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kirktasticThe parts that came first, those were no problem. He had told the story before, complete and whole, during the single interview he had granted after the Narada incident. A hunk of that, a little more than half, had gone to purchasing the house on Risa. It would have been a better place to be, and Jim tried to keep the calm and peace of it in his mind as he told the story again. He had requested that there be no questions until he had finished the first story, whole and complete, because interrupting meant breaking the thoughts that came.
The questions were no problem as well. He had gone through them with the tribunal back on Earth in detail a million times worse than the lawyers were coming up with. Nero's defense infuriated him, in ways that were difficult to explain. How could anyone defend a man who had destroyed so much? How could someone work to get Nero and Ayel a lighter sentence? Nero was a madman. There was no punishment great enough to punish the man for what he had did. Jim couldn't reason that insanity was a reason to do what Nero had done. Just as Bones had said, he told the story, answered their questions.
It was the second part that was far more difficult.
It was more difficult to put into words to start with. He had been so heavily drugged at the time that things were unfocused in his memories, more emotion and color than actual imagery. He was grateful for the silence in the court when he had to struggle to come up with the words, less grateful (and equally, grateful somehow) for the looks of pity. Bad for him, good for the case. It was hard to keep the story in a linear fashion and not add in things he had learned later until he got that far.
When he got as far as the tattoos, the ones criss-crossing down his left arm that still remained, his voice... died in his throat. There was no sound at all, not even in his head. He stared down at the black marking of his own personal failure and grief that was still so vivid against his skin. It had been his inability to stop the drill in time that had let Vulcan be destroyed. He could have prevented it. The madman had understood, broken out of his insanity that they so wanted to use as a defense, the strength of his own pain and loss enough to divert what he had planned for that arm, whatever it was, and instead spiral the names of seven Federation ships. He had told what he knew of them, what little there was, almost like a funeral. Then... Vulcan itself. Nero had known its surface, better than Jim did except in ghostly memories of Spock's. Nero had known it for years, its people and history... then had erased it.
Nothing of all that came from his lips.
People looked between them as the silence became longer and longer, wondering why Captain Kirk had stopped in his story. It had cut off like a novel with its end missing, clearly not done. Out of respect they stayed silent, but as the silence continued it was uneasy. He was staring at his hands, motionless except for the rise and fall of his chest and the blinking of his eyes. Finally, the judge leaned forward and said in a quiet tone, "...Captain?"
He wanted to find the words to answer her, but couldn't. It felt like everything that had happened was collapsing back in on himself, imploding silently in his own little world.
Then, suddenly, there was a warmth in all the coldness. A single point of light in the darkness that had come like the stinking metal-oil of the Narada's interior where hell had come to Jim. At first, Jim didn't understand it until he recognized something very small and subtle. A starry sky, light by light, started to come into view in the darkness he had focused on. Something ethereal curled through him, nudging him as determined as a pup. Spock... He knew it, almost more instinctively then consciously. It was like Spock was sitting right there, just behind him, all the warmth and certain strength of Spock's body pressed against his back, strong arms wrapped around his chest. Warmth curled over his aching hand, between his fingers, massaging the ache as a foreign love curled between cracks in his memories. It was enough to break the silence, enough strength to continue through the memories.
The story continued as if it hadn't stopped. He attempted to explain what Nero had down to write down the names of the destroyed ships as well as Vulcan, then started to write about himself using Jim's skin as his paper. Things after that got beyond blurry, after Ayel had injected him with something black (or was it bright green?)
He finished the story in sickbay, for now, because he knew nothing for days after that. Just bits and pieces. He would like them question him, he would answer, then he would tell the last part of the story. Healing, the Narada, Agura, Jim and Spock on the Narada, the Romulans on the planet, getting Nero into the brig, and how they had come to the new colony. If it was possible, the questions were worse. They kept asking for clarification about things that he had no answer to. He could tell it was frustrating, and when he went into detail about his hand being broken and his father's torture he saw one of the members of the jury actually turn their head away and gag.
By the end of the final story, by the end of their endless questions, Jim was raw. His throat was raw from speaking, his stories, the questions, the answers taking up hours of time that would be unbroken due to the circumstances of the need for privacy. His hand hurt so badly that he kept having to shake it out, but the cramp returned over and over until he wanted to scream. It felt like the tiny bones of his hand, most of them probably rebuilt from the osteoregenerator more than any original bone remaining. The scars on his face itched badly. His mind was raw from the memories of pain, anguish, and suffering, some of it not even fully his own. It was those emotions that told Jim why Jim and his Spock would never be able to understand his position. It was why there were people who were willing to risk Nero getting free. It was why...
He had lived through the destruction of Vulcan in every way possible except being on its surface. He had watched the Vulcans in sickbay, the raw emotion on their faces as their skies went dark. He had been with them, sat with them, on the limping ride home to Earth while they had none to go to.
He would have rather lived through Tarsus again then what had happened that February 11th.
