#Bones realizes it's not their Jim because mirror Jim has scars their Jim doesn't have

[beauty-grace-outer-space]

I have absolutely no motivation to write (even though I open my WIP docs every single day and stare at them for like an hour) so here, have this beginning of a draft that was supposed to be my NANOWRIMO 2018 project. 

“Inside every black hole that collapses may lie the seeds of a new expanding universe.” 

― Sir Martin Rees

Jim never truly got used to the feeling of still warm blood, clotting and drying against his skin as the vessel grew cold beneath his hands, their chest sunken and still and their eyes open and unseeing. He hoped he never did. 

With a swift tug, he pulled the knife from the flesh, the serrated edge catching on muscle and bone until it finally slid free with a wet, dull sound. The hilt was slick against his palm. The wound gushed fresh blood, dark and acrid, as the cork stoppering it was removed. 

With a tilt of his head, he extended a stained hand and lowered the eyelids of the deceased, closing them to the world forever. He turned his own gaze to the stars above, incanting a silent prayer for the dead as he knelt. 

Rising slowly from his crouch over the corpse, he wiped the blade clean on his trousers before resheathing it against his calf. He would tend to it properly later. 

The blood gathered, dark beneath his fingernails. 

What, will these hands ne'er be clean?

A contemptuous smile crept across his face as he stared at the stains on his skin. At times, he felt they seeped to his very soul.

He seized his communicator, flipping it open and pressing the call button. 

“Kirk to Enterprise.” 

“Captain. Am I to assume that this communication means you were successful?” 

With a glance at the body, he replied, “Affirmative, Mr. Spock.” 

“Locking on to your signal now, sir.” 

Energize.

_______________________________________________________________

Spock stood at attention behind the panel of controls in the transporter room, half-interestedly watching Mr. Scott at his task of attempting to beam the captain back aboard following his negotiations with the Berilian council. They had agreed readily to join the Federation, and Jim’s final task has been a simple one: obtain their signatures on a treaty avowing their claim that they would never again wage war against a nearby Federation settlement. Having not been at war in several earth years, they were entirely willing. The meeting had been brief and the captain had requested beam up a mere hour after descending to the planet’s surface, assuring them of his success in their last transmission. 

“Bloody electrical storm--” Mr. Scott muttered angrily as he adjusted the controls yet again. 

Spock turned to him, critically eyeing the computations on screen and the curiously empty transporter pad. “Difficulties, Mr. Scott?” 

The engineer looked up from his duties, a sheepish expression crossing his face as he realized he had been overheard. “Apologies, Mr. Spock… this storm-- the electrical currents are interfering with the dematerialization. If I cannae lock onto his signal more firmly--” 

“Do you require assistance?” 

Mr. Scott shook his head, “No, I dinnae think so-- I just need to-- there!” With a victorious crow he slammed his hand against the button to energize. The transporter pad whirred to life, particles swirling through the air before reforming to reveal their captain. 

Their captain with blood staining his shirt. 

“Jim!” Scott cried in alarm, as Spock simultaneously moved forward to assist and ascertain any injury. 

“Captain--” he began, already reaching for his communicator to summon the doctor if necessary. 

He was not anticipating for the captain to step swiftly out of his reach and to command, voice steely and eyes hard, “As you were, Commander.” 

Spock was not often taken by surprise, but he found that he had no response to the unexpected words and unusually cold tone with which they were spoken. After several moments of silence, he found his voice and began again, “Captain, I merely wished to establish the source of your injury. Given the blood on your sleeve, I assumed-- perhaps wrongfully-- that--” 

“Exactly, Mr. Spock,” Jim replied, stepping forward dangerously, his forehead nearly touching Spock’s, his eyes narrowed. Then, gritting out each word, he repeated: “As you were, Commander.” 

Mr. Scott, hovering uncomfortably at the control panel as he watched the abnormally hostile interaction between the two, cleared his throat. 

“Em-- ‘scuse me for butting in,” he said, “but Captain, you’re wanted on the bridge.”

The captain’s gaze shifted to the Scotsman, his posture relaxing slightly as he removed himself from Spock’s personal space. “Thank you, Mr. Scott,” he replied flatly before returning his gaze to Spock expectantly. 

Spock stepped aside. 

Jim squared his shoulders and made his way from the room, the doors closing behind him and leaving the remaining officers in stunned silence. 

“I thought you said things went alright down there,” Mr. Scott said incredulously. 

Spock met his eye with concern. “It would appear I was mistaken.” 

________________________________________________________________

When Uhura summoned him to the bridge, quietly and with the distinct tone of someone hoping not to be overheard, Len knew that there were only two options awaiting him when he arrived. 

The fact that she hadn’t come straight out and told him who it was narrowed his options down. So either: 

1. Spock had gone and done something stupid and gotten himself sick or injured somehow, but was being a stubborn ass about it, thus leaving Nyota-- sometimes the only one among them with any sense-- to bring it to his attention at Jim’s request, because she was much better at the batting of eyelashes and feigning of innocence than their captain was on his best day and there was less chance of Spock holding a grudge. 

or

2. Jim had gone and done something stupid and gotten himself sick or injured somehow, but was being a stubborn ass about it, and Spock and Uhura had exchanged enough worried glances across their stations that the communications officer had taken matters into her own hands, because batting of eyelashes aside she could knock Kirk sideways into next week and they all knew it. 

She hadn’t sounded particularly urgent, just concerned, which both sparked his curiosity and set him at ease. Had anyone been in any true danger, he would have been informed. Just the same, he quickly gathered up his medkit and made his way to the turbolift and up the levels to the bridge. 

