Title: Pathways of Pain and Pleasure

The pathways of pain and pleasure are almost identical...

A few different impulses, a change in chemicals and agony becomes almost unbearable pleasure. Mix them long enough and they become nearly indistinguishable.

He's read that in some book long ago...and he knows it's truth. He's just not sure exactly when the signals became irreparably crossed in his own mind.

It starts somewhere around the time when's he's just a baby. And even though he can't remember it, the pattern is already being set for an entire lifetime to come. Winona is still torn apart with grief. It hasn't even been a year since her husband has died and yet it feels like an eternity.

She's returned back to a farmhouse that George had bought with the idea that one day they would live there together once he got an Earth side posting. Now instead of a house filled with laughter, every minute spent in the aging farmhouse is like a protracted prison stent.

The walls are closing in on her, sleep is an elusive goal and when it comes the nightmares are their soon after. She's got a three year old Sam—she'll never call him George again, because that was his father's name—who's a handful by himself and a baby, Jimmy, who she can barely stand to look at.

Sam has spilled milk on the floor and now while she's bent over washing away the mess Jimmy has started crying. Over the past months she's fed him, washed him, bathed him, but it's all been a chore. He's gotten the necessities that he needs for life taken care of but she can't bear to give him what she considers an added luxury of affection.

It feels so wrong to love the thing that killed her husband...and she knows that's an irrational thought, but that still doesn't stop her from thinking it.

Sam has wisely gone outside to play sensing the sleep circles underneath her eyes and the thin line of her mouth aren't going to end well for him if he stays near. So like a dog who knows that its master is mad and it's going to bear the brunt of that fury he drifts away silently.

Jimmy has none of the three years old instincts, his cries grow louder more insistent, the noise drives through Winona's head like a spike.

"Damn it!" the cry hesitates for just a moment at the yell but then starts up again worse than ever. Winona moves into the room snatching the baby—her son from his crib. Her actions are crisp, perfunctory—his diaper is clean—he's just ate—he's not too hot or cold—he has no reason for yelling and yet he still does.

Over and over a keening sound that just won't stop. It's louder and louder until she can't take it anymore and something snaps. "Shut up! Shut up you little brat." She slaps his face leaving a red mark on a small pale cheek and then she snatches him up shaking his body. "Shut up! Haven't you caused enough trouble, haven't you done enough!" She repeats the words over and over and the crying stops, just as suddenly as it started.

What she's about to say dies on her lips and as small slightly dazed eyes stare back, at her she finally realises what she's done. Her son—their son—her and George's child she's shaken, screamed at, slapped like he was some animal...like she hated him.

His tiny face is still reddened from crying and what she's done. Tears start falling down her cheeks and for the first time in months picks him up and holds him. She clutching him to her chest tightly as tears wet his blanket and she's whispering apologies that he can't understand in his ears.

It's later that night, when Sam is asleep and Jimmy is nestled in her lap suckling drowsily that she makes a promises to herself to never lose control like that again. She makes a promise to treat her little Jimmy like she knows she should—after all he's one of the last things she has of George.

Yet it's barely a day before she breaks the promise. She's never as harsh as she was that first time, but it's small slaps when he cries or pinches, it's raised voices until he finally stops crying...and after each and every time she finds herself trying to offer amends. He's cuddled up in her arms for hours, or she picks him up and tickles him over and over until he giggles.

It's all mixed up she loves him some days, she hates him others, most days it's both and her baby Jimmy grows and thrives because while he can feel the hate pouring off her in waves some times...he also somehow feels loved too.

XXXX XXXX

He's five and his Stepfather Frank is very hard to please. Still he tries his best, because the man is supposed to be his dad, and he's never had one so he really doesn't know what a dad's supposed to be like. He doesn't know that a dad isn't supposed to punch him in the stomach and tell him to man up if he cries. He doesn't know a dad isn't supposed to slam him against the wall if he's too slow, or too fast, or too quiet or too loud...or just for nothing most times. He doesn't know that a dad isn't supposed to be someone who's never pleased with him for anything he does because somehow it's always wrong. Sam tells him Frank isn't their real dad and he's just a drunk but Jim has to feel needed and at least the man pays more attention to him then their mother who's barely home.

He convinces himself it doesn't matter when Frank tells him to fetch a six pack and he drops one of the bottles resulting in a stream of swearwords directed his way, because he'll do better next time and Frank will pop a cap off a bottle and as he's taking a swig remarks "You're not as useless as you look." And sure the comment could be an insult but it's better than nobody noticing him at all.

