Therapy Session's a Two-Drink Minimum (for boldygoing )

[smartass_captain]

You'd think this would be easier.

Find a place that's safe and quiet. Out of the way where neither of them has to be 'On' and neither of them has to worry about being bothered. Dig out a chess set, get a couple of drinks (make sure a certain Jim doesn't get too many drinks), and there you go. There's just one small problem with this idea.

There isn't a safe place anymore.

Jim's barely been able to hold still in the Nexus and he's already so high energy that some of the denizens don't think he's capable of sitting down. He doubts his counterpart is having an easier time of it. Jim's forgotten which of them came up with the idea. Inclined to think it was himself, but then he's pretty sure the younger one would say the same so who even knows.

They'll hash out the details as they go. Jim locks his quarters with his override code before shooting a set of PINpoint coordinates to his counterpart.

Chess set's set up. We doing this?

Comments

[boldygoing]

Jim hasn't slept much in recent weeks. So what else is new. Those dark circles under his eyes have always been there, right? At least he's managed to get his shit in order enough to pick up his class at the Academy, no matter how alarmed the cadets tend to look when he drags himself through the door every morning. He's even managed to return to something resembling eating on a regular schedule, still too unnerved by the hunger to let himself skip a meal more than once, although he hasn't managed to work his way back up to meat again. Apples, bread, and ration bars, what more do you need, really?

He knows that Hunter has been worried about him. But it's hard to even admit to needing help, much less to someone who can't do anything but listen and have to live with secondhand horrors. No. Bad enough that he has seen what can't be unseen, felt what can't be unexperienced. He won't inflict that on someone else.

Fortunately, he doesn't have to. There's one other person who knows what it's like, who doesn't have to imagine how bad it was, or need painful explanation of just how much the nightmare twisted reality and how much of that fucked up shit really happened.

He doesn't need to worry about looking presentable when the message finally rolls in. His hair is at least sort of combed and he doesn't have to bother shaving anymore, so he sends back a quick affirmative and throws on a rumpled set of civilian clothes before transporting himself over.

It's... eerily familiar.

Jim has only spent a year on the Enterprise, his quarters still mostly undecorated save for a few things he's picked up, mostly in the Nexus. But his older counterpart has been on the go for at least a couple years now, and it... honestly looks about the same. There's no bookshelf, obviously, because Hunter hasn't made him one. And there's a very cool-looking dragon statuette on the desk that... honestly kind of looks like it's on fire? But other than that, there isn't much to tell him that he's not in his own quarters.

Except, of course, the beardless captain waiting for him on the other side of a familiar chess set.

[smartass_captain]

Felix has been absent from this space long enough that the scent of bitter herbs, smoke, and leathers has long since been scrubbed clean by the ships air purifiers to the point where it doesn't linger anymore. Has spent so long away from this place that his side of the bed is properly made again and looks untouched.

Whatever else of the conjurer is tucked away safely out of sight in Jim's closet, away from prying eyes that may come in to see him. It's left Jim's room feeling larger. Empty. The only other items of note are a small pile of books stacked on his bedside table. Very old, judging by the bindings. Or at least, not originating from Earth.

"Hope this isn't too weird. I didn't want to risk someone coming to the Observation deck, even if it's gamma shift right now." Jim's more or less still in uniform though he's ditched the command golds for just the black undershirt and left his boots at the door. He wears the same heavy circles under his eyes that the younger captain sports and his hair is lacking any of its usual product leaving it a fluffy mess that Jim doesn't seem to care much about for the moment.

A replicated carafe of coffee and two mugs are sat on the table next to the chess set.

"So. Ground rules? Winner gets to decide a topic, was that what we agreed on?"

[boldygoing]

Oh good. He's not the only one who looks like a shuttlecraft ran him over. Not that he'd really expected any different; nightmares are nightmares are nightmares, and why the fuck would this Jim Kirk be spared? The coffee is a welcome sight, and he moves to join the other and claim one of the mugs for himself. Identical to the ones from his own Enterprise, the replicated brew just as shitty, but hot and caffeinated, and that's all that counts.

