[ 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.
I'll help him [ It's an assurance. A promise. She got him back and Jim isn't going to let him get lost again, even if the place he could get lost is his own mind. They may not always see eye to eye--okay, admittedly, that's an understatement--but they're still brothers ] I promise, I'll help him.
But he-- [ a moment's hesitation, because he doesn't want to admit it, as true as it is ] --he won't want to see me right now. He's my brother, he loves me, but when he's hurting like this--
He needs his friends.
[ It's whispered into her hair, confessed more than admitted. No, he'll make his way to Sam, help him work through whatever he needs, try to be whatever he needs, but--right now? Right now he's staying right here. Unless she throws him out herself ]
And you need me. [ probably not entirely true. Una could replace him right now. Maybe even Pike. Her friends--not a man she's only met a few times, no matter how drawn they feel to each other, but maybe it's a hope. Maybe he wants her to need him. The way he's finding he needs her ]
But first things first: let's get you out of this uniform, alright?
[ That's right, Sam is the type of person who has friends he can turn to for things like this. La'an... doesn't, not really. She has Una, but Una is family, and the other woman has a great many more people to look after now, she can't just focus on one traumatized little girl anymore. Everyone else La'an has connected with hasn't been in exactly the same way. She's making those connections, yes, but letting her guard down enough to let someone help her through trauma requires more vulnerability than she's comfortable with.
And that's okay. This isn't the first time she's been through this, after all. She survived it before and she can do it again. Alone.
And you need me. No, she doesn't. She'll be fine on her own. Needing him isn't possible, not when they're little more than acquaintances and they can't be anything else... But she can't lie to herself like that. She does need him, desperately, and she wants so badly for it to be okay to feel this way.
Nodding at his suggestion, her tearstained cheek rubs against the shoulder of his uniform before she steps back, putting much-needed and much-hated distance between them even as her hands linger on him until the last second. ] I'm going to shower. I need to get the smell of the planet off me.
[ As soon as she pulls back, he has to fight an absolutely absurd urge to collect her against him again. His hands twitch, and when she pulls away fully, he has to ball them into fists at his side to keep from reaching out to her again.
A shower makes sense--he can't imagine how it must feel, the thing built up on her skin. The blood, the sweat, the--well. He understands the urge. ]
I'll stay--if you want. [ Please want ] Be here when you get out.
[ He tries for a smile, offers it her way as encouragement as much as anything else ] Could even find you some food like the Doctor ordered. With my charm, I bet I could even get you something that isn't replicated. [ Is it obvious he's trying to drag humor out of her? Trying to diffuse the tension that's built in his limbs now that he isn't touching her, isn't able to assure himself that she's alive through the evidence of his own fingers ] The mess crew love me.
[ It takes a few seconds before her mind registers he's trying to be funny, using that charm he mentioned to lighten the mood a little. That's who James Kirk is — both versions she's met have used that ridiculous charm and silly sense of humor to get what they want in the gentlest way possible. And as it so often does, it works precisely as intended, a ghost of a smile tugging at the corners of her lips. ]
I bet they do. [ He's been on the ship less than a handful of times and he's probably already got a list of people wrapped around his finger. She looks over at the door to one side, then to the wide empty room waiting for her to properly enter it since they never made it past the entry, and she makes a decision. Being alone isn't something she's ready for yet. ]
Computer, allow James T. Kirk full door access. [ Acknowledged fills the quiet room, and she tries to give him a better smile, only manage a small improvement. Still, there's something in her chest that loosens, and something in her gaze that softens slightly as she tells him ] Some food would be great.
[ She's not wrong about the amount of people he's befriended in the short days he's been on the Enterprise. A few ensigns, the whole crew at the mess (look, he worked hard to get Uhura that rejected cookie), a couple bar tenders, some of the yeoman dazzled by being in the presence of a Starfleet officer. He plans to call in every favor he can right now--he doesn't know her favorites, but he's hoping the crew does, and he's hoping the mess crew takes care of people by feeding them.
He hesitates, because she's given him access and he knows the next step here, but getting her food also requires going. He doesn't want to leave her. ]
You going to be okay in the meantime? [ They both know the answer--how can you be okay after going through something like that, even now that you're safe, even now that you've had a touchpoint of human contact. It's not something that a hug and a cry can fix, but maybe, at least, it's a start. Maybe its stayed the tide enough they can get her a shower and food and maybe some rest ] I can see if there's someone we can bribe into room service?
[ there's probably not; all hands are on deck with the survivors, but he's not above using charm in whatever way it serves them best ]
[ She doesn't want him to leave. Even with knowing no one else but Una and the Captain have override access to her locks, she's terrified of her quarters being undefended. This is her sanctuary, and it's all she can do not to watch the corners for something preparing to pounce. But she's a grown woman and she can manage to be alone long enough to take a shower. ]
I'll be fine, Jim. [ And because fine is a rather subjective term, she offers an explanation that may help him later with Sam. ] It's easier when you have a task, even something as simple as a shower.
