Drowning
Title: Drowning
Rating: T
Disclaimer: Oh, if only.
Summary: Written for prompts here and here. Self-harming!Kirk helped by one of the crew.
i'm carving words in my arm, baby
hey, scars are part of my charm, maybe
i need the touch of a hand
this isn't what i had planned
--"Drowning", by Jay Brannan
His heart rate had accelerated. Jim knew because he could feel the thrumming vibration against his chest, blood pumping through his veins, arteries twitching to life as he tried to steady his breathing. His eyes wouldn’t close. He’d tried, but he couldn’t get the images out of his head.
There were mandatory classes at the Academy that he’d taken about dealing with stress and possible scenarios one might find traveling across the universe. Jim had been trained to deal with this sort of thing, but articles and books didn’t prepare him for the real thing. The real thing was terrifyingly worse.
He floated in his tub, the water that had warmed him some time ago now freezing. It wasn’t decorative, the bathroom, or his bedroom, or any other place in the small apartment he’d rented out in downtown San Francisco. It was all rather plain and… drab.
But it wasn’t home. It would never be home.
Jim’s head twitched to the side as memories flashed by. His first time off-planet and he’d lost a planet and most of a civilization. He’d watched people die, killed people, and in the name of Starfleet, no less, something he had once hated with his entire being. But a stupid dare and a sensitive subject… and three years later he’s a goddamn Captain.
He’d failed the last mission. The higher-ups had seen it as a win, but they hadn’t been there, hadn’t seen the devastation that he had caused. And for what? Because some planet didn’t want to join the Federation, wanted to fight for their independence.
And he’d had to fight back, because that’s what being a Captain means: following orders and protecting his crew.
It was easy going back to teenage addiction, too easy, and after five years he found the urge was still there, if slightly smaller and harder to find. The healing power of pain embraced him as he dyed the water pink, red ribbons curling around his body.
It had been simple, finding the razorblades. The 23rd Century, but there were still people who preferred to be shaved with leather-strap sharpened razors.
He sighed into the darkness and closed his eyes.
Peace, at last.
-
There was another fight. There was always another fight, somewhere. This one, however, he could at least claim was his own fault. He’d egged the man on, the really tall, very powerful looking man that had been drinking at the end of the bar.
So Jim ended up on the floor, on his back, with broken glass cutting into his skin. His lip was split and his nose felt broken but other than that… it was possible he’d done something to his ribcage, because he was having trouble breathing. Though it could have been the copious amounts of alcohol he’d imbibed.
He blinked and then Bones was leaning over him, cursing in that Southern accent that was almost endearing, checking Jim’s injuries and overall being exasperatingly mother hen about the whole affair.
“Bonesy,” Jim drunkenly slurred, laughing. “Bonesy, Bonesy, Bone-sy…” And then he stopped, turned to look up at Bones and sighed. “Why is sex so lonely?”
Bones gave him a drawn out look and knelt back, studying Jim. “Are you sure you’re doing it right?” He would have laughed at the wide-eyed look Jim supplied him with, but it had been a serious question, even if it wasn’t a serious reply.
“You mean there’s a right way?” And Jim was being serious again, it seemed, as he sat up on his elbows.
“Yeah, Jim - with someone else.”
Jim’s shoulders sagged. “Obviously, Bones. But, what I mean is, when does it stop being lonely? There’s all these people, all around, and they’re all alone. We’re all alone and it never stops.”
Bones was concerned and frowning, his tricorder already at hand and scanning Jim. He frowned at the results. There were wounds that were too old for the fight, too new for the last mission. They were recent, that was for sure. Slowly, he pulled up Jim’s shirts, but stopped, shocked.
“Jim, what’s this?”
There were tiny, shallow scars, tender and pink, a few seeping angry red. His breath stopped. Bones had seen cases like this - they were rare enough, but those he’d seen had been studied heavily at the behest of his teachers. Rare cases were treated almost as anomalies in class.
Jim was silent, even as Bones asked again. “I don’t know,” he finally answered, quiet and eyes downcast. “It’s supposed to take it away.”