Jim scrubs a hand through his hair, scratching at the back of his head. "Or ask a question, yeah." He's pretty sure he knows what kind of questions are coming, and while he'd rather talk about them never... it's not really the same as talking to some Starfleet therapist who's looking for any sign he's not fit for duty, or making noises like they empathize even though they don't have a fucking clue what it was really like. Denial will only get him so far, and if he can't - or won't - talk about it with a stranger, then the solution is obvious.

He briefly thinks about laying down a rule where neither of them throws the game, but really, since when does Jim Kirk not play to win? Doesn't need to be said. And who wants to be the one who doesn't get to pick what they discuss, anyway. "You wanna be black or white?" he asks instead.

[smartass_captain]

Jim watches the younger captain move around to his usual spot on the couch and fights the knee-jerk reaction to scowl because he was going to sit there. Really, Jim should have thought of this. The other seat is the same really so it's not a question of niceties so much as habit.

The same thought flits through this Jim's head about throwing games but is brushed aside almost immediately. The situation sets itself up to avoid that, since neither of them want to be the one stuck answering any of those said questions in the first place.

"Figured we'd switch every round. You can go first." It feels Weird sitting on this side of the couch goddammit. Is this really what he should be focusing on right now? All of this is weird and uncomfortable and neither of them likes even the thought of it.

But...

Jim watches his companion run his hand through his hair. Doubletake from the board to the coffee mug a couple of times before he drinks and he knows more or less how the other one is feeling. Where his train of thought is likely headed. The silence between them is not uncomfortable. It's full of camaraderie and empathy. They both know why they're here and why there's no one else they can turn to.

No one else lived through it. Any one of the small parts, maybe. But all of it? No one. Jim lets out the first sigh of relief he's given in nearly a week and sinks into the chair. Sips at the coffee before setting the mug aside.

There are worse ways to kill some time. Jim's going to have to pay attention though. His younger counterpart won't have three years of games with Spock to fall back on but he's still fucking sharp.

[boldygoing]

It hadn't truly occurred to him, until he sat down just now, just how challenging this is probably going to be. They haven't exactly compared ELO ratings or anything, but it's clear from the first couple of moves that they favor similar gambits, and Jim rests his mug on top of his knee as he leans forward to focus on the game. If this was anyone else, any other opponent, it wouldn't matter as much, but he's now faced with the unique challenge of out-thinking himself. Second-guessing, triple-guessing, forced to shake up his usual strategies and find something the other captain won't see coming, something that's a hell of a lot easier said than done.

But it's almost nice. Comforting. Finding a refuge in the shared, comfortable quiet of the captain's cabin, devoting the vast majority of their attention to the game at hand, giving temporary reprieve from the horror show that's been playing in their minds damn near nonstop since the Nightmare. The remembered screams aren't so loud as Jim considers the possible moves he can make, the bone-chilling dread dulled as he slides a white bishop across the board to capture one of the black knights, the merciless guilt faded and out of focus as he watches the older captain contemplate the board and finally push a rook into play.

And it's such a relief to finally be back on the Enterprise, to feel the faint rumble of the engines through the deck plates under his feet, catching a glimpse of the starfield out the small window allotted to the quarters along the hull of the ship. The familiar, reassuring scents of his own cabin, of home. Even the crappy replicated coffee is a comfort. He hadn't realized just how much he'd missed it until now, a weight easing off his shoulders. Doesn't even matter that this isn't really home, that this isn't really his. It's close enough.

"Such a Spock move," he murmurs, looking over his mug at the board, the new position of the pieces after the other captain's move.

[smartass_captain]

The familiarity of the ship and the hum of her engines, the privacy offered here and nowhere else had all ultimately ended up fitting into Jim's rationale to invite the younger captain to his quarters. Being in San Francisco for as long as the younger one has been nearly drove Jim crazy back when it was him. To have gone through all of this crap now, well. Regardless of Jim's own hangups about being in his quarters with other people he's glad that it seems to be a comfort for the other.

