Chapter Thirteen

Jim's back throbbed painfully as he entered his apartment. It suddenly occurred to him that it was the first time he'd been here since Pike's death.

Had it been a month already?

It smelled different.

It was a simple studio apartment, housed in the officer's section of Starfleet's base, which meant he had a housekeeping service and a great view of the skyline. At least, it had been a great view, until Khan attacked the Daystrom conference room in the main building, marring the skyline. He walked to the window now and let Spock follow behind and find his own place within the apartment.

He expected to see the burnt out remains of the conference room, but Starfleet had already repaired the damage. The building looked new. It was everything else around it that had crumbled with the wild crash of the Vengeance. Strange that the main building remained intact, a building where decisions of war and peace were made. Khan would have hated to see he'd missed his mark.

"They repaired it," he said.

"Yes," Spock said. "Several weeks ago."

It had survived the second attack, standing tall and unscathed in the surrounding destruction. He felt oddly empty inside, staring at the building. The last time he had stood at this window he had been raw with grief, seeing the broken glass and charred metal and feeling as if the world had dropped out from under him. He had never felt so lost. He had not been able to save the man who had saved him. In his grief, he'd had to work to find anger at the injustice. That had come later, quickly and easily, and had all but consumed him.

Everything had happened so fast after Pike's death – the rush to find Khan, Marcus' betrayal, the fight to save his crew…and then he had experienced his own death and….

He closed his eyes. Where was that anger now?

A strong hand gripped his bicep. He realized that he was swaying.

"Jim?"

He opened his eyes and looked at Spock. "I'm tired, Spock."

Spock looked concerned. "You must rest. You have not fully regained your strength. You are still recuperating."

He nodded numbly. Exhaustion suddenly weighed him down like melted lead infused into his bones. He stood anchored in place. With great effort, he moved his legs, shuffling toward the bed-the bed he had shared with the beautiful Caitian twins with the music blaring and the entire galaxy laid before him like a kingdom before a favorite prince. Now it was empty and uninviting.

His back throbbed and each step ignited the nerves along his spine, shooting ribbons of pain into his belly and hip. He sat on the bed, numb and exhausted. He was aware of Spock standing next to him, watching with discomfort and concern.

Can a Vulcan feel uncomfortable?

His head hurt. He sank onto the bed, his head resting on the pillow as he closed his eyes. The linens had been cleaned and pressed and they smelled fresh. He wanted them to smell like the Caitian twins. He wanted one thing to be the way it had been before Khan had entered their lives. But everything had been scrubbed clean, including himself.

Darkness crowded the edges of his consciousness. He welcomed it. He felt Spock take off his boots and lift his legs onto the bed. Curled on his right side, his left arm trembled. He didn't try to hide it. He let the darkness take him.

When he woke it was early evening and the sun was setting, casting long shadows into his apartment. A blanket covered him. He lay still with his eyes open, taking in the sounds and smells of his apartment. He didn't remember it feeling so vacant. Then again, he hadn't spent much time in the place. Starfleet had assigned him the quarters when he'd been promoted to rank of captain and he was grateful for being out of the dorm, but the place didn't feel like home. It was just a place to be between assignments when the Enterprise was safely anchored in dock.

He had never felt at home on Earth.

Slowly he sat up, letting the blanket fall as his legs swung over the edge of the bed. The room spun as a wave of dizziness overtook him. Despite having just awakened, he still felt exhausted and he hated it. Pressing a hand to the back of his neck, he rotated his head, trying to ease the ache that had settled just at the base of his skull.

It was then that he saw Spock standing in the center of the living area, watching him. He frowned, confused, and blinked a few times as if to clear his vision. He scanned the apartment. Yes, it was evening and they were still alone.

What the hell?

"Spock…have you been here all the time?"

"Yes."

Had he forgotten something, Jim wondered? Was there something he was supposed to do? He'd given his press conference. Hadn't he? Yes, he remembered. The lights had bothered him.

"Did I miss something, Spock?" he asked carefully standing, testing the strength of his legs. He felt a little shaky and his heart began to pound rapidly.

"Miss something, Jim?"

"Why are you still here?"

