Title: Clear From the Battle (But Not the War)
Author: klmeri
Fandom: Star Trek AOS
Characters: Kirk, Spock, McCoy, OC
Summary: People collect the dead like grievances. The senior officers of the Enterprise seem to have more than most.
A/N: Warnings: dead children, mentions of violence against children, all the bad things that happened in Star Trek Abramsverse (looking at you, ST:INTD) such as side character and main character deaths, terrorism, and violence.

Despite what people tend to believe, it is not uncommon to see the dead. Species exist in the universe who make no distinction between the deceased and the living, dealing with both interchangeably and thus hardly feeling concerned when a living body no longer houses the one born inside it.

But for those species overall less integrated with their dead, individuals can still be born with the ability to discern, communicate, and even manage them. In some cultures, such people are celebrated; in others, they are shunned or condemned. Generally, the level of acceptance depends on the strength of the ability, for the stronger it is, the less it can be ignored.

The lieutenant is fully human and registered as a psy-null in the eyes of Starfleet. The standard cognition test used to determine psionic potential in a recruit is not designed for people like him, who interact with spirits. The institution itself doesn’t recognize that skill set—at least, not as an ability that their operations benefit from. In some ways, it can be said, not much has changed among Terrans in a millennium. They still prefer to bury their dead and keep them quiet.

The lieutenant never had that luxury, having been born into a family lineage specialized in dealing with the supernatural. He was taught at an early age to accept his extra-sensory perception and not let it deter him from living well. Luckily his ability is rather weak and not much of a hindrance in his life beyond minor annoyances or distractions. This suits him fine, as he prefers the safety of going unnoticed that comes with being ‘just average’. He learns how to manage his awareness of the dead and to acknowledge them without setting any expectations. Most importantly, he does not allow their expectations to take hold of him.

Over the centuries, some of his family have felt differently, ascribing to varying degrees of self-imposed duty which at the height of society’s intolerance for all things supernatural led to two or three of them being killed.

His great-grandfather walked that double-edged sword the best, becoming an artist most famous for a style of painting that most critics lauded as unique and disturbing. His talent with the brush made the living look like they could jump off the canvas, but the living brought with them an unsettling trail of other faces, washed-out to be mysterious and also to protect the secret that his great-grandfather could recognize them more clearly than anyone else.

The Ghost Line collection, the experts later called it when one of them post-humously published a catalog of the artist’s works.

Those who were closest to the man said he often referred to his collection simply as Regrets. A handful of the original Regrets are displayed in their ancestral home and are considered priceless to the family.

The lieutenant mostly dismissed those paintings as a boy. But by the time he grew into adolescence, he better understood why differentiating the living from the dead was necessary to be considered normal. He also came to the realization that ‘normal’ people could barely feel ghosts around them, let alone see and hear them.

He has come to appreciate the Regrets. They depict most accurately what he encounters every day: departed souls nipping at the heels of the living most connected to them, bound into following behind like a neat little line of obedient students marching after their designated taskmaster.

Sometimes they seem to notice the living as little as the living usually notice them.

But when he notices the souls, they sometimes appear compelled to break the silence. He might listen politely, or he might ignore anything said. Regardless, it’s over very quickly, and that gap is never truly bridged by either party.

He graduates from Starfleet Academy with a decent grade average, neither the best nor the worst, and is given his first commission on a second-contact ship, learning to fall in line and rotating through several departments until he finds the right fit. His proficiencies place him as a mechanical technician and, after a year dedicated to transporter operations, he has a secondary competence in that too.

His transfer to the Starfleet’s flagship comes as a welcome surprise. His excitement is more or less the same as his fellow officers transferring with him to the Enterprise. When the ship swings into orbit at Starbase IV to retrieve their small group, he vows to work a little harder and a little smarter to be worthy of the ship touted as producing some of Starfleet’s best and brightest officers. Even if his stint on the Enterprise is a short one, he knows his performance there will be scrutinized more so than any other commission he ever takes in his career. It is said that, for good or ill, the Enterprise leaves a mark on every officer who survives her.

Starfleet’s only Vulcan officer is the very person waiting as they exit the shuttlecraft to greet them and assess their assignment papers. Someone had whispered during the brief ride over that Commander Spock is the lynchpin of the flagship, almost as legendary as the Enterprise’s captain.

When the lieutenant’s name is called, he steps forward and identifies his name, service rank, and serial number. He nervously answers the few questions Mr. Spock has for him and cannot quite focus on anything but not sounding utterly incompetent until he can reclaim his place in line.