He convinces himself that it doesn't matter because sometimes after he finishes waxes down his stepfather's air skimmer for the fifth time that day maybe just maybe the man will give a grunt as he stares at the overly shiny metal...and Jim can convince himself that the sound is one of appreciation and not a careless noise from a drunken man.

Then he's learning to swim and Frank has ostentatiously volunteered to teach him. Jim is just a little nervous but a whole lot excited, he sneaks half glances at his stepfather as they row out in a old fashioned boat with a cooler of beer propped near the rudder. He turns around to ask his stepfather when they'll go swimming and feels even more apprehensive at the smirk that crosses the man's face. "Right now boy." That's all he hears before he's unceremoniously toppled in the lake. He goes down, then comes up, and then goes down again. Water gushes into his mouth and nose and he scrabbles for purchase again water that gives way beneath his hands. Just as he is about to pass out, he finds himself lying on the bottom of the boat puking up murky water as a amused Frank chortles in the background. "Don't you have any instincts? They say even a baby can doggy paddle." When Jim finally manages to sit up, he's mad but as they row back to shore and go home he doesn't mention any of what happened to his mother because while he may have half-drowned he convinces himself that wasn't really Franks' intention and at least somebody spent some time with him.

XXXX XXXX

When he first meets he isn't sure what to think. She's beautiful but she has a somewhat arrogant way of acting. She tells him her names Lenore and her father is really important and someday he'll be one of the most important people in the whole galaxy. He doesn't believe her, but when he meets much later he has no doubts. Her father is one of the most important people and... one of the evilest.

He's thirteen almost fourteen and locked up in a jail cell, waiting to die. It's been days and days until he can't even be sure of the exact time. The cell door slides back in a rasp and he immediately pulls himself up trying to ready himself for what's coming next, but instead of a guard , a girl—almost a young woman enters.

He's confused and slightly ashamed, he's naked and filthy, covered in waste—some of it his own and the girl's eyes are all taking of all of it in. She seems familiar but it isn't until she speaks that he knows who she is. Her voice trembles. "J.T? "

He swallows and nods, he knows her father and has suffered at his hands and watched others die for the man's ideas of what's right but he can't imagine the girl standing in front of him having anything to do with it. ..or at least he doesn't want to. She gives him water to wash, most of which he drinks because it feels like days since any moisture has passed his lips. Then she cleans his cuts and bruises as best she can, there's food too. He wanders how she can be there and asks about ways to escape and she quickly dispels his plans citing increased security and telling him how she wishes he would just tell her father what he wants to know so he can live.

There's something wrong about how she is able to sneak into his cell without being seen supposedly, and how she allows seems to steer the conversation to the others or how the guards conveniently never interrupt them but he convinces himself that it's just a coincidence, because he needs something to hold on to...and because she claims to love him and ...he thinks maybe he loves her too. The visit aren't just food, water and the basics, it's something more too. She kisses him, holds him, she brings pleasure even though half the time his body is still drawn with pain from the guards who visit before and after her. It progresses from kisses to something more and he knows that she real because why else would she give so much of herself if it wasn't true...

Except none of it's real...he finds that out when Kodos visits him along with Lenore and says regretfully. "You really are something James... even with Lenore's affections you still held firm...but she's still served a purpose... after all to truly feel pain you must have known the contrast of pleasure..."

Lenore gives him a kiss on the lips that tastes like acid, and a regretful smile like a serpent's glare and her fingers trail does his front giving his body a squeeze that sends conflicting messages flying through his mind. He's still trying to sort it all but when the first wave of agony hits and for a moment their both there...pain and pleasure.

XXXX XXXX

He's sixteen and locked in the only toilet cubicle of some cheap shuttle. He thought he could wait until they reached their destination but the craving was too strong. So with sweaty palms and a slightly unsteady gait he navigated past the knowing gazes of some of the passengers and drifted towards the back of the shuttle toward a place where he could satisfy the overwhelming urge. Now he's trying with fumbling fingers to slot a cartridge into the hypo that he can't seem to hold steady. His face is dripping with sweat and he feels vaguely nauseous. Somebody's knocking on the door and he shouts at them to "Piss off" and he fumbles the cartridge and it clatters to the floor.

In his mind he's cursing himself for even thinking of the silly notion that he could stop cold turkey. He finally gets the hypo set up and presses the cold metal to his arm. The drug races through his system making his veins feel like they're on fire and he can't help the small cry that falls from his lips at the sensation, but in the same breath the last sound turns to a moan as just as abruptly a sensation of complete ecstasy ripples through. He relaxes back as the drug takes hold...it's just like he remembers an almost mind numbingly rush of pain before pleasure so intense that he wants nothing else...both sensations he's used too and both he somehow craves.

