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]

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.

[smartass_captain]

Jim nods along. He remembers writing those letters. Remembers the agonizing hours of physical therapy and being too tired to even sit up properly let alone think critically or focus on a game like this.

One of his knights joins a pawn on the board. The Abrukhaya gambit is one of Spock's favorite strategies whenever Jim is getting too sure footed in their matches and one that took him months to find a counter for. He'd had to look up the moves to even learn what the strategy was called and then spend several slow shifts picking apart how he was going to counter it. It's a more aggressive opener than many the Vulcan favors but it is unforgiving and brutal in its efficiency at gaining control of the central board squares which hold the most strategic value.

"It's good you had Hunter by your side, though." One of them deserved to not be alone for that recovery. Jim keeps his focus on the board so as to not stare down his companion. Jim understands his bearded counterpart's unease for the topic. Neither of them has to save face here.

[boldygoing]

Huh. That's... that's an odd move, and he frowns at the board, trying to figure out where his older companion is going with that. It's a little familiar, but... hasn't this all been? Especially with his thoughts elsewhere, it's hard to pick out what is familiar because it's what he might do, and what's familiar because he's seen it somewhere else.

He shrugs it off, and shifts one of his rooks, no longer kept imprisoned by the pawn blocking its way. He's not sure what strategy the other is using, not yet, but going on the offensive early worked last time. Can't pull the exact same trick twice, but there's plenty more moves he can make, plotting out his next few moves in his head.

"It was... weird," he admits. "But nice. Got some new books out of it, so it wasn't all bad."

[smartass_captain]

Another pawn moves into place diagonal to the younger captain's starting pawn. Ready to claim it if he does not do so first. Jim's gaze is focused wholly on the game in front of them, one hand curling and uncurling from a loose fist as he thinks over his moves. The younger captain's aggressive playstyle is hindered somewhat by not moving first. Jim has more pieces in play than the other and if he claims the pawn it will grow. Even if it doesn't it leaves the younger captain with only a pawn deep into the board while he advances with two of his own.

"I did a lot of reading too while I was stuck in bed. Mostly historical pieces about the First Contact and fallout from it."

Jim's trying to keep the conversation on lighter subjects, despite how burdened both of them are by their traumas and nightmares. The game is not the place to talk about these things. It is the reprieve. Their time to gather their thoughts and mull over whatever it is on their minds. He stifles a yawn and takes another spiteful gulp of his coffee instead. Jim's exhausted but sleep is not really an option.

[boldygoing]

The furrow in Jim's brow only deepens as he runs through the benefits and drawbacks of the other captain's strategy. Why there? Deliberately tempting him to take it, threatening to take his own if he doesn't, but for what? A distraction? Or some deeper gambit?

Too obvious for him to fall for the bait. There must be some reason, even knowing that his pawn is going to be sacrificed if he doesn't move it, he continues his own strategy, leaving the pieces as they lay, watching to see what comes of it. One of his knights joins the other pieces advancing on the board, setting up a push to start capturing pieces and remove them from play.

Interesting that their choice of literature would differ a little, but Jim chalks that up to Hunter's influence. A twenty-first century guy wouldn't exactly go for First Contact lit, after all. But he's familiar enough with the novels the other captain is talking about. "Like the First Warp series? I've been meaning to check those out one of these days." Casual conversation, common ground shared not in trauma but in their taste in literature... it's a nice change, to say the least. And as the chess game plays out on the board between them, he finds himself relaxing. Just a little. At first.

[smartass_captain]

Rather than taking the pawn, Jim moves his bishop into position to trade for Jim's knight should he advance on the pawn that is in danger with the captain's last move. He's got a good opening from which to pull pieces from and a solid aggressive front. The weapon is drawn and beginning on his next turn Jim will be able to begin capturing the board one piece at a time.

The smallest of smirks flits across his face. He can hear Spock chastising him for his reckless playstyle even as he did the same gambit on Jim for the fourth consecutive game and utterly destroyed him. He'd been so mad to lose but never more dedicated to further his understanding of the game. It's a good memory. A safe memory.

One without pain or blood. Without trauma or fear. Jim holds onto it tenderly while his blue eyes flit up to study the younger Jim's face. They need more of those memories.

"Worth the read. I recommend staring on a slow travel day though, because I don't think I slept much while I was reading them. Too engrossed in the books." As opposed to nightmares and panic attacks.

[boldygoing]

Oh, motherfucker. So that's what he was up to. Jim has seen Spock pull this kind of strategy exactly once, not nearly enough experience to know how to counter it correctly, let alone use it himself. He remembers little about the exact specifics, except that it was the most crushing defeat he's ever had against the Vulcan.

