[ 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. ]
[ It should be an exceptional cookie, if Jim Kirk's charm has anything to say about it. He doesn't owe three different Enterprise chefs a favor for a mediocre cookie--but he's still pleased when she bites into it and immediately takes a second bite, bigger than the first.
He's not expecting the offer over the shoulder (it's intimate, personal, sweet), but he obliges, leaning forward to take his own bite; which is promptly followed by a noise of pure pleasure from somewhere in the back of his throat. ]
Okay [ He states, once he's swallowed his bite ] We're starting an exchange program for the Farragut's mess staff. That's one hell of a cookie.
[ It shouldn't be this easy. It should feel awkward, bouncing back and forth between topics like her being trapped on a Gorn planet as a child and thereby having the tools to save his brother's life and the qualities of a cookie that must be someone's family recipe--but it isn't. It flows. Like they've known each other far longer than they actually have ]
Here, turn just a little. Let me get this side. [ a motion to the other half of her hair that he hasn't even approached ] I can braid it after, but it might look like a child did it.
[ That sound he makes in response to tasting the cookie repairs another small piece of her; she even smiles a little at his declaration of a program for the Farragut's staff. She has no doubt that the Enterprise will soon be playing host to visiting mess staff with strict orders to learn all the baked goods recipes possible — for the sake of the crew, of course.
Her smile grows as she turns as directed, her movements slightly stiff from sore muscles that she doesn't complain about or even acknowledge. Instead, she focuses on something far more important. ]
Well, now I have to see that. [ There's a hint of teasing but mostly she's serious; she really would like to see what he can manage for a braid. ]
[ Obviously it would be for the sake of the crew, La'an - who else would benefit from a steady supply of fresh baked cookies readily available for the taking? Certainly not one soon-to-be-first-officer with a sweet tooth.
He notices the stiff shift in her movements and makes a mental note, files it right alongside the one about how even though it must hurt (all of those bruises catching up to her now that the adrenaline must be fully faded) she doesn't comment. Once she's in position properly, he starts on the second half of her hair; taking the time to work at bigger tangles with deft fingers before running the brush through. At her comment he smiles, shakes his head even though it's not a 'no' - it's just that he wasn't lying about the 'it will look like a child did it' promise ]
When we were chasing my father from station to station [ He assumes she remembers the conversation (confession?) they had on the subject - he certainly does ] My mom and Sam and I got close. We were the only familiar people in a lot of different places.
So we'd help with her hair sometimes. Mostly simple things - stuff a kid can handle. A braid down the back, maybe a bun. A ponytail. Pigtails, once, though we couldn't stop laughing and she swore never again--
[ a smile gifted to the back of her head as he recalls the memory ] Can't promise it'll look good, but it won't be my first, at least.
[ Of course she remembers that conversation. It was the first real one they'd shared after that first strange call, and they'd so quickly gotten to such a meaningful subject... Well, she'd understood him because of James, but his experiences had been solely his own. James and Jim, the same and yet not. It's so strange how one person can both break her heart and heal it with his very existence.
She can hear the smile in his voice as he recalls those memories from childhood, and she finds that she envies him that. When she shares her own story, she isn't quite sad, but the emotion is certainly mixed in with the love and fondness she still feels deeply for her family. ]
The style I usually wear... It was my mother's. I wanted to be just like her when I was little. Maybe that would have changed when I got older and teenage contrariness took over, but... [ That sadness becomes more obvious now, her voice tightening for just a moment. ] It's the only thing I have left of her. Of any of them.
Even my memories are... [ She struggles with how to describe the state of that part of her mind. ] They're fuzzy. That's the sort of thing trauma does to a person. But I remember watching my father undo her braids at the end of the day and brush out her hair, and they looked so happy despite how hard our life was.
[ She speaks and he continues his gentle work, fingers and brush working out the tangles from her hair. When her voice tightens, one of his hands slips down, wrapping around her waist, tugging her closer to him, just a hair, her back against his broad chest.
