[ How long has it been? Days? Weeks? Time blurred when they were on the Gorn ship, trapped and sedated in darkness until they'd reached the breeding planet. It wasn't the same place La'an had been before, but she still recognized it for what it was immediately. The hot, humid atmosphere. The shadows that covered everything. The stench of blood and rotting meat in the air. She'd nearly been sick from the horror of it, but she'd pulled herself together and gotten to work.
Listen to me. If you do as I say, we can survive this. Someone will come for us. The Enterprise, her crew, someone will come. We just have to last long enough for them to find us.
Even now, with her feet firmly back on the Enterprise, she can't say if she really believed those words. All she'd really known at the time was that people needed to understand the threat they faced and hold on to even a shred of hope. Not believing you're going to die will get you killed, but so will giving up. So she'd done her best to keep that balance, stepping into a leadership role she hadn't asked for but that no one else could do.
There were hundreds of them, at the start. Starfleet personnel and colonists. Men, women, and children. Keeping everyone together was a recipe for slaughter, so they'd had to split up into smaller groups, and it had killed something inside of her every time they came across signs of those who'd been caught. By the time Captain Pike and the others finally found them, there were only 53 survivors.
George Samuel Kirk was one of them. At no point had she explained to Sam why she insisted he stay with her group, or why she'd stuck close to him during each encounter with a hatchling. He'd assumed she didn't think he could handle himself and she hadn't bothered to correct that assumption. Telling him about her mission to the past would do no one any good; he didn't need to know that in another life, he'd died and something inside his brother had broken at the loss. Even as dozens of people died around them every hour, she kept Sam safe because she couldn't bear to see the look in Jim Kirk's eyes when he found out his brother was gone.
It had been close once, not long before they were rescued. A youngling had managed to get within reach, its sharp claws and teeth diving through the air toward Sam's chest. She'd shoved him out of the way, rolling them both to the side, but those claws had ripped through her shoulder, shredding her armor and leading to enough blood loss she'd worried she might not make it. But they'd killed the youngling, her group working together to take it down like they had others before, and they'd stemmed the blood flow enough that she hadn't even lost consciousness.
That injury was why she'd been beamed straight to sickbay, M'Benga insisting they at least administer primary treatment before she escaped to her quarters. There were others in more dire need, including a few who'd been infected with Gorn eggs, but it seems Chapel had used her time well, discovering a way to extract the eggs without killing the host. If nothing else, that eases a bit of the pain in La'an's chest that hurts so much more than her shoulder or the countless scrapes and bruises covering her body. These people will live. She didn't fail them.
And Sam will live. It shouldn't be what matters most, yet it is. She'd been ready to give her life for his if it came down to just the two of them, but that's something else he never needs to know. ]
[ There's a policy, it turns out, for Starfleet: when you are officially declared MIA, they notify your next of kin. James doesn't exactly know why Sam has him down instead of their father, but the last thing he's expecting when hears the chime on his PADD alerting to an incoming message is to see his brother's picture with that status splashed across the bottom like an afterthought.
Sam's missing. He doesn't know what to do with the information at first; the thought spinning through his head for a good minute, on loop, unhelpful, panicked. He has to--there's one person who'll know more, one person he trusts. Someone he can ask what the hell Sam was doing on an away mission anyway--but when he hails La'an on her PADD she doesn't answer. He calls twice. Three times. Nothing. She doesn't answer.
Neither does Pike. Or Una. It's not until he reaches Uhura that he finds out the truth: M'Benga. Sam. La'an. Ortegas. Colonists. Crew of the Enterprise and the Cayuga. They're on a Gorn ship and the Enterprise, against Starfleet orders, is in pursuit.
To say he steals a runabout from the Spacedock where the Farragut is docked for repairs would be--technically accurate. However, Jim likes to think he's borrowing it without permission and will return it with apologies once he gets his Security Officer and his brother back. Not that La'an is his security officer--it's just that she's also not not his security officer.
It's complicated.
The point of the matter is he's going to get her back, dammit, alongside his brother; she's not going to die on some Gorn breeding planet if he can do literally anything about it. And maybe once she's back, safe and in one piece, he'll wonder why the potential loss of her sits right in the same place as the potential loss of his brother.
To his credit, Pike just gives him a look when he requests a transport onboard and then reads him in to the rescue plan.
He doesn't remember much of it: it comes in flashes--the smell of the planet, the screams, the noises of the Gorn and phaser fire, the frightened look on the faces of crew they found and were able to beam out. It goes well for a while, and then it goes horribly, and then, somehow, with Pike's damn luck they manage to scrape out something close to a win.
They get their people back. They get away. The Enterprise lives to fight another day. She's bruised and bloody, but she's not out for the count.
Jim's not on planet when they find the group that La'an is leading, he's back on the ship, soothing the people he can as they get on board, using what skill he has in field medicine to triage crew and colonists as they're beamed up. He's on the pad when Sam comes up--looking ten years older than the last time James saw him but breathing, alive and mostly uninjured. Surprisingly uninjured. He'll deny it later, over a cocktail, that he cried when he hugged his brother and told him the next time Sam scared him like that he'd kill him, but in the moment he doesn't actually care who sees.
But their reunion is cut short by the fact that the pad needs to be cleared and people are still coming--he loses himself to work but he never stops looking for her. His heart does something incredibly uncomfortable when the ensign running the transporter says that's the last of them--until he catches sight of Una who just nods toward the door and mouths 'medical bay'. He doesn't know how she knows, doesn't question it, he just starts running.
He nearly collides with Chapel when he skids through the door, eyes tracking over the beds--those in stasis to keep the eggs from hatching, those covered in blood from the wounded, those with the sheets pulled up over a crewman's face--until he spots her: sitting up, alive, breathing. It takes two strides to make it to her, another to invade her space as his hands fall to her arms, skimming up to her shoulders, fingers skirting over the wound, careful not to touch ]
I don't know that I gave you permission to nearly die on me, Lieutenant. [ It's not his best opening gambit, but it's all he can manage. Trying for charm and failing with the fear that laces through his voice ] We're going to have to have words when you're not actively bleeding.