Their playstyles may be scarily similar, their favored tactics and strategies and relative skill level damn near identical, but three years of additional experience has obviously made a difference. Jim curses in his head as he renews his attention to the other captain's move. So much for relaxing. Time to start throwing shit at the wall and see what sticks. A race to see if he can maneuver his way to victory before enough of his pieces are off the board.

Right, they were talking. Great. Another thing to try to focus on, but he moves his other knight and leans back, as if he wasn't worried at all, sipping at his coffee. As if that would fool anyone. Still, as far as being threatened goes, it's kind of refreshing to have it be confined to a chessboard.

...well. That and the questions no doubt coming his way, as his older companion begins to blaze a path of destruction across the board.

"I bet there's a lot of those," he comments, raising his eyebrows casually. Though on that note, seems like now's as good a time as any to ask. "Anything you wish you'd remembered to bring along?" Sure, maybe it's cheating a little, but he's got the rare opportunity to find out if his idea of enough books actually is or not.

[smartass_captain]

Now isn't the time to look smug. Jim knows what's at stake here and knows that he was in the same situation in their game before. Besides, it would be a forced arrogance and both of them know that's not really needed here. He doesn't feel much like doing anything positive except drinking his coffee like he needs it to breathe. He's the sort of tired that can be felt in the back of the eyes and instills fear of standing lest dizziness overcome the body.

Luckily the hard parts of the gambit are already done and Jim's free to lay claim to his bearded counterpart's pieces with relative ease. There's still the matter of countering any last ditch aggressive dives the other might pull. Jim can't afford to lose too many of his advancing pieces in any retaliation the younger captain makes.

"Bring...? Oh, on th'mission." Jim takes a deep breath and thinks about that for a long moment. "You've got access to the Nexus, so not really. Anything you want you can get there just a PINpoint away. If you'd asked me before I found the Nexus, I'd have said fresh coffee and a few more sextoys to keep myself from being tempted to fraternize with anyone on the crew."

What? It's true.

[boldygoing]

Shit. He can't just let the white pieces steamroll through his own without even a token defense, no matter how much he wants to keep his attention on forcing a checkmate. Forced on the defensive, Jim's gaze darts over the board, trying to analyze the best way forward that won't end in tears, but damn. It does not look good for him. He rubs a hand across his face, a sinking feeling in his gut. Damn.

If his counterpart was expecting a comment like that to throw him off his game...? No, of course he wouldn't. It's a perfectly practical concern, and he's only human. Shit, he hadn't even thought about spending five years without getting any. It's not like he could get that kind of satisfaction outta the crew, oh hell no. Never mind abuse of power, that'd be setting a horrible example. Suddenly, Jim is very thankful that he might be able to visit the Nexus every now and then along the way, because he's not sure he could survive a five year dry spell anymore.

"More coffee's not a bad idea anyway," he says, jostling his own mug slightly. "Not sure I could explain to the crew why the captain's the only one with the good stuff once supplies are out."

What a mundane thing to worry about. He sure wishes that was the worst of his concerns right now, but as piece after piece is pulled off the chessboard, the burnt taste of the replicated coffee sits uneasily in the pit of his stomach.

[smartass_captain]

"Things you think you're ready for until it's been three months and then you realize you have over four and a half more years to go through space and not a single warm body to touch without risk of losing everything you've worked so hard for...." Jim shakes his head and scoots his bishop diagonally across the board to claim one of his opponent's rooks.

"And that is how I ended up at a Halloween party dressed in a ridiculously slutty superhero costume looking to meet a friend for the night." And really, everything stemmed from that single desperate attempt (and success) to get laid.

"You don't drink your good coffee in public. It's for special occasions and coping with migraines only."

He falls silent for a minute or so then, studying the board carefully before glancing back up.

"Checkmate."

[boldygoing]

That manages to get a smile out of him, faint though it is. Yeah, he could definitely picture being desperate enough for that. Of course, even his own experience tells him that finding a casual hookup in the Nexus is surprisingly difficult. Not because of a lack of options, not at all. But because even he got attached to his first one-night-stand.

Though it's hard to keep smiling when he's watching defeat creep closer and closer, the brutal, aggressive strategy cutting off his options one by one until there's nothing left. He grimaces, examining the board just as closely for any way out. Nope. He's well and truly fucked, and he reaches out a finger to tip over his king, conceding defeat.

Well. It's not like he didn't know it was coming. He's gonna need more coffee to deal with what's coming next, and he tops off his mug, the carafe getting pretty low. If only it was something stronger. If only that would matter anymore.

"Guess that means it's your turn," he says, looking down into his drink, avoiding eye contact. He's not sure he wants to see the look on the other captain's face, and he can't quite seem to hold the mug entirely steady, the creeping dread well and truly settled into his gut.

