A/N: Buckets of angst. A disgustingly large amount of angst, with some lighter stuff to come in later chapters.
This is a pretty short chapter for me, but it really doesn't need any more embellishment, in my opinion.
The relentless blare of Jim's communicator cut through the light chatter on the bridge.
"Captain James Tiberius Kirk of the Starship Enterprise, this is Admiral Pike from Starfleet." Jim looked down in annoyance; the call was interrupting his crossword.
"Admiral, to what do I the owe honor of receiving this call from an esteemed person such as yourself?" Several people laughed, breaking the nervous tension that had built on the bridge. Calls from the higher-ups meant one of two things – either someone from Command was being transferred, or a crew member's Earth-bound relative had died. In short, a personal call from Earth was never a good sign.
"Jim, you might want to be alone for this." All the blood drained from his face. Jim nodded at the communicator, then realized there was no way for Pike to have seen him do that. Jim cleared his throat loudly, then stood up.
"Yessir. Mr. Spock, you have the conn." He entered the turbolift and didn't look back.
He re-entered the bridge seven minutes later; he looked dazed, nearly.
"You okay?" Bones asked gruffly as Jim slid into the Captains' chair. He was helping Uhura with some rather daunting project, but wanted to know what the hell was up with his best friend. Jim shook his head, nonresponsive.
"No transfers. Tell the others, and I'll talk to you later?" Jim asked quietly. By the look on Jim's face, the situation was dire enough that it would have to be dealt with in private. Which meant that, in keeping with tradition, Jim and Bones were going to get completely shit-faced that night. It was a coping mechanism and it often ended with the consumption of enough alcohol to kill a fully grown man.
"Yeah." Bones replied. "Jim, you need to get outta here. You look like death. Head down to Sickbay. I'm not kidding, I better come down there after I'm finished with Nyota and find your ass sitting in my office."
Listening to, but not really hearing, Bones, Jim muttered some excuse and informed Commander Spock that he had the conn again.
He somehow managed to keep it together while walking through the halls. In lieu of going to Sickbay, he headed straight for his quarters and the privacy of his own bathroom.
Once in the bathroom, he locked the door with several bobby pins and the wad of gum he had been chewing for the past hour or so. That should keep anyone from breaking in, even if they had the override codes.
He turned and looked at his visage in the mirror, absolutely disgusted with what was reflected back at him.
It was completely and utterly his fault that his mother was dead. The responsibility was his and his alone, and he'd have to live with that knowledge for the rest of his life. If he'd just been there, hadn't left her alone on another planet, it would've been okay. Hell, if he hadn't been born and therefore his father was still alive, it all would've been fucking perfect.
The depression that followed his father's death had crushed her, and it had been the psychologist's bright idea to send her off-planet. Jim hadn't seen her in six years. He hadn't gotten the chance to say goodbye.
He swung wildly, slamming his fist into the mirror and watching it shatter into thousands of glittering shards.
Even the pain of it didn't help; nothing could distract him from the demons that now haunted him, that in reality always had, that shadowed his every footstep with a reminder of what shouldn't have been – him.
The lights began to bend and twist, his vision distorted from the tears threatening to fall.
Jim sat with his back against the cool, tiled wall to rifle through his pockets. He pulled out three little white pills from an unlabeled bag, grabbed a glass from the counter, and filled it with water from the sink. His ecstasy stash – for emergencies only. He tossed his head back and swallowed them with a few sips of water.
He sat in the same position for nearly twenty minutes, letting the tears stream down his cheeks and waiting for the renewed clarity that the drug would bring. The words from that call played and replayed aimlessly, sliding sinuously through his mind and keeping him ensnared. They left no escape from the horror that was slowly becoming his life again, from the knowledge that his misfortune was the offspring of every problem in his life, every flaw in his character.
Spock, having finally managed to break Jim's makeshift barrier, slammed the door open and stood speechless in the doorway. He took in the sight of his Captain huddled in the corner, crying freely, and he didn't say a word; he merely crossed the room and sat beside Jim, knowing that if Jim wanted to speak, he would.
