Chapter Text
“Environmental controls for decks 3-6 are—”
“—reach maintenance. There’s simply no response.”
“—Updates from medbay have—”
“Multiple collapses throughout—”
They were falling apart. They had managed to defeat Nero and escape the singularity only to have the Enterprise fall apart around them. And Jim couldn’t find a way to fix it. Systems were blinking out one-by-one. It started with inconsequential things: lights flickering on deck six, temperature regulation in personal quarters, etc. However, problems kept popping up—stacking atop one another—and they were getting more serious by the minute. Communications with medbay and a large chunk of the ship were down. There were reports of crewmembers collapsing throughout the ship. They were out about a third of the remaining crew, which was already down about a hundred members. They didn't have enough people to maintain systems, much less fix this new wave of problems. Not to mention, the auxiliary power was having trouble connecting to the fucking life support! They were losing crew, systems, and everyone was looking to him to solve everything. He’d evacuate the ship, but auxillary power couldn't maintain life support and power the launch equipment simultaneously (a serious design flaw Jim would address if they made it out of this mess).
Jim tried to delegate and solve and hold it together, but nothing was working and no one knew what the hell was going on! The problems were endless and his crew kept bringing him more and more issues. He didn't know what to do. He needed to know what to do because they were all looking to him with such desperation. But he didn't know what to do! And they just kept talking and expecting him to just know. He was sure the overlapping, overwhelming voices would drown him when—
Spock’s voice cut through the panic. “Lieutenant, send the locations of each crewmember collapse to my station.”
Jim bolted to Spock’s side. Please, let him have a solution. They’d be dead within the hour at this rate. They needed a solution. "Tell me you've got something, Spock."
Spock pulled up an image of the ship and began feeding the locations of the incidents into it. Each incident showed up as a red dot. They appeared widely scattered, random, at first. Nevertheless, as dot after dot popped up, a pattern emerged. It was a ring of sorts: on the edge of the ring, dots began far-spread, scattered. As they approached the center, the density increased until the dots stopped altogether around—
“It would appear the origin of the incidents is concentrated in sickbay.”
Jim’s blood ran cold. They couldn’t handle this right now! They couldn’t deal with any mysterious phenomenon or attack, much less one in sickbay. His hand reached for his communicator, but Spock grabbed his wrist. He seemed to immediately think better of it because he quickly released Jim again. “Pardon, Captain, but I believe I know the origin of this phenomenon.”
“Mr. Spock, if you know what’s happening to my ship, I need to be informed. Now.”
Instead of explaining, Spock pulled out his own communicator and flipped it open. “Spock to Sarek.”
Jim’s brow furrowed.
“Spock, are you aware of the incident in sickbay?”
“Indeed. I assume the origin is the pushau.”
“Correct. We are conferencing on how to handle them.”
“Understood.” Spock closed his communicator and turned back to Jim. “The situation is being handled by the most qualified individuals available.”
Alarms blared around them. People were screaming at each other. Jim resisted the urge to snap. “That’s not enough, Spock. I need to be informed about any and all threats to my ship.”
“Apologies, Captain,” Spock said without a trace of remorse. “This is a matter of privacy among Vulcans.”
“That doesn’t—!” he took a deep breath and continued in a controlled voice, “Everyone’s safety is in danger, Mr. Spock. It’s logical to keep me informed since it’s my job to keep this ship safe.”
Spock raised a brow. “I highly doubt anyone could do more than the surviving Vulcan elders.”
That’s it! “Computer, locate Ambassador Sarek.”
“Ambassador Sarek is in conference room 3F.”
“Mr. Sulu, you have the conn.” Jim gave Spock a challenging glare and was met with one in return. Spock would no doubt deny that it was a glare. But it was. He just had a way of glaring with the barest hint of a hurricane of emotion. “Mr. Spock, you may accompany me—as this is a Vulcan matter—or you can continue to man your station.”
Spock followed wordlessly.
****
They ran the whole way, which left Jim panting breathlessly when they barged into the conference room. A group of five withered Vulcans, ranging from mildly wrinkled to complete prune, sat around the conference table. Sarek stood to the side. They stopped their conversations and looked up at the two officers with blank faces.
Sarek spoke first. “Spock, I thought it was understood that I and the elders would resolve the incident.”
Spock opened his mouth, but Jim beat him to it. “Ambassador, this ship is barely holding together. We need every hand we can get, and this incident has taken out at least a hundred of my crew. I would respect your right to privacy if my ship wasn’t on the brink of disaster. Either you tell me what’s going on or I’ll walk into sickbay to see for myself.”
The Vulcan at the head of the table—a woman of regal bearing who wore her hair in a crown-like style—responded instead of Sarek. She looked vaguely familiar, but Jim couldn’t place her. “That would be most unwise, Captain.”
“More unwise than not sharing pertinent information about our safety?”
Another elder interjected. “There is nought you can do, Captain. Unless you are a telepath, you cannot defeat this problem.”
“I. Don’t. Care. I have a right, no, a responsibility, to know what could kill us.” Jim made sure to look at each and every elder. They all needed to see the fire in his eyes. “Besides, it’s illogical to assume no one can help since you don’t know the extent of our resources and experience. You're just being proud.”
Many of the Vulcans, including Spock, opened their mouths to argue, but the head elder raised her hand for silence. She gave Jim an assessing stare, which he returned without blinking. “You are correct, Captain Kirk. As you are aware, the Vulcan race has been through a devastating tragedy. Though we are proficient in disciplines of the mind, there is turmoil within us all. Some are more affected than others.”
The other Vulcans shifted uncomfortably.
The pieces clicked together in Jim’s mind. “It’s a Vulcan.”
“Affirmative. In particularly unordered minds, our race has been known to project their emotional state. This is especially true in events of trauma.”
“What can be done?”
The Vulcans looked at each other in a knowing way Jim immediately hated. “Someone must subdue the affected. Ideally, one with telepathic abilities would do so; however, we are not certain any surviving Vulcan could accomplish such a feat. We are similarly affected by the trauma, and our shields are not guaranteed to hold. If they do not, we could contribute to the issue.”
It takes less than a second for Jim to come to the decision. “Does it have to be someone with telepathy?”
“A non-telepathic individual does not have the defenses for such an assault. They would experience the projection in its entirety.”
He could handle that. “But I wouldn’t make things worse if I failed.” Jim looks the head elder in the eye and asked again, “Is it possible?”
Though her face did not break its stony expression, Jim thought he heard a hint of respect in her voice. “It is not outside the realm of possibility.”
“Good enough for me.” Jim turned to Spock. “I need you to gather every remaining person with engineering qualifications to begin repairs the moment the situation improves.” Jim notices a first aid kit embedded in the wall, which sparks another idea. He rips it open and takes a hypo. “There are first aid kits spread throughout the Enterprise. They each have small amounts of sedative. I'll take one to knock out our problem Vulcan, but, if the situation doesn’t improve in 15 minutes, I want you to filter the sedative from the remaining kits into the air supply. Hopefully, it won’t come to that because then you’ll be out a hundred men for a couple hours instead of a couple minutes.”
“Captain, this is most—”
“Illogical, yeah, but it’ll work.”
“It is dangerous, and you cannot be certain of your plan's success.”
“Well, it's the best shot we have, Commander. Get to work.” Jim turned to face sickbay. He took a deep breath and charged.
****
It wasn’t so bad at first. He didn't even notice the first of the small waves of negative emotion that lapped at the edge of his mind. It barely got his mental feet wet, so he could barrel on without missing a step. But each step he took led to bigger and bigger waves until he noticed the emotions dragging at his mind and feet like a current.
Jim kept pushing forward. He pushed harder to dive deeper into this agony, picking up speed. The more he felt, the harder he pushed. This wouldn't drown him. He wouldn't let it. He took the pain and sadness pulling him down and turned it into anger. Into determination. This would not be the current to pull him under. Not when others would come down with him.
He ran past many crewmembers. They seemed mostly unaffected at first, but that didn't last long. The reactions were varied, and they worsened with proximity to sickbay. Some continued to work although tears streamed down their faces. Some curled up into balls on the floor. Some screamed. Some just stared blankly at nothing.
Jim kept moving.
He kept moving until he ran through the sickbay doors. He skidded to a halt just inside the entrance and cast a glance around the room. Sobbing and cries of agony filled the bay, from patients and doctors alike. Some of the medical staff were completely incapacitated, sobbing on the floor. However, most were on their feet treating their patients even if it was through the tears. Among them was Bones.
Jim bolted to him. “Bones! Where’s the Vulcan?”
Bones was slowly, carefully running a scanner over a patient. His hands were trembling. He was taking deep breaths. Tears ran freely down his face. But he managed to breathe out “Room 3.”
And Jim was off again: dashing around equipment and leaping over doctors passed out on the floor.
He was almost there. He could save his crew! He gripped the sedative hypo in his hand tightly as he opened the door to room 3.
And he stopped.
This was. It couldn't. No.
Whatever Jim may have expected to find, it wasn't this. Though it made sense if you thought about it. What kind of Vulcans would be the most vulnerable? The most incapable of processing tragedy? The ones with the least mental discipline?
On top of a biobed, curled into each other like kittens, were two kids. They couldn’t be more than 5 years old. Despite the overwhelming waves of sadness they projected, their sobs were quiet. It wasn't like the cries of most kids: to get attention or help. They were crying because they couldn't help it.
Jim was reminded of a different group of children from years before, crying softly together in the woods. They’d clung to each other like that. They'd clung desperately to one another because they were all that was left. Because their world had been destroyed too. By famine and a mad man, but it was just as irrevocably lost as Vulcan.
Without a second thought, Jim tossed the hypo aside.
He clambered onto the bed and pulled the Vulcans into his lap.
Immediately, he was lost. He was no longer Jim. He was one with the Vulcans he held. Their pain was overwhelming. They had never felt anything like it. It weighed on their chest and made it hard to breathe. They could only get gasps of breath at a time, and they tasted of snot and tears. The tears blinded them. They could not see past the evidence of their grief. The tears burned tracks down their face. Their whole face, whole head was uncomfortably warm. And it pounded. Why did grief hurt so much? Why did their body have to punish them in their misery?
For a moment—a minute? An hour?—Jim couldn’t separate himself from their feelings. They were him. He was them. The tragedy of two lived in three bodies. All was gone. Home was gone, mother was gone, all was gone.
These thoughts allowed Jim to mentally pull away from the others. Home? Mother? Jim thought. He didn't have a home. He'd never known his mother. He couldn't lose what he didn't have. Then, it came back. Jim resurfaced: he knew where he was, who he was. But he was still being overwhelmed. These kids were still out of control.
Think! He needed a solution. His crew needed a solution. His crew needed him to think of a solution. He was needed. He needed.
Jim needed to breathe. He was hyperventilating, and he needed to breathe. So, with the skill of someone who's used to centering during a crisis. He forced himself to take deep breaths. In and out. In and out. He sucked air in and blew it out. In. Out. Iiiiiin. Oooout. Iiiiiiiiiiiiiin. Ooooouuuuut. Iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiin. Oooooooooouuuuuuut.
As Jim calmed his breathing, he noticed a change occurred in the little Vulcans: their breaths, which had been coming in little huffs between sobs, became calmer too. They were affecting Jim, but he was affecting them too. Maybe, if he could calm down, they would calm down too.
Alright, he could do this. He had calmed himself before. Granted, he'd only been doing it purposefully for a couple years, but it was possible. He just had to focus.
He just had to focus on feeling calm. Or safe. Or happy. He needed to focus on—
The stars from the roof of the farmhouse peeking through the sky as the light faded.
He and Sam cuddled under a blanket. It was too warm, but Jim couldn't give up the closeness. They whispered stories to each other all night.
The smell of the fields that hid his tiny body from view.. The symphony of crickets and bees and frogs that hid the sound of his breath. He'd lay in them for hours.
He's staring out the window of a shuttle. The endless universe is just a window away. And staring into it makes him feel small. It makes him feel whole.
He's sitting at a table with people who don't yell. Even when he's bad. Even when they should.
Years pass and he's in a bar and his face aches and, somehow, the man sitting across from him believes in him. He's been a screw-up for so long. No one’s believed in him for so long. And that belief sparks hope. He follows that man. Pike. Pike believes in him. Pike gets him into interesting classes, defends him even when he doesn’t ask for it. Pike believes, so Jim believes a bit too.
He’s at Starfleet, and he's met a man who’s a doctor. Who’s a roommate. Who’s a friend. He slaps Jim on the back. He pours Jim a drink. He pulls Jim into a hug. Despite all the protests and trouble, he takes care of Jim. Bones is good. Bones is safe. Bones is the only doctor Jim wants.
Ko-mekh prepares the morning meal. Its savory scent wafts around the room. The sunlight illuminates her like a spotlight as she sings over the food. “It is practice,” she says when they ask her why she sings. “I am capable of singing and cooking simultaneously. This is efficient, and it is logical to use one’s time efficiently.”
When the memory that wasn't his ended, Jim looked down at the mini-Vulcans in his lap. Their eyes still shimmered with unshed tears, but their breathing was calm. And their collective grief no longer threatened to drown Jim's psyche. Instead, they gazed up at Jim shyly, expectantly.
Jim’s voice was rough: wrecked from all the crying. “That was beautiful. Do you want to share more?”
And then, he was pulled into another memory.