“Take what away, Jim?”
But Jim was crying, slow tears travelling down his cheeks and he was using his hands to wipe them away but there was still glass in his skin, so as he brushed skin against skin, ground glass scraped his cheek. He hissed, pulled his hand away and looked up at Bones with wide eyes.
“I don’t know anymore, Bones. I don’t know anymore.”
Bones’ brow furrowed solemnly. “What do you mean?”
He didn’t get an answer though, because Jim was staring worriedly over the doctor’s shoulder. “Jim?”
“Captain,” a deep voice greeted behind him. “Doctor McCoy. Might I inquire what-”
Both of them were looking at Spock now, who had stopped mid-sentence, focusing intently on the scarred flesh left bare by Jim’s lifted shirt. His nostrils flared momentarily and his eyes sparked. “What is the meaning of this?” he asked fiercely.
“It’s supposed to take it away,” Jim whispered mysteriously again.
Bones shrugged. “He’s been talkin’ weird since I got here.” He stood next to Spock, kept his voice low. “I think he did it to himself. I don’t know how long, though. There are some I’ve seen that look to have been there for years.”
Jim was straightening himself out, pulled down his shirt and stood in front of them, flinching as he took glass out of his hands and back. Spock’s eyes were still on him, wondering and worried.
Back on the Enterprise, Bones did his best in bandaging Jim up and removing the glass, but he wasn’t permitted to do anything further. Before he could ask about the marks, Jim fled. Spock was hot on his heels, and cornered him in the Captain’s quarters.
“Captain-”
“I don’t know, Spock. I can’t explain it,” Jim answered quickly, moving away from the Vulcan, hands flailing before resting across his stomach. The room spanned between them, and Jim wondered what else he was going to say, something to explain it away without actually lying. Something else occurred to him then, and he hoped maybe Spock would know. “Why is sex so lonely?”
Spock shifted awkwardly. “I am unqualified to answer that question, Captain.” He paused a moment, before continuing hopefully. “I understand that sex is to benefit reproduction, however, it is also in my understanding that it is rarely used to do so.”
Jim let out a sharp bark of laughter. “You’ve got that right. It’s hard for two men to reproduce, isn’t it?”
Spock actually looked taken aback. “Two men, sir?”
Jim paused, gave Spock a disbelieving look. “Don’t tell me you’ve never heard of gay men?”
“Of course I have, sir, but I was unaware that you were…homosexual.”
There was silence in the room. “Does it bother you?”
Spock didn’t answer, choosing instead to change the subject. “You are bleeding, Jim.”
Jim started, noticed the red spots on his shirt, and cursed. The first aid kit was by the door, just behind Spock, who now held it in his hands and was moving towards Jim at a brisk pace.
“Sit,” he ordered, pushing Jim back onto the bed as Spock kneeled beside him. The alcohol stung and the peroxide fizzed but Spock was very careful, gentle with slow movements.
Spock tried not to make skin-to-skin contact as he press the bandages to Jim’s cuts, but it seemed inevitable. He felt the tears before he saw them, and Jim’s head hung low, lips quivering, fingers grasping onto Spock’s wrist.
“My stepdad,” Jim sniffled, trying to clear his throat.
“He hurt you?”
“No,” Jim shook his head, hurriedly, smiling at Spock’s concern. “He was a bit rough, but he was okay. His friend though - mom and Frank didn’t know.”
“Did not know what, Jim?” Spock questioned. His voice was low, worried, a bad feeling creeping up his spine.
“He… touched me,” his voice cracked, and he averted his eyes. “At first that’s all it was, you know. A favor in return for a favor? Or something like that. Then it got worse, and it started getting to me. I couldn’t deal, took it out on myself. And then that last mission, and Vulcan and… I’m sorry, Spock. I’m sorry.”
Spock was silent, watching Jim cave in on himself and the tears became more in plenty. He didn’t know what to do, or what reactions were permitted. Quietly, he asked, “Why?”
Jim put his hand on Spock’s neck, surprised the Vulcan didn’t flinch away. “I don’t know, but I am sorry.”