And really, it's not like Young Jim's going to be sleeping over or anything. Nothing to get anxious over. Much. He shifts in his seat and tries not to think about clammy hands pressing Felix's full weight on his neck.

He's so glad for the commentary from his companion, however brief.

"Y..yeah, well. I've been playing with him for a while now. was bound to learn a thing or two eventually." Even forced boasting will cost him though, as he lets go of his remaining knight and has to stifle a swear. He hadn't meant to do that. No way the bearded captain would let that lapse in concentration go unpunished, either.

Well, okay. Don't panic Jim. This is surely salvageable, right? If he...no. No that won't work. But then...no. Mother fucker. Teeth sink into his bottom lip as he watches the flow of the board as another of his pieces is captured.

"Dammit."

[boldygoing]

Being back in familiar, safe surroundings is definitely a comfort to someone who's spent months planetside, and maybe that's one of the major factors in helping him keep his head in the game so far, before they've really started digging deep. There's no danger here, no one he has to put on a brave face for, no need to pretend he isn't still carrying fresh scars so recently reopened. He can just be Jim, someone he hasn't gotten to be very much lately.

If he can even decide who that is anymore.

Still, he can tell that something's bothering the familiar face on the other side of the table, cursing under his breath as victory becomes less and less likely. But honestly, there's been so much shit in both their lives recently that it could be any one of a whole slew of things. And he hasn't earned his right to the first question just yet, although if the game keeps going as it has been, it won't be long.

"Is he still falling into that trap where he thinks you'll play logically once in a while?" he asks, eyeing up the board. Five more moves and he'll have his queen in place to start brute-forcing his way into checkmate. Not the most elegant of solutions, but it does seem to be working so far.

[smartass_captain]

Jim's hand rakes through his hair several times as he studies the board. Blue eyes dance over the pieces and take in the situation at hand. He has to forget about Felix right now. Facing off against a computer or Spock is one thing, but trying to outthink himself is another entirely.

There's nothing for it then. He could try to dance away with his pieces and protect his king. That would be the logical thing to do, even. It's really not Jim's style though. Nor does he have enough pieces left to lay a trap. The only course of action that has any hope of success is an all out offensive.

He's not about to give up already before they've even started talking.

"I play logically right up until it serves me better to not do that. Drives him batty."

[boldygoing]

Better. The next three moves prove that the older captain is at least focusing on the game enough to pose a threat, enough that he may have to switch to another strategy if he wants to prevent ending up in an outright stalemate. Jim tops up his coffee while he considers the board, and the man on the other side of it.

What a pair they make. Tired, downtrodden, safe only in isolation, hidden away from prying eyes. Yet still determined not to give the other an easy victory, or to give up when defeat seems inevitable. That's not what Jim Kirk does.

Though they'd come damn close. Both of them.

He pushes those thoughts away, shoving them back in the shadows where they belong. Can't think about that now, can't let it distract him from the issue at hand, or he'll never stop hearing that cold whisper that had sent him crashing to his knees, phantom smells curling in his nose. He raises the mug to his lips to chase away the remembered stench, grounding himself in the present, anchored by the bitter smell of black coffee instead.

"'Moving pieces at random is illogical,'" he says, quoting Spock's protest from the first time he had lost against his captain, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "The whole point of strategy is to be unpredictable. He'll figure that out sooner or later."

[smartass_captain]

"He's caught on to a few of my gambits over the years. Enough to know when I'm likely to change things up, even if he hasn't figured out what the move will be." The odds are still stacked against him but Jim doesn't pause in his relentless assault. "Then again, if he hadn't after three years I'd be disappointed."

He wonders when his counterpart slept last. Wonders just how much of their traumas differ, if the nightmares that keep him awake are so different from his own. There's so much Jim wants to ask. Even if he's afraid of the answers.

