Rescued

Day Twenty-Eight

Jim woke with a strangled cry of rage, heart pounding, arms flailing, trying to push him away. The foul touch of the nightmare lingered on his skin, chafing, making him feel itchy and disoriented. He thrashed to full awareness, cold sweat trickling down his neck as he slowly oriented himself, praying for the last of the nightmare to fade. He lay back beneath the rumpled bedding, trembling uncontrollably. He hated the way the nightmare made him feel, like he was back there again, helpless and impotent. One dream. One dream and he was transported back there, all the therapy and work he had struggled through for nothing. One dream and he unraveled into a dismantled mess.

Lights burned dimly in the apartment because he still wasn't able to sleep in total darkness. For days on Boraith, he'd lain on the cold metal surface in complete blackness, desperately wishing for the comfort of the faintest of shadows to chase away the dark.

He could hear Bones' voice in his head. "Inhale slowly and deeply through your nose, Jim, for a five count. Now exhale through your mouth for a five count. " Bones had breathed along with him, patiently guiding him. The technique was supposed to help control the shaking the nightmares left in their wake, lower his heartrate, orient him more quickly to reality.

He put a trembling hand to his forehead, wet with sweat, and forced a few deep breaths.

Fuck.

It never worked. Kicking at the covers, he violently untangled himself and lurched out of bed, as if the bed itself had been the cause of his pain and self-disgust. It wasn't the first nightmare he'd had since returning, but he always hoped it would be his last.

"Give it time," Bones had said only a week ago when he'd witnessed Jim waking from the throes of his dream.

It had been one of the bad episodes. Bones had said he couldn't seem to completely wake him up. In a last resort, he had wrapped him in a comforting embrace and, placing his lips close to Jim's ear, had crooned a litany of reassurance and encouragement, as he tried to pull him back from the darkness he'd sunken into. Then, like now, he'd been shaking uncontrollably, covered with sweat as a choked sob had escaped his bitten lips, because, fuck, he didn't want to go back and keep reliving what he'd done. Bones had held him until he had stopped shaking.

When would the nightmares stop?

"Your body is healing and that means your mind is starting to focus on other things."

Other things. It was better during the day. He could consciously block the memories. Which was why, Bones had informed him, he was having nightmares.

"Your mind is struggling to integrate your emotions with what your body experienced, kid. This isn't something you put on the shelf and take down when it's convenient and safe to handle it. Or pretend it didn't happen."

As if he could forget even if he wanted to. Bones had recommended hypnotherapy to reduce his cortisol levels and reprogram his neurons. The 'you've got to be fucking kidding me' glare he'd bestowed on Bones hadn't won him any points. Nor had his argument that this wasn't the first trauma he'd experienced in his life and he'd never had to reprogram anything.

"Try it," was all Bones had said, his voice matter of fact.

Desperation lead him to do just that. The technique was simple and only required Jim's cooperation. The hypnotherapy device was no bigger than the insignia clipped to his uniform. Once it had been calibrated to his brainwaves, the tech had easily slipped it into place at his temples and then all he had to do was sit still and relaxed for a few hours. While it felt as if he'd done nothing, the result of the therapy was surprising. He found himself more relaxed and focused, able to get back to some normalcy in his routine without the constant interruption of the anxiety attacks the memories brought.

But it wasn't helping with the nightmares.

Walking into the living area, the lights in the apartment sensed his motion and brightened. Frowning, he ordered them back to the previous level and dropped into a chair. It was 02:11 and the city outside his windows was awash in soft lights. He wondered how many other people were awake, and if so, were they just getting in from a night out, their bodies still vibrating with an adrenaline high? In the past, it hadn't been unusual for him to come home after two a.m., grab a few hours of shut-eye, and then return to the ship. Because what else does a starship captain do when his ship is in dock and his crew scattered? A sudden impulse to call Bones had him reaching for his communicator before commonsense reasserted itself. He could just imagine how well that conversation would go.

Hey, Bones, just calling to see what you're doing… at two o'clock in the morning. No, nothing's wrong. No, don't get up. I'm sorry I woke you.

Fuck it. He released a pent-up breath. Bones would be loading the hypo before he finished the call. It was a hard-won achievement, but thanks to Bones, he was more cooperative than he usually managed to be, keeping his therapy appointments and following doctor's orders. Getting the debriefing and psych eval behind them had helped, too.

The debriefing had gone well. He'd been prepared and calm. The Admirals had read his official report and he'd confidently answered the questions directed at him. After an in-depth debriefing, Starfleet had made the decision to put buoy markers around the planet, warning Federation citizens not to approach and forbidding Starfleet ships from entering orbit or contacting the inhabitants. Jim walked out of the briefing both relieved and pissed.

