Chapter Text
Jim Kirk is quite aware of his so-called reputation.
Although no one has ever really told him face to face - especially since he's been involved with Starfleet - he catches whispers. Looks. And then, his friends have asked him if he knows of his reputation. When he's questioned them about it, they've just smirked and walked away. Bones and Uhura, mainly. Because those are the two who just love to mess with his head whenever they get the chance, in their own unique ways.
Despite them thinking that they leave him in the dark, Jim has gathered enough data from his own actions and from the whispers around him. His reputation is loud and clear, and has apparently followed him all the way from his hometown.
Sex addict. Alcoholic. Trouble-making ASSHOLE.
It doesn't bother him much. Well...it USED to not bother him. Because for almost a year...it wasn't true. After becoming Captain of the Enterprise, Jim gave those things up for the most part. Sleeping around with beautiful women only happened here and there on shore leave, along with drinking. He'd cut back on the drinking, but not much.
But after Pike died, things changed. Jim stopped all of it. No more whiskey. No more sex. He got quieter. He smiled less. Pike was like a father to him, and the memory of him burns Jim every time it flashes through his head, which happens more often than he thinks of anything else. More than his own damn mother.
And then...Jim died. The radiation of the Enterprise core seeped into his bones and irradiated his cells, giving him a painful, choking death, while his First Officer and friend was forced to watch from the other side of a sealed door. He was done. He knew it was over, and the fear consumed him as he passed away into darkness.
But then, he was brought back.
His friends, his crew, were all ecstatic to see his return to the Captain's chair.
Jim...Jim just felt that burning pain. That darkness, creeping through his body and his mind. At first, things were fine. He was more than pleased to discover that his bridge crew had all survived and that the Enterprise made it out, that Khan had been put back to sleep. The thought of returning to space with his friends to continue the exploration he enjoys so much gave him the same feeling it had always given him. But this time...it was like static. Less alive.
And like his reputation, the memory and the pain of his death follows him everywhere he walks. Down every corridor. Onto the chair. Everywhere.
Now it's not just Pike's tragic demise flashing through his brain. It's his own, and they swirl together like an endless whirlpool of shit.
-
Every night since returning to the Captain's Chair, Jim drinks.
It's not a social affair, either. He doesn't share a glass with Bones like he used to. No. He locks himself in his chambers and pulls whatever hard liquor he's been able to hide away out from under his bed, and he drinks until his racing thoughts slow down.
Never too much. Never enough to cause significant problems within his role as Captain. But enough to muffle the pain.
It's been a few months now since the start of the five year mission in space. Jim's been able to keep a cap on things, but he's had to up the dosage times two to get the same result. He knows the risk he's taking, but it's his burden to bear. His friends brought him back from death because they need him as the Captain, and that's what he's determined to be for them. He would die for them all again in a heartbeat, because he's the CAPTAIN. Pike...even Pike did everything he could to make Jim his first officer after he lost the Enterprise.
Jim can't let Pike down now by 'calling out sick'. He can't let Spock down. He can't let Bones down. He can't let Uhura, or Scotty, or Chekov, or Sulu down. Not after everything they've done for him.
If it takes a little self-medicating to stick it out, that's what Jim will do. Until death claims him once again, he'll be Captain of the Enterprise.
-
The only problem is...his friends have started to notice a change in him. Change was to be expected after Jim was brought back to life, but now...he sees the exchanged glances between Spock and Uhura when they both talk to him on the mornings when it's harder for Jim to focus. He sees the way Bones narrows his eyes at him when he looks away more often than usual. He sees the worry in Chekov's unguarded expression.
He hates it. But what the hell can he do besides brush them off? He's surrounded by geniuses. Nothing gets by any of them.
The only thing to do is continue to march forward. And avoid Bones' insistence that he take his annual medical exam eight months ahead of schedule. And do everything he can to avoid getting in the lift alone with Spock. And do his best to look away from Uhura and Sulu's equally scrutinizing gazes.
This is how it IS. There's no need for any unnecessary drama when the trip has gone so smoothly so far.
But, fate is not on his side.
"Good night, Spock," Jim nods without making eye contact as he steps away from the bridge, gunning it for the lift. It's the end of his shift, and he's been itching for a drink for the past three hours. Last night, he'd tried cutting back halfway, which proved to be a mistake when he continued to zone out whilst sitting in the Chair. Gun shots and blood and cold glass against his fingertips oozed through his throbbing head for most of his shift, and it didn't go unnoticed. By anyone, this time.
He screwed up, majorly.
"Captain," Spock distantly responds.
He steps into the lift, and almost relaxes-
"Jim."
Jim winces in annoyance, tilting his head to the side as Bones quickly steps into the lift next to him. Great. "Listen, Bones-"
"No, YOU listen," Bones snaps, turning on him.
Jim keeps his gaze on the lift doors, his hands clasped behind his back and his face neutral.
"This has gone on long enough. Obviously, something's wrong with you."
