Shore Leave

By Alone Dreaming

Rating: PG or K+ for language and anguish

Disclaimer: I don't know Star Trek. If I did, this would not be posted under fan fiction.

Warnings: Minor Language and emotional trauma

Author's Note: Just an unhappy little tidbit born of severe insomnia and general displeasure about life, the universe… everything. Enjoy with the knowledge that my errors are mine.

Here they are, on Earth again, shore leave just minutes away and he has no idea what he's going to do. For days, everyone else has talked about the relatives they intend to visit, the places they want to see and the shopping they want to do. Plans have been made and people contacted and the whole ship has been abuzz with excitement. Yes, most of his crew loves their jobs and he does his best to create a good work atmosphere but everyone needs a break at some point. And most of them, he knows, spend their time in the recreation room free coming up with ideas for every moment of leave. Spock, he has to smile a bit when he thinks about it, would say that doing things when one is to be resting is a paradox, not to mention counterproductive. But even his logical first mate has things to do tagged with the insistence that he is not weary and New Vulcan will need as much assistance as possible.

The only person who has no laundry list of things to do is him. He, James T. Kirk, steps off the shuttle, stares at the blue sky and begins to countdown the time until he's back in the safety of his ship. Around him, others are jumping into the arms of family members, slapping old friends on the back or rushing off to catch the next shuttle home. Even Bones, grumpy and tired, smiles when Johanna's face appears in the crowd of visitors. He watches the doctor step forward tentatively, his one arm bound in a sling from their latest misadventure, and Johanna leap the last few paces between them to hug her father tightly. Then he looks away to give Bones some privacy because he knows this is the first time Johanna's been affectionate in years.

What is he supposed to do? There is no one here waiting for him as Sam is on another planet-- not as though they've spoken for years anyway-- and his mother's with his stepfather. He had long since given up the lease on his shack in Iowa and his dorm room has been handed over to someone else. All he has at the moment is his bag of clothing and toiletries and some credits to spend. He knows that there are people in his crew that do not have family to visit or homes to go to. They, for the most part, decided on glamorous trips to blow their money on, some of them accompanying each other in order to make the time more interesting. He could do something like that, go to a place he's always wanted to visit and waste the few credits he's made. Hell, he's even been invited to go to the Scarian colony with a few of his crew members. But that lacks appeal. He can't figure out why.

He has two weeks, six days, twenty three hours, forty five minutes and a handful of seconds before he can once again settle down in his quarters and breath a sigh of relief. Two weeks, six days, twenty three hours, forty five minutes and a handful of seconds to burn before someone will let him take a vacation from his vacation. He wonders if he can just stand here until then, waiting like a dog waiting for its master. After all, the Enterprise is his lady and he, her never failing servant; and that's what he likes being. Here, on the ground, he feels empty, an intruder on other people's attachments, a man completely separated from what is supposedly meaningful. He's a shell of a person with no direction just like he was half a decade ago when Pike asked him why he was such a screw up.

To his right, Uhura and Spock are speaking and he observes tenderness he didn't think the Vulcan capable of. Spock leans forward, presses his hands against either side of Uhura's face and kisses her on the lips. It's a kiss Kirk's never been able to give a girl, a kiss that's a promise, a spark, that's passionate, demanding, accepting but above all, is completely non-lustful. He thinks it may be love that he's witnessing. Spock pulls back slowly, presses another kiss on her forehead and strides away. He does not look back to take in what Kirk notices-- Uhura's whole face is glowing. He turns away from this before Uhura can note he watched, feeling very odd. How can it be that someone who supposedly keeps all emotions at bay has the ability to love like that?

He hates this time of the year, he decides, as Chekhov greets his mother and father, Russian spouting out of all their mouths in a friendly, twisting fashion. Everyone here has something to return to or, at least, something to hold onto. This is a reminder for him that all he has here are bad memories, a few vicious ex-girlfriends and a broken family. This is the time where he gets to realize that he is married to the job. This is when he really, really wishes that he was someone else with attachments. And he intensely dislikes the want to be anyone but himself. Overall, he likes who he is, accepts his faults and strengths in one happy bundle; any situation that makes him feel deficient is one he prefers to avoid.

