Welcome all! I quite recently fell in love with the Khirk Ship and decided to write my own fanfic for it! Please enjoy and be sure to leave a comment before you go!
His heart was rapidly pounding in his chest.
Sound and color seemed to dull around him.
His head was killing him, all the blood rushing in his veins.
He could do nothing but hold his head in his hands and try to breath through it.
Count, Jim, count to ten and everything will be alright.
1...2...3…
His chest tightened, pressure leaning on him like a weighted rock.
4...5...6…
Almost there, just breathe through it, you can handle it.
7...8...9…
You are James Tiberius Kirk. You were dead but now you are alive.
9….
You are home, in your bed.
9….
You are on the ground. You are okay.
10.
The world opened up around him. The darkness receded and though the tightness in his chest stayed, the pain in his head fell away. He could focus on his bedroom, on the disarray of clothing, on the few empty cups that held some really good scotch from the night before.
Jim could feel the layer of sweat that covered his entire body, cold and clammy and wet.
He'd had another nightmare, one of a thousand nightmares he'd had since he'd awoken from his coma. Since he'd died.
He hadn't had a good night's sleep since then and it had only been a few weeks from when he'd woken up in Bones' office, his body heavy and his mind a jumbled mess of memories.
Jim had spent that first week in the hospital in San Francisco, undergoing physical and psychological therapy. Bones had been there for the physical parts, helping Jim shake off the dregs of a two week slumber. He help Jim casually work up from a soft walk to a mild jog on the treadmill and eventually he was able to hold a steady run without running out of breath.
His muscles ached, having been not been used for that short amount of time. At first he wanted to blow off the exercise but Bones was there every step of the way, kicking his butt into gear, and reminding Jim that soon he'd be well and the Enterprise would be up and running and it would need its Captain.
In the beginning Jim didn't welcome the reminder. At first, he held onto thoughts of not returning to the position of Captain. He'd convinced himself that a nice desk job would make him feel safer. Space was an exciting thing to behold, with adventures many dreamed of having, but Jim was tired and he was scared.
When he thought Bones could read his thoughts he shifted and began to lie, to make everyone else believe that what Bones had said really made him want to get better.
In truth he just wanted to stop the damn tests, both the exercise and the therapy.
With his sessions he sat with a nice doctor who listened to Jim even on his bad days. He never mentioned not wanting to return to the Enterprise so instead he focused on other things, things he couldn't tell Bones.
He told the therapist when the nightmares had started and that most of the time he couldn't remember them at all, just the feeling of being lost, of anger and confusion. He'd mention seeing red upon waking, which was always abrupt.
He told her of his panic attacks he would sometimes have when his nightmares reflected that of his time in the radiation chamber and he told her that sometimes he was angry for no reason at all.
The doctor would tell him that it was normal to feel this way, that he'd been through a traumatic ordeal and his mind and body needed time to process it all.
When he started lying to Bones and picked up on his physical therapy, he began lying to his therapist as well. Jim was becoming good at passing for believable and soon he was cleared to go home.
The first few nights back in his apartment were a blur of sleep and occasionally eating. Bones had decided to stay and help out until Jim could get back in the swing of things.
On the third day, Jim couldn't take much more of Bones grumbling around while cleaning up clothes and dishes. He shooed the doctor out, swearing up and down that he was fine and had gotten everything out of his system.
That first night alone was a dark one.
At first everything was fine. Jim had been put on a recovery leave for a months time, so even though he was out of the hospital, he didn't have much to do when normally all he'd be buried under was paperwork concerning the rebuilding of the Enterprise.
He'd mulled about, moving furniture this way and that just to keep himself dying from boredom. He'd left the TV on for the noise of people talking, and a couple of times he sang to himself when he was starting to feel lonely.
When the sun set and night fell, sleep loomed over the edges of Jim's mind. He'd stared at his bed, wondering if he was going to have a good night's sleep or not. Eventually he'd become too tired, and a little too drunk on scotch to care, and crawled into his sheets to shake off consciousness.
It was only when he started to feel safe, his fingertips brushing the cotton sheets in rhythmic circles, did the nightmares begin.
They pulled him down into the darkness, into the constant anger and fragmented confusion.
In the morning, he remembered none of it, just the feeling of dread and constant heartache.
