don't call it a comeback.
Jun. 20th, 2013 04:53 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
commandgoldIt was a long two weeks.
What people didn't realize, what Jim shouted and cried and tried to get out, was that he was there the whole time. Eyes closed, but this had been his crew and he knew their voices from the first syllable. He could hear Bones' murmurs, Angela's sobs. The underlying emotion in Spock's calm tones showed itself clearer than it ever had, moreso than when they'd lost Amanda, moreso than when captain and first officer talked over the full effects and consequences of two Spocks in one universe, Jim irreversibly connected to both in both anger and gratitude. He was never really dead, and the connection to his lost crew grew stronger the longer he was unable to reach out to them.
There were minor problems getting the Enterprise back on course to the Sol system, he heard over the system comms. The damned things came through even to sickbay. Even dead, he got no rest from being captain. The beaker Mira dropped in the lab when she heard the news spread a flesh-eating bile to everyone within two decks. That was when things got worse. The beds around him crowded up, and Jim heard his crew in pain. He was unable to do anything at all, and it was the worst part of the whole damned trip. Pike dying cut into his soul, tore open a part of him he didn't think he'd ever let build up, but this - this cut it right in half. Being helpless was never Jim Kirk's strong suit.
The longer he was under, the more time he spent going over their faces in his head. The sounds of their voices, their laughs. The twinkle they got in their eyes in the command rec center, drinking Andorian whiskey and listening to 21st century Earth music. The private jokes the crew had shared in their first few years together replayed on constant loop. The weight of everyone's grief rested on his shoulders as he heard them at his bedside, some praying, some (Bones) cursing, some just breathing softly, their eyes like phaser beams on his face. A daring ensign tried to rest a hand on his cheek, once, fingers brushing over his lips and Jim would've laughed if he could, until she got chased away by a McCoy angrier than Jim had ever known him to be.
The worst part, though, was when the guilt set in. Jim allowed himself a week of no guilt, of reassurances that yes, he'd left them all, but he'd done it so that they could live and thrive and continue boldly going. He'd given no thought to the way life on the ship would change without his surprise parties or on-comm jokes, but the longer he was under, the less sure his crew was that he would ever wake up and the loneliness in the voices became more and more apparent. He just couldn't keep the guilt at bay anymore. They were returning to Earth with less hope than they'd had a week before, and it was his fault.
Whether he'd meant to or not, he'd let them all down. His crew. The family he'd taken into his heart and mind, the love he'd finally been able to fill his life with, they'd given it all to him without a second thought and he'd let every last one of them down. They were dumb to trust you in the first place, farm boy. Doubt creeped into his mind in a way he was wholly unfamiliar with. You made these people think they could trust you then you abandoned your commitment. The Enterprise will sail without someone who loves her in the chair. The crew could disband the second its nacelles power down. Spock and Uhura will get assigned to different ships, Bones will be stuck in deep space without someone to keep him calm on the observation deck, Angela will turn her twinkling eyes on other people and surely, somewhere, an older-school captain will question how a woman with that smile and those hips was ever allowed so much access to a starship's weapons systems. They will never be seperately what you all were together, and it's your own damn fault for messing up. For leaping without thinking, for not considering them.
You broke their hearts, Jim. It was your job to look after them and you let them all down and if you ever wake up from this mess, they'll never forgive you.
-
A week and a half in, the dreams started to take him. He gave into the guilt and gave up, retreated farther into his mind and away from the life he'd been clinging to. His crew was never going to take him back, Starfleet would never give him his ship back. Not after what he pulled. That was when he let himself go. He lived other missions he'd never get to go on, dreamed up new life forms he'd never get to see, to touch, to learn about. Girls with shining gold skin and a single rounded point for toes, like ballet slippers that would never come off, men with high cheekbones who carried their organs on their backs. A whole planet designed after the 20th century gangster films he could (at this point, only vaugely) remember discovering on old film. Crew members standing where they shouldn't on the science deck and gaining unimaginable powers. Legends of ancient civilizations living on in worlds that didn't make sense. It all spun and swirled around him in a realm of possibility, then turned to darkness when he was cruelly reminded that he'd taken that possibility away.
