Author's note: Angst abounds. Here's hoping it's not over the top.
As always—much love to all who take time to review. Let me know what you think!
Chapter 11: Grief
Jim's bloodshot eyes were suspiciously bright, and he stared hard at the thread pattern of McCoy's Starfleet-issue bed sheets.
He vaguely listened to the nuances of McCoy's drawl as the doctor informed Spock that the Thay'arians had used their powers to bring the structures of the colony down around them.
Nothing was left. They had all been killed in the process, along with a yet-undetermined number of Klingons.
"Reminds me of that old story of Sampson and how he brought the temple down on himself and all the Philistines," McCoy said, and Jim's mind was momentarily assaulted by images of Thay'arian rubble and blood and the screams of fleeing Klingons….
He nearly jumped out of his skin when he felt a warm hand rest gingerly on his shoulder. He looked up in surprise into the darkened eyes of his First Officer.
"I grieve with thee, Captain," Spock murmured, removing his hand quickly.
'Damn, was he that readable?'
Jim opened his mouth to speak, but words wouldn't come at first. This compassionate behavior was beyond strange coming from the seemingly emotionless Vulcan.
It was too much.
"Um…thanks Spock. If you don't mind, I'm kinda tired actually…." His voice trailed off and he shot a desperate look at Bones.
The doctor nodded almost imperceptively. "Well Jim, I'll prepare you a sedative to help you sleep. Spock, I presume you've gotten all the information you need from the Captain?"
"Yes Doctor, I require no further information at this time. Captain, with your permission, I will return to my quarters and submit the necessary reports."
"Permission granted," Jim responded immediately, his eyes everywhere but on his First Officer.
Spock, sensing his presence to be distressing his Captain but not understanding why, exited the quarters swiftly, the edges of his mouth turned down in an uncharacteristic display of concern.
"You want to talk?" McCoy asked gruffly once the Vulcan had left. He watched Jim surreptitiously as he carefully measured and mixed the necessary ingredients for the hypo.
When he received no response, he sighed, staring at his friend's slumped form. Jim just shook his head, biting down hard on his bottom lip.
"Look, the last thing I want to do is offer you a damn cliché but talking helps, you know," McCoy offered lightly, knowing Jim was at the breaking point but not wanting to push him too hard.
Jim blinked, seeming to pull himself together a bit.
"It wasn't my father," he stated dully. "And yet at the same time it was."
"It's okay to feel confused," the doctor said gently.
"No, it's not okay, damn it!" Jim shouted suddenly, pounding his fist down on the mattress.
McCoy noted the trembling in the younger man's limbs. 'Got to tread carefully here,' he thought.
Jim was his own worst enemy, and McCoy knew if he pushed too hard, one of two things would happen. Either Jim would fly into a rage and start breaking things, most likely damaging himself and probably McCoy as well, in the process; or he would bolt, and McCoy would find him later, drunk out of his mind, near catatonic, and most likely injured.
No, Jim was like a recalcitrant feline—he did things on his own terms or not at all.
"Why isn't it okay?" McCoy prodded, keeping his tone neutral.
"Because I know who my father was!" Jim retorted loudly, bitterness and self-loathing evident in every word. "He died on the day I was born, and he can't ever come back! What the hell was I thinking? What kind of son actually mistakes a clone for his own father, huh? I mean…what the hell kind of son am I?"
He had both hands out in front of him, eyes wild with anguish and self-condemnation, and he was pleading for…something. For answers, for consolation, for closure—none of which McCoy thought he could offer his friend.
As Jim slumped back against the headboard in defeat, the words finally came to the doctor.
"I'll tell you," McCoy said firmly, setting down the hypo and looking Jim straight in the eye. "The kind of son who adores his father's memory so much that he was willing to believe it when he met a living, breathing man who looked and behaved just like George Kirk."
Jim remained silent, his eyes distant and misty, so Bones continued. "What you thought and what you felt down on that planet was legitimate—perfectly understandable considering the circumstances. It was a shitty deal, but you handled it like a Starship Captain, and your father would be proud."
"No. I was weak. I was a fool," Jim muttered brokenly, looking away.
"Wrong. You were hurt and confused," the older man corrected, grasping the young Captain's chin to try and force him to look at him, "and there's a big difference. You were also manipulated, and that's not your fault."
Jim snorted. "That isn't any better—I'm supposed to be the Captain, for cripes sakes."
"You're not indestructible, Jim. Nor are you perfect. No one expects you to be."
