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

[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."

[smartass_captain]

"To be honest, I'm beat to hell and back right now too. Was gonna take one of the tranqs Bones gave me and see if I could sleep for more than five hours and not wake up under the bed trying to make myself into some kind of origami Jim fold up."

Running a hand through his hair, Jim sighs before leaning forward to begin putting away the chess set. All that shitty coffee isn't doing a damn thing to keep him awake right now but really there's only so much caffeine can do after the thirty-six hour mark with no sleep.

"We've proven we can handle this shit. You make the call next time and I'll be there as soon as work allows. I'll teach you that move next time."

1/2

[boldygoing]

Jim nods, understanding that sentiment completely. Sleep aids are usually the last thing he wants to touch, too afraid that something will happen and he won't be able to wake up, or that he'll be trapped under the surface, mired in a nightmare that can't end. But even Jim Kirk can't last forever without sleep. He's only human, after all.

And the older captain isn't the only one that's given in to that kind of desperation lately.

He touches two fingers to his forehead briefly in a sloppy salute. "Will do. Thanks. For all this." As horrible as it was to talk about, the anticipation of it all might have been worse. And with this put behind them, maybe they can finally sleep without dreams, at least for a little while.

2/2

[boldygoing]

They don't meet again until five days later. With no captain's cabin to lock them away from prying eyes, and no desire whatsoever for curious passersby to see two Captain Kirks anywhere in public, Jim sets up the game at his new apartment. It's a relatively small place, cozy for two people if perhaps a little lonely for one, and it's fairly obvious from the newness of the furnishings that he hasn't lived here for very long. Nor has he gotten around to decorating the walls much; there are a few paintings here and there, but not a lot else. One corner is home to a motorcycle several years older than the one he'd owned and given away when he enlisted, one of the few things in this place that really says 'Jim Kirk lives here.'

The chessboard is set up on a low table in the living room, a couch on one side and a loveseat on the other. An orange cat naps on one end of the couch, nearby but not in the way of whoever sits there first. A pot of real coffee - not the replicated stuff - sits on the table with two pristine mugs, never before used, accompanied by a bottle of brandy and a pair of glasses. Just in case.

Jim makes sure that the door is locked before receiving today's guest, the windows opaqued to the outside so no one can accidentally get a look inside the flat, the unrestricted view inside showing downtown San Francisco from about four floors up. Sure, it's not as ritzy and flashy as the penthouse he'd enjoyed 'til almost a year ago, but he's not at all embarrassed by the basic living space. He's lived in worse.

Forgive my non sober tagging i'm getting into character

[smartass_captain]

My place, it said. Followed by a list of coordinates.

Jim's not exactly sure what to expect. The family house in Iowa? The idea settles into the pit of his stomach but he had given his younger counterpart the option of choosing the place for their next get together. So he's a little bit surprised to find himself in the entryway of a well lit flat overlooking San Francisco that is so otherwise alien to him that he's certain before he's even seen the furnishings or lack there of that he's never been here before.

In this specific place.

It's jarring in some respects to be in what amounts to the past for himself but not in a place he remembers ever being. His time paradoxes headache is sure to start soon if he lets it, so Jim takes a step further inside instead. There's a cat on the sofa. Actually, it's a pretty familiar looking cat.

"Since when do you own a cat?" It's not clever but it's the first thing that comes to Jim's mind. It's a dead ringer for the cat Hermione has hanging around her.

method acting ftw

[boldygoing]

"I don't," Jim answers with a faint, wry smile, the same sort of one he uses when he's deflecting from something he doesn't want to talk about. But it's only a reflex, born from years of being honest with no one but himself. Something that he has no need for here.

"Crookshanks belongs to a friend of mine. He kind of... invited himself over to stay for a bit. Too smart for his own good." He can't quite resist rubbing the feline's head as he approaches the table to pour himself some coffee, provoking a purr as the cat lazily rolls into the touch. "It's been nice to have somebody around," he adds, a little quieter. "No strings attached." He's never exactly considered himself a cat person, but there's been something soothing about having the kneazle around. Somebody who doesn't judge or ask awkward, prying questions, just sits and keeps him company, even at odd hours of the night. It's been better than being completely alone.

He's not nearly as bad off as he was when the cat first decided to watch over him, not anymore. Old habits and routines have settled back into his life, bit by bit. He probably doesn't need Crookshanks now, and the cat will need to go home eventually. But Jim's not in a hurry to kick him out either.

He doesn't sit down just yet, letting the elder captain choose his seat first. It's not like he's had this furniture - or this apartment - long enough to have a favorite spot yet.

[smartass_captain]

"Wait, Crookshanks?! Like, Hermione's magical cat???" Bwuuuuh. Jim's gaping a bit at the cat curled up on the couch. How? When? Why is that cat in San Francisco in the past in a world with no magic?? Considering everything that they've both gone through, Jim should be forgiven that he's forgotten Hermione telling him that she was staying with Hunter. The bald guy this younger Jim is totally Jim's calling it now in love with even if he says he's not.

For the moment, Jim doesn't remember any of that. He moves around to the couch and takes a hesitant seat. Slowly offers out his hand to see if the cat recognizes him.

How is this magical cat here Jim is so confused and also completely unable to let go of this thought.

His younger companion looks a lot better off than Jim does this time. Having a therapy animal around to make sure you eat, sleep, and take care of yourself in general is way way better than taking a day off citing being too hungover for your shift. Getting yelled at and then subsequently muscled into bed by Bones because the hell this is just a hangover. And then trying to shut out the world while going back to work as though nothing is wrong even though every meal and attempt at sleep ends in retching or waking up screaming.

He doesn't look like he's slept a wink since the last time they played.