[smartass_captain]

Jim studies his younger companion's body language and feels his mouth go dry. His own knee starts bouncing slightly as the excess anxiety begins creeping through his skin too. It doesn't take a genius level repeat offender to guess at what's got the younger captain so upset. He asked Jim who the figure had been because that's not how the nightmare was supposed to go. A deviation in a script of terror they both know so very well.

Which means the question he's dreading must be the other deviation to their script. And truthfully, it's not a subject Jim wants to talk about either. But if this is how the younger captain is going to get every time they play or worse as he frets over wondering when it's coming....

Maybe it's best to get it out of the way.

Jim gets up out of his seat and comes back with a bottle and two shot glasses. A warning, a reassurance of why they're here. He pours his younger companion out one even though they both know it's only going to be for flavor comfort to him. Pours one out for himself too.

"There's no good way to bring this up, so...Tell me about it? How long did it take? What were the options? Because. Because I'm guessing I might have found a way you weren't able to. I want to understand, before I say anything else."

[boldygoing]

It may do nothing for him anymore, but the familiar sight of alcohol is a welcome one, and he doesn't hesitate to throw back his shot the second it's socially appropriate to do so. There's something to be said for the placebo effect, because it does help steady his nerves a bit, his body recognizing the familiar cues that come with liquid courage even if there's no physiological effect anymore. Bracing himself just like bracing for a punch that he knows is coming; nothing to do but just take it like a man.

He takes a deep breath and lets it out. No more stalling. "It was... maybe six weeks after the executions," he begins, staring down at the table between them, not even needing to reach to dig up the details he remembers about that horrible place, freshly re-featured in his nightmares as of late. "I'd managed to scavenge enough for me and Tommy for a while. Sneaking into houses, taking what little I could find. What I figured they could spare. But... I got sloppy. Got caught in the act." He hates every word that falls from his lips, spelling out the gruesome tale that he's never told to anyone save for one other person, the one who shared in the abominable act. But he can't stop now, an ancient steam train rolling up to speed, inevitable and unstoppable as it gathers momentum.

"I never found out his name. But he caught me stealing rations. I knew if I didn't... kill him... it was my head on the chopping block. So I did." There's a small comfort in knowing that he doesn't need to justify himself, to say anything to convince the other just how dire the circumstances were, what the consequences would have been. A survivor of the massacre, someone on the List, being turned over to Kodos... no. The implication speaks for itself.

"I got away. But they knew I was out there. And they tightened security." He fidgets with the empty shot glass, unable to sit still, needing to do something with his hands. "Changed the distribution or something, I don't know. But I never found any food in a single house after that. And the storehouse... there were guards. All the time. No way in without being seen. The only thing that wasn't guarded was the... grave."

Jim fumbles with the bottle, pours himself a second shot and downs it, chasing the phantom taste from his tongue the only way he can. He doesn't dare look up yet, afraid that what he sees might bring the story to a crashing halt, reminded that this is something they never shared. He doesn't need to describe the scene, the mass grave dug outside the town, the tower of billowing smoke so tall and thick that it could be seen for miles. And the smell... he wouldn't have the words to describe it anyway.

"...I waited a long time. Trying to find anything else. Any other way. But there wasn't. And... they were already dead." It makes him feel sick to echo the whispers of the corpses in the Nightmare, but it was what he'd told himself at the time. What he still tells himself. And he meets the eyes of the other captain for the first time, still conflicted to his core. He had to do it. But god, he wishes there had been another option. "Tommy and I would've died if we hadn't. The rescue ships didn't show up until three months after the Order."

For anyone spyreading shit is getting heavy

[smartass_captain]

Jim knows the night his younger companion is talking about all too well. Sees the divergent path his counterpart chose and in that moment knows where the road led the younger captain. The bile rises in his throat and he has to hold his breath for several seconds to will his gag reflex away. Ironic, considering the events they're talking about is how he learned to do that in the first place.

He stays quiet until the younger captain is done speaking. Only then does he take his own shot and relish the burn the alcohol leaves. Savors the warmth if gives his otherwise chilled body. Jim can smell the burning flesh and clothes. The smell of burning rot. If he lives a thousand years that stench will still be in his brain.

"I'm willing to bet I know the guy you killed." Jim points over his shot glass. Feels his own hand shake but his younger companion needs this. Needs to know that Jim is no better. He's just a different kind of broken. "I made a different choice, that night. Tommy was in a bad way, and he wasn't the only one. There were other kids like us. It was just me, Tommy, and Erin at the time of course. Just six weeks in. But I knew then that we were going to die if I didn't do something."

Jim turns the empty glass over between his fingers. Slowly lifts his gaze so that he meets the younger captain's.

"I convinced him not to say anything. To overlook a can here or there. And in return..." Jim sighs. Pours himself a second shot and the younger Jim a third. "I let him use me as he wanted to. As often as he wanted to. Never told the others but it kept us all alive. Just barely. It was enough to wait it out until th'rescue came."