It's the closest he can give her to a hug right now in the position they're in. He hopes she'll take it ]
She would be so proud of the woman you've become [ he never met her, but he says it with confidence because there is no one who would would look at La'an now and not be proud of who she is. Of the healing she's done. Of the hard work she's put into growing from the place that did its best to break her. She is the strongest person he knows, and he's met most of the Starfleet Brass. ]
[ There isn't anyone else in the galaxy who she would let hold her like this. Not even Una has this level of physical closeness with her, but with Jim, it... It feels right. Instead of keeping herself at arm's length, she wants to wrap around him and stay there until it doesn't hurt as much anymore.
Leaning a little more solidly against him, she feels her throat tighten further, her eyes burning with a fresh round of tears that she does her best to hold back. ] Thank you.
[ Pulling in a shaking breath, she tries not to think about how she's spent every day of the last twenty years trying to be worthy of her brother's sacrifice, setting her own measure so high some might deem it impossible. But even with as briefly as Jim has known her, she trusts him... and she might be able to believe him when it comes to this.
A few tears slip out and she firmly brushes them away, sniffling once before continuing this strange dance of a conversation where they've moved from one corresponding topic to another. ]
Cherish your memories, Jim. Do everything you can to keep hold of them. And if you have a little girl— [ because that is a very real possibility for him now ] braid her hair. Even if you're terrible at it. She'll need those memories one day.
[ La'an breathes against him, shaky though it is, and Jim's arms don't move. He holds her because he wants to, because it feels right in a way he can't pin down--the same way he can't pin down the connection he has to this woman but he also can't fight it either--and because he thinks she might need it. Of the people he's met in his life, and there have been many, Jim thinks she might be the one that's earned a chance to cry in someone's arms the most. To let go of the pain she's been carrying. To be vulnerable. To finally show someone how wounded she is, under all that armor she keeps up.
He's also quickly realizing he wouldn't mind being the person she trusts with that part of herself.
Carol. Right. Jim's eyes drop closed and he drags in a breath; heavy and deep. His head falls forward to press against the side of hers for a second before he admits, quietly: ] Remember how I said it was complicated?
Nothing's--changed, exactly.
But.
Carol isn't thrilled with the knowledge that I wasn't planning on giving up my Commission when I heard she was--
[ He's got the angry PADD messages to prove it; saved videos and lines of text, all of it making him realize that maybe he's more his father than he ever meant to be, in the best ways and the worst, too. He lets the sentence trail off, a wave of the hand not wrapped around her to encompass everything. He doesn't know how to explain it. How to reconcile the two people they are. He doesn't know how to walk away from being James T. Kirk, youngest first officer in Starfleet History, and he doesn't know how to make Carol understand the importance of it. His bone-deep, desperate need to be in the stars. Doing something.
Jim's need for it all to matter.
But he also doesn't know how to be--he wants to be a better father than his Dad was, except his Dad is the reason he's done everything with meaning in his life, so what does that say about him? ]
Will you tell me about them? Your family? The things you do remember?
[ So things are even more complicated now, for better or worse. La'an's heart breaks for him, for the distress she can feel in his voice and touch. It isn't hard to tell he's torn over what to do, whether he should make one decision over the other, and she can't even begin to understand what he must be feeling as he faces this future. She knows how complicated his emotions are over his relationship with his father, and the part of her that's actually listened during therapy sessions makes an educated guess that those emotions are influencing his own hopes and fears for fatherhood.
She's grateful that he shifts the subject because she doesn't know what to say to help him through this dilemma, so even though it still aches inside to talk about them, she can offer this distraction for him while he suffers in his own way. ]
Our parents when they had my brother and me. They met in school, and my mother used to tell me how she didn't care about my father's ancestry because he was so much more than that. She agreed to take his name, knowing how hard it would be, because she never wanted him to doubt that she loved all of him.
