Chapter One

Tarsus IV was nine years come and gone now, but Jim suspected that the PTSD would never fully go away. More often than not he slept through the nights, now. Sometimes, however, he was not so lucky.

Those nights, and tonight was one of them, he would wake up with a start, throat raw from screaming. Others- the arguably worse ones- he wouldn't even have the chance to fall asleep before the memories began to eat at him.

So, he'd strapped on a pair of old trainers, slipped out of the dorm he shared with his roommate and doctor, Bones, and let his feet carry him wherever they wanted to until he was exhausted enough to collapse back into bed in the wee hours of the morning and fall into a dreamless sleep. He'd wake up a few hours later, drag himself to class, maybe get drunk that evening, and find someone to take home and fuck. Then he'd sleep for a good eight to ten and be alright again for a while. Bones said it was self destructive behavior. Jim said it worked as well as anything else.

Tonight, the night itself was cold and dark. Winter was beginning to turn to spring, but it hadn't quite gotten around to warming up yet, and frost danced gracefully on the blades of grass alongside the labyrinth of sidewalks that made up Starfleet Acadamy's walkways. The buildings around him cast dark silhouettes into the navy sky. The trinary system that housed Vulcan was bright, tonight. It was a good night for a run.

The revolution is successful- No. No. He was on Earth, in San Francisco. His feet hurt, and his comm unit had beeped three miles two minutes ago.

Survival depends on drastic measures- Earth. San Francisco. Three Miles. Headed towards the older parts of campus, where no one hung out this late. This early? He didn't know.

Your continued existence represents a threat- Earth. San Fran. The buzzing had started.

It was in his head. It was all in his head. JT's ears ached. It wouldn't stop. Kodos. Tarsus. Tommy. Kevin. The buzzing would. Not. Stop.

Panting and near bent double, he clapped barely warm hands over freezing ears.

The buzzing stopped.

It wasn't his head. It wasn't in his head.

And Jim could breathe again. That had been- not so bad. Out of all of his flashbacks, that one was barely a blip on the "I'm fucked" meter. It definitely had him a bit shaken up, but Jim knew where he was- Earth, San Francisco, Starfleet Academy- and he hadn't hurt himself in his panic. He counted that as a win.

The buzzing had not helped. It was loud, obnoxious in its intensity, and so, so familiar. And still ongoing.

He'd bet his ass that there was a fucked up radio broadcasting station somewhere on campus.

Objectively, Jim knew that radio broadcasting equipment still existed well into the 23rd century, but for the most part it was defunct. Collectors items. He definitely hadn't thought that the Academy would have any, much less a full station.

Sue his curiosity, but he picked his pace up again, this time towards the noise.

It wasn't far to the old building that housed the radio, a brick monstrosity sitting low on the skyline. It was so different, compared to the plastisteel and glass that made up most of the academy buildings. This stuff must have been built during the eugenics wars- or before, maybe. It would be an interesting research project, if he could swing it with Pike. "What the War Taught Us: A Study in Pre-Eugenics Era Academy Architecture" he thought, and then grimaced. Okay, so the title could use some workshopping.

As he got closer, Jim began to pick up on the fact that he wasn't to be alone if he went in- someone was in there already, and cussing up a storm. Right now, he decided, he could do with some not being alone.

"Agh, damn it! The bloody thing's gone and folded in on itself! Well, it's no use, we can't use this now, we're going to have to pause recording until we get a new part. Nyota isn't going to be happy about this."

That- didn't sound so good. Maybe Jim could lend a hand.

The door to the building- old, like the rest of this side of campus, with a rolling garage door to the side and a very insecure locking system- was open, and Jim took that as invitation enough to slip inside.

Inside, well- thankfully LED- lit halls lead him to the garage. It had been retrofitted as a broadcast station, with the old radio set sitting squarely in the center of the room.

Standing in front of it, still looking put out, was someone dressed in cadet reds. He wasn't particularly tall or particularly short, and was starting to bald. If Jim had met him in the street, he wouldn't have thought twice about him. Here, however, he was clearly a mechanic. Engineering track, then, and not used to old tech, judging by the lost look on his face.

In his hands was something long and thin that looked like it had come out of the radio.

"You need a hand there?" Jim asked, and the man startled and turned.

"Ach! What in the bloody hell are you doing here?"

Jim shrugged. Honestly, what was he doing here? He was a little fucked in the head and needed some company. "Heard you from outside. Figured I'd come in and give you a hand. Jim, by the way."

He held out a hand and the redhead took it.

"Montgomory Scott, but folks around here just call me Scotty."

Jim nodded. Scotty it was.

"What's going on with your radio, Scotty?"

In lieu of responding, Scotty held up the piece of metal in his hand. Now that Jim could get a better look at it, it was less of a full piece of radio equipment and more of a full piece that had somehow managed to collapse in on itself, rendering itself quite neatly useless.

"Well, that's no good." Jim eyed the piece. It was vital to the function of the radio, and without it, whatever this man was trying to do with the radio rig wouldn't work.

"Damn right." The Scotsman grumbled. "Now I've got two choices- one, wait three weeks for the damn replacement part, or two, try to fix this bloody bucket of bolts on my own. I'm a mechanic, sure, but no radio mechanic."

"That sucks, man. Here, let me just-" the radio station was only missing one part, and there was a paperclip sitting on the desk in front of it. Jim had never had to make this type of fix to a station before, but he'd done enough similar ones during his life that this shouldn't be all that hard. A few twists and- there. The buzzing stopped.

Scotty's jaw dropped. "Excuse me, but how?"
Jim grinned. "Not my first radio rodeo. I used to have one of these as a kid. Spent hours out in the garage trying to get it working. Never did, but I learned a lot." And then Tarusus had come, and jury-rigging radios had become a matter of survival. Jim's feet began to itch. It was time to keep running.

"Look man, you need help again I'll give you my comm number, but I gotta get going."

"Alright, Jim. Take it easy."

For once, when Jim got back to the dorm, he slept somewhat easily.