[ Seeing the face of James Tiberius Kirk is both the best and worst thing that could have happened while she was sat upon a biobed in sickbay. Her nerves are shot, she hasn't properly slept or eaten in who knows how long, and the sight of one single man is enough to destroy her in ways her time among the Gorn couldn't. He's there, he's safe and alive and—
And he's not the man she's been grieving for months. He's the man who she can only ever be friends with, who has given himself to someone else. Seeing him is both comforting and heartbreaking because he isn't her Jim and he never will be.
She wants to shrug off his touch, even if it would be excruciating with the state of her shoulder. She wants to dismiss his failed attempt at charm and keep him at arm's length. She wants to build her walls back up to protect herself from this man who had unintentionally broken her heart. But she can't. Because as much as she wants those things, she's caught in the gravitational pull of Jim Kirk, and no matter how much it hurts that she can't hide in his arms while dealing with the trauma she'll finally have to face, seeing him alive makes it worth all the pain in the world. ]
It wasn't intentional, Lieutenant, I can assure you. [ Is he even still a Lieutenant? Did his promotion finally happen while she was gone? Trying to wrap her head around everything she might have missed is like trying to hold water in your hands: it just keeps slipping away from her. ] Your brother, Sam, is he...?
[ He'd been fine when last she saw him, but it's pure instinct now to worry the second he's out of her sight. There's no levity in her voice, no irritation or sadness. Her words are just flat, all inflection drained away by the exhaustion setting in now that her body is slowly realizing it doesn't need to keep flooding her system with adrenaline. Even her expression betrays the hollow, carved-out feeling growing within her, the lines of her face pulling tight at the edges as her nerves register the pain of her injury and she immediately shove the pain back down where it belongs. ]
[ He's still technically a month away from Commander--still working on training his replacement--so he doesn't correct her use of his rank. Instead he gives her a tight smile at the assurance, the worry lines around his eyes only deepening at the lack of expression in her voice--she's on the brink of shock, he thinks, and he looks around for M'Benga and Chapel or their relief staff only to find everyone arms deep in helping those around them.
She may be his first priority but by medical standards she's stable and holding. She'll survive.
At her question he shakes his head, meaning to dismiss her worry and then, after realizing what that might look like, adds quickly: ] He's fine, Sam's fine. I saw him in the transporter room before I came here--hardly a scratch on him.
[ unlike her. There's a part of him, an instinct maybe, a niggling thought, that maybe Sam's so uninjured because of the wounds on the woman in front of him. He'll have to confirm it with her later, but if it's true--he owes her more than he can possibly say. The idea of losing Sam is--
Well.
Not one he has to face today. Hopefully not one he has to face ever. That's supposed to be the one benefit of having a scientist in the family; Sam's meant to stay cooped up in his lab and off hostile planets. He should be writing papers and doing research and talking to the various cages he has scattered around him, not--not surviving the Gorn.
None of them should have gone through that.
His face is a reverse mirror to hers: the more her expression tightens, the more it flattens out, the more worried his becomes, eyes dark with it, lips in a grimace, gaze flicking over her to check for unseen injuries. At least, the kind of unseen injuries medbay can handle ]
You should lay down [ He instructs, helplessly, because he doesn't know enough about how to stop her pain. Jim Kirk, treading water in an unsteady situation where he can't find his footing. It's uncommon, but he hates it even more for that. If it helps--he'd take her place in an instant ] Try and rest while they're getting to you.
[ He doesn't know if she can ] I'll stay. Make sure your vitals stay steady.
[ That moment between the shake of his head and the confirmation that Sam is fine is almost too long. Panic nearly bubbles up inside of her, and she would have been off that bed and marching out to find the wayward scientist if he hadn't offered clarification. Even with it, some part of her is desperate to see for herself, and it's only by reminding herself that Jim wouldn't be here if something was wrong with Sam that she manages to stay right where she is.
Which isn't where she wants to be. Not at all. Not when she can see that crewperson lying under the sheet, and the beds covered in the blood of those being treated. Not when there's a scared child crying in the corner, and her attention keeps being pulled to the people in stasis. She can't stay here much longer, not if she wants to stay in one barely held together piece. ]
I'll be fine. I just need someone to close me up so this bed can go to someone who needs it. [ Despite the numbness spreading through her, there's a thread of urgency in her words that belies the panic that still hasn't settled back down, instead being repurposed. She looks past him to the medical staff who are overwhelmed and likely unable to get to her anytime soon— and makes a decision. ]
You can do it. Use a dermal regenerator to close up the cuts so I stop bleeding everywhere. [ She speaks to him the way she has everyone else since they were taken. There's authority to her request that's half a command, with a dose of encouragement for good measure. It's become second nature to address others with this tone, so it takes no thought or energy to use it with Jim Kirk. ] I was already scanned for internal injuries, I'll just need something to stave off infection.
[ Panic bubbles inside of her and the argument that she needs the bed bubbles up in him. He wants her in medical. He wants her looked after by the chief medical officer until he's sure she's whole, uninjured, not in pain. He wants assurances--
But medically trained or not, he can look up at her bio read outs and see that she's telling the truth about internal injuries. There's nothing in her vitals to indicate more damage than what he can see at first glance. An elevated heart rate from the adrenaline, blood pressure high from her pain, but all of it well within the 'not fatal' he was taught to look for in Command training.
Part of being a good first officer (and eventually a good captain) is being able to triage your crew in the field. And he can hear the way panic tinges the edges of her words--maybe getting her out of here is the best choice after all. His hand squeezes hers almost out of instinct, trying to assure her it's going to be alright, even as he looks around for unsupervised medical supplies. ]
Yes ma'am [ he finally agrees, giving in to the authority in her voice and the need he has to do something to help. James T Kirk has never been good at just--waiting. There's always progress to be made, something to do. ] Stay here, I'll be right back.
[ Turns out leaving her side, even for the short task of finding a field kit and the dermal regenerator inside is harder than he expects. It takes a solid five seconds after he tells her he'll be back for him to actually convince his feet to do any moving, and he feels the loss of touching her like a physical pain, his hands aching under the absence.
Not for the first time since he found out she was missing, Jim thinks he might be in this too damn deep.