XXXX XXXX

He's seventeen and lying on filthy sheets in the back room of some club. Around him several others are sprawled in varying shades of undress and several others are getting dressed again after enjoying in who they paid for.

He's still riding the waves of pleasure from the chemicals circulating in his body and what he's just partaken in with the person who's dropping credits and drifting back into the main club. He's sore and battered but he knows it'll be a few more "customers" before he'll be allowed to call it a night. As the time wears on any pleasure he feel lessens and the pain increases in his aching and abused body even with the drugs clouding his senses and judgement. Its early morning before he collapses on to the pile of dirty threadbare blankets that serve as his bed.

His body is overwrought with the endorphins from it all, drugs, sex, alcohol, pain and he can't begin to distinguish what he's really feeling.

XXXX XXXX

He's in his twenty's and in Starfleet academy when he meets anther command track student named Janice Lester. She's pretty and bright and something about her intrigues him. She doesn't take any nonsense, kind of like the linguistic student he knows Uhura...and yet somehow Janice is entirely different.

She takes charge of the relationship, subtly at first. It starts with her teasing him then grows more forceful. When they spend time together she dictates what they do and where maximising pleasure for herself and caring little about him. He convinces himself it's a refreshing change.

His friends are subject to her scrutiny too. McCoy is just a divorced alcoholic, he's not fit as a friend for somebody who's going to be a captain, she declares after meeting the doctor. Kirk finds himself making excuses not to spend time with him to appease Janice. He ignores and even gets angry when the doctor suggest that their something wrong with Janice telling him who he should associate with and what he should do every moment of his day.

She pushes him to be more aggressive, tells him it's weak when he pauses in the middle of a training simulation to help a cadet with a badly broken leg. "That was stupid Jim, our team could have won if not for your dumbass." The words sting but the slap she delivers after her proclamation hurts more. During a ethics scenario in which he's the leader she insists that he sacrifice over half a shuttle of people because it's the tactical thing to do...he doesn't follow her advice and pays for it later with a slightly lower grade and Janice's yelling deprecations in his ears...He doesn't tell her that he almost did what she said...He doesn't want to think about the changes he feels happening to himself with every moment he spends with her.

Janice grows more and more forceful—he refuses to say abusive—because that has a connotation he doesn't want to ever consider. After all if she's abusive then that implies he's a victim and he never wants to be a victim again...He has to prove to himself he's in control even if he's not.

And in between it all Janice has her high points. Sometimes she congratulates him after a test, or catches him randomly after class for a spontaneous make out session. She tells him she loves him and makes him repeat it back to her. And he tries to convince himself as he says the words that it's true.

McCoy still tries to nag him but he pushes the doctor away and meanwhile Janice hits even greater highs and lower lows. She actually punches him hard enough that he has a black eye after he is top of the class in a rescue mission ahead of her. "They only gave it to you because you're a man." Is the exact words she says and then follows up with another blow when he tries to appease/congratulate her at getting second place. Later she apologises in her own way as they spend a whole day tangled together in her dorm room.

She throws a tantrum and nearly skewers his hand with a butter knife in the messhall after finding out that she hasn't got her first pick for a cadet cruise. Somehow that's his fault too. But later she drops by and they watch Holos the entire weekend.

It's up and down, until it's almost constant. They fight almost every day and make up afterwards and each time is more intense, it's punches and kicks , screaming, fighting, kisses, making out each as extreme as the other. Janice is like a deranged animal and Kirk still can't break it off. She hates him and yet she loves him and he hates her and loves her. Each day is pain and pleasure and that's what he's used too.

He's bruised and battered and still coming back for more. It only stops when she finally snaps. She's once again been passed over for an internship she's applied multiple times for, one of the reasons she's denied is erratic behaviour but that comment falls on deaf ear. Kirk is reading a data padd when she bursts into his dorm room. Her eyes are wild and she points an accusing finger at him.

"You—it's all our fault."

Apprehensively Kirk puts the padd down. But Janice isn't finished. "I work so hard and all the rest of you get everything, you know why it's because you're men! This whole fleet is misogynistic!"

Kirk stands up about to speak but she's suddenly on him pummelling him with fists that aren't that small. "I hate you. I hate all of you. You want to rip me apart and destroy me? We'll try...go ahead you won't succeed."

