And as always, innocent like roller coasters.
Fatality is like ghosts in snow and you have no idea what you're up against
because I've seen what they look like.
Becoming perfect as if they were sterling silver chainsaws going cascading..
-"Vampires Will Never Hurt You", My Chemical Romance
It takes Jim twenty-six years to realize that everything the shrinks ever told him, every time someone said how high his IQ was, how he was some kind of genius, that all of that was complete and utter bullshit. He does well on tests. He can think through puzzles, come up with unique solutions. He works well under pressure. But the problem is, Jim isn't omnipotent. He could manipulate the conditions of the Kobayashi Maru in order to beat it, because it was a construct. It was there, and it was stagnant, and Jim could play with it. He could twist and turn and test it like one of those ancient Rubik's cubes.
Jim solved the Rubik's cube after a day of doing nothing but playing with it. He solved the Kobayashi Maru halfway through his first time taking it; the second was a test, of sorts, for his hypothesis. Jim is good at puzzles, okay?
But this?
Jim thrives on control. Not in a dominating way; he just needs to fix things. Needs to know he can change things, no matter what.
It's just that real life doesn't work that way, and the universe seemed bent on deluding him into thinking it does. After all those missions, all those successes… And Starfleet giving him the Enterprise wasn't a fluke: Jim is smart, and he's a capable, wildly successful commanding officer. He knows how to make people like him, as evinced by the fierce way his crew has about him.
It isn't his fault. Really. Sometimes, it honestly is, and those are the times Jim finds Bones and drinks for twelve hours straight. But this time, it really, really isn't.
This is a very difficult thing to make Jim understand when they are feeling the Enterprise come apart around them.
The bridge shakes, and there is so much noise, static and explosions and barked orders from the command chair. Uhura's voice cuts through the confusion, words inaudible but tone strong. Sulu's face is coldly intense, he and Chekov working in seamless tandem.
It isn't the crew's fault, isn't Jim's. They do their jobs, executing every task perfectly. Textbook. But this is no test, no Kobayashi Maru, no Rubik's cube to be tested and experimented with and tried again.
They do everything perfectly, and yet…
And yet, McCoy still bursts onto the bridge, jaw set and eyes steel, dragging Jim up by his arms and leading him toward the turbolift.
It takes Jim 4.30 seconds to realize what McCoy is trying to do. It takes that long for Spock to stand, leave his station, and approach Jim, who looks about to tear McCoy's head off. It takes that long for Uhura to look up, large, dark eyes a strange mix of sorrow and resolve that Spock will never understand but will always admire. It takes that long for Jim to look from her to McCoy to Spock and to fix them each with a glare that promises a death they are already likely to receive.
McCoy nods over Jim's shoulder.
"Forgive me," Spock whispers, .540 of a second before his fingers find the pressure point that sends Jim collapsing into Spock's arms. It is unlikely that Jim ever will forgive him, but right now there are more important things. So long as Jim is alive, Spock can live without forgiveness.
Spock lifts Jim's body into his arms, carrying him into the turbolift.
"Shuttle bay," McCoy orders, and the doors to the bridge slide closed for the final time.
When they open again, the ship rocks, sending the three of them careening into the bulkhead. Spock pushes back off the wall, following McCoy to one of the few remaining shuttles.
"All nonessential personnel we could get on shuttles are gone," McCoy is saying, typing command codes into a console. He pauses, voice going low. "It's not even a hundred people. Not even a quarter of the crew, but… Let him know that, Spock. When he wakes up. Tell him he saved someone."
Spock nods solemnly, ducking into the tiny opening of the shuttle pod.
"Spock?"
"Yes, Doctor?"
McCoy runs a hand through his hair. "I…. uh…. I mean… I'm sorry. For all the antagonism. You're a good friend. And… Just, take care of Jim, okay. Make sure he doesn't do anything stupid. Make sure he stays alive. Think you can handle that?"
Spock nods again, slowly. "I plan to, Doctor. However…" He pauses. "It will be… significantly more difficult without your medical expertise."
"Why Mr. Spock," Bones says, grinning, "I do believe that's an actual compliment."
And with that, the door slides shut and Bones is gone.
Jim does not see the Enterprise go down. He lies, still unconscious, in the shuttle pod. Spock sits cross-legged in the sand, somewhere in the desert of Vulcan II. He sees the final explosion, and for what feels like hours he cannot move his eyes from that place in the sky. The image, that last flash of color, burns itself onto his retinas.
Spock cannot say how much time has passed before he hears Jim's voice behind him.
"It was a trap."
Spock inclines his head, blinking away the shadowy image, his secondary eyelids sliding into place.
"Yes."
A long pause and stillness.
"And Bones actually thought I'd want to live."
The words hit Spock in the gut, his stomach twisting. He inclines his head further forward, feeling bile rise in his throat. He stands, more to avoid dry-heaving into the sand than anything else. When he attempts to put his arms around Jim, he flinches, backs away. His eyes are icy, cold and feral.
"It is not," Spock says, when he can find his voice again, "A matter of what you want. The crew wished for you to survive. It is you who is most likely to be of value in the coming conflict, should there be one. You… Most of the shuttles were destroyed."
Jim curls in on himself, eyes locked on the ground. "I said… General Order…"
"Yes, Captain," Spock says, taking a half-step toward Jim. "There was nothing else you could have done."
Jim laughs, long and loud. If there was any emotional response for Jim to have, this is not what Spock would have expected. "Bullshit, Spock. I could have stayed."
"Captain—"
Jim cuts him off, standing and taking a few steps away from Spock. "My dad."
"Captain?"
"I could have been my dad."
"Yes. You could have been."
"He didn't… It was a clusterfuck, a fucking no-win, and he found a win. They all—Almost all of them lived, Spock." His hands are fisted at his sides. Spock wishes, more than anything, to trace those fingers, to loosen his fists and hold. He is not certain Jim will not run, should he try. "But it's bullshit, anyway. I always said how I didn't believe in no-wins, but… I didn't really stop to think that if you don't win you lose.
"I would have gone for the no-win, Spock."
"I know," Spock breathes, speaking loudly as he dares.
