A/N: Lalala, I just gotta say that all you reviewers and favoriters and stuff out there really make me happy. Like super, SUPER happy. Even if I'm having a bad day, it makes everything better. Here's the much-awaited Chapter Three! I'm dedicating this one to myself, 'cause it was just my birthday, and I got inspired. For those of you that have seen Star Trek XI/have the soundtrack, y'know that French horn intro in the beginning? I can play that now. :)

So yeah. End of ramble. Review please? More reviews equal faster chapters!

-Rose

Disclaimer: Star Trek belongs to me. (April Fools!...two days late)

Chapter Three

For the first time in his life, James Tiberius Kirk was happy to remain unnoticed.

Earlier that evening, he'd thrown on a black coat over his shimmering gold uniform, changing his boots for more comfortable sneakers to draw attention away from himself. His communicator had been stuffed in his pocket in case of a dire emergency, but it had been shut off. At the moment, the less contact he had with the outside world, the better. With Scotty's help, he'd snuck away to the transporter room during dinner, when the majority of the crew would be found elsewhere, and though it took much persuasion, Scotty had agreed to Jim's terms.

"If yah don't call back in an hour," he had said, staring Jim down as he pushed buttons on the transporter, "I'm comin' down there."

The captain had nodded and stood on the transporter pad, Scotty feeling utmost sympathy as he watched Jim's darkened eyes connect in understanding. The engineer would, rather regrettably, keep his promise unless otherwise needed, and he could do nothing but sigh as he watched his captain disappear from his sight.

This was how Jim had managed to escape the confinements of the Enterprise and beam down to Earth, pushing open the doors to the too-familiar bar in Iowa in preparation to get as shitfaced as he possibly could.

He looked around the bar without a word as he went in, feeling remorse instead of excitement at the thought of getting drunk. The building was close to empty as he looked around; there were a few human couples scattered in private corners, and several alien species gathered at the counter, but that was it. Even the music wasn't as loud as it normally was, but it still throbbed in his ears painfully. It was truly an unfamiliar feeling, and it almost made him wish that he was back on his ship in the comfort of his own quarters, but that would be entirely counterproductive. The bar was, undoubtedly, the place for the lonely, desperate, or heartless on Valentine's Day, and it struck Jim with a painful internal force to know that he was one of them.

"Sorry," Jim mumbled as he half-heartedly took a seat at the bar, accidentally bumping into an overly large, puke-green creature that had taken a seat next to the only unoccupied barstool. The creature had a humanlike figure, apart from the charcoal, pupil-less eyes, moistened scales, and squashed nose. Despite having traveled many places across the galaxy, Jim had yet to encounter a creature like this, and could only wonder what it was doing on his home planet. Nevertheless, the creature shot him a look of disapproval and grunted before tipping back its drink and ignoring Jim completely, which suited them both all too well.

After their brief physical contact, and when Jim thought it wasn't looking, he did his best to swipe off the stinging, oozing green trail of slime that had made its way down his jacket sleeve and to his hand.

Making a slight face in disgust, he turned to look at the menu in front of him as the bartender approached him quickly, trying to decide which would be the best shot, no pun intended, to relieve him of every thought that plagued his mind. The bartender sighed as he watched Jim, deeming him as yet another single and lost soul looking for a temporary release.

"What can I do for you?" he asked kindly, and Jim noticed a slight British accent to his words. Before he could reply, however, the bartender continued. "Hey, I recognize you, kid. Jim Kirk, is it?"

The captain looked up from his menu, almost wincing at the sound of his own name. "Um…yeah. I'll have—" He stopped quickly as his eyes traveled to the bartender's face. His eyes, with the essence of the strobe lights, looked dark, black almost as they stared at Jim. And yet, there was a kind, forgiving gleam behind them, almost as if they withheld a secret. Jim shuddered slightly. Either the man before him really had such eyes, or his mind was playing tricks on him, because the longer he stared, the more he was reminded of a specific Vulcan.

Jim gritted his teeth and smacked down the menu. "Just give me the strongest thing you have," he ordered, though with a slight edge of regret to his words. He hated to be rude and forceful, but his patience was hanging loosely by a thread.