"Nice place you've got here. I don't remember it. Pretty sure I had a place closer to th'Academy after...After."

[boldygoing]

"Yeah, that's him." Oh good, they've met before. That makes things a hell of a lot easier to explain, at least, that's what he assumes until he sees that baffled look on the other's face. Crookshanks doesn't seem to be having any problems though, butting his head against the offered hand in a request to be petted, and flops down along the older captain's thigh, purring all the while.

"She, um." No shame in admitting he's needed help, not here, not when the other mentioned getting tranquilizers from McCoy just to be able to sleep. "She's been giving me this sleeping potion stuff," Jim confesses, taking a seat across the table, pouring coffee for the other man since at least one of his hands is now occupied with a cat. He looks like he needs it.

Or, well. He actually looks like he could do with sleeping for a week. But that isn't happening, so coffee will have to do.

"It's... it doesn't stop anything," he adds, waving vaguely around his head, knowing he doesn't have to explain. "Just... makes it so I can sleep." It's slowly made a difference. That and having Crookshanks around. He's still haunted, still prone to startling at unexpected noises, still a slave to old compulsions that had once eased with age. But the circles under his eyes aren't quite so dark anymore, his hands steadier as he slides the mug across the table within arm's reach of his companion. "Crookshanks decided to hitch a ride with the delivery guy."

At the last comment, he glances around the apartment like he needs to remind himself what it even looks like. It's not really a surprise that this isn't something they share. The timing, the reason... "I was in Riverside for a bit. Didn't want to take a spot someone else could've had. But after... Halloween..." He shakes his head. "This was the first place I found." He doesn't bother to force a smile. There's no one here that he needs to pretend he's okay in front of. He knows he isn't, the other captain knows he isn't. Hell, even the cat knows. "The view's better than it was a few months ago anyway."

Having to look out his window and see the Vengeance embedded in downtown San Francisco would not exactly have been beneficial to his recovery, to say the least.

[smartass_captain]

"That's one way to deal with it. Does Bones know you're also relying on 'voodoo' to deal with your shit?" Jim snorts slightly and shakes his head, though the thinly held in stress on Jim's face eases slightly when Crookshanks butts his hand and flops over so he's laying on Jim's leg, purring contentedly. A ghost of a smile flickers across his face, even. It's such a small fragile thing.

If the cat feels safe here then Jim shouldn't be worried. This place is strange but it's the younger captain's home and Jim knows he'll make sure it's secure. The tension in his posture eases a little bit. He scratches at the cat's ears for a moment or two before spying the coffee his bearded companion is sliding over to him.

"Bless your glorious beard." Safer than the comment he was going to make. Less weird too. He glances out the window as he's taking a sip and nods slightly.

"Bones wouldn't let me go more than a block away from the hospital even after I was released. And to be frank, I didn't much want to do much of anything except get better. I got hella heavy curtains though."

[boldygoing]

"Oh yeah, he knows this time." 'This time,' he says, as if there was a prior incident. But never mind about that. Jim lifts his own coffee mug to his lips and blows on it to cool it a little. "He insisted on scanning the shit out of it first, and then sat there and watched me in case it turned out I was allergic or something."

Watching the other captain interact with Crookshanks, Jim is even more grateful that the cat has stuck around this long. It's not like he'll have the chance to make the sort of progress that he's made, over these past couple of weeks, but every little bit helps. He can only imagine how taxing this has gotta be, dealing with all this shit and trying to command a starship like nothing's wrong.

The exclamation gets a small smile to tug at his lips for a moment. Definitely worth it to supply a hot pot of the real stuff, if only for that. But then the conversation moves on, and he frowns ever so slightly. Doesn't match up to his own experience, but... they already know some of the details differ. Before the Nexus, after the Nexus, when doesn't matter. "I didn't have anywhere else to go for a while. Had the place to myself until Columbia got back into town." But the less said about that, the better. He has no idea if his counterpart has the same strained, hesitant relationship with his mother than Jim does, but he'd be reasonably willing to place his bet on yes. "I just had to... get the hell away from everyone else for a while."

[smartass_captain]

Now that gets Jim to stop sipping his coffee hella fast. The glower that passes across his face is short lived but so intensely upset. Jim does as much as he can to not think about or speak to their mother as much as he can help it. Maybe it would have been better if he had run away from home after their incident. Gotten some time and space to deal on his own terms.

He takes a gulp of his coffee to hold back the word he'd been tempted to spit out.

"We didn't stay together. Pretty sure she only came back to sit on the committee to oversee my competency to keep my ship." There's no hiding the anger in his voice, nor the ease at which he assumes what he will about his mother. It's another old wound, but one this Jim has not made any attempts to mend. Nor, it seems, has he allowed his mother to try and mend it either.

[boldygoing]

On the committee? Now that is different, and considerably more vitriolic than his own relationship with her. Not that their relationship is good, but he's managed to sit through one awkward family dinner with the help of a hefty buffer of other people. Marking that as one of the many sensitive spots in the minefield that is Jim Kirk's family life, he decides to steer the hell around probing any deeper unless his older counterpart chooses to vent about it on his own. Prying into family shit unbidden was not part of his plan for the evening.

"Helps that I didn't see her much. I came this close to leaving before she made it back anyway. Still not sure I shouldn't have." He doesn't really know what the hell to even expect from her anymore. He can't just forget everything she did. Everything she didn't do. And he doesn't have a clue where this is going to end up. Not playing happy families, that's for sure. Is it actually worth it to try?

He's been thinking about that for a long time now, with no end in sight.

He shakes his head a little, casting off the topic like a dog throwing off water. No need to go any further down that route. He gets enough nagging from McCoy about it anyway. "If I never see that place again, it's too soon." Too many bad memories to ever be comfