I am really sorry about the delay. But I will try to update sooner.

Chapter 17

Third day

He took a deep, calming breath. It was coming in with increasing difficulty. But he didn't pay it any attention. He needed to concentrate if he was to do this.

"... And they gave their lives in line of duty…"

'Such a liar... you killed them... every single one of them...'

"…And I am forever in their debt..."

'How can you pay the debt? It's not a price you can pay. After all, One can only die once, right?'

Kirk was giving the eulogy but it felt like someone else was speaking those words. No matter how hard he tried, words escaped him. He didn't hear a single word he was saying. The other voice, the one in his throbbing head, kept any other voices out. It never ceased to taunt him. It didn't let him think. It was driving him mad.

All he understood was that he was standing in front of his crew and was looking into their eyes. One by one.

All the faces were sad and drawn. They looked like a defeated army with no hope. All ready to surrender.

Some of them still bore scars. A lot of them were on the verge of tears. They sat at attention, yet their pose screamed hopelessness. They were all listening to him. Their faces were shadowed by profound sorrow for their lost comrades. But beside that, there was something about their eyes that made his skin crawl.

It was anger. Or maybe something a lot darker than that. And it was all directed at him. He didn't want to know what meaning those stares held. He didn't want to name that feeling wavering in those eyes. He just couldn't.

But deep down, he already knew.

"...I am very proud to have served with such brave young officers..." his voice was coming out around the painful lump in his throat.

'Young, Yes! They were so young. So full of hope with bright futures. All of them. And you let them down. You didn't save them.'

He paused in the middle of his sentence. It was too much. He couldn't do this anymore. He couldn't continue this pretence. He closed his eyes for a second and drew a shaky breath to calm his mind. He gripped the small podium in front of him and tried to just breathe, to let the slight wetness in his eyes disappear.

He looked toward where Spock and McCoy were sitting. He needed to draw in the warm feeling their presence gave him. He locked eyes with Spock for a second. The first officer never lifted his keen eyes off his captain.

Spock's face was always calm, reassuring. Kirk felt better already.

'I am not alone.'

He needed to keep a strong front for his crew. Even if he was no longer their captain, it was not good for their moral to see how close he was to the edge of insanity. He was barely keeping it together and he knew his limits were reached.

Each day was another constant push towards that brink. But this one was maybe the last push for him to tip over.

000

The Funeral was the most devastating event of the last few days, McCoy thought. The number of casualties was never more. And this was more than Kirk could bear.

He watched his friend bravely going up the platform to speak. He looked calm but McCoy knew better. If the past days were anything to go by, his friend was still fighting a war he had no hope to win. It pained the doctor to witness the deterioration, every passing hour, and having to stand by and witness, unable to mend the underlying cause.

It made him feel useless.

Kirk spoke with a voice heavy with emotions. A few times he paused to calm his quivering voice. The look of guilt and pained regret never left his pale and tired complexion.

'He is falling apart.'

The doctor looked nervously at Spock. The Vulcan returned the glance and McCoy read the same thought in his eyes.

Kirk took every death personally. They always hit the captain the hardest and they never seemed to get easier for him. It always was McCoy or Spock who helped him keep it together after an away mission took one of his officers.

And again it was the doctor who found the captain after he gave his speech.

The captain was in one of the empty briefing rooms, leaning heavily on the table, and was trying to catch his breath. His eyes were unusually red and his whole body was shaking as he panted.

The doctor went in without waiting to be invited. He was dreading his worst fear was coming true.

"Jim! You OK? I was looking for... Dammit, come and sit before you fall! You're white as a sheet!" McCoy came hurriedly closer to catch him should his legs crumble.

"I'm OK... Just out of breath...I'll be fine." Kirk whispered with some difficulty.

But he was far from anything resembling fine. He couldn't breathe. He was barely keeping it together. He was dangerously shaky and light headed. He was sure his throbbing leg would give in right there and then if he lost his precarious support on the table. And it was becoming increasingly hard to hide it all from his doctor friend.

He didn't want anyone to see him like this. He was afraid his walls would crumble any second. He couldn't contain it all in much longer. He just wanted to be alone.

He didn't want to cause them more problems to worry about. They all had problems of their own right now. The doctor had a ward full of injured to occupy him day and night. Spock too, was busy with admirals. And yet, they somehow found the time to be present at the right time when he needed them.

He didn't want to be alone either. He knew he wouldn't survive loneliness. He needed his friends if he was to stay sane.

Kirk sat on the chair with the doctor's help.

"I'm fine now, Bones. Really."

But McCoy wouldn't just let go and he knew it. It was a battle already fought and lost. He sighed inwardly and just let the doctor do his job.

McCoy brought out his medical scanner and immediately the noise of the device filled his ears.

"Let me be the judge of that." McCoy grumbled.

'You don't deserve this friendship. You don't deserve friends. You don't deserve anything.'

His throat burned. The ache was familiar. He swallowed past the constricted part. He took a shaky breath to calm himself.