But that thought is chased away by the need to help her and he does secure a kit and makes it back to her all within a minute. It feels like ages, time moving like slow molasses in the chaos of a full medbay ]
Alright, give me a second while I get this-- [ he works on getting the regenerator started, fiddling with settings until he thinks it has it right ] This may hurt. If you want, I can see if I can steal some sedation--
[ He takes his hands away and she nearly reaches to bring him back. Having him touch her had felt so natural that she hadn't even noticed until his warmth was no longer there, and now she nearly has to sit on her own hands to stop from reaching out. If he's going to help her, he needs to step away... and he isn't hers to hold, anyway. He's here because he's a friend, and because he can't walk past a person in need. It's nothing more than that.
Time feels fractured to her now, that minute he's gone flitting by like only a second, the anxiety of needing to leaverightnow speeding up her perception and narrowing her world to just thing one space. There is no ship, no nursery planet, just this room she needs to leave as soon as possible, no matter the cost. And then he's back and that cost becomes very real. ]
No. [ It comes out firmer than she'd intended, and a hell of a lot more panicked than she would have liked, but he has to understand. If anyone tries to sedate her, she will fight them as if her life depends upon it, whether she wants to or not. Pure instinct will drive her and she can't even guess at how much damage she might cause — to herself and others. ]
I'll be fine. I've survived worse. [ Because that's all that matters right now. Surviving. She can try to get back to a state of living later, when she stops watching the floor for hatchlings skittering along the edges. ]
Hey, hey, easy-- [ he tries to soothe, pressing down his own startle at her adamant refusal in the name of keeping her calm. His hand comes up to the nape of her neck (the good side) almost out of instinct, thumb rubbing a gentle pattern over the sensitive skin there, bringing her forehead forward to press against his if she allows it.
Jim draws in a breath; slow, measured, steady. Trying to get her to mimic it due to their closeness without saying the words. Trying to settle her and the panic tinging her words. It's only when she looks a little less haunted (just a little, but he'll take an incremental win right now, if he can get it) that he pulls back, holds up the dermal ]
No sedation. Just this. Promise [ he offers her a smile: it's not his usually, it's too tinged with worry to be that, but it is encouraging ] I'm following your orders right now, Lieutenant. You're in charge.
[ he's not going to do anything she doesn't want, even if he does think it'd be better for her if she rested. There's time for bossing her around later. ]
[ Only Jim Kirk could touch her in this state and keep his fingers intact. His hand covers her skin and her racing heart immediately calms, her body recognizing his as safe long before her mind catches up. His forehead against hers brings back that same ache from before, the same reminder that he isn't her James, but she doesn't care. In this moment, he's the only thing keeping her from screaming out her pain and sorrow, so she gives into the need to be close to him, her breathing following his and that panic subsiding enough to continue with what needs to be done.
It feels strange when he pulls back, but she nods at his words, appreciating that he lays things out that way. Even the slightest bit of control over this situation is enough to keep her heartrate from rocketing back up. ]
Damn the ramparts, Lieutenant. [ It's not the correct phrase, but to this day, no one has corrected Chris whenever he uses it. There's something charming in the words, and La'an clings to them as she prepares herself for the stinging pain of skin rapidly generating and knitting together. Her shoulder is a mess, the claws leaving jagged tears, but the wounds are already exposed and ready for treatment.
And the pain is... more than she'd expected. Her stronger hand clings to the edge of the bed as he works, and her complexion pales further as she holds back her reactions to the sensations that are nearly as bad as the injury itself. But she can't show how much it hurts. She might not be their leader anymore, but the people in this room still expect her to be the strongest of them all and she will not prove them wrong. ]
Full speed ahead [ he agrees, quietly, pulling back to take in the entirety of her wound. This close he can see the damage she sustained and it isn't pretty. His curiosity, that driving need to know tugs at him and he wants to ask what happened down there but he's not an idiot and he keeps his mouth shut.
There'll be time to find out the stories later, when they're not so fresh in her mind that he feels like he can see them in the fear in her eyes. Right now he needs to get her back into one piece.
The dermal regenerator begins its work, knitting together soft tissue, muscles, and finally her skin, repairing the damage until there's no outward sign of the things she's gone through, her skin refreshed and clean, repaired in a way that could deceive someone looking into thinking she's okay.
Jim knows better.
When he finally pulls back it's to look her up and down, checking for any other cuts or bruises, any more signs she might be headed toward shock ]
[ Anyone else probably would have gone into shock long before he finishes the procedure, and it's quite possible that the only thing holding La'an back is sheer stubborn will. She's spent most of her life training her body to do only what she wants it to and she refuses to let go of that control now when she's so close. To freedom. To the nearest thing to peace she can ever find. To being able to shed this facade and allow herself to finally fall apart the way she needs.
The La'an of a year ago would have balked at the thought of letting go of her hold over her emotions. The La'an of today actually learned something from the hours of therapy and accepts that sometimes letting go of your own volition is the only way to ultimately maintain that control she values so much. If she doesn't choose the time, her mind will choose it for her when it finally reaches a breaking point, and that is something she can't afford.
There are no other visible injuries, everything hidden still beneath layers of clothing, but there's nothing even remotely life-threatening. And some part of her needs for those little reminders to stay so she doesn't start to think it was all just some terrible dream.
Reaching up, her fingers gently prod the tender but now healed shoulder, and after a moment she nods. ] Thank you for your help, Jim.
[ Jim, not James. Because she needs to remember that distinction now. She's about to say something more when Joseph M'Benga appears at the bed with a hypo in one hand and an assortment of vials in the other. He looks as exhausted as she feels, but he'd made it out of their encounter with only a few scrapes and bruises himself, for which she is beyond grateful. At her questioning look at the vials, he gives a shake of his head. ]
No sedatives, just something for infection and some vitamin supplements. [ One by one, he administers each spray with near-tactical precision, and then he loads one last vial in and holds the hypo out to Jim. ] For pain, if she'll allow it. Make sure she eats something.
[ The chief medical officer is gone again before she can protest, turning his attention to yet another patient. She tries not to be irritated; she knows he means well, but there's still a slight bite to her words as she informs Jim ] I don't need that.
Always so formal [ he tries to lighten the mood, tries to draw out a smile but his efforts are interrupted by M'Benga giving her what she needs to be dismissed. The sprays go easy and she takes them without a fight. He doesn't move his hand away from her, but he does move to give her some space and to let the doctor work.
Jim takes the hypo with a nod (he'll use it if she needs it--better to have it than to not) and slips it into a pocket. At her words, he raises his hands: showing they're empty, that he means no harm ]
I won't use it unless you ask [ he promises, voice sincere. Following your orders, remember ] but let's get you out of here. See if we can get you something to eat--something that's actually made and not just synthesized.
[ if you thought he was leaving you alone once he saw you were 'fixed', La'an, you don't know him very well at all ] Can you stand?
[ She wants to argue, but she also knows there are times when one needs to pick their battles. Even if he isn't her Jim, she trusts him to keep his word and not use the spray against her will, so she lets it slide, certain that he'll be returning the hypo to sickbay later with its vial unused. ]
Yes. [ It's short but not irritated, only tired. And stand she does, taking it slow so her body doesn't sway as her weight shifts and exhausted muscles strain to keep her upright. After a few moments, she feels confident enough to walk, and she manages to move toward the door without falling flat on her face. She even waits until they reach the hallway and the sickbay doors whoosh closed behind them before she turns to dismiss him. ] I can manage on my own, Jim. You should be with your brother.
[ It takes everything that makes up James Tiberius Kirk to not reach out and steady her when she stands. It's not that he doesn't think she can do it (he knows she can--she is, without a doubt, one of the most competent people he's ever met; it's at least half of what makes her so damn compelling to him) but more that she was right when she accused him of being someone who couldn't walk past someone in need.
He's a fixer who hates not being able to do something tangible about a problem.
But he lets her stand on her own, partly because he values keeping all of his limbs in one piece and not taking an elbow to the gut, and partly because he thinks she might need to see for herself that she can do it. He hovers though--one hand near the small of her back, ready to catch her if she falls.
At her admonition, he cocks an eyebrow--expression asking the 'are you serious, right now?' so he doesn't have to say the words aloud. She may miss it, in the state she's in, but it's there to read if she wants to notice ] Sam's checking on the science yeomans. And his--are they experiments? Pets? I don't really know the proper terminology here.
He'll be fine without me for a few hours. [ a beat, quiet tension while he debates something before he lets his hand settle on her back fully, fingers spread wide as he looks down at her ] Let me at least get you into your quarters?
[ It's the please that nearly breaks her. Everything in her rational mind is telling her this is a bad idea. Jim should be with his brother, he could help Sam feel more settled with stepping back into normal life, something she knows every single person rescued today will struggle with in the months ahead. And yet, even with all that rational thought, her body reacts to his touch, leaning her weight just slightly back to press into his hand and strengthen that small connection.
This is a bad idea. A very bad idea. But that please... The way he'd stayed close while still letting her support herself... That look in his eyes. Try as she might, she can't bring herself to turn him away. ]
Alright. [ Permission granted, she takes a deep breath and turns to move down the hall to the turbolift. Her steps are slower now, though whether it's from the exhaustion or the hope he'll keep his hand on her back, she couldn't say for certain.
She doesn't speak while they walk, her only words in the turbolift to dictate where to go, and when they finally reach her quarters, she doesn't prevent him from following her inside. But when the door closes behind them and she turns to properly address him again, her gaze catches on the full-length mirror she used before every shift to check her uniform. The person staring back at her isn't one she recognizes. The torn combat uniform. The braids that anything but smooth and orderly. The empty look in her eyes. She can't turn away, and she can feel things begin to break inside of her. ]
[ When she doesn't shrug him off or twist away, he keeps his hand where it is, reminding himself through the feel of her warmth that she's here, that she's alive. MIA, but not dead. Recovered. They got them out. Both of them--all of them, but also the two that matter most to one particular almost first officer.
He doesn't press her to talk, just walks beside her, supporting what he can as he trails her to her quarters, ushers her through the door.
Jim's expecting her to try and chase him out again once the door is shut. He's already working up an argument in his head, trying to anticipate her arguments and his counters, five steps ahead--it's the only reason he can give for why he doesn't realize, at first, that something's wrong. That's she's spinning.
When she doesn't say anything the half-formed counter dies on his lips and he looks at her, really looks at her and his exhale comes out a soft curse. Broad hands come up to settle against her; one at her hip, one at her neck, framing her as much as he can as he tries to ground her back here, back on the ship, back with him ]
La'an [ He's Jim, name James, and he doesn't use her name all that often, preferring to use her rank as endearment, but he uses it now, trying to drag her out of the place she's sliding in her head. He's been there--not this time, not like this, but he's seen things too--he knows the sort of horrors that can wait in the mind. ] Hey, hey-- Look at me, okay? Look at me.
[ The hand on her neck slides down, grips her wrist and draws it up, pressing it over the left side of his chest, his own hand cupping over it and pushing down, hoping she'll be able to feel his heartbeat through the fabric ] You're okay. La'an, you're okay--
[ He doesn't mean to. Looking back, she'll know he didn't intend for it to happen. But in the moment, she hates him and loves him for those words. A living, breathing Jim Kirk saying those words to her when she can still remember the feeling of James dying in her arms while she said them to him? It breaks her, utterly and completely.
She can feel his heartbeat beneath her hand but it does little to anchor her as the room tilts and blurs, the galaxy falling away as the damn breaks. Her free hand grabs hold of his arm as she struggles to breathe, her throat tightening in an attempt to hold back the sobs that force their way out of her. The tears burn her eyes, and her skin, and she hates that he's seeing her like this.
Everything hurts. It hurts to breathe, to stand, to remember. A knife tears through her soul and bares her pain for all the world to see, and all she can do is cling to the only witness who matters, the man who can break her with a single word and who might be the only one who can put her back together. ]
[ The first sob rips out of her and shatters Jim's heart. What he wouldn't give to take the pain from her. He'd--switch places in an instant, if it'd give her relief. But he isn't a damn miracle worker even if he refuses to accept defeat, so he knows the best he can do right now is hold her, let her break against him and be strong enough for them both. He may not be her James, but in this moment he can see how easy it was for another version of him to love her.
His arms shift to wrap around her, pressing her fully against him as she sobs, as she struggles to catch her breath. She's tiny, when it comes down to it. He hasn't noticed before because she carries herself with such a confidence and presence she feels tall, but cradled against him like this he can nearly wrap himself around her. He tries it now, tucking her under his chin, holding her close as she shakes.
