d been through far worse, and there were others who needed medical attention far more urgently than he did, not the least of which being the Vulcan refugees onboard. Jim knew his body and his limits, and he was fine, even if everything was sort of blending into a haze of pain in the background.

Sure, his ribs hurt but they weren’t broken-- probably. At least, he didn’t think they were; they were missing the stabbing pain that usually accompanied full breaks, and he wasn’t having trouble breathing beyond the dull ache of his bruised torso when he inhaled. And exhaled. And held his breath. But he was pretty sure they weren’t broken. Fractured, maybe. Probably just badly bruised. 

His left hand was broken, though. He could feel the bones shifting together whenever he forgot and tried to use it. And there was a decent possibility his orbital socket was broken as well, but that wasn’t bothering him much compared to his throat-- god, his throat hurt like a bitch, he would never, ever piss Spock off like that again, that was for damn sure-- and everything else. And yeah, he’d probably be pissing blood for a week after getting kicked around and slammed into the console. And the drill pad. And the various surfaces of the Narada. 

But he could deal with it. He was fine. 

Or so he had been telling himself for the past eight hours. Bones had sent him no fewer than three follow up demands, each slightly more threatening than the one before, but Jim knew that if he waited it out the doctor’s attention would be occupied by some other incoming urgent matter, and he would have successfully bought himself another hour or two. 

He knew it couldn’t last forever, but he’d take what he could get. With so many of the crew indisposed due to injury or trauma, they had more than enough to worry about without their third-in-line hastily promoted acting captain bailing on them mid-shift. Or… mid second shift. 

Third? 

He’d lost track.

He had to admit, he was impressed by the stamina of the crew. Those who hadn’t taken first reprieve had stayed at their posts, backs straight and tall, fixed and focused on the work at hand without so much as a word of complaint. And now, well into their second-- third?-- consecutive on-duty shifts, they still sat poised and ready at their stations. 

For a bunch of green officers under ever-changing CO’s, they hadn’t done half bad if he did say so himself. They followed orders quickly and efficiently, and they clearly weren’t afraid of hard work in the face of impossible odds. They’d make a hell of an official crew someday. 

He blinked himself out of his thoughts as an ensign approached him, PADD in hand. 

“Newest reports from engineering, Captain,” the young woman said softly as she extended the device to him, not quite meeting his eye but fixing her gaze just a bit lower. She was probably distracted by what he knew had to be some pretty livid bruises decorating his face. He observed her in return. Her engineering uniform was singed in a few places, and her light colored hair was unraveling from the braid hanging over her shoulder. She looked as exhausted as he felt, with dark smudges under her eyes marring her otherwise pale complexion. Jim was sure he looked no better. He shifted his weight onto his left arm, reaching gingerly for the PADD with his right. He forced his expression to remain neutral as his ribs protested. 

“Thank you, Ensign--?” he trailed off, waiting for her reply. The words grated in his throat and he fought back the urge to cough. His ribs certainly wouldn’t thank him for that. 

“Oh, Rogers, sir!” she answered in surprise after a moment, eyes darting up from where she’d been staring at his no doubt thoroughly bruised neck. 

Jim nodded to her as he took the PADD. “Thank you, Ensign Rogers. I appreciate it.” She gave him a small smile before returning to the turbolift to report to the lower decks. 

From his right, he heard Uhura call, “Sir, if you need any help deciphering those documents, I think that--” 

Jim waved a hand over his shoulder in acknowledgement-- a bad idea, he realized as his shoulder twinged painfully; really, he should just stop moving-- “Thank you,” he croaked, voice gravelly and rough, “but I got it.” 

He felt more than heard her disbelief, though if he wasn’t mistaken she did scoff under her breath at his reply. Or maybe that was just the ringing in his ears. God, his head hurt. 

Jim brushed away the slight sting of disappointment at Uhura’s lack of faith in him-- even now, after everything-- and glanced over the reports. 

Not much had changed since their initial escape from being sucked into a giant black hole of doom. He swallowed back a slightly hysterical giggle at the thought, because seriously? How the hell did that even happen? But, sobering quickly, he continued reading. He knew exactly how it happened, and what it had caused.

What it had cost them. 

What it has cost him . 

He forced away the melancholy thoughts that threatened to creep in and read on.

No warp meant they would likely not reach earth for another sixteen days. Any power that could be diverted to the engines had been, and what remained was directed to life support systems, medical equipment, replicator function, and crew quarters, in that order. The replicators wouldn’t be able to function at full capacity, and with the addition of the vulcan refugees, it was advised that rationing be considered and that certain selections be reserved for their guests out of respect for their dietary requirements.

Jim signed off on that with little hesitation and a slightly shaking hand which had nothing to do with the pain. They were not going to run out of food, it was fine.

All remaining crew members had been assigned to quarters on decks three through five to further ensure that power was correctly distributed and not going to waste in what were now unoccupied rooms. Power would not be disconnected from the remaining decks in order to be sure that environmental and atmospheric systems remained online, but the unused crew’s quarters on those decks would be stripped of auxiliary power in the meantime; no heat, no lights, no appliances. 

Jim scrawled his signature with an amendment note for Scotty to do what he could to see that the guest quarters assigned to the refugees be made more temperate. Vulcan was hot as hell, and a starship wasn’t exactly the warmest place to be at the best of times. He didn’t want these people-- who were already in so much pain-- to suffer any more than they had to if he could help it. The least they could do was keep them comfortable. 

Well, as comfortable as they could be given that their home and most of the people they had known were gone forever. 

A rush of grief swept over him, so powerful and unexpected that he couldn’t help the gasp that tore out of him at the intensity of it. My people, my planet, my home-- gone, gone, gone--

But just as quickly as it had come, it vanished. 

What the fuck?

Breathing shakily as he willed his heart rate to settle, his eyes darted around the bridge. He’d drawn a few stares with his sudden dramatics, but everyone quickly averted their eyes as he looked around. He cleared his throat awkwardly against the sudden added tightness there and fired off the last few reports, breathing carefully through his nose as he forced down the adrenaline. 

Too bad breathing still hurt. 

He felt sweat beading in his hairline as his body protested the rapid fluctuations in emotion, the pain, and the carefully contained tension thrumming through him, and swiped at his forehead with his sleeve, fidgeting in his seat as he searched for a more comfortable position. 

Sighing through his nose, he realized he wasn’t likely to find one and settled his weight against his elbows on the armrests, hoping he wasn’t drawing too much attention to himself. No such luck. Feeling someone’s eyes on him, he looked up and stopped short with a pang of self-consciousness as he realized Spock was staring right at him, his expression carefully neutral. 

Jim flashed a hint of an embarrassed smile at his first officer, who-- now that he thought about it-- hadn’t spoken to him since they ejected the warp cores. They’d returned to their stations and Spock hadn’t so much as glanced in his direction since. 

Until now. 

Spock held his gaze for a moment, brows furrowing slightly in some unreadable expression, before he straightened his spine and turned away in a clear dismissal. 

And okay, Jim hadn’t expected that rushing off into danger on a suicide mission would make them sudden bosom buddies or anything-- okay, maybe a little bit. In his experience saving lives together usually formed at least some kind of a bond, or at the very least warranted civility-- but he wasn’t expecting to be so plainly and deliberately ignored, either. The snub hurt more than he cared to admit, but he couldn’t deny that he deserved it. After the things he’d said to Spock… the things he’d done-- well, he couldn’t blame the guy for hating him. 

He’d worry about that later, when he wasn’t so fucking tired. They were due for a shift rotation any minute now, which would mean that the remaining bridge crew still on duty would be able to get some rest. And once they had rested and Jim had ensured a smooth transition between the shifts, maybe they’d be able to--

He was cut off from that train of thought as the turbolift doors opened, and Bones stepped out. Jim managed to turn his head just enough to catch sight of the medical blues before his neck and shoulder protested painfully. Sensing his friend’s ire, he threw a hand up in a wave so that Bones knew Jim wasn’t ignoring him on purpose. Except that that was exactly what he’d been doing for the last several hours. Oh well. Semantics. 

“Hey, Bones. What brings you here?” Jim called, voice rougher than he remembered it being earlier. Maybe he should drink something...

“Apparently,” Bones seethed, stalking forward to where Jim sat and furiously rounding the chair to face him directly, “you misunderstood me.” 

