Sleep was elusive.

Sleep was difficult.

Sleep was impossible.

It no longer mattered how late James T. Kirk went to bed. It no longer mattered how tired he was. It no longer mattered how strenuous his daily routine had been. Sleep was something he could no longer possess, no longer have. Like a desired bed mate, it taunted and teased him before sliding away, leaving him alone and stranded. Stranded in a world of sleepers, of people whose rhythms were functioning properly, who could easily fall into that void only to emerge six, seven, eight hours later revived and refreshed. Kirk felt increasingly alienated by them - he no longer understood how they could achieve this, and he could not. Instead, he would sit up, staring blankly out into the darkness. He never put on lights, never got up. Just sat in bed, entangled in a soft cocoon, deriving no comfort, or pleasure. His mind would stream along without control or guidance, thoughts penetrating and invading. Thoughts that in public, he would never dare say or admit to.

You watched him.

You allowed him.

You didn't even try and stop him.

No one had said any of this to him. Not directly. Kirk knew that his status alone prevented criticism - he was the captain who stopped the Enterprise from falling out of the sky, stopped the crew from dying. He had done this at personal cost, allowing himself to be poisoned by radiation. The captain who had technically died. The captain who had returned from that twilight netherworld on the cusp of living and dying.

You let him kill in front of her.

During the day, he walked the ship with bouyancy. He smiled. He spoke. He interacted with his crew mates. But he never stopped questioning inside. Did they blame him? Did they think he was guilty? Did they think he was still worthy of being their captain?

On the bridge, he sat in the chair. Shifting uncomfortably, as though it were first too small, then too big. As though it was deliberately trying to unsettle him, unseat him. Around him, voices swirled - crisp, warm, coolly logical.

"I don't know if we should go near this-"

"It is reasonable to assume we could survive-"

"I haven't seen these co-ordinates before-"

Kirk heard. He didn't listen. His eyes were scanning, looking at their faces. He avoided their eyes. There was only one face he saw, and when he saw it, he found himself shuddering internally.

That night, he laid down, and closed his eyes. Then he was back there. Lying there, helpless, stunned. Hearing her scream of pain, then her screams of anguish. That sound - that sound of crushing, splitting - dying. His eyes jerked open and he sat up, panting.

Rubbing his face, he felt like sobbing.

"You're not looking that good."

Jim looked up from the cup of coffee he had been staring into for five minutes. Nyota Uhura sat opposite him, looking as crisp as she had when he'd first spotted her in that bar in Riverside. She waited patiently for him to respond, picking up her own coffee and taking a sip. Kirk, she surmised, would never let a comment on his looks pass without response.

"I'm fine," he shrugged. "Just - tired."

She blinked. "Well, not going to disagree. You actually seen the size of the bags under your eyes?"

Kirk swallowed. Uhura would not let anything go. He was beginning to regret responding so honestly. "Can't say I looked too closely."

A ghost of a smile lit the Lieutenant's lips. "Now, Jim - there's a first!"

"It does happen," he murmured.

Wrong tactic. Her face clouded with concern again. This was not the carefree, playful Kirk she knew. She leaned over. "Jim." Her tone was warm. "If you're-"

"I have to go to the bridge," he interrupted, causing her to lean back, surprised he'd been so rude. "See you there. Ten minutes."

He left the un drunk coffee and got up. As he walked away, Uhura's face clouded with surprise and distress. Picking up her own coffee cup, she took a sip, trying hard to control her thoughts.

Suddenly, she heard another voice. "May I sit down?"

Uhura blinked, looking up into the face of Carol Marcus. "Doctor! Of course!"

The blonde sat down, and smiled at Uhura. "Thank you Lieutenant." She reached for coffee cup, and then looked at Uhura. "Are you all right?"

Uhura nodded. "Yes. Thank you for asking."

"Its just - " the other woman's face clouded slightly. "I noticed Captain Kirk was opposite you - you seem a little-"

Uhura blinked. "I'm fine, really." She stirred her now lukewarm coffee, wondering whether to confide to her relatively new crew mate, or to keep her feelings to herself. She dismissed the former idea, and took a swallow of the tepid liquid. "Its just - this is a huge mission-"

Marcus nodded, her facial expression warm. "It is - but its a wonderful crew to be part of."

