Beyond Darkness Chapter 2/?
Title: Beyond the Darkness (2/?)
Rating: PG-13 (this chapter - may go up)
Characters/Pairing: Ensemble
Disclaimer: Characters and canon belong to Paramount, Roddenberry, Abrams and many others but not me. All rights reserved. No copyright infringement intended and no profit is made by the author.
A collection of vignettes centered in, around and after the events of Star Trek Into Darkness told in no particular order.
It is rather for us to be here dedicated to the great task remaining before us - that from these honored dead we take increased devotion to that cause for which they gave the last full measure of devotion - that we here highly resolve that these dead shall not have died in vain.
“It is not logical to push yourself so soon.” Hands folded neatly behind his back, Spock watches with concerned disapproval from his post in one corner of the room.
‘I do not believe the Admiral would wish you to jeopardize your recovery in this manner, Captain.”
Jim Kirk closes his eyes, his mouth thinning with irritation at the Vulcan’s cool reasoning. He leans against the hospital bed, astonished by the exhaustion he feels from the simple act of threading a belt around the waistband of his pants to keep them from sliding off suddenly thin hips.
Rising from her perch in a visitor’s chair, Uhura aims a hushing look in Spock’s direction and approaches her captain.
“He’s just worried,” she reminds Jim. “And he’s right.”
Jim nods and scrubs his hands over his face.
“I have to be there.” It is a simple matter for Jim and he will not be swayed.
“I know.” Her dark eyes are warm with sympathetic understanding. “So, if you insist on going, you have our support - both literally and figuratively.”
She helps him into the uniform jacket. He grunts in frustration as his shaky fingers fumble with the tight closure at the neck.
“Chin up,” she orders and brushes his clumsy fingers aside to take over the job herself. She swallows at this evidence of his lingering frailty and reminds herself that he is improving every day. Reminds herself of the miraculous fact that he is alive.
She pastes a smile on her face and meets his grateful gaze.
“There you go.”
She stands back and gives him an assessing look. Like Spock and her, he is wearing his dress grays. She brushes away an imaginary bit of lint and straightens one of the rank insignias glimmering on the shoulder boards of his uniform. She grabs the hem of his jacket and gives it a little tug. Stepping back, she gives him a brilliant smile.
“You look perfect,” she declares, ignoring the way the uniform hangs on his too thin frame.
A noise at the door has them all turning their heads to see Leonard McCoy standing behind a wheelchair. Permitting Jim to leave the hospital - even if only for a few hours - goes against McCoy’s medical instincts. But he believes that forbidding Jim to attend Pike’s memorial service would do more harm to his friends’ recovery than good.
“Bones.” Jim eyes the chair unhappily. “Do I really…”
“Hospital rules.” McCoy tells him, though not unkindly.
While McCoy had been fighting to save Jim’s life, countless funeral services had been held for the civilians and Starfleet personnel who had been lost in the destruction wreaked by Kahn. A grand memorial - attended by the Federation president, the surviving top brass and dignitaries from all corners of the Federation - had been held by Starfleet to honor all the service personnel who had lost their lives.
Today’s service is a smaller, private memorial held for Christopher Pike to be attended by family, close friends and colleagues.
McCoy understands that this will be the first funeral service Jim has attended since the attack and it will be the first time he appears in public since that terrible day a month earlier. He knows that there has been a great deal of speculation regarding Jim’s actions to save the Enterprise and her crew and that many interested eyes will be following his every move this day.
“Look,” McCoy says as he pushes the chair further into the room, understanding pride and the importance of appearance to Jim. “Do what I say and save your energy until we get there.” He braces a hand under Jim’s elbow and shares a concerned look with Spock when the captain collapses into the chair with a poorly concealed sigh of relief.
McCoy squats in front of the wheelchair.
“You know this goes against my better judgment,” he says as he peers up at his friend. “I’ll let you walk when we get there, but if I think you look like you’re about to keel over, you’re going back in the chair.”
Kirk nods wearily, knowing this is the best concession he is likely to get from the doctor.
///
The Pike family has requested and received permission to hold the memorial service at the Academy chapel. Following Spock’s instructions, their driver maneuvers as close to the entrance as possible.
“You ready?” Uhura lays a hand on Kirk’s and gives it a reassuring squeeze before stepping out of the car to join Spock on the sidewalk.
Kirk takes several deep breaths and calls upon the same stubborn strength which allowed him to keep climbing to the top of the warp core housing even as he was dying. He steps out of the car and squints, unused to the sun’s brilliance after weeks of hospitalization.
His three companions fall into place around him and the brim of his cap shields his face from the worst of the prying gazes as he makes his way into the memorial service.
Despite its moniker, the chapel has no formal religious affiliation or service schedule and is, instead, used by cadets as a place of quiet contemplation, meditation or prayer.
Upon entering the chapel, Kirk is uncomfortably aware that many of those gathered have taken note of his arrival. Some nod in friendly encouragement, others watch with open curiosity, wondering how many of the whispered stories are true.
Calling on every shred of pride and dignity he possesses, he draws his spine erect and squares his shoulders as he begins to proceed toward the front of the chapel where the family is receiving condolences.
It does not take long before he questions the wisdom of attending. He can feel the tension radiating off Bones and is aware of Uhura and Spock hovering close by while trying to pretend for the benefit of others that all is normal. Tiny beads of sweat dot his hairline and his legs are weak with exhaustion. He bears down, terrified of making a fool of himself in the midst of this assemblage.
A man approaches from behind and greets Kirk and his party.
“You won’t mind allowing an old man to cut into the line with you, will you, Kirk?” Jonathan Archer asks with a half-smile on his face.
“Of course, not Admiral.”
The elderly man takes note of the lines of exhaustion bracketing the young captain’s mouth.
“I hear the Enterprise is in a bad way.” He holds Kirk in place with small talk designed to give the other man a chance to catch his breath and retain his dignity.
“She took a beating, Sir, but we’ll put her to rights again.”
The admiral lays a hand on the younger man’s arm. Feeling the fine tremors coursing through his frame, Archer can’t help but think that the ship and her captain have a long road to recovery ahead.
“Some things cannot be rushed.” His voice takes on a meaningful edge. “Take the time you need to be sure everything is shipshape before you head back out there.”
“Yes, sir.” Kirk acknowledges the other man’s pointed look. He glances over his shoulder at his three companions who are watching and listening with unabashed interest.
“I’m fairly sure I won’t be given much of a choice to do otherwise,” he says with a rueful smirk.
The admiral grins and tucks his hand companionably into the crook of Kirk’s elbow.
“Keep an old man company.” He begins forward, deliberately slowing his pace to accommodate Kirk’s, and acknowledges McCoy’s grateful look with a quick nod.
“It’s a sad business,” Archer sighs as he looks at the gathered mourners. “I’ve been to too many of these already and there are more yet to come.” He shakes his head. “They asked me to sit on the committee to design a memorial for the fallen.”
“That we here highly resolve that these dead shall not have died in vain,” Kirk murmurs softly.
Archer gives him a sharp-eyed look and nods.
“Centuries later and we’re still dedicating war memorials.” His chest rises and falls on a long sigh. He pats a hand on the younger man’s arm and releases it as he steps away to pay his respects to Pike’s family.
Jim shakes hands and offers his own condolences to various members of the Pike family. At the far end of the receiving line, he is greeted by a distinguished looking middle-aged man with graying hair at the temples and laugh lines framing the faded blue of his eyes. A lump rises in Kirk’s throat at the familiarity of the face.
“Michael Pike.” The man introduces himself. “I’m Chris’s younger brother. And you’re Jim.”
Kirk holds out a hand and finds it engulfed in the other man’s warm grip.
He clears his throat.
“I’m sorry for your loss, sir.” The words are trite, but the tone is heartfelt.
Michael leans forward.
“And yours,” he says acknowledging the special bond between his brother and the younger man. “My brother spoke of you often with great fondness.”
Surprised, Jim raises tear-washed eyes to meet the older man’s.
“The Admiral was a great man,” he says formally. “I will miss him more than I can ever say.”
Michael takes in the paleness of the young captain’s face and the trembling of the fingers still sandwiched between his own.
“We’re going to begin the service soon,” he says. “Why don’t you take a seat?”
He indicates an area at the front of the chapel where other family members are already seated.
“Oh. No sir,” Jim protests. “It’s not my place.”
Michael cocks his head to one side. Though he privately disagrees, he recognizes Kirk’s reluctance and acquiesces.
“Okay. But don’t run off after. I’d like to speak with you.”
Kirk is struck by the similarity of Michael Pike’s voice to his brother’s and he blinks, nodding in agreement before taking a step back. He waits while Spock, Uhura and McCoy murmur their own condolences to the Admiral’s brother.
Jim settles into a seat with Uhura on one side and Bones on the other. He lowers his head between his shoulders as the memorial service gets under way. And he remembers.
/////
There is a small reception after the service and Jim sits in a corner under McCoy’s watchful eye. Bones wants nothing more than to get his friend back to the hospital and if he wasn’t so exhausted, Jim would be amused by the doctor’s poor efforts at concealing his agitation.
“I’m sorry to keep you waiting.”
Jim starts to rise from his chair at the sound of Michael Pike’s voice but the older man waves him back into his seat.
“Would you mind?” He looks at the others. “I’d like a word in private with your captain.”
The others stand and begin to move away.
“As soon as you’re done here, Jim…” McCoy tips his head toward the door and Jim nods in agreement.
Michael Pike watches the others walk away.
“They’re worried about you.”
“Yes.” There’s no point in trying to deny it.
“And with good reason.”
Michael notes the increased pallor of Kirk’s skin and the dark circles bruising the skin beneath his eyes.
“It’s been a long day for all of us,” he says with the same directness that had been a hallmark of his brother’s speech. “So I won’t keep you long.”
“I’m glad to stay as long as you need me, sir.”
Michael reaches into the pocket of his suit jacket and pulls something out. “I found this while I was going through Chris’s things.”
“What is it?” Jim leans forward to study a silver medallion dangling from a chain held between the older man’s fingers. He can make out the image of a bearded man holding a small child in the worn metal.
“It’s a St. Christopher’s medal.” Michael gathers the necklace into the palm of his hand and studies the object closely. He raises his gaze to meet Kirk’s and smiles at the confusion on the younger man’s face.
“For centuries, my mother’s family identified as being Roman Catholic,” Michael explains. “Though the family no longer practices the faith, some of the traditions have continued on.” He shrugs. “St. Christopher is the patron saint of travelers,” he tells Kirk. “I think she liked the idea of appealing to a higher power to keep Chris safe on his journeys. This medallion has been in the family for generations and she gave it to him the day he left for the Academy.”
He sees a spasm of pain cross Kirk’s face.
“And, of course, given the name, I’m sure it seemed fitting to her.” He smiles to lighten the moment and Kirk forces a smile in return.
“I’d like you to have it now.” Michael extends the hand holding the medal to Jim and the younger man rears back in dismay.
“I couldn’t,” he protests vehemently. “It was a gift from your mother!” He shakes his head. “It’s an heirloom. Don’t you think the Admiral would want it to stay in the family?”
Michael leans forward and captures one of Jim’s hands in his own. He pries open the tightly clenched fist and pours the medallion and chain into his palm. Jim’s fingers curl instinctively, protectively over the glinting silver.
Michael lays a hand on the younger man’s shoulder.
“Yes,” he says softly. “I do. So take it, son. It’s yours.”
Rating: PG-13 (this chapter - may go up)
Characters/Pairing: Ensemble
Disclaimer: Characters and canon belong to Paramount, Roddenberry, Abrams and many others but not me. All rights reserved. No copyright infringement intended and no profit is made by the author.
A collection of vignettes centered in, around and after the events of Star Trek Into Darkness told in no particular order.
It is rather for us to be here dedicated to the great task remaining before us - that from these honored dead we take increased devotion to that cause for which they gave the last full measure of devotion - that we here highly resolve that these dead shall not have died in vain.
- The Gettysburg Address, Abraham Lincoln
“It is not logical to push yourself so soon.” Hands folded neatly behind his back, Spock watches with concerned disapproval from his post in one corner of the room.
‘I do not believe the Admiral would wish you to jeopardize your recovery in this manner, Captain.”
Jim Kirk closes his eyes, his mouth thinning with irritation at the Vulcan’s cool reasoning. He leans against the hospital bed, astonished by the exhaustion he feels from the simple act of threading a belt around the waistband of his pants to keep them from sliding off suddenly thin hips.
Rising from her perch in a visitor’s chair, Uhura aims a hushing look in Spock’s direction and approaches her captain.
“He’s just worried,” she reminds Jim. “And he’s right.”
Jim nods and scrubs his hands over his face.
“I have to be there.” It is a simple matter for Jim and he will not be swayed.
“I know.” Her dark eyes are warm with sympathetic understanding. “So, if you insist on going, you have our support - both literally and figuratively.”
She helps him into the uniform jacket. He grunts in frustration as his shaky fingers fumble with the tight closure at the neck.
“Chin up,” she orders and brushes his clumsy fingers aside to take over the job herself. She swallows at this evidence of his lingering frailty and reminds herself that he is improving every day. Reminds herself of the miraculous fact that he is alive.
She pastes a smile on her face and meets his grateful gaze.
“There you go.”
She stands back and gives him an assessing look. Like Spock and her, he is wearing his dress grays. She brushes away an imaginary bit of lint and straightens one of the rank insignias glimmering on the shoulder boards of his uniform. She grabs the hem of his jacket and gives it a little tug. Stepping back, she gives him a brilliant smile.
“You look perfect,” she declares, ignoring the way the uniform hangs on his too thin frame.
A noise at the door has them all turning their heads to see Leonard McCoy standing behind a wheelchair. Permitting Jim to leave the hospital - even if only for a few hours - goes against McCoy’s medical instincts. But he believes that forbidding Jim to attend Pike’s memorial service would do more harm to his friends’ recovery than good.
“Bones.” Jim eyes the chair unhappily. “Do I really…”
“Hospital rules.” McCoy tells him, though not unkindly.
While McCoy had been fighting to save Jim’s life, countless funeral services had been held for the civilians and Starfleet personnel who had been lost in the destruction wreaked by Kahn. A grand memorial - attended by the Federation president, the surviving top brass and dignitaries from all corners of the Federation - had been held by Starfleet to honor all the service personnel who had lost their lives.
Today’s service is a smaller, private memorial held for Christopher Pike to be attended by family, close friends and colleagues.
McCoy understands that this will be the first funeral service Jim has attended since the attack and it will be the first time he appears in public since that terrible day a month earlier. He knows that there has been a great deal of speculation regarding Jim’s actions to save the Enterprise and her crew and that many interested eyes will be following his every move this day.
“Look,” McCoy says as he pushes the chair further into the room, understanding pride and the importance of appearance to Jim. “Do what I say and save your energy until we get there.” He braces a hand under Jim’s elbow and shares a concerned look with Spock when the captain collapses into the chair with a poorly concealed sigh of relief.
McCoy squats in front of the wheelchair.
“You know this goes against my better judgment,” he says as he peers up at his friend. “I’ll let you walk when we get there, but if I think you look like you’re about to keel over, you’re going back in the chair.”
Kirk nods wearily, knowing this is the best concession he is likely to get from the doctor.
///
The Pike family has requested and received permission to hold the memorial service at the Academy chapel. Following Spock’s instructions, their driver maneuvers as close to the entrance as possible.
“You ready?” Uhura lays a hand on Kirk’s and gives it a reassuring squeeze before stepping out of the car to join Spock on the sidewalk.
Kirk takes several deep breaths and calls upon the same stubborn strength which allowed him to keep climbing to the top of the warp core housing even as he was dying. He steps out of the car and squints, unused to the sun’s brilliance after weeks of hospitalization.
His three companions fall into place around him and the brim of his cap shields his face from the worst of the prying gazes as he makes his way into the memorial service.
Despite its moniker, the chapel has no formal religious affiliation or service schedule and is, instead, used by cadets as a place of quiet contemplation, meditation or prayer.
Upon entering the chapel, Kirk is uncomfortably aware that many of those gathered have taken note of his arrival. Some nod in friendly encouragement, others watch with open curiosity, wondering how many of the whispered stories are true.
Calling on every shred of pride and dignity he possesses, he draws his spine erect and squares his shoulders as he begins to proceed toward the front of the chapel where the family is receiving condolences.
It does not take long before he questions the wisdom of attending. He can feel the tension radiating off Bones and is aware of Uhura and Spock hovering close by while trying to pretend for the benefit of others that all is normal. Tiny beads of sweat dot his hairline and his legs are weak with exhaustion. He bears down, terrified of making a fool of himself in the midst of this assemblage.
A man approaches from behind and greets Kirk and his party.
“You won’t mind allowing an old man to cut into the line with you, will you, Kirk?” Jonathan Archer asks with a half-smile on his face.
“Of course, not Admiral.”
The elderly man takes note of the lines of exhaustion bracketing the young captain’s mouth.
“I hear the Enterprise is in a bad way.” He holds Kirk in place with small talk designed to give the other man a chance to catch his breath and retain his dignity.
“She took a beating, Sir, but we’ll put her to rights again.”
The admiral lays a hand on the younger man’s arm. Feeling the fine tremors coursing through his frame, Archer can’t help but think that the ship and her captain have a long road to recovery ahead.
“Some things cannot be rushed.” His voice takes on a meaningful edge. “Take the time you need to be sure everything is shipshape before you head back out there.”
“Yes, sir.” Kirk acknowledges the other man’s pointed look. He glances over his shoulder at his three companions who are watching and listening with unabashed interest.
“I’m fairly sure I won’t be given much of a choice to do otherwise,” he says with a rueful smirk.
The admiral grins and tucks his hand companionably into the crook of Kirk’s elbow.
“Keep an old man company.” He begins forward, deliberately slowing his pace to accommodate Kirk’s, and acknowledges McCoy’s grateful look with a quick nod.
“It’s a sad business,” Archer sighs as he looks at the gathered mourners. “I’ve been to too many of these already and there are more yet to come.” He shakes his head. “They asked me to sit on the committee to design a memorial for the fallen.”
“That we here highly resolve that these dead shall not have died in vain,” Kirk murmurs softly.
Archer gives him a sharp-eyed look and nods.
“Centuries later and we’re still dedicating war memorials.” His chest rises and falls on a long sigh. He pats a hand on the younger man’s arm and releases it as he steps away to pay his respects to Pike’s family.
Jim shakes hands and offers his own condolences to various members of the Pike family. At the far end of the receiving line, he is greeted by a distinguished looking middle-aged man with graying hair at the temples and laugh lines framing the faded blue of his eyes. A lump rises in Kirk’s throat at the familiarity of the face.
“Michael Pike.” The man introduces himself. “I’m Chris’s younger brother. And you’re Jim.”
Kirk holds out a hand and finds it engulfed in the other man’s warm grip.
He clears his throat.
“I’m sorry for your loss, sir.” The words are trite, but the tone is heartfelt.
Michael leans forward.
“And yours,” he says acknowledging the special bond between his brother and the younger man. “My brother spoke of you often with great fondness.”
Surprised, Jim raises tear-washed eyes to meet the older man’s.
“The Admiral was a great man,” he says formally. “I will miss him more than I can ever say.”
Michael takes in the paleness of the young captain’s face and the trembling of the fingers still sandwiched between his own.
“We’re going to begin the service soon,” he says. “Why don’t you take a seat?”
He indicates an area at the front of the chapel where other family members are already seated.
“Oh. No sir,” Jim protests. “It’s not my place.”
Michael cocks his head to one side. Though he privately disagrees, he recognizes Kirk’s reluctance and acquiesces.
“Okay. But don’t run off after. I’d like to speak with you.”
Kirk is struck by the similarity of Michael Pike’s voice to his brother’s and he blinks, nodding in agreement before taking a step back. He waits while Spock, Uhura and McCoy murmur their own condolences to the Admiral’s brother.
Jim settles into a seat with Uhura on one side and Bones on the other. He lowers his head between his shoulders as the memorial service gets under way. And he remembers.
/////
There is a small reception after the service and Jim sits in a corner under McCoy’s watchful eye. Bones wants nothing more than to get his friend back to the hospital and if he wasn’t so exhausted, Jim would be amused by the doctor’s poor efforts at concealing his agitation.
“I’m sorry to keep you waiting.”
Jim starts to rise from his chair at the sound of Michael Pike’s voice but the older man waves him back into his seat.
“Would you mind?” He looks at the others. “I’d like a word in private with your captain.”
The others stand and begin to move away.
“As soon as you’re done here, Jim…” McCoy tips his head toward the door and Jim nods in agreement.
Michael Pike watches the others walk away.
“They’re worried about you.”
“Yes.” There’s no point in trying to deny it.
“And with good reason.”
Michael notes the increased pallor of Kirk’s skin and the dark circles bruising the skin beneath his eyes.
“It’s been a long day for all of us,” he says with the same directness that had been a hallmark of his brother’s speech. “So I won’t keep you long.”
“I’m glad to stay as long as you need me, sir.”
Michael reaches into the pocket of his suit jacket and pulls something out. “I found this while I was going through Chris’s things.”
“What is it?” Jim leans forward to study a silver medallion dangling from a chain held between the older man’s fingers. He can make out the image of a bearded man holding a small child in the worn metal.
“It’s a St. Christopher’s medal.” Michael gathers the necklace into the palm of his hand and studies the object closely. He raises his gaze to meet Kirk’s and smiles at the confusion on the younger man’s face.
“For centuries, my mother’s family identified as being Roman Catholic,” Michael explains. “Though the family no longer practices the faith, some of the traditions have continued on.” He shrugs. “St. Christopher is the patron saint of travelers,” he tells Kirk. “I think she liked the idea of appealing to a higher power to keep Chris safe on his journeys. This medallion has been in the family for generations and she gave it to him the day he left for the Academy.”
He sees a spasm of pain cross Kirk’s face.
“And, of course, given the name, I’m sure it seemed fitting to her.” He smiles to lighten the moment and Kirk forces a smile in return.
“I’d like you to have it now.” Michael extends the hand holding the medal to Jim and the younger man rears back in dismay.
“I couldn’t,” he protests vehemently. “It was a gift from your mother!” He shakes his head. “It’s an heirloom. Don’t you think the Admiral would want it to stay in the family?”
Michael leans forward and captures one of Jim’s hands in his own. He pries open the tightly clenched fist and pours the medallion and chain into his palm. Jim’s fingers curl instinctively, protectively over the glinting silver.
Michael lays a hand on the younger man’s shoulder.
“Yes,” he says softly. “I do. So take it, son. It’s yours.”