Within moments, a tall glass was placed in front of him as the bartender quickly proceeded to fill it with a thick, amber liquid that churned Jim's stomach just by looking at it. Its visual appeal was minimal, but it smelled delightfully like peppermint, which instantly began to soothe the captain's nerves.

"This'll cure anything you've got," the bartender said lightly, pushing the glass towards Jim and walking away, leaving the distressed captain to his thoughts. The Starfleet member gave a nod as a nonverbal thank-you and raised the glass to his lips.

It tasted absolutely terrible; Jim spluttered and coughed as it slid down his throat, the alcohol hot and burning as it made its way through his body. His keen peripheral vision caught sight of the creature next to him, who had turned to glare in disgust at Jim's reaction, gripping its own glass in irritation. The captain muttered yet another apology before catching his breath and allowing the drink to fill his system.

The bartender certainly hadn't lied when he said that it would help Jim's ailments, since the captain could already feel the comfortable haze within him that only happened when he was shitfaced. He felt his body temperature rise a degree or so, feeling more content by the second. He grinned, strangely, ignoring the looks he received from the alien to his right. Instead, he snatched the glass in his hand and gulped down another sip without gagging. It had been awhile since he drank so heavily, and it felt so good, so free…

Until the hallucinations began.


Back on the Enterprise, Spock was on an emotional rampage, though only mentally, of course. He refused to allow any of his fellow crewmembers to see his distraught appearance, and yet, he was only sheer moments away from destroying everything in his path. Crewmen jumped out of his way as he stormed through the corridors in an attempt to keep himself busy, but it was of little use. He'd been confronted by his closer allies, all in an attempt to reassure him. However, every effort had rendered itself useless.

Vulcans do not worry. Vulcans do not worry.

Spock forced himself to internally repeat this mantra throughout the evening as he awaited news, any sort of news, from Bones or Scotty regarding his captain. When nothing arrived, he left Chekov with the conn on the bridge and departed for his quarters, forcing himself to meditate. Even as he squeezed his eyes shut and crossed his legs tightly, his mind kept traveling back to his missing captain. Absolutely nothing could keep his mind off of the situation, not plomeek soup, not a quick shower, not even an embrace from Uhura that he had once coveted. Even after their romantic split, she was usually able to find ways to calm his temperaments, but it was no avail this time around.

"Why don't you just talk to me? Tell me what's wrong," she had said earlier, calmly but orderly as she entered his quarters, presenting him with a cup of tea from the kitchens. Spock was still sitting cross-legged on the floor and accepted the cup, but did not drink from it.

"I cannot," he merely replied, avoiding her gaze.

She had looked at him, concerned. Throughout their relationship, she'd normally been able to decipher his minute emotions without saying much, though at this moment in time, she was utterly at a loss. "Spock," she began, "I know you well. Well enough to know when something is troubling you. I probably know you better than anyone on this ship, apart from Jim perhaps—" Spock stiffened at the mentioning of his name, but she continued anyway. "—but you just can't keep it hidden. If there is anything I can do, please…" Uhura sat down beside him, placing a hand on his shoulder and dropping her voice. "Please…let me know."

Spock's eyes shot back towards her coldly, lacking all emotion. He thrust the cup back into her hands, the tea spilling slightly over the edge onto his Starfleet pants, but he paid no attention to it. His words were monotonous but fierce as he retaliated. "There is nothing you can do."

Uhura's eyes shimmered with the onset of tears as Spock wrenched out of her touch, straightening himself and departing his quarters, leaving her behind and completely alone. At the moment, Spock was on the verge of a breakdown himself, and it took every ounce of mental stability to retain it. Nearly an hour had passed since his first realization that Jim was, undoubtedly, missing from his post, from the ship, from his existence. In times of turmoil, Jim would have gone to Spock for assistance, but the one time that Spock needed to do the same, his captain was not there. With a sigh, as Spock returned to the bridge, a thought crossed his mind, and it almost scared him to realize that it was the complete truth.

