[video]

[jirk]

[Jim's sitting in his suite, wearing his command golds, looking serious as a heart attack. He's leaning forward, one hand braced against the armrest of his chair, the other fiddling with something on the console. Satisfied, he leans back more fully and nods once to the camera.]

Okay, let's get the introductions out of the way first. Name's Jim, Jim Kirk. Captain of the USS Enterprise. I serve in Starfleet in the year 2259 - Starfleet being a space-based armada focused on peaceful exploration and the discovery of new forms of life in the universe.

[There's a slight quirk to his brow, he coughs and then continues with all due charisma,]

I know there's people out there that've been here longer than I have, so I'm asking for your help - and the assistance of anyone willing. We know we're here to fight something, some of you know what and why. While I can understand the reasoning behind keeping that information to allies, I'd like to stress the fact that we're all in this together, regardless of worlds, races or creeds. This isn't something we can or should fight blind. So I'm proposing a broader alliance, a centralized repository of information, and the consideration of a unified front to face whatever's coming.

Additionally, I'm interested in the martial capabilities of the landed foreigners, any contingency plans that have been put in place to deal with the situations we're potentially facing here, and the sorts of scenarios that've been dealt with in the past.

[He exhales a little more sharply than necessary, and then he gives the camera a brief, two-fingered salute.]

Kirk out.



[and edited in after the fact, private to Kyle Rayner.]

We should talk.

Comments

[imaginate]

No point. It's not coming.

[Equally quiet and resigned.]

Last of my kind, remember?

[jirk]

Take your ring off.

[It's not quite an order.]

[imaginate]

[There is a long pause where he gives Kirk a curious, questioning look, and there's momentary coldness, but he complies, sliding it off and putting it on the table.]

[jirk]

You've got two choices.

[He lifts a hand, ticks down his middle and index finger to reiterate.]

Accept that you aren't alone any more. Or drive away anyone who sees the worth in you, because they see the worth in you. So maybe I can't match you, so what. Big deal. My entire bridge crew is made up of people who are the absolute best in their field, that I can't even touch. I don't care. Meet me half way and I'll do whatever I can to make sure you're never alone. But you have to meet me. I'm not going to put up with being treated like shit by some guy who doesn't give a damn about me.

[imaginate]

[He is standing on a rooftop with broken bones and screaming muscles and Damian is holding him, quietly. He is sitting in a hospital room and John's hand is on his shoulder, reassuring. Then, he's on a field full of blood and detritus and dead Black Mercy and Guy's arm is around him, as though afraid Kyle will slip away if he lets go (I know what your worst fear is). There's a fruit on his face and Zatanna is hugging him too (did anyone tell you you're kind of amazing).]

[His language is not words. These do not just... happen, for him; he lives in the quiet strokes of the brush, in movement, and in music. Where you can wrap up your sadness with greys and blacks, put hope in a small painting of a lighthouse by the sea (stop pushing paint around Kyle, none of this means anything). Where joy is the simple things like sitting on a sofa flirting with someone and not having to think about pain, or war, or the feel of intense heat on his skin as they tore Ion out of him and expected him to live with the silence in his mind, alone.]

[He needs to be pulled back. Usually, other people do it, but he's cognizant, now, of what's happening to him, and well. He fights everything. He might as well fight himself, too.]

[Out of sheer desperation, (because he can't find the words, he never had those) Jim gets wrapped in a hug. Kyle's fingers curl in his shirt; it's not a tight grip, but it is one that says I do give a damn. He rests his head on Jim's shoulder, steadying his breathing, taking what he needs. And he is still waters again, calm, neutral.]

[At peace.]

[jirk]

[For someone who touches other people so casually, so freely, Jim really doesn't like being touched himself. Contact he doesn't initialize is usually either sexual - women at bars, lingering little touches that hold the promise of a wild night - or violent, and he thinks of Spock's hand around his throat and squeezing.

He freezes at the contact, hands held well out of the way to forestall a more visceral reaction, and he just lets Kyle hug him.

Then, lightly,]

Wow, is it just me or was that first base?

[I get it.]

[imaginate]

Getting ahead of yourself.

[It's quiet, but light. He hasn't let go yet.]

[jirk]

There any other place to be?

[He hugged Kyle when he came out of the antechamber saying, they broke my symbol, James. It was an instinct, then. He'd have done it for anyone projecting that level of required comfort because at the end of the day, he buys into the whole needs of the many thing a lot more than he'd ever admit to anyone but Spock. He can set aside his own needs and wants and desires for other people. Even his life, if he had to.

But this is different. This is something taken, not asked for, and he's not quite comfortable with that.]

You okay?

[imaginate]

No.

[He senses something (a misstep? He always gave when people touched him first, this must be a difference between them), and he steps back, out of Jim's personal space, once again returning to his defeated posture, albeit slightly more open.]

But when I say that, even when it's the absolute truth, nobody knows what to do with me.

[jirk]

[Jim shakes his head. Nonverbal communication. He can do that. He reaches out to put his hand on Kyle's shoulder, fingers slightly flexed. A concession.]

I'm not nobody.

[imaginate]

[It works. He immediately relaxes, becomes even more open.]

It sounded like I was being a burden.

[jirk]

Oh come on. I've basically made a career choice of chasing you down and poking at you until you talk. You're hurt. I get that.

[He drops his hand and gives Kyle a sort of sideways look, which involves turning half in profile.]

Only worth it when you're perfect, huh? And perfect means no cracks. No scars.

[imaginate]

Hurt and cruel too, apparently.

[A wan smile. He's not bitter, he's being matter-of-fact. The tone remains gentle, and soft, although he withdraws slightly at the comment about scars. Imperfections. He had too many, even if he could turn them into strengths.]

Hey, did you know scar tissue is tougher than it was before?

[jirk]

Doesn't mean the healing doesn't hurt like a bitch, though. But yeah. I know.

[He heads back towards the kitchen, pours himself a glass of water.]

[imaginate]

[Kyle just takes a seat on the sofa, and waits for Jim to come back.]

[jirk]

[Which he accomplishes by hopping over the arm of the couch like a fucking ninja, tyvm. And all without spilling a drop of his water.]

[imaginate]

[Kyle just watches him, smiling.]

[jirk]

So how do we fix this?

[He's serious, back to business.]

[imaginate]

[Simply, honestly:] I don't know.

[jirk]

[Undeterred,]

Then what's our first step?

[Jim Kirk: solution oriented.]

[imaginate]

[A shrug, and then, lightly:]

I have no idea. I'm flying by the seat of my pants here and hoping everything will work out because it's me doing it.

[jirk]

[He snorts.]

You said it, not me.

[imaginate]

[A weak smile.]

Yeah well. Words don't come easily to me.

[jirk]

[Flatly,]

You are nowhere near pretty enough to make me want to resort to interpretive dance.

[But he does stretch out on the couch and this results in his heel being just barely against Kyle's knee. It's a little intentional, testing the water. The boundaries. Jim's... learned.

Kyle's a mix of he and Spock. He's got Spock's silences, his depths, the restraint of the soul, but he's got Jim's fire and heart and so many of the same wounds he's betting they'd overlap if they laid everything down side-by-each.

Kyle's would probably be a little darker. A little older. A palette of bruises and old scars pressed into his skin that he can cover with long shirt sleeves and dark colours.

Jim takes a drink of his water, sucks it in through his teeth and holds it momentarily in his mouth without swallowing.

He's thinking. Then he just swallows and starts to talk, his tone is even and idle and calm. That conflagration is become a candleflame, lit and flickering behind a lantern's concave glass. Steady and sure, burning bright.]

It pisses you off that where we're similar, I remind you of how you used to be before-- [a slight handwave] everything. You aren't getting mad at me. You're getting mad at yourself. Am I wrong?

[imaginate]

[Teasingly:] Oh, I can be pretty persuasive.

[The contact makes him frown, slightly puzzled, but his knee moves towards Jim in response. Since the hug Kyle's body language changed, going from withdrawn to more comfortable in his own skin, and where he was sitting on the sofa. He is much more relaxed, and open. Jim's a candle and Kyle just reaches one hand to warm himself up with its light and heat.]

[He purses his lips at the question:] We're not completely alike, but I think so? I'm not sure how to say. [he makes vague gestures with his hands, attempting to put it into words] Mirrors? I don't really like looking in them. My mistakes are pretty much permanently visible on me [he reaches for his shoulder, absently].