When finally he was allowed to go, Jim thanked the court and walked out without looking back. Everything in him felt cold and distant and hard, very far away. Just the Captain, just for now, until he could find his mental footing again. He opened the door, and walked out into the hallway.
The questions were no problem as well. He had gone through them with the tribunal back on Earth in detail a million times worse than the lawyers were coming up with. Nero's defense infuriated him, in ways that were difficult to explain. How could anyone defend a man who had destroyed so much? How could someone work to get Nero and Ayel a lighter sentence? Nero was a madman. There was no punishment great enough to punish the man for what he had did. Jim couldn't reason that insanity was a reason to do what Nero had done. Just as Bones had said, he told the story, answered their questions.
It was the second part that was far more difficult.
It was more difficult to put into words to start with. He had been so heavily drugged at the time that things were unfocused in his memories, more emotion and color than actual imagery. He was grateful for the silence in the court when he had to struggle to come up with the words, less grateful (and equally, grateful somehow) for the looks of pity. Bad for him, good for the case. It was hard to keep the story in a linear fashion and not add in things he had learned later until he got that far.
When he got as far as the tattoos, the ones criss-crossing down his left arm that still remained, his voice... died in his throat. There was no sound at all, not even in his head. He stared down at the black marking of his own personal failure and grief that was still so vivid against his skin. It had been his inability to stop the drill in time that had let Vulcan be destroyed. He could have prevented it. The madman had understood, broken out of his insanity that they so wanted to use as a defense, the strength of his own pain and loss enough to divert what he had planned for that arm, whatever it was, and instead spiral the names of seven Federation ships. He had told what he knew of them, what little there was, almost like a funeral. Then... Vulcan itself. Nero had known its surface, better than Jim did except in ghostly memories of Spock's. Nero had known it for years, its people and history... then had erased it.
Nothing of all that came from his lips.
People looked between them as the silence became longer and longer, wondering why Captain Kirk had stopped in his story. It had cut off like a novel with its end missing, clearly not done. Out of respect they stayed silent, but as the silence continued it was uneasy. He was staring at his hands, motionless except for the rise and fall of his chest and the blinking of his eyes. Finally, the judge leaned forward and said in a quiet tone, "...Captain?"
He wanted to find the words to answer her, but couldn't. It felt like everything that had happened was collapsing back in on himself, imploding silently in his own little world.
Then, suddenly, there was a warmth in all the coldness. A single point of light in the darkness that had come like the stinking metal-oil of the Narada's interior where hell had come to Jim. At first, Jim didn't understand it until he recognized something very small and subtle. A starry sky, light by light, started to come into view in the darkness he had focused on. Something ethereal curled through him, nudging him as determined as a pup. Spock... He knew it, almost more instinctively then consciously. It was like Spock was sitting right there, just behind him, all the warmth and certain strength of Spock's body pressed against his back, strong arms wrapped around his chest. Warmth curled over his aching hand, between his fingers, massaging the ache as a foreign love curled between cracks in his memories. It was enough to break the silence, enough strength to continue through the memories.
The story continued as if it hadn't stopped. He attempted to explain what Nero had down to write down the names of the destroyed ships as well as Vulcan, then started to write about himself using Jim's skin as his paper. Things after that got beyond blurry, after Ayel had injected him with something black (or was it bright green?)
He finished the story in sickbay, for now, because he knew nothing for days after that. Just bits and pieces. He would like them question him, he would answer, then he would tell the last part of the story. Healing, the Narada, Agura, Jim and Spock on the Narada, the Romulans on the planet, getting Nero into the brig, and how they had come to the new colony. If it was possible, the questions were worse. They kept asking for clarification about things that he had no answer to. He could tell it was frustrating, and when he went into detail about his hand being broken and his father's torture he saw one of the members of the jury actually turn their head away and gag.
By the end of the final story, by the end of their endless questions, Jim was raw. His throat was raw from speaking, his stories, the questions, the answers taking up hours of time that would be unbroken due to the circumstances of the need for privacy. His hand hurt so badly that he kept having to shake it out, but the cramp returned over and over until he wanted to scream. It felt like the tiny bones of his hand, most of them probably rebuilt from the osteoregenerator more than any original bone remaining. The scars on his face itched badly. His mind was raw from the memories of pain, anguish, and suffering, some of it not even fully his own. It was those emotions that told Jim why Jim and his Spock would never be able to understand his position. It was why there were people who were willing to risk Nero getting free. It was why...
He had lived through the destruction of Vulcan in every way possible except being on its surface. He had watched the Vulcans in sickbay, the raw emotion on their faces as their skies went dark. He had been with them, sat with them, on the limping ride home to Earth while they had none to go to.
He would have rather lived through Tarsus again then what had happened that February 11th.
When finally he was allowed to go, Jim thanked the court and walked out without looking back. Everything in him felt cold and distant and hard, very far away. Just the Captain, just for now, until he could find his mental footing again. He opened the door, and walked out into the hallway.
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no subject
Date: 2010-05-18 12:22 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-05-18 12:32 am (UTC)He looked up to the sky, finally taking another drink. "...I... I see doing this for a long time, Bones. Being Captain, being on the Enterprise. Finding new worlds, new adventures."