Jim speaks, but there's no tangible sense to the words coming out of his mouth; just murmurs of assurance, promises that he's got her, that he's not going anywhere, that's she's okay and she can let go if she wants, let it all out. That she did it, that she got them back, kept them safe, kept them alive. ]
[ She falls apart and he holds her together. His words hurt as much as they heal. His arms keep the broken parts of her from scattering across the floor, and she clings to him because this is the only thing that makes sense anymore. Control of her mind and body slips through her fingers as they clutch at the fabric of his uniform, the rich gold slowly being stained by the grime and dried blood covering her own.
Time blurs again and she doesn't know whether it's minutes or hours that pass. All she knows is that, somehow, she finally knows what it's like to have the arms of James Kirk wrapped around her. If only she could properly appreciate the strength and warmth of them or the way they make her feel safe and protected. It's wrong, she knows. He didn't sign up for this. He has no reason to help her like this. But still, she doesn't push him away, not even when the sobs finally calm to little more than ragged breaths and intermittent trembles. ]
I lied. [ Her voice is rough, the syllables pulled over the broken glass of her throat, but it's the words themselves that hurt most of all. ] I lied to them.
[ She should step away, put distance between them, and keep this truth to herself. He doesn't deserve to be burdened with all her secrets. But she stays where she is, letting him hold a little more of her weight, and the confession continues. ] I told them we could all make it if they just did what I said, but I knew we wouldn't. I knew they would die. Painfully. Horribly. So afraid... I knew I couldn't save them all and I lied.
[ he doesn't keep track of how long he holds her, how long she cries against him. It's enough that his uniform is wet with her tears but he doesn't pull away--wouldn't dream of it. He just keeps her close until the sobs turn into a slower shake of her shoulders and then even less than that. She's not out of the woods, he's pretty sure they both know that. Grief like this, trauma like this, it comes in waves; each one doing its damned best to knock you off your feet.
At least right now he can be the buoy she can cling to so maybe she doesn't have to tread water quite as much.
The words are rough, her pain slicing into him and leaving his heart bleeding for her, even though he didn't see any real action on the planet. She speaks and he holds her even tighter though he didn't think it was possible--he's not sure if someone walking in right now would know where one of them started and the other one ended if not for the stark difference in the color and state of their uniforms.
But when the last word slips out he does pull away, just enough, carefully, holding both her arms at the elbows until he reaches out to tuck up her chin encouraging her to meet his eyes ] Hey, hey. Look at me. Without you every single person on that planet would have died. All of them. Sam. Ortegas. M'Benga.
You didn't save everyone--you couldn't have saved everyone, but you saved them. You saved so many people. [ he can't help it, his hand brushes over her face, wiping away the tracks of her tears, eyes meeting hers and holding them ] You did enough, La'an. You did good.
[ The thing about survivor's guilt? It's not logical. The mind's response to trauma as a whole makes no sense, but the stages of survivor's guilt are something she is all too familiar with. The guilt over staying alive while people all around her died. The guilt of not doing more to keep those people safe. And, all too quickly, the guilt over what she had done — not to protect everyone, but to protect just one person.
She shouldn't tell him. No one should ever know this secret. But he holds her so gently, each touch trying to smooth the rough edges of her soul, that without her permission, her mouth opens and the words come out. ]
I would have let them die to save him.
[ It takes everything in her not to bury herself in his arms again. The temptation to wrap herself around him and never let go is so strong that she nearly takes a physical step back, his hands on her the only thing keeping her where she stands.
She didn't do enough. She couldn't. Not when only one of them might have a chance. ]
Him? [ it takes Jim longer than he wants to admit to follow what she's saying, to try and click the pieces into place. The people she went down with--the only men he can put together that would be worth sacrificing those she didn't know are M'Benga and--
And Sam.
M'Benga was in a different party when they started moving groups up. Sam was--Sam was right next to her. Sam was completely unharmed. Sam looked like he had a rough go of it, sure, because they all had, but--]
You kept my brother alive.
[ The words tumble out, jagged around the surprising lump in his throat. He'd panicked when he heard Sam was missing, would have done his best to tear down the galaxy between the Farragut and the Enterprise to get him back, but she's the reason his brother's still here. Still with them ] La'an--
[ she may be resisting the urge to curl into him, but he's not going to resist the urge he has to pull her back in, wrapping strong arms around her, burying his nose in the tangle of her hair, tugged half-free from her usual tidy braids ]
[ Some part of her expected him to hate her for what she'd done; perhaps it's the part of her that hates herself for it. Does he understand what she would have been willing to do? Had anyone told him about her past? About the Gorn ritual? No one could be this grateful to her for letting people die.
Only she'd seen the look on James's face when he'd learned this Sam was still alive. That grief and hope haunted her dreams and she knows in her heart that he wouldn't have faulted her for anything she might have done to save Sam's life... Except for maybe that final step.
She doesn't deserve to be held like this, but she melts into his embrace anyway, holding on with what little strength she has left. And even though she hadn't explained to Sam, she can't not explain to Jim. ] The other you — he lost his brother. I couldn't bear for you to lose yours.
[ No one's told him about her history, not at length. Una and Pike gave him some of a rundown, a few bits of information here and there that they dropped about the mission giving him a few ideas. 'They have a better shot with La'an down there', from Una, eyes worried, speaking across the table to Pike. Later, Pike murmured when he thought Jim couldn't hear: 'She'll take weeks to recover from this once we get them back. Is this the same planet?' and Una's shaken head.
He's got half a puzzle with a few pieces put in and no idea what picture it makes.
Sometime he'll ask her about it, when it's less raw.
She melts against him and he can't resist the urge to press a brief, fleeting kiss against the top of her head. He doesn't even know if she'll feel it, but it helps--a quiet, nonverbal thank you ]
La'an. [ There's more emotion in her name than he means there to be, realizing how close he was to losing his brother wrapped around it, with his gratitude threaded in ] I--you--
Come here. [ It's all he can say, and all he can do to tuck her even closer. How has this woman worked her way so deeply under his skin? Into his heart? Things like this are a start. ]
[ Was that a... She can't tell, the feeling so barely there that it could have been her imagination. A longing for what she can't have, nothing more. She can't let herself hope for more, not even when he says her name like that. There's so much in those two syllables she can't even begin to define, so she doesn't try. All that matters is the Kirk brothers are both safe, as they should be.
