A/N: I am a horrible author. I don't even have an excuse for my lack of updates. All I can say is, I'm sorry, and I hope you guys like this chapter.
He couldn't do this. God, he couldn't do this. He couldn't deal with Winona waltzing back into his life after years of ignoring him, of stabbing and has been for years. He couldn't deal with the fact that his dad was alive, and that he had been for years. He couldn't deal with his addiction to self-harm, with his constant suicidal thoughts as his life got harder each day. He couldn't do it, and there was no one he could trust to help him.
Spock and Bones had good intentions, he was sure, but Jim Kirk had been struggling with his past alone for years and had survived. He was sure he could deal with it for a while longer. Well, at least partially sure.
Jim ran a hand through his hair, letting out a soft sigh. There were things he had hidden from everyone, even Spock and his crew. Even from Bones, his best friend. Even from his dad. Jim still wasn't sure whether George Kirk was trustworthy. After all, he had stayed on Romulan while Jim was suffering in Iowa with Frank, on Tarsus with Kodos, at the Starfleet Academy with all the nightmares he had struggled to hide for so long. Then again, how was he supposed to know about his beloved wife, hating their son?
Jim drew in a shuddering breath, fighting a wave of nausea as he traced the scars on his bare chest and torso. The nightmares were getting worse. He was having more flashbacks. So far, he was alone when he had been having them. However, Jim Kirk, of all people, knew that luck wouldn't last forever. It would soon run out.
Something was going to happen soon. He was almost sure of it. The nightmares and flashbacks only got worse when something involved with his past was going to come back again. It had happened enough for him to learn to recognize the signals. Constant nausea. More frequent nightmares. More real feeling flashbacks. There were times when he couldn't sort events from the past from present events. No one understood how scary it was. Unable to pull yourself from the past, yet unable to completely be there.
Jim stood, swaying, and he put a hand on the bed to steady himself. No way was he going to Bones for some medicine to help. His friend would stubbornly insist on Jim telling him what was going on. He couldn't tell Bones what was wrong. He couldn't let his friend bear the burden he had been carrying for years, ever since his childhood. He cared too much about Bones to let him do that.
He drew in a shuddering breath, and made his way out of the room and into the corridor. The world spun sickeningly around him, and he automatically bent over, holding his head in his hands near his knees until the nausea stopped. Dang it, he could barely walk. How would he manage his duties as a Starfleet captain today?
Just like he always did, he told himself. He would fake it until he made it. Act like everything was fine until it was.
Putting on his brightest smile, he made his way down the hallway; fighting dizziness and greeting cadets and officers alike with a smile and friendly hello.
No one suspects anything...I just may pull this off!
Unfortunately, Jim had gotten his hopes up too soon. For just then, someone yelled his name, and as fate had it, Leonard McCoy stormed over to meet him.
"James Tiberius Kirk, I hope to God that you have a reasonable excuse for being late for your daily medical exam, and for your own sake, you'd better hope you do, too," the doctor growled.
"Hey, Bones," Jim greeted him with a bright smile.
"Don't "hey, Bones" me, you idiot," McCoy frowned, giving Jim his best death glare. Funny how he had perfected his death glare when he was a doctor and was supposed to save people's lives, not endanger them.
"I'm sorry, Bones, I just forgot. I've been busy and all with..." He trailed off as another sickening wave of nausea washed over him.
McCoy suspiciously studied his friend, knowing better than almost anyone how much of an expert Jim was at putting on masks. "Jim? You okay?"
Jim fought off the wave of dizziness and managed a nod and bright smile. "Of course I am. I'm fine."
McCoy narrowed his eyes at his friend, reading him too well to accept the lie. First of all, Jim never forgot anything, and rarely apologized. He looked pale and tired, with dark shadows beneath his eyes, and a haunted look dulling those usually bright blue eyes of his.
Jim swayed almost imperceptibly, and McCoy reflexively grabbed his friend's arm. "Jim? What's wrong? What's going on?"
"Not here," Jim answered quietly, too nauseous to be willing to fight the stubborn doctor on the subject.
McCoy led Jim back to his room and made the young man sit down on his bed. "Tell me what's going on, now," he ordered.
"I've been having worse nightmares...longer flashbacks...bouts of nausea and dizziness...don't know why...ugh, my head..." Jim clutched his head, looking utterly miserable as waves of nausea swept over him.
McCoy immediately stabbed an ever ready hypo into Jim's neck, causing the blonde to wince. "Why didn't you tell me earlier? I could have helped you!"
"...didn't want to endanger you...you know how I get during flashbacks...could kill you..." Jim winced and managed to lift head as the dizziness passed, leaving him weaker than before.
McCoy's voice softened as he began to understand his friend's reasoning. If he wasn't around Jim, Jim couldn't hurt him. "I couldn't care less about getting hurt. I want to help you, Jimmy. I'm your friend. It's what friends do."
Jim tensed up suddenly. Dang it...not now! "Bones. Out of the room. Leave. Now. Lock the door. Go, hurry."
McCoy stared at Jim, startled as his friend began to convulse. "Jim?"
"Now!" he gasped, fighting the flashes of memories that threatened to overcome him, to consume him. "I can't fight it much longer..."
McCoy, finally understanding what was happening, leaped to his feet and made for the door. Quick as a flash, Jim was on is feet and blocking the door.
"I don't think so," he said quietly, his voice steely and calm yet filled with hatred that McCoy had never heard the likes of before. His eyes, usually a bright blue, were darker, and filled with hate.
McCoy silently cursed. He had moved too late. The flashback had begun, and God only knew how long it would last.
"Jim? It's me, Bones. Your friend?" It came out as a question, a silent plea for acknowledgement.
"Don't call me that. My name is J.T. Not Jim. You are not my friend. You killed them. You killed those helpless kids and their parents," Jim hissed.
"Ji- J.T., I swear, I had nothing to do with the Tarsus massacre. I would've helped you protect those kids," McCoy answered quietly.
Wistfulness flashed on Jim's face. "I needed help..." Then it was wiped away with bitterness replacing it. "But no one helped me. I watched them die. I watched them starve while I could do nothing about it. I gave them my food. They should have survived. I should have died...not them. They had their lives ahead of them..."
McCoy hesitantly placed a hand on Jim's shoulder. "J.T..."
Jim moved so quickly that McCoy only saw a flash one moment, the next crying out in pain as his arms were roughly twisted behind his back.
"Don't touch me," Jim snarled, using a tone of voice he had never used with McCoy before.
The older man cringed, daring to struggle but then stopping as the hold on his arms grew stronger.
"Don't move," Jim ordered coldly, glaring at McCoy.
McCoy waited until Jim had loosened his hold a bit, then wrenched away and yanked out his phaser; pointing it at Jim. "I will fire this," he warned, pulling out his communicator next. "McCoy to Spock, come in, Spock."
Spock's voice crackled a bit, but otherwise came across clear. "Spock here."
"Get over here to Jim's room. He's having a flashback. You need-"
McCoy was abruptly cut off when Jim leaped across the room, wrapping his hands around McCoy's neck and squeezing slightly.
"This is J.T.," he spoke into the comm. "If you want to see your doctor alive again, you will not come, or I will proceed to shoot him with his own phaser. I repeat, do not come." With that, Jim ended the call and pointed the phaser at McCoy, setting it on kill.
He would not hesitate to shoot.
That he was sure of.
A/N: A nice, long chapter for you guys. It doesn't make up for my long absence, but I hope you guys like it.