Sometimes when he is nervous, the control of his special awareness retreats. He already feels it stretching awake, allowing a handful of spirits to come into focus. There is a moment where he looks between Mr. Spock and the other officers and is slightly taken aback.

As a cadet allowed to roam the library archives of the Academy, he had spent some months of his first year researching the rituals of the dead and after-life ideologies of other Federation races, knowing he had to acclimate quickly to meeting many new people—and ghosts who came with them—as an officer of an intergalactic institution. Though the material was abbreviated in its explanations, he recalls learning that the Vulcan soul (known as a katra) is not typically left to wander the earthly realm. To him, it sounded very strange to store away souls like the old books meticulously preserved in the restricted area of the library.

That research had prepared him for Mr. Spock in the sense that he holds no expectations of the Vulcan officer to be in the company of Vulcan souls. But Mr. Spock, like some of his current companions, is not alone.

She is a small female, at first glance barely visible behind the taller, most imposing figure of the commander. Middle-aged in appearance and dressed in robes that seem to overwhelm her shape, she has none of the bearing or distinctive features of a Vulcan. She seems Terra Prime-born, and based on her pinched expression, one he recognizes from numerous previous encounters, he has an inkling of who she is to the commander.

It’s true, then, the rumors that Mr. Spock has a dual heritage and is only half Vulcanian.

The spirit notices his staring and says, “I was always proud of him.”

He bows his head respectfully and without comment follows the smiling officer beside Mr. Spock leading their group toward the exit of the shuttle bay. For him personally, it hurts to see the mothers who linger.

But this mother’s presence means that while she lived she loved her son deeply. Strong feelings like love don’t change with death.

He lets his gaze skip past her until she is just a blur along the periphery of his awareness. Because the Enterprise’s new arrivals are a decent-sized group, there is a crowd of spirits too, the living and not-living making their way to another rendezvous point within the ship. It becomes apparent in short order they are to be fetched by their respective department heads to finish their processing.

Mr. Spock stands aside, dutifully note-taking on a data padd, until nearly everyone has been retrieved. The lieutenant is in the last group, just him and a young woman, when a too-chipper man in a red-shirted uniform appears noisily, first appealing to Mr. Spock for his tardiness, then inspecting the pair of them with a welcoming smile. Though he looks to be younger than they are, he introduces himself as Mr. Chekov, the second-in-command to the Chief of Engineering, and encourages them to ask questions.

Just as the three of them are leaving, an odd flicker in the corner of the lieutenant’s eye catches his attention. In that brief second, the flicker appears to have the shape of a man, not as tall as Mr. Spock. But when the lieutenant twists around for a better look, no one is there save the Vulcan and his mother.

Then Mr. Chekov calls his name, and he returns to what lies ahead of him: this fresh start on the starship Enterprise, which proposes to be the most interesting experience of his career.

In hushed tones, crewmen speak of presences aboard the ship so terrifying that the mere sight of one sends shivers down the spine. Presences one should never ignore or defy.

Be respectful, be obedient and, above all, it is said, be safe. If you land in the clutches of the medical blues, escape is impossible.

This cautionary tale sounds overblown, in the lieutenant’s opinion. He has seen some very unnerving, very unearthly things in his lifetime, even downright nightmare-inducing things, and somehow he just cannot imagine that doctors and nurses qualify at that level of scary.

Then a panel in the auxiliary control room shortcircuits while he is elbow-deep in its guts for a repair, and the electrical current is strong enough to knock him out. He wakes up prone across on an unfamiliar bed, tasting antiseptic in the air. The moment he tries to sit up (dizzily so), someone leans into view, pushing him flat once more, and says, “Don’t move, Lieutenant.”

The order is given in a pleasant tone of voice but there’s no mistaking the nurse won’t tolerate disobedience. She pats his shoulder and glances above his head with a thoughtful hum. Then she calls out for a Dr. McCoy.

Oh, right. He knows that name. Doctor Leonard McCoy is the senior medical officer and resident surgeon of the ship.

The man who strides into the ward appears to be his age, but the sense of authority he wields is definitely that of a commander in charge.

McCoy inspects his chart, asks him a series of mundane questions to ascertain his awareness of his surroundings and likely his cognitive function, before rolling his eyes when asked if it’s possible to return to duty.

“Kid, you were nearly fried into a potato chip. Until I give the all-clear, don’t even expect to visit the bathroom by yourself.”

He flushes with embarrassment.