Kirk tries to pull her away but she's strong and enraged and makes up for any size differences by sheer fury. She lashes out breaking his nose, bruising and breaking ribs. Her nails scratch his face and throughout it all Kirk doesn't fight back, he's only trying to restrain her and all the while he doesn't really find anything wrong with what's going on...it's became normal...it has been for years really...long before Janice. She finally gets enough leverage and by this time she too far to even considers what she's doing. They both topple down and she straddles his chest. Her eyes are fever bright as she smiles and bars her teeth. "You, all of you stand in my way and only when you're gone can I actually win."

Then her fingers are gripping his throat trying to strangle him and he's too startled to do anything at first. As his breath slows, instinct kicks in and overrides any other impulses. He's years in the past when he flips her off. She's fighting and kicking and biting, but he pins her down this time. Her clothes are half ripped off and he straddles her. One hand is holding her arms pinned above her head and the other is grabbing her throat. Her uniform skirt has flown up and her top is flung open exposing her chest.

She grins up at him almost lewdly, "Like what you see you pig? All you mean have one thing on your mind." She wriggles underneath him arching her body against his , her words are throaty and seductive "It's so easy to control you." And at that moment his fingers tighten cutting off her breathing and he wants to watch he suffocate and at that same time he wants to do something that has nothing to do with death but will have her moaning just the same.

It's all confused but before she's even lost more than a few seconds of air he's off her and backing up against the wall. His voice is hoarse from his own bruised throat as he stammers. "It's over, God damn it it's over."

Janice picks herself up, this time she's all tears, her mood has changed so quickly it's like the mindless anger was never there. "Jim, what do you mean, I love you. We just had an argument."

But Kirk's already backing towards the door, he shakes his head. "It's over."

And he means it, because they're something about her and them that he realises isn't healthy. He loves her, hates her and ultimately he realises there's something wrong when agony and enjoyment become intertwined.

XXXX XXXX

He thinks he's finally broke the habit when he becomes Captain. He'll be seated in the command chair, sometimes just watching his crew or feeling the ship's imperceptible movement as it warps towards their destination and the pleasure he feels is almost too much for words. He finally feels right, like maybe this is how he's supposed to feel. There's no pain, or confusion...and he thinks maybe a pattern is broken...maybe he's finally figured out how to actual feel good...without the added contrast that agony brings.

But he hasn't...

It's a week since he woke up—that's what he prefers to think of coming back from death as. His body is still wracked in pain and sore from head to toe as Khan's miracle blood travels through his system repairing half-dead tissues.

Kirk opens his eyes from a fretful sleep and instead of a clean white wall ahead or an irascible McCoy jamming hyposprays in his neck, he finds his entire crew of senior officers gathered at his bedside. He can tell by their expressions they've been waiting for him to wake up.

Maybe they came to see him before but those times he can't remember. Uhura's crying and Sulu and Chekov are grinning. Spock has his typical stoic face but Kirk can see past the Vulcan facade to see his first officer's relief. McCoy is covering his own happiness with gruff threats about visiting time being cut short if they don't quiet down and Scotty is eagerly detailing the new fittings on the Enterprise.

Kirk just watches it all, not speaking much but drinking in the interactions. People care, they actually care about him and it's startling and makes him feel apprehensive and happy at the same time. He sits up straighter fighting back the fatigue tugging at his limbs and the pain flaring up as the seconds grow.

McCoy notices the grimace that crosses Kirk's face as he shifts again. "Here let me give you this." The doctor interrupts the chatter and reaches over to administer a hypo of pain medication. Kirk shrugs the doctor's hand away and McCoy reluctantly allows Kirk to retreat after a few moments.

The visit continues and the pain grows even as Kirk's own sense of contentment increases. Throbbing aches course through his body and as Kirk smiles and tries to ride out the waves of pain he wonders why he doesn't just take the damn hypo like McCoy wants...it's not because he doesn't want the medication, or is worried it makes him drowsy.

The reason for his own recalcitrance hits him like a self-discovery that he'd rather never acknowledged...the only way for him to truly feel pleasure is with pain.

Thanks for reading... I started this story after thinking about how Kirk was in the first movie being beat up and he seemed to love it. And then all the other unhealthy instances in his life that had led up to and would come after that point presented themselves. A reader of this series mentioned Janice Lester and was I planning on writing her and here it is. Hope you liked it. Dysfunctional and so tangled up and confusing. It's interesting how Kirk in the vignette was being abused and basically a victim of domestic violence but still managed to convince himself that he's in control of it.

Until next time...