"It is." She bit her lip. The same sentiment Kirk would have expressed. Except he was now behaving as though the crew were the last people he wanted to associate with.

"Jim? Quiet? Uncommunicative? You sure this isn't a good thing?!"

Uhura clicked her tongue in exasperation as she stared at Bones. His attempt at humour failed to quench her worry. Seeing her expression, the CMO began to backtrack.

"Uhura - I'm sorry. But he hasn't come to me, or given any indication he has a problem." Bones rubbed his forehead. "He is the captain."

"He is. And that's why I'm- he seems so - unlike himself."

"He did nearly die," Bones reminded her, gently. "Remember, I had him out cold for two weeks, he needed extensive treatment - its a lot to process."

The lieutenant felt her exasperation growing. "Look. I was in the canteen. I sat opposite him. He looks exhausted."

"If he's not sleeping he can come to me for a sedative. He only has to ask."

"Bones!" Uhura finally lost her patience. "I thought you were his friend-"

"I am." McCoy stood up straight and looked her full in the face. "Which is why I'm not going to fuss over him. He doesn't want special treatment, or coddling. He's making that very clear."

"Can't you just slip him something?"

McCoy looked at her, shocked. "Uhura!"

She swallowed. "Sorry. I know that would be unethical. Unprofessional." Her words had a slight sting. "But Jim's in bad shape. And its not going to disappear."

Bones finally nodded. "OK. I'll schedule a medical. He can't escape. All right?"

She smiled, tepidly. "It'll do."

"Sir?"

Jim started. He'd been in his quarters, lying down, when sleep had suddenly pulled him in, under, like a dark wave. He blinked and looked at a clock. Middle of the afternoon. Sleeping when he should be on the bridge. And now Mr Chekov had come and found him.

Getting up, he let the door slide open. "Mr Chekov?"

"Sir." The young officer's face crumpled in surprise at the dishevelled state of the captain. "We - Mr Scott, Dr Marcus - wondered if you could come to the engineering-"

"Of course." Kirk stood back, letting the door slide on the startled officer. Moving through the room, he wandered into the bathroom, letting water run, splashing it on his face. He felt a mess.

He took a step into his quarters. They were also as dishevelled and as uncared for as their owner. Bed sheets were tangled and sweat stained. Clothes simply deposited on the floor. He sighed and sat down.

Pike. Pike had told him he didn't deserve the chair. That he wasn't ready for it. He'd argued against that in the wake of the man's abrupt and untimely death, to Wallace-

He blinked. His tablet had bleeped, and he turned to it. A message.

"Sickbay. Now."

"Bones?"

"Here." The other man looked up from the papers he was reading. "Jim. Thanks for coming down so quickly. Take a seat. Here."

Kirk looked at Bones reluctantly. "Why did you-"

"Medical. Once over." Bones stated firmly, in a tone that Jim knew would not broker argument. "Now, please, have a seat."

"Why?"

"Because-" McCoy walked over and looked at the Captain. "Because I've noticed you look - exhausted."

Jim shrugged. "I'm all right, really."

"I'm the doctor, I'll be the judge of that. Now, shall we begin? Or do you want to waste another ten minutes arguing?"

Jim conceded. He knew there was no point. He merely wanted to get the ordeal over with.

"Your blood pressure is high."

"OK."

"And - would you step on the scale?"

"Bones-"

"Jim. Thanks."

Kirk did so. Bones studied the numbers, frowning slightly. "You've lost weight."

Jim shrugged. "Well, better than middle aged spread."

"Not funny." Bones looked at him, sharply. "You lost weight whilst you were ill - you don't need to lose more now."

Jim sighed. "Bones. Enough. I'm fine. I have a lot to do - so if you don't mind-"

"Hold on," McCoy interrupted, causing the younger man to look at him in outright annoyance. "There is something going on - you can always-"

"I don't need to do anything," Kirk snapped back. Before Bones could retaliate, he turned and left the room.