Now, a whole week after he'd been home, he'd finally had a nightmare he could somewhat remember.
It had scared him, scared him so bad that he'd awoken in the middle of an anxiety attack. Every part of his body was shaking, adrenaline rushing through him as fast as his blood could carry it, and his mind was screaming at him, horrified.
The nightmare held the same formula it always did, like slithering snakes engulfing him in an ocean of nothingness, Jim was feeling suffocated by all the anger he'd had bottling up inside.
Most mornings it melted away once he was awake, almost instantly. Some days it stayed longer then he'd like, but usually a good shower helped calm him down.
This morning however, the anger stayed. It swelled up inside him and he couldn't contain it.
Still shaking, Jim grabbed at his bedsheets and ripped them away. He stood, his feet hitting the floor hard and fast. He felt almost animal like, roaming his apartment for anything he could get his hands on.
He'd grabbed a lamp and tore it from the top of his nightstand, sending it flying and eventually crashing on a nearby wall. He took the nightstand out next, picking it up and vaulting it to the floor with a strength Jim was not accustomed to having. He just wanted to break things, to get out all of his anger so he could get on with his day of doing nothing, of having nothing to accomplish or explore or discover or…
The sound was what alerted Jim first, before he felt the sharp stabbing pain of glass on the bottom of his foot.
He'd stepped on one of the empty drinking glass he'd spotted earlier from the bed. It had snapped under the weight of his body with an ease that said it could have been made of sugar.
The pain halted his destructive behavior immediately. He still felt copious amounts of anger swirling around inside of him but the feeling of pain that washed through his body stopped him from moving.
It was a strange feeling really, like a bolt of electricity had ignited inside his veins. It brought forth a shiver from Jim and a small sigh of relief.
Hopping from his spot, and being careful not to step on anymore shards, Jim made his way back to his bed. He sat down and stared down at his foot, holding it in his hands. Only small cuts had started to bleed but the bigger shards held in any gushing tides that were sure to follow once he pulled them out.
He could have hopped his way to his communicator and called Bones in to help him out but he couldn't let anyone see the mess he'd made with his tiny tantrum. He also could have hopped to the bathroom to gather some tweezers but instead he ignored logical reasoning and started pulling out the shards by hand.
When he'd dug out all of the smaller ones, he braced himself for the last three, much larger shards. His foot was warm now, all the blood rushing to leave from the wounds, but his fingers felt cold and clammy as he did when he'd woken up. He shook out a few good jitters and pulled out the first shard.
It hadn't been that deep, but it was deep enough that some small amount of blood seeped out slowly from the minor wound. It had only started dripping on the carpet when Jim had pulled the second shard out. He stared at the last shard, the biggest of them all and sighed, building up as much courage as he could. The other two hadn't hurt at all but this piece was dug in deeper.
Jim bit the inside of his cheek and reached for the shard of glass. He ripped it out of his foot like pulling off a bandaid. Just like a bandaid though, the pain had taken a second to catch up and once the blood started to flow freely down his foot and onto the carpet beneath him, the pain increased tenfold, sending more bolts of electricity through his body.
Crying out, Jim flung himself back onto the bed, forgetting for a moment that blood was currently spilling out from his foot. He tried to keep a hold of his ankle to steady it but while he jerked around on the bed, blood lightly sprayed the carpet, a nearby wall and partly on his bed sheets.
When Jim finally calmed down, he took a few dizzying deep breaths and sat up.
His room was a mess, a perfect bloody show to a murder scene. He groaned as his foot continued to bleed but he'd had enough of being careful. He let go of his ankle and let his foot hit the floor without caution. As he made his way to the bathroom to wash everything off of him, he left a trail of bloody footprints on the carpet and the tiled floor.
Sighing, Jim turned on the shower and peeled off his clothing. Tossing them to the floor, he stepped into the enclosed space of the shower.
The water felt good on his skin, hot, and searing away all the sweat and blood that sat on top. Just as it had been a cure-all before, any trace of anger fell away and all that was left was pain in his foot and his head.
He hadn't been this angry before and certainly not enough to start destroying things around him. Normally he'd just pout until he'd made it go away. Now it seemed to become dangerous, this hot-headedness.
All over a nightmare.
All over a nightmare about Khan.
A nightmare about Khan that he could only partially remember.