Jim broke the silence abruptly. "Spock, you don't-you don't have to see this. You can go. I don't - it's not something I've told anyone, and you-"
"Jim, please. Say what you require to in order to feel better." Spock said.
And with that, the story began spilling out. It was as if Jim couldn't stop talking once he started, the horrendous story taking shape as he detailed his life previous to enrollment in Starfleet.
According to Jim, it all stemmed from him being too cocky, too lazy, too self-assured…too deserving.
He deserved every single bad thing that came his way. The beatings and constant litany of verbal abuse from his supposed stepfather (like Jim felt any need to connect himself to the man) were justified.
When Sam had left on that windy September afternoon six years ago, Jim hadn't wondered why Sam didn't stay. He just knew it was his fault, that the pain he was feeling was warranted, because he hadn't deserved to have someone like Sam in his life anyway, and he wasn't going to stay with an abusive stepfather just to take care of his worthless little brother.
He deserved having his mother go off-planet because the psychologist assumed 'it would help'. Jim knew that it in all reality was because of him; one night Sam had told him that his mother had never looked sadder than she did when looking at Jim. It was because he resembled his father so much – he was practically a mirror image of the man, and every glance from his mother was a painful reminder of what it had cost to bring him to Earth. Every day it pained her to live with what was essentially the ghost of his father, alive again in Jim.
He hasn't deserved the good that has come his way, any of it.
Jim got into so many fights to destroy the good looks that he was blessed with, and just to be beaten up in general.
Jim pretended to be stupid, clueless, throughout the years: he maintained a carefully constructed façade that lead others to believe he was nothing more than that front that he presented to them. In reality, Jim was a genius, but he only began to work to his fullest mental capacity once he enrolled in Starfleet.
He believes that he has no capacity for love, and no right to love anyone, so he sleeps around. His trysts never last for more than a week, and the majority last for a night.
And then there are the things that he doesn't tell Spock, who at this point has his arms around Jim while the blonde clings to him and sobs relentlessly, staining Spock's science blue sweater with his tears.
He doesn't deserve Spock, who he can't help but love. He questions it frequently, whether it is his right to even be near someone that makes him so happy when in reality he shouldn't have a thing. Spock is his best friend, and Jim knows that they are meant to be that and so much more. He can't drag Spock down like that, however. Jim doesn't deserve to live a life only found in fantasy where he gets everything he's wanted and the man he's always dreamed of. Despite the fact that Jim knows it is utterly wrong and he should just walk away, he can't. Every second he spends with Spock is intoxicating. Just the presence of his First Officer changes his outlook of everything, alters and distorts his view of reality to the point where Jim can almost believe that he's…happy.
Spock is the only person with whom Jim can even slightly lower the walls he has built around himself, the only person who has seen even a sliver of what lays underneath Jim's false persona. With Spock, he can talk freely about the finer points of astrophysics, laugh loudly in pure delight about Gaila's latest conquest, work until the latest hours of the night to learn and memorize another set of formal customs for an alien planet, and then fall asleep, the two entwined on Jim's bed. They'll wake up the next morning and Jim will laugh it off, saying it doesn't have to mean anything.
But even in Spock's presence, he still is Jim, and that's never going to change.
Spock respects his boundaries, understands but doesn't question why Jim is deathly afraid of heights and pine two-by-fours. He could care less if Jim won't ever be able to drink wine that costs three dollars a bottle because just the smell of it on someone's breath frightens him, if Jim can't sit through ten minutes of any movie dealing with abuse for reasons that are becoming very clear to Spock, as he sits on the floor and comforts the man he loves desperately. He knows that Jim will someday be able to deal with the psychological issues that have obviously sprung from his childhood, but until then, he is content to wait. He loves Jim in a way that is entirely unhealthy and illogical, but Spock doesn't care.
Spock's going to exorcise the demons from Jim's past, because all Spock wants in the world is to see Jim truly happy.
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