Spock fully understood now that not only did he want Jim, he needed him. And before he could even stop to consider it, the thought alone had already broken Spock to pieces.


Jim hardly knew what he was thinking or feeling, but the only thing he really comprehended was that it was real, or as real as it could possibly get. His gaze shifted across the room, becoming hazier with each drop of alcohol he downed. The swirling images consumed him, surrounding him in a world he knew not, a world with his First Officer…his Spock…

Whoa, Jim thought, shaking his head slightly to rid himself of the thoughts. His Spock? That phrase didn't exist in this life, or any life, for that matter.

But it did. Jim's mind, once consumed with such strong alcohol, was no place for logic. He could do little but sit on the hard barstool, gripping his glass with one hand and the countertop with the other, trying to fight the images that swam in front of his eyes.

"Enlist in Starfleet," said a familiar voice. Admiral Pike stared him down from across the table, narrowing his eyes at the boy. Jim looked up at him, blood still streaming from his nose gently.

"Enlist…?" he chuckled, snorting lightly. "You guys must be way down on your recruiting quota for the month –"

"If you're half the man your father was, Jim, Starfleet could use you," Pike replied somewhat earnestly. "You can be an officer in four years. You can have your own ship in eight. You understand what the Federation is, don't you? It's important. It's a peacekeeping and humanitarian armada–"

"Are we done?" Jim interrupted, eyes squinting in annoyance.

Pike looked at him, slightly angered by Jim's attitude, standing up to leave. "I'm done."

The vision struck Jim quickly and fiercely as he sat at the bar, blinking his eyes in an effort to clear it. It had been a few years since he last visited this bar, talked with Pike, and been recruited. If he hadn't been at this bar that night so many years ago, gotten into that too-familiar brawl, and been rescued by Pike, he never would have joined Starfleet, never would have become captain, and most certainly never would have met Spock…

And out of all the bars in the galaxy, that was the reason why Jim had chosen this one above all others.

His vision transformed around him, becoming his quarters on the Enterprise that he knew so well. The lights were almost completely off, and it was so dark that Jim could barely see a foot in front of him as he sat on the edge of his bed. And yet, he didn't need to; his face was in his hands as he fought back tears. Even in reality, at the bar, Jim could feel his heart ache, whether or not he knew what was happening. In the vision, though, he was a complete wreck, the image of loneliness. It wasn't long, however, until he felt a warmer hand upon his, encasing his face lightly.

"Jim."

The captain looked up, his eyes struggling. He could not see the figure's face, but knew the voice like the back of his hand. A warm body slid next to him, one hand still on his cheek and the other on his back, rubbing it in circles tentatively.

"Spock…" Jim garbled, chest heaving with emotion. "Spock…"

"Shh, my t'hy'la," the Vulcan replied softly, pressing his lips to Jim's neck gently. "I am here."

Jim smacked the glass on the countertop with so much force that the little alcohol that was left splashed up the sides. The vision had seemed so close to reality that for a split second, the captain believed it actually was. There was very little he could do besides attempt to stable his breathing, which had become more labored as the hallucination persisted. Evidently, he had been reacting quite fiercely, because he was receiving stares not only from the vile alien next to him, but from the next few down the row as well, including the bartender who leaned over the countertop in worry.

"You all right, kid?" he shouted over the incessantly loud music.

It took all of Jim's strength to force a nod in reply, the alcohol hurtling through his system faster than he deemed possible. Bits of the vision floated back in front of his eyes despite his attempt to throw it off. There were so many questions, but the main one remained intact: what the hell was Spock doing in his visions, calling him a word he did not know, calling him his "t'hy'la"?

Either way, Jim decided (rather drunkenly, to say the least) that he had spent enough time at the bar and needed to escape into the night air. Slapping some money on the counter, he dizzily swung his body off the barstool, but not without promptly tripping over the creature's giant foot. He landed on the floor with a grunt and a thud, feeling his face redden with both embarrassment and intoxication. Distinctly, Jim heard the harsh clinking of a glass on the countertop and the slight squeak of the turning barstool above him. He coughed violently, instantly regretting having ever set foot in this godforsaken place.

