For The Thrill Of It

Chapter Twenty Five: Safety

Disclaimer: I do not own anything mentioned in the following fanfiction, except for the character of Kristen Shaw. She is of my own design

"Kristen?"

The crew had put together a memorial in the Transporter room after news spread of Ensign Iona's death. Candles were lit, fake flowers were placed on the transporter pad, and pictures of the Ensign were set up in respect. The word of the newest casualty aboard the Enterprise spread like wildfire, as did how it happened. She hadn't been the one to pull the trigger, but whispers and rumours sure made it seem like she had.

Numb. If she had to use a word to describe how she felt, that'd be it. Numb with guilt and a touch of sadness. She'd never thought that she'd be partly responsible for someone's death someday. She hadn't signed up for this when she'd told Pike she was in two months ago. This hadn't been in the contract. Life aboard the Enterprise was supposed to be nonstop challenges and amazing times. Not depression because you may or may not have killed someone.

She'd been sitting in the transporter room for almost two whole days now, her body and mind catatonic as she tried to deal with what had happened. It seemed outlandish, that a split second decision she made inadvertently caused the death of an officer, but in a way it had. If she hadn't asked Kirk for confirmation, Ensign Iona would have gotten out of there alive. But because she'd asked and wasted three precious seconds, he was dead. The overwhelming feeling of guilt she had been carrying around for the past two days were insurmountable; she didn't know where to go from here.

She looked up briefly from the picture she'd been staring at, his face officially engraved in her memory forever before locking eyes with Kirk, his face sad and tired. She knew from things she'd heard throughout the day that he'd been dealing with the death of the Ensign heavily as well, as all good Captains did. But more than that, she'd heard that Ensign Iona had apparently been a good friend to Kirk; they knew each other from the Academy and Michael Iona had proven himself a loyal friend on many occasions to James, or that's what people said at least. Michael. She hadn't even bothered to ask what his first name had been until someone mentioned it in passing. Michael.

"You've been here for the past two days," he said quietly as she turned back to the memorial, her face stoic and emotionless. She felt him slide down and join her on the floor against the glass wall that separated the transporter room and the control room, her back against the glass. She was sitting there like a mannequin, still as a doll with her legs outstretched in front of her, head laying limply to the side. He was right; she'd been sitting there like that for the better part of two days and had no intention of leaving in the foreseeable future. She didn't know how to cope with this, but sitting there felt like a good option.

"Have you gone to sleep?" he asked about a minute later, his voice quiet in the silence of the room.

"Not tired," she mumbled back, not taking her eyes off Michael's face.

"Have you eaten anything?"

"Not hungry."

"Kristen...," he started, his voice careful and cautious. She cocked her head to the side automatically and looked up warningly, her eyes dead and hollow as they reflected what she felt on the inside.

"Just don't, James. I just...just don't," she said quietly, her voice tapering off at the end as she lost her words, turning her attention back towards the candles and flowers in front of her.

"This isn't your fault," he said back a second later, his tone higher and more aggressive as he spoke this time.

"Doesn't feel that way," she mumbled, her eyes still locked on the picture a few feet away from her.

"You aren't the one who shot him," he countered, keeping his voice hushed. She could see out of the corner of her eye that he was turned and facing her, concern and sadness etched all over his beautiful face.

"I may as well have," she replied quietly, remaining still.

"Don't say that," he hissed at her as soon as the words left her lips, with such aggression that it actually startled her. She looked up from the photo and turned to him, her face flat. She couldn't feel anything so there was no emotion on her face to discern.

"It's true. If I hadn't asked for clarification, he'd still be alive," she explained in a dead tone.

"Maybe. But then again, if I hadn't ordered that team down there he'd still sure as hell be alive. And if the Federation had never assigned us to begin peace negotiations with the people on Haydrs, he'd still be alive. If he'd never enlisted, he'd still be alive. Trust me when I say this, Kristen, a game of 'Ifs' is not a game you want to play," he said quietly to her, looking at her square in the eyes to try and make her understand. She looked down for a second and closed her eyes, taking in a deep breath.

Deep down, she knew he was right. There were so many variables in the situation that it was irrational to think that she, herself, was solely responsible for his death. But that did nothing to stem the guilt she felt.

"I don't know how not to play it," she whispered back a second later, looking up into his eyes one last time before turning back to the memorial, feeling the first slightest bit of emotion she'd felt in the past two days.

