[Prisoners in the Brig] -- [Kirk, Ayel, and Nero]

[kirktastic]

Kirk took the time to read himself. He had a feeling he was going to need it, to keep his calm. The tattoos were gone, leaving behind only faintly pinked lines that Bones swore would fade to white then fade even further. Only the ones along his left arm stayed, with Vulcan visible from his wrist over his hand. The ones he had asked for, his own story, his own personal grief that he knew from not one, not two, but three sides. His own, the oldest of the Spocks, and Nero's. Each conflicting, each painful, each one right in its own method which did nothing but piss him off a little.

Kirk felt his left hand start to ache as if it knew who he was going to talk to. He had the knowledge that they were girls, and a fast look at the security cameras had confirmed that. It was weird. They had hair. He just had to do this, see them in the brig, tell them the basics of what would be happening to them, and then he wouldn't have to see them until he testified at their hearing.

He could do this. Had to do this.

Kirk gestured for the guard to let down the first field, which let him continue down the hall. Ayel's cell would be closer to him, with Nero as far away as possible to keep the two from communicating. He walked up to the field, and looked inside, studying Ayel quickly before the other noticed (he hoped.)

Comments

[mirror-brightly.livejournal.com]

It was the best joke he'd heard in ages.

It couldn't be real.

A federation officer, a Starfleet Captain, telling him that he ignores the truth, prefers only what he believes to reality. A joke, told by the nohhua to amuse him at his very soul.

He hadn't heard Naele laugh since his wedding, but now it bounced off the walls in sharp staccato.

A gift.

Maybe he was dead.

[kirktastic.livejournal.com]

...Psycho.

Kirk didn't even have time, or the desire, to bother. He shook his head, walking away from Nero's cell and glancing only once at Ayel. Yea, the pity was there. Even from those stories, he could tell... what Ayel, Ael, had felt for Oren. He wondered if Ayel still felt it for Nero.

[mirror-brightly.livejournal.com]

Naele's laughter fell away, trickled past him like sand and water, salt in air. It was cold, very cold, and Naele drew up to keep him warm. Her arms wrapped knees, her hair spilled across him, and he closed his eyes again before she could stare and drown him in her sorrow.

He was so tired he couldn't shiver.

Dead flesh didn't need to.