A group of Ensigns waves goodbye to him and he returns the gesture with as much enthusiasm as he can force out of his body. They are some of the last people to leave. Bones has already departed with Johanna, Scotty is somewhere, with someone, doing something but the man's an enigma so there's no telling as to where, who or what, Sulu's caught a flight home to see his family, Uhura's on cloud nine and undoubtedly on her way to see her kin as well, Chekhov's safe in the arms of his parents and he, James Kirk, is alone. Again. Naturally.

"Why doesn't it surprise me to find you still here?" a familiar, somewhat assuring voice inquires. Rhetorical, of course, but he answers it in a fashion.

"A captain makes sure his crew's safe before he joins the revelry."

The sound of wheels moving over the ground and the whirring of a tiny engine approach from his left. "Of course, because a captain's never really off duty."

His lips turn up at the edges. "Never really, sir."

Pike pulls up next to him, looking tired and old. "How are you feeling, Kirk?"

"All right. What about you?" He lies but the truth is not one he ever intends on discussing with this man. This man is his savior, his hero, his mentor, his conscience, his sturdy kick in the ass and his biggest supporter all in one. Yes, he would listen to a rant of how unhappy Kirk and he would probably even provide comfort. But when someone is all of those things in one, so many important persons, you cannot dare to show silly weaknesses. Kirk isn't much for emotional breakdowns, so it's okay not to confide in Pike. It doesn't make him feel better, it doesn't make him any more likely to leave this spot, but at least it's something dependable. He knows who he is and he knows who Pike is. It's a point of stability.

"Sick and tired and sick and tired of it," Pike answers, brutally honest. "And surprised that you aren't a bit exhausted yourself. I read about your last two missions, Kirk. They're talking about medals of honor for you and members of your crew."

He shifts his bag. "They deserve it. They're an excellent crew."

"You deserve it," Pike adds. "From every perspective, you're an excellent captain." There's a silent praise in there, a wordless pat on the back. It says, 'I knew you would be' and 'Great job, kid.'. "You've earned this break, certainly."

"Right," he agrees, hollowly. He doubts he will find any rest here. "Of course."

"Do you have any plans?" Pike asks, falling into small talk because Kirk's not really helping the conversation along. He feels a bit guilty for it-- usually, the two of them can speak for hours in debate or in regaling tales-- but he simply doesn't have the heart right now.

"No, not really," he replies, moving his bag from his shoulder to the ground.

Pike looks surprised. "The playboy and troublemaker of Starfleet has no plans for three weeks worth of shore leave? I find that difficult to believe."

Two weeks, six days, twenty three hours, thirty minutes and an odd handful of seconds, he corrects silently. "Well, we all grow up, right? I think I might just find a place to bunk and--" And what? Catch up on rest? He never sleeps well in new places which means at least a week of restless nights before he'll be able to shut his eyes for more than a few hours. In the end, he'll be more exhausted upon his return than he was on his departure.

"It's hard, isn't it?" Pike says when Kirk doesn't finish.

He lets himself actually turn towards Pike for the first time since the conversation began. "What?"

"Being away from her," Pike clarifies. "It's hard to know what to do when you aren't sitting in the chair."

He flinches a bit and swallows hard. "Yes," he rasps out. "Yes, it is."

"I'd like to tell you it gets easier as time passes," Pike continues. "But it won't. Especially for someone like you. You've sold your soul to her, Kirk. She has you forever. Don't be egotistical and think you are the first or naïve and think you are the last. We all go through it, especially those of us without some sort of reality to turn to when we get back." I understand, this means. And Kirk wonders if the Admiral is in hell all the time now that he's ground, eternally burning in a way that he only has to suffer for two weeks, six days, twenty three hours, twenty minutes and a handful of seconds.

