A/N: What you say? 4fandoms actually updated? ;) Sorry y'all, life's been crazy and I had severe writers block when it came to this chapter. Even now, there's still parts missing from it that I wished that I could've included, but it just messed up the flow. Maybe I'll try and add them to the next chapter.

I feel like I need to add a warning to this one, because it deals with Child Abuse, Genocide, Famine, and hinted at Non-Con. If any of these trigger you, I would suggest not reading.

The first year of the Five Year Mission flies by, but not without a hitch. From the tribble infestation to the transporter malfunctions to the psychotic alternate universes (seriously what the heck?); Jim wonders how many other Federation Ships experience this level of batshit crazy.

The answer is probably none.

Jim has always had luck like that.

Three months into their second year though, and things are going smoothly. They've discovered and established peace with several Class M planets and basically done milk runs for the 'Fleet. Frankly, Jim is bored, but won't jinx their good luck with admitting to it.

Of course Carol can see straight through him and tells him as much.

"You've never sat down and just…lived, have you?" she says one evening, as he trails after her at the end of her shift. "Have you ever stopped running?"

"I'm not running," he protests, feeling annoyed. "I'm just…"

"Lost?"

"Bored."

She snorts. "Well at least you admit it, finally. Don't worry, Jimmy. Something will come up."

"Why do I get the feeling you'll rue the day you said that," Bones sarcastically says.

"Stop listening in on our conversations," Jim moans.

"Then stop having private conversations in my sickbay."

"It's my sickbay too," Jim says crossly.

"Do you have a degree in medicine?"

"Do I look like I have a degree in medicine?"

"Then you don't belong in sickbay, unless you are, in fact, sick."

Carol rolls her eyes. "My shift is over. Jim stop fighting with Len and have dinner with me."

Jim gives Bones one last lingering—but halfhearted—glare, which is returned, before taking Carol's hand and leaving with her.

"I probably will rue the day I said that," she says, as they step into the turbolift, "but I meant it. Things won't stay quiet for long. They never do with you around."


2. Darling and Sweetheart

As Jim fell to the ground, choking on the taste of blood, he realized that it was him, not Carol, who was going to rue the day she said that.

It had started off as a diplomatic mission—of course it bloody had—with the people of Caladin. Although not primitive, they had very old customs and rituals that Jim had to spend hours reviewing before they beamed down to the planet, and even then he was sure he was going to offend their monarch or accidentally hit on his daughter and end up in prison with Carol laughing at him.

Ironically enough, he had not ended up in prison for those reasons and he had offended no one. What had actually happened was far worse and was going to make Jim sick for days.

He had known the minute he'd seen her.

Princess Kiera was a fourteen years old beauty, with a promiscuous demeanor and a sharp tongue, and Jim Kirk instinctively knew the minute he saw her that something was very very wrong. The shadows behind her eyes, the instinctive flinching from physical contact, and the angry furrow in her brow all pointed to one thing.

Jim had hoped to god he was wrong.

During the Greeting Feast that night, he'd chanced to get the child alone and talked to her. Within a few minutes his suspicions were confirmed.

Her father was abusing her whenever he pleased.

It had only gone downhill from there.

Confronting the Monarch had been something out of a nightmare; five minutes into the conversation and the entire Away Team was arrested; thirty minutes later, after Jim brilliantly broke out of prison and jumpstarted a civil war on the planet, he found Kiera and helped her escape.

And now he was face to face with the Caladin Monarch with a bullet buried in his side. Again.

He could distantly hear Kiera shrieking for what it was worth before he blacked out.


It was getting to the point that whenever Jim woke up in Medbay, he would either face Bones' wrath, Carol's wrath, or both.

And that's not even mentioning Spock's wrath or Uhura's wrath.

Honestly, why must his crew gang up on him when these things clearly aren't his fault?

"Relax, no one is mad at you this time, Captain," a voice says, startling Jim.

To his surprise, Uhura is sitting by his bedside this time, watching him in amusement. He can see the lines of stress around her eyes—it had been an insane mission after all—and the exhaustion in her smile, but she seems relatively okay. He offers her his own weary, but sincere smile.

"Is everyone—?"

"Everyone's fine," Uhura says, waving him off. "We got you out in time, kicked a lot of alien ass, the usual." She eyes him for a moment. "You started a civil war again," she finally says, conversationally.