Stepping out of the lift he scanned the bridge, gaze sweeping across each station. Nothing seemed out of the norm, aside from the fact that Spock wasn’t at his post. Feeling eyes on him, he met Nyota’s concerned stare, tilting his chin towards the science station questioningly. She shook her head minutely in reply, her own chin jutting swiftly toward the captain’s chair to their left. 

Damnit, what had the kid gone and done now? 

Jim’s familiar dirty blond hair and gold adorned collar were visible over the straight edged back of the chair. He didn’t appear to be in any visible distress; the lines of his shoulders were sharp but not rigid-- alert, but not tense. Of course he couldn’t be sure without doing a full examination, but so far nothing was ringing any alarm bells for Len. 

Which of course raised a red flag all on its own. 

He raised a questioning eyebrow back at Uhura, silently asking her to clue him in on why she had secretly called him up here if everything was fine, when Jim spoke. 

“Doctor McCoy,” he called without turning around or in any other way acknowledging Len’s presence, sending Chekov and Sulu turning in their own chairs, startled. “What brings you to the bridge?”

Doctor McCoy? Sure, Jim called him that occasionally-- when professionalism called for them to stumble through introductions without having to awkwardly explain the moniker the kid had adopted for him immediately after meeting in all their booze soaked and blood stained glory-- but rarely; and nothing indicated that the situation called for it. So either Jim was aware of something he wasn’t, or the kid was royally pissed off. 

Neither boded well for them. 

“Thought I’d come make sure you were still in one peace after the negotiations,” he replied with just enough snark to provoke Jim’s usual easy banter with him. 

Jim, however, didn’t rise to the bait. Without any further preamble, he asked, “Who called you up here?” 

Len blinked uneasily. Jim had never been one for placing blame, and that wasn’t a question he had ever asked of Len before, at least not in that tone. Running his tongue over his lower lip he rocked back on his heels and replied, sure to keep his tone neutral, “Can’t see how that’s any of your business.” 

Jim was out of his seat in an instant. Anger plain in his expression, he turned to face Len for the first time since he had arrived, giving Len a clear view of the rusty patches of drying blood on his command tunic-- the obvious reason that Uhura had summoned him, the captain’s odd behavior notwithstanding. 

“Jim,” he began, shocked, “there’s--”

“It seems--” Jim cut him off, “that my crew is determined to undermine me today.” 

Len frowned in confusion. Something was wrong here. Jim was acting strangely, and Len wanted to get to the bottom of it as soon as possible. The sooner he could nip a patented Jim Kirk temper tantrum in the bud the better. With a scoff he replied, “Determined to-- Jim, what the hell are you--” 

“Captain,” Jim interrupted icily. “You will address me properly on the bridge, Lieutenant Commander.” After a pause, he relaxed minutely. “Return to your post, Doctor McCoy. We’ll discuss it later.” 

Len’s mind raced; countless explanations for Jim’s odd behavior flew through his mind at breakneck speeds: alien viruses, blood infections, fever, chemical influence… 

“Sir,” Uhura cut in, “incoming transmission from Starfleet Admiralty. They’d like to get your mission report.”  

Jim tore his gaze from Len’s, waving a hand in her direction as he reseated himself in his chair, effectively putting an end to their conversation. “On screen, Lieutenant.” 

The view of the stars ahead flickered and gave way to a projection of Admiral Pike, a broad smile on his face as he greeted the captain. 

“Jim! Good to see you, son… I hear things went well down there?” 

The resulting silence stretched just a bit too long to be natural, and Len found his gaze drawn back to Jim. He had gone perfectly still where he sat, his eyes wide and focused on the screen with a frightening intensity. 

After far too long, he replied. “Yes, sir… all went according to plan.” 

_______________________________________________________________

Pike’s eyes flew to McCoy’s, a troubled expression crossing his face as he looked to the doctor for reassurance. Jim bit back a harsh laugh; did the two honestly think he didn’t know what they were doing? They were clearly concerned about him, which was wildly amusing considering he and the doctor had discussed specifics that morning and Pike-- well… 

“Would you like specifics on the mission, Admiral Pike?” Jim asked, folding his arms across his chest, watching the older man’s eyes widen at the sight of the staining on his sleeves; he’d taken care to wash his hands before making his way to the bridge, but hadn’t dared change his clothes. Something was off with his crew. They were acting suspiciously, and he had no intention of wasting any time with petty tasks that could allow him to be caught off guard. 

Pike blinked back to attention, stammering a bit as he answered, “Of course, my apologies, Kirk. I got distracted for a moment there--”

“Understandable, Admiral, given the circumstances,” he replied easily, shifting in his chair to lace his fingers together, resting an elbow against the arm while taking care not to activate any of the controls there. 

"Jim," Pike's expression was wary, concerned. Weak. "You’re acting a bit… you feeling alright, son?"

"Well," Jim replied, picking at a nail and smirking. "I suppose that depends on your definition of alright. You see,” his eyes snapped up to meet Pike’s gaze through the screen. “I could have sworn up and down I left you drowning in your own blood, old man."

#tw mirror verse #and all that that entails #implied murder #lots of mentions of blood #etc #blah blah #wip #blah blah ficlet #blah blah I wish my brain would work #my writing #I had so many plans for this #Kodos was still alive and Tarsus and all that went down there + section 31 was a huge part of creating the mirror verse federation #Mirror Jim and crew were playing the long con to take it down from within #Pike was MIA presumed dead after Jim 'killed' him #Bones realizes it's not their Jim because mirror Jim has scars their Jim doesn't have #I had a line ready to go that was like 'Jim... you know Kodos is manipulating you.' #'Of course I do. That's why I'm going to kill him.' #so many plans...