"I don't think I can move from this spot," he tells the Admiral. "Do you think they could just erect a shelter around me and leave me here?"

Pike laughs a little. "I suppose we could though I think finding real lodgings would be a better use of resources and time."

There's a question he's burning to ask, something that will make this all the more bearable for him. Pike reads his mind before the words leave his mouth and crushes his hope with gentle words. "No, Jim, you can't go back up. Find something to do for your shore leave. Go clubbing. Go see a castle. Find a new bar to crash. Visit your mother. Go hunting. Camp out under the stars instead of amongst them. Just find something that's away from her. It hurts but even we addicts need a break or there's nothing left of us. Even if you love her, she'll wear you down to nothing over time and you're too good of a man to lose to the grind of captaincy."

They've never had a relationship where they cry on each other's shoulders. Kirk's never had a connection like that with anyone and doesn't intend to ever start one. They are honest with each other which is twice as hard and much, much more meaningful. Pike gives him advice, gives him direction, and most of the time, he listens. But right now, the words are harsh and he cannot find it in him to obey. He shoves his hands into his pockets and stares straight ahead, trying to figure out how he can sneak back on board his vessel. He has two weeks, six days, twenty three hours, ten minutes and a handful of seconds to plot and execute; and if he does not succeed, he still gets what he wants in the end. This is far more reasonable than drinking himself senseless in a new bar, pining in a castle or moping in a club. He's not going to have a lot of meaningless sex this way, or wake up in a cell for disorderly conduct, or throw himself off said ancient building. Going back to Iowa isn't even a passing thought because even though his mother's there, his family isn't. His family, he realizes now, is scattered about the globe enjoying themselves. The love of his life is hovering at a port miles above his head.

He stoops to pick up his pack and then stops. Pike's still there; he can feel the piercing stare on the side of his head. Which way will he walk in order to hide the fact that he's going back up? Does he go into the Academy under the pretense of doing research? Does he pretend to look for a shuttle so he can go to Iowa? Is it already obvious to Pike that he has no intention of relaxing? He doesn't dare catch the other man's gaze because that will give everything away. Two people in the world can see through any mask he puts on and this man is one of them. Damn him.

"Made your decision yet?" Pike's hands are crossed in his lap and Kirk makes sure to focus on those.

"No." And it's honest because he hasn't made a decision of where he's going before hopping a shuttle with the repair crews. He's not even sure if he's going to steal a uniform and play pretend or if he'll surreptitiously lodge himself in with the food.

The word is enough. Pike's voice holds a warning now. "Kirk--"

"Sir?"

"It's a week before they start restock and repairs," Pike informs him, as though it's an offhand fact that he ought to share. But Kirk knows he's doing the strange mind reading, I know you far too well bullshit.

He pretends not to be aware of it. "Really?" And as casually as possible, "That seems like a late start." His chest hurts a bit and he cannot figure out why.

"There's two ships before yours and your crew has the longest leave," Pike explained, keeping up the pretense. A hand grasps his wrist, forcing him to lock eyes. Pike stops the game. "Find a way to ground yourself, Jim. Get yourself a home away from home. Contact me when you've settled in."

"Right," he says. "Whatever you say, sir."

He has six days, twenty three hours, five minutes and a handful of seconds before he can go home. But, as he watches Pike's retreat and snags his bag, he thinks he's lucky to at least be able to go back. Someday he could be like Pike, grounded forever, stuck somewhere that isn't out in the stars. That would be the ultimate condemnation, the ultimate form of living death. For him, that would be a life not worth living. Maybe Pike has found a way to make it bearable; maybe he's discovered a secret to fighting the anxiety. Maybe someday, he'll share it with his prodigy. But right now, his insistence of finding a way to deal is not enough for Kirk. He needs more than that. There has to be something else than empty distractions. He has his bag over his shoulder again and jerks his head sharply to clear his mind of such things. Luckily, he's only got his six days, twenty three hours and a handful of seconds.

Even so, he's not sure he'll make it.