There's a knock on his door.
"Come in," Jim says, setting down his PADD. He's starting to get very tired of his hospital room, although the visits from his crew make his life tolerable. The door swings open to admit Christopher Pike.
Jim's mouth falls open.
The Admiral looks sunken and pale, his eyes angry. His entire body is encased in a black box from the shoulders down. Without prompting, the box wheels into Jim's room.
Jim stares. He can't even remember how to salute.
"Pike – sir – "
"That's enough, Kirk," Pike says, and the steel note in his voice robs Jim of words. "The admirals made their decision last night. You're done."
Jim blanches. That's not even what – he can hardly process – Pike is fucking alive inside a box –
"You mean – they're demoting me?" He tries to focus on Pike's words (and not Pike himself), but he can't seem to form a sentence. Pike looks at him, impassive.
"No."
"They're kicking me out?" He sounds desperate even to himself. "They can't – "
"Yes they can," Pike interrupts sternly, eyes hard. Jim looks for the familiar warmth and finds none. "You've broken too many rules. You've shown no responsibility. You're unfit for the captaincy, Kirk, and frankly, you're unfit to hold any place in command."
Jim can't breathe.
"And no, you can't transfer to another department," Pike continues before Jim even thinks to ask the question. "You're too headstrong – Starfleet expects and requires discipline. There's a war coming, and we need to be able to rely on our enlisted members."
"I…" Jim can't process this. He says the first thing that comes to his head – asks Pike, because Pike has been there for him, Pike knows – "What'll I do?"
"Nothing," Pike replies icily. "You're a leader, Kirk – you always have been, even if you're not command material. And if Starfleet lets you go, you'll give us nothing but trouble. We need the Federation united. You know too much about this war, and we can't allow that."
"What?" Jim doesn't understand. "You're arresting me?"
"No."
It's one word, but it sends a bone-deep chill through Jim's body. Pike turns his chair around and the door opens of its own accord.
"We didn't have a choice, Kirk."
Cryo tubes line the corridor outside his hospital room. Jim sees Spock's face frozen inside the nearest one, his eyebrows raised in shock. He lies next to Bones, whose face is contorted in a grimace – and farther down, Uhura, eyes closed, and then Scotty, his eyes wide open – Sulu – Chekov – and even farther down his mother and Sam –
Bile leaps up Jim's throat.
He tears his eyes away, gasping, horror-stricken, dread exploding into fear in his chest. He gets tangled in the sheets as he stumbles out of bed and ends up crashing to the floor. He can't see. His vision's blurry and he tries to get up, but his legs collapse beneath him.
Medical personnel and security guards appear in the doorway with an empty cryo tube between them. NO. He won't, he can't he can't he can't – he scrambles backwards and someone catches his arm in a vice-like grip, the cryo tube gets closer, and all the desperation builds up until he's screaming, screaming –
"Jim!"
He wrenches his eyes open and finds himself on the floor next to his bed, staring straight into Spock's worried gaze, the Vulcan's hand tight around his arm. Jim hears screaming.
Then he realizes that it's him.
He chokes on the sound, gags instead – and loses the battle with his stomach. Jim pushes Spock weakly aside and doubles over, vomiting on all fours until he sees stars. His chest aches as he heaves, a sharp pain that he can't quite attribute to the fact that he's spewing his insides onto the floor. He stares at the ground and tries vainly to gasp in air, his vision blurry with tears.
"Jim." There's a tentative, too-warm hand on his back. Spock sounds a little frantic. "Jim, I will call Dr. McCoy. Are you alright?"
"Don't call Bones," Jim gasps. He squeezes his eyes shut for just a moment, then sits back on his heels and wipes his mouth with the back of one trembling hand.
"Jim," Spock does not look pleased, his hand hovering over Jim's back. "You are obviously unwell. Dr. McCoy – "
" – is stressed enough as it is," Jim interjects, turning his head to meet Spock's eyes. "He's been running himself ragged taking care of me. You don't need to wake him up in the middle of the night just because I had a nightmare."
"On the contrary, Dr. McCoy predicted you would not sleep well tonight," Spock says with that non-frown of his. "He wished to be notified if you became distressed – "
"I'm not distressed!" Jim protests loudly.
Spock raises both eyebrows.
"Okay." Jim runs both hands through his hair and takes a deep breath. "It's a nightmare, Spock. I'm used to them. Bones just wanted to make sure I didn't hyperventilate or something. I'm fine."
Spock stares at him doubtfully.
"Really," Jim says, a little desperately. He doesn't want the concern, and damn, Bones is too perceptive and too pushy and not the person he wants to talk to right now. He just…would rather not talk to anyone about his health at all.