She brought her legs up to her chest and wrapped her arms tightly around them, resting her chin on her knees. She felt him drape an arm across her shoulders and he pulled himself in close to her, sitting with her there in silence for God knows how long.

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She didn't know when she'd fallen asleep, but the next thing she knew she opening her eyes in a different room, Kristen's eyes immediately going to her surroundings and then to who was sleeping beside her.

They were curled up on James' bed, the pair of them laying on top of the covers with his arm tightly around her, her head on his shoulder. Her hand was on his chest, feeling the gentle rise and fall of the breaths he was taking as the air filled and left his lungs. She laid there for a second, letting the up and down of her hand lull her calm before she moved an inch, his body responding a second later as he awoke.

"Hey," he murmured down to her as he opened his eyes, blinking a few times to adjust to the light.

She didn't respond, but instead shifted out of his arm and sat up, crossing her legs in front of her and turning to face him.

"I didn't even know him," she said to him as he sat up right to face her, his hair sticking in every which direction and his eyes still opening and closing, confusion and then realization passing on his face.

"Kristen...," he said in the same, caring tone in which he'd said his name before, Kristen once again going to cut him off.

"What was he like? Someone said you guys were friends?" she asked, needing to fill the void inside of herself that had only seemed to grow since it had happened. She needed to feel something, anything, other than guilt.

"He was...he was a great guy. Smart, funny, nice...he was a great guy. Everybody loved him," he said quietly as he looked away, staring off into space as he spoke, a small smile creeping onto his face as he thought of his friend.

"And I killed him," she muttered to herself, looking down at her feet and putting her hands to her hairline, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath. She heard James exert a frustrated sigh before speaking.

"Kristen, look at me," he said sternly, gently taking her shoulders into his hands as she looked up, his eyes locked on her's with firmness throughout them.

"You did not kill him, a Klingon did. This is not your fault," he finished, giving her another definite look.

"It doesn't feel that way," she whispered, pleading with him to understand. Her eyes were begging with him to try and comprehend how she felt and miraculously, she watched him let go of her and nod once curtly as if he did in fact understand.

"I don't know how I'm supposed to tell his mom he's not coming back," she heard Kirk said quietly a few seconds later, shaking his head once and then leaning back on his bed, Kristen's heart immediately sinking.

She'd never even though about his family. Kirk was right; a mother, a father, potentially a sister or brother, and maybe even a wife would have to be told that their loved one wasn't coming home. That added a whole new dimension to her guilt, one that she once again didn't know how to handle.

"I gotta go," she muttered a second later, heading towards the door and out of his room without another word. She couldn't just sit around anymore and do nothing, she was past that stage of her grief. She'd mourned and grieved and now it was time for her to do something, anything, to keep her mind off how she was feeling on the inside.

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The beads of sweat running down her face were stinging her eyes, clouding her vision as she threw another punch, the bag swinging heftily. She'd come down here shortly after she'd left Kirk's room for some therapy she knew she needed. Not many things in life for her couldn't be sorted out after a few deft punches to a canvas bag, and she was banking on that to get her through this. She'd hit the damn thing all night if she had to, as long as when she finished everything made sense and she was done feeling the way she did.

She'd been at it for a while and so far, no dice. Even though she was focusing on her form and following through with her punches, Iona was still at the back of her mind, haunting her like a ghost. It'd been days since it happened but still, the guilt wasn't getting any easier to bear. So she just threw another punch, trying to figure it all out. And then another, and then another.

She heard him before she saw him, hearing the door hiss open and shut as someone entered. She heard footsteps pad across the gym floor and then a body come up behind her, Kristen telling instantly by the cologne that it was him.

"So this is your coping mechanism?" he asked a second later, Kristen's eyes stinging at the sweat that was dripping into them. She didn't take her eyes off the bag for a second though.

"Better than just sitting beside the memorial doing nothing," she said in between laboured breaths as she threw another punch, the sound of fabric on canvas echoing.

"That's debatable. When are you going to stop doing this, Kristen?" he asked her tiredly in a tone that rubbed her the wrong way, only fuelling the fire in her. She'd gone from numb guilt to fire burning emotion in less than three days, and she was unleashing hell on the bag in front of her for what seemed like no good reason.

"As soon as I stop feeling the way I do," she replied again breathlessly as she timed her next hit, swinging her arm around.