[ One of them has to move first, and it might as well be her, so she takes a step back, two, but then pauses, thinking of another thing that might help Sam. ] You should take something to Sam. Not to stay, just to drop off so he knows you're thinking of him. Una did that for me.
[ It's how strawberries became her comfort food. Each little bowl helped her climb out of the darkness that filled her past, showing her there was a way forward through all the pain. Una saved her life with those bowls of sweet strawberries and a dream of joining Starfleet too. ]
[ Leaving her quarters may be one of the hardest things James T Kirk has ever done. It shouldn't be. There's no reason he should be this attached to her, this entangled with her, with her emotions and her well being, but he is. He'll try to figure it out later. Right now? Right now he's going to take care of her as long as she'll let him.
So he leaves. Heads to the cafeteria and charms his way into a bowl of strawberries and a veritable stack of cookies. Both of them are as fresh as the starship is able--he wasn't wrong about a group of cooks trying to do their best to take care of their crew by feeding them properly.
The computer directs him to Sam's quarters and he presses half the cookies into his surprised brother's hands, hugs him again for longer than he should (he'll deny it, he will, but damn he's glad to have the chance) and then takes his leave. He wasn't wrong about Sam either--he catches sight of Ortegas and Uhura at the small table in his quarters before the door slides shut. And while he can't be entirely certain, he's reasonably sure the bottle they're sharing between them is an old earth vintage.
Some twenty minutes after he left her, the computer in La'an's room announces a soft 'Welcome, Lieutenant Kirk' as he's let past the door lock. The strawberries find their way onto a ledge, whats left the cookies stacked beside them.
He doesn't see her at first glance and his heart thuds heavy in his chest, stomach working its way up his throat even as he tries to rationalize that she's fine--she's in her quarters, he wasn't gone for long, he can hear noises in the bathroom ] La'an?
[ Like everything else around her, Jim doesn't mean for the emotion to cloud his voice, but it slips in anyway ] You here?
[ Usually, La'an doesn't mind the ship's sonic showers. They do an excellent job of cleaning the body and that's all one really needs from a shower. Today, however, she's missing a proper shower with water that you can feel carrying away the grime of the day. (Or days, in her case.) The sonic shower doesn't provide that satisfying sensation of scrubbing at skin under a stream of scalding hot water, and that's what she desperately wishes for as she waits for dried blood, sweat, and dirt to leave her skin. And her hair — with the braids undone, she can feel the dirty roots and smell the rotting meat stench trapped between the strands.
It takes nearly the entire time Jim is gone for her to feel clean enough. The single-minded purpose helps just as she'd said, her focus narrowed to this simple but necessary task, and when she switches off the shower, she nearly feels like a person again. Standing in front of the mirror reminds her of what she is, though. Broken but not, full of pain and yet so very empty. Bruises and mild scrapes are dotted across her arms and legs like colorful freckles, and there's a particularly nasty bruise on her left side that she'd hardly noticed with everything else. But as she pulls on her sleepwear, black shorts and a tank top, the stiffness in her body is something she can't ignore any longer.
"Welcome, Lieutenant Kirk" might be the best thing she's ever heard, the announcement immediately releasing a tension within her she hadn't realized was there. And his voice follows a few moments later, sounding even more comforting despite the emotion in his words. ]
I'm almost done. [ She calls from behind the closed door, giving herself another once-over and deciding it doesn't matter if he sees her like this. He'd patched up her shredded shoulder and this is nothing compared to that. Her hair, though... She frowns at the tangled mess, picking up the brush and lifting both arms to begin tackling this final task, only for the aforementioned shoulder to twinge in pain. The skin and muscles are still new enough to be tender, and the last thing she needs is to damage the new tissue with her stubbornness.
She's not entirely sure what she intends to do as she sighs and opens the door, stepping out into the main section of her quarters, but another heavy layer of stress falls away from her when she catches sight of him standing there. James T Kirk, looking incredible as always while she's a pale, exhausted mess who looks, accurately so, like she's just been through battle. It's stupid, but there's only one thing she can think to say as she stands there with a brush in her hand and a nervous expression on her face. ] Hi.
Hi. [ He echoes with a smile, encouraging despite the fact that with La'an this undressed he can see every bruise she carries, all of them standing out dark against her skin. His eyes linger over each of them in turn, taking in the the sight of them, assigning wounds to the dark splotches, guessing how she got them. It's a fool's errand, really, so he abandons it in favor of taking in the sight of all of her: smaller than she usually looks, hair a tangled mess though it's cleaned from the sonics, brush in her hand. ]
I found strawberries [ Jim offers, looking over at them and the leaning tower of cookies that's slid slightly so it's now propped against the bowl ] and cookies. They told me how much you like strawberries and the cookies are actually hand made so together they may actually make a pretty awful day a little bit better.
