Bad Night

The evening sky is dull, thick clouds obscuring the stars not already hidden by light pollution. Kirk looks up at it blankly, seemingly disinterested. But his jaw is set in determination; he is deep in thought, concentrating. He's pleasantly drunk – he can't quite walk in a straight line but he isn't in any danger of falling over; his speech isn't even slurred. The incredible emptiness that has filled him all day isn't receding, however. He doesn't feel sad, betrayed or even angry. Perhaps he's simply overloaded today, and left himself numb.

After leaving the Admirals and his childhood monster behind, he'd gone into autopilot mode. He'd organised the ship's resupplying with the help of Spock, ignoring the concerned looks that Bones kept shooting him (the doctor had been hovering around him all day, unwilling to leave his side, probably waiting for him to break down or open up or both). Eventually he'd realised that he didn't want to be doing things, he just wanted to be alone. He had known Spock would understand, and that McCoy would be pissed but understand nevertheless, so he had snuck off and found a dingy bar (one that he had never been to before so that nobody could track him down like Pike had, he wasn't looking for an intervention). Once there he had proceeded to get to the level of drunkenness he's currently at. He'd considered starting a bar fight but had quickly realised he didn't have the energy even for that. Instead he had left the bar and wandered aimlessly about; eventually he had found the park and the bench he was currently sitting on. He has been here for the last half hour at least, watching the sky and thinking.

He knows that this whole mess has brought down some unpleasant memories and feelings, and that his sleep will be worse than usual for a while. But despite the emptiness he's not feeling unoptimistic. He got over Tarsus, he'll get over this far more easily.

The main worry for him is his crew. He doesn't want them to pity him, to look at him like he's damaged goods. He wasn't damaged by the things that happened to him, he was strengthened by them, shaped by them. His crew don't even know about Frank and what came before Tarsus, or what came after. He has no idea what they'd think about him then. No doubt they find him disgusting, would probably loathe him. But Christopher Pike had saved him, saved him from so much, helped him to carry on. Chris had known about everything, but had never judged. And then Kirk had let him down, like he had let so many people down.

Christopher Pike had pulled him from the life he had been building himself, and into a better one. But Pike hadn't been like other people. Chris had let Jim tell his side of the story and then just listened without interrupting or even showing an appalled expression; Chris had accepted it all and still helped (loved?) Jim. Chris had understood him in a way few others did, and his absence was like a painful tear. But if his crew discovered some of the things he had done, they would no doubt be horrified.

McCoy knows some of it. Bones has been his best friend for so many years, has been another person to offload at on the rare occasions that things became too much (but only with copious amounts of alcohol). Bones is a lot like Pike in some ways. The doctor doesn't judge. But McCoy does get upset. It is that reason, and not fear of rejection (although that's always there, itching at the back of his mind), that keeps most of the stories away from Bones. Over time, the doctor will no doubt end up with the entire story, but Jim has always hoped it will be a long time.

Spock is a different story – he knows none of it (although, of course, now Tarsus is no longer a secret). While Jim regards Spock as a close friend, he just can't bring himself to tell the Vulcan about anything that happened in the past. Old Spock had known about alternate Jim's problems and accepted his counterpart regardless, but the Jim Kirk from the other universe hadn't done the things Jim has done. Old Spock had told him (when Jim had asked, because how could he not, if the other Jim had been on Tarsus) that his Jim Kirk had been put on the list to live; other Jim Kirk had seen the massacre but had not been part of it, had not been hurt directly. The other Jim had far cleaner hands.

Kirk suddenly feels a desperate need for the emptiness to recede. He assumes he is alone in the Park, although it's now too dark to tell that for sure. There is nobody to fight, no girl to seduce. He is on his own. Abruptly he twists round and punches the bench, hard, repeatedly. Pain blossoms, pushing the numbness back. Warmth runs down his fist and it takes him a second to realise it's his own blood, shed again by his own hand; he almost likes the way it feels against his skin. He realises the bench is fragile wood and his fist has splintered it. There is a shard of wood stuck in his hand, which is what has caused the bleeding. He looks down at it, although he can't see properly, and smiles slightly. The pain has made him feel less detached.

Without thinking he takes hold of the shard and wrenches it out, ignoring the searing pain (dulled by alcohol) as he pulls. He drops the wood against the ground and leans back against the bench. He suddenly realises how easy it would be to just not go on, to take the shard from the ground and free his blood (free him). But despite everything he is not even tempted – he doesn't want to die, not at all. He wouldn't have got this far if it were not for the fierce determination to live that courses through him. He doesn't want to repeat the horror of the radiation chamber, sitting back and waiting to die.

Tomorrow he will go back to his ship and resume command fully from Spock. Things will carry on as they always have. He'll take one day at a time, and not worry himself with the past. He knows that he'll be exactly the same as before, the same captain as ever. He'll have bad dreams but good days. He's been dealing with things like this for years; he isn't going to have problems now. Jim Kirk has never been a victim, he isn't about to start now.