"I mean hitting the bag. Punching it doesn't give you all the answers," he said to her quietly, still out of her range of vision as he stood behind her.

"No, but it sure as hell makes me feel better," she countered, shimmying to the left a bit before throwing another punch, finally seeing him slide into view.

"Does it? Is it making you feel better right now?" he asked her even though she knew he already knew the answer.

"No."

"So then why don't you just stop, and we can talk about this," he said as he took a step forward, grabbing the bag and stilling it as she swung a fist and collided it with the limp bag.

"I don't want to talk, James. I can't," she said as she avoided her eyes, throwing another punch as he held onto it.

"Why not?" he asked gently, his tone ever so slightly condescending that it pushed her over the edge, her nerves snapping.

"Because you won't understand! Every time I've told you how I feel, you've told me it's not my fault, but that doesn't make me feel any better. You weren't the one who made a decision who basically ended someone's life, James," she responded, exasperated as she finally looked away from the bag and over to him, bringing her fists down and resting them on her knees as she tried to control her laboured breathing.

She shook her head and then ripped off her gloves, not wanting to yell or fight with Kirk tonight, not after all the progress they'd made. They'd come so far, and she'd already opened up to him so much that she didn't want to ruin it. She didn't want to push him away but in this case, she didn't know how to let him in.

"Are you forgetting who told Michael to go? We talked about this, Kristen. We're not going to play that game," he pleaded with her, taking a step forward to try and console her.

"Well, it's a little too late for that," she griped back, bringing her hands off her knees and standing up, hands on her head to aid her breathing.

"Don't do that," he warned as his head cocked ever so slightly to the side, his eyes flashing.

"Do what, stand up?" she replied sarcastically, taking a deep breath to try and fill her lungs.

"No, push me away," he said cautiously, looking at her with expectant blue eyes and a pointed face.

"I don't want to, trust me," she said back, shaking her head as she looked away.

"So then don't," he pushed, taking another step towards her. He was close enough now that he reached out with one hand and steadied her, keeping a hand on her waist as she stopped pacing around.

"I don't know how not to in this situation," she said honestly, once again pleading with her eyes for him to just stop and try and understand.

"Start by telling me how you feel," he nudged gently, his face gentle and neutral as she contemplated her words, shaking her head a few times.

"I can't," she muttered, looking away in shame.

"Why not?" he replied back with aggression and annoyance, his face changing to firmness and aggravation at her answer.

"Because I don't know how I feel. God, I'm angry at the Klingons for killing Iona, I'm angry at myself for not beaming them out sooner and for not getting to know him. I'm sad that he's dead, and I'm sad that you have to deal with his family. I'm frustrated by everything and by not being able to just let go of this and realize that it's not my fault. I just...I don't know how to deal with this," she said, finally feeling the sting of the optic nerves that signalled the three day late tears.

She hadn't cried when it happened, nor had a single tear fallen in the three days that had past. She'd felt ashamed at first; she should have cried. But instead she remained emotionless, going without sadness or grief and instead just living with guilt. Then came the anger and frustration she was feeling today, and that seemed to be her boiling point.

"I don't know what to do," she said as her eyes became glassy with tears, trying to avoid his eyes but finding his heartfelt stare unavoidable.

He didn't say anything for the longest time. He just stood there in front of her with his hand on her hip, the saddest of looks on his faces as she cried silently, tears running down her face and leaving wet tracks in their wake. Everything was spilling out in that very moment, and her mind was absolutely overcome with the hurricane of emotions she'd been keeping at bay for the longest time.

She turned towards the bag a few seconds later and unleashed a bare knuckled punch, grunting in anger. She hit it again, and again, and again, the tears blinding her and the emotion inside of her causing her to feel no pain. She felt a pair of hands on her hips a second later that spun her around, her fists now beginning to collide with a solid chest that she knew was James'. She hit him softer and softer and then eventually gave up, letting his arms wrap themselves around her as she continued to cry, unable to stop. She hated feeling vulnerable and weak, but she didn't know how to stop it.

She may have been a lot of things in that very moment, but being there with his arms around her gave her a feeling of inexplicable safety. A safety that, despite everything else, made her feel more at ease then she had in the past three days.

((Author's Note: You all rock. Please drop me a line letting me know your thoughts. Means a lot, and see you guys soon!))