Bones looked like hell. His uniform was rumpled and dirty, hair standing up every which way, and his hands were practically raw from all the sanitization he’d likely been doing between patients. “What part of ‘get your ass to MedBay, right now’ did you not understand?” he hissed, crouching before Jim and taking his head in his hands, feeling for bumps and cuts as he watched Jim’s eyes intently, evaluating and seemingly unaware that they had an audience. “You get knocked on the head hard enough that you don’t understand Standard anymore? So help me, kid, if you’ve got a concussion on top of everything else--”

“Bones!” Jim cried, jerking his head back and out of his grip and interrupting the doctor’s rant with a pointed look as his volume steadily increased, “Calm down, I’m fine-- ”

Bones glared at him sternly, reaching for his injured hand instead and shooting him a knowing look when Jim flinched in pain as his fingers were carefully manipulated. “Don’t bullshit a bullshitter, kid,” Bones replied dryly, patting him on the leg. “Up. Now.” 

Jim glanced around the bridge, feeling a flush creep up his neck in embarrassment as he caught sight of Uhura watching them curiously. He was sure he looked ridiculous, slouched down, practically sideways in the captain’s chair of the ‘fleet’s prize ship being lectured about his health. Man, he was getting sick of people staring at him. He felt thoroughly exposed and oddly vulnerable as Bones stared expectantly at him, awaiting his reply. “Soon, I promise. I’ve still got to--” he tried again, placatingly. 

“Jim,” Bones cut him off, voice like steel and patience clearly long since depleted, but much quieter than it had been when he entered, lowered almost to a whisper that only Jim could hear as he firmly clasped Jim’s arms in his hands. “Stop it. You need medical attention, and I’m taking you to MedBay if I have to strap you down to a gurney to do it.” 

“Okay,” Jim argued, taking offense, “that really isn’t necessary. I’m fine! I’ve just been busy up here and--” Bones cut him off with a sharp motion of his hand. 

“Don’t push me on this, Jim. I mean it,” Bones replied, dropping his voice so only Jim could hear it. “Your pride is the least of my concerns here and I will pull you off duty so fast your pretty little head’ll spin. Do I need to call a gurney, or can you walk?” 

“Bones,” Jim protested weakly, “seriously, I’m fine.” 

“Alright then, hotshot,” Bones smirked, crossing his arms over his chest as he rose to his feet and glowered down at the younger man. “Prove it.” 

Jim blinked in confusion. “What? Prove what? I’m sitting here, talking to you, not visibly bleeding out or unconscious, what more proof could you possibly--” 

Bones rolled his eyes. “Get up.” 

“What?”

“If you’re so fine ,” he drawled sarcastically, “then get up.” 

“Okay, okay. Jeez,” Jim replied, eyeing the doctor cautiously as he gripped the armrests of his seat. Ignoring the way his arms shook, he straightened his legs and placed both feet on the floor, bracing himself against the chair and pushing against the armrest to hoist himself up. His hand and ribs screamed painfully as he made his way upright, and his head swam dangerously for a moment as he found his balance, but he made it-- though his ankle throbbed once he put weight on it. After a moment, he turned to face Bones more directly-- or so he assumed, he couldn’t quite see him clearly through all the spots in his vision-- with what he hoped was a smirk and not a grimace on his face. 

Okay, maybe he wasn’t as fine as he’d thought. 

Oh, shit. 

At that moment, his equilibrium shifted suddenly and he threw out an arm in panic to try to catch himself as he fell. Bones-- with the lightning fast reflexes born from years of emergency medical training-- rushed forward and caught him under the arms, wrapping his own firmly around Jim’s chest, and Jim couldn’t hold back the cry of pain the action caused. 

As his vision darkened, he felt himself being lowered carefully to the floor, Bones’ hands never leaving him as he yelled, “Get me a gurney!” 

Jim let the darkness take him. 

Turns out that when injured the body actually burns more calories as it works to keep you conscious and functional. Additionally, multiple repeated traumas to the neck can impede proper oxygen intake. Furthermore, multiple blunt force traumas can cause minor internal bleeding, which bodies really don’t like. 

All of this Jim knew of course, but had conveniently forgotten amidst the haze of exhaustion, pain, and sheer desperation of the last forty eight hours, right up until-- with their forces combined-- his injuries and stubborn dismissal of his body’s cries for rest, food, and medical care knocked him on his ass. On the bridge. In front of everyone. 

Great. 

Bones, on the other hand, had not forgotten any of these possibilities. In fact, Jim would be willing to bet all the credits he had that the man had been anticipating them. Crotchety know-it-all bastard. 

He blinked wearily up at the sterile white ceiling and far, far too bright lighting of MedBay, squinting as his head started pounding a solid tempo behind his left eyebrow. Alerted to Jim’s consciousness by the monitors, Bones cheerfully flung open the privacy curtain shielding his bed from the rest of the area and chirped, “Good morning, sleepin’ beauty! Welcome back to the land of the living.” 

Jim tiredly flipped him the bird before wincing at the pain doing so caused. Oh, right. Broken hand. With a hiss of pain, he lowered his arm back to the sheets at his side. 

Bones smirked condescendingly down at him as he tapped away at the biobed screen, making notes and adjustments. “Hand hurts?” he asked without a hint of sympathy. “I’ll take care of it in a second here. Maybe that’ll teach you to actually listen to your doctor when you’re told to seek medical care.”

“I hate you,” Jim grumbled half-heartedly. 

Bones actually laughed at that, flashing his teeth in a wide grin as he threw a glance to Jim before he continued puttering about, gathering bandages and hypos and other supplies on a rolling tray as he went. “No, you don’t,” he replied knowingly. 

“No, I don’t,” Jim conceded, tracking the other man with his eyes until his stomach roiled with nausea as he went just out of sight beyond the curtain. “But your bedside manner sucks.” 

Returning, Bones shrugged and waved off his remarks as he pulled up a stool and seated himself at Jim’s right hand side. “Take it up with the CMO, kid,” he drawled sarcastically before becoming serious once more. “How are you feeling?” 

Jim pondered for a moment before he rasped, “Like I got hit by a hovercraft.” 

Bones huffed humorlessly as he replied, “Yeah, not surprised. You’re in pretty rough shape, but we’ll get you taken care of. Anything in particular hurting more than anything else?”

Jim shook his head despondently; everything hurt. He could hardly pinpoint any one source until something flared up, but it all faded back into a haze of pain soon enough. 

Pursing his lips, Bones noted something on the PADD; Jim couldn’t be bothered to wonder what. “Alright, kiddo, last question.” Bones was always a softie when Jim was injured, no matter how he tried to hide it. The endearments always slipped through his defenses. “Do you need anything before we get started?” Again, Jim shook his head. “Alright, then. Let me see your arm.” Raising an eyebrow, Jim lifted his broken hand in question. “Nope, this one,” Bones replied gently, tapping his right wrist and preparing an IV.

Jim grimaced, hand curling into a fist in discomfort as Bones donned gloves. “Man, really?”

“Yes, really ,” Bones chided, taking the initiative and slipping a tourniquet over Jim’s arm, sliding it up to his bicep. Jim didn’t stop him, but he couldn’t help pulling a face. “Your levels are all in the basement. You’re dehydrated, you’re running on fumes, and I’m betting you’ve got a hell of a headache to back me up on that. Unless you want go faintin’ on the bridge again...” 

Jim didn’t respond. 

He looked away as Bones finished setting up the IV, tapped him lightly on the back of the hand a few times, and slid the needle and catheter into the vein. He did his best to ignore the brief but uncomfortable pinch until everything was securely taped down before returning his gaze to the doctor. 

He looked worn out. Jim wondered if the man had had any down time since everything started. Probably not; for all of his mother henning, Bones was worse than Jim when it came to sleep sometimes. He’d stay awake for far longer than should be humanly possible, working himself to the bone until he physically couldn’t stay awake. His record-- at least, in the time Jim had known him-- was 71 hours. At that point, the chief of surgery had told him that he was as good as fired if he didn’t rest immediately, and that he wasn’t to return for at least 48 hours. Considering Jim had been off planet for a training exercise at the time, he hadn’t exactly been around to see it all go down, but he would never forget returning to his dorm-- tired but exhilarated-- to find Bones slumped half upright and dead to the world on the couch, a plate of food on his lap and a fork still in his hand. Poor guy hadn’t even made it through a meal before his body forced him into a damn near comatose state for a solid 14 hours. Jim had managed to move away the dishes and cutlery, get him more or less horizontal, shove a pillow under his head, and place some water nearby for when he woke up, all without the other man so much as stirring. 

And Jim assumed there had been very little down time in MedBay since they had first warped into the chaos some fifty or so hours ago. Truth be told, he had no idea what time it was anymore. Passing out mid-shift and waking up somewhere else entirely didn’t give much leeway for tracking the passage of time. 