In an instant, he was lifted off the floor by the back of his jacket, and spun around to look at the figure in the eyes. He felt the creature's hot breath waft over his face, the dark eyes lacking any sentiments, a low growl emitting from its throat. Evidently, it spoke little to no English as it began yelling at Jim in an alien language, shaking his shoulders roughly. It seemed not to comprehend Jim's weakened sentences, but then again, he was so drunk that his voice had dropped to a mumbled slur.

"Please," the captain grumbled pathetically. "Lemme go…"

Whether or not he had been understood, it made little difference. The breath shot out of Jim's lungs rapidly as he felt the creature's hand tighten around his throat, lifting him several inches off the ground. He could hear screamed protests in the background, voices he did not know struggling for his life to be saved. And yet, as he spluttered and coughed, the world growing hazy, Jim paid little attention to his surroundings, none of which mattered in the slightest. Like the old saying, his life flashed before his eyes, recalling the last times he'd been choked: by Nero, by Spock…

Jim gagged, battling for oxygen against the force compressing him, his consciousness slowly fading from the combination of intoxication and lack of air. A dark, greenish secretion from the creature's body splattered onto his clothes and bare skin, singeing it more fiercely than it had when it had merely dripped onto his hand. Now, the prolonged exposure his neck had to the acid was burning, searing; his mouth was open in a silent scream for mercy. Back on the Enterprise, they would never know he died, never know his turmoil, and in truth, he thought they would be much better off, knowing how weak he truly was on the inside. Spock's face flashed through his eyes briefly as his windpipe closed, sending him a trite, but heartened, mental farewell.

"Jim!"

His body fell to the floor with a thud as the creature released him in surprise, ducking as a phaser beam just barely passed over its head. The captain coughed once more, the air rushing into his lungs gratefully, his vision clearing (or as clear as it logically could when he was drunk). The creature snarled, backing out of the way as a blue-clad human approached them, wielding a phaser tightly. Within seconds, the figure had rushed over to the wheezing, intoxicated man on the floor, immediately grasping his wrists to detect a pulse.

"Dammit, Jim," Bones growled. "Must I always save your sorry ass? Come on."

Once he'd regulated his breathing, Jim was thrown into an absolute fit of giggles at the figure, his drunkenness affecting his subconscious. He sported a rather childlike grin as the doctor wrapped one of Jim's arms around his own shoulders, supporting him. With a grunt, Bones heaved his friend off the floor, muttering to himself about Jim constantly getting himself into mischief. The two staggered as they made their way out of the bar, receiving an apologetic look from the bartender, yet a less sympathetic one from the creature who had attempted to strangle Jim. With a snarl, it grumbled to itself in its alien language before sitting down at the bar again.

"Thanks, Spock," Jim garbled as the two headed for the door into the cooler night. Bones had hoped that a bit of fresh air before heading back on the Enterprise would clear Jim's brain a bit, but he was evidently highly mistaken.

"It's me, you imbecile," Bones growled. "Leonard McCoy? Your best friend that saves your damn life more often than not?" He sighed as he helped Jim to the curb, sitting him down carefully on the edge. His captain, in his intoxicated state, however, seemed not to understand.

"You're the best, Spock," Jim slurred, standing up and placing both of his hands on either of Bones' shoulders, looking him rather drunkenly in the eye. His vision was blurry, only taking in the dark hair and blue shirt and not the details of the doctor's face. Swaying gently, he sighed, far too under the influence to comprehend anything. "I love you, man."

"Goddammit, Jim, don't be such a—" Bones spoke quickly, interrupting Jim before his words fully reached the medic's keen ears; he promptly cursed in realization and pain as Jim collapsed forward onto him, finally blacking out from intoxication. He was quiet for a moment, his limbs staggering under the combined weight as he pondered his newfound awareness.

Of course. It all made sense. Jim's drunken words were, invariably, his sober thoughts, and if Jim loved Spock as he said, then Bones had no reason to doubt him whatsoever.

Sighing, he reached for his belt and pulled out a communicator. "McCoy to Enterprise. Get us outta here. I found him."