Would anyone want to know just what another version of themselves had done that they wouldn't even consider? What horrors were forced on them that couldn't even be imagined? Can they really understand each other? It's the closest they're going to get to shared experiences though.

Not perfect, but nothing ever is.

Jim stares at the board with a wry half smile that's a wee bit forced.

"I think I just lost, Captain. You're making me look bad here."

[boldygoing]

"I'm sure you'll get me back." It's not the confident sort of challenge he would've laid down in the past, not when he knows his turn in the hot seat is coming. He may have won this round, but they're still new at this... testing each other. Trial and error, seeing what works and what doesn't. The same tricks won't work twice in a row, even if luck smiled on him on round one.

Still, he's a little relieved to get the first shot in. He knows what's coming. He's been thinking about it for weeks, whether he wants to or not, dreading having to explain such a drastic decision, one that they apparently don't share. He's going to have to. But if he can put it off, delay it a little... well. Maybe all he's doing is prolonging the torture, the anticipation gnawing at him. Maybe he deserves that too. The sleepless nights, the nightmares that stalk him even when he's awake, the heavy weight of guilt pressing down all the more strongly since the Nightmare.

The older captain tips over his king, and Jim leans back a little, away from the board, scrubbing a hand over his face. The victory's only a small, petty one, because it means poking at open wounds, no matter the intent behind it. And there's enough shared between them that he knows just how deep these wounds run.

"The... person in the alley," he says after a moment, clearing his throat, choosing his words with surgical precision. No need to make it hurt any more than it has already, uncertain how much he even has a right to demand of the other. Testing his footing. "Who was it that you saw?"

[smartass_captain]

Jim's gaze falls to the board again. Something to look at other than his younger companion while he contemplates exactly what he's going to ask. Truth be told Jim feels his stomach clenching already with the anticipation of having to actually go through with this. When they agreed to this, Jim has the feeling neither really thought too hard about having to be the one doing the talking.

At least not at first.

No.

His grip on the armrests of the chair has turned his knuckles bone white. Jim can see him now, bleeding out and crying out. Sees him every time he closes his eyes. It's not real. It never happened.

"I..." His voice is taut with barely stifled emotion. "I saw Felix."

[boldygoing]

He had wondered. Wondered who might have provoked that heart-rending cry of anguish, if it was someone the other captain had lost on Tarsus IV, or some other element dragged in from elsewhere in his subconscious, twisting it to suit the Nightmare's purposes.

He swipes his tongue over his lower lip, uncertain, so easily reading the distraught look the other is trying to hide. He knows his own face, the things he does to pretend that everything's fine. "So... that... didn't happen?"

It can't have, right? His counterpart had been depressed about his... Felix... refusing to talk to him, but none of that sounded like he was dead. But he can't think of any other sight that would cause such panic and desolation. What if it had been Hunter, used for bait and slaughtered before his eyes? He suppresses a shudder at the thought. Yeah, that's disturbing as fuck, even just in his imagination.

[smartass_captain]

"No, but it could have."

Jim shuts his eyes. Forces himself to steady his breathing no matter how panic grips at him. It didn't happen. It's not real.

"Felix is a magic user, and one who specializes in summoning beings from different planes. It's...he's a conjurer by profession. And he's good at it. It's not beyond the measure of his skills to have found a way to open a gate to whatever plane we were trapped in. He might have needed someone else to power it for him, but he's also really good at getting his way. He could have been there. And if he'd come...gods, if they'd hurt him..."

Jim buries his face in his hands. Leans forward so his elbows are planted on his knees. Every breath is shuddering. His eyes are wet, hidden behind his hands.

"I just got him back from other-worldly hell. If he'd died on a shade of Tarsus IV trying to save me, I...I can't..." If that place had taken Felix from him too after everything else. His voice breaks then and Jim trails off.

Struggles with the broken pieces of his sanity laying scattered around him.

"That would've been it. F-for me."

[boldygoing]

It's even worse than he'd thought. He hadn't even entertained the idea that someone else could've somehow invaded their Nightmare, actually appeared on the streets of Tarsus IV with no clue where they were or why. Hadn't thought it was possible. No fucking wonder the illusory sight of Felix had damn near broken his counterpart without a fight.

His own voice is full of sympathy, and regret. "God. I'm sorry." Maybe this was a bad idea. Doesn't matter how carefully they tiptoe around this shit, there are still landmines buried in the space between them, the choices that have led them down parallel but separate paths.

But... on the other hand... maybe it's better that it's him. No one else is going to understand, not in the same way. Not that they would ever seek out help from anyone else anyway. But they can't keep going like they have been, either. Not when more than four hundred lives are hanging in the balance, relying on them not to fuck it up.

He doesn't want to pry any deeper. Not unless the older Jim volunteers. Just that little bit seems to have already cracked the fragile facade of the captain, held together with little more than duty and some heavy-duty self-denial. All he can do is lean forward, a supportive hand on the other captain's shoulder, an anchor point to let him know that here, now, he's not alone. Felix isn't dead, and Jim Kirk survived, shattered and barely held together but still here. It's small comfort, but it had been all that held him together when he'd lost Pike, leaning briefly on Spock's steady shoulder to borrow that strength and pretend it was his own.

[smartass_captain]

No one to judge him when he says he'd want to die. No one to try and fathom just how much Jim needs certain people in his life to keep all the axis in balance and spinning. If Spock were to die. Or Bones.

Or Felix.

Jim needs them like he needs air to breathe. For someone who claims to be fiercely independent and unattached, these three are the linchpins of his stability. Spock--his first officer and partner in command. His right hand who he'd trust with his life and the lives of his crew without a moment's hesitation. Bones-- Jim's longest and truest friend who's always been there to pick him up when he falls down. No one has ever been as important to Jim as these two have until now.

And he'd give up everything for Felix.

He keeps Jim on his toes but is the first to his defense. Eager to explore and play fast and loose with the rules but never wanting to risk Jim's life. Sitting by and holding Jim until the water in the shower runs cold even though he's still dressed through nights of sleepless panic and terror but never asking for more than is offered of Jim's pain.

He leans into the hand on his shoulder and steadies himself. Lets the tremors run their course before he pulls his hands away. While definitely upset by the memory he doesn't look empty and devoid of a will to live like he had in the nightmare.

"I know...you don't want to hear it. T-that it'll make you nervous and afraid. I don't want to live in a world Felix isn't in. I can't do it. He's as important as Spock or Bones is to me--more, even. And Tarsus? Of all places? He already knows too much of that hell. Just thinking of him ending up there..." Jim shakes his head violently.

It wasn't real. He wasn't there.

[boldygoing]

In a way, he's right.

The idea that his life would be so closely tied to a single person is kind of terrifying for Jim to contemplate. It just does not compute. To love someone so strongly that he would rather die than continue on without them... he's never been in that position before. He's lost people before. People he cared about. And even when it felt like the world was gonna end... he still struggled on, because what the hell else could he do?

But he can see it in the strength of the tremors that wrack the older captain's body before he pulls himself together, the expression on his face when he finally pulls his hands away, the fear in his voice when he speaks. This thing he has with Felix... it's real, and powerful. They've tasted of death before, and if his older counterpart says he would rather stop existing than face a world without his partner, Jim believes him without question, regardless of whether he's ever felt the same way.

So... Felix knows, about Tarsus. Enough, at least. Jim had wondered about that too. Another question pulls at him, unwilling to let it go unasked. Hoping that the answer isn't no. "Have you seen him? Since we... got back." The nightmares and the fear can't be chased away so easily; he knows that just as well as the other does. But they have to take what small comforts they can find, no matter what they are.

[smartass_captain]

"I don't...I mean." Jim heaves a long sigh and scrubs his hand down his face while he tries to get his thoughts into some semblance of an order. "If he's alive, then that's fine. I'm not going to die if he decides he never wants to see me again. But I couldn't lose him to Tarsus. Not after we so recently got him back from the brink of death of his own design."

He's not some melodramatic waif swearing suicide if the object of his affection leaves him. No, Jim's had enough abandonment in his life that he'd be long dead if he were. For good this time.

"He was part of the crowd trying to break through and get us out. So I saw him right away. But it's...we tried to come back together but he had a breakdown being alone with me and I couldn't sleep...It's just been a mess. He's not avoiding me actively now at least but things are still. Not resolved."

[boldygoing]

It hadn't really occurred to Jim to think of it as being quite that over-the-top, no matter how little he understands the true depths of the other captain's feelings towards Felix. Hell, it doesn't even really surprise him to hear that they haven't managed to sort out the problem that's come between them; life is messy and complicated, and it's never as easy as falling into a lover's arms after a traumatic event. That shit's for holodramas.

It doesn't matter if his counterpart could rationalize that the specter he saw in the Nightmare wasn't really Felix or not. Doesn't matter if they were able to spend any time together, or talk about the gulf that lies between them. Doesn't even matter if Felix had decided to leave him after all, and had only come to say his goodbyes.

"You've seen him alive," he says, drawing back now, giving the older captain some space, now that he's collected himself a bit. "That's what matters." It's tangible proof, not enough to completely quiet the fears that still so obviously plague him, the dreadful what-ifs. But enough to give proof of what is real, reassurance that no matter what else happened in that horrible place, Felix isn't dead.

Needing something to do with his hands, Jim begins to set up the board again, restoring the black king to his rightful place. But this time, on the opposite side of the board.

[smartass_captain]

"Yeah. Yeah he's alive."

There's a steadiness to Jim's voice that hadn't been there before. His companion is right, of course he is.He's also Jim Kirk and he knows how they both tend to think. It isn't enough to stop the nightmares but it's definitely plenty to stave off the panic attacks and worry while he's awake. Felix is alive and that Nightmare was not real, no matter how much it felt like it was.

His eyes watch the younger captain move to set the board back up. A sense of relief washes over him knowing that he's done his part. That he has a chance to try again. Despite the pain the topic has brought to him, Jim's also feeling a bit more in control. Having shared the thoughts and fears he's had and come out the other side no more worse for the wear is empowering if only in the determined grit of knowing that it won't get any worse from here. Jim can handle this.

He won't enjoy it, but he can handle this.

"Again?"

[boldygoing]

Awkward and painful as it is to dig into each other's psyche, his older counterpart looks... better, somehow. Maybe it's just because he's not as distraught anymore, maybe it did him some good for real. It's hard to tell. But he hasn't kicked Jim out or anything, so maybe there's something to this after all.

Still better than a real psychologist any day, in any case.

Pawns first. Rooks, knights, bishops. One at a time, the pieces are arranged back the way they're supposed to look, the white pieces turned to favor the other captain this time. An earned advantage, after the shit he's just put himself through, though whether that'll be enough... well. Jim Kirk doesn't give up easy.

"Yeah." Jim gives a faint smile over the board, nowhere near as confident as he'd like to be. The slightly sick feeling returns, knowing that his turn has yet to come, and come it will. But there's no one here that he needs to impress, no one to pretend he's fine for. Just the easy, quiet company of the one person who probably knows him better than anyone else. "Gotta give you a shot at getting even."

[smartass_captain]

The empty board stretches out between both camps. An untarnished field for them to each throw in their hands in an attempt to claw out a victory. Jim thinks back to the game they just finished as his younger counterpart finishes setting the last pieces up on the board. Replays the brute strength tactics in his head he'd failed to stop until a counterattack was too late.

Spock wouldn't have let him get away with that. Jim tops off both of their mugs of coffee and takes a sip.

"A chance is all I need." So long as he doesn't allow himself to be distracted again Jim's confident he can counter that playstyle. He's had three years to hone his game and the commander is always coming up with new strategies to shut Jim down with. Not that he wins often as it is against Spock, but often enough to keep the other on his toes.

Jim moves his first piece and settles back into the chair. Nearly asks a question and then checks himself. A comment is safer and within the rules.

"I played a lot with the older Spock while I was in recovery. Helped me get my head back in order and fine motor skills too. The moves he taught me helped me beat my Spock for the first time when we got on the ship. I thought he was going to lose his mind."

[boldygoing]

Jim nods slightly in thanks, picking up his refreshed mug and sipping from it while he waits for the other captain to make the first move. The element of surprise is probably long gone, and while there's pretty much no chance the man on the other side of the chessboard is okay after all that - neither of them are, and won't be for some time - he seems to be rallying himself as well as he always has. Usually has. Only one small nightmare set to rest among the multitude, but they've always had to start somewhere.

And if that means his head is in the game, Jim might actually be in trouble this round.

He's just starting to consider his response to that opening gambit when the other captain speaks, drawing part of his attention away from the board. He doesn't need to ask; there's only one 'recovery' he can think of that would draw the ambassador to his bedside. "You did?" That comes as a bit of a surprise. He'd had visits from the elderly Vulcan, but... sitting with him long enough to play that many chess games?

Oh. Jim briefly bites his lower lip as he realizes why the old man might not have chosen to stick around for so long during his own time at Starfleet Medical. Hunter had pretty much made certain that he was rarely alone, even once he'd woken up.

He absently moves one of his pawns forward, a familiar opening strategy, one he doesn't have to put too much thought in. A mistake, probably. "He, uh, showed me a few things, but it was only a couple times."

[smartass_captain]

"You didn't?"

Well that answers that question without Jim having to ask it. Seems like Ambassador Spock spent a lot more time keeping Jim company than he did his younger companion. Which seems weird. This younger Kirk doesn't seem to be any less pleased to talk about the older Vulcan. Why would that be?

"I asked him to stay, actually. It's stupid but I didn't really want to be alone at the time. Bones had to sleep sometimes, and the crew couldn't always be there either. So many of them were hurt or recovering themselves. They've got lives of their own. So Spock stayed with me as much as he could."

It's hardly a guaranteed strategy but Jim's hand is steady when he moves one of his own pawns forward to free up space for his other pieces. The Ambassador's advice a soothing reminder in the back of his head. They're here to support each other. Jim can't begin to do that until he can beat his bearded companion.

[boldygoing]

"He did, sometimes. But Hunter was there first." Jim touches his knight, doesn't move it, uncertain fingers resting against the piece until he makes up his mind and leaves it where it lies, shifting another pawn instead. "He, uh, couldn't be there all the time either, but he was with me a lot, both before and after I woke up. Spock - the other one - found him in my contacts a couple days after... well, after." It still deeply bothers him to remember what actually happened, that he actually fucking died, giving that unwelcome truth as wide of a berth as he would a navigational hazard.

"I was too tired early on to do anything like this," he says, with a faint nod towards the board. "Slept a lot, at first. And then the real physical therapy wiped me out every day until I was walking again. Took a few weeks." He absently rubs at the small of his back, even though that injury has long since healed, leaving only the scars. It doesn't hurt anymore. Hasn't, not for a while. But he still remembers, and especially now, when the corpses of old memories have been dug up and dragged into the light, any old pains are not forgotten.

"Spo- the ambassador," he corrects himself, "came to see me a couple times a week, I think, when Hunter couldn't be there. Or some of the crew. Spent more time talking than anything else. He... helped me write some of the letters." The ones he'd never had to write before, never lost a single crewman under his command, and then... ninety-six, all in one day. "The other Spock wrote them all when I was... out... but I couldn't just... I had to give it the more human touch." He knows he won't need to explain. Spock excels at many things, but composing emotionally sensitive letters of condolence is not exactly his strong suit.