Surely this man can’t be serious? He feels fine! That is, he can feel things, like his fingers of the hand that isn’t bandaged and his toes. Spirits who died from electrocution look particularly crispy, and he’s a far cry from that, no matter what the doctor says.

Also, he is not dead, which is a plus. He mutters this opinion out loud.

The unamused doctor’s eyes narrow.

Then, mouth twisting as if fighting back a scowl, McCoy tells the nurse attentively awaiting orders on the other side of the bed, “You have my permission to use a sedative if the patient tries anything stupid.” He slaps a data padd into her waiting hands and growls, “And tell Mr. Spock I want to see him within the next hour, or I’ll come to the Bridge in-person to air my grievances. Whoever the hell is faking the safety inspections in the control room needs his ass thrown out an airlock!”

The lieutenant fights the instinct to draw his bedcovers to his chin when Dr. McCoy’s attention lands on him again, already in his head revising the definition of scary. Scary is this man’s resting face.

“If both main power lines had been active while your arm was inside that panel, I’d writing condolences to your family right now,” McCoy says flatly. “It’s not just luck that you’re alive but a damn miracle. So if you want to stay that way, Lieutenant, you’ll do as I say.”

Well, from that perspective it might be wise to stick around Sickbay a bit longer.

The doctor pivots and stalks off. As he walks away, so does the soul of an elderly man.

A few days in the general ward allows the lieutenant to experience firsthand the truth behind the rumors about Dr. McCoy and his staff. They are caring for their patients, no doubt, but also not above taking the difficult path in order to get the job done properly.

The lieutenant watches in morbid fascination as patients are coaxed into cooperation. Some of the visitors to Sickbay approach the staff already in a passively agreeable state, and they are given smiles and kindness in spades. But the rare person who is rude to any particular nurse or doctor gets the undivided attention of the CMO, and not in a nice way. It’s ironically never his staff McCoy is managing but the patients themselves.

With Dr. McCoy in and out of the main ward frequently, the lieutenant quickly acclimates to his presence, though he does pretend to be dozing if McCoy comes over to inspect the stats board above the occupied beds and make a remark or suggestion to the staff on duty.

The stooped old man at McCoy’s heels never speaks. At first, the lieutenant assumes the old man’s plodding gait must be a habit leftover from when he was alive. But because he’s curious (and mostly bored, being bed-bound), he eventually deepens his awareness and soon discovers why the spirit moves so oddly. There is a second spirit too faint to come through at the usual range. It is quite tiny, barely the flicker of a shadow.

A shade, his aunt has always called these wisps. She claims they are souls that could not fully actualize before dying, like stillborns; or the soul of someone too damaged at the moment of death to remember its proper form. Or it might be, his aunt once admitted very quietly, a helpless soul fragmenting because the living cannot fully accept it died.

The old man is slow in order to lessen the shade’s struggle to keep up.

The shade is a child, he thinks sadly. Children who die before their parents create some of the strongest regrets. Dr. McCoy must carry the kind of pain that cannot be described in words, but he never shows it.

The lieutenant lets the shade disappear from his awareness, like McCoy having only enough strength to turn away from it and pretend nothing is wrong.

James T. Kirk’s reputation proceeds him. Cadets learn of Kirk almost immediately after enrolling in the Academy; after all, no one is yet so far removed from the tragedies that occurred there, and however impossible it seems, Cadet Kirk saved their planet from destruction based on a hunch. Later, as a full-fledged officer, he went on to bring madmen to justice and to thwart attacks of terrorism (and rumor has it, war). In the span of a few years, his career has been fantastical and unprecedented. Kirk is to go down in history as the youngest captain in Starfleet and the only cadet to ever be promoted to captaincy upon graduation. Everyone calls him one of a kind.

Even without knowing the man personally, it’s easy to respect Kirk and his accomplishments. When the lieutenant got over his shock at receiving transfer papers to the Enterprise, he knew he would need to be at his best. One simply does not embarrass himself in front of the hero of the Federation, nor waste a golden opportunity to learn from him.

The thing about Kirk is, after meeting him, it’s apparent he is worthy of being respected. He is intelligent and personable, with just the hint of a cheeky kind of charm that puts people at ease. He is tolerant of his star-struck staff and patient with nervous ensigns; he is overall very respectful of his crew’s individualities.

The tone starts at the top, it is said, and on the Enterprise, James Kirk shines there as a person others want to emulate or simply make proud. Little wonder, then, that the Enterprise is known as a successful amalgamation of the races, personalities, and backgrounds that comprise the Federation. Kirk’s command is strong enough and honorable enough to unite his crew.