[boldygoing]

It's beyond strange to hear how the details differ. Not just Tommy. Scraping up enough scraps to feed just two hungry teenage boys had been a herculean effort by itself. To support a third would have been damn near impossible. Jim knows there were others who survived being on the List, but their paths never crossed. Not then. And his own nausea sharpens as he realizes what the other captain was driven to do for the sake of survival, a path that skirted around the necessity of one abomination only to trade it for another.

"Shit." He does not hesitate to accept another shot, wishing like hell that it would have the same benefit for him that it does for his companion. But... it's something.

In a twisted way, he's almost relieved. Relieved that he's not alone in this hell of his own making, that this gap in the common ground between them isn't as steep as he'd feared. That he's not going to be judged for his crimes, not by the only one who truly knows what it was like to survive an ordeal that should have killed him a thousand times over, no matter that he didn't make the same choices. But he can't find any relief in knowing that the alternative to eating the bodies of the dead was to trade his own for another's sick pleasure, to someone so willing to abuse a child that he would forego a meal to satisfy twisted desires. And perhaps for the first time in his entire life, he has no regrets about killing the perverted bastard. He still doesn't want to know the man's name, the first life he ever took. But maybe now, that face won't haunt him as deeply as it has.

His hands are a little steadier as he sets the shot glass down on the table, taking a deep breath and slowly letting it out. There's no exorcising these demons. There's no way to erase the past, to set old ghosts to rest and find peace, to find the right switch to flip to end the trauma. This isn't something you can set aside and forget it ever happened. It's something you learn to live with, to accept that it happened and learn to cope, to continue on in spite of what happened.

Talking about it hasn't made Jim feel clean and renewed, or absolved of his guilt. But the burden does feel just that little bit lighter, the truth shared with someone who understands after all these years, the heavy weight of it on two sets of shoulders instead of one, easing the strain of carrying it alone and giving him the strength to do the same for the other. He can't say which of them had it worse, and he's not going to try. Whatever the details, they both were forced to make impossible choices for the sake of survival, both theirs and others. And they have to live with that.

It's not his turn to ask questions, but... part of him has to know. "What happened to him?"

[smartass_captain]

If Jim didn't ask it was going to eat at his younger companion until he drove himself insane waiting for it to come. And by proxy Jim too because it's unnerving as fuck to watch those same nervous tics in someone else wearing his face. Can't help but to get keyed up too. No, for as awful as this drawer full of demons is--for all that Jim's never opened it ever before now for anyone--this is for the best. They haven't told anyone who matters but because of a loophole that alternate universes make they've also not kept it to themselves either.

It's not going to get any worst than this, at least. Comparatively it's all downhill from here even if the incline is minuscule.

"Arrested with a dozen of other followers of Kodos. Put to trial, sent to prison, and if I'm real damn lucky died while he was in there." Jim doesn't keep record on when or if the bastard ever is up for parole. He doesn't have it in him to revisit those wounds just to keep a man behind bars. He'd rather sit on his past the rest of his life than give testimony at a public hearing on just why that fucker should stay where he is.

The seconds stretch out to a minute spent in silence. Jim doesn't feel the need to fill it right away. He didn't have to share his divergent choice, but he wanted the younger captain to know he wasn't alone. That his elder counterpart might not have had to turn to the dead for his meals but how he did feed his little group was just as bad in it's own way.

Eventually Jim sets his shot glass down and gestures slowly to the chessboard.

"You good to keep going or would you rather just talk for a bit?"

[boldygoing]

"Good." It doesn't matter that it wasn't him to suffer like that. Not enough of Kodos' followers ever faced justice, and some of them never will. If there's any comfort at all to find here, it's knowing that this particular bastard didn't manage to escape his fate, no matter which universe he's in.

Now that the truth is finally out in the open, the tension is broken, the sword no longer dangling over his head by a thread, just waiting to fall. The hardest part is over. And... it wasn't as bad as he'd feared. No judgment. No pity. No need to compare himself and come up wanting. Sharing secrets that have remained buried in the deepest, darkest hole he could find... there's no one else he could have such a conversation with. No one.

The silence that falls is a contemplative one, and Jim doesn't feel the need to immediately fill it either, taking in the truths of their ordeal and letting them settle in his mind. Finally able to breathe after carrying the weight of it alone for so long, letting the tension in his body slowly drain away. And when the older captain finally speaks, it almost comes as a surprise, abruptly pulling him out of his own thoughts.

Right. The game. He smiles faintly, looking down at the board that still spells out his defeat, before looking back up at the man on the other side of the table. "Not sure I'm bringing my A-game after that, unless you're gonna teach me how to pull that same trick you hit me with."