Chapter 4 - Inner Battle

The courtyard was shaded by hand-woven fibrous nets that was sucked up convex by the wind before dropping concave again. The specks of sunlight filtering through created overlapping regular patterns on the sparkling clean stone pavers. Sarek had requested to be taken outside to recuperate. The area was public, but no one else was outside.

Spock sat considering the shape of the building around them. He was pleased to have stone pavers beneath his feet, a hefty bulk of stone beneath his hands, which were propped on the bench on either side of him. Stone was indeed an effective stabilizer for the mind. Even for a mind that had lost its grip on the reality that contained said stone.

Amanda sat with some needle and bead work in her lap. It was a robe collar drape, but not with lettering, with a pattern found in ancient ruins. Spock had suspected his father's request to be taken outside was for the benefit of his mother, but Sarek sat back with his eyes closed. Spock looked away, lest his father detect his attention and be disturbed.

"Spock."

Spock looked up.

"You have contacted Starfleet Security?"

"Husband," Amanda said. "Allow your son a whole day of peace, please."

"We have responsibilities, my wife. If we are at all capable of attending to them, we must do so."

"My responsibility is to you, Father," Spock said serenely.

Sarek seemed to accept this after much consideration and perhaps a touch of surprise.

Amanda returned to her needlework, and Spock glanced meaningfully in her direction.

Sarek nodded. "When we return inside, at least contact them with your status."

A concrete task was a welcome thing. "I will do so, Father."


Kirk returned to Medical Four. He made his way to Full Support and the curtain-encircled horseshoe of equipment that was Riley's room.

Overlander looked up from the seat beside the bed. "He's gradually coming to. The doctors were just here. Said it's a good sign that he's on schedule post-completion of cellular flushing. One of Riley's sisters is around, too. Gabriel. She should be back soon."

Overlander stood to make space. Despite the death grip fear had on the center of Kirk's chest, he stepped up beside the bed. Something about the shape of Riley's face indicated awareness, a tension in the muscles.

Kirk put a hand on Riley's shoulder. "Riley?"

Riley's eyes cracked open.

"How're you doing?" Kirk asked.

Riley's eyes's shifted along under his lashes. He didn't react to seeing Overlander there, seemed to sink farther away into his thoughts instead.

Overlander said, "Gabriel's here. She'll be right back."

Kirk sat down beside the bed, scooted the chair closer and put a hand on Riley's sheet-covered arm.

"Sirs," Riley whispered, looked down, looked around the lumps of his body on the bed as if for something he'd lost.

No one spoke. The arm under Kirk's hand tensed up. Riley began beating his hand on the bed under the sheet.

Kirk checked if there were lines running down that arm. There were three. Kirk pulled back the sheet and held Riley's arm still. "Careful there."

Overlander stepped out of the curtain, looked around, stepped back in.

"Lieutenant," Kirk said. "It's okay. You have one duty right now and that's to get better."

Riley snorted through his nose. "Why?"

Kirk put on a gentle tone. Put on the face of the man he expected Riley needed. "You're questioning your orders?"

Riley looked down Kirk's front, at his gray shirt.

"You aren't in uniform."

Kirk smiled. "The press are less of an issue when I dress like this."

"Oh. Yeah. I imagine."

Overlander gave Kirk a doubtful expression. She stepped up beside Kirk. "You need anything, Riley? Anything at all?"

"No, ma'am." Riley freed his other hand, pulled it out and examined it. He swallowed audibly, twice. His expression began pinching in, eyes growing red. "Can you both leave me alone?"

Kirk said, "No."

Riley turned his head away, breathed in deeply. "I thought I was doing what I was supposed to do. I made a mistake." His voice was breaking. "How many under me died for my mistake?"

Kirk leaned closer. He could only speak in a whisper, sucked in by those moments, the soundless blast that only flashed on his eyelids because he'd been too scared to keep them open. "It's not that simple. Trust me, okay? Right now, you need to get better."

Riley's voice took on a whiny edge. "Everyone wants me to trust them."

Kirk sat back. "That is a problem, knowing whom to trust. I know it well. But we know each other, don't we?"

Riley's reddened gaze found its way back to Kirk. "I'm sorry, sir. What I did was unforgivable. I took the ship."

"I forgive you, Riley. You need to forgive yourself. Look forward."

"I can't. I'm an idiot. I'll always be an idiot."

"Not if you learn from this."

Overlander wanted a turn beside the bed. Kirk stood and shuffled out of the way to stand at the end of the bed.

