#i fully blame bitrek for this

[saintsurvivors]

all roads lead home

chapter one

Kirk knows.

He knows how lucky he is. To still be standing on the bridge of the Enterprise, when so many others had perished. He can see the crew, standing haggard and exhausted in the terrible aftermath.a Before this, as a crew, they would have numbered in the mid to high eight hundreds. Now, decimated as they are, they are numbered between one to three hundred, give or take.

They are the only ones left of the graduating class of Starfleet Academy.

He can’t help the way he looks at them, tired as he is. Examines the way their shoulders bend beneath the weight of their own survival, the way their faces are drawn, tired. They are bending, yes, beneath exhaustion, beneath guilt, beneath grief, beneath survival. But still, they do not break.

Kirk can only think of one other time he has been as proud as he is now.

He sighs, bites his bottom lip. Winces as it splits open again. He knows he’ll have a lot to answer for; not only from Captain Pike, but the Admiralty as well. Officially, he wasn’t supposed to be on the Enterprise, and the way McCoy smuggled him on could be classed as an act of mutiny if the Admiralty so sought to label it such.

He closes his eyes briefly, sees the gut-punch grief of all those ships, floating in their black graveyard. He turns his head from the cracked view screen, doesn’t dare close his eyes again from the too bright glare of the bridge lights, the way Chekov’s hair gleams almost luminous. By virtue of his youth, the Ensign looks unruffled, untired, but Kirk doesn’t miss the way his hands tremble at his console, the way he’s slowly listing in his chair.

He looks sideways, catches sight of Spock. See’s the way the Vulcan is stretched too thin, shoulders taut beneath his shirt. Catches the way he’s leaning ever so subtly in Uhura’s direction, how Uhura leans back to him. 

He bites his lip, feel the phantom pain of hands around his throat, the five fingered gut punch of a mind invading his own, slick like oil. His twice broken hand pains him as his fingers curl around the dataPADD. Feels the guilt swirling in his gut.

He’s done enough today, he thinks. Done enough breaking and smashing. He just wants to sleep.

He’s so tired, he thinks. Bone weary, and aching. Adrenaline slowly fading from his veins as his body slowly gets the message that the crisis is finally, finally over.

He wants to lie down, stretch his body out, but he doesn’t have a bed. By virtue of being smuggled aboard, he hasn’t been given one; and he’s uncomfortable about sleeping in the Captain’s Quarters. Maybe he can sleep in the ready room just off of the bridge.

But the thought of going to sleep, of letting himself slip off into oblivion is as much a gift as it sounds like a burden. Perhaps that’s why he’s still standing, feeling that dull ache of guilt, of pain in the back of his mind. Compartmentalization has always come easy to him, too easy sometimes.

But now, all his body wants is sleep.

But he can’t. The ship, the crew need him. Need him like they need stability because right now he is the only thing that’s been left standing in the ruins that Nero and the Narada has left them in.

He sighs, returns his gazes to the dataPADD. He signs off on the report from Engineering about the damages they’ve got. The loss of the warp core may be the biggest damage yet, but it isn’t by far the most debilitating. He digs his palms into his eyes, hard enough to see stars, then dearly regrets it as his left socket protests angrily.

There’s still so much left to do. It’s never ending.

He sighs again, shifts in his chair, winces as his shirt sticks to both his chair and skin, pulling uncomfortably. He signs off on another itinerary coming in from Biosciences, before turning back to the casualty reports that keep coming in, adding names upon names upon names.

He doesn’t know how long he sits there, reading through them all, penning condolence letters on another dataPADD balanced on his aching knee. All he knows is that he hurts, bone deep, and his eyes throb with exhaustion, but he still can’t sleep.

Vaguely, he remembers an old terran saying his mother was always quoting; I can sleep when I’m dead.

It’s never been truer. He just wants to sleep, but how can he when so many are dead or missing?