Jim is solid and warm and so strong. With his arms around her, she can almost pretend that she really is okay. For just a moment, there's nothing wrong in her world — but it's dangerous to linger too long in moments like those. She can't allow her reality to fracture more than it already has. ]
He's going to need you. [ Softly, she tries to help him the way no one else on the ship can. ] To help remind him he isn't there anymore, and to understand when he can't just be his old self again.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
hold on to me.
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And he's not the man she's been grieving for months. He's the man who she can only ever be friends with, who has given himself to someone else. Seeing him is both comforting and heartbreaking because he isn't her Jim and he never will be.
She wants to shrug off his touch, even if it would be excruciating with the state of her shoulder. She wants to dismiss his failed attempt at charm and keep him at arm's length. She wants to build her walls back up to protect herself from this man who had unintentionally broken her heart. But she can't. Because as much as she wants those things, she's caught in the gravitational pull of Jim Kirk, and no matter how much it hurts that she can't hide in his arms while dealing with the trauma she'll finally have to face, seeing him alive makes it worth all the pain in the world. ]
It wasn't intentional, Lieutenant, I can assure you. [ Is he even still a Lieutenant? Did his promotion finally happen while she was gone? Trying to wrap her head around everything she might have missed is like trying to hold water in your hands: it just keeps slipping away from her. ] Your brother, Sam, is he...?
[ He'd been fine when last she saw him, but it's pure instinct now to worry the second he's out of her sight. There's no levity in her voice, no irritation or sadness. Her words are just flat, all inflection drained away by the exhaustion setting in now that her body is slowly realizing it doesn't need to keep flooding her system with adrenaline. Even her expression betrays the hollow, carved-out feeling growing within her, the lines of her face pulling tight at the edges as her nerves register the pain of her injury and she immediately shove the pain back down where it belongs. ]
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She may be his first priority but by medical standards she's stable and holding. She'll survive.
At her question he shakes his head, meaning to dismiss her worry and then, after realizing what that might look like, adds quickly: ] He's fine, Sam's fine. I saw him in the transporter room before I came here--hardly a scratch on him.
[ unlike her. There's a part of him, an instinct maybe, a niggling thought, that maybe Sam's so uninjured because of the wounds on the woman in front of him. He'll have to confirm it with her later, but if it's true--he owes her more than he can possibly say. The idea of losing Sam is--
Well.
Not one he has to face today. Hopefully not one he has to face ever. That's supposed to be the one benefit of having a scientist in the family; Sam's meant to stay cooped up in his lab and off hostile planets. He should be writing papers and doing research and talking to the various cages he has scattered around him, not--not surviving the Gorn.
None of them should have gone through that.
His face is a reverse mirror to hers: the more her expression tightens, the more it flattens out, the more worried his becomes, eyes dark with it, lips in a grimace, gaze flicking over her to check for unseen injuries. At least, the kind of unseen injuries medbay can handle ]
You should lay down [ He instructs, helplessly, because he doesn't know enough about how to stop her pain. Jim Kirk, treading water in an unsteady situation where he can't find his footing. It's uncommon, but he hates it even more for that. If it helps--he'd take her place in an instant ] Try and rest while they're getting to you.
[ He doesn't know if she can ] I'll stay. Make sure your vitals stay steady.
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Which isn't where she wants to be. Not at all. Not when she can see that crewperson lying under the sheet, and the beds covered in the blood of those being treated. Not when there's a scared child crying in the corner, and her attention keeps being pulled to the people in stasis. She can't stay here much longer, not if she wants to stay in one barely held together piece. ]
I'll be fine. I just need someone to close me up so this bed can go to someone who needs it. [ Despite the numbness spreading through her, there's a thread of urgency in her words that belies the panic that still hasn't settled back down, instead being repurposed. She looks past him to the medical staff who are overwhelmed and likely unable to get to her anytime soon— and makes a decision. ]
You can do it. Use a dermal regenerator to close up the cuts so I stop bleeding everywhere. [ She speaks to him the way she has everyone else since they were taken. There's authority to her request that's half a command, with a dose of encouragement for good measure. It's become second nature to address others with this tone, so it takes no thought or energy to use it with Jim Kirk. ] I was already scanned for internal injuries, I'll just need something to stave off infection.
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But medically trained or not, he can look up at her bio read outs and see that she's telling the truth about internal injuries. There's nothing in her vitals to indicate more damage than what he can see at first glance. An elevated heart rate from the adrenaline, blood pressure high from her pain, but all of it well within the 'not fatal' he was taught to look for in Command training.
Part of being a good first officer (and eventually a good captain) is being able to triage your crew in the field. And he can hear the way panic tinges the edges of her words--maybe getting her out of here is the best choice after all. His hand squeezes hers almost out of instinct, trying to assure her it's going to be alright, even as he looks around for unsupervised medical supplies. ]
Yes ma'am [ he finally agrees, giving in to the authority in her voice and the need he has to do something to help. James T Kirk has never been good at just--waiting. There's always progress to be made, something to do. ] Stay here, I'll be right back.
[ Turns out leaving her side, even for the short task of finding a field kit and the dermal regenerator inside is harder than he expects. It takes a solid five seconds after he tells her he'll be back for him to actually convince his feet to do any moving, and he feels the loss of touching her like a physical pain, his hands aching under the absence.
Not for the first time since he found out she was missing, Jim thinks he might be in this too damn deep.
But that thought is chased away by the need to help her and he does secure a kit and makes it back to her all within a minute. It feels like ages, time moving like slow molasses in the chaos of a full medbay ]
Alright, give me a second while I get this-- [ he works on getting the regenerator started, fiddling with settings until he thinks it has it right ] This may hurt. If you want, I can see if I can steal some sedation--
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Time feels fractured to her now, that minute he's gone flitting by like only a second, the anxiety of needing to leaverightnow speeding up her perception and narrowing her world to just thing one space. There is no ship, no nursery planet, just this room she needs to leave as soon as possible, no matter the cost. And then he's back and that cost becomes very real. ]
No. [ It comes out firmer than she'd intended, and a hell of a lot more panicked than she would have liked, but he has to understand. If anyone tries to sedate her, she will fight them as if her life depends upon it, whether she wants to or not. Pure instinct will drive her and she can't even guess at how much damage she might cause — to herself and others. ]
I'll be fine. I've survived worse. [ Because that's all that matters right now. Surviving. She can try to get back to a state of living later, when she stops watching the floor for hatchlings skittering along the edges. ]
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Jim draws in a breath; slow, measured, steady. Trying to get her to mimic it due to their closeness without saying the words. Trying to settle her and the panic tinging her words. It's only when she looks a little less haunted (just a little, but he'll take an incremental win right now, if he can get it) that he pulls back, holds up the dermal ]
No sedation. Just this. Promise [ he offers her a smile: it's not his usually, it's too tinged with worry to be that, but it is encouraging ] I'm following your orders right now, Lieutenant. You're in charge.