"That's it?" he asked Pike, but it sounded more like a demand. He'd lost four good crewmembers to Boraith, failed to complete his mission, gathered next to nothing in intelligence, and Starfleet had decided to just close the books on it. Lesson learned. "We just close contact?"

Pike looked at him critically. "I think that's appropriate and advisable. Boraith isn't ready to contact. It might never be ready." He paused then as he studied Jim. "You did good, Jim."

"I lost four crewmembers, Admiral."

Pike tilted his head. "There's always risk to space exploration. Every crewmember understands the danger of serving in Starfleet."

Jim leaned his head back against the cushions and stared up at the featureless white ceiling. What a crock of shit.

Day Thirty-Five

Kirk paced in front of the windows of his apartment, still feeling restless despite having been out for a walk in the early dawn. He'd discovered a love of the ocean since joining Starfleet and breathing in the cool mist from the bay was always a welcome balm. Iowa raised, the only oceans he'd been accustomed to had been made of wheat. As a kid, he'd climb a tree and watch the wind blow waves across the golden sea of grain. And imagine himself some place far away. He hadn't been back since the day Pike had dared him to enlist. Iowa had never felt like home anyway. Neither did San Francisco, but Starfleet was as close as he was willing to concede to a home on Earth.

The little voice in the back of his head – the one that always seemed to sound like Bones – kept saying, stop pacing. He hadn't slept well, managing only a few hours of peaceful sleep, but he still couldn't settle, despite his fatigue. A dull ache was spreading across his lower back, a warning that he'd overdone it with the walk and should get off his feet and rest. He knew he needed to take a break, but he felt more like a predator that had been caged than a Starfleet officer on leave.

He no longer needed to wear the brace and, normally, his back barely ached, despite the therapy Bones insisted he continue. No longer confined to his apartment, he'd taken full advantage of his freedom and had escaped as often as possible, even visiting the ship a few times. While not officially released for duty, he involved himself in dock-side protocols and routinely touched based with the quartermaster and Scotty. They would be pulling out soon on their first mission since Boraith. Pike was giving them a shuttle run— ferrying ambassadors and politicians. Not exactly a top-notch assignment, and beneath the caliber of Enterprise, but he was grateful to be taking her out again at all. Even if that wasn't how he had presented it to Pike.

"A shuttle run?" He looked at his commanding officer, his recruiter and mentor, and tried not to bristle. It was their first, private official meeting since Jim had returned to Earth, but it was starting to feel more like a gracious gesture than a mission briefing. "I can handle something more challenging than that."

They were sitting on the sofa in Pike's office, the sun filtering through the large windows that overlooked central campus, Daystrom, Starfleet Headquarters. and, in the distance, the misty blue of the bay.

"I don't doubt it. But Enterprise is the premier flag ship, Jim," Pike explained. "And ambassadors – while difficult and tedious – are important and necessary to the Federation's peacekeeping mandate."

Jim moistened his lips and took a moment before he spoke. "I'm fine, sir. I've been cleared."

"You haven't; not completely. But that's not what this is about. We don't get to pick our assignments, Captain. We follow orders and we go where we are needed."

But Jim wasn't so sure this wasn't about his readiness to command again. He felt as though Starfleet had him on a short leash, treating him with kid gloves. Or worse, the brass were reluctant to let him go out again.

"Enjoy the remainder of your downtime while you've got it, Jim," Pike had said. "Rest."

Fuck resting. If one more person told him to rest…. Resting wasn't the problem. Sleeping was. He'd come to hate his bed. Even if he managed to exhaust his body enough to sleep, the damn nightmares would creep in and squeeze him to the core, choking the last peace from him. And the thing was, there was no pattern to them. When he expected them, he'd sleep through the night. But then, when he dozed on the sofa there would it be, rising from the depths to strangle him during a twenty-minute nap. He didn't even remember all of them, but the fear and rage he woke with was enough.

Which was why he was pacing even though his body told him to stop.

The door chime sounded, interrupting his thoughts. Frowning, he walked to the door. It was 07:45. Bones had promised not to visit before noon and he'd had no other visitors during his convalescence.

The doors slid open at his terse command.

"Spock."

Spock stood just outside the door, straight-backed, but relaxed, impeccably dressed in civilian attire.

"I didn't realize you were back. Come in," Kirk said, stepping aside. He'd never seen Spock out of uniform. Even on shore leave, the Vulcan was in uniform, always on duty.

"Thank you, Captain. I apologize for the early hour."