[ His eyes drop to the brush again, up to her hair, and then back to the pilfered food. It's a gamble, but: ]
If you want, you can sit and eat and I'll try and tackle your hair? I may not have sisters, but I think I can manage to help without making it worse.
[ It's strange how oddly comfortable she is with being this vulnerable in front of him. Maybe it's the small emotional breakdown earlier, but having him see her without her usual armor of uniform and perfectly tidy hair doesn't feel wrong. It doesn't feel right either, exactly, it just... is. It's easy to let him see her like this. Turning him away and facing this alone would be so much harder, so she doesn't even consider it.
Her eyes follow his to that bowl and the stack of cookies, and something broken inside her knits itself back together. He'd asked someone what she liked. He'd made that effort for her, and though it's small, it feels monumental. There's no hiding the wonder on her face as she turns her attention back to him before looking down at the brush in her hands. That takes a little more thought, but finally, she nods. ]
Thank you. I'd appreciate the help. [ It's more formal than she'd intended, but in some ways, she's mentally switching to autopilot, falling into habits that feel safe and welcome. She opens her mouth to say something else but closes it again with a shake of her head. Crossing the room, she gathers up the bowl and cookies and heads straight for the bed, dropping the brush onto the blanket before taking a seat at the end, folding her legs underneath her. There's no proper table and chairs in her quarters, and if she gets crumbs everywhere, so be it. She wastes no time in selecting a strawberry and biting into it, her eyes closing as the familiar taste washes over her, healing another piece of her. ]
[ If someone had told him a month ago that watching a woman eat strawberries would be one of the most intimate things he’d experienced in his life, he would have laughed them out of his quarters or off the bridge. And he probably would have assumed that Sam sent them with the sole purpose of teasing him. Now though? Now, watching La’an settle into the bed and bite into one? He can’t help but smile. Maybe it’s the vulnerability, maybe it’s the trust; the fact that she’s willing to be this in front of him even though he knows how put together and guarded she usually is.
It’s a gift. And not one he plans on wasting.
Jim settles behind her on the bed, one leg braced on the floor, the other knee tucked up under him. He knows he should start on her hair, that’s why he’s here, but he can’t help but reach out and brush impossibly gentle fingers over her shoulders, down her arms, lingering over bruises he finds, over those surface scrapes. Each one drives home how close he was to—-
Maybe that’s why he admits to her, voice quiet in the air between them: ]
I was terrified. When I got the notification. [ he hopes she knows the one he means ] you were my first call, after I saw Sam was missing, but when you didn’t answer—-
[ he draws a breath and brings his hands back to her hair, working gently through a tangle as he continues, speaking to the strands more than to her ]
[ When he sits behind her, that feels right. The gravitational pull of Jim Kirk demands she remain close in his orbit, and it's hard not to give into the urge to lean back against him. Yet as much as she wants to touch him, her breath catches in her throat when he touches her. His hands explore her bare arms and something in her goes very still.
What is this? Why is he doing this? It's more intimate than anything else they've shared and she doesn't understand why it's happening. Not that she wants it to stop, but... Her head spins as she tries to put together the puzzle pieces of what the last few hours have become.
His admission doesn't help clarify the situation for her. Not in the slightest. She feels like she's standing on the edge of a cliff, half a strawberry held carefully between her fingers, and even the slightest breeze could send her tumbling over the edge. ]
Jim... [ His name feels like a prayer on her lips, and there's no hiding the thread of uncertainty in her voice as she asks a question she isn't ready for the answer to yet. ] You hardly know me. Why are you helping me like this?
[ At the sound of his name, his hands still in her hair, the tangle half-finished. It's an appropriate metaphor, the twisted knot of her hair between his fingers--it feels like him. His emotions, the feelings he can't quite figure out, all jumbled together. It's a fair question, what's she asking. It's the same one he's been asking himself since the knowledge she was lost drove him into action. ]
I don't know [ he admits it quietly, almost guiltily. It's not a romantic declaration by any means, but at least he doesn't stop there. He continues: ] I wasn't lying; when I said I felt the connection between us. When I said I felt connected to you.
[ His fingers start working on the knot in her hair, as if maybe by untangling it he can untangle this thing between them ] You're brilliant. Competent. Capable of such deep emotion and caring. But I look at you and you--you hide that from so many people. I think sometimes you hide it from yourself.
[ One stand falls free and he runs his hand along it, smoothing it down her back ]
I like you. I feel drawn-- to you. My life isn't--uncomplicated [ except the recent terse messages from Carol make him feel like it might be getting less so by the day in some ways ] But I'm starting to realize there are people that it's worth fighting through complications for.
[ the tangle gives up under his attention and he picks up the brush to work over it ] Maybe that sounds stupid.