Jim sighed and leaned his head against a tiled wall, the water pelting him with fat droplets. It felt heavy against his skin but instead of feeling suffocated, Jim felt a sense of calm and peace wash over him.
Jim knew when things got out of hand. He knew this was dangerous, that these feelings inside had escalated greatly, as proven by the mess in his bedroom. He knew it was time to talk to someone but he couldn't bring himself to bother Bones or any of his crew mates with this burden.
No, it was time to visit to his therapist again.
He had to figure out what had happened in his nightmare, to figure out what was making him so enraged. The doctor had said it was normal, a response anyone would feel having gone through what he'd gone through. Sure maybe at first it had been ptsd alone, but now it was something else.
Jim didn't feel like himself anymore. No, now he felt as if he were teetering on the edge of a cliff, one way being a scared, smaller version of himself, and the other a giant monster wanting nothing but destruction and pain.
If he could, Jim would have holed himself up in his room for the rest of his days, because what else could the world offer if his love for space traveling had died. No, he had to get out and find out what it was that had changed him and what he could do to get some semblance of normalcy back.
The shower had run cold by now and Jim had started to shiver. His foot had stopped bleeding and all the blood had been washed away down the drain. Nothing but clear water swirled around the bottom, sinking into the tiny grate and rushing away from Jim. He could feel himself slip away as the water did, slip down his body, slip down his fingertips and his toes, and wash away from his skin.
He moved to switch the water off, but he couldn't shake the feeling of escaping his skin, of becoming something else entirely, of wanting to become someone else entirely.
"Captain, welcome, I've been curious as to how you've been since leaving the hospital."
Jim smiled at the doctor as he took his familiar seat on the client couch. Dr. Mayla, whom Jim had become comfortable around, smiled back at him. She had a lovely smile, ivory cheeks rising to press against lovely green eyes.
She was attractive enough that Jim would have hit on her in a second if he had been his normal self.
Instead, he'd met her when he was at his worst and upon meeting her, only knew of her as a shining beacon of friendship. He needed someone to talk to because he couldn't talk to Bones and eventually she became someone he wanted to talk to because he wanted to talk to her.
"I've uhm...been okay." The answer sounded uneven, faulty and unsure. Jim shrugged.
Dr. Mayla gave Jim a smiling look that said she knew better then to accept that.
Sighing, Jim ran a hand through his blonde hair. "Okay, not really okay. I uh, cut my foot today on some glass."
"Why would you do that?" Dr. Mayla asked, resituating herself in her chair. "Was it intentional?"
"No no," Jim shook his head, sitting up a little straighter. "It was an accident, I wasn't paying attention."
"So, something's been on your mind?"
"Yeah."
Clearing her throat, Dr. Mayla made the same face, urging him to continue. "Jim, why are you here today?"
Time seemed to slow for Jim. All at once he felt unsure if he should really spill his guts. Anything she had to write down would go on his record and if it was too much he might seal away his last chance to sail the skies forever.
He looked down at his foot, feeling an itch where his tiny wounds sat, an itch he couldn't scratch through his shoe, and then looked back up at the doctor.
"I had a nightmare again, actually I've been having them every night." He could feel everything bubble to the surface and once he began he couldn't stop himself. "I lied when I said I wasn't having them anymore. They've gotten worse since I left but I still can't remember anything when I wake up. I just feel so angry and most of the time it goes away but today I-" His breath hitched in his throat, his voice breaking ever so slightly. "I broke some things in my apartment. I just wanted to break things."
Dr. Mayla sat quietly and listened, watching Jim move about as he told her these things. He was jittery, unable to sit completely still and was starting to become visibly upset the more he went on. When he finished, she waited a moment, letting him catch his breath.
"I know I've mentioned it before Jim, but it's completely normal to feel anger. It's your body's response to being confused. When we don't know what to think, anger and fear is usually the first reaction we come to. It's only been a few weeks, people sometimes go through this for a lot longer."
Jim just stared at Dr. Mayla. Before he could stop them, his eyes began to tear up and he looked away.
"I feel like something is wrong with me, like something inside feels wrong. I can feel a little like myself when I'm awake but when I go to sleep I'm a different person. I had a nightmare about Khan."
His voice had trailed to just barely a whisper by Dr. Mayla picked it up even so. "Do you want to talk about it?"
Jim shook his head. "No, yes, I'm not sure. I can't remember most of it. It starts out with us on Qo'noS, fighting the Klingons, catching up to him. Things play out like a memory, but it's clearer then that. I remember watching him, I can't stop watching him, even when Uhura and Spock pull me from the ground. He's fighting the Klingons, he's killing them with moves I've never seen and then he's pulling back his hood and he's telling me he's surrendering and then nothing. I can't remember anything after that. I just know that when I woke up I felt like I needed to break something."
Dr. Mayla cleared her throat. "Jim, that's nor-"
"Don't tell me that's normal!" He shouted, surprising himself along with the doctor. He was ready to jump up from the couch but he pulled himself back and shifted on the couch. "I'm sorry." He said, quietly, folding in on himself into the couch cushions. "It's just, whatever I'm feeling, its not normal. I know how I use to feel. I don't feel that way anymore."
Sighing, Dr. Mayla stood up from her chair and moved around to her desk behind it. She rummaged around in a drawer for a good moment before quietly moving back to Jim. He'd sunk forward, resting his head in his hands. She knelt beside him and pressed a hand on his arm. "Jim, look, it's clear that your biggest hurdle are these nightmares. If you can remember them, maybe you can work through them."
Shifting, Jim peeked out behind a hand at the doctor. He noted that she held something in her other hand, a small mechanical item. "I don't know how to remember them."
"I have just the thing. This machine," She held up the item in her hand. It was small, about the size of her palm and round. At first it looked like a hockey puck, a thick black disc, but there was a small button on the side with a tiny red light. "is used to track dreams. I use it sometimes for my clients who I use hypnosis on. It records the dreams so that they can watch it back later if they so choose."
Jim sat up slowly, his eyes darting from the disc to the doctor.
"If you'd like to take this home and use it, you can, but I urge you to have someone stay with you. Using this could cause you to sleep walk and you'd need someone to make sure you stay put."
Jim eyed the tiny machine again. If this disc could help him figure out why he was feeling the way he was, he'd trust the doctor. Nodding, he accepted it when Dr. Mayla handed it off to him. She stood and smiled down at him.
"Just please don't destroy it, it's very expensive." She chuckled lightly and though Jim wanted to replicated it, he could only muster up a smile.
The disc sat on his wet bar countertop, the red light constantly beaming. It held an air about it, an air that said it held all the answers to Jim's problems.
He'd stared at it a good while as if certain the inanimate object would move.
Jim was on his third glass of scotch by the time he decided it wasn't going to do anything but sit there.
He'd spent most of the day cleaning up his room, scoffing at the poor job he'd executed. The sheets had been replaced and the glass picked up, but no amount of scrubbing would clear off the last stains of blood on the carpet.
Jim regretted cleaning up after he got back from visiting with Dr. Mayla when he should have done so before. He was freaking out and desperately needed to talk with her.
She'd given him this tiny disc and it seemed to haunt him. It would be a few hours until the sun went down and even though the scotch was helping him feel sleepy, he still had to wait for Bones to come by.
When a soft knock on the door sounded, Jim hopped up from his bar stool. Normally Bones would have just entered, knowing the code for the keypad so when Jim opened the door he was a bit surprised to see Spock standing there instead.
"Mr. Spock." For a moment Jim forgot how to speak. "Uh, I, what are you doing here?"
They hadn't seen each other since Jim had woken up from coma. Even though things were fine between them, Jim had made sure not to see Spock during his week in the hospital. He'd go so far as to have the nurses tell Spock, when he came to visit, that Jim was busy with therapy sessions or exercising. After the first few times Spock tried to see him and couldn't, he'd relented and quit coming altogether.
It may have put another strain on their already fragile friendship but Jim didn't want Spock to see him as he struggled to walk briskly or fell over at the slightest bump against something at hip height.
Jim had meant to contact Spock in someway or another when he was cleared to go home but as the days fell one after the other, Jim fell in on himself and became deaf to the world around him.
Spock stood straight in the doorway, his arms resting lightly behind his back. "Captain, Dr. McCoy couldn't break away from his previous engagement and asked me to come in his stead." He was a regular closed book as far as Jim was concerned but underneath Spock was anything but anxious.
He'd often wondered why Jim hadn't wanted his presence at the hospital. At first when he felt the familiar sting of exclusion, Nyota had been there to explain that their Captain was going through a rough patch and probably didn't want anyone to see him like that.
So Spock sat back and waited. Jim would see him when he wanted to.
Then another week had passed by and when McCoy had mentioned to him and Nyota that Jim was home from the hospital, Spock once again felt that Jim didn't want to see him specifically.
When McCoy called his communicator and mentioned to Spock that he wasn't able to go to Jim's, Spock jumped at the chance to take the burden off his hands, and possibly because he too was worried about his friend.
Jim stared at Spock for a moment, debating if he should just push this experiment back to another night that Bones was available. The small disc seemed to stare at him from the countertop, burning holes into the back of Jim's head. He couldn't ignore it's existence nor it's answers for another night.
Sighing, he stepped aside and gestured Spock inside. When the doors swished closed behind the Vulcan, Jim made his way back to the bar. He watched as Spock surveyed the living space, noting the placement of the furniture, noting the closed door of Jim's bedroom. Jim grabbed another glass and filled his and it with the scotch he'd been drinking.
"Did Bones mention what the favor was?" Jim asked, sliding the filled glass down to where Spock had come to stand at the wet bar. They sat across from each other, the countertop in between, and silently downed the contents of the glass.
"I assumed it was to check on your well being."
Jim sighed, a small giggle escaping as he poured more of what seemed like never-ending scotch. "I need someone to watch me while I sleep."
Spock paused in the middle of raising his glass to his mouth. He placed it back on the table, tilting his head slightly as he did when things became curious. "I'm not sure I understand, Captain."
"Jim."
"I'm not sure I understand. Jim." Spock continued to stare at the other, perplexed by the situation.
Jim could practically hear the sass in Spock's monotonous tone. He snickered, downing his glass. He moved to set it down and missed setting it straight, catching the edge on the countertop and sending the glass to clang loudly against the surface.
Both moved to straighten it but when Spock beat him to it, Jim retracted his hand, fingers coming dangerously close to accidentally caressing the other's knuckles. "Sorry." He mumbled, moving to pour himself yet another glass of alcohol.
Spock moved the glass away and watched as Jim caught his eye. "You've become intoxicated. Is this why Dr. McCoy wanted me to stop by?"
Perturbed that his drinking was interrupted, Jim rolled his eyes and set down the decanter of scotch. "No, I told you. I need someone to watch me while I sleep."
"Please elaborate Ca-Jim."
Sighing, Jim gestured towards the ever looming black disc that sat on the table only a few inches away from them. "I haven't been sleeping well since...well since I was at the hospital." By now he could feel himself loosen up with the other when normally all he felt was a strained, tense air.
Spock picked up the small device, turning it in his hand to survey the entire mechanical item.
"My therapist says this will help me while I'm sleeping, to see what I can't seem to, uhm, remember." Already Jim's mind was starting to feel fuzzy. He'd begun to slur words a bit but he still knew what he was on about. "Here."
Jim took the disc from Spock and pressed the small button, the red light turning to blue as the top popped open. Inside lay a small earpiece, somewhat akin to an antique hearing-aid. Jim removed it and wrapped the thin plastic band around the outside of his ear, placing the small mechanical piece inside his ear.
He heard a small beep emit from the tiny device and watched as the blue light on the disc turn back to red.
"Dr. Mayla said I needed someone here in case I sleep walk. I'm sorry Bones didn't tell you, you don't have to do it."
Spock had been watching Jim this whole time, noticing not only that Jim seemed reluctant to even open the device, let alone turn it on and place it in his ear, but that he was tired, exhausted even. He could see the difference in Jim, now that he was closer to the other.
"No, I'll stay. I must admit I was a little surprised that you allowed me through the door." While mentally kicking himself, Spock couldn't stop his voice from taking on a bit of annoyance.
Jim noticed it.
"I'm sorry." He started. "I haven't been myself lately, but hopefully this will help." He said, pointing to the object in his ear. "Really Spock, I just didn't want to see anyone."
Nodding, Spock took Jim's words for truth and looked around the living space again. "Go ahead and go to bed. I will simply meditate out here if you need me for anything."
"Thank you Spock."
The tiniest of smiles graced Spock's face for a mere second. "Of course, Jim."