Bones hooked a nearby IV stand with his foot and dragged it to himself, hanging a bag on the closest hook and connecting everything before nestling the stand just behind the head of the bed. Jim shivered at the sudden feeling of cold as the fluid entered his system, idly noting for the first time that his uniform blacks were nowhere to be seen, leaving a short sleeved hospital gown covering him from collar to knees in their place. 

Nodding in satisfaction and hastily inputting a chart note, Bones rounded the bed to Jim’s other side, pushing the stool ahead of himself and pulling the rolling tray behind as he went. He reseated himself and gently took Jim’s bruised and swollen hand in his own. Carefully, he began unraveling the bandages that had been hastily applied at some point. Jim barely remembered it happening, to be honest. He’d been preoccupied with other things and had been more than a little distracted at the time what with the whole destruction of an entire planet that had happened not an hour prior--

-- entire planet, entire people, gone, gone, gone--

Just like it had on the bridge the sudden debilitating wave of emotion slammed into him without warning. He choked on a gasp, head throbbing as he clenched his eyes shut against the onslaught of grief and fear. The press of a hypo against his already sore neck had him flinching away, but Bones’ hand came up to rest against the side of his head, gently holding him in place as the plunger depressed against his skin. 

“Shh, I gotcha,” the older man murmured softly. “Sorry, kid. Didn’t realize you were still hurtin’ so bad.” 

Wheezing breaths stuttered out of Jim as he opened his eyes again to look at Bones in confusion. “What?”

Bones’ brow furrowed in concern. “Your levels spiked there. Heart rate, blood pressure… I didn’t realize your hand was bothering you that much. Sorry I didn’t take care of it while you were out-- we basically had to run the gambit of stabilizers before your body would be able to tolerate the regen. ”

“S’fine,” Jim replied dismissively as the newest influx of pain medication made his head spin and he fought to stay awake. “I don’t feel right.”

T'nash-veh sutra.  T'nash-veh ha-kel.

Bones laughed lightly, rubbing at his forehead with his shoulder to keep his gloves sterile. “Don’t fight it, kid. If you’re tired, rest. We’re gonna be here for a while.” 

Jim blinked up at him, feeling his eyelids growing heavier. “Wha’ about you?” he slurred, his head lolling slightly. 

“I’m alright,” Bones reassured as he resumed tending to Jim’s hand, which no longer throbbed with every movement. Clearly Bones had busted out the good drugs. “I caught a few hours of shut eye earlier and I can go longer than most without sleep, you know that. Once I’ve got you all patched up, I’ll see if I can grab a few winks. And yes, the painkiller I gave you is a bit stronger than usual, but your scans are pretty alarming, kid. I don’t think there’s an inch of you that isn’t bruised or broken at this point. It’s gonna be better if you just sleep through most of it, trust me.”

Huh. He must have said that bit about the good drugs out loud. Weird. He must be in pretty bad shape if Bones brought out the good drugs. That wasn’t good. 

“I t’rst you,” he mumbled insistently. “I t’rst--” 

“Just rest, Jim,” Bones instructed gently, amusement coloring his tone. “I’ll be here when you wake up.” Well, if Bones wasn’t worried, Jim wasn’t gonna be. He nodded lazily in agreement as his eyes slipped shut again. 

When Jim next woke, it was to a muted series of sensations. He was sore, more than a little achy deep in his muscles, and his body felt heavy down to his bones, but the persistent sharp pain in his ribs, chest, and throat seemed to have abated considerably. His hand only twinged ever so slightly as he shifted his fingers against the coarse clinic sheets, the movement restricted by the brace wrapped securely from his wrist to the base of his fingers, and he could feel the sturdy plating inside the padded bandaging snugly holding everything in place. There are flexible bandages wrapped around his ribs and his ankle as well; he could feel the stiff layers compressing lightly on his skin where the edges lay. His head felt clearer than it had in hours, maybe since shipping out. 

All things considered, he was remarkably improved. 

He took stock of his surroundings, eyes rolling over the railings of the biobed he was laying in and the hemmed edges of the privacy curtain that had once again been pulled around his little area. The thick fabric muffles the nearby sounds of MedBay, of shuffling footsteps and clinking medical instruments, and the hushed conversations of staff and patients alike. It also has the added bonus of blocking out some of the bright overhead lights mounted into the ceiling just beyond the boundary of the curtain bar. As a result, Jim was comfortably nestled in a peaceful, dimly lit pocket of space, and he was grateful for it if only for the protection it gives him from curious stares and judgmental glances and hushed disbelief that had followed him since he assumed acting captaincy. 

It had been driving him crazy, if he was perfectly honest. 

He savored the quiet and the privacy; knowing Bones, it wouldn’t last long. 

And on that note… where was Bones? He’d promised to be there when Jim woke up, but it had been several minutes he was nowhere to be seen. Not that Jim begrudged him his tardiness. With any luck, the poor guy was sleeping somewhere, or at least taking a minute to breathe. 

He looked up as a hand, small and feminine, wrapped around the side of the curtain and pulled it gently back a few inches. 

“Knock knock,” the owner of the hand called softly, peeking around the curtain to reveal a head full of blonde hair and a reassuring smile. Jim nodded his permission for her to enter, and she stepped up to his bedside, letting the curtain fall closed once more. She stepped forward, PADD in hand, and paused at the foot of his bed, tucking a stray hand of hair behind her ear. “Captain Kirk, my name is Commander Christine Chapel, and I’m the head of nursing staff. I’ll just be doing a quick check on things while Dr. McCoy is away. He sends his apologies for not being able to attend to you himself-- a situation demanded his attention. But I’ll keep him updated and he’ll be back in to set you up for the next round of regen, okay?” 

Jim nodded as she started typing on her PADD, eyes flitting over what he could only assume was his chart. 

“Okay,” she said, dragging the word out as she read. “Well, you’re in far better shape now than you were a few hours ago, that’s for sure. Dr. McCoy was able to do first sessions on your hand and ribs, and you don’t have a concussion-- that’s lucky given that nasty bump on your temple. He gave you some anti-inflammatories to help bring down the swelling in your larynx, and that should also help with your ankle. No break there, but a pretty nasty sprain nonetheless-- he may want to do some regen there as well.” Glancing up at him through her lashes, her gaze roved over his face, trying to read his expression. “How’s the pain? I’m hesitant to give you anything too strong, but you’re just about due for another dose if you’d like me to?” 

“Uh,” Jim croaked, his throat dry and still sensitive despite the rest and minor improvement. “It’s alright.”

She eyed him critically, her lips turning down at the corners ever so slightly. She set her PADD on the foot of the bed and made her way up to his bedside, gesturing carefully to his torso. “May I?” 

Jim blinked, confused. “I’m sorry, I don’t--”

Moving confidently but with caution, she laid her hands on his ribs and he shifted his weight, lifting his arm away as he wondered what she could possibly be doing. 

Pain flared suddenly in his side, and he groaned through his teeth as he jolted, shoulders lifting off the bed as he tried to curl protectively over his ribs. Her hands moved to his shoulders and firmly guided him back to lying flat as he clenched his eyes shut against the discomfort. 

“Thought as much,” she said knowingly. “Let’s get you another dose, shall we?” 

Jim panted through the residual pain as she set about her task, peering at her through narrowed eyes as he said accusingly, “He put you up to that, didn’t he?” 

Back to him as she prepared the medication, she replied, “Why, Captain, I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” the lilting sing-song in her voice telling Jim all he needed to know. 

As she loaded the cartridge into the hypo, something else she had said suddenly clicked into place. 

A situation demanded his attention… 

“He’s treating Captain Pike, isn’t he?” he asked quietly as she administered the medication. 

She glanced at him from the corner of her eye as she disposed of the empty cartridge. After a pause she pursed her lips and replied, “Typically that would be a matter of doctor/patient confidentiality, but seeing as you are now Acting Captain and it concerns the chain of command… yes, Dr. McCoy is tending to Captain Pike.” 

Jim let his eyes fall shut briefly, swallowing down the guilt and the nerves that accompanied the mention of the older officer. “How is he?” 

He couldn’t see her expression with his eyes closed, but he could hear the sympathetic tone in her voice as she answered. “He’s unconscious… stable, for the time being. There are still a lot of unknowns and without the necessary equipment there’s only so much Dr. McCoy can do. But he’s a remarkably capable physician, and he’s doing everything in his power for Captain Pike and the rest of the patients. I’ve seen that much firsthand.” 