The door opened with a whoosh and both men turned to the sound to see Spock enter the room. The first officer's pale face was emanating concern.

"Captain, I noticed your early departure. Are you alright?"

Kirk let go of the breath he didn't know he was holding.

"Yes, I'm fine, Spock. Doctor McCoy was just leaving."

That caught the doctor by surprise. He put down the medical scanner to scowl at the younger man.

"The hell I am! You are coming with me. I want to run some tests."

"I don't have time for that."

"No Jim. Enough with this I am busy crap. I'm taking you to the medical. I want to make sure that pretty lung contusion of yours is cleared. My readings are-"

"Don't you have enough patients already? Go keep yourself busy with them, doctor. Just leave me alone. I don't need a babysitter." Kirk snapped. Voice cold as his face was.

McCoy winced inwardly. He opened his mouth to answer. It was Spock, however, who spoke.

"I must agree with the doctor, sir. You don't seem to be quite alright." he said firmly.

"He can't fix me Spock. Not this time." Kirk answered with a note of sadness in his hazel eyes. His voice was low, barely audible.

McCoy's heart broke. How true it was. He couldn't fix his friend this time. It wasn't a physical wound he could just heal. He was useless, hopeless. If only he knew how to mend this. He would do anything not to see his friend this way.

Spock noticed the grief stricken face McCoy was so desperately trying to hide. He drew Kirk's attention before he could unknowingly break the doctor's heart even more.

"I suggest you rest in your quarters then. I can accompany you to your door."

Kirk shook his head thirdly, "No Spock. Thank you. But I can go myself. I just have some small things to do on my way. Then I will retire to my room." he stood up to leave.

"Very well, sir."

Spock took pity on them both. Kirk was still in pain. His injured leg was still sore and weak. The captain never complained, but his often short temper was proof enough.

His broken ribs should have healed by now but his lack of proper rest slowed the speed of his recovery. And that was the tip of the iceberg for him.

And the doctor, he was practically feeling every pain with his patient, every heart break and disappointment. The hopes lost and friendships shredded to nothingness.

McCoy was in a different hell of his own where he was plagued by his raw emotions of uselessness and constant regret.

Spock looked at the doctor now, who was staring gloomily at Kirk's back as the captain left them in the briefing room.

Kirk still limped slightly when he thought no one was looking. Spock could physically feel the all-consuming emotions the man was trying to hold back. He was amazed by the force of will he was exerting to do so. But he knew he wouldn't be able to keep that up for much longer

000

The doctor knew kirk wouldn't be able to close his eyes even for one second tonight. He was badly sleep deprived to begin with. He couldn't afford anymore sleepless nights.

He was concerned. So he went to check on his friend.

Kirk was pacing in his quarters. He looked disheveled, restless.

Not a good sign.

"You look like you need a drink." The doctor said.

Kirk didn't answer. His eyes were blank and betrayed nothing.

McCoy poured both of them drinks, and handed him one of the glasses.

Kirk stopped his walking and took the glass as a reflex. He looked at the glass in his hand without really seeing it. His mind was in another place entirely.

McCoy stood by the desk and sipped at his drink, keeping one eye on his friend.

He was pale and drawn. The shadow around his eyes was pronounced by the dim light of the room. His cloths were what he was wearing in the ceremony. But they were wrinkled and out of shape.

Kirk slowly sat on his bunker, the glass still untouched in his hand, and after a long silence, said, "I did this... I ordered this..." his voice caught miserably. His whole body was shaking with the enormity of the emotions he was fighting back.

"No, Jim-" McCoy was taken aback.

"I failed them... I let them die..." the voice didn't belong to the starship captain he used to be. It was of an abandoned child. Lost and sacred.

McCoy rushed to his side and grabbed his shoulders to shake him out of whatever it was that was breaking him apart.

"No, Jim. Look at me. You didn't kill them!" he squeezed the arms in his vice grip. But Kirk just repeated, he didn't seem to hear or see the doctor.

"Snap out of it dammit."

But he couldn't reach him. Kirk's eyes remained unfocused. He was muttering unintelligibly under his breath. His eyes were closed tightly, as if to block out the horrible images.

He was severely sleep deprived. And it was lowering his protective walls holding back his tormenting thoughts.

McCoy drew out his hypo-spray and shot him with a sedative. He should have done this sooner, he thought, before it become this much severe.

He blamed himself for unrelenting deterioration of Kirk's state. But he had absolutely no idea of what to do.

The figure quickly limped in his arms. He gently lowered him on the bed, and made sure he was comfortable.

McCoy sighed. The face looked so young. Innocent. The peace that came with unconsciousness was so unreal that it scared the doctor.

He remained by the bed and wished that the man was granted a few hours respite.

But he chastised himself a few hours later when he wake from his shallow nap to see him in the throes of yet another nightmare, shivering and trashing on his bunker.

He knew all too well what tormented his friend. But all he could do was to remain there watching through watery vision, feeling helpless and useless all over again.