Spock remained standing in place, hands clasped behind his back, shoulders straight. His expression, though, was relaxed. "It would have been rude to have simply left without a proper farewell. I was merely observing human customs."

"Bullshit." He walked on unsteady legs into the living area. "But thank you."

Spock inclined his head. Only Spock could make that move look graceful and regal.

"What's this?" Jim asked, seeing two medication bottles on the coffee table. A wave of heat came over him and he began to sweat.

"Doctor McCoy left these for you with instructions that you are to take them upon waking, and with food."

Jim frowned. "Bones was here?"

How long had he slept?

Spock nodded.

Which meant that he'd been scanned. Had his bio monitor gone off already? Shit, if he couldn't make it twelve hours after being released from the hospital without his damn monitor going off, Bones was going to be stuck to him like glue. It was probably going off now with this heart pounding.

He sat down heavily on the sofa and swiped at his sweaty forehead with the back of his hand. Why was he so unstable?

"I believe you will feel stronger once you have eaten," Spock said.

He glanced up at Spock. "Playing doctor, Spock?"

"Making an observation, Jim." Spock gave him one of those amused, tolerant looks he saved only for Jim. "I took the liberty of ordering dinner."

"This should be good," Jim said easily. He was acutely aware of his thundering heartbeat. "I will be very interested in what a Vulcan orders for dinner."

"Tofu soup and steamed brown rice."

"Sounds stimulating." But his stomach couldn't handle anything other than that right now and he knew it. As it was, he still threw up half his meals.

"I can order something else if you like," Spock said with concern. "Dr. McCoy instructed mild foods on your diet. I thought…."

"It's fine, Spock, really," he said with a forced smile.

As Spock moved into the kitchen area, Jim reached for the small bottles of medications and noticed that his hands were still trembling slightly. Maybe eating wasn't such a bad idea. He examined the bottles. He didn't remember Bones telling him anything about medications. He read the instructions on the bottle: Take one capsule with food every 12 hours. Wonderful, that told him nothing about why he was taking it. He put the pills down and rubbed his eyes.

When the table was set, he joined Spock. His heart had finally calmed down, but he still felt unsteady.

"How are the repairs coming?" He distrusted the look of his brown rice. He had a sudden flash of a prison chow line.

"The refitting is on schedule. Although there are several changes Mr. Scott wants to make to Engineering."

"I bet that's setting the Chief of Starfleet Operations' teeth on edge." The rice tasted bland. He took no pleasure in chewing it. "Tell Scotty to play nice."

"I will relay your message." Spock studied him for a moment then rose and walked into the living area. He returned with the two bottles of medications and set them down on the table.

He glanced briefly at Spock, trying not to let his irritation show. He had forgotten how determined the Vulcan could be. Nothing escaped the keen eyes and sharp mind. Still, he sensed McCoy had a hand in this. He could practically hear Bones - 'Make sure he eats and takes his medications. Don't let him talk his way out of it.' With a sigh, he grabbed the bottles and pressed the release for the appropriate dosage. He downed the capsules quickly with water.

"It must be a relief for you to be out of the hospital," Spock said. "It is good to see you…as humans would say…up and about."

He looked at Spock and smiled. Vulcans really were terrible at small talk. "It's good to be up and about." Even though his apartment felt alien to him – too quiet and empty. He didn't relish the thought of spending a few weeks confined to the small room while the rest of the world went on about their business. It seemed that everybody had something to do but him. Bones was busy giving the crew mandatory physicals. Spock was overseeing Enterprise's entirerefit. Scotty was busy with the ship….

A flash of light sent him flying. He could feel his vertebrae crack on impact, but that pain was lost to the myriad of other pains that had consumed him. As he fell, one thought reverberated through his mind: He had won…and he was dying….

"Jim?"

He looked up to see the concerned face of his friend.

"Are you experiencing discomfort?"

"What?" He made an effort to control his expression, wondering what the Vulcan had seen. "No, I was…thinking." He motioned to the bowl in front of Spock. "Eat."