[ The journey her emotions go through while he speaks is... exhausting. Treacherous hope blooms inside her and she struggles to squash it down before it grows out of hand, allowing the sadness and uncertainty to take center stage in her heart. She tries to find comfort in the feeling of his hands in her hair, a sensation she hasn't felt since she was a child, but the mention of complications is like a vice around her throat. By the time he finishes, she almost wishes she could take back her question and go back to living without a definition of whatever this is between them. ]
It doesn't. [ As much as it makes things even more complex between them, she appreciates how open he is in his answer. He could have been glib and brushed it all off with charm and humor, but he'd done his best to face the matter head-on, and she's grateful for that.
Taking a deep breath, she lets it out slowly, using the moment to figure out what to say next. She has no idea how to approach those complications and their implications on his life, so she chooses to address his observations of her, which aren't inaccurate. ]
I hide my emotions because people are... difficult for me. Challenging. I've lived so much of my life feeling like I couldn't trust anyone enough to let them see me — the real me. Eventually, it became easier to hide it from everyone, including myself.
[ Head on is the only way that Jim knows how to do anything. As a kid, as a cadet, as an officer, as a friend. As a lover. He jumps in, full throttle, all engines ready. This is no different, when it comes down to it--and it comes with the adrenaline to match, the low feeling in his gut, the way his brain is trying to analyze everything that happens between them, looking for nuance--
He works the brush through her hair gently as she breathes, trying to pretend that he isn't holding his own breath as he waits for her answer. ]
You shouldn't have to hide yourself [ that's easy enough to argue, because it's true. She shouldn't. What he's seen of her--the vulnerabilities, the raw emotion under the carefully constructed shell and often weaponized competence--is enough that he can't look away ] You're--you're amazing, La'an. And I'm not just saying that.
[ And then, maybe because he's worried she might need the tension broken: ] Even though Sam would argue I was using a line.
[ When he'd asked if he was anything like the other him, she hadn't been lying when she'd said yes and no. James wasn't as free with his laughter and smiles, not the real ones, and he'd been burdened with so much of the tragedy of war that it shaped every part of him. This version has his burdens as well, but there's a freedom to the way he lives, diving ahead in all things without much or any thought to consequence.
She wishes she could be that way sometimes.
His comment about his brother works as intended, drawing out a brief laugh that's more breath than sound but still feels like a revelation after the pain of recent days. Both James T Kirks were good at that — they could read her like a book at times, seeing right past her walls and knowing just what she needed to get through this moment and to the next. ]
That does sound like him. [ She finally pops the other half of the strawberry into her mouth, chewing slowly and drawing as much comfort as she can from the familiar sweetness that covers her tongue. By the time she swallows, she knows what she needs to say next. ]
When people look at me, when they learn who I am and what I've endured... They often see someone to be feared or someone to be pitied. [ And because she can't not poke a little fun at the elder Kirk, even if he's not there to appreciate it: ] Sam would certainly agree with one of those.
[ But then her tone turns more serious again, and she turns her head just enough to see a glimpse of him over her shoulder. ] Thank you for not seeing me that way.
[ Hearing her laugh, even if it's more of a suggestion than the actual thing, earns his own smile. That's the part he can't explain--how can it feel like such a victory when he earns those moments of vulnerability. How can he feel like he's being given a gift? One that's surprisingly delicate for all the fierce wrapping. One he needs to be careful with, despite everything.
Sam would say that careful and Jim Kirk are an antithesis. That they can't exist together.
But she's worth trying for. Worth protecting. She finishes her strawberry and speaks, and as she does he starts the work on another tangle, fingers and brush used interchangeably and he tries to fight the knot. At the mention of his brother he has to snort ] Sam better think you're terrifying and not someone to be pitied.
[ But then he catches her gaze and holds it, fights the unexpected urge to lean forward and press a kiss on her shoulder and instead just lets a hand slip down to squeeze her good shoulder, still impossibly gentle ] We all have things in our history that define us. But we get to decide who we want to be as a result of them.
[ Lieutenant George Samuel Kirk is 'conflict averse' when it comes to La'an, and she can't say she doesn't enjoy intimidating him just a little. Of course, it may not be so easy now that they've spent countless hours together surviving actual monsters — next to that, she's probably not so scary, after all.
Jim squeezes her shoulder and she lets her eyes close again to savor both his touch and his words. All her life, she has tried not to be ruled by the trauma and tragedy that defines her, to be more than her pain. For him to see that... She can't begin to explain what it means to her. But there's so much he doesn't know. So much she's finding she wants him to know. ]
Sometimes our history has a way of coming back to haunt us. [ Lowering her head, some of her long hair slips over her bad shoulder. The words taste like ash on her tongue when she tells him what few people beyond the Enterprise's bridge crew know about her. ] This wasn't my first time on a Gorn breeding planet.