The curtain parted and a short woman with a head of auburn hair stepped in. "You Kirk?"

Kirk nodded. Her face scowled. Her chin vibrated in anger. Kirk stepped back through the gap in the curtain, held it open.

"I'll go." He almost said he was going to go check on the others, but didn't want to remind Riley that there were other injured.

Overlander acknowledged his departure with a nod. Narrowed her eyes to study him. Kirk let the curtain fall back into place.

There were only three other crew still under medical care. Each time he stepped into a room, Kirk found an old version of himself to pull over his demeanor. Mouse had been released, had gone home to Australia. He let himself admit he missed seeing her more than the others who were now scattered far and wide, to homes or local rehab. He missed her quiet acceptance of everything.

By the time Kirk stepped out of the third room, he was shaking. He had intended to see Riley again, but didn't want Overlander to see him like this.

He found a rest room and locked himself in, sat on the closed toilet until his hands were steady. He longed to curl up in the corner of the floor and rest for a while, savor the punishment of the hard floor, but he stood and went out instead, barely aware of his actions.

He needed to rest, somewhere other than an empty hospital gurney. He took a groundcab to the Starfleet dormitory, found himself locked out of his previous room. This had happened to a friend once before, so it only caused Kirk a few seconds of distress. He took the lift to the basement, found the locker where his belongings had been loaded out of the room. His brand new blue and white duffle was there, carefully packed just as it had been.

Kirk knelt before the locker, bent his head to rest it on the grate of the locker door below, dizzy with everything that had happened since he'd packed that bag, and terrified of facing the next hour of his life, let alone the next day, or week. With a spark of anger at himself, he pushed straight and hauled the bag out. It was lighter than expected, and he stood holding it rather than dropping it. With careful motions, he placed it on the floor, patted it down, and stretched out to use it as a pillow. At least on the floor he could curl up as tightly as he longed to.


Kirk awoke into dim light with pinpricks staring down at him. He peered up at the low energy light emitters in the unfinished ceiling above him until things made sense. He was at the dormitory. In the basement. He sat up, ignoring the sore spots on his body from the thinly carpeted floor.

No one had bothered him. He hadn't expected anyone to. Most who came through here had slept rough often enough to figure Kirk was fine where he was. He changed clothes into his only other set of civvies, a similar gray shirt and old black workout pants, and shoved the duffle back in the locker and sealed it with his handprint.

It was early, still night, so Kirk was alone up in the dormitory lobby. The street lights outside provided almost as much light as the lights glowing from inside the waiting lifts. There were five public terminal screens also glowing, each in an alcove. Kirk logged into one, found a message from Spock saying his father was doing fine and was urging him to return and report to Starfleet.

"That's a switch," Kirk said aloud.

Imagining facing Spock in his current state made Kirk's chest twist in a knot. Like his crew, Spock looked up to him, expected the world of him.

Like his former crew.

Kirk chewed the side of his thumb and replied to the message in voice-to-text so Spock wouldn't hear how he sounded. He was relieved and pleased that Sarek was doing well. He credited Spock for that, praised him for navigating something so fraught. Kirk stared at the text on the screen, bent his head. Spock wasn't experienced enough to help Kirk cope, but he missed him terribly anyway. Forced steady again, Kirk explained that he'd been to see Coyran and had to stay on earth pending a review panel before he'd be allowed on a ship again. That was hedging, pretending to be hopeful, but he dreaded the idea that Spock might come to him when he was needed elsewhere.

Kirk found breakfast on the long walk to Medical Four. The scent of bacon did more for him than the coffee, which like all earth coffee, was of the gods. This particular cup had been softened with steamed milk and a touch of honey.

People crossed in front of Kirk as he stood outside the take-out window, paper cup cradled before his mouth and nose like a safety breather, sipping repeatedly. They glanced at him with mixed pity and curiosity.

Kirk smiled in their wake. Then worried he really looked that awful. He bought a second cup to savor while walking.

Kirk's hands began shaking when he arrived at the split in the walkway between the visitor entrance and the staff entrance. He missed Spock terribly, wished he hadn't been such an egotistical idiot and had admitted in his message that he needed him. The idea that he'd have to wait half a day for Spock to arrive, even in his family's ship, made Kirk tremble more. If Sybok had been nearby, Kirk might have begged him to make this terror go away, no matter the cost. His heart raced at the thought, then he felt more depressed that this was not a real option.

There were a lot of pedestrians here, even at the hint of dawn, staff in drab medical wear, walking with purpose. They glanced at him with no judgement and moved on. Kirk breathed in, kept walking. He'd be okay once he was faced with one of his crew. He'd find that strength they needed from him inside himself and manage for another hour or two.

Kirk walked to the wing where Crewmember Jilken had a room. He stopped at the closed door, terrified of stepping inside. He couldn't find any will in himself this morning even to pretend. Just fear. Kirk hadn't consciously backtracked but he found himself back in the main tower of lifts.

Riley. He had to visit Riley, if no one else. Overlander could see to the others alone.

The bio monitors in Full Support emitted faint noises indicating life was present, but on hold. Kirk lifted the curtain aside and moved through the dim light to sit at Riley's bedside. Riley's scent was familiar, but not reassuring, as if Kirk were an invader in a deeply private place. There was no motion from the bed but Riley did not look relaxed into sleep.

Kirk bent over, put his head in his unsteady hands, grateful for the dim where since no one would see, it didn't count as hopelessness. He pressed his knuckles into his eyes and bent farther over. The vision of the Ranger's primary hull breaking open with the force of a fully-loaded torpedo took over his mind. The screaming terror and panic that must have ensued in the lower compartments followed, muted to silence just as it had been, by the vacuum of space. Like his mind, it had been torn apart, turned inside out, life pulled out of it and left to be dissolved by the brutality of open space.

Kirk curled himself up in the hospital chair, pulled his legs to his chest, explosions of color danced from the pressure of his knuckles on his eyes. His heart throbbed, bouncing against the constriction of his heart sack.

The monitors chirping brought Kirk to awareness. He was sprawled in the chair beside Riley's bed. He bundled himself again into a ball, dreaded the next vision.

"James?" It was Overlander.

"God," Kirk muttered. His gut burned with shame at his state, but it wasn't nearly enough to let him uncurl his body, to pretend.

"James, should I call someone? It IS a hospital."

Overlander's gold braid caught the light from the monitors.

"No. No." Kirk grabbed hold of the sleeve of her uniform. "Please no. I'll be all right."

He'd made it through Admiral Coyran and Pysch. He could make it through this. Kirk straightened his legs, one at a time, but he could hear himself gulping air, a sound like sobs.

"You. Are. A very long way from all right." Overlander sounded sing song and alarmed.

"I thought . . . I thought I could see the crew, that it'd make me stronger. But it's not working."

She grabbed hold of Kirk's arms, jerked them straight. "Did you take something? Some kind of drug?"

"No. I just need . . . I need to go home for a bit. Take a break." He just needed to will himself to stop fearing, that was all. It should be so easy.

"My place is close by. I can pretend you've had too much, get you out of here."

Kirk rocked forward. Put a hand out on the bed, saw Riley's hand lying there and became startled that Riley had been there all along.

"I don't want anyone to see." But even in his current state, he thought his own words absurd. He had already lost the battle, and the war. Nothing mattered.

"You weren't yourself yesterday either. But you weren't this bad."

Voices approached from beyond the curtain. Overlander pulled Kirk to his feet with her mechanical arm, held him up easily with it, hooked his arm over her shoulder.

"Come on, soldier," she said. "Let's get you evaced."

Kirk stumbled through the hospital corridors, looking away, looking down, refusing to address directly any curious gaze. Overlander made humorous asides about his inebriation, made him out as a sympathetic figure there for his crew for many days but finally giving into the solace of alcohol. A total stranger helped hail a groundcab for them.

The world continued in blurry segments. Kirk smelled someone else's home, unusual cooking, cleaning, sweating. He was led stumbling to a bedroom lit only in a square cast by the doorway. Once he felt the buoyant spring of a mattress he gave in and collapsed, bounced, fell limp.

"I can't believe I let you talk me into taking you away from a hospital."

Kirk writhed, turned onto his other side. He wanted to crawl out of his own body, out of the terrors lurking inside himself. "There's nothing they can do. There's nothing Psych can do. I've seen them."

"I can find Chapel. She's on leave."

Kirk snorted, imagined her dry diagnosis of mind rape. "Nothing she can do either."

Overlander went away and returned. She pulled up his shirt. Hot towels descended on his face, on his chest. The animal pleasure of it arrested his panic. The towels were soon changed for freshly hot ones. He made more sounds of pleasure, felt his body release some of the long-straining panic.

Kirk stared at the ceiling of the bedroom, at the trapezoid of light from the doorway. A tear stung a trail out of the corner of his eye.

