Author's note: It's been awhile, hasn't it? Here's hoping you all haven't left me hanging high and dry.

A mild warning for mild language.

Disclaimer: Still don't own a thing.

Chapter 12: After Everything


I've been worried about you; maybe I hide it all too well,

You are somewhere else...

Something's troubling you; it's not difficult to see,

You were someone else...

You were strong a while; you learned to fake a smile,

You run somewhere else…

I've been learning about you; I've been figuring you out,

You are someone else...

- Lost Ocean, 'You Are'


It was late in the evening, and Jim was resting in his quarters. He had long ago abandoned the book he'd been reading; a loan from Scotty chronicling the history of starship engineering.

It was far from a dry read – Jim enjoyed the intellectual and historical depth of the book – he just couldn't seem to concentrate.

Lately he'd been having trouble falling asleep. McCoy warned him about it, among other things. It seemed Jim had increasingly been using the doctor as a therapist of sorts.

In fact, Jim had been insistent.


"Jim, you should really see counselor about this stuff—"

"No."

"Damn it, Jim, I'm a doctor not a shrink!"

"Look, I don't need a shrink," Jim had responded angrily. "I need my best friend, who happens to be a doctor, to answer my questions without acting like I need carted off to the loony bin!"

McCoy had relented of course, knowing that Jim would never trust a psychologist enough to be comfortably transparent; besides, pushing was only resulting in alienating his friend, who really just needed support right now.

So he was holding 'sessions with Jim', as he referred to them in the privacy of his thoughts. In reality, for the past week Jim had been coming over every night to nurse a beer and just talk. Talk about the ship, talk about his past, talk about everything and anything, including his confusion over what happened on Thay'are. And McCoy would listen, interject his witticisms, and at the end of the evening they'd share a laugh and call it a night.

McCoy knew that, for whatever reason, his resilient friend was having trouble healing from this latest trauma. He, as well as the rest of the bridge crew, had begun noticing Jim's haggard appearance and despondent spirit over the past week, and they were all concerned.

Spock had come to him once a couple days ago, asking if Jim was fit for command. McCoy had hesitated. Spock looked surprised. "He is compromised?"

"Yes, he's compromised, but he's not unfit. Damn it, Spock, if I declare him unfit it'll just make it worse for him. He needs the routine. It keeps his mind off it."

This, Spock understood, especially after recalling his own reaction in the turbo lift after his mother's death.

"What do you need?" Nyota had asked; and Spock, barely in control of his emotions, had replied, "I need everyone to continue performing admirably."

It was the only way he kept it together.

Yet he of all people knew that there was a downside to such a practice. "Doctor, by allowing the Captain to perform his duties while emotionally compromised, will he not suppress his grief in an unhealthy manner? Surely this is not wise."

"I thought of that. And don't worry—he's not suppressing anything. In fact, he's been about as a transparent as I've ever seen him, with me anyway. He's hurting, but he's reaching out."

Spock paused, contemplating. "Currently the Captain is only functioning at about 52 percent of his normal capacity."

"If he gets any worse I'll let you know and we'll declare him unfit, but not 'til then," McCoy reluctantly promised.

Luckily, it hadn't come to that...yet. In the meantime Jim came to him frequently with questions like, "I can't sleep Bones—is that normal?" Whereupon McCoy would reply with, "Jim with you, nothing is normal," before informing him that yes, it was common to experience sleep disruptions while grieving.

It was like the kid had never experienced grief before…and in fact, McCoy had a theory about it.

One would think that Jim grew up grieving. But you can't grieve somebody you never really knew.

McCoy knew for a fact that there were only two other significant events in Jim's life where he lost people. One was Tarsus IV; the other was the Narada incident. McCoy doubted Jim had properly grieved either event.

No…the pain had been tucked away inside, locked down and ignored for far too long.

The Thay'arian massacre had, for whatever reason, unlocked that pain—and Jim didn't know what to do with it. He was like a child exploring a new area of life; grief was foreign to him, something confusing and even a little frightening.

Hence the statements like, "I just feel so damn drained, Bones, and I don't know why."

To which McCoy would reply, "Well idiot, you're grieving, what do you expect to feel?"

All he could do was be there. That's all any of them could do.

Grief doesn't operate on a set time schedule; rather, it ebbs and flows.

It passes as the seasons do, and sometimes it sneaks up on you, like the subtle yet sudden change from summer to fall.


Suddenly the door chimed, and Jim decided to get up and open it manually, just for the hell of it.

He was mildly surprised to see Uhura standing there, a bowl of steaming liquid in her hands.

"Captain, I brought you some Andorian stew."

"Oh-uh, thanks Uhura…you want to come in?"

Under normal circumstances, she would have rolled her eyes and made a jab about his egotistical womanizing habits, and the bane of men in general. This wasn't the time or the place.

She walked in his quarters and set the bowl down on a coffee table. "It's filling, and it also has an herb in it that will help you sleep."

He squinted at that. "Has Bones been talking to you?"

She smiled gently. "Nope. I came all on my own."

He made a scoffing noise. "You must think I'm pretty bad off then."

"I just thought you might be hungry," she insisted, her voice sincere; and he decided to take it for what it was—a gesture of friendship and compassion.

"Thanks, I appreciate it," he said, unable to remember the last time he ate.

"Captain, I also wished to inform you of something," she began abruptly, and Jim's face fell.

"What?"

"Well, I did some investigating and made some arrangements…I was able to recover the remains...if…if you want to have a service."

Jim blinked a few times, then nodded, understanding. "He saved my life. He should have a proper burial."

"I thought you might see it that way, Captain."

"Thanks, Uhura. You didn't have to do that."

"Jim…." She began, but stopped.

Walking over, she reached both hands up to lightly grasp his face, pulling him gently down. Then ever so tenderly, she placed a kiss on his brow, bending to allow their foreheads to touch.

"Know that we care for you. We're here for you."

He said nothing, but they were standing close enough that she could feel him shiver. They stayed like that for a few moments, eyes closed, before she released him.

"Sleep well, Captain."


A/N: I always felt moved by Uhura's compassion toward Spock in the movie - and I always thought it went way beyond a love interest. I think she would have tried to comfort anyone in that position.

I think that, despite her ambition and stubborn streak, she was always meant to be portrayed as a caring, empathetic person - and how fitting, considering her role as Chief Communications Officer.

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