[ he's not going to do anything she doesn't want, even if he does think it'd be better for her if she rested. There's time for bossing her around later. ]
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It feels strange when he pulls back, but she nods at his words, appreciating that he lays things out that way. Even the slightest bit of control over this situation is enough to keep her heartrate from rocketing back up. ]
Damn the ramparts, Lieutenant. [ It's not the correct phrase, but to this day, no one has corrected Chris whenever he uses it. There's something charming in the words, and La'an clings to them as she prepares herself for the stinging pain of skin rapidly generating and knitting together. Her shoulder is a mess, the claws leaving jagged tears, but the wounds are already exposed and ready for treatment.
And the pain is... more than she'd expected. Her stronger hand clings to the edge of the bed as he works, and her complexion pales further as she holds back her reactions to the sensations that are nearly as bad as the injury itself. But she can't show how much it hurts. She might not be their leader anymore, but the people in this room still expect her to be the strongest of them all and she will not prove them wrong. ]
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There'll be time to find out the stories later, when they're not so fresh in her mind that he feels like he can see them in the fear in her eyes. Right now he needs to get her back into one piece.
The dermal regenerator begins its work, knitting together soft tissue, muscles, and finally her skin, repairing the damage until there's no outward sign of the things she's gone through, her skin refreshed and clean, repaired in a way that could deceive someone looking into thinking she's okay.
Jim knows better.
When he finally pulls back it's to look her up and down, checking for any other cuts or bruises, any more signs she might be headed toward shock ]
How's that?
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The La'an of a year ago would have balked at the thought of letting go of her hold over her emotions. The La'an of today actually learned something from the hours of therapy and accepts that sometimes letting go of your own volition is the only way to ultimately maintain that control she values so much. If she doesn't choose the time, her mind will choose it for her when it finally reaches a breaking point, and that is something she can't afford.
There are no other visible injuries, everything hidden still beneath layers of clothing, but there's nothing even remotely life-threatening. And some part of her needs for those little reminders to stay so she doesn't start to think it was all just some terrible dream.
Reaching up, her fingers gently prod the tender but now healed shoulder, and after a moment she nods. ] Thank you for your help, Jim.
[ Jim, not James. Because she needs to remember that distinction now. She's about to say something more when Joseph M'Benga appears at the bed with a hypo in one hand and an assortment of vials in the other. He looks as exhausted as she feels, but he'd made it out of their encounter with only a few scrapes and bruises himself, for which she is beyond grateful. At her questioning look at the vials, he gives a shake of his head. ]
No sedatives, just something for infection and some vitamin supplements. [ One by one, he administers each spray with near-tactical precision, and then he loads one last vial in and holds the hypo out to Jim. ] For pain, if she'll allow it. Make sure she eats something.
[ The chief medical officer is gone again before she can protest, turning his attention to yet another patient. She tries not to be irritated; she knows he means well, but there's still a slight bite to her words as she informs Jim ] I don't need that.
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Jim takes the hypo with a nod (he'll use it if she needs it--better to have it than to not) and slips it into a pocket. At her words, he raises his hands: showing they're empty, that he means no harm ]
I won't use it unless you ask [ he promises, voice sincere. Following your orders, remember ] but let's get you out of here. See if we can get you something to eat--something that's actually made and not just synthesized.
[ if you thought he was leaving you alone once he saw you were 'fixed', La'an, you don't know him very well at all ] Can you stand?
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Yes. [ It's short but not irritated, only tired. And stand she does, taking it slow so her body doesn't sway as her weight shifts and exhausted muscles strain to keep her upright. After a few moments, she feels confident enough to walk, and she manages to move toward the door without falling flat on her face. She even waits until they reach the hallway and the sickbay doors whoosh closed behind them before she turns to dismiss him. ] I can manage on my own, Jim. You should be with your brother.
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He's a fixer who hates not being able to do something tangible about a problem.
But he lets her stand on her own, partly because he values keeping all of his limbs in one piece and not taking an elbow to the gut, and partly because he thinks she might need to see for herself that she can do it. He hovers though--one hand near the small of her back, ready to catch her if she falls.
At her admonition, he cocks an eyebrow--expression asking the 'are you serious, right now?' so he doesn't have to say the words aloud. She may miss it, in the state she's in, but it's there to read if she wants to notice ] Sam's checking on the science yeomans. And his--are they experiments? Pets? I don't really know the proper terminology here.
He'll be fine without me for a few hours. [ a beat, quiet tension while he debates something before he lets his hand settle on her back fully, fingers spread wide as he looks down at her ] Let me at least get you into your quarters?
[ he swallows, and then adds: ] Please?
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This is a bad idea. A very bad idea. But that please... The way he'd stayed close while still letting her support herself... That look in his eyes. Try as she might, she can't bring herself to turn him away. ]
Alright. [ Permission granted, she takes a deep breath and turns to move down the hall to the turbolift. Her steps are slower now, though whether it's from the exhaustion or the hope he'll keep his hand on her back, she couldn't say for certain.
She doesn't speak while they walk, her only words in the turbolift to dictate where to go, and when they finally reach her quarters, she doesn't prevent him from following her inside. But when the door closes behind them and she turns to properly address him again, her gaze catches on the full-length mirror she used before every shift to check her uniform. The person staring back at her isn't one she recognizes. The torn combat uniform. The braids that anything but smooth and orderly. The empty look in her eyes. She can't turn away, and she can feel things begin to break inside of her. ]
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He doesn't press her to talk, just walks beside her, supporting what he can as he trails her to her quarters, ushers her through the door.
Jim's expecting her to try and chase him out again once the door is shut. He's already working up an argument in his head, trying to anticipate her arguments and his counters, five steps ahead--it's the only reason he can give for why he doesn't realize, at first, that something's wrong. That's she's spinning.