Spock put his hand on Jim’s and breathed deep. “Do not be sorry, Jim. It was not your fault.” He leaned forward, looked into the Captain’s eyes. “None of it was.”
“I wish I could believe you.”
-
Everyone on the bridge knew. Pike was on the comm., his serious face on screen over the helm informing Jim that Frank and Winona had dealt with that one man from Kirk’s past and why hadn’t he told them before?
His heart froze in his chest. Spock wasn’t present, but Bones was and he was watching Jim closely, following as they entered the lift.
“You’re going to need a few therapy sessions, Jim,” Bones told him.
Jim frowned, tried to bite back the anger that he felt rising. “I don’t need therapy, Bones. I’m not doing it.”
“Its court ordered,” Bones retorted. “Holding guilt inside isn’t good, Jim. You’re not a Vulcan.”
Jim didn’t reply, simply waited until the lift opened and then booked it for Spock’s quarters, bursting in unannounced. Spock turned around, eyebrows up in surprise.
“Captain…is there something you require?”
Jim threw himself at Spock, fist pounding into hard Vulcan chest where a human heart should be. “You told!” he yelled. “You told, goddamn you!” There were more tears and he was shaking but he didn’t stop hitting Spock.
“I am sorry, Jim,” he replied honestly. “I was… at a loss.”
Jim choked on a sob. “At a loss? That’s all you have to say? You were at a loss? What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“He was worried, Jim,” Bones said in the doorway, arms crossed. “I told Pike.”
Jim turned on him, still in Spock’s reach, and screamed. “It was a secret, Bones! I didn’t want anyone to know - why do you think I didn’t tell anyone!” He made as if to lunge for the Doctor, but there was a strong arm around his middle that prevented him from moving forward. “Let
me go, Spock!”
Jim struggled until his legs gave out, collapsing against Spock as the tears fell.
“It’s going to take some time, Jim,” Bones told him. “But you will get through this.” And then he was gone and Spock and Jim were alone.
It took awhile for Jim to calm down enough that Spock could let go of him, and even then he was still shaking. Spock sat beside him on the bed, frowning in though with one hand on the Captain’s shoulder.
“It is not lonely, Captain, if you do it right,” Spock said suddenly, completely out of the blue.
Jim blinked, trying to discern the meaning of Spock’s cryptic message, but could find none. “What?”
“Sex, Jim,” he amended. “It is not lonely if you do it right.”
Jim dismissed the comment with a wave of his hand. “Yeah, two people, I got that.”
Spock took Jim’s hand in his, held it and did not release. “It is not just physical, Jim. It is a connection of emotion and spirit. Or, if you prefer more spirituality, the joining of two souls as their bodies become one.”
There was a knot in Jim’s throat and tears in his eyes from the intensity of Spock’s gaze on him. There was heat flowing between them, electricity and soothing water. All Jim wanted to do was hug his Vulcan first officer… but he didn’t, choosing instead to hide his face in his hands.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m sorry.”
It was awkward for Spock, being in this position, but his heart soared metaphorically when Jim next spoke.
“I won’t do it again. Never again, I promise.” He looked up at Spock then with bloodshot eyes, red and puffy. “I thought I was over it, but the stress of losing Vulcan and letting so many people die - I’m sorry, Spock.”
“It was not your fault, Jim,” Spock reassured him, sliding his fingers through Kirk’s hair. It was an intimate gesture that was lost on neither of them, just as the flinch that Jim tried to hide. “As the Doctor said, it will take time to get through this, but Jim-I’m here, just as I always will be.”
For some reason, that made Jim cry even more. He was happy, and the feelings brought on by Spock’s touch made him hope that he might have that one day, that whole feeling of loving and being loved.
He would wait, though, and hope, and get better, he promised himself. He would never let another person hurt him that deeply. Spock understood, he knew.
“Thank you, Spock.”
It was a light kiss, lips pressed to lips, but the hope, the healing, remained a presence in his mouth, in his mind.
“It will be alright, Jim.”
“I hope so, Spock. I hope so.”