The mirror image stood unwavering, as it produced exactly the right words to agitate him. He balled his fists, fighting his desire to do something stupid.
"You know I'm right," the mirror said. "Why else would what I say bother you? Its your pride. You can't handle the truth."
The mirror had plagued him since he was a child. It was never positive, never tried to heal the pain. In a way, it was his greatest resource. Whenever he was down, the mirror would just push down on him, adding shackles that held him just outside the abyss. it was himself that pulled him up. Over time, having an extra enemy to beat had made him stronger, more self reliant. He didn't need anybody.
"You think you earned your rank? Please, you manipulated everyone you could, cutting them off at the ankles, and leaving them behind without a second glance. Sheer luck didn't hurt either."
He had long learned to ignore the mirror. It was just another hater. Another McCoy, berating him whenever he came back from a mission injured. Telling him he was reckless and irresponsible. But the difference was, McCoy did it because he was worried for Jim. The mirror, the mirror just wanted to tear him down, and laugh when he fell. He would never give it that satisfaction.
"And your job? You suck at it. How many crewmen do you have to lose until you admit it? How many times has Earth almost been doomed, until a quick save at the very last second? You are the fucking definition of incompetent; wrong for the job. You should just resign."
The mirror also had the habit of never shutting up.
"Anyone would be better than you. Didn't you realize that, when you were about to drive off that cliff? You did, didn't you? Even back then, you knew how much you sucked at life."
He clenched his jaw, the water running ice cold over his hands, stinging. He was alone in the floor's bathroom, but the mirror had caught him. When this happened, he couldn't leave, couldn't tear his gaze from his reflection, and had to force himself to hear what it was saying. The thing was, the more he heard, the more he thought his reflection was right.
He stared at his reflection, and was returned with a look of unbridled disgust. Identical, as all reflections are, but for eyes that brewed with anger, searching for the next thing to say, the thing that would upset his unstable balance. Having found it, the eyes settled into a smirk look of sureness.
"I'm not the only one who knows the truth." The mirror spoke.
"No," He said, breaking his sole rule of not feeding the monster. The mirror kept on going.
"You hid your fear from most of the crew pretty well. But did you really think you could conceal anything from him? From Spock?"
"Don't bring him into this-"
"Why not?" The reflection interjected. "How long are you going to put up this front? Do you really think he hasn't figured you out since day one? Ever since you showed up in that court, he knew just how much of an ass you are. Actually, no, there's no way he could have predicted that-"
The sentence is cut off as his fist fragments the thin glass. He hit with such a force that the crunch of his knuckles was audible, and pain spiked up his forearm. Heavy breaths mingled with the sound of shards of glass clattering to the ground. He lowered his arm.
"Captain?"
He turned his head to see of his First Officer entering the restroom.
"Spock." He took notice of the sight of the broken glass surrounding him and his bloody fist.
"This isn't what it looks like." He offered weakly, not really sure what else it could even be.
"An alternate explanation to what observation leads me to conclude would prove most interesting."
He rubbed the back of his neck with his non-injured hand. "Would saying that I was, uh, fighting with ghost, be too illogical?".
Spocked quirked a single eyebrow.
"A ghost, Captain Kirk? Are you sure your mental facilities did not sustain injuries along with your hand?"
"Captain? How many times do I have to tell you, you can call me Jim? Also, yes, my brain's fine. And it was a ghost, really. Not like, 'dead person's spirit' kind, though, more like," Kirk was at a loss. How was he supposed to explain this, something he himself barely understood, to someone like Spock? He probably thought he was crazy right now, talking about ghosts and shit.
"Perhaps an explanation would be better suited for a time after you have had your injuries attended to, Jim."
"Thank you, Spock."
On that note, he followed Spock out of the bathroom, back into the world of Starfleet procedure and reckless breaking of rules.