[ he can feel her relax, just a little, under the touch of his hand and it takes just about every bit of self control he has to not wrap both arms around her, tucking her back against his chest. She lowers her head and he leans forward, making sure he's catching the words she says.
It--fits. The confession. The words he'd caught between Pike and Una slotting into place with the new information. But having the knowledge also paints a picture with it that hurts, knowing what she must have gone through. His own experience with the Gorn is limited, but he's seen the aftermath (of course he has, it's surrounding them right now, in every area of the ship as Enterprise tries to cobble herself and her crew back together) and the idea that she's had to survive that twice-- ]
La'an-- [ her name is breathed, slipping off his lips because he doesn't know what else to say--how do you offer someone comfort for that? How do you use words to absolve it? The most he knows how to do is this: being present, being here, letting her know that if nothing else, at least she's not alone ]
[ Is she looking for comfort? After all this time, is she finally reaching out to someone on a personal level rather than just shoving all her emotions under a rug to be ignored? She's avoided it for so long because she hasn't wanted people to view her as broken or weak, and even when she's gotten close to someone, she hasn't wanted to burden them with a tragedy they can do nothing about. But with Jim... ]
Twelve. [ They had all been so young. ] Our colony ship was captured. My older brother, our parents... Manu sacrificed himself to give me a chance.
[ She knows Sam would do the same for Jim in a heartbeat. That's what older siblings do; it's part of who they are. The rest of her words slip out without her permission, as if now that the floodgates have opened, there's no holding back. ] The Gorn have a ritual. The last survivor is tossed out into the galaxy on a raft. They aren't meant to survive, but the King, Jr found me. Una found me.
[ There is nothing in what she's said that makes Jim think of her as weak. As broken. If anything, it's only proven to him what he already suspected: her strength, the iron core she's got in the center of her, was forged in fire and loss. There is no one who would judge her for retreating after the things she experienced, no one who would blame her for just turning tail, finding a nice planet somewhere and never looking for danger again. But instead. Instead. Instead she's flung herself into the stars to keep other people safe, protecting more than just his brother--protecting all of them.
It doesn't escape him that she's the security officer. She could have gone into sciences or engineering or hell, even piloting, but she lost everyone close to her and so she fights to keep that pain from anyone else.
At least--that's what he assumes. What he pieces together with the information she's sharing with him that he knows must cost her. Sharing something like that, her brother's name, what happened to him. What happened to her.]
I hate the idea that things happen for a reason [ he says, after a pause to digest her words, fingers still working gently through her hair to keep him from just gathering her completely in his arms. ] The idea that some entity causes pain and hardship to teach us a lesson. I'm not--I don't think that's it.
But I know the people you brought home today? The fifty three people with families and kids and parents who aren't getting letters from Captain Pike tonight? None of them would be here without you. Maybe that's what your past made you: the kind of person that brings people home from a situation no one was supposed to survive.
[ His words are like a balm to her soul, soothing the ragged broken edges and putting some of the pieces back together. Because she knows he's right. None of those people could have survived if they'd been on their own. But despite that, there's still a voice inside her saying she should have done more, she hadn't saved enough. It's possible that voice will always be there, but people like Jim can help her put it aside and continue on with her life the way she knows she deserves.
Dr. Sanchez would be so proud.
Still, there's nothing she can think of to say to any of that. It's too hard to focus on the good she did down on that planet when she can still hear the screams of the dying. So she focuses on something else, picking up a cookie and taking a bite... and a second, bigger bite. (It's a damn good cookie.) And then she holds it over her shoulder for him to try too, turning her head to watch him expectantly while she chews. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
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 subject
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. ]
no subject
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.
no subject
But he-- [ a moment's hesitation, because he doesn't want to admit it, as true as it is ] --he won't want to see me right now. He's my brother, he loves me, but when he's hurting like this--
He needs his friends.
[ It's whispered into her hair, confessed more than admitted. No, he'll make his way to Sam, help him work through whatever he needs, try to be whatever he needs, but--right now? Right now he's staying right here. Unless she throws him out herself ]
And you need me. [ probably not entirely true. Una could replace him right now. Maybe even Pike. Her friends--not a man she's only met a few times, no matter how drawn they feel to each other, but maybe it's a hope. Maybe he wants her to need him. The way he's finding he needs her ]
But first things first: let's get you out of this uniform, alright?
no subject
And that's okay. This isn't the first time she's been through this, after all. She survived it before and she can do it again. Alone.
And you need me. No, she doesn't. She'll be fine on her own. Needing him isn't possible, not when they're little more than acquaintances and they can't be anything else... But she can't lie to herself like that. She does need him, desperately, and she wants so badly for it to be okay to feel this way.
Nodding at his suggestion, her tearstained cheek rubs against the shoulder of his uniform before she steps back, putting much-needed and much-hated distance between them even as her hands linger on him until the last second. ] I'm going to shower. I need to get the smell of the planet off me.
no subject
A shower makes sense--he can't imagine how it must feel, the thing built up on her skin. The blood, the sweat, the--well. He understands the urge. ]
I'll stay--if you want. [ Please want ] Be here when you get out.
[ He tries for a smile, offers it her way as encouragement as much as anything else ] Could even find you some food like the Doctor ordered. With my charm, I bet I could even get you something that isn't replicated. [ Is it obvious he's trying to drag humor out of her? Trying to diffuse the tension that's built in his limbs now that he isn't touching her, isn't able to assure himself that she's alive through the evidence of his own fingers ] The mess crew love me.
no subject
I bet they do. [ He's been on the ship less than a handful of times and he's probably already got a list of people wrapped around his finger. She looks over at the door to one side, then to the wide empty room waiting for her to properly enter it since they never made it past the entry, and she makes a decision. Being alone isn't something she's ready for yet. ]
Computer, allow James T. Kirk full door access. [ Acknowledged fills the quiet room, and she tries to give him a better smile, only manage a small improvement. Still, there's something in her chest that loosens, and something in her gaze that softens slightly as she tells him ] Some food would be great.
no subject
He hesitates, because she's given him access and he knows the next step here, but getting her food also requires going. He doesn't want to leave her. ]
You going to be okay in the meantime? [ They both know the answer--how can you be okay after going through something like that, even now that you're safe, even now that you've had a touchpoint of human contact. It's not something that a hug and a cry can fix, but maybe, at least, it's a start. Maybe its stayed the tide enough they can get her a shower and food and maybe some rest ] I can see if there's someone we can bribe into room service?
[ there's probably not; all hands are on deck with the survivors, but he's not above using charm in whatever way it serves them best ]
no subject
I'll be fine, Jim. [ And because fine is a rather subjective term, she offers an explanation that may help him later with Sam. ] It's easier when you have a task, even something as simple as a shower.
[ One of them has to move first, and it might as well be her, so she takes a step back, two, but then pauses, thinking of another thing that might help Sam. ] You should take something to Sam. Not to stay, just to drop off so he knows you're thinking of him. Una did that for me.
[ It's how strawberries became her comfort food. Each little bowl helped her climb out of the darkness that filled her past, showing her there was a way forward through all the pain. Una saved her life with those bowls of sweet strawberries and a dream of joining Starfleet too. ]
no subject
So he leaves. Heads to the cafeteria and charms his way into a bowl of strawberries and a veritable stack of cookies. Both of them are as fresh as the starship is able--he wasn't wrong about a group of cooks trying to do their best to take care of their crew by feeding them properly.
The computer directs him to Sam's quarters and he presses half the cookies into his surprised brother's hands, hugs him again for longer than he should (he'll deny it, he will, but damn he's glad to have the chance) and then takes his leave. He wasn't wrong about Sam either--he catches sight of Ortegas and Uhura at the small table in his quarters before the door slides shut. And while he can't be entirely certain, he's reasonably sure the bottle they're sharing between them is an old earth vintage.
Some twenty minutes after he left her, the computer in La'an's room announces a soft 'Welcome, Lieutenant Kirk' as he's let past the door lock. The strawberries find their way onto a ledge, whats left the cookies stacked beside them.
He doesn't see her at first glance and his heart thuds heavy in his chest, stomach working its way up his throat even as he tries to rationalize that she's fine--she's in her quarters, he wasn't gone for long, he can hear noises in the bathroom ] La'an?
[ Like everything else around her, Jim doesn't mean for the emotion to cloud his voice, but it slips in anyway ] You here?
no subject
It takes nearly the entire time Jim is gone for her to feel clean enough. The single-minded purpose helps just as she'd said, her focus narrowed to this simple but necessary task, and when she switches off the shower, she nearly feels like a person again. Standing in front of the mirror reminds her of what she is, though. Broken but not, full of pain and yet so very empty. Bruises and mild scrapes are dotted across her arms and legs like colorful freckles, and there's a particularly nasty bruise on her left side that she'd hardly noticed with everything else. But as she pulls on her sleepwear, black shorts and a tank top, the stiffness in her body is something she can't ignore any longer.
"Welcome, Lieutenant Kirk" might be the best thing she's ever heard, the announcement immediately releasing a tension within her she hadn't realized was there. And his voice follows a few moments later, sounding even more comforting despite the emotion in his words. ]
I'm almost done. [ She calls from behind the closed door, giving herself another once-over and deciding it doesn't matter if he sees her like this. He'd patched up her shredded shoulder and this is nothing compared to that. Her hair, though... She frowns at the tangled mess, picking up the brush and lifting both arms to begin tackling this final task, only for the aforementioned shoulder to twinge in pain. The skin and muscles are still new enough to be tender, and the last thing she needs is to damage the new tissue with her stubbornness.
She's not entirely sure what she intends to do as she sighs and opens the door, stepping out into the main section of her quarters, but another heavy layer of stress falls away from her when she catches sight of him standing there. James T Kirk, looking incredible as always while she's a pale, exhausted mess who looks, accurately so, like she's just been through battle. It's stupid, but there's only one thing she can think to say as she stands there with a brush in her hand and a nervous expression on her face. ] Hi.
no subject
I found strawberries [ Jim offers, looking over at them and the leaning tower of cookies that's slid slightly so it's now propped against the bowl ] and cookies. They told me how much you like strawberries and the cookies are actually hand made so together they may actually make a pretty awful day a little bit better.
[ His eyes drop to the brush again, up to her hair, and then back to the pilfered food. It's a gamble, but: ]
If you want, you can sit and eat and I'll try and tackle your hair? I may not have sisters, but I think I can manage to help without making it worse.
no subject
Her eyes follow his to that bowl and the stack of cookies, and something broken inside her knits itself back together. He'd asked someone what she liked. He'd made that effort for her, and though it's small, it feels monumental. There's no hiding the wonder on her face as she turns her attention back to him before looking down at the brush in her hands. That takes a little more thought, but finally, she nods. ]
Thank you. I'd appreciate the help. [ It's more formal than she'd intended, but in some ways, she's mentally switching to autopilot, falling into habits that feel safe and welcome. She opens her mouth to say something else but closes it again with a shake of her head. Crossing the room, she gathers up the bowl and cookies and heads straight for the bed, dropping the brush onto the blanket before taking a seat at the end, folding her legs underneath her. There's no proper table and chairs in her quarters, and if she gets crumbs everywhere, so be it. She wastes no time in selecting a strawberry and biting into it, her eyes closing as the familiar taste washes over her, healing another piece of her. ]
no subject
It’s a gift. And not one he plans on wasting.
Jim settles behind her on the bed, one leg braced on the floor, the other knee tucked up under him. He knows he should start on her hair, that’s why he’s here, but he can’t help but reach out and brush impossibly gentle fingers over her shoulders, down her arms, lingering over bruises he finds, over those surface scrapes. Each one drives home how close he was to—-
Maybe that’s why he admits to her, voice quiet in the air between them: ]
I was terrified. When I got the notification. [ he hopes she knows the one he means ] you were my first call, after I saw Sam was missing, but when you didn’t answer—-
[ he draws a breath and brings his hands back to her hair, working gently through a tangle as he continues, speaking to the strands more than to her ]
—-I hated the idea I might have lost you.
no subject
What is this? Why is he doing this? It's more intimate than anything else they've shared and she doesn't understand why it's happening. Not that she wants it to stop, but... Her head spins as she tries to put together the puzzle pieces of what the last few hours have become.
His admission doesn't help clarify the situation for her. Not in the slightest. She feels like she's standing on the edge of a cliff, half a strawberry held carefully between her fingers, and even the slightest breeze could send her tumbling over the edge. ]
Jim... [ His name feels like a prayer on her lips, and there's no hiding the thread of uncertainty in her voice as she asks a question she isn't ready for the answer to yet. ] You hardly know me. Why are you helping me like this?
no subject
I don't know [ he admits it quietly, almost guiltily. It's not a romantic declaration by any means, but at least he doesn't stop there. He continues: ] I wasn't lying; when I said I felt the connection between us. When I said I felt connected to you.
[ His fingers start working on the knot in her hair, as if maybe by untangling it he can untangle this thing between them ] You're brilliant. Competent. Capable of such deep emotion and caring. But I look at you and you--you hide that from so many people. I think sometimes you hide it from yourself.
[ One stand falls free and he runs his hand along it, smoothing it down her back ]
I like you. I feel drawn-- to you. My life isn't--uncomplicated [ except the recent terse messages from Carol make him feel like it might be getting less so by the day in some ways ] But I'm starting to realize there are people that it's worth fighting through complications for.
[ the tangle gives up under his attention and he picks up the brush to work over it ] Maybe that sounds stupid.
no subject
It doesn't. [ As much as it makes things even more complex between them, she appreciates how open he is in his answer. He could have been glib and brushed it all off with charm and humor, but he'd done his best to face the matter head-on, and she's grateful for that.
Taking a deep breath, she lets it out slowly, using the moment to figure out what to say next. She has no idea how to approach those complications and their implications on his life, so she chooses to address his observations of her, which aren't inaccurate. ]
I hide my emotions because people are... difficult for me. Challenging. I've lived so much of my life feeling like I couldn't trust anyone enough to let them see me — the real me. Eventually, it became easier to hide it from everyone, including myself.
no subject
He works the brush through her hair gently as she breathes, trying to pretend that he isn't holding his own breath as he waits for her answer. ]
You shouldn't have to hide yourself [ that's easy enough to argue, because it's true. She shouldn't. What he's seen of her--the vulnerabilities, the raw emotion under the carefully constructed shell and often weaponized competence--is enough that he can't look away ] You're--you're amazing, La'an. And I'm not just saying that.
[ And then, maybe because he's worried she might need the tension broken: ] Even though Sam would argue I was using a line.
no subject
She wishes she could be that way sometimes.
His comment about his brother works as intended, drawing out a brief laugh that's more breath than sound but still feels like a revelation after the pain of recent days. Both James T Kirks were good at that — they could read her like a book at times, seeing right past her walls and knowing just what she needed to get through this moment and to the next. ]
That does sound like him. [ She finally pops the other half of the strawberry into her mouth, chewing slowly and drawing as much comfort as she can from the familiar sweetness that covers her tongue. By the time she swallows, she knows what she needs to say next. ]
When people look at me, when they learn who I am and what I've endured... They often see someone to be feared or someone to be pitied. [ And because she can't not poke a little fun at the elder Kirk, even if he's not there to appreciate it: ] Sam would certainly agree with one of those.
[ But then her tone turns more serious again, and she turns her head just enough to see a glimpse of him over her shoulder. ] Thank you for not seeing me that way.
no subject
Sam would say that careful and Jim Kirk are an antithesis. That they can't exist together.
But she's worth trying for. Worth protecting. She finishes her strawberry and speaks, and as she does he starts the work on another tangle, fingers and brush used interchangeably and he tries to fight the knot. At the mention of his brother he has to snort ] Sam better think you're terrifying and not someone to be pitied.
[ But then he catches her gaze and holds it, fights the unexpected urge to lean forward and press a kiss on her shoulder and instead just lets a hand slip down to squeeze her good shoulder, still impossibly gentle ] We all have things in our history that define us. But we get to decide who we want to be as a result of them.
no subject
Jim squeezes her shoulder and she lets her eyes close again to savor both his touch and his words. All her life, she has tried not to be ruled by the trauma and tragedy that defines her, to be more than her pain. For him to see that... She can't begin to explain what it means to her. But there's so much he doesn't know. So much she's finding she wants him to know. ]
Sometimes our history has a way of coming back to haunt us. [ Lowering her head, some of her long hair slips over her bad shoulder. The words taste like ash on her tongue when she tells him what few people beyond the Enterprise's bridge crew know about her. ] This wasn't my first time on a Gorn breeding planet.
no subject
It--fits. The confession. The words he'd caught between Pike and Una slotting into place with the new information. But having the knowledge also paints a picture with it that hurts, knowing what she must have gone through. His own experience with the Gorn is limited, but he's seen the aftermath (of course he has, it's surrounding them right now, in every area of the ship as Enterprise tries to cobble herself and her crew back together) and the idea that she's had to survive that twice-- ]
La'an-- [ her name is breathed, slipping off his lips because he doesn't know what else to say--how do you offer someone comfort for that? How do you use words to absolve it? The most he knows how to do is this: being present, being here, letting her know that if nothing else, at least she's not alone ]
How old were you?
no subject
Twelve. [ They had all been so young. ] Our colony ship was captured. My older brother, our parents... Manu sacrificed himself to give me a chance.
[ She knows Sam would do the same for Jim in a heartbeat. That's what older siblings do; it's part of who they are. The rest of her words slip out without her permission, as if now that the floodgates have opened, there's no holding back. ] The Gorn have a ritual. The last survivor is tossed out into the galaxy on a raft. They aren't meant to survive, but the King, Jr found me. Una found me.
no subject
It doesn't escape him that she's the security officer. She could have gone into sciences or engineering or hell, even piloting, but she lost everyone close to her and so she fights to keep that pain from anyone else.
At least--that's what he assumes. What he pieces together with the information she's sharing with him that he knows must cost her. Sharing something like that, her brother's name, what happened to him. What happened to her.]
I hate the idea that things happen for a reason [ he says, after a pause to digest her words, fingers still working gently through her hair to keep him from just gathering her completely in his arms. ] The idea that some entity causes pain and hardship to teach us a lesson. I'm not--I don't think that's it.
But I know the people you brought home today? The fifty three people with families and kids and parents who aren't getting letters from Captain Pike tonight? None of them would be here without you. Maybe that's what your past made you: the kind of person that brings people home from a situation no one was supposed to survive.
no subject
Dr. Sanchez would be so proud.
Still, there's nothing she can think of to say to any of that. It's too hard to focus on the good she did down on that planet when she can still hear the screams of the dying. So she focuses on something else, picking up a cookie and taking a bite... and a second, bigger bite. (It's a damn good cookie.) And then she holds it over her shoulder for him to try too, turning her head to watch him expectantly while she chews. ]
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)