"Well, you know sometimes you just gotta." He chuckles at her unimpressed snort. "Was it a success?"

"The war? Please. It lasted maybe a few hours after you were beamed back. Spock was able to get the people to see reason and they elected a new Monarch."

"And Kiera?"

At this Uhura goes quiet, watching him warily. "She's safe," she says at last. "The Temple Priests adopted her after it was clear what her father was doing to her." There is a pause, where Jim avoids Uhura's piercing gaze and Uhura tries to catch his eye. "You know," she finally says. "I was surprised you figured out what was going on from the start. It would have taken anyone else a good long while before they realized Kiera was being abused."

Jim shrugs and continues to avoid her knowing gaze, but Uhura is neither cruel nor prying, so when he fails to reply she gives a resigned nod. "I should leave before Leonard kicks me out for disturbing you," she says, standing up. After a moment of hesitation she leans forward and brushes a feather-light kiss across his cheek. "Get some rest Captain, you look like hell."


A few days later, and Jim was out of sickbay. During his stay, he'd been visited by both an exhausted Carol and a disapproving Spock, who both lectured him for starting another civil war. Like it was his fault.

He tells Bones as much.

"You did punch the Monarch in the face," Bones drily says, rolling his eyes, not taking his side. "Now out of my sickbay."

Jim sticks his tongue out and glides gracefully out of sickbay, feeling Bones' exasperated glare boring into the back of his skull. Spoilsport.

The first place he heads is towards the Bridge, where he demands a full briefing from Spock and the Bridge Crew on the advents after he blacked out. Then he goes looking for Carol, who was notably absent from both the meeting and sickbay the previous day.

"If she's not in her quarters, try yours," Uhura says, giving him an indecipherable look that makes him nervous. As he heads towards his own quarters, the uneasiness grows stronger. He had barely seen Carol since they'd been down on that planet, but according to Spock, she had taken care of Kiera after Jim had been shot.

Did that have something to do with her absence?

He steps out of the turbolift and runs smack into a solid body.

Carol is staring up at him, surprised, eyes red rimmed as if she's been crying.

They stare at each other for a long moment, him slightly stunned and confused.

She bits her lip a moment, internally debating something, before throwing her arms around him in a tight embrace and burying her face in his shoulder. Almost on autopilot, his arms instinctively wrap around her and pull her close, breath stuttering to a stop when he hears a soft, muffled sob.

"Carrie?"

Jim thought he knew what the worse pain in the world felt like—(disappointment, hunger, torture, desperation, hate, madness, fear, loneliness, rejection, anger, hopelessness)—but nothing compared to the helplessness he's feeling when trying to comfort someone he loves.

"Hey, it's okay," he soothes, rubbing her back gently. "What's going on, Sweetheart?"

She shakes her head and begins pulling away. "Nothing, I just…" She sucks in a shuddering breath and pulls back, looking up at him. "You're alright. You're safe."

He nods, still slightly confused. "Bones patched me up, like he always does. I'm fine."

She shakes her head. "That's not what I…" Carol breaks off when her voice cracks. "I just…"

"What's going on, love?" Jim says, gently placing his hands on her shoulders.

Carol takes a deep shuddering breath. "I can't sleep. Bad dreams."

Jim is no stranger to nightmares, but isn't sure how to handle someone else having them. Carol is generally a very lighthearted person—a trait that he'd been attracted to instantly—and he doubts she has a past that could caused horrific nightmares.

Looking down at her haunted, tear streaked face, however, it would appear that he is proven wrong.

Aware that the two of them are having an incredibly intimate moment in a public place, Jim gently coaxes Carol towards his quarters.

"Why don't we do that British thing you do and make some tea," he suggest, propelling her towards the couch, "and then you'll tell me what you dreamt. I mean, if you want to," he adds, hesitantly. "I know I don't like talking about nightmares when I have them, but you might—"

She huffs out a watery laugh. "Stop rambling and give me my tea, Farmboy," she orders, wiping her face with her hand.

"As you wish," he replies, with a shadow of his usual grin.

He watches her out of the corner of his eye while he replicates her usual drink. She seems to have calmed down a bit, but avoids his gaze, almost like she's embarrassed.

Well that won't do.

He gives Carol a steaming mug and tries not to take it personally when she unconsciously flinches away from his touch. After a moment of silence, where the two of them awkwardly drink their tea and watch the stars flit by, Carol speaks.

"How could anyone treat their daughter that way?" her voice breaks slightly, blue eyes bright and watery. "Their own flesh and blood…someone they've made and raised. And Kiera…she told me that she loved her father and it still wasn't enough."

Jim suddenly gets it.

Oh Carol.

"But she has survived," he replies, gently. "Despite what demons she's face, darkness she carries, she survived and is a better person. A better person than he was."

Carol's eyes fill up again, indicating that she understands his double meaning.

"Do you hate him?" she whispers. "What he did to the Enterprise?"

Jim feels his heart throb painfully. "Oh, c'mere Sweetheart…" he sighs, putting an arm around her and pulling her close. "Look, I'm telling you now, Carrie. No, I don't hate your father. I was angry for a while, but I understand why he did what he did. He was frightened. Scared for the Federation, for Earth…and for you."

Carol sniffs loudly. "You think so?"

"Nope, I know so. Besides, he helped make you, raised you to think for yourself. How could I ever hate your dad for bringing you into the world?"

That seems to do it; a sob—the heart wrenching kind that physically hurt to hear—tears out of her as she buries her face in his shoulder once again. Neither of them know how long they spend in that position, her sobbing, him comforting her, in the dimly lit room, but neither of them seem to care.

After she finishes crying herself out, she pulls away slightly. "Wasn't just him who taught me that," Carol huffs out finally, with a watery laugh. "I don't think I started really being who I am until I met you."

Jim felt his heart warm and throb at the same time. It was an odd sensation, but not entirely unwelcome.

"I don't think I started being honest with people until I met you," he found himself admitting, bashfully.

She snorted with muted amusement. "Now that I can believe." She brushed her hair out of her eyes and swiped at her wet cheeks. "Sorry for going all…"

"It's not a problem," Jim replied, instantly. "That's what I'm here for."

She nods, jerkily. "I really love you, you know that?" she says, in an unsteady voice. "I don't want anything to happen to you."

"And nothing will," he promises, feeling a choking sensation in the back of his throat.

"You can't promise that, Jim," Carol replies, sounding irritated, shaking her head. "No one can. But especially you. I just…damn it, you're always going to find trouble and get into it, and someday one of us won't be quick enough to pull you out of the fire and I'm going to lose you!"

"I've made this this far," he counters, evenly. "And I have you to watch my back."

"That's not enough."

"It'll have to be for now. And I'm…" Jim pauses, trying to find the right words. "I'm sorry Carol, but that's all I can offer you."

She gazes at him for a long moment. Then, "How do we know this is going to work?"

Jim frowns in confusion. "What?"

"This. Us. There are so many ways this could go wrong, we're always worrying about each other, I'm always going to be upset when you put yourself in danger, and you're always going to put yourself in danger, and if I do the same you'll be mad—"

"Do you want to break up?" Jim asks, flatly.

Carol pauses, mid rant, mouth hanging open slightly. She shuts it with an audible click. "No," she replies quietly. "But who's to say we won't screw this up so badly that we have to?"

"Us," Jim replies. "We decide whether it works or not. And it is working Carol." He sighs. "Look, I'm going to worry about you whether or not we're dating and you'll get mad at me when I get into trouble," he says, changing tactics, "We've been dating almost a year, and so far we haven't screwed it up. And this," he takes her hand and squeezes it tightly, "this is worth fighting for."

Jim gazes at her evenly for a moment. "Carol. What was your dream?"

She swallows painfully and looks away. "I…it was…we were on the Vengeance…but…" she takes a deep breath. "Khan didn't kill my father. He killed you," she says, quietly.

Jim winces sympathetically. "That's why you're worried about losing me," he murmurs, gently.

Carol nods. "And what's worse," she goes on, voice trembling, "He was…he was also my father. It makes no sense, but that's what it was and I had to watch you die and Jim…" she turns to him, anguished. "I don't think I can take seeing you dead in a body bag like that again." She shakes her head. "I can't."

Jim leans forward and gently presses his lips to hers. "I can't lose you either," he murmurs against them. "But that doesn't mean I won't." He pulls back and looks at her steadily. It's odd, because she's always been the level headed, rational one, but now he finds himself in a state of calm that he's never experienced before.

"I can't protect you from everything and you can't protect me, but I can promise you…until the day I die I will love you."

She slides onto his lap and loops her arms around his neck. "Sounds suspiciously like you're proposing," she murmurs, brushing her lips against his.

His heart pounds erratically in his ears and his blood freezes, but he forces himself to meet her gaze. "And if I did someday?"

She leans forward and whispers against the shell of his ear: "I might say yes."

He seals his lips against hers, hard and passionate, hands sliding up her thighs, over her hips, and under her off-duty shirt. She shivers under his touch and allows him to deepen the kiss. After a moment's hesitation, he flips her onto her back and begins kissing his way down her neck.

Needless to say, neither of them got much sleep that night.


Jim is going to kill someone. And then he's going to be sick.

Ceberus isn't Tarsus IV. No eugenics obsessed governor to turn on his own people, no soldiers committing mass genocide on the populous—less than a nine hundred people died this time, but all Jim can see in the starving children's eyes is his own desperation staring back at him.

The crew performs admirably, as expected, but even they are clearly shaken. Jim doesn't see Bones for almost the entirety of the mission and learns later, from Chapel, that he ran himself sparse trying to take care of everyone; Uhura is so on edge that Jim's afraid to breathe in her direction. Even Spock's usual stoicism falters in the face of desolation.

Jim is selfishly grateful that everyone else is so disturbed that they haven't noticed his own inner turmoil. To his credit, he actually considers temporarily resigning his captaincy due to emotional compromise (and wouldn't that be ironic?), but realizes that if he doesn't face this now, he never will. He pushes his emotions aside and forces himself to handle the situation the same way he's handled every other challenge.

When all is said and done—the survivors are being transported to a hospital on Earth and the colony itself is being replenished—and the Enterprise sends in the last of its reports to Starfleet, Jim can finally crash.

Bones sees it coming, of course he does, he's seen Jim's medical file, and even though it doesn't explicitly say Tarsus IV, the man can read between the lines—specifically the ones that point towards severe malnourishment at a young age and chronic PTSD.

No matter what his best friend knows, Jim is grateful when the guy drags him back to his quarters and gets him drunk, no questions asked. Jim knows that someday he'll tell him, but right now is relieved when Bones doesn't ask or bring it up.

It's past midnight when Jim finally makes it back to his own quarters, only slightly tipsy by now, but so exhausted he can barely keep his eyes open. In the morning he's going to be unbelievably hungover and a pain to be around, but Jim barely cares at the moment. The bed is notable empty when he falls into it. As he begins drifting off into a restless slumber, he vaguely finds himself wishing Carol would spend the night more often.


"You never quite forget it, do you?" a gentle voice conversationally murmurs in his ear. "Starvation, the fear of being chased, hunted even. The pain of the skin being ripped from your back. The shrieks and cries of the other children."

The smell of the dead stay with him even after all these years, the cries of the dying still ring in his ears, the screams of the innocent still shout in his mind, the pain and desperation of the starving still carved into the back of his eyelids, the copper taste of blood in his mouth, the sting of a whip on his back, the sound of a child screaming screaming screaming—

There's an excruciating pain in his chest, like fire—burning liquid hot—and even though his eyes are closed he knows a pair of kind blue eyes watching him, they always watched him those dark hooded eyes, smooth eyes, knowing eyes, always always looking deep into the far reaches of his soul—

"I understand you, James," the voice murmurs, so intimate and soft in the shell of his ear. There's a pair of hands gently caressing his hair, which confuses him because he was never gentle, never caring—

A pair of wet lips brush his ear. "Look at me."

His eyes open.

Someone is screaming.

It panics Jim slightly, especially when it dawns on him that he's the one screaming.

He clamps mouth shut and bits down on his lip hard. With his eyes firmly closed and his hands fisting the sheets tightly, he draws his knees up to his chest rocks himself slightly back and forth to keep calm. It's not working very well, he realizes, breath coming in and out fast, heart beating a frantic tattoo against his chest. It's not working because he can feel himself slipping into a panic attack of epic proportions, and Jim's not quite sure how to handle that because he hasn't had a panic attack in years, since he was a teenager in fact, and he was this close to either throwing up or passing out and if he doesn't grab his comm and call Bones right now, then he was going to be in serious trouble—

The bed dips down next to him. There's a pair of thin fingers brushing through his hair—(gently, not unlike in his dream, but soothing and calming)—and a soft voice murmuring words that don't quite break through the haze of panic in Jim's head, but are comforting nonetheless.