The title made him wince. It was always captain, never Jim. He moved into the living area. "It's not a problem. I've been up for a while. When did you dock?"

Pike had told him Spock was due to return in the next few days. He wondered if the return date had been pushed up. Was Enterprise leaving sooner than he thought?

"Last night, at twenty-one hundred hours."

He felt Spock studying him and tried not to squirm under the scrutiny. Forcing himself to relax, he smiled reassuringly and let Spock take a good look. The last time Spock had seen him, he had been on Enterprise in critical condition. And before that… He didn't want to finish the thought. He didn't remember being rescued but knew how he must have looked – naked, bleeding and utterly broken.

"It's good to see you," he said.

"I am pleased to see you looking well and your recovery progressing," Spock said. "Doctor McCoy has informed me that you will be returning to duty soon."

Really? Bones hadn't said that to him.

"Have a seat. Tell me about Denebia."

Spock raised a single eyebrow as he took a seat. "What would you like to know?"

Jim smiled. "That was a conversation starter, Spock."

Spock stared blankly at him, and he found himself shifting uncomfortably on the small sofa. Why was it so hard to get out of their respective roles and have a conversation that wasn't about the ship? They didn't spend much off-duty time together, aside from the occasional chess game in the rec room. Private conversations were limited to ship's business. He'd never even been in Spock's quarters, nor Spock in his, despite both having offices there. As for off ship… this was the first time Spock had been at Jim's apartment. The unexpected visit made him uneasy.

"I'm glad you're back," he said, then paused before adding, "I've missed you."

Spock didn't seem to know what to do with that information. He made a motion as if to speak, abandoned the attempt, and bowed his head slightly. "It is good to be back."

I cannot deprive you of a friendship that will define you. Old Spock had told him of the conversation he'd had with his counterpart, encouraged him to be patient with his younger self. But Jim couldn't help but think that the other Spock had gotten it all wrong, that in this timeline, they were never going to be friends.

"We have new orders." Jim filled in the silence by rattling off their latest orders, talking about the ship's readiness, discussing when to recall the crew. Business. When they were done, the silence fell again, thick and heavy, sucking the air out of the room. Jim moved uneasily in the chair. His back was aching, and he began to feel the weight of fatigue seep in. Sitting down had been a mistake. "Can I get you something to drink? Tea?"

"No. Thank you."

Silence.

Jim took a measured breath. Time to address the elephant in the room. "Spock … I … thank you."

Spock tilted his head inquisitively.

God, this was more difficult than he'd thought it would be. "For coming back for me." For disobeying orders, for risking your life and your career, and—

"There is no need for thanks, Captain. It was, and continues to be, my duty."

"Bullshit." His irritation showed. How difficult was it to get a simple "you are welcome" out of the man? "Your duty is to follow orders, and your orders were to wait." He'd read the full report, reprimand and all.

Archer had had a few things to say about Spock's 'duty'.

"Commander Spock's record is … was untarnished. Six months under your command and he's broken three Starfleet regulations." Archer stared hard at him. "You're a bad influence."

Or maybe he just instilled loyalty in people. That had been Bones' response, when he'd told him about the conversation with Archer.

Spock stared at him, soberly, his mien non-judgmental and dispassionate. Jim slumped in the chair as exhaustion pulled at him. He needed to keep moving, but it felt rude to get up while Spock… what? Spock seemed content to just sit and observe, and he wanted Spock to know, to understand, how much coming back for him had meant. Had it really only been routine duty to Spock, as he'd claimed?

"There are other factors that can influence, even supplant, Starfleet's orders when it comes to definitions of duty, Captain. A Vulcan's sworn loyalty is one such factor."

Well, that was something.

"Still… whatever the reason, thank you, Spock. You saved my life."

"I rescued you. Doctor McCoy saved your life."

Jim ducked his head, staring down at his clenched hands. He swallowed hard, as a suppressed, painful laugh died in his throat. "Okay, Spock." He ran a hand over his face, suddenly feeling very tired.

"I have fatigued you," Spock said, and stood in one smooth motion that Jim instantly envied. "I apologize for tiring you, Captain. It is apparent that you are still recovering and I allowed my visit to continue overlong."

Suddenly, he didn't want to be alone. Smiling, he said, "Don't worry about it, Spock. I'm not sleeping well anyway. Stay."

Spock hesitated, clearly torn, then took his seat again, straight-backed and formal. "May I ask what is disrupting your sleep, Captain? Perhaps Dr. McCoy could be of assistance."

Jim shook his head. "Bones has done everything he can." He forced a smile. "Human weaknesses, Spock. Too many unruly memories. Be glad you're Vulcan."