He thinks of Gaila, with her fire red hair and grinning eyes, so excited to be on the Farragut. Thinks of Uhura and her now empty dorm room. Of Spock, with his decimated planet. Of the Starfleet graduating class; he wonders just how many people are really left.

“Kirk,” Uhura says, and Kirk turns to her. “Admiral Archer is on the comm for you,”

Kirk closes his eyes briefly, knuckles his eyes again, thankful for the bite of pain. 

“Thanks, Lieutenant, patch it over to the ready room,” He gets up, staggers for just a moment as his vision goes white. He blinks, Uhura is looking at him with uncharacteristic concern.

“Alright, Captain?” She says, and something like pride blooms inside his belly. That word again, Captain. 

It makes him both seem bigger than life and smaller than anything. It makes him want to hold his head high and do all he can for his crew. Too bad he probably won’t keep the title.

“I’m fine, Lieutenant,” Kirk says. “Hopefully, this won’t take too long,”

“If you say so, Kirk,” She says, and she turns back, ponytail swinging. 

“Mr. Spock,” Kirk says. “Would you like to accompany me?” Spock turns, raises an eyebrow.

“It is your prerogative,” He pauses, then. “Captain,”

“You’re First Officer, Spock,” Kirk just says instead of rising to the bait. He’s just too tired, and he already knows what’s awaiting him. “You should be there,”

“Of course,” Spock says.

It’s exhausting just trying to walk to the ready room, and when he gets in there, he’s grateful there’s chairs. Spock sits gracefully next to him, not a hair out of place but his fingers are clenched tight on his thighs; the only outward sign of his emotional turmoil.

“Patching it through now, Kirk,” Uhura’s voice comes over the comms. 

“Thank you, Uhura,” Kirk murmurs, resists the urge to rub the bridge of his nose like he wants to. His head is pounding, a combination of lack of oxygen, adrenaline, too little food.

“Admiral,” Kirk says, and he and Spock salute as Archer’s face blooms across the screen.

“Well hell,” Archer says after a moment. “You look like absolute shit, lad,”

Kirk laughs, then grimaces. He takes a deep breath, feels the piercing ache of what he knows is broken ribs.

“It’s been a helluva of a day, Sir,” Kirk says.

“I imagine, Kirk,” Admiral Archer says dryly. “Especially since you’re a grounded cadet and somehow ended up as Captain of the Starfleet Flagship,”

“I understand that it’s unorthodox, Sir-,” Kirk starts to say, then bites his tongue. Archer is one of the Admirals he actually likes, knows that Archer is a friend of Pike’s.

“I don’t think unorthodox is quite the word there, son,” Archer tells him, but there’s something like amusement in his face. Spock is quiet next to him, but the steady presence of him is enough for Kirk to relax, though he makes sure to keep Spock’s hands in full view of himself. 

“Anyway,” Archer continues. “I didn’t comm you just to ream you out, son, this is just to get a sitrep on the shitshow you’ve got yourself into,”

Kirk doesn’t laugh, feels his shoulders go rigid. But he knows Archer doesn’t mean it how it sounds.

“Well, Admiral, it’s not good,” Kirk confesses. On screen, Archer hums, the top of  dataPADD just in view as he scrolls through what must be the signed off reports Kirk’s sent to Starfleet Command. “We’ve got no warp core, just impulse, which means it’s going to take almost a month to get back to Earth starbase, our casualty list is still climbing; we’re still not sure if people are actually dead on board, or missing in the black,”

“Shit,” Archer sighs, peers at them both of the top of the PADD in his hands. “Sounds like a right mess, son. I’ll see what I can do about getting a tow, the USS Yorktown is close by and has the medical capabilities that you’ll require, especially since the reports show that medical took some damage. Now, tell me what in fresh hell caused you to eject your warp core?”

Kirk winces. This isn’t going to be pretty.

---

“Well,” Kirk says, two hours after. “I’m glad that’s over,”

“Indeed,” Spock says. He’s still stiff, shoulders still taut. Kirk sighs. 