Jim nodded, a ghost of a smile on his face. Bones’ abilities as a doctor had never been a question in his mind. He’d seen and experienced himself how dedicated, intelligent, and capable the man was at his craft. But Pike had been so injured, and his legs…

Another thought prickled at his mind; if Captain Pike was unconscious, and Jim was being held hostage in a biobed himself, then-- he cracked his eyes open to ask, “Who’s got command?”

“Commander Spock resumed temporary command when you were brought in for treatment,” Chapel replied. 

“He’s-- is that even possible? What time is it? Has he gotten any rest?” 

“It is 2300 hours,” she answered smoothly, eyes flicking from her PADD to the biobed screens as she noted his vitals in the chart. “And Vulcans require less sleep than humans. He assured Dr. McCoy that he would be alright for another shift.”

Jim shook his head, stammering in disbelief. “That’s-- no, he can’t-- he’s-- I mean, his planet, his mother--”

-- entire planet, entire people, gone, gone gone--

His stomach roiled as Chapel held up a hand to stop his babbling, her eyes darting to the screen that no doubt displayed a sudden jump in his vital signs. “Dr. McCoy came to the same conclusions and put him on mandatory medical leave for the next 24 hours, pending evaluation. Command passed to Mr. Scott in the interim.” 

Jim swallowed heavily, choking back the nausea as his hands started trembling minutely. “And is everything--”

“Captain Kirk,” she interjected firmly, her voice steady and authoritative but still kind, ducking her head a little to catch his eye with a reassuring gaze. “Everything is fine. It’s been quiet for a few hours now, and it’s late. You’ve done everything you need to for the time being, and now you need to take some time to let your body heal. Let us carry things for a while; we’ll make do. Rest.”

Jim didn’t argue as she nodded her farewell and exited the curtain, but left alone with his thoughts he couldn’t help but wish she had stayed. Having someone to talk to had provided a welcome distraction from his racing mind and pounding heart. 

However, despite the two prior bouts of unconsciousness, so did the pain meds. He dozed in and out of awareness for the next however long, coming to in peaks of anxiety and alarm before the quiet and low lighting lulled him under once more. 

Fifteen Days to Earth

It was some time later when Jim awoke to the familiar sight of brown hair and blue sleeves, and his still weary but slightly less exhausted best friend skillfully finishing a run of regen over Jim’s ribs. 

Mouth dry, Jim whispered, “We have got to stop meeting like this.”

Bones glanced over to him quickly, a small smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes forming lopsidedly on his lips. “Hey, kid. Just a sec--” Jim patiently waited for the regenerator to run its course over his left side, and for Bones to carefully reposition it over his right once it finished. Setting the machine to run, Bones briefly passed out of sight, returning with a glass of water and a straw. He handed the glass to Jim who nodded his thanks and carefully brought the straw to his lips, drinking deeply for several moments before returning the glass which Bones set aside on the small bedside table. He stepped back and perched a hip on Jim’s bedside, crossing his arms over his chest. “You got something against your ribs? You really did a number on yourself this time.”

“Yeah?” Jim asked, surprised, his voice slightly clearer after the water. “How many?” 

Bones ran a hand over his chin, the two day stubble coming in dark and making him look haggard. “Three broken, one fractured, four bruised. Busted up two of the metacarpals in your hand. Fractured orbital socket, sprained ankle, bruised kidney, fractured hyoid, partial laryngeal collapse, but we caught that one before it caused too many problems. You let me know if you’re having any trouble breathing, okay? I mean it.”

“Yeah, I hear you,” Jim rasped. “I didn’t think the ribs were broken, but damn. That might be a new record.” 

Bones snorted in spite of himself, rolling his eyes. “Only you, kid.” 

Jim gave a half-aborted shrug, not wanting to disrupt the regenerator. “Gotta get my kicks somehow.” 

“And you’ve decided to do it by turning me gray, one hair at a time. I’m touched.” 

Jim smirked, plastering on his best shit eating grin. “I live to serve, Bones.”    

Bones flicked him gently on the forehead in reply. “Brat.” 

Sobering quickly as a groan of pain filtered in from beyond the curtain, their grins slid from their faces as the reality of the situation sank in. So many people injured. So many lost. So many...

After a long pause, Jim mustered his courage and asked, “Captain Pike?” 

Bones sighed heavily, his shoulders heaving with the weight of the exhale as he watched the machine move across Jim’s ribs, following the movement with his eyes but his gaze distant. “I don’t know,” he answered, uncertain and with a hint of disappointment. “I’m doing what I can but--- he needs a neurosurgeon. Whatever they did aboard that ship… I’ve stopped it from progressing, but I can’t reverse it. The nerves in his spine have been compromised.” Jim remained quiet, waiting for him to continue. Finally, Bones whispered haltingly, “There’s a chance that… he may never walk again.” Jim breathed a curse. “You’re telling me,” Bones scoffed,  wiping tiredly at his eyes. 

“Did you--” Jim paused, clearing his throat against the grating of the words, “Did you get any rest?” 

Bones hummed in affirmation. “Yeah, I’m alright.” Jim shot him a skeptical look, but didn’t push the issue. 

They sat in companionable silence as the regen finished it’s work, Bones shifting to his stool midway and propping his chin up with his elbows on the bed. In the hours that had passed since Jim’s not so graceful collapse on the bridge it appeared that most of the urgent medical issues onboard had been taken care of, since nothing called the CMO away. Jim sat quietly as Bones drifted into a light doze, the repetitive buzz of the regenerator soothing in the otherwise quiet space. He did his best to stay still so as not to jostle the doctor and let him catch whatever sleep he could, but all too soon the unit finished and– as if an alarm had gone off– Bones startled awake. 

With a low groan, he pushed his palms against his face, slowly lifting his elbows into a back cracking stretch before he rose to his feet, nudging the stool out of his way as he hefted the machine up and away, carrying it beyond the curtain before he returned to note the progress in Jim’s chart. 

Jim let him jot down his notes and waited until he was mostly finished before gingerly pushing himself up to his elbows, ribs far less painful but still tender, and asking, “When can I go back on duty?” 

“Jim--” Bones sighed. 

“I get it, I’m injured. Who isn’t?” Jim asked darkly. “I’m serious, Bones. You know what I can handle and what I can’t, and we’re down more than a couple of COs. When can I get back to it?”

Bones perched himself on the foot of the bed, meeting Jim’s eye intently. “I’ll make you a deal. One more round of regen on your sides and you let me take care of your hand. That’s gonna be about all your body can handle for now, anyway. It’ll get the breaks in your ribs down to fractures at least, but you’ll still be sore for a few days. Your eye should heal on its own, and there’s not a whole lot I can do about the bruising anyway.”

Jim considered. “And when can we--”

“One hour,” Bones replied, anticipating the question. “Gotta let yourself and the machine take a breather before we go round three.”

“One hour?” Jim asked skeptically. 

“One hour,” Bones confirmed with a nod. “Deal?” 

Jim debated countering. His ribs felt better than they had in days and his head wasn’t pounding anymore. Aside from the general aches and pains of overworked muscles and minor scrapes and bruises, he felt pretty okay for the most part. But he could read all too easily how tired Bones was-- how tired they all were-- and decided not to argue. “Deal. You got anywhere you need to be?” 

Bones shook his head, a questioning expression crossing his face. “Not unless I get paged, why?” 

Jim used his leverage from his partially reclined position to scoot himself to one side of the bed, leaving the other open, and patted the space next to him. “You look like you’re gonna fall over. Take a break.” 

Bones looked for a moment like he wanted to argue, mostly just for argument’s sake; he and Jim had shared a bed more than once and it had long since stopped being weird or uncomfortable. After heaving a sigh, however, he rounded the bed and tapped at the bio-screens to turn off any alarms that may go off with the added vitals stats. and gingerly climbed in, careful not to jostle Jim’s still mending injuries. He threw his head back against the pillow, weight sinking into the mattress as they leaned shoulder to shoulder against one another in the small single bed. 

Drinking in the silence, Jim stared at the ceiling, feeling the reassuring warmth of Bones’ arm against his, the subtle shifts of movement and soft rushes of air as they breathed, and the general calming reassurance that the companionship brought with it. 

They’d been through hell. So many hours of pure, unadulterated confusion, uncertainty, fear, and adrenaline, and while Jim was itching to get back to the bridge and resume duty-- there were so many things he needed to do, so many things to take care of, so many fires to put out-- he couldn’t help but enjoy the simplicity of having his friend safe and whole and present. 