Overlander went away again, brought him some kind of herb tea, bitter, almost choking with licorice and other non-food plant flavors. He sipped this, dropped his head back. A minute later he desperately need to be covered. At first the covers were impeded, but the weight lifted off them and he was bundled up. He felt safer wrapped in a bundle so heavy that it nearly suffocated him.

The bed tilted. Kirk had no idea whether he'd slept or not. His mouth was dry and fuzzy. She put a straw between his lips and he sucked up gloriously cold water, then lukewarm bitter tea.

"Whom do I contact, James? Chapel says to take you in, says she can't help you. But I understand why you don't want to go, believe me I do, more than most would. I tried to contact your mother, but she refuses the call. Her neighbor contacted me, said she wouldn't have anything to do with you. "

Kirk found a solid place to speak from. "She's angry I went into space."

"Still?"

Kirk turned his face into the pillow. The tea was making his brain and stomach funny. "I don't know."

"Whom do I contact? Give me a transmitter ID or I call the hospital and have them get you."

Kirk recited the embassy transmitter ID. "Someone will always answer."

"What do I say?"

"Tell them I'm a wreck."

She hurriedly fetched up a communicator and stood at the foot of the bed dialing it in.

"This is Lt. Commander Natasha Overlander of Starfleet, to whom am I speaking?"

The communicator's speaker sounded small and distant. "I am Skeun of the Vulcan Embassy staff."

Overlander came over beside the bed. Kirk could sense her there, but he wanted the world to just go on without him. She tapped him on the shoulder. He remained still, frozen with despairing hope and mortally wounded pride.

Overlander said, "I need to get a message to someone there. The message is . . . that James Kirk is a wreck."

"Will this source transmitter id continue to reach you?"

"Yes."

"The message will be passed on."

Overlander signed off and the bed tilted as she sat on it. "I don't know who I just called."

Kirk was shivering despite the blankets choking him. He was on the verge of losing consciousness again, feared it and longed for it in equal amounts.

"I tried," Kirk said, meaning he'd tried to pull himself together, tried to make the attack on the Potemkin work despite the long odds, tried to save everyone except himself.


Spock sat on a stone seat along the wall of the hospital room, well out of the way. His father was consulting with the surgeon who had come personally to verify his recovery. The surgeon was an older Vulcan of below average height, shoulder length hair, and considerably lower than average voice volume.

The content of the conversation slipped harmless by Spock. He was sensing the trailing effect of a freed Katra being shepherded away somewhere in the facility. Even Vulcan souls panicked, it seemed. The soul's journey was sometimes long or arduous, but it did not traverse space in any normal sense of it so Spock did not know how he sensed distance, as such, just that he did.

Spock could feel both sides of reality as both halves of the journey: the high priest, the dead, the odd interior facing landscape of the seam between the realms. Even as Spock stared at the floor of the hospital room, his body was in one place and half his mind in another, but at least he was not slipping farther out of this realm, just getting a clearer understanding of the other one, of both, really.

"Spock," came a sharp voice.

"Father." Spock stood, fully in control. The surgeon had departed at some point. They were alone.

"You were very distant. Again."

Spock relaxed his arms, stood with perfect poise. "It is not harmful."

"I do not like it. You will see a Healer or you will cease this behavior."

"You are not yet deemed of low risk. This is according to your monitor readout's AI assessment of your condition."

Sarek sat straighter. "Then do not go distant."

"I will try to remain present, Father."

"We can arrange a Healer here. There certainly are many available. I can be present with you, if that will help."

Spock felt the first disturbance in his distant calm. "I cannot bear a stranger to touch me."

Sarek frowned, a sure sign that he still was recuperating. "I would try and assist you myself, but I would certainly not be cleared for that."

"I am not in distress." Indeed, this state was fascinating now that he felt somewhat stable in it. "When possible, I will seek out Zienn who stated that he was willing to assist in exactly these circumstances."

"He would indeed be ideal. Perhaps we should send for him. You could meet him at the local temple."

Spock shook his head. "James commanded me to remain with you."

"I am overriding him."

"If I leave, mother will return, and she required a break."

Sgroud came into the room, bowed to Sarek. "There is a message relayed through the earth embassy from a Starfleet Commander by the name of Overlander. She states that, quote, James Kirk is a wreck."

Sarek raised his chin and his brows. "Now. Spock. You have no choice but to go. Sgroud, take Spock to South Kirpraro High Temple and then onto earth. High Priest Zienn stated more than once that he was at our disposal and will accept the intrusion. And he will be properly discreet."

Sarek stared sharply at Spock. "My son. Go."