“I’m sure the others have rotated onto Beta Shift,” He says. “Why don’t you go and get some food and some rest?”

“Negative, Captain,” Spock says. Kirk thinks he’s determined to be difficult. “As a Vulcan, I am able to last far longer than a human on little sleep and with little sustenance-,”

“That,” Kirk overrides. “Does not mean you should,” Spock’s mouth goes flat.

“Captain, I assure you,” Spock starts.

“You can assure me all you like, Spock,” Kirk says. “Doesn’t mean I’m not making it an order for you and the rest of the bridge crew - if they haven’t already  - to be knocked out of rotation for at least eighteen hours for food and rest,”

“And yourself?” Spock fairly demands.

Kirk blinks, looks up from the dataPADD he’s compiled his notes from Archer’s comm onto, alongside the running list of casualty names. 

“Me?” He blinks almost owlishly.

“Surely, Captain, you would benefit from rest and sustenance just as much as I,” Spock doesn’t even blink, just looks down at Kirk with a blank facial expression from where he’s standing by the ready room door.

“I will, Spock,” Kirk says.

“Of course,” Spock says, as if he can sense Kirk’s bullshit a mile away.

Kirk watches him closely, opens his mouth, closes it again. Then,

“Spock, I would just-What I’m trying to-,” He takes a deep breath, hopes he gets this right. “I grieve with thee,”

Spock’s face goes even blanker, shoulders tightening even more. 

“Thank you,” He says, somewhat haltingly. “For the sentiment, Captain,” With that, he does an about face, and leave abruptly. Kirk sighs. 

He rolls his shoulders back, immediately regrets it. He should really go to Medbay, he knows, wants his own comfort right now. But McCoy is still in Medbay, probably swamped by injuries and casualties and Kirk can’t take his attention from the crew members that need his help more than Kirk.

It’s better this way, he thinks.

He thinks of sleeping, then remembers again he doesn’t have a room. He sighs deeply, tries to stand.

His vision goes white, and he staggers into the table, hissing a breath as his ribs hit the side of it. 

“Shit,” He hisses. Shakes his head to get rid of the fuzz clouding his brain.

He manages to stagger to the door of the ready room, makes a point to get himself steady before passing through. Just as he thought.

Alpha Shift is still in their seats, all of them turned towards him. He sighs. 

“Alright, everybody,” He starts. “As of now, Beta shift is taking over, I want to you off rotation for at least eighteen hours, and you best go get some food and some sleep,”

“Kirk,” Surprisingly, it’s Uhura who steps forward, face twisted into an expression he’s never seen before on her. She’s almost stricken.

“Lieutenant,” He says to her. He looks at her, and her face smooths out. “Get some food, get some rest, you all deserve it,” 

“Yes sir,” There’s surprisingly little protests, but Kirk watches how tired they look, how they move so much slower. He watches as Uhura moves to stand closer to Spock, his fingers brushing just slightly against her and the way they relax into one another. They’re good for each other, Kirk thinks. He’s glad.

He watches them all slowly trickle from the bridge, Beta shift filtering in around them. Chekov and Sulu are leaning against one another in a camaraderie that they hadn’t had before; Kirk supposes that nothing breeds trust and brotherhood like a crisis they’ve just faced.

“Kirk,” Uhura calls him back just as he makes way back into his ready room. “Maybe you should head to Medbay?”

I will, Lieutenant,” Kirk says, lies. “Just after I’ve finished these reports,”

“Uh huh,” Uhura says, as much as a bullshit detector as Spock. She and Spock turn to leave, still just in touching distance. Kirk watches them wistfully. What he’d do for McCoy to be here.

When, at last, the last of the bridge crew is gone and Beta is settled in, Kirk heads into the ready room, sits on the chair he was before, and immerses himself in his dataPADDS.

He’s not quite sure when oblivion rises around him, only that he lists to the side in the middle of reading through Pike’s medical report that’s been sent to him.