There were inherent risks involved with being an officer of Starfleet. They all knew that, and Jim knew better than most that life had a spectacular way of taking unexpected turns and wreaking havoc, but they had been relatively sheltered at the Academy. Sure, there were drills and training sessions, simulators and roleplaying tests… experienced officer’s best attempts at preparing them for what was out there, but it was nothing compared to being in the thick of it. 

And Jim had long ago convinced himself that it was better to go it alone than to be faced with losing someone again , but Bones had broken through his defenses so fast it was almost frightening. He’d stuck by him time and time again, no matter what Jim threw at him, no matter what Jim revealed to him. If anything, each revelation made them closer. For Jim, whose entire life had been a series of revolving doors, of people entering and exiting as quickly as they came, never staying long, it still caught him off guard sometimes that Bones was still around. 

Especially because Jim had no misconceptions about his personality. He knew he wasn’t always pleasant to be around and that when provoked he could be a downright mean son of a bitch. But despite the trauma and the history and the penchant for trouble and getting his ass handed to him instead of facing his problems, there Bones was, time and time again. Patching him up, handing him a drink, lending an ear...

He was the only one who always, always stayed, and three years down the line, Jim wasn’t sure what he’d do without him if he was being perfectly honest. And that scared the hell out of him. 

It had been reassuring to know that Bones was-- more or less-- safely aboard the ship despite all of the dangers they’d faced over the last several days. While it hadn’t been a walk in the park for the doctor, at least Jim had known he was facing far less life threatening danger holed up in MedBay treating the wounded than he would have been otherwise, and he was thankful for it. 

The thought brought a fresh wave of guilt. So many people had been lost, and those left behind had each certainly lost someone along the way… and here Jim was waxing poetic that he hadn’t. It was only natural, he supposed, to feel relief in the face of others’ tragedy-- thank God it’s not me -- but damn if it didn’t make him feel small. 

And it’s not as if he hadn’t lost people. He had just never really let people get too close, is all. The loss wasn’t as personal. It’s not like he lost a best friend, or a partner, not like other people had--

“Stop it,” Bones’ gruff rumble interrupted his thoughts. 

Jim startled slightly, glancing over at the other man who had his eyes closed and his hands folded over his stomach. “Stop what?” 

“I can hear you thinkin’ from here,” Bones replied. “Stop it. It’s not gonna do anybody any good for you to go tyin’ yourself up in knots over something you had no control over.”  

Jim settled against the pillow again, forcing his shoulders to relax and taking a deep breath. After a few moments of silence he asked quietly, “Did you lose anyone, Bones?”

Bones sighed beside him, a mournful sound deep in his chest. “I think we all did, kid.” 

Jim blinked rapidly at the burning that settled behind his eyes. “But I mean like… was there anyone that-- did you--?” he couldn’t bring himself to look at the other man and forced his gaze to remain firmly on the ceiling, even as it blurred in his vision. 

Bones grasped his wrist firmly with his closest hand, being mindful of the brace still stabilizing everything until the regen was completed. “I think we all did,” he repeated. “But I’m alright. There’ll be time later for-- for everything.” Jim nodded, hair catching against the folds in the pillowcase. Bones tapped at his wrist. “Stop it, Jim,” he chided gently. “We did everything we could. You did everything you could. Let it be enough for now.” 

Jim blamed the drugs, the lingering exhaustion, and the residual pain for his poor emotional control as he blurted out in a voice barely a whisper, “I’m glad you’re okay.” 

Bones gave his forearm a comforting squeeze as he replied, “You too, kid. Even if you are a little worse for wear.” 

Taking the invitation for levity, Jim released a laugh that came out slightly wetter than he would have liked and snorted, “Yeah, Vulcans pack a hell of a punch. Who knew?”

Bones stiffened beside him, raising himself up and swinging his legs off the side of the bed. Jim watched him in alarm as he buried his face in his hands and sat silent for a long moment. Eventually, he croaked out,“I’m sorry, Jim.” He sounded so distressed that Jim sat up himself, ignoring the ache that resulted from doing so. 

“For what?” he demanded, incredulous. 

Bones swallowed hard, Adam's apple bobbing thickly in his throat. “Not stopping him.”

“Bones,” Jim breathed. “Jesus-- I wanted him to lose it. I deliberately provoked him--”

“I know,” Bones cried, anger seeping into his tone. “But it went too far! I could have declared him unfit for command after he first laid hands on you. I should have--”

“Bones,” Jim said dryly. “I pissed off a grieving Vulcan. Do you really think there was anything you could have done?” 

“I don’t know,” Bones replied stubbornly. “But I should have--”

“Bones,” Jim cut him off. “It’s done, I’m fine, it worked out the way it was supposed to. Don’t worry about it. In fact,” he continued, “if I ever manage to anger anyone with superhuman strength ever again which I undoubtedly will, I forbid you from interfering and putting yourself at risk. We need you fully intact to patch me up afterwards.” Bones wasn’t amused, and fixed Jim with a look that let him know it. Jim rolled his eyes and flopped back against the pillows. “Now lay back down. If I’m not working, neither are you. Acting Captain’s orders.” 

Bones threw himself down with a groan. “You know that I technically outrank you right now and that Mr. Scott has command, right?” he quipped after a pause. 

Jim barked a laugh, glad to feel the tension seeping out of the room. “Yeah, how the hell did that happen?” 

“Apparently he’s a Lieutenant Commander,” Bones answered incredulously. 

“Wow,” Jim said, surprised. “So you think he kept his rank after what he did to Archer’s beagle?” 

“After he did what to who’s what?” Bones cried. “Where the hell did you find this guy? ” 

The resulting laughter hurt his ribs, but Jim didn’t care. He forced back the spike of anxiety and grief at the reminder of finding Scotty, of meeting older Spock, of the mind meld---

-- entire planet, entire people, gone, gone, gone--

and tried to enjoy the moment of joy, however hysterical and exhaustion induced it may be. 

There would be plenty of time for worse emotions later. 

True to his word, Bones let Jim up ninety three minutes later after supervising the final round of regen on his ribs and running a smaller unit over his hand. As soon as the machine finished its work, Jim flexed his fingers, relishing the lack of pain accompanying the motion. Bones left the wrapping around his ankle, just to give it a bit of extra support as the sprain healed, and gave him a final mild dose of painkillers to help him on his way. 

Reluctantly, Bones signed off on him returning to duty, and Jim didn’t stick around long enough to give him a chance to reconsider, changing quickly into the newly provided uniform Bones had managed to hunt down for him and donning the command gold for the first time. It sent a thrill through him, undeserved though it may be. Had circumstances been any different, it would have been an almost reverent moment, but given the recent events, he couldn’t help but feel somewhat like an imposter, or a child playing dress up. He quickly threw on the pants, tucking them into his boots, and pulled the shirt over his head, straightening the seams on his shoulders before making his way up the decks. 

He swallowed back the nerves he felt as the turbolift carried him higher and higher, finally stopping at his destination and opening with a soft whoosh of the doors and the shrill cry of “Keptin on the bridge!” from the young man at the helm. Chevok? Cheklow? 

He nodded at the kid, making a mental note to get his name again later, and realized with a quick glance around that the on duty crew were the same as when he had left, though they all looked at least slightly refreshed. No doubt the shift rotations during his stint in medical had given them a much needed break to freshen up, grab something to eat, and sleep. 

He sauntered across the bridge to the captain’s chair, doing his best to look confident even as his ankle threatened to buckle, and did his best to ignore the stares that followed him. 

“How are we doing, people?” He called, pleased that his voice didn’t waver or crack despite the slight ache that remained in his throat. 

Spock turned from his station, standing ramrod straight with his hands clasped behind his back, and fixed his gaze somewhere just past Jim’s shoulder. It was unnerving, the way his eyes stared so intently not at him. “Everything is operating as best as can be expected, Captain. Engines are functioning adequately at forty three percent power, and remaining power has remained steady as allotted to various areas of the ship. Mr. Scott has found a way to increase the capacity of the thermal regulators for the Vulcan refugees, and has assured me that all other systems are operating without concern for the time being. Our course remains steady, and we predict arrival at Earth in just over fifteen Terran days.” 

Jim refrained from following the first officer’s gaze and forced himself to smile when he replied, “Excellent, thank you, Mr. Spock.” Spock simply nodded, never once looking at him, and returned to his console. 

Jim bit back the sigh that threatened to escape him. So this was how it was going to be. It was going to be a long two weeks if he didn’t fix this. Swallowing his pride, he rose to his feet and called, “Actually, Mr. Spock, could I have a word with you in the ready room?” 