Two weeks later, and it was too much. He was running; this wasn't a dream, it was a memory, re-lived. There were men and women running after him, painted white and wrapped in the finest yellow silks, screaming a language he wished Uhura was there to make some sense of, and they were catching up. There was no Enterprise in sight, Spock was stuck in a volcano, and the plan that seemed so easy, so flawless, was crashing down. Of course it was. It was an insane plan. You're as unfit for command as you were the day I pulled you off the floor, a farmboy with fantasies of saving the universe, hopes too high for your station, a familiar voice echoed through his mind. The older, tired face he associated with it became Bones', young and angry, as they reached the end of the cliff. Jim jumped, and this time Bones didn't follow him. You left us, kid, came the Southern drawl from the heights rapidly rising above him. You left us and we'll never get you back, and I'm letting you go.
Jim braced himself for the water to swallow him up, his heart shattered into a million pieces, and for the last time, tried to wrench his eyes open, to see his girl sitting beautiful under the water before he went down with her.
-
Bones was staring back, all in white. An angel. He could see the lights, the panels of glass and bright colors and it took a minute of heavy blinking for it all to come back into focus. No. Not an angel. He was in sickbay, back on his ship where he belonged, still only half-sure he wasn't dreaming. The tingling of the tricorder swept across his chest reading his vitals felt real, though. He couldn't speak.
"Don't try, kid. You've been out two weeks, it'll take a bit for that mouth of yours to start back up again. Cant' say we haven't enjoyed the break down here," but the relief in Bones' voice gave him away. It only took minutes for his crew to rush his bedside, Bones snapping angrily at everyone to give Jim his space. He didn't want it. Two weeks of convincing himself they'd never forgive him, and here they were, glad to have him back, overwhelming him with the familiar joy of being surrounded by family.
The wait was over. He was home.
What people didn't realize, what Jim shouted and cried and tried to get out, was that he was there the whole time. Eyes closed, but this had been his crew and he knew their voices from the first syllable. He could hear Bones' murmurs, Angela's sobs. The underlying emotion in Spock's calm tones showed itself clearer than it ever had, moreso than when they'd lost Amanda, moreso than when captain and first officer talked over the full effects and consequences of two Spocks in one universe, Jim irreversibly connected to both in both anger and gratitude. He was never really dead, and the connection to his lost crew grew stronger the longer he was unable to reach out to them.
There were minor problems getting the Enterprise back on course to the Sol system, he heard over the system comms. The damned things came through even to sickbay. Even dead, he got no rest from being captain. The beaker Mira dropped in the lab when she heard the news spread a flesh-eating bile to everyone within two decks. That was when things got worse. The beds around him crowded up, and Jim heard his crew in pain. He was unable to do anything at all, and it was the worst part of the whole damned trip. Pike dying cut into his soul, tore open a part of him he didn't think he'd ever let build up, but this - this cut it right in half. Being helpless was never Jim Kirk's strong suit.
The longer he was under, the more time he spent going over their faces in his head. The sounds of their voices, their laughs. The twinkle they got in their eyes in the command rec center, drinking Andorian whiskey and listening to 21st century Earth music. The private jokes the crew had shared in their first few years together replayed on constant loop. The weight of everyone's grief rested on his shoulders as he heard them at his bedside, some praying, some (Bones) cursing, some just breathing softly, their eyes like phaser beams on his face. A daring ensign tried to rest a hand on his cheek, once, fingers brushing over his lips and Jim would've laughed if he could, until she got chased away by a McCoy angrier than Jim had ever known him to be.
The worst part, though, was when the guilt set in. Jim allowed himself a week of no guilt, of reassurances that yes, he'd left them all, but he'd done it so that they could live and thrive and continue boldly going. He'd given no thought to the way life on the ship would change without his surprise parties or on-comm jokes, but the longer he was under, the less sure his crew was that he would ever wake up and the loneliness in the voices became more and more apparent. He just couldn't keep the guilt at bay anymore. They were returning to Earth with less hope than they'd had a week before, and it was his fault.
Whether he'd meant to or not, he'd let them all down. His crew. The family he'd taken into his heart and mind, the love he'd finally been able to fill his life with, they'd given it all to him without a second thought and he'd let every last one of them down. They were dumb to trust you in the first place, farm boy. Doubt creeped into his mind in a way he was wholly unfamiliar with. You made these people think they could trust you then you abandoned your commitment. The Enterprise will sail without someone who loves her in the chair. The crew could disband the second its nacelles power down. Spock and Uhura will get assigned to different ships, Bones will be stuck in deep space without someone to keep him calm on the observation deck, Angela will turn her twinkling eyes on other people and surely, somewhere, an older-school captain will question how a woman with that smile and those hips was ever allowed so much access to a starship's weapons systems. They will never be seperately what you all were together, and it's your own damn fault for messing up. For leaping without thinking, for not considering them.
You broke their hearts, Jim. It was your job to look after them and you let them all down and if you ever wake up from this mess, they'll never forgive you.
-
A week and a half in, the dreams started to take him. He gave into the guilt and gave up, retreated farther into his mind and away from the life he'd been clinging to. His crew was never going to take him back, Starfleet would never give him his ship back. Not after what he pulled. That was when he let himself go. He lived other missions he'd never get to go on, dreamed up new life forms he'd never get to see, to touch, to learn about. Girls with shining gold skin and a single rounded point for toes, like ballet slippers that would never come off, men with high cheekbones who carried their organs on their backs. A whole planet designed after the 20th century gangster films he could (at this point, only vaugely) remember discovering on old film. Crew members standing where they shouldn't on the science deck and gaining unimaginable powers. Legends of ancient civilizations living on in worlds that didn't make sense. It all spun and swirled around him in a realm of possibility, then turned to darkness when he was cruelly reminded that he'd taken that possibility away.
Two weeks later, and it was too much. He was running; this wasn't a dream, it was a memory, re-lived. There were men and women running after him, painted white and wrapped in the finest yellow silks, screaming a language he wished Uhura was there to make some sense of, and they were catching up. There was no Enterprise in sight, Spock was stuck in a volcano, and the plan that seemed so easy, so flawless, was crashing down. Of course it was. It was an insane plan. You're as unfit for command as you were the day I pulled you off the floor, a farmboy with fantasies of saving the universe, hopes too high for your station, a familiar voice echoed through his mind. The older, tired face he associated with it became Bones', young and angry, as they reached the end of the cliff. Jim jumped, and this time Bones didn't follow him. You left us, kid, came the Southern drawl from the heights rapidly rising above him. You left us and we'll never get you back, and I'm letting you go.
Jim braced himself for the water to swallow him up, his heart shattered into a million pieces, and for the last time, tried to wrench his eyes open, to see his girl sitting beautiful under the water before he went down with her.
-
Bones was staring back, all in white. An angel. He could see the lights, the panels of glass and bright colors and it took a minute of heavy blinking for it all to come back into focus. No. Not an angel. He was in sickbay, back on his ship where he belonged, still only half-sure he wasn't dreaming. The tingling of the tricorder swept across his chest reading his vitals felt real, though. He couldn't speak.
"Don't try, kid. You've been out two weeks, it'll take a bit for that mouth of yours to start back up again. Cant' say we haven't enjoyed the break down here," but the relief in Bones' voice gave him away. It only took minutes for his crew to rush his bedside, Bones snapping angrily at everyone to give Jim his space. He didn't want it. Two weeks of convincing himself they'd never forgive him, and here they were, glad to have him back, overwhelming him with the familiar joy of being surrounded by family.
The wait was over. He was home.