He concentrated on his own soup, but when the silence became too oppressive and his thoughts turned to images of the warp core, he filled the conversation with benign talk of Starfleet and Enterprise and what the crew was doing. They lingered over their meal like two old friends reminiscing after a long separation. At that table they were not captain and first officer. They were not human and Vulcan. There was no Khan and loss of life and betrayal and revenge. There were only two men and a world that could wait.

Jim shot up in bed, the echo of his cry fading in the darkness. A shooting pain ran through his spine, digging in deep. His sheets were damp with sweat and twisted around his naked body. He ran a trembling hand through his sweat-soaked hair and swore. He had hoped the nightmares would end with his hospital discharge, that the comforting and familiar setting of his apartment would ease his unrest. The sounds and smells of his private hospital room were a stark reminder of his ordeal; he had thought that perhaps it was contributing to his unease. Now he realized that it had little to do with it.

The pain in his back drew his attention. Carefully curving his spine, he fell back down onto the mattress, waiting for the throbbing to diminish.

He couldn't remember the nightmare and that nagged at him. If he could wrap his mind around the images, he could console himself, tell himself it wasn't real, that it was an old memory. But the truth was he didn't know if it was real or not. He couldn't remember enough of what had happened in the warp core to disprove anything. All he remembered was the pain and the overwhelming need to succeed. Nothing had mattered but saving his crew.

He stared up at the ceiling, trying to recall an image from his dream, but his mind remained blank. Still, the feeling of fear and revulsion overwhelmed him. He closed his eyes and willed the fear away, refusing to give in to it. Slowly his heart rate decreased and the pain in his back ebbed. He listened to the silence. He didn't know why he was haunted, what memory refused to settle into the quiet corners of his mind. He'd always been able to forget before, to tuck away the fear and pain and go on. Why was this so different?

There was an ache behind his eyes. He wouldn't close his eyes. He wouldn't go back to sleep.

Gradually the room lightened as the sun rose. His body had become pleasantly numb and so had his mind. With reluctance, he rolled out of bed and went to take a shower. That was the difference between life on Enterprise and life on Earth: Real water in the shower. At the hospital, the water had been regulated and his time in the shower monitored. Always there was a nurse or Bones nearby, waiting…expecting him to fall.

He stepped into the stall and let the door seal shut behind him and programmed the shower. The stall was small and lined with flat stone blocks. It was designed for efficiency, as was most everything in the apartment. In the past he had found the space irritating, confining, but now he found the closeness comforting, as if the walls had come in to embrace him in solitude.

The water rained down and he ducked his head under the downpour. For a long time he simply let the water pour over him, washing away the last vestiges of nightmare, the odors of the hospital, the sweat, his sadness. He was a chalk drawing in the rain, wanting to be expunged.

He wanted everything to be new and he wanted everything to remain the way it had been before Khan had come into his life. But it was never going to be the same. Everything had changed.

Drawing a shuddering breath, he reached for the pre-soaped cloth and began washing. His movements were slow and without thought. He liked the feel of the water beating down on him, the way the room smelled pure and clean. The steam rose and he seemed to disappear in the white mist.

As he scrubbed, his movements suddenly became more aggressive and frantic. He was home now, he reminded himself. He was free. But he washed his body like a man trying to erase graffiti from a wall. He tried to slow his movements, to slow the rush of emotions that surfaced, but he kept scrubbing. His heart pounded and his muscles ached until the cloth slipped from his hand and he stilled.

His skin tingled and the water fell, the tiny drops like pins on his flesh. He bent his head and rested his hands on the smooth surface of the wall.

Stop, just stop!

He squeezed his eyes shut and slammed his hand against the wall. Stop!

But it wouldn't stop. It rose from deep within, a gnawing, aching thing that demanded release. It was cold and hot at the same time and it clawed its way up from his belly, tightening his throat as he held it at bay, until suddenly it escaped past his lips. The soft cry sounded alien and so familiar. He drew a staggered breath to shut it back inside, but it was too late. Like a fountain it bubbled up. His body shook as the sobs wracked him, one after another…without mercy.

He hit the wall again with the flat of his hand.

Goddamnit! Stop!

The water was pounding onto his back, running through his hair, washing away the tears that seemed not to end.