He turned on his heel and walked away before Spock could refuse, leaving the Vulcan to follow him. 

Once they arrived in the ready room, Jim let Spock enter before him, following at his shoulder and allowing the door to slide closed behind them. Once they had privacy, he blurted out, “Spock, I have to apologize to you.” 

Spock raised an eyebrow, once again looking just past him. “To me, Captain?” 

Jim ran a hand through his hair in frustration. “Yes, just… look, I’m sorry.”

“Whatever for?” 

“For-- Jesus, Spock, for the things I said to you. I’m so sorry.”

Spock held up a hand to silence him. “Don’t worry, Captain--” 

“Jim.”

Spock stared at him blankly. “Pardon?” 

“Just… it’s just us, and you and I both know that I’m not exactly-- I mean…” Jim rolled a hand self-consciously. “Just Jim.” 

Spock’s eyes narrowed in a way that Jim couldn’t quite pinpoint, somewhere between confused and irritated, and Jim’s stomach clenched. “As I was saying, Captain ,” the other officer continued, eyes still fixated on the wall behind Jim, “do not trouble yourself.”

Sensing that things were not working out has he had hoped, Jim continued, slightly desperate, “Look, you have every right to be angry at me. Hell, I’d be livid , after what I said-- please, Spock, you don’t have to forgive me, but you have to know, I didn’t mean a word of it. I was just--” 

“I believe you may have misunderstood,” Spock interrupted him again. “I have not been angry at you. While I admit that at first I was… emotionally impacted by the things you said, after removing myself from the situation I began to see the logic in it. I spent much of my own medically mandated leave contemplating the circumstances, and while it was a crude and rather offensive method--” 

“Spock--” Jim pleaded. 

“--it was the most efficient way to ensure that I relinquished command. You did what you felt was necessary, and it was the correct choice.” 

Jim stepped into Spock’s line of sight, forcing the older man to look at him. Meeting his eye and lowering his voice, Jim insisted, “That doesn’t make it right .” 

Spock stared at him for a long moment before letting his gaze drift away again, and Jim felt a muscle in his jaw jump as he clenched his teeth in frustration. “I believe I just said that--” 

Jim shook his head, rolling his eyes. “Different ‘right’, Spock. Look--” 

“Please, save your apologies,” Spock cut him off, nonchalantly. “I have conceded that you did what was required, and have already stated that I feel no lingering anger towards you for it.” 

Jim narrowed his eyes, tilting his head slightly as he evaluated Spock’s carefully neutral expression. After a long moment his eyes widened slightly and he softly whispered, “You’re lying.” 

Spock voluntarily met his eye for the first time since they ejected the warp core, his gaze cold and shuttered. “Vulcans do not lie.” When Jim didn’t respond, he continued, “I believe we should return to the bridge. We are short staffed as it is, and it would not do to deprive the crew of the two highest ranking officers any longer than we already have due to our combined… incapacitation these past days. If you’ll excuse me.” 

With a nod, he practically fled the room, barely giving the doors time to open before he had exited. 

Jim worried at his lower lip with his teeth, clenching and unclenching his fists as he tried to release some of the uncomfortable tension that had filled him during the awkward conversation, though it could barely be called one. Spock clearly hadn’t given a shit what he had to say, and Jim didn’t blame him. 

Breathing carefully through his nose for several moments, Jim leaned backwards against the wall, slowly sliding to the floor until he was seated with his legs pulled up to his chest. He pressed hard against his eyes with the palms of his hands as his fingers threaded into his hair, tugging lightly as small pops of light and color appeared behind his eyelids from the pressure. 

After a minute, he released a heavy sigh. He had to pull it together. So what if Spock was mad at him? So what if Spock hated his guts? He was only… 

The first officer Jim was expected to work with to get everyone left home safely. 

The guy that held Jim’s future with the ‘fleet in his hands. 

The guy that was apparently supposed to be the other half of a lifetime defining friendship. 

Too bad Jim kept fucking everything up. 

My fault, all my fault, entire people, entire planet, gone, gone, gone--

Choking on a sudden sob, Jim pressed a fist to his mouth and fought to keep his jaw from trembling. 

Why the fuck did that keep happening? 

He was grieving; everyone was, they had witnessed a fucking genocide for chrissakes. But while he could admit that he had a guilt complex a mile and a half long, it usually didn’t manifest on such a grandiose scale as to assume responsibility for an entire planet being destroyed.

But really-- wasn’t it his fault? 

If he hadn’t cheated on that stupid test-- and he could say that he adapted the parameters all he wanted, but he fucking cheated; he knew it, they all knew it-- then he would have been assigned to Pike’s ship legitimately and he would have been on the bridge from the beginning. 

He wouldn’t have put Bones in the position to risk his own future sneaking him onboard under false pretenses, and he wouldn’t have jeopardized Pike’s trust in him, which means that he would have been aware of the situation much sooner and could have gotten the warning out sooner. 

Pike would have listened to him-- hell Spock probably would have listened to him if he didn’t have reason to hate him right off the bat-- and maybe they would have had time to hail other ships. Maybe they would have had time to form a plan with backup with the other members of the ‘fleet that had been shipped out. 

Maybe they would never have had to turn Pike over to Nero, and then Pike wouldn’t be looking at the possibility of never walking again. Maybe they would have been able to stop the destruction of Vulcan altogether, and Jim would never have been marooned, would never have said those horrible things to Spock, would have saved his mother instead of speaking ill of her after her passing. 

Maybe Jim would have gotten a promotion because of his actions in the field instead of a temporary stint as acting captain until they hauled his ass before the Admiralty and maybe he wouldn’t be feeling like this if he just hadn’t fucked it all up. 

So yeah, it was a pretty safe bet to say that--if you really thought about it-- it was his fault. 

T'nash-veh sutra.  T'nash-veh ha-kel.

And now he was supposed to go play captain to a crew that knew exactly how much of a liar and a fake and a screw up he was that at best didn’t respect or trust him and, at worst, outright hated him and wanted him out on his ass. 

Yippee. 

Well, there wasn’t much he could do about that now. He was captain, whether he liked it or not, until they returned to Earth. It was his job, his responsibility to make sure they made it there without any further losses, and he sure as hell wouldn’t manage that pouting on the floor like a toddler. 

Hoisting himself to his feet and ignoring the various twinges of pain that followed, he tugged at the hem of his shirt, straightened his shoulders, and returned to the bridge. He kept his eyes down– aiming for nonchalant or deep in thought but probably landing somewhere between ashamed and devastated– and settled himself into the chair as quickly as he could. He accepted the PADD that was offered to him by a nearby Ensign with a smile and a nod, and submerged himself in reports. There, at least, was something he could do, and it would provide a decent distraction in case everyone decided to stare at him again. 

However, it wasn’t long before Uhura stood gracefully from her station and made her way to his side. Jim felt tension growing between his shoulder blades as she approached, watching her out of his periphery but not lifting his gaze from the PADD. 

“Nice to see you back on the bridge finally, Captain, ” she said quietly. Jim could hear her smirk. He didn’t have the energy or the willpower to interpret the inflection or her expression. It had sounded teasing, but there was a good chance that she was just mocking him at this point. He really could never be sure with her. Their banter had persisted through the years, but the more he thought about it she seemed to quickly veer into disgusted anger more often than not. He had always thought they had at least a civility between them, a carefully constructed charade of dislike and an ongoing battle of wills, but now…

Jim had always respected her intelligence, her quick wit, her spitfire attitude, her work ethic. They had been thrown together a few times over the years in various classes or social activities and they almost always exchanged words, little quips and snide remarks, his to make her laugh and hers… well, he’d thought that she was in on the joke, too.

But maybe it wasn’t a game for her. Maybe she honestly wanted to see him taken down a peg or two. God, if that was the case then she must be thoroughly disgusted by him now. Especially after the things he’d said to Spock-- and they could deny it all they wanted, there was clearly something going on between the two of them, not that he was judging-- and oh God, Gaila.

Jesus Christ, if Uhura didn’t hate him before, she almost certainly did now. 

He should probably say something so she didn’t think he was ignoring her, on top of everything else. 

“Thank you, Lieutenant,” he responded quietly, keeping his eyes on the report he had been reading. “Things took a bit longer than I had hoped, but there shouldn’t be anymore absences.” 

She was silent for a moment, and he felt her eyes raking over him. He did his best not to fidget under her scrutiny. “Got yourself pretty beat up, huh?” 