[ Her parents were the ones who gave her hope that one day she might find someone who could love her despite her lineage. Someone who could see past her name. She sniffles again and folds her arms over his that's wrapped around her, holding him in place like the lifeline he's swiftly becoming. ]
Manu was sixteen when we were taken. He wanted to be a scientist, and he was so... He always took care of me. When I was bullied by other children, when I was lonely after our latest move, he was my rock, showing me I could make it through. And when we were on that planet, he— [ She closes her eyes tight, breathing through the wave of emotion. ] He's the one who figured out how the Gorn communicated. He wrote it all down and gave it to me, and then told me to run. I don't know that I'll ever feel fully worthy of what he did for me.
[ The thing about Jim Kirk is that most people (Sam, first and foremost) will tell you that he talks too damn much. His mouth gets him into all kinds of situations, into all kinds of trouble. But there's the other truth about him too: when it's worth his while, James T. Kirk is very good at listening. And she's definitely worth his while.
So she talks, and he listens, arm wrapped around her and tucked under hers, nose pressed against the side of her hair, breathing her in. ]
Your mother was a strong woman. Like you.
[ it's easy to see they're of the same blood - the woman who would wear a murderer's name to prove her love grew beyond it, and the woman sitting here now, who kept fifty three people alive against all odds, all while reliving the trauma of her youth.
She speaks about her brother, and it twists something in his gut. He thinks about Sam, the scientist, who wanted nothing more as he grew up to know how the world was put together. How different cultures and aliens and races communicated, grew, worked together. A man who cares so deeply--
The idea of him sacrificing himself for Jim-- he can't even imagine it. The pain that would come with it. The pain she must feel every day. ]
It doesn't help, I know it doesn't. But you are worthy of it, La'an. He did it because he loved you and you deserve people who care like that for you.
[ The way he listens is something he and James had in common. Both versions of this mad had the same uncanny ability to make a person feel like they're all that matters in the world when he listens to them, and even without seeing his face, she feels that with him now too. It's something she wishes she could hold onto — that feeling of mattering to someone so profoundly.
She listens just as closely to what he has to say, and it means so very much to hear. Somehow, it's easier to believe when someone else is saying it than when she says it to herself. But at the same time, there's an elephant in the room threatening to crush her with the things that aren't being said, and suddenly she's too tired to let it all continue this way. ]
You can't be one of those people for me, Jim. [ Said quietly, sadly, but with no anger or accusation. ] No matter how much I wish you could be.
[ Part reminder and part confession, she doesn't feel the same fear and anxiety as she did not all that long ago when she'd laid bare a secret no one was supposed to ever know. His life is complicated and she can't allow herself to continue to be one of those complications. Yet even as she loosens her hold on his arm around her, she doesn't move to put any further distance between them. Saying one thing and doing another isn't who she wants to be, but here she is, becoming that person. ]
[ The words wash over him like a bucket of ice water dumped on his head. A chill that twists sharp in his gut and and spreads down his arms, wraps tight around his heart and squeezes. She's right. He knows she's right. His life is complicated and his desire to be here with her doesn't change that--it only makes it more so.
She's worth it, though. Worth the ache.
La'an loosens her hold and he lets his arm pull away from her, just a little, just enough. But he doesn't pull it away, not when she doesn't move to escape him completely. They're not body to body anymore, but they're not far apart, still sharing the same space, the same breath. ]
Love doesn't always have to be romantic [ he reminds, gently. And he doesn't acknowledge the fact that the feelings he has for her are certainly a far cry from platonic--he's still figuring them out, but he can at least say that--but he's not lying when he says he's also here to be here for her, in whatever way she wants to have him ] And maybe love is too big a word.
But--
I could be a friend. I'd like to be a friend. Your friend. If you'll have me.
[ Love. She'd grown up with a prime example of it right in front of her, and some small part of her had dreamed of finding someone who could see her the way her mother saw her father. And maybe she had found that someone — only she'd lost him, and the echo of him is a man she can't have in her life that way. It makes her want to cry again, but she's so very tired, and she's already cried so much for that lost James Kirk...