Spock looks at him for a long moment, impassive. Jim makes a conscious effort not to clench his hands.
"Very well," Spock says finally, and Jim lets out a shaky breath of relief. Spock shoots him a look, but merely stands up and heads to the communications unit on the wall to request a cleaning droid. Jim scrubs his eyes and tries to expel the last of the anxiety from his nightmare. It had felt so real.
Spock returns with a small cup of water, which Jim gratefully accepts. Once he drains the cup, he grasps the railing of the bed and hauls himself unsteadily to his feet. Spock makes a sudden, aborted movement, as though to reach out and help – but doesn't. Jim feels a small flash of gratitude.
It takes him a few tries, but he finally crawls into the bed. The sheets are twisted at the foot, and he spends more time than necessary straightening them out. As he does so, the cleaning droid arrives, and Spock directs it to take care of the mess on the floor. Jim's back in bed by the time it leaves, propped up by pillows with a million thoughts running through his head.
"Do you require anything else?" Spock asks after a moment.
Jim hesitates. He doesn't want to talk about Pike or his doubts about his command abilities. Those thoughts are shoved away in a deep dark corner of his mind, and he's afraid to touch them. He hasn't even told anyone that the admirals still need to make a final decision about his captaincy. But there are several questions he wants answered.
"Khan," he says, and tilts his head to look at Spock. "Where is he? Why do all the nets think that 'John Harrison' is dead?" A thought suddenly hits him, and he nearly bolts upright. "He's not dead, right? The Admirals didn't kill him?" He can't believe he didn't consider that possibility sooner – maybe a year ago it wouldn't have ever crossed his mind, but now –
"Khan is not dead," Spock says, and lowers himself into the chair beside Jim's bed. "He was returned to his cryo tube, and he is currently locked away in a highly classified location with the rest of his crew."
Jim wars with relief and disgust over this information.
"It's not right," he mumbles, pressing his hands to his eyes and thinking of his nightmare. "Freezing people away – he at least deserved a trial."
"A trail would inevitably end in incarceration," Spock says, a touch sharply. "And I do not think any Starfleet prison could hold a being of his intelligence."
"No," Jim sighs heavily. "I just – " he promised Khan a trial " – what was done to him was wrong. What he did was wrong, too, but – imprisoning a man and his crew and locking them away forever, without any sort of defense…"
"He killed many people," Spock interjects stiffly.
Jim stops. He doesn't even know what he's arguing. He's glad Khan is secured and can't cause any more destruction. But Jim also…wonders what sort of man he would be, if Starfleet froze him and everyone he cared about for three hundred years.
"It goes against the principles of the Federation," Spock acknowledges after a moment of silence, and Jim can tell from the faint tightening around Spock's eyes that he's not exactly comfortable with the situation either. "But a public trial is simply not a feasible option. Presentation of a fair case against Khan would put a significant portion of Starfleet's classified information at risk. Additionally, such a trial would contradict the story Starfleet has released to the public."
Jim's eyes narrow, mind flashing back to Vice Admiral Enderson's ramblings at the memorial.
"Yeah, about that…what is the official story?" He hadn't bothered to look that up on the nets. He'd been preoccupied by the casualty count.
Spock releases a tiny puff of breath, which is basically the Vulcan equivalent of a massive sigh. The official story, or so Spock reveals, goes like this:
'John Harrison' was a Starfleet Intelligence commander. He was also a terrorist who deeply disliked and was paranoid about the Klingons, and came to the conclusion that all Klingons should be wiped out in a massive war with the Federation. In order to set this plan in motion, he fed Admiral Marcus false intelligence which revealed the Klingons were planning to attack the Federation and start a war. Consequently, Harrison was given permission to secretly design warships and weapons to defend the Federation against such an attack. After the destruction of Vulcan, work on such projects got delayed while Starfleet focused on rebuilding the fleet. Harrison grew impatient with the Federation and decided to look elsewhere for the support he needed to make war with the Klingons. He then bombed London and attacked Starfleet headquarters, intending to board and steal the Vengeance – Starfleet's only completed warship –while Starfleet command was in chaos.