For the lieutenant, it’s almost surprising that Kirk never seems far removed from his juniors as one might naturally expect of the ship’s commanding officer. The lieutenant did not know his previous captain well at all. But Kirk can lounge in the main command chair on the Bridge, chatting familiarly with a scientist from the Biology department through the intercom three ranks below him as though he does it all the time. He doesn’t have to be facing a person to identify who they are. He is on a first-name basis with the cafeteria helpers when most officers barely remember they are around. Simply put, the man never forgets who his people are, and everyone likes that about him.

The only other reason Captain Kirk is unique, from the lieutenant’s perspective, is not a reason he expects anyone to understand. He’s met so many people who carry the departed since he joined Starfleet, but Kirk stands apart from the rest. He is like the equivalent of a spiritual dreamcatcher, harboring all the nightmares everyone else seeks to avoid. At first glance, the trail of spirits behind Kirk is overwhelming, akin to looking into an infinity mirror; the end doesn’t seem to exist.

But he discovers there is a finite number in the line, starting with the tall man with sad blue eyes standing at Kirk’s shoulder. During the lieutenant’s introduction to his new captain, the tall man said, “I wanted to know him,” as Kirk shook his hand.

The circumstances of Kirk’s birth are as famous as his more recent heroic deeds. Kirk lost his father before having the chance to know him, but George Kirk did not really leave his son behind.

The pair of them look so alike, it feels like having double-vision. But George only ever repeats that one regret while his son has probably never openly acknowledged it.

There are more souls, so many more, stretching out behind the deceased father. With some discomfort, the lieutenant places the majority of them in early childhood. The youngest of the kids are shielded, holding onto the back of the older ones’ legs or clutching at hands as translucent as their own. The ragtag band dogs Kirk’s heels in silence.

If the lieutenant looks too closely, he sees the thin sheath of skin over bones, the brittle, badly chipped nails and dirty hair. The cruelty that ended in their deaths was not limited to starvation.

So he tries not to even mistakenly glance their way, keeping his head down when Kirk passes by. It might make the captain believe he is a particularly shy man. But if Kirk only knew the truth, Kirk would never offer up such an understanding smile to him. He would be as unsmiling as the distrustful children who perpetually track people’s movements while shunning everyone, their stares always mournfully hungry.

There are others who come after Kirk’s young ghosts, some of them dressed in cadet uniforms or bearing a junior officer’s ranking. He doesn’t recognize most of their faces but suspects he could identify them through the ship’s computer bank, most likely casualties from the few years of the Enterprise has been under Kirk’s command. Then, when a security officer the lieutenant did not know well dies on an away mission, the remaining party returns with his body. Kirk returns with his soul. The red-shirted man, the newest addition to the end of the line, has his gaze fixed on Kirk like all Kirk’s spirits do.

The oldest one is the only aberration: a middle-aged man in a dark-grey uniform worn by Starfleet’s Admiralty years ago. Christopher Pike’s face rotated through the news for weeks after an insanely giant starship piloted by the terrorist John Harrison razed part of San Francisco. He is one of the fallen officers, a Starfleet legend more decorated than Kirk is now, holding a Medal of Commendation for his heroism during the Romulan Nero’s attack against the Federation. Pike’s rank and years of service are inscribed on one of the stones in the memorial park at the edge of the Academy grounds.

Pike seems remarkably cognizant of his surroundings but, unlike most self-aware souls, is not overly pushy, accepting attention when it comes to him and always getting straight to the point.

“It wasn’t his fault,” Pike says with conviction when their gazes catch, gesturing to himself and then the others ahead of him in line. “How long must this punishment go on?”

The lieutenant’s throat closes up at that question. It never matters if the spirit is forgiving and has no regrets. The regrets that are most binding always belong to the living.

The flicker returns on the day the lieutenant mumbles a hello to the men walking into Transporter Room II. Following the accident, he was temporarily reassigned to transporter duty, at least until his outpatient treatments are completed. The electrical shock left him with a heart murmur that McCoy frets about and constantly prods him over. The doctor would have placed him on reduced work shifts in the least exciting area of the ship if the captain himself had not convinced Dr. McCoy to let the lieutenant be useful through his secondary training as a transporter technician. Apparently nothing too exciting happens while manning a transporter, at least when the ship isn’t in danger. The lieutenant glances around for the umpteenth time wondering what really constitutes as dangerous.