Tilting her head back to look at the ceiling of her quarters, she lets the unwept tears slip back within her, intermingling with the other signs of pain and trauma she keeps hidden from the world. A deep breath in, and out again, and then she speaks, exhaustion dripping off every syllable. ]
[ The exhaustion is palpable as she speaks, and he mistakes the sheen in her eyes for more of it, shifting just a little so he's between her and the pillows. Her bed is as orderly as the rest of her quarters (though maybe a little less so now that they've been sitting in it); and he would expect nothing less for someone who likes 'an orderly security record'.
He uses the arm near her waist to give her a one-sided hug at her answer ] Good news, you've got one.
[ and then, because he can see the way the day is weighing on her, he adds: ] And as your newest friend, can I suggest you actually try to get some sleep?
[ Maybe he shouldn't offer--maybe they've already gotten a little too close to it--but he isn't ready to let her be alone (or out of his sight, if he's being honest) and so he continues: ] I can stay, if you want. Make sure it's secure. Of the two of us, I'm actually rested
[ or at least, a little more. He hasn't slept a ton since arriving on the Enterprise, but he hasn't spent the last few days keeping literally everyone around him alive ] and I did go through a rotation with security. I know how to use a phaser if needed.
[ She's never had a friend who she can have casual physical interactions with. Even Una only gets an exceptionally rare hug, while everyone else is kept at a distance, an invisible barrier between her and each person who might otherwise be willing to offer a hug or a hand to hold. And suddenly, it's what she wants more than anything. To have someone she can hold on to when everything hurts; someone she can let see her when everything hurts.
That's why she only struggles for a few moments before nodding her acceptance of both the idea and his offer. And as soon as she's agreed, it becomes easier to let him see past that last little bit of armor — she's exhausted, yes, but she's also scared, which is ridiculous when she knows she's safe here. This is the Enterprise. She's home, and home is safe. So why is she still terrified of closing her eyes and letting her guard down?
Trauma. It's the answer to just about every question about her that begins with why. ]
Please stay. I keep— [ She struggles to find the words, not wanting to show just how broken she is and then acknowledging that's exactly what she should do right now. Lifting a hand, she presses the heel of it to her forehead, squeezing her eyes shut. ] I keep expecting to see them in the corners.
[ Jim has always been a tactile person. Touching, being touched--it's how he expresses affection, fondness, how he makes and sustains connection with other people. But he understands it's not everyone's preference. Sort of. There're very few times, Jim Kirk is convinced, that a proper hug can't make a shitty day at least a little better.
But he's only met La'an a few times and even he can tell she's someone who keeps to herself. Who holds herself apart, collected and composed, the barriers she puts up keeping everyone away. He's seen the way she moves when she's working; how she uses exactly enough energy in every step and turn and not an ounce more. Always conserving something in case she's called upon to act. Now that he knows about her childhood he figures maybe that's where it's born from; never knowing when you might need to run and hide.
Now, at least, he hopes he can give her a space where she doesn't have to do that. Doesn't have to be so tightly wound. She's too exhausted for it, and trying now will only wear her into something threadbare that can't be properly patched, even with his sewing skills--a poor metaphor, maybe, but it's what he has to offer.
Her fear twists that same part of him that longs for her, the complicated bit that aches, and he reaches out a hand to smooth out the lines on her forehead, gentle fingers running softly over the creases he finds there. ]
I'm not going anywhere. Promise. [ If he makes a promise, he keeps it ] Staying here as long as you'll have me.
[ he lets his hand fall away, down to her knee, where he gives her a gentle squeeze. He's not going to think about the truth behind that comment, the way it rings true for more than just being here and being her friend. She's asked him for platonic. He can give her that. ] Come'n, Lieutenant. Get in bed. No one's going to miss you until morning, and I'm pretty sure you're under doctor's orders.
[ As long as you'll have me. She would keep him with her for the rest of her life if she could. Growing old and having a family isn't something she's ever allowed herself to dream, not when so much of her life has been shaped by death and tragedy, but having someone to spend her life with for however long it might be... But it's just a dream, and one she can't even bring herself to hope might come true anymore.
Maybe it would be better if she cut ties with him. Instead of seeing the physical ghost of the man she loved, perhaps she should exorcise him from her life so she can grieve and move on. Except even the thought of that is enough to bring forth the threat of fresh tears, and she can't fathom the idea of living in a world without Jim Kirk. ]
So bossy... [ She says the quiet, teasing comment with a small smile before gathering up the bowl with its remaining strawberries and the few cookies left. After offering one of those cookies to him, she sets the rest on the little bedside table — they won't be as fresh later, but she doesn't care. ]
When the situation warrants it. Or maybe I've been practicing to be a Commander. [ He takes a cookie when she offers, eating it in three bites as she settles the bowl on the side table. When she wakes up he'll find an excuse to get her more strawberries, fresh ones, but he plans to keep his promise to stay with her tonight.
If he was being reasonable, he would climb out of her bed and let her have it. He'd take a spot in a chair nearby and keep his vigil from there. But like everything this woman, reasonableness isn't the first thought in his mind, and he shifts, settling back so he's sitting near the headboard (or what passes for one on a starship) and he waits for her to adjust.
He won't force her settling on him, but he's also here if she wants to. ]
[ If he'd moved off the bed, she would have let him go, but it would have hurt. She doesn't want that distance between them, not when having him close is the only thing keeping her from breaking apart. Tomorrow will be easier, and the day after even more so — she knows that from experience — but tonight will be the hardest, and she'll take whatever comfort she can get. So as she slips under the covers, the familiar sensation feeling almost alien, she hesitates for only a moment before leaning against him and resting her head on his shoulder. ]
You can sleep too. [ Because she doesn't really need him to keep watch, and she's certain he hasn't gotten as much rest lately as he really should have, not with Sam missing. ] Or you can use my PADD if you want to read or watch something.
[ Already, it's a struggle to keep her words coherent, her stiff muscles relaxing into warm exhaustion as darkness tugs at her mind. But she fights it, needing just a little longer with him in this moment. ]
[ When she doesn't shift him away or give him any indication that she wants him to go--instead offering to let him sleep too--he adjusts down, opening an arm so she can settle against him if she wants, laying against his chest. There are not many people Jim Kirk would willingly be a pillow for, but it turns out that La'an is one of them.
And he likes the idea of keeping her as close--touching her. Proving to himself that she's still alive. Knowing Sam was missing was what kept him up at night, but knowing he might not see her again gave him nightmares he can't quite explain, but doesn't want to relive. ]
I'll find a way to entertain myself [ he assures with a smile that's impossibly fond. It's everything he can do not to press a kiss to the top of her head, her hair still free and loose. It's a good look for her, though he plans to keep that specific information to himself and he will get to the braiding tomorrow before she ventures out to see other people. Whatever she needs to put her armor back on, he'll help her do it, but there's something to be said for the fact that she doesn't feel the need to don it now--that she trusts him enough to be this vulnerable ] Go to sleep. That's an order from someone who almost outranks you.
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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.
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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. ]
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He's not expecting the offer over the shoulder (it's intimate, personal, sweet), but he obliges, leaning forward to take his own bite; which is promptly followed by a noise of pure pleasure from somewhere in the back of his throat. ]
Okay [ He states, once he's swallowed his bite ] We're starting an exchange program for the Farragut's mess staff. That's one hell of a cookie.
[ It shouldn't be this easy. It should feel awkward, bouncing back and forth between topics like her being trapped on a Gorn planet as a child and thereby having the tools to save his brother's life and the qualities of a cookie that must be someone's family recipe--but it isn't. It flows. Like they've known each other far longer than they actually have ]
Here, turn just a little. Let me get this side. [ a motion to the other half of her hair that he hasn't even approached ] I can braid it after, but it might look like a child did it.
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Her smile grows as she turns as directed, her movements slightly stiff from sore muscles that she doesn't complain about or even acknowledge. Instead, she focuses on something far more important. ]
Well, now I have to see that. [ There's a hint of teasing but mostly she's serious; she really would like to see what he can manage for a braid. ]
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He notices the stiff shift in her movements and makes a mental note, files it right alongside the one about how even though it must hurt (all of those bruises catching up to her now that the adrenaline must be fully faded) she doesn't comment. Once she's in position properly, he starts on the second half of her hair; taking the time to work at bigger tangles with deft fingers before running the brush through. At her comment he smiles, shakes his head even though it's not a 'no' - it's just that he wasn't lying about the 'it will look like a child did it' promise ]
When we were chasing my father from station to station [ He assumes she remembers the conversation (confession?) they had on the subject - he certainly does ] My mom and Sam and I got close. We were the only familiar people in a lot of different places.
So we'd help with her hair sometimes. Mostly simple things - stuff a kid can handle. A braid down the back, maybe a bun. A ponytail. Pigtails, once, though we couldn't stop laughing and she swore never again--
[ a smile gifted to the back of her head as he recalls the memory ] Can't promise it'll look good, but it won't be my first, at least.
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She can hear the smile in his voice as he recalls those memories from childhood, and she finds that she envies him that. When she shares her own story, she isn't quite sad, but the emotion is certainly mixed in with the love and fondness she still feels deeply for her family. ]
The style I usually wear... It was my mother's. I wanted to be just like her when I was little. Maybe that would have changed when I got older and teenage contrariness took over, but... [ That sadness becomes more obvious now, her voice tightening for just a moment. ] It's the only thing I have left of her. Of any of them.
Even my memories are... [ She struggles with how to describe the state of that part of her mind. ] They're fuzzy. That's the sort of thing trauma does to a person. But I remember watching my father undo her braids at the end of the day and brush out her hair, and they looked so happy despite how hard our life was.
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It's the closest he can give her to a hug right now in the position they're in. He hopes she'll take it ]
She would be so proud of the woman you've become [ he never met her, but he says it with confidence because there is no one who would would look at La'an now and not be proud of who she is. Of the healing she's done. Of the hard work she's put into growing from the place that did its best to break her. She is the strongest person he knows, and he's met most of the Starfleet Brass. ]
They all would.
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Leaning a little more solidly against him, she feels her throat tighten further, her eyes burning with a fresh round of tears that she does her best to hold back. ] Thank you.
[ Pulling in a shaking breath, she tries not to think about how she's spent every day of the last twenty years trying to be worthy of her brother's sacrifice, setting her own measure so high some might deem it impossible. But even with as briefly as Jim has known her, she trusts him... and she might be able to believe him when it comes to this.
A few tears slip out and she firmly brushes them away, sniffling once before continuing this strange dance of a conversation where they've moved from one corresponding topic to another. ]
Cherish your memories, Jim. Do everything you can to keep hold of them. And if you have a little girl— [ because that is a very real possibility for him now ] braid her hair. Even if you're terrible at it. She'll need those memories one day.
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He's also quickly realizing he wouldn't mind being the person she trusts with that part of herself.
Carol. Right. Jim's eyes drop closed and he drags in a breath; heavy and deep. His head falls forward to press against the side of hers for a second before he admits, quietly: ] Remember how I said it was complicated?
Nothing's--changed, exactly.
But.
Carol isn't thrilled with the knowledge that I wasn't planning on giving up my Commission when I heard she was--
[ He's got the angry PADD messages to prove it; saved videos and lines of text, all of it making him realize that maybe he's more his father than he ever meant to be, in the best ways and the worst, too. He lets the sentence trail off, a wave of the hand not wrapped around her to encompass everything. He doesn't know how to explain it. How to reconcile the two people they are. He doesn't know how to walk away from being James T. Kirk, youngest first officer in Starfleet History, and he doesn't know how to make Carol understand the importance of it. His bone-deep, desperate need to be in the stars. Doing something.
Jim's need for it all to matter.
But he also doesn't know how to be--he wants to be a better father than his Dad was, except his Dad is the reason he's done everything with meaning in his life, so what does that say about him? ]
Will you tell me about them? Your family? The things you do remember?
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She's grateful that he shifts the subject because she doesn't know what to say to help him through this dilemma, so even though it still aches inside to talk about them, she can offer this distraction for him while he suffers in his own way. ]
Our parents when they had my brother and me. They met in school, and my mother used to tell me how she didn't care about my father's ancestry because he was so much more than that. She agreed to take his name, knowing how hard it would be, because she never wanted him to doubt that she loved all of him.
[ Her parents were the ones who gave her hope that one day she might find someone who could love her despite her lineage. Someone who could see past her name. She sniffles again and folds her arms over his that's wrapped around her, holding him in place like the lifeline he's swiftly becoming. ]
Manu was sixteen when we were taken. He wanted to be a scientist, and he was so... He always took care of me. When I was bullied by other children, when I was lonely after our latest move, he was my rock, showing me I could make it through. And when we were on that planet, he— [ She closes her eyes tight, breathing through the wave of emotion. ] He's the one who figured out how the Gorn communicated. He wrote it all down and gave it to me, and then told me to run. I don't know that I'll ever feel fully worthy of what he did for me.
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So she talks, and he listens, arm wrapped around her and tucked under hers, nose pressed against the side of her hair, breathing her in. ]
Your mother was a strong woman. Like you.
[ it's easy to see they're of the same blood - the woman who would wear a murderer's name to prove her love grew beyond it, and the woman sitting here now, who kept fifty three people alive against all odds, all while reliving the trauma of her youth.
She speaks about her brother, and it twists something in his gut. He thinks about Sam, the scientist, who wanted nothing more as he grew up to know how the world was put together. How different cultures and aliens and races communicated, grew, worked together. A man who cares so deeply--
The idea of him sacrificing himself for Jim-- he can't even imagine it. The pain that would come with it. The pain she must feel every day. ]
It doesn't help, I know it doesn't. But you are worthy of it, La'an. He did it because he loved you and you deserve people who care like that for you.
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She listens just as closely to what he has to say, and it means so very much to hear. Somehow, it's easier to believe when someone else is saying it than when she says it to herself. But at the same time, there's an elephant in the room threatening to crush her with the things that aren't being said, and suddenly she's too tired to let it all continue this way. ]
You can't be one of those people for me, Jim. [ Said quietly, sadly, but with no anger or accusation. ] No matter how much I wish you could be.
[ Part reminder and part confession, she doesn't feel the same fear and anxiety as she did not all that long ago when she'd laid bare a secret no one was supposed to ever know. His life is complicated and she can't allow herself to continue to be one of those complications. Yet even as she loosens her hold on his arm around her, she doesn't move to put any further distance between them. Saying one thing and doing another isn't who she wants to be, but here she is, becoming that person. ]
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She's worth it, though. Worth the ache.
La'an loosens her hold and he lets his arm pull away from her, just a little, just enough. But he doesn't pull it away, not when she doesn't move to escape him completely. They're not body to body anymore, but they're not far apart, still sharing the same space, the same breath. ]
Love doesn't always have to be romantic [ he reminds, gently. And he doesn't acknowledge the fact that the feelings he has for her are certainly a far cry from platonic--he's still figuring them out, but he can at least say that--but he's not lying when he says he's also here to be here for her, in whatever way she wants to have him ] And maybe love is too big a word.
But--
I could be a friend. I'd like to be a friend. Your friend. If you'll have me.
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Tilting her head back to look at the ceiling of her quarters, she lets the unwept tears slip back within her, intermingling with the other signs of pain and trauma she keeps hidden from the world. A deep breath in, and out again, and then she speaks, exhaustion dripping off every syllable. ]
I think I could really use a friend right now.
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He uses the arm near her waist to give her a one-sided hug at her answer ] Good news, you've got one.
[ and then, because he can see the way the day is weighing on her, he adds: ] And as your newest friend, can I suggest you actually try to get some sleep?
[ Maybe he shouldn't offer--maybe they've already gotten a little too close to it--but he isn't ready to let her be alone (or out of his sight, if he's being honest) and so he continues: ] I can stay, if you want. Make sure it's secure. Of the two of us, I'm actually rested
[ or at least, a little more. He hasn't slept a ton since arriving on the Enterprise, but he hasn't spent the last few days keeping literally everyone around him alive ] and I did go through a rotation with security. I know how to use a phaser if needed.