However, Harrison's attack on Starfleet headquarters didn't go as planned, because Captain Kirk had the brilliant idea to destroy his shuttle with a fire hose. Knowing that Admiral Marcus had survived and that his cover was blown, Harrison escaped headquarters, stole an unmarked shuttle, and fled towards Klingon space. The Enterprise was sent to pursue him and caught him at the edge of the Neutral Zone. Worried that the Klingons might actually be in league with Harrison and would open fire on the Enterprise, Admiral Marcus captained the Vengeance into the Neutral Zone as backup. Shortly after Marcus arrived, the Enterprise experienced a warp core malfunction, which allowed Harrison to escape. Harrison boarded the Vengeance, killed Marcus with his bare hands, and used the warship's weapons to attack the Enterprise, presumably to prevent the crew from reporting back to Starfleet Command. The Enterprise attempted to flee, but sustained major damage and dropped out of warp speed near Terra. Harrison followed, so the Enterprise had no choice but to defend herself, managing to incapacitate the Vengeance and kill Harrison in the process. The Vengeance, crewless and damaged beyond repair, crashed into San Francisco. The Enterprise avoided the same fate due to the quick actions of the engineering crew and Captain Kirk, who was injured during the fighting.
Jim stares at Spock.
"What the fuck?"
"It is a significantly altered version of events," Spock agrees, which is, in Jim's opinion, one of the biggest understatements of the year.
"It ignores the fact that Marcus was corrupted," Jim says with a scowl, "And it doesn't say anything about Marcus wanting to sacrifice the Enterprise to start a war with the Klingons." (It also, to Jim's relief, doesn't mention anything about him climbing into a warp reactor. He doesn't think he could handle it if the media knew that story. )
"It does not," Spock says. Jim looks at him incredulously.
"That doesn't bother you?"
"It is a logical story to present to the public," Spock says carefully, and the corners of his mouth tilt into their non-frown. "In the midst of such chaos, Starfleet wishes to maintain an image of stability. The true actions of Khan and Admiral Marcus would distort that image. However, the falsity of the report is severely disconcerting. In light of such a story and in light of recent events, I find myself deeply suspicious of any action or reassurance from the Starfleet admiralty."
Jim takes a moment to untangle Spock's meaning.
"You don't trust the admirals," he says finally. Spock inclines his head.
"I have never before encountered significant reason to doubt a Starfleet Admiral's adherence to the regulations and limits of command. Such rules exist in order to ensure that this organization upholds the ideals of the Federation. It is illogical to defy such protocol." Spock unfolds his hands, eyebrows slightly furrowed. "After our encounter with Khan and Admiral Marcus, it is apparent that some Starfleet Admirals no longer consider the regulations as important as they once did."
Which is basically Spock for "the world isn't nice, but I believed in Starfleet and the Federation, and not I'm not sure I do anymore." There's an unspoken "And that makes me very, very nervous" hanging in the air.
Jim's mind flashes involuntarily to the planet Niribu and his own blatant disregard for the Prime Directive. Spock hadn't been too impressed with that decision, life-saving results aside. At the time, Jim thought Spock just had a stick up his ass, but…when Jim really thinks about it, at its core his actions were no better than Marcus's. Both of them violated major Starfleet regulations – regulations which exist to protect people and planets and new civilizations – because they thought they knew better.
Which is not, Jim realizes, an acceptable excuse. Merely a justification – and a justification that can be used for horrifying ends just as easily as it can be used for good ones. A justification that comes with great danger and responsibility.
No wonder Pike had been angry. No wonder Spock had filed a report. Jim feels nausea creeping back up his throat. Pike hadn't trusted him with the power he held as captain, not because Jim wasn't good at his job, but because Pike knew he didn't understand the difference between good leadership and playing god.
He swallows.
"Yeah," Jim says faintly. Admiral Marcus violated a lot of Starfleet regulations and principles, and no one stopped him until it was too late. There's no reason to believe that the current Starfleet admirals won't do the same. That he won't do the same. "I don't trust the admirals either."
I don't know what's right anymore. I don't trust myself.
They stare at each other for a moment.
It's kind of terrifying, Jim thinks, to look at someone you think you can rely on and realize that neither of you trusts the world.
"So, this cover story," Jim says finally, scrubbing his hands over his face and trying desperately to change the subject, "People believe it? I mean, a lot of shit went down – so lots of people have to know the story isn't right."
"The command crew of the Enterprise is aware of events as they actually transpired," Spock says carefully, "And Admirals Archer, Barnett, and Komack were responsible for our debriefings. It is also possible that the President of the Federation was informed of events."
"There were a lot of people on the Enterprise, Spock," Kirk points out. "They know Starfleet's official story isn't right."
"The reports from the Enterprise were carefully edited," Spock says, which Jim interprets as: it was illogical to include certain details in our official reports, and I triple-checked every single one of them to make sure such details were left out. "Additionally, all crew members signed confidentiality forms at their debriefings. Most of them, however, only know details which differ from the official story. As far as I am aware, only the bridge crew, Mr. Scott, Dr. McCoy, and Dr. Marcus know of the entire situation."