"I expect me to be."
"Well, and you're an idiot, so what's that tell you?" McCoy retorted, tapping the younger man on the cheek with the palm of his hand.
Jim snorted again, a small smile softening his rugged features.
As McCoy readied the hypo, Jim grew somber again.
"He died in my arms, Bones. And all those Thay'arians…they died too. I failed."
And that was the crux of it. McCoy just looked at him, trying to gauge a response.
The young Captain continued, his voice sounding rough and lost. "Probably my most important mission, Bones…and I failed them all."
The older man sighed, running a hand through his hair. What could he say?
"It was a no-win scenario, Jim."
Wrong thing to say. Jim whipped his head up, eyes set in an angry glare.
"You know how I feel about that," came the sharp reply.
"Hell, I know how you feel about that," McCoy shot back, voice rising in frustration. "The great James T. Kirk doesn't believe in no-win scenarios—I get it. But whatever you want to call it, missions fail. People die. You need to accept it and move on."
But Jim was shaking his head vehemently. He had broken that quickly, the tangled emotions consolidating into something ugly and unbound. His composure fractured, and he could no longer contain the fallout.
"My father's dead, Bones. God…my father died a second time and I couldn't save him."
And then he was curling into himself, rocking slightly back and forth, desperately trying to muffle the sounds of his raspy sobs.
McCoy sighed, deflated, before sinking down onto the bed next to his best friend. He allowed the paternal instincts he kept buried inside to surface, and gently pulled the younger man into his arms.
Absently he wondered how many times this job of theirs would require him to try and put the shattered pieces of his best friend's spirit back together. Then he told himself it didn't matter, because he would do it for the next thousand years just for Jim.
The soft rapping on the wall outside of his quarters roused Spock from a deep meditation. It took him a few moments to gather himself before he rose to open the doors.
He was intrigued, though not necessarily surprised, to see that his visitor was none other than the Captain.
It had been approximately 3.4 days since Spock had last seen the Captain outside of their interactions on the Bridge. The man had healed quickly—too quickly according to Dr. McCoy—and by now had resumed his normal duties.
The Thay'arian Massacre, as it was being referred to in the media, seemed to be an unfortunate step in the downward spiral toward war with the Klingon race, and the Enterprise was heading to Starbase 6 to be briefed on new diplomatic strategies to keep the fragile peace.
Though Jim had not been reprimanded for his actions, (in fact he had been congratulated on surviving a difficult situation without provoking an intergalactic war), Spock could sense a dejection about the man which was deeply unsettling.
While he and Jim had certainly never seen eye to eye on almost anything, Spock nevertheless respected him. It was difficult to be able to perceive the man's internal struggles and yet not have the ability to aid in their resolution. Spock told himself it was not his place to question the emotional health of the Captain unless it was interfering with the function of the ship—yet he could not help but feel concerned. It was this difficulty and unsettledness that had necessitated Spock's meditation.
And now the source of his ruminations was standing outside of his door.
"Captain, may I assist you?" Spock asked.
"Um, no. I mean…yes. Uh…sorry."
Spock's eyebrow twitched. "May I inquire as to the source of your inability to form words?"
Jim exhaled, lips quirking up into a smile. "Spock, were you just making fun of me?"
"Negative Captain. Vulcans do not 'make fun'."
"Yeah, well you're only half-Vulcan. Uh…mind if I come in for a bit?" Jim asked, looking expectantly over Spock's shoulder.
"Of course not, Captain. Please make yourself comfortable."
"It's 'Jim', Spock," the Captain groaned. "'Jim' when we're off hours, remember?"
"Of course."
Jim strode in the room and then looked around hesitantly for a place to sit amongst the fastidiously clean quarters.
Spock, sensing the man's disconcertedness, motioned for him to sit on the small bell-shaped seat next to the wall, whereupon the Vulcan returned to his cross-legged perch on the floor.
Jim fidgeted in the awkwardness of the moment.
"So…you're probably wondering why I'm here."
"Indeed…though I assume you are not here to play chess, since it is neither the day of the week nor the hour of night at which you usually arrive at my quarters to play chess. Further, you usually insist on bringing your own chess set, which you obviously do not have on your person now. In addition, noting your increased respiration and heart rate, coupled with your nervous speech patterns and body language, I would surmise that you are here at great cost to your own personal comfort. Therefore, I calculate a 97.4 percent probability that this is not what you would call a 'social visit'."