Silence. Jim squeezes his hands together a little tighter, his eyes lifting to settle on the digital numbers counting the floors. Still several seconds until he reaches his floor. "Nothing is wrong with me, Bones," Jim sighs, glancing to the side. Then back up to the rapidly changing number. "Don't you have work to do?"
"Don't give me that, you son of a bitch," Bones hisses.
Jim blinks in surprise, almost turning his head to look at his friend. He's angrier than Jim thought. Well...Jim HAS been avoiding him for weeks.
"What's going ON with you, Jim?" Bones throws his hands out, exasperated.
Jim smiles tightly. "Just a little tired, that's all. Alright?"
Bones is silent for a couple long seconds. "You're a damn shitty liar."
The lift pings, and the doors slide open. Jim almost sighs in relief, but Bones follows him out, and he clenches his fists until his nails dig painfully into his palms. "I'm retiring for the night, Bones, so-"
A heavy hand lands on his shoulder, and Bones roughly spins him around. Jim was ready for that, but not for being slamming against the corridor wall. He grunts, and Bones pressing his hands hard into Jim's shoulders, leaning in. "You look tired, Jim," he says, almost a whisper, eyes narrowed. Jim swallows, unable to look away from the concern burning in the Doctor's brown eyes. "You've lost weight - five pounds? Maybe eight?"
Jim looks away, eyes landing on a couple of passing cadets who diligently keep their gazes on the floor as they pick up the pace and hurry by them.
"You're losing focus on the bridge...you're even avoiding Spock, man. You really think you can pull the wool over a Vulcan's eyes, for gods sake?" Bones releases Jim's shoulders, taking a slow step back. He folds his arms, looking Jim up and down. "Well, you can't avoid ME."
Jim sighs, shakes his head. "I'm tired, Bones. Like you said-"
"It's more than that," Bones interrupts snappily. "You're not just tired. You're losing sleep. I can practically smell the nightmares on you."
Jim stiffens, then peels himself off the wall. THIS is why he's avoided being alone with Bones. He was doing well enough for months, and with everyone being so busy, he thought he would be able to slip by for a little while longer. Until...he fucked it all up last night by trying to wean himself off the alcohol.
"I'm dealing with it," Jim says stiffly, looking Bones up and down before walking toward his room.
"The hell you are," Bones calls after him. His boots echo loudly through the corridor as he races to catch up, and Jim's fists tighten by his sides. “You know, it seemed like things were sort of under control for the first month or two, but now I can see that you’ve just been rolling downhill this whole time.”
"Bones, I really-"
"You're not god, Jim," Bones interrupts. "You came back from the dead, sure. But you're HUMAN, and I'm not the only one on this damn death trap who can see that you're suffering."
Jim keeps walking. His jaw clenches, and his throat burns with unsaid words. He comes to a stop just outside his door. He turns sharply on Bones, who watches him carefully, a hand held out like he's trying to coax a wild animal into a cage.
"You're clearly avoiding a medical exam, so I can only assume-"
"I'm going to sleep now," Jim deadpans. "While I appreciate your concern, I assume that there are things for you to do. Patients, perhaps, who are in actual need of care. Am I right, or am I wrong?"
Bones narrows his eyes. "You think you're funny?"
Jim raises an eyebrow. "Did I say something funny?"
Bones points a finger at him, his face tightening in barely-contained rage. It's almost humorous to watch, except for the ache in Jim's chest from the knowing that he's the one who has caused the pain in his friend. He'll have to be more careful from now on.
"I already know that your vitals are off," Bones snarls. "But you can bet your sorry ass that I’m gonna find out EXACTLY what’s wrong. And believe me, I’ll find it. I'll have full authority to drag you kicking and screaming to med bay before you know it."
“I’m FINE,” Jim reiterates, his voice rising in frustration.
Bones stares at him. “Do you think I’m a damn idiot, kid?”
"Good night," Jim says shortly, taking a step backward into his chambers. The door slides open for him, then shuts him off from Bones' view. He lets out a heavy breath, listening to the muffled sound of Bones letting out a string of curses, his southern accent thicker than usual.
Jim turns away, pulling his communicator from his pocket. Several unread messages from Spock, Uhura, Scotty. He barely looks at them, tossing the device onto his desk, eyes flicking immediately down to the shadowy underside of his bed.
The professional lines in his relationships with those on the bridge have been helpful for these past months. Although very blurred, there is still respect and distance maintained because of Jim’s high ranking. So he knows that he’s getting away with a lot more now than he would be able to if he wasn’t Captain.
But even to cover his own ass, he can’t bring himself to check the messages from his concerned friends.
As he pulls out a half-empty bottle of whiskey from under his bed, a creeping feeling inches its way over Jim’s neck.
Bones knows something’s wrong - without a doubt now. But Jim can keep the Doctor off of his back. It’s just a drink here and there. He can keep his problem under control. Can’t he?