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That's why she only struggles for a few moments before nodding her acceptance of both the idea and his offer. And as soon as she's agreed, it becomes easier to let him see past that last little bit of armor — she's exhausted, yes, but she's also scared, which is ridiculous when she knows she's safe here. This is the Enterprise. She's home, and home is safe. So why is she still terrified of closing her eyes and letting her guard down?
Trauma. It's the answer to just about every question about her that begins with why. ]
Please stay. I keep— [ She struggles to find the words, not wanting to show just how broken she is and then acknowledging that's exactly what she should do right now. Lifting a hand, she presses the heel of it to her forehead, squeezing her eyes shut. ] I keep expecting to see them in the corners.
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But he's only met La'an a few times and even he can tell she's someone who keeps to herself. Who holds herself apart, collected and composed, the barriers she puts up keeping everyone away. He's seen the way she moves when she's working; how she uses exactly enough energy in every step and turn and not an ounce more. Always conserving something in case she's called upon to act. Now that he knows about her childhood he figures maybe that's where it's born from; never knowing when you might need to run and hide.
Now, at least, he hopes he can give her a space where she doesn't have to do that. Doesn't have to be so tightly wound. She's too exhausted for it, and trying now will only wear her into something threadbare that can't be properly patched, even with his sewing skills--a poor metaphor, maybe, but it's what he has to offer.
Her fear twists that same part of him that longs for her, the complicated bit that aches, and he reaches out a hand to smooth out the lines on her forehead, gentle fingers running softly over the creases he finds there. ]
I'm not going anywhere. Promise. [ If he makes a promise, he keeps it ] Staying here as long as you'll have me.
[ he lets his hand fall away, down to her knee, where he gives her a gentle squeeze. He's not going to think about the truth behind that comment, the way it rings true for more than just being here and being her friend. She's asked him for platonic. He can give her that. ] Come'n, Lieutenant. Get in bed. No one's going to miss you until morning, and I'm pretty sure you're under doctor's orders.
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Maybe it would be better if she cut ties with him. Instead of seeing the physical ghost of the man she loved, perhaps she should exorcise him from her life so she can grieve and move on. Except even the thought of that is enough to bring forth the threat of fresh tears, and she can't fathom the idea of living in a world without Jim Kirk. ]
So bossy... [ She says the quiet, teasing comment with a small smile before gathering up the bowl with its remaining strawberries and the few cookies left. After offering one of those cookies to him, she sets the rest on the little bedside table — they won't be as fresh later, but she doesn't care. ]
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If he was being reasonable, he would climb out of her bed and let her have it. He'd take a spot in a chair nearby and keep his vigil from there. But like everything this woman, reasonableness isn't the first thought in his mind, and he shifts, settling back so he's sitting near the headboard (or what passes for one on a starship) and he waits for her to adjust.
He won't force her settling on him, but he's also here if she wants to. ]
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You can sleep too. [ Because she doesn't really need him to keep watch, and she's certain he hasn't gotten as much rest lately as he really should have, not with Sam missing. ] Or you can use my PADD if you want to read or watch something.
[ Already, it's a struggle to keep her words coherent, her stiff muscles relaxing into warm exhaustion as darkness tugs at her mind. But she fights it, needing just a little longer with him in this moment. ]
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And he likes the idea of keeping her as close--touching her. Proving to himself that she's still alive. Knowing Sam was missing was what kept him up at night, but knowing he might not see her again gave him nightmares he can't quite explain, but doesn't want to relive. ]
I'll find a way to entertain myself [ he assures with a smile that's impossibly fond. It's everything he can do not to press a kiss to the top of her head, her hair still free and loose. It's a good look for her, though he plans to keep that specific information to himself and he will get to the braiding tomorrow before she ventures out to see other people. Whatever she needs to put her armor back on, he'll help her do it, but there's something to be said for the fact that she doesn't feel the need to don it now--that she trusts him enough to be this vulnerable ] Go to sleep. That's an order from someone who almost outranks you.
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