Chapter 3: The Dreams That Bind Me

Red eyes stare at him from an abyss of darkness. The eyes were pin sized and unwavering looking at him wherever he went, baring down on him, staring at him, laughing at him. He couldn't get away from those eyes no matter how hard he tried.

It was dark. So dark. Light seemed to be nonexistent in this world where only darkness ruled with an iron fist. The darkness was alive. Moving and shaking and morphing and those eyes. Those eyes were looking at him again. Always looking. Always laughing. Always judging his every move and laughing while he stumbled around in the dark.

He tried to run. Running always helped. He was good at running, all kinds of running. Running into a fight, running to fetch something, running to save someone, running away. It didn't matter. So, he ran.

His arms pumped and his chest tightened and his throat screamed but he had to get away because those eyes were staring at him. Always staring. Calculating and sizing and measuring and seeing how long it's going to take until he breaks.

Suddenly, there's something in front of him - no, it's someone. Curly hair and a face too young to be a man but old enough that he couldn't be considered a boy. He's adorned in a gold shirt with red splotches soaking around his torso growing in circumference with every step Jim takes closer to the person. A sound mixed between a scream and an intense intake a breath echoes from Jim's throat and reverberates around the dark abyss. The eyes are still looking at him from behind the person in front of him.

It's Chekov. Covered in blood. Eyes bloodshot completely covering any white that used to be there. He's clutching a bloody knife in his hands and shaking. His legs are holding himself up by force and willpower alone.

"Pavel-" Jim's voice is hollow.

"Vhat..." Chekov's voice is cold in all the ways it should be warm and it chills Jim's bones. Jim shutters violently.

"Keptin Kork?" Chekov asks with tears in his eyes. He's steady for a second longer before his legs give out on him and he falls. Jim dives to catch him a second before his head could collide with the black ground. His eyes are closed as Jim wraps his arms around him. Jim's doesn't notice the tears that leak from his eyes. The knife slides from Chekov's hands making a dull clink as his hits the ground.

"Pavel?" Jim asks when Chekov doesn't open his eyes. "Pavel, wake up. Come on, wake up," Jim begs. He looks down at the boy's chest seeing red bleed through his shirt. Chekov's face is so white, so pale. Him puts his ear to Chekov's chest to hear for a heart beat then screams brokenly when he doesn't hear anything. Blood trickles on the ground around the teenager and Jim coating them both. The darkness around Jim moves and morphs again. There's something out there.

"Wake up Ensign, that's an order," Jim demands shaking the boy. Blood. So much blood. Too much. And it's warm, hot even as it leaves Chekov's body. Jim wants to throw up. He shakes him again. "That's a goddamn fucking order!"

Nothing happens. He feels for a pulse then screams again at no one and everyone. Chekov's dead.

"Please. No."

The eyes so red they match the blood covering the ground stare at him.

Jim sobs looking down at the youngest member of his crew, his friend. Dead. He wasn't fast enough, smart enough, good enough, he wasn't enough to save him. He didn't save him. The blood, it's still so warm and so thick and now it's black against the dark ground. The tangy smell burns Jim's nostrils, burns his hands. He screams as heard as he can shaking the boy until his arms burn.

"Please... I don't want to be alone. Don't leave me alone here Pasha."

But Chekov doesn't move. Nothing. Dead... Chekov was dead.

"No!"

~o0o~

Jim wakes with a start grabbing and clawing and kicking with a scream on his lips. He kicks hard hearing something rip before he's falling, falling, falling then smashing into the ground with a groan.

Jim stops what he's doing with his face pressed into the floor and his legs still entangled in the sheets on his bed. He lays still a moment opening and closing his eyes.

Just a nightmare. Just a nightmare. It's okay...

He growls at himself forcing his heart to slow and his breath to catch up to him. He orders the lights on and winces when they assault his eyes. Jim looks around seeing the same room he's been in the last week aboard the Jefferson. It's small and neutral colored with one bed and a bathroom in one room and a couch in another.

It's okay. It was just a dream... Just another fucking dream.

Every night it's a different person. First it was Bones who held a gun to his head then it was Spock with a phaser centered between his own eyes. Uhura with a dagger at her throat and Sulu holding a sword against his sides. It's always a different person but the same outcome - they turn the weapon on themselves and pull the trigger or slice with the knife and Jim can do nothing but scream and cry and demand and beg for it to not be true.

"Dammit Jim," he says to himself. "Get yourself together."

Slowly, Jim untangles himself from the blankets and gets up. He sits on his bed heavily, wide awake and exhausted at the same time.

He sits for hours not moving, just thinking. His mind is sluggish but he forces it to think. He doesn't want to think about the Enterprise and his crew and... Bones. But he has to. It feels wrong not to think about everything he left behind and the people who he lost.

The more sensible part of himself knows that he didn't really lose anybody but the surface part, the one that just lost his ship and his career is hell bent on torturing him with all that he doesn't have.

Before he knows it his alarm is blaring to his side and it's time to get up, the Jefferson is reaching earth today. It's time to go home.

An hour later Jim is dressed in the same shirt he wore when he left the Enterprise and his leather jacket. Jim doesn't look at himself after his shower, he's scared to look into his own dead eyes. He's already seen enough of those in the people he dreams of.

With duffel bag in tow he leaves his room for the first time since boarding a week ago. He travels to the transporter pad not looking at any of the crew members that whisper behind hands and into ears staring at him as he passes.

The Jefferson was smaller than the Enterprise. It had one transporter pad where the Enterprise had two. Only one observation deck and seven science labs. It wasn't an exploration ship but it wasn't terrible either. The Captain, a woman with wispy hair and stern eye browns also named Molstic, had been polite and didn't ask any questions when she'd come by to welcome him aboard. She'd looked at his tired eyes with clear pity then saluted him and walked out like the good captain she was. The Jefferson was a good ship, steady, sturdy and space worthy but it had nothing on his ship.

Jim stopped his slow walk to the transporter pad and sucked in a breath surprising even him. His heart gave a shutter, it hurt.

Not my ship anymore, his mind whispered in his ear. Jim looked around finding himself in a hallway free of any other crew members. He took a deep breath, scrubbed his eyes so hard stars appeared then kept on walking like nothing had happened in the first place.

When he entered the transporter pad, Jim nodded at the ensign on duty then stepped up. He pulled his sunglasses and ball cap from his bag to hold in his hands.

"Ready sir?" The ensign asked.

No.

"Yes."

Jim feels his body tingle in the most familiar way and his heart sinks. Before he can blink he finds himself on the transporter aboard Space Station 1 just outside Earth's atmosphere. The tech working at the transporter looks at Jim for a moment before his eyes light up in recognition. Jim looks at the man sternly when he sits up straighter and opens his mouth. The man's posture depletes slightly when he catches the hardness in his eyes. Jim nods hoisting his bag further up his shoulder then steps off the pad. He's almost out the door when the man speaks.

"It is true that you resigned, sir?"

Jim whips around fast. "How did you-"

"It's all over the news feeds. They're saying you quit Starfleet. Is it true?" The man is bent over now, his voice wavering as if he was scared of Jim. Jim licks his bottom lip for a moment before walking towards the man. He bends down and places his hand lightly on his shoulder. With a smile that doesn't reach his eyes he says, "you are doing a great job here. Keep up the good work." Then he about-faces and leaves with quick steps.

Jim slides on his sunglasses then pulls the cap over his head and zips up his jacket. He stuffs his hands in his pockets and slouches trying to make himself invisible. Then he looks around, finds the most crowded place and walks towards it intent on getting himself lost in the throngs of people before his shuttle takes off for earth.