Spock looked impassive and unreadable, but when he spoke his voice was soft and understanding. "You are having difficulty with the events that occurred on Boraith."

Jim's mouth went dry and he briefly looked away, unsettled. "Some memories are more difficult than others to control."

"Yes."

Jim let his weary gaze meet Spock's. He found a strange comfort in Spock's expressionless face. Did Vulcans have nightmares? Did Spock dream of his mother's death? When he'd melded with the other Spock, he'd been shaken by the pain the older Spock had felt as he'd watched Vulcan be destroyed.

"So, you do feel," he'd said, as he'd reeled from the emotions transferred to him via the mind-meld.

What was Spock feeling now?

His head began to throb with the familiar tell-tale signs of a migraine coming on. He pressed a hand to the back of his neck, trying to ease the growing pain. A faint tremble shook his arms. "It'll get better," he said. "Bones says time will help," though he didn't believe it.

"Nothing remains constant."

Jim mentally winced at that. Spock really wasn't equipped for offering comfort.

As if sensing his faux pas, Spock continued. "You have proven your ability to endure and triumph where other humans have not. I do not know of any other who could have returned from Delta Vega, as you did, to defeat an enemy that had all but annihilated Starfleet's armada."

Still rubbing his neck, Jim couldn't bring himself to look at Spock as he admitted, "I cheated."

"You altered the elements of your situation, quite resourcefully in fact, given that you had been banished without a ship… and, consequently, you saved Earth."

He'd gotten lucky. Plain and simple. A tightness constricted his chest. He closed his eyes, trying to mute the pain in his head and alleviate the sparkle of white that had appeared in his vision. "This is different, Spock. I can't alter my memories."

He couldn't cheat his way out of this.

Yielding to the growing pain in his head, he eased his body onto the sofa, curling into the cushions. "I just wish I could forget."

Spock sat silent and still, watching Kirk as he lay on the cushions of the sofa. He waited patiently until the human's breathing evened out and the tense muscles relaxed. Then he stood and walked over to Kirk. For a long time, he simply observed, listening to the sound of Kirk's breathing, watching his eyelids flicker from time to time, or his fingers twitch, all proof of the fragile life that lay before him. Jim Kirk had blazed into his life like a rogue comet. He had seemed brilliant, infallible, and indestructible, and yet, in truth, the young Captain was alarmingly vulnerable. In the short time he had known the human, nothing had dissuaded or defeated him.

The young cadet who had audaciously reprogrammed the Kobayashi Maru to prove a point, had then, when exposed, defended himself by declaring that he didn't believe in no-win scenarios. Subsequently, he had flawlessly demonstrated this belief by defeating Nero. Spock had spent many hours meditating on that, trying to understand the hidden logic in the human's seemingly irrational and illogical choices that had, in the end, proven to be the right decision. But no matter how many ways Spock examined the events that had led to Earth being saved, he couldn't find a single thread of logic in Kirk's choices.

"He's an enigma," Nyota had told him with a smile. "Stop trying to figure him out."

Spock's logical, well-thought out choices had only resulted in failure. It would have produced the destruction of the Enterprise, the death of Pike and the end of the Federation. And yet Spock had been right, according to Starfleet. He'd followed orders as he'd been trained to do.

When ordered to leave Kirk behind on Boraith, he'd relied on Vulcan discipline and logic, not his human emotions, to analyze the situation. He hadn't regretted it. He'd logically weighed the consequences of Starfleet's orders. Boraith was of no importance. The mission had failed and sacrificing Kirk's life was a waste. The fact that Starfleet had disciplined him with a punishing tour of duty to Denebia, rather than a demotion or court-martial, was evidence that Starfleet, too, had approved of his actions, if informally. And Pike had said as much.

"They are glad that you did it, Spock," Pike said, "and behind closed doors, they're ecstatic the rescue was successful, but they can't let you know that they approve of you disobeying orders. It would set a bad example. This tour to Denobia will only be a couple of weeks and you'll back, literally and figuratively, in Starfleet's good graces. And it will give Jim a chance to recover before he sees you."

Starfleet's response was illogical.

Resolute, he stood and walked to Kirk. The young human was undisciplined and rash, prone to excessive emotional responses, but he was also highly intelligent and as loyal as a Vulcan.

"I could not deny you of a friendship that would define you both."

Friendship.

Kirk jerked, then curled his body into the protective position he saw often in humans enduring pain or distress.

"I missed you."

Slowly, he bent down and carefully placed his fingers in the ancient positions of the mind-meld. Lightly touching the cool skin, he entered the complex mind with surprising ease. He found the memory Kirk struggled to resist.

"Forget."

THE END