"I don't doubt... eventually Spock'll leave, with Nyota... Sulu and Chekov will want to have bigger and better things... but I don't know how long. How long I've got something as amazing as this ship, this crew..."
He closed his eyes. "Nice to know at least one thing I know I'll have."
no subject
Date: 2010-05-18 01:16 am (UTC)His hands fell to Jim's shoulders and he stepped close and kissed him, the lingering taste of the bourbon on Jim's lips. The minute he chose Jim over a cushy job at a research base Bones had known it would be like this. Jim in his captain's chair, discovering new life and new civilizations until he literally couldn't do it anymore (which was the better of the two possible futures, the other he didn't think about at all). And Bones had known he would follow him across the galaxy, either as his friend, or thankfully now, as something more.
"Let's get through this first five-years before you get all maudlin on me, okay?" he grinned into Jim's temple. He understood what Jim was talking about, though. He'd be losing Tina soon, and the idea bothered him tremendously.
no subject
Date: 2010-05-18 01:28 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-05-18 03:52 am (UTC)And the smart one, too. Jim would find out what he needed to. "If the Healer says it can be broken, should we do it?"
no subject
Date: 2010-05-18 03:55 am (UTC)"...In... in the court room...." Dammit, so much for that. Jim nudged Bones, letting him take the bottle back. They started walking, slow, side by side. "I almost didn't make it. I just got lost. Kept seeing all that shit that happened. Thought my hand was on fire."
no subject
Date: 2010-05-18 04:01 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-05-18 04:05 am (UTC)"...Felt like Spock was there, suddenly. Like right there."
no subject
Date: 2010-05-18 04:24 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-05-18 11:22 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-05-18 11:55 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-05-18 12:32 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-05-18 01:02 pm (UTC)Clearly he was, but that was beside the point. "I just want to know what it was like. He felt you, how upset you were, and he, I don't know, was trying to help?" Bones remembered how Jim had pointedly not spoken to Spock at the restaurant when they'd all unexpectedly dined together.
"Have you spoken to him at all since we left his house?" he asked, reaching to push a strand of hair from Jim's forehead.
no subject
Date: 2010-05-18 01:17 pm (UTC)"I'm trying to explain how it felt. It was.. it was quick." Jim brushed the faintest beginnings of curls back, knowing he needed a damn hair cut and was determined to get it before they left. "I couldn't talk. I just... felt like everything I was saying dried up." He looked down to the side, pointedly at his left hand. "Couldn't find it in me to explain about how I got these," left hand flexed, "how he changed... when he started doing them. Froze." Which was unlike him.
"Then there was a feeling. Like this," he reached out and pulled up Bones' hand, then slid his fingers along top of it so they laced together before he started massaging. "Just like that. Like Spock was sitting right behind me and doing that. Like he was trying to help me get through it."
no subject
Date: 2010-05-18 07:29 pm (UTC)But... it was Spock there, in Jim's head. In both their heads. Is that was it was gonna be like for the rest of their lives? There wasn't anything that Bones could say that was going to sound positive, so he stayed quiet for a while.
The sun was setting, and eventually, Bones opened his mouth to talk. "I'm glad you got through it. You done with that, all the testifying?" he wondered.
no subject
Date: 2010-05-18 07:32 pm (UTC)"Only reason I could do any of that shit, that I'm here right now walking on this beach, is because of you." You saved my life. Several times over.
no subject
Date: 2010-05-18 08:00 pm (UTC)Still... brushing his lips against Jim's, another soft kiss, Bones looked around, then pulled Jim in closer, much too close for proper Vulcan sensibilities. "I'll be glad when this is all over." The trial, he was talking about, but fuck - between the bonding and looking for a Healer and strange sexual encounters and fights with the family - there was a lot that sentence could cover. "Never thought I'd be so happy to get back in space."
no subject
Date: 2010-05-18 08:15 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-05-18 09:10 pm (UTC)There was something easier about everything when they were touching. As if the contact lowered his blood pressure, slowed the heartbeat, calmed his nerves. Even when they were angry or upset or pissed as hell at each other, the simple act of rubbing their hands (or other parts) together linked them, in sync with each other, and even the bad stuff didn't seem quite so bad.
"You getting hungry now?" he asked, the evening breeze picking up and tousling Jim's hair around. It was getting long, but Bones liked the feel of brushing at it with his fingers. "We can go sit in the water a spell, or just go inside and get drunk if you still want."
"Or maybe just watch a vid." He chuckled, as if remembering something funny. "I saw some clips of this sport they got here. It's like golf, but with sling shots."
Bones slung an arm around Jim's shoulders, comfortable. Nothing sounded better than just sitting around being with Jim. Didn't even have to be sexual... and after the last few weeks, maybe it was good to feel like that. Healthy.
no subject
Date: 2010-05-18 10:53 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-05-18 11:24 pm (UTC)They headed back up to the apartment, nudging each other, offering little grins, the mood a whole lot better than it was before.