"And you all signed confidentiality forms?"
"Affirmative."
"That's weird," Jim says. "I don't think I signed one."
"As you are still primarily confined to a hospital bed, Dr. McCoy has kept further requests from the admiralty from you," Spock informs him.
Jim snorts, imagining Bones threatening Admiral Komack with a hypospray. Normally he would be pissed about that, but after the admirals barged into his hospital room and wrung his brain when he could barely sit up, he's been a bit too happy to avoid thinking about the questions he still needs to answer.
"You'd think they'd want me to sign a confidentiality form right away," Jim says, although he is stuck in a hospital, and Bones doesn't allow paperwork in his room.
"As you are currently a resident at Starfleet Medical, I do not believe they have cause for immediate concern," Spock says. Then he frowns. "Unless you plan on giving an interview?"
"God, no!" Jim says vehemently. He hates the media. Has ever since Tarsus IV, and even more so since the destruction of Vulcan. Spock relaxes minutely.
"There are a variety of rumors circulating among the press, as is natural," Spock informs him. "But none have been confirmed or denied by Starfleet at this point."
Jim lets his head fall back against the pillows with a groan.
"This is fucking messed up," he says to the ceiling. He's never been one for cover stories – misinterpretations and little white lies, fine, he's used both to his advantage his whole life – but an entirely new story, a cover – that he's less comfortable with.
You can't trust a façade, he thinks, mind flashing briefly to a colony slowly dying from starvation. On Tarsus IV they'd been told there was nothing to worry about – the crop failures were only temporary, Governor Kodos had a plan, no need to panic…
Jim shudders, feeling vaguely nauseated again.
"What if this all backfires?" he asks edgily. "We're sitting here trying to pretend like we don't want a war and aren't ready for one, but a giant warship just crashed into the bay. What if the Klingons know we violated the treaty and aren't saying anything because they're getting ready for their own attack? How do we know Khan wasn't in league with the patrol that shot our shuttle down? Heck, what if the admirals are actually playing innocent because they want a war and want to look like the good guys? Spock…"
Spock's hand settles gently on Jim's wrist.
"You are distressed," Spock observes quietly. Fuck, Jim thinks. He kind of is. "There has been no indication thus far that the Klingons are actively seeking war with the Federation."
Not exactly a comforting statement.
But Jim feels suddenly exhausted, so he'll take it.
And what is the alternative, anyway? Reveal John Harrison's true identity? Tell people that not only is the slightly crazed, highly intelligent super-soldier who destroyed San Francisco and London still alive, but he and seventy-two others like him are merely frozen away in a "secure location?" Confess that the Enterprise violated the peace treaty with the Klingons on Starfleet's orders? Destroy people's trust in the Federation, when everyone is still reeling from the recent attacks as well as the destruction of Vulcan?
Jim blinks up at the ceiling, cold.
People can't know. They can't know that the recent destruction was their own doing – or rather, the result of their ancestors' actions against super humans who didn't know how to stop being soldiers. The families of Jim's dead crew can't know that the Admiral who swore to protect his officers willingly destroyed them. Was willing to destroy much more than he did.
Not now. Not in the aftermath and shock of so much loss and uncertainty. If people knew now, there would be panic. And more death. That's what happened on Tarsus IV.
It's obscene.
There's a long moment of silence, which Spock eventually breaks.
"You are concerned," he observes, studying Jim intently.
Ha.
"Kind of." Jim sinks back in the pillows, wishing he wasn't so exhausted. He's too tired to deal with reality. He's been…okay, maybe avoiding it a little, letting Bones hide his paperwork and fuss over him. He can't anymore. Not when reality's staring him in the face and so many people are dead.
"The decisions of the Admiralty are not your responsibility," Spock says, and Jim thinks maybe there's a hint of worry in his voice. "You must focus on your recovery."
God, does Jim know that. The sooner he's out of bed, the sooner he'll be able to deal with all this shit and actually help. He's useless when he's dependent on Bones to help him to the bathroom.
"Yeah," he says heavily. He blinks and can't find the energy to open his eyes again. He's so tired.
"Rest, Captain," Spock says quietly. Jim feels vaguely reassured by Spock's presence as he sinks back into uneasy sleep.
I wrote this ages ago and didn't like it all.
I still don't like it.
However, I've now read it so many times that the words blur on reflex, so I figured it was time to post it!
Thank you soooo much for the reviews/favorites/alerts/etc. *hugs* You keep me writing!