Jim raised his eyebrows and blinked. "Uh…yeah. That's a pretty accurate estimation, actually."
Spock nodded, waiting patiently for the Captain's explanation.
Jim shifted uncomfortably in the chair, hunched forward, his elbows on his knees. His hands were rubbing together anxiously, and his blue eyes seemed to be boring holes through the floor.
"Spock…" he sighed. "Man, this is hard."
"Captain, I assure you that whatever it is you wish to say will remain confidential—"
"No, no, Spock. It's nothing like that. It's just…well I just wanted to say I'm sorry."
Spock's spine stiffened, and his eyes narrowed a bit in wary confusion. "I beg your pardon?"
Jim sighed. "Look, I didn't want to bring it up again, ever. But it needs to be said."
"Captain, I am afraid I am at a loss as to what you are referring."
"Your mother," Jim supplied hastily. "A-and what I said…on the bridge."
Spock's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Captain, that was…approximately 4 months ago."
"It needed to be said," Jim repeated, staring at the floor.
Silence permeated the room for a few minutes, then, "Captain—"
"Spock, when're you going to learn to call me 'Jim'?" Interrupted the human, and this time Spock saw his eyes—saw the strain, the heartache, the weariness; the soft smile that was only a shadow of the impish grin that normally graced the man's features.
"Jim, I believe on that day you were provoking me with probable cause. I was indeed compromised, and my reaction to your provocation was most shameful to my Vulcan heritage."
"That doesn't excuse what I did," Jim insisted.
"I believe what you are seeking is forgiveness. Yet from what I know of you as a human, and the circumstances under which you were operating on that day, there is nothing to forgive."
"I know it hurt, Spock," Jim said firmly, his blue eyes vibrant with intensity.
The Vulcan let out a puff of breath. "While for a time I may have harbored…irrational thoughts, I know now that it is not in your nature to speak to another with such cruelty."
Jim let out a self-deprecating snort. "You'd be surprised."
"You misunderstand. I mean you would never speak with such cruelty to another who had experienced a loss similar to your own," Spock clarified.
Jim paled considerably at the words of his First Officer.
"Damn," he said roughly, then, "Spock I am so sorry."
Spock closed his eyes briefly, stifling a bit of creeping aggravation. The man seemed intent on blaming himself. "Jim, your apology, while unnecessary, is accepted. You are forgiven, therefore you should stop torturing yourself over what is now the past."
"That's not it," Jim quietly replied. "See, I didn't understand. I didn't know at the time what it was like to have your mother…." He choked off, unable to continue.
Spock, suddenly understanding, blurted, "Jim, do not—" to no avail.
"My dad died when I was born. I didn't have to see it...watch him...at least the first time."
"Spock—how…how did you get through that? How did you not go crazy?" The young Captain's eyes were bright with unshed tears, and his voice was thick with grief.
Spock was momentarily taken aback. Here was James T. Kirk, one of the most emotive beings he'd ever encountered, and the man was looking to a Vulcan for emotional advice?
"Jim…it is most…illogical of you to ask me to assist you in this way," Spock stammered. "Perhaps Dr. McCoy—"
"He suggested I talk to you," Jim interrupted with a shake of his head.
Spock's eyebrows shot up again, and his mouth opened a bit in shock.
"Maybe Bones was wrong for once."
There was silence for a beat, then, "I should probably go, I'm sure you have things to do."
Spock almost let the younger man walk out—almost.
"Jim!"
The Captain turned, question in his eyes.
"I meditate," Spock said quickly.
"You meditate. What good does that do?" Jim asked as they walked back toward the middle of the room.
"For a human, I cannot say. However, Vulcans are able to find great peace in meditation. It is useful for mental and emotional healing."
"How?"
"It may not be successful in your case, Jim," Spock warned, trying to picture the bundle of energy that was James T. Kirk in a meditative state of calm.
"Can I try it?"
Try it they did, Spock giving te Captain a crash-course in meditative technique.
Two hours later, Spock came out of his meditation and looked over at where Jim had been sitting cross-legged on the floor nearby. The younger man had slumped sideways on the floor, soft snores coming from a slightly open and drooling mouth.
Spock cocked an eyebrow and fought to suppress a tiny grin. Somehow he had known Jim would not last too long in a meditative state.
Not wishing to wake the Captain until it was necessary, he covered the human with a blanket, and gently eased a pillow under his head.
A/N: Reviews make writing easier and more fun. 'Nuff said.