Jim suddenly can't stand being on the Enterprise. Every single fucking thing about the ship reminds him of Spock. There's no place on the ship that he can escape. And there's also the fact that his Silver Lady silver bitch failed the one time she should never have failed. It's a piece of the Federation's best technology, the pride and power of the fleet, and Spock's dead. Jim figures this is what impotence feels like.

He hates that he hates the Enterprise, and he hates that he needs her to be in space. So he avoids her as much as he can. Jim goes on every single Away Mission. He's the first to beam down, the last to beam up. When something goes wrong with the ship while they're in the middle of a crisis planetside, it appeals to the demented side of his sense of humor. It's a fact of life now. Of course she'd break down when he needs her most. Of course all the science and technology in the galaxy can't save his ass, just like it did nothing for Spock. That's always how it's been, it's always how it will be, and why did Jim think differently?

Spock betrayed him. His ship betrayed and keeps on betraying him. He's done everything to protect her and keep her safe, he gave and gave and gives and gives and couldn't she just give this one thing in return? Whatever. If he can't count on Spock anymore, he sure as hell can't rely on that silver illusion.

Bones still wants Jim to take a break, go planetside. That's not acceptable. Starfleet doesn't let people take breaks. Captains might be honorably discharged, but that's a one way street, no coming back. He hates the Enterprise, but where else would he go? Back to Iowa? Crash at his brother's place? Find an apartment in San Francisco? What would he do? Jim's a captain. It's in his blood, he doesn't know how to do anything else. There's nothing to do but watch his body and brain betray him too, stripping him of the little he has left. He's lost Spock. The Enterprise finally revealed her true two facedness. Really, he should've seen it coming that his heart implodes regularly and his feelings run amok.

Jim reasserts control of his situation the way he always has.

He breaks every single fucking record in the fucking book, to the point where Starfleet wonders if Spock was holding him back and unnecessarily restricting his true potential. Maybe it was a good thing that the Vulcan died, if this is what the new Captain Kirk of the starship Enterprise produces. Jim's pretty sure that Pike's the only one who has a shot at guessing what's going on in Jim's mind.

Because in reality, it's because he has nothing to lose. Sure, he could lose Bones or Sulu or Uhura or Chekov or Scotty or Chapel or any of the crew. He still cares about their lives. But it's different now, without Spock there to act as his voice of reason. Sulu and Uhura keep him in check as best as they can, but they've got none of Spock's pull. Jim pictures himself as a wild horse, eyes rolling and head rearing back and snorting. Sulu and Nyota force a bridle on him and try to control him that way, pulling too hard at the reins and the metal bit saws into his mouth. Spock knew how and when to reel him in, knew how to approach him and how to hold his face and tame him with a touch. He knew exactly what words to say, but he also knew when to let go for Jim to lead. They were a partnership, no one completely dominant over the other. Jim misses that touch, aches for those words and Spock's presence beside him. Sulu and Uhura don't stand a chance.

He's got nothing to lose, but given what he actually feels like doing, Jim exercises a remarkable amount of self restraint. The voice he hears in his head that tells him flying through a supernova is a distinctly bad idea isn't his, though rationally who else could it be. You betrayed me, Jim argues, but all he gets in response to that is a raised eyebrow. Then Spock tells him that a better way to approach this scientific conundrum of gathering data on the collapsing star system is to do this this that and Jim doesn't actually know all the technical terms, but Spock does. He gets a few details wrong during the meeting with the scientists, but they're all looking at him as though he's a genius. Spock's a genius. Spock betrayed him, but Jim still trusts this constructed Spock in his head more than anyone else.

"Why are you mourning Spock's death, Jim? Is it because you miss what he was to you, or because you actually miss him, the person."

"What kind of question is that? He was everything to me."

"Do you miss him or part of yourself?"

"Both. We were bonded. He was part of me."

"Never mind. You were talking about the supernova mission?"

On shifts when he's a little more lucid and Spock's simultaneous presence and absence on the ship doesn't send his heart spinning in hurt circles, he finds that he can manage a smile when someone mentions Spock's name. Afterwards there's a twinge that sometimes explodes into a world of suffocation and heartstopping pain, sometimes stays a twinge and nothing else. One time, he stopped to wonder why the Spock in his head never says anything about how he doesn't want Jim to keep suffering and he should move on. Two possibilities occur to him. One is that he can't imagine Spock ever saying anything like that in real life. Two is that Jim's using Spock because it's not actually Spock he misses, but who he was to Jim.

Both possibilities leave him in his quarters, chest heaving, hand on his heart, feeling absolutely angry and impotent all around.

Jim punches the wall, breaks his hand again, and stares. He has no idea why tears are streaming down his cheeks.