“Well,” he flashed her a cocky grin, “You know me, always causing trouble.” More seriously, he continued, “I apologize if my absence caused more work for you, for any of you. It won’t happen again.”

Again, she hesitated. “You were injured,” she replied softly. “We made due.” 

“Yes, well,” he said, chagrined. He glanced up to look at her, her face an unreadable mix of confusion and pity that made him uncomfortable. “I’ll try not to put you in that position again.”  

Brow furrowing in what he would almost call concern-- clearly he was reading her wrong, he was so off today-- she began, “Kirk--”

“Lieutenant Uhura?” A nearby officer whose name Jim didn’t know called out, eyes darting between the two of them. “I’m sorry but, we’re picking something up on the comms.”

With a final, perplexed look, Uhura turned away from him and returned to her station, donning her earpiece and fiddling with the controls for a moment before her eyes widened slightly in surprise. 

“Captain,” she called, pressing the device more firmly into her ear as she listened. “It’s Starfleet Command.” 

Apparently the universe really liked to kick him when he was down. When the call had come in from Command, Jim hadn’t had the wherewithal to think that maybe, just maybe, that was going to be a conversation he wanted to have in private and to have the call transferred over to the ready room so he could contain the fallout. 

Instead, relief and dread fought for seniority as he realized what the call meant-- they were in range, they could call for help if they needed it, someone knew where they were but oh fuck he was going to have to explain why he was sitting in the chair and everything that had happened oh shit-- and he had had Uhura patch it through to the main viewscreen, splintered and sad though it was. 

Like an idiot. 

Damnit. 

The dressing down he had gotten from Admiral Archer as he did his best not to stammer awkwardly through the bare bones of the events would probably leave his ears ringing for days, and the steadily increasing tension on the bridge as the call went on-- the slowly growing unease and rapidly more visible displeasure on the crew’s faces as Archer reminded him rather loudly that he was “being trusted with his duty as a sign of our respect and trust for Captain Pike , not your blatant and ill-executed attempts at climbing the ranks, Cadet”-- did nothing for his nerves. 

If he could go five minutes without something reminding him that he was fucking everything up maybe he’d have a shot at doing something right for a change, but the Admiralty didn’t seem too interested in his input on things beyond general operational capacity and corroboration of what they already knew: that Pike was down, half the ‘fleet was obliterated, and Vulcan no longer existed--

— gone, gone, entire planet, gone. 

Thankfully the call ended rather abruptly when Uhura reported the connection had been lost, right in the middle of Archer’s final reminder that they “expected to see him the moment they arrived at Earth and not a second later, do you understand Kirk? We’ll discuss your future-- or lack thereof-- then.” 

He was thankful for the reprieve and subtly shook the tension that had bunched between his shoulders loose before resuming his tasks. The rest of the shift passed mostly without incident. The crew were efficient and good at their jobs, and beyond a few moments of decision making, ultimately there was very little for Jim to do. 

Which left him with nothing but time to ruminate on his mistakes. 

Yeah, it was going to be a long two weeks. 

The mess was crowded, loud, and freezing despite the number of people loitering within. With the power diversions and the reduced crew, the space seemed to be doubling as cafeteria and lounge, and various off shift crew were scattered about the different tables, chatting amongst themselves, grabbing a bite, or nursing a cup of something warm to combat the decreased temperature. 

The smell of food made Jim nauseous, but he knew that Bones would have his head if he didn’t at least try to get something in his stomach at a reasonable hour. He’d left shift at 1300 hours, just past the typical lunch hour, and while normally the slight deviation from his schedule would have his stomach grumbling and his anxiety skyrocketing, he found that he was more nervous about the prospect of attempting to eat than by the idea of going without. 

Apparently genocides-- yes, plural, he thought hysterically-- were a trigger a person could have. What a shitshow. 

Forcing himself to cross the threshold, he held his chin high and kept his eyes forward, walking straight and tall to the nearest replicator. Well, as straight as his tired muscles and aching ribs would allow. He nodded at the various crew members he passed along the way-- rearranging his features into what he hoped was a confident but sympathetic half-smile whenever he made eye contact with the occasional Vulcan passenger-- and tried not to tug self-consciously at his sleeves. 

The shirt that had been scrounged up for him was just a touch too big, and the hems of the arms hung halfway down his hands if he wasn’t careful.  He felt like a kid, especially under everyones’ less than subtle scrutiny, and did his best to ignore the eyes on him as he stood before the replicator and made his selection. 

Something light, but filling. He’d definitely need protein and electrolytes; the nutritional supplements they fed into his veins in the MedBay had helped, but his body was still running dangerously close to empty after the past few days. Taking up the dispensed bowl of oatmeal and yogurt and glass of orange juice, he made his way to the nearest unoccupied table and seated himself, shivering lightly at the feel of the cold aluminum through his uniform. 

As seemed to be the new norm, his thoughts quickly spiraled down dark paths, what ifs and laundry lists of his shortcomings claiming his attention against his will. 

Right up until someone else dropped heavily into the seat across from him, that is. 

“I tell you what, laddie,” the enthusiastic brogue cut through the general noise of the room as Scotty set his own tray down, rattling the table, “this ship is something else!” 

Jim’s hand shot out to steady his glass of orange juice as the smaller man settled himself into his seat, eyes bright and smiling wide with enthusiasm. Something twisted uncomfortably in Jim’s gut at the blatant joy the engineer was expressing before he remembered that Scotty, for all his history with Starfleet, wasn’t quite in the same position as most of them. 

He hadn’t really known anyone they had lost, hadn’t been classmates or friends with someone who would never make it home from this. He had been stranded on some godforsaken ice planet, basically alone and starving-- Jim’s stomach clenched again, painfully-- and had been rescued, reinstated, and promoted to chief engineer of the flagship. Hell, it was probably one of the greatest weeks of his life. 

Lucky guy. 

Forcing a grin onto his face, Jim replied, “Yeah, she’s something else.” 

“You’re telling me!” Scotty continued, eagerly taking a large bite from his sandwich before speaking around it, “The amount of power ! If-- even at reduced capacity-- she has the transporter ability to retain multiple targets from multiple locations and safely beam them aboard-- why, it’s damn near inconceivable! I’d love to see what she can do at full warp, y’know, when she’s not contending with a black hole. Really let the reins loose, ye ken?” 

Jim nodded, ducking his head and appreciative of the opportunity to hide his expression, which he was sure had approached something closer to deer in the headlights than an open and willing conversation participant. 

“I tell you,” the Scot sighed dreamily as he swallowed his food, “I hope I get a chance to see what she’s capable of all fixed up.” 

Jim flicked his eyes up to meet the other man’s gaze as he answered, “I hope you do, too.” 

“Maybe you could put in a good word for me when we get back to HQ, eh?” Scotty replied with a wink. 

Jim chuckled nervously under his breath, shifting lightly in his seat. “Not sure it’s me you’re going to want vouching for you, Scotty. Might be time to start sucking up to some of the other officers.” 

Scotty snorted good humoredly as he waved off Jim’s self depreciation. “And miss the chance for more quality time with you, Jimbo? Not a chance! Besides, who better to ask for favors from the ‘fleet than the man who saved us all from sudden death?” He took another bite before mumbling contemplatively, “No, you’re the one to watch, Jim. Mark my words.” 

 Jim blinked rapidly as the words sank in, unexpectedly touched by the earnest sincerity. Not wanting to unleash his inner turmoil onto Scotty-- who had enough to worry about without the added stress of whatever Jim might be facing-- Jim simply nodded and said, “I’ll do my best.” 

It was only then that he realized he had yet to take a single bite of his meal. Scotty had made it through half of a sandwich and was picking up the other half as he chewed, eager to dig in to it and nearly ravenous, like Jim no doubt should be given he hadn’t eaten a meal-- an honest to god stop, sit down, and chew meal, not just a ration bar where he could manage to choke one down while on the move-- in three and a half days. 

Sighing internally, he eyed the bland beige oatmeal in the bowl distastefully. Where there should be eager hunger and relief, he felt only disgust and nausea. The idea of forcing down anything that required the effort of eating and digestion felt insurmountable, and there was a niggling sensation at the back of his mind that was unhelpfully trying to nudge his thoughts into darker, more reminiscent thoughts that he’d rather not indulge in. 

He had enough on his plate without bringing all of that back to the surface again, but it was hovering awfully close. 