When she doesn't say anything the half-formed counter dies on his lips and he looks at her, really looks at her and his exhale comes out a soft curse. Broad hands come up to settle against her; one at her hip, one at her neck, framing her as much as he can as he tries to ground her back here, back on the ship, back with him ]
La'an [ He's Jim, name James, and he doesn't use her name all that often, preferring to use her rank as endearment, but he uses it now, trying to drag her out of the place she's sliding in her head. He's been there--not this time, not like this, but he's seen things too--he knows the sort of horrors that can wait in the mind. ] Hey, hey-- Look at me, okay? Look at me.
[ The hand on her neck slides down, grips her wrist and draws it up, pressing it over the left side of his chest, his own hand cupping over it and pushing down, hoping she'll be able to feel his heartbeat through the fabric ] You're okay. La'an, you're okay--
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She can feel his heartbeat beneath her hand but it does little to anchor her as the room tilts and blurs, the galaxy falling away as the damn breaks. Her free hand grabs hold of his arm as she struggles to breathe, her throat tightening in an attempt to hold back the sobs that force their way out of her. The tears burn her eyes, and her skin, and she hates that he's seeing her like this.
Everything hurts. It hurts to breathe, to stand, to remember. A knife tears through her soul and bares her pain for all the world to see, and all she can do is cling to the only witness who matters, the man who can break her with a single word and who might be the only one who can put her back together. ]
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His arms shift to wrap around her, pressing her fully against him as she sobs, as she struggles to catch her breath. She's tiny, when it comes down to it. He hasn't noticed before because she carries herself with such a confidence and presence she feels tall, but cradled against him like this he can nearly wrap himself around her. He tries it now, tucking her under his chin, holding her close as she shakes.
Jim speaks, but there's no tangible sense to the words coming out of his mouth; just murmurs of assurance, promises that he's got her, that he's not going anywhere, that's she's okay and she can let go if she wants, let it all out. That she did it, that she got them back, kept them safe, kept them alive. ]
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Time blurs again and she doesn't know whether it's minutes or hours that pass. All she knows is that, somehow, she finally knows what it's like to have the arms of James Kirk wrapped around her. If only she could properly appreciate the strength and warmth of them or the way they make her feel safe and protected. It's wrong, she knows. He didn't sign up for this. He has no reason to help her like this. But still, she doesn't push him away, not even when the sobs finally calm to little more than ragged breaths and intermittent trembles. ]
I lied. [ Her voice is rough, the syllables pulled over the broken glass of her throat, but it's the words themselves that hurt most of all. ] I lied to them.
[ She should step away, put distance between them, and keep this truth to herself. He doesn't deserve to be burdened with all her secrets. But she stays where she is, letting him hold a little more of her weight, and the confession continues. ] I told them we could all make it if they just did what I said, but I knew we wouldn't. I knew they would die. Painfully. Horribly. So afraid... I knew I couldn't save them all and I lied.
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At least right now he can be the buoy she can cling to so maybe she doesn't have to tread water quite as much.
The words are rough, her pain slicing into him and leaving his heart bleeding for her, even though he didn't see any real action on the planet. She speaks and he holds her even tighter though he didn't think it was possible--he's not sure if someone walking in right now would know where one of them started and the other one ended if not for the stark difference in the color and state of their uniforms.
But when the last word slips out he does pull away, just enough, carefully, holding both her arms at the elbows until he reaches out to tuck up her chin encouraging her to meet his eyes ] Hey, hey. Look at me. Without you every single person on that planet would have died. All of them. Sam. Ortegas. M'Benga.
You didn't save everyone--you couldn't have saved everyone, but you saved them. You saved so many people. [ he can't help it, his hand brushes over her face, wiping away the tracks of her tears, eyes meeting hers and holding them ] You did enough, La'an. You did good.
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She shouldn't tell him. No one should ever know this secret. But he holds her so gently, each touch trying to smooth the rough edges of her soul, that without her permission, her mouth opens and the words come out. ]
I would have let them die to save him.
[ It takes everything in her not to bury herself in his arms again. The temptation to wrap herself around him and never let go is so strong that she nearly takes a physical step back, his hands on her the only thing keeping her where she stands.
She didn't do enough. She couldn't. Not when only one of them might have a chance. ]
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And Sam.
M'Benga was in a different party when they started moving groups up. Sam was--Sam was right next to her. Sam was completely unharmed. Sam looked like he had a rough go of it, sure, because they all had, but--]
You kept my brother alive.
[ The words tumble out, jagged around the surprising lump in his throat. He'd panicked when he heard Sam was missing, would have done his best to tear down the galaxy between the Farragut and the Enterprise to get him back, but she's the reason his brother's still here. Still with them ] La'an--
[ she may be resisting the urge to curl into him, but he's not going to resist the urge he has to pull her back in, wrapping strong arms around her, burying his nose in the tangle of her hair, tugged half-free from her usual tidy braids ]
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Only she'd seen the look on James's face when he'd learned this Sam was still alive. That grief and hope haunted her dreams and she knows in her heart that he wouldn't have faulted her for anything she might have done to save Sam's life... Except for maybe that final step.
She doesn't deserve to be held like this, but she melts into his embrace anyway, holding on with what little strength she has left. And even though she hadn't explained to Sam, she can't not explain to Jim. ] The other you — he lost his brother. I couldn't bear for you to lose yours.
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He's got half a puzzle with a few pieces put in and no idea what picture it makes.
Sometime he'll ask her about it, when it's less raw.
She melts against him and he can't resist the urge to press a brief, fleeting kiss against the top of her head. He doesn't even know if she'll feel it, but it helps--a quiet, nonverbal thank you ]
La'an. [ There's more emotion in her name than he means there to be, realizing how close he was to losing his brother wrapped around it, with his gratitude threaded in ] I--you--
Come here. [ It's all he can say, and all he can do to tuck her even closer. How has this woman worked her way so deeply under his skin? Into his heart? Things like this are a start. ]
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Jim is solid and warm and so strong. With his arms around her, she can almost pretend that she really is okay. For just a moment, there's nothing wrong in her world — but it's dangerous to linger too long in moments like those. She can't allow her reality to fracture more than it already has. ]
He's going to need you. [ Softly, she tries to help him the way no one else on the ship can. ] To help remind him he isn't there anymore, and to understand when he can't just be his old self again.
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