Kirk leans his head back and watches the sky again. There is a single star visible now, strong against the dark.

Back on the Enterprise McCoy sits, his face pressed into his hands. Opposite Spock stands straight, looking like he is deep in thought. The two of them have been like this for a significant amount of time (McCoy knows it has been a while, Spock knows it has been thirty six minutes in total). Neither of them has said a word (despite the fact that they agreed to this meeting to talk about one Captain James Tiberius Kirk).

Finally, McCoy decides it is time to speak up (at minute forty two, Spock notes). "Jim's going to need some support, after this. I don't think he realises how much this is going to affect him – he hurt someone, badly. There will be repercussions."

"He has 'hurt people badly' before, doctor," Spock points out. "As part of his duties as Captain he has both injured and killed hostiles. The effects, while present, have not been abnormal. Support for such things is already available on this ship for all crew members."

"This is different," McCoy says with a sigh.

"I am inclined to agree. This situation was highly unusual," Spock agrees.

"Jim's always been virulently against any form of torture. I don't think the fact that he's now carried it out has sunk in. When it does, I'm not sure what he's going to do."

"Do you believe what he did was ethically justifiable, doctor?" Spock asks.

"No. But I don't blame him. He wasn't in the right state of mind to make a decision like that. It wasn't fair of the Admirals to let him do it. They are the ones who should be blamed," McCoy growls.

"Perhaps Jim will appreciate that."

"Jim blames himself for almost everything. It started with – Christ I'm not sure if I should tell you this… has he ever told you anything about his past?"

"No. Prior to the incident with Kodos I was not even aware that he was on Tarsus. However I had suspected in the past that he was abused as a child. It seemed logical."

"Logical?"

"He struggles with relationships, he never mentions his family, he has low regard for his own welfare due to what I believe may be low self-esteem–" Spock starts, but McCoy cuts him off.

"I get the picture, Spock. Have you ever spoken to him about it?"

"No. I suspected that he would find such a conversation undesirable."

"You've got that right," McCoy snorts, "He only talks to me about it when he's drunk or virtually unconscious. He was more open about Tarsus than what happened before it. It was his uncle, that's about all I know." Or at least all he's willing to tell Spock.

"He blames Kodos for Tarsus, who does he blame for the abuse prior to that tragedy?" Spock asks.

"I've always suspected he thinks the whole thing was his fault," McCoy says sadly. "All of these bad things happen to him and he's the only continuous variable."

"What did he do after his ordeal on Tarsus?" Spock queries.

"I don't know." McCoy says shortly. It's not the entire truth (he has bits and pieces which he's started to mesh into a puzzle) but he doesn't want to share his speculation with Spock. The Vulcan detects his reluctance and drops the topic. The two of them are being really quite civil towards each other today.

"Well, doctor, what nature of support do you think we should offer?" Spock finally asks.

"No clue," McCoy replies morosely, and the two of them return to the uncomfortable silence that previously hung over the room.

The president of Starfleet is furious. She is so entirely furious that she can't even properly control her expression. Torture! On her watch! Christ, if the press get hold of any of this…

"You're sure? Can you prove this?" She snarls at Admiral Komack, who looks incredibly nervous.

"I have the whole thing taped – both the conversation and… interrogation." Komack replies.

"Give it to me," She snaps. "Then get out. I want to see it alone. Wait outside."

As she watches, she doesn't even blink. Not even when Kirk starts to break Kodos' fingers. As soon as she finishes the tape, she watches it again. This time her eyes don't leave Kirk's face. She calls Komack back in.

"Get me every single person who was involved in that here, in my office."

"It's the middle of the night-" Komack starts.

"I don't care if it's the middle of the night," She shouts. "I want everyone here, now. Track them all down, wherever they are." After Komack leaves she puts the tape back to the start to rewatch. Heads are going to roll for this, that's for certain.

In his cell, Kodos lets a single tear fall. "I'm so sorry, Lenore. I tried. I tried. I tried but I failed you. I'm so sorry." He murmurs. "I always tried, I did. I always did what I thought was best. James, he's a monster – even when he was a child he was a monster. Now he's grown and I couldn't touch him fully sized. I'm sorry I didn't kill him before he could become this, I'm sorry I let him beat me."

Kodos reaches into his mouth and pulls out his back molar with a grimace of pain. Then he bites down. He spasms, moans. It takes him nearly a minute to die. His heart stops long anybody even notices anything is wrong.

Somewhere, a woman screams as she watches her father die on a computer screen. The scream is anger, and hurt and grief all wrapped into one. Lenore places her hand on the screen as her father spasms one last time. Then she smashes her fist against it, breaking it into tiny pieces that embed in her hand (like Jim, she does not fear them, but embraces them). Blood drips down onto floor. She imagines the drips are her tears, stained red.

"James Tiberius Kirk," She whispers in rage. "You will pay."

I hope you liked this chapter. I really wanted there to be serious consequences for what Kirk did, and there will be. Please leave a review letting me know what you thought.