Holding back the growing nausea, he dipped his spoon into the mix and brought it to his mouth in one fluid motion, clamping his jaw shut and forcing himself to swallow quickly. He barely tasted it, and pushed away the surge of unease at the texture. When it stayed down, he repeated the motions again and again until the bowl was empty, feeling uncomfortably full but continuing nonetheless. 

He was not going to waste food over a little discomfort. Not when there was already some concern about sustaining the amount of food needed for the number of people onboard. Not if he could help it. 

When the bowl was empty, he moved on to the yogurt, vaguely aware of Scotty still trying to hold up a conversation as he ate but unable to focus on the words the other man said over the roaring in his ears. The yogurt tasted tart and almost sour, and his esophagus spasmed painfully in his chest as his stomach rebelled against the flavor. 

It wasn’t until several moments later that he realized that both dishes were empty, and he was staring aimlessly at the tabletop, breathing deeply through his nose in an effort to keep everything in. After a long moment-- and once he was sure that he had control over his emotions and his stomach-- he lifted his eyes to see Scotty staring at him in concern. 

“You alright there, laddie?” the older man asked, his eyebrows pinched in concern. 

“Fine,” Jim replied, far too quickly to be truthful. “Just a little nauseous. Haven’t really eaten much the last few days.” He shrugged, aiming for nonchalance, but his stomach clenched uncomfortably at the motion and Jim tensed, willing his body not to rebel. 

Scotty nodded sympathetically, still eying Jim critically from his seat. “You look like you’re fixing to be sick.” 

Jim cleared his throat slightly, ignoring the twinge of pain, and smirked humorlessly. “It’s been a long couple of days, ‘s all.” 

Scotty wasn’t fooled, and Jim didn’t blame him. His poker face must be shot to hell given that it was still covered in bruises and healing scratches. “Perhaps you should make a visit to medical, Jimbo,” he said softly, only the barest hint of leeway in his tone. 

Jim waved him off, shaking his head lightly. “Already been there done that-- thanks for covering things for me, by the way-- and Bones wouldn’t have let me loose if things weren’t okay. I’m good, Scotty. Scouts honor.” 

Scotty snorted with laughter as he leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms loosely over his chest. “Jim, if you’ve been a boy scout a day in your life, I’ll eat my boots.”

Jim smirked back, more at ease knowing he’d successfully steered the conversation away from his issues and medical treatments. “Oh ye of little faith,” he said accusingly. “I’ll have you know I was a model citizen. I did the scouts proud!” 

Scotty eyed him mischievously. “Mowing lawns?” he snarked, clearly biting back laughter. 

Jim nodded solemnly. “Helping old ladies cross the street.” 

Scotty’s lips twitched. “Carrying groceries?”

“Whittling birdhouses.” 

“Outdoor excursions?” Scotty laughed. “Lighting fires in the woods, living off the land?” 

Jim’s smile slid from his face. “Something like that,” he replied wistfully, just enough to keep the mood light. 

Something like that. If one considered foraging for anything edible amidst the smoldering remains of a crumbling dying society “living off the land”. 

Sensing the rising tension between them in his sudden silence, Jim tapped his palm twice on the table and quickly said with all the seriousness he could muster, “And I only went to jail twice!” 

Scotty burst out laughing, and Jim couldn’t help but smile along with him. He wondered if Scotty would ever think back to their conversation and wonder if he had been kidding or not. 

He wondered if he’d ever find out. 

Rising to his feet, Jim threw back the glass of orange juice, hefted his empty tray, shot Scotty a lazy salute of farewell, and left the mess, stomach still rolling unpleasantly and feeling somehow both lighter and heavier than when he entered it.

All things considered, Jim figured that his first full day as acting captain when things were not exploding and generally going to shit all around them was relatively successful. He’d shown up almost on time-- and he was late because of his regen treatments, medical absences didn’t count-- he’d talked to the Admiralty, he’d delegated, he’d talked to his crew-- if the clusterfuck of an attempted apology to Spock and whatever the hell that had been with Uhura counted as talking. He’d talked to Scotty, that counted, right?-- he’d eaten. He’d even gotten to sit down with Spock’s father, Sarek-- who had more or less declared himself the delegate for their people whilst onboard the ship-- to start discussing what more could be done for the Vulcan refugees in their time in transit to-- and once they reached-- Earth. 

All in all, it had been okay. 

Sure, he had had basically constant nausea and anxiety since he woke up, but that was to be expected-- especially when talking to Sarek. How Jim was supposed to look him in the eye-- a man who had lost his home, his people, his wife , and then watched some asshole get up in his grieving son’s face and scream horrible things about the tragedy at him-- and expect to be taken seriously as a well-wisher with good intentions was beyond him. But he’d done his best, apologizing first and foremost for his actions and then again in the general “I’m sorry for your loss” kind of way he’d always hated hearing growing up. 

Sarek had been gracious and accepting, though for all Jim knew he was just being polite. Spock had said Vulcans didn’t lie, but he had also said as much while lying straight to his face, that Jim would bet all his credits on. It was possible that it had something to do with the half human part of him, but really Jim wouldn’t be surprised either way. He was just glad that Sarek hadn’t thrown him out on his ass for daring to show his face or mentioning his wife’s demise, however vaguely he had done it. They had managed a productive conversation and Jim had already forwarded the short-- but mandatory-- list of requests on to the necessary parties to manage.

All the while he did his best to drown out the ever present refrain in his mind: entire planet, entire people, gone, gone, gone.

T'nash-veh sutra.  T'nash-veh ha-kel.

All in all not the worst day he’d ever had, not by a longshot, but it left him worn down and exhausted by the end nonetheless, and he was craving a warm bed more than anything else. It was only as he stumbled from the bridge into the turbolift, however, that he realized he had no clue where to go. 

He leaned heavily against the wall of the lift, feeling it rattle slightly against him as it carried him through the decks, and rubbed at his eyes with his hand. In all of the commotion it had never occurred to him that eventually he would have to deal with the fact that he had never officially been assigned to the Enterprise , and as such had never been assigned quarters. Despite working out housing for everyone else on board, it had never occurred to him to inquire about his own. 

Pike’s quarters would likely be available given that the man was still unconscious in MedBay to the best of Jim’s knowledge; he was sure Bones would have informed him if anything had changed-- but there was no way he would be taking Pike’s quarters. Even if he had been given explicit permission to do so, he would still feel odd and intrusive. Since he hadn’t, he figured it was a moot point. 

He supposed he could go to Spock for assistance in getting things sorted out, but the commander had already gone off duty and Jim was loath to disturb him; he’d done quite enough without bothering the Vulcan about his personal problems. 

No, he wouldn’t go to Spock with this, which meant he had to find somewhere warm and undisturbed where he could crash for the night and hope it was restful enough for him to get up and do it all again tomorrow. 

Hesitating only briefly, he brought his hand down on the button that would take the lift into the lower decks of the ship. When it slowed to a stop and the doors opened, he stepped out into the warm, steam infused depths of Engineering. The air smelled of machine oil and just a hint of the crackling electric smell of high powered tech running at high capacity. 

The warmth instantly lulled him closer to sleep, his body growing heavy with exhaustion as he strolled through the various turbines and computers, eyes flitting over each with a dull but impressed fascination. 

He had always loved machinery. There were rules to it; either all the pieces fit together and it worked, or they didn’t and it didn’t. There was a simplicity to it, too, even in the most complex of  contraptions. Centuries of human-- and alien-- innovation, and still they relied on tried and true mechanisms and apparatuses, making adjustments or advancements where needed. The rumble of the engines and the muted clanking of the various devices further soothed him, and he found himself leaning against a wall idly to take it all in. 

Leaning led to sitting, his tired legs giving up on supporting his weight gradually until he slid down to the floor and loosely wrapped his arms around them, head tilted back against the wall. He had chosen a spot he was sure would be out of the way and wouldn’t cause any disruptions to the crew still on shift, but a few passed by every now and then all the same. He did his best to nod politely or raise his fingers in a small wave of acknowledgement, and they would reciprocate in kind more often than not, but they couldn’t quite hide their perplexed looks as they realized the captain was slumped half asleep in a back corner of their turf for reasons they couldn’t begin to decipher. 

Eventually, Jim felt himself nodding off. His head lolled on his neck, listing too far to the side and jolting him awake more than once. He slouched further down, putting space between his lower back and the wall; it wasn’t as comfortable, but it gave his head a bit more room to lean back. Somewhere deep down he knew he should get up, go find someone, ask for quarters, but he was too drowsy and muddled to care. 

The next time his eyelids drifted shut and his head tilted lax against the wall, he let himself sleep.

He wasn’t sure how long he managed before he woke up screaming.