The most exciting part of today’s schedule (and admittedly it’s a low bar in terms of excitement) is happening right now. The doctor in question greets the lieutenant upon entering the bay beside the ever calm and collected Mr. Spock. Kirk and his seniormost officers are to beam down to a social function hosted purely for Starfleet’s brass to rub elbows with the aristocrats of the Federation. Watching McCoy tug irritably at his dress uniform’s collar, not everyone seems thrilled to be invited to the party. When McCoy thinks no one is looking, he offers Mr. Spock a hypospray partly concealed in his hand and says, “Maybe if you could slip me this when things get too boring, we can talk our way into returning to the ship.”

Mr. Spock’s raised eyebrow speaks volumes. He seems largely unimpressed as he points out to McCoy, “If you are unconscious, Doctor, you will not be able to talk.”

“But Jim can!” hisses McCoy, who then realizes the lieutenant is staring wide-eyed at them and quickly hustles the Vulcan up the steps of the transporter platform.

He notices the flicker only because he is still trying to work out if his commanding officers would actually make a scene at a party just to be cut loose early. At first, he thinks it might be faulty lighting in the room, as it is a stationary dark shadow just at the edge of the pad. But when McCoy begins to whisper at Spock again, the shadow—no, shade—slowly reshapes itself into the outline of a man watching the pair.

The lieutenant freezes behind his control panel, having never seen anything of its ilk. Spirits are always there when he opens his awareness to them. None have ever manifested out of nothing in front of him before.

The shade flickers once more, this time so violently it splits into halves. No, not split, realizes the shocked lieutenant a moment later. It has duplicated itself. One shade lightly walks up the steps, moving to stand behind Mr. Spock’s mother while its twin takes a place behind McCoy’s father and child.

From where the lieutenant is positioned, he can study their side profiles as the shades continue to transform until they look as animate as most dead do. They are covered in severe burn marks, not from fire but something far more sinister. The lieutenant’s stomach churns as his basic medical knowledge helps him identify those burns as the symptoms of fatal radiation poisoning.

The transporter room entrance whistles, admitting a newcomer.

The shades turn toward the lieutenant in unison. As their unnaturally bright blue eyes pin him where he stands, it feels like the air has been punched from his lungs. He recognizes them instantly.

They shouldn’t exist. They can’t exist.

“What are you?” he whispers, vaguely aware he has startled the other tech at his elbow.

“Captain,” greets Mr. Spock, and as if that mere greeting snaps the connection to the otherworldly beings, their listless stares abandon him.

The eerie hush of the room had been only in his head, the lieutenant understands now that the sounds of the ship and Kirk laughing return to fill his ears.

Kirk leaps up to stand on the platform between Spock and McCoy, grinning happily and not at all horridly burned like the twins standing silently at the back of the platform. Those two are dead and the captain is very much alive, but they are all James Kirk.

On the Enterprise, what should be impossible is merely improbable and likely to happen with the same frequency as the highly probable. And so a living man can exist next to some version of himself that does not.

With a creeping sense of horror, the lieutenant thinks Kirk must have died. The man died, and that terrible moment cannot be undone for either of his friends.

Kirk briefly drops a hand to McCoy’s forearm and then his other hand to Spock’s shoulder. As if that touch has the power to lay them to rest, Spock and McCoy’s shades wink out of existence.

Regrets do not leave the living or the dead easily and never for very long, the lieutenant knows. Flickers of the tragedy that once happened will always return.

Kirk angles away from his two officers toward the transporter controls. The second technician lightly bumps the lieutenant’s elbow upon Kirk’s expectant stare, jolting him from his thoughts.

Kirk smiles warmly at both young men and orders, “Energize.”

The lieutenant knows what to do, clearing his mind so he can operate the controls with steady hands and remain in sync with his partner. Coordinates verified, signal accepted, and now all that is left is to send the three officers on their way to the party.

He dares not glance up as the energies of the transporter build to the right frequency, reminding himself there is nothing tangentially supernaturally required of him in that moment or any moment thereafter. He is an officer of Starfleet and only that. To be concerned with the departed souls the living burden themselves with will never be within his purview. He is but a man with a different perspective on life and death because of a rather pointless twist in his genetics. But sometimes it’s a truly unforgiving ability, to know what haunts people most.

When the transporter beam finally pulls Kirk, Spock, and McCoy away, it takes their regrets too, leaving behind a stillness in the air and an empty platform.

-Fini

Spirits in order of appearance: Amanda Grayson, David McCoy, Joanna McCoy, George Kirk, Children of Tarsus IV, nameless Enterprise officers, Christopher Pike, James Kirk (x2).

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