He tries to slow his breathing, he really does, but can't quite gain control of his own body. After a minute or so of painful hyperventilating, the haze of white obscuring his vision slowly recedes.

Jim is sitting in bed, tangled up in the sheets, covered in a thin layer of cold sweet and trembling hard. The hand gently carding through his hair belongs to a very worried Carol Marcus. She gives a hesitant and worried smile when he meets her gaze. He shuts his eyes and moves forward to bury his face in her shoulder.

Instantly, her arms wrap around his shoulders, pulling him close. She continues petting through his hair, but says nothing this time, letting the silence wash over them until he decides he's calm enough to have a coherent conversation. Surprisingly enough, Jim finds himself appreciating her quiet comfort, rather than her reassuring words.

They could have sat there five minutes or five hours, Jim would never know nor care. His entire universe was centered on the soft body holding him and the fingers carding through his hair. Eventually, his breathing slowed and his heart beat regulated, much to his relief. After he is sure he wasn't going to flip out again, he slowly lifts his head off Carol's shoulder.

"Tea?" Carol asks, slightly shaken, still holding him.

"Raincheck," he croaks. "I don't think I can stomach anything right now."

She nods, understanding. "What do you need?"

You, he thinks, pressing his forehead to hers. "I need…" he falters, voice cracking. "I…"

Carol presses a quick, soft kiss to his lips. "It's alright, Darling. Do you need to talk about it?"

Jim shuts his eyes. "I don't know if I can," he breathes.

"I won't make you, love. You don't have to if you can't," she says, softly.

He feels a rush of gratitude, because she's not pushing and she's never pushed, not when she saw the mostly healed scars on his back, or when she figured out he had issues with food, or the obvious fact that he still suffers from mild PTSD.

It makes him want to tell her.

"I was…years ago…and I couldn't…" Jim breaks off, collecting his thoughts. "Ceberus…it's not…"

Her brow furrows in confusion. "Ceberus?"

"It's not the first famine I've seen," he finally rasps.

Carol looks bewildered, but sympathetic just the same. She rubs the pads of her thumbs over his cheekbones, jaw and eyes. "What happened?" she murmurs, gently.

Jim steels himself. "It was a fungus. It spread so quickly we didn't know what to do, how to stop it. I…I didn't know how bad it was until later, my aunt was good at pretending nothing was wrong and I didn't think…And then one of the Council Members sparked a rebellion and made himself Governor—we thought he was going to call Starfleet for relief, but he lied and we didn't realize until too late—"

"Jim," Carol interrupted, voice unsteady.

His eyes open. Carol's are broken and full of tears and desperation.

"Jim…it's not…please tell me it's not—"

"You know it is."

"Oh Jim." Carol hugs him tight, shaking with suppressed sobs. "How old were you?"

"Fourteen." Jim shuts his eyes. Fourteen when everything had gone to hell. "I couldn't…I couldn't do anything, I couldn't save them. They were so hungry," he whispers.

"You're not responsible for everyone."

"I was for them," he murmurs, almost ashamed. "I was the oldest, I was supposed to protect them."

Carol shakes her head. "You were fourteen."

"I was the oldest," he stresses.

"Jim." She pulls away to look into his eyes. "It's not your fault."

Jim looks down. "Yeah."

She shakes her head. "Have you ever talked about this with anyone?"

Countless therapist, his mom, Pike, Bones sort of. "No one really understood," he admits. "What it was like…what I did…" He shakes his head. "I did everything to protect those kids, and only eight of them survived."

He knows she's smart enough to make the connection and recognizes the agony in her eyes when she does.

"Jim…"

He gives a shaky laugh. "You know, I swore…after that I'd never join Starfleet."

"What changed?" she asks, letting him change the subject.

"I'm not sure," he says, honestly. "I suppose I got tired of wandering from quadrant to quadrant, stirring up trouble. Maybe I felt like I had to prove myself—that I could live up to everyone's expectations…or beyond them." Jim pauses. "Or maybe it was because Pike was the first one who thought I could do better."

"He was right. You have done better," she promises.

Somehow, hearing it for the first time, Jim felt like it might be true.