004 ◉ audio; dated to the 14th

[imaginate]

[ The audio clicks on and there's a long pause. When Kyle speaks, his tone is calm, perfectly controlled. It's his Business Voice, blank save for the barest hint of anger. ]

This is Kyle Rayner of the Green Lantern Corps. I apologise for the inconvenience, but our clinic at EA-3B is currently undergoing repairs and won't be able to take more patients at this time. We'll be temporarily operating a backup at WA-1A. [ He attaches a map, showing where it is. ]

Any and all hands with medical experience or healing abilities are always welcome.

[ Another long pause. ]

And if someone could come collect Avatar Korra, that would be appreciated.

[ There is a brief pause, as though he's debating what more to say, before the audio clicks off. ]

Comments

[jirk]

[Jim lets himself in quietly, arms full of a variety of things he found on his walkabout of Keeliai. He's not really aiming to be quiet, but the truth is, he always is when he doesn't think he has an audience. Why bother making a show if there's no one there to watch it?

He notices the constructs straight away, except he mistakes them for real and damn near draws his phaser before he realizes their source. Kyle.

It's Kyle, and he doesn't speak Jim's language, so Jim dumps the bag he's got onto the couch, and he goes to sit beside him, wordless. Soundless, or as near as he can with the cast. It's a little like being back in that cell, trying to sleep so it wasn't one more torture they could inflict, fingers pressed against the inside of Kyle's wrists so he could feel his pulse as he drifted off. Jim's almost ashamed of the intimacy, captains weren't supposed to show weakness or fear, but he swallows down the memories and sits, quietly. After a moment, he frowns (what was it Kyle said about blizzards?) and reaches out, to put a hand against his shoulder.

The silence costs him. Damn, does it cost him. But it's an exchange of currencies he can live with now.]

[imaginate]

[Kyle's learnt the shift of the air when Jim's in the room. Soundless or not, this man always makes an entrance, and it's easy enough to pick up on it.]

[He ignores it. He's in his world, and Jim-- can be a part of it if he likes, or he can go. Kyle can guess what his answer is going to be. Jim won't leave him out of sheer spite, if it comes down to that. No matter what.]

[He breathes, brushing his fingers against the passing constructs, some of whom are smiling at him, or reaching back. He can hear their voices if he concentrates, and he doesn't fill in their words, but Jim-- talks too much and Jim maybe needs something from Kyle. Speaking is going to cost a lot. But he does, anyway.]

Hey.

[jirk]

[Quieter,]

Hey yourself.

[imaginate]

How's the leg?

[He reaches over, briefly, to check Jim's pulse, before he pulls his hand back to his side.]

[jirk]

Still there.

[Still broken. But it's only an annoyance in that the cast is.]

Look. Whatever I'm doing, I'm sorry.

[He doesn't apologize for much, but it's sincere.]

[imaginate]

There's nothing to apologise for.

[He sighs. Voz floats past him, and as Kyle looks, the construct flickers violently.]

I think I just assume too much.

[jirk]

[Jim shrugs, and doesn't press.]

[imaginate]

[His hand drops to his side.]

[jirk]

[How do I fix it. It's evident in nearly every line of him, but he tamps it down, and says nothing. Instead he simply remains where he is, one hand on Kyle's shoulder, fingers gently flexed.]

[imaginate]

[Almost, he thinks about not replying, forcing Jim to use Kyle's language. But he's not that cruel.]

Paint. Sometimes food works but not always [like earlier, it hadn't], A good fight, maybe. I like to fly, too.

[jirk]

[He knew all that already, could read it in him clear and bright as a bell. He shakes his head. Wets his lips, then takes the plunge without a second thought.]

Do you hate me?

[imaginate]

[Without hesitation:] No.

[How could I?]

[jirk]

[A long moment of silence. Then,]

Do you think I hate you?

[imaginate]

Yes. [That too, was said without hesitation, but he does pause before adding:] I'm probably wrong.

[jirk]

'Probably'.

[He says that with a note of amusement that's very dry and half dangerous besides.]

So being around me is, what, an exercise in masochistic self-flagellation?

[imaginate]

[He shrugs, helplessly.]

[jirk]

[Jim blows out an exasperated breath, and then he curls his fingers in the fabric at Kyle's shoulder and hauls him up for another hug.]

You need to have a long conversation with Spock about Jim Kirk and friendship, Kyle.

[imaginate]

[He takes a deep breath, steadying himself, and curling his fingers in Jim's shirt.]

Sorry I can't reciprocate. Most of my friends are [gone] dead.

[jirk]

[He's gotten used to the random expressions of the macabre from Kyle, and it doesn't make him flinch away (although he thinks about bodies floating in space, about monuments and explosions and radioactivity). Instead, he just hugs him tighter, careful, mindful of the injuries that still aren't quite healed, remnants of the torture. Trying to speak another language.

He really wishes Uhura were here, she could translate. Do you even know what friendship is? It means being there for people, maybe dying for them, but Jim's never been good at the rest, he's always been very personally selfish, even if he's capable of selflessness. So maybe this is an exercise in... giving without expectation.]

[imaginate]

[There's a lot he doesn't say - doesn't know how to say anymore. If Mogo was here Kyle would have spent hours in his presence, opening his mind and giving all the terrible things that lived there, letting his brother take his darkness. Mogo put light in dark corners, too, except those corners tended to be within Lanterns rather than in any physical sense of the phrase.]

[But Mogo's not here, and Jim -- Jim is going to leave when he dies, even when he promised he wouldn't. Kyle's halfway in between I will bury him, that's who I am, that's what happens to me and No, I won't, there's still hope, I'll keep fighting. He never quite knows where he is on that sliding scale. With Jim, it's somewhat dangerous in a way Kyle can't really name (Safety, he'll realise, if he thinks about it).]

[He exhales softly. He rarely acts selfishly: he hasn't done it much since getting the ring, for fear of corruption, but he's been more selfish in these two months with Jim than he has been in the past decade and one more... one more won't hurt him. So he pulls away from the hug, just far enough, tilts his head curiously (hope, fear, will) and then kisses Jim, chaste. Exploring.]

[jirk]

[And Jim pulls instantly back, like he'd been burned. His expression is completely unreadable, and everything fathomable in his body language has been... not turned off, he's pretty sure that would be a slap in the face, but a lot of his usual cues have gone quiet.]

I said friends, Kyle. Friends-with-benefits is usually a few more ticky boxes under column A of the General Friendship Accord.

[imaginate]

[His instinct is to retreat as well, but he holds his ground, carefully, a little uncertainty. He expected Jim to blank, and... when he doesn't, Kyle becomes a bit more secure. (There's no cue to stop, either, so he doesn't.)]

Do I get to read it, at some point?

[He tries smiling. His dorky, cheerful grin half-answers, but he's biting his lip. The caution is seeping back into him.]

[jirk]

You'd have to write it, first.

[He laughs, casual, and shakes his head.]

[imaginate]

[Fingerpoint]

Don't tempt me. The part of my brain that's a bureaucrat is already drawing it up.

[jirk]

Yeah? Show me when you're done, and we'll talk.

[It's not a yes, but it's not a no. He already knows he'd sleep with Kyle, that's not the issue. The issue is that Kyle doesn't do things halfway. He grimaces, tries to turn it into a sort of half-smile, and then drops his hand away from Kyle's shoulder.]

Come on, I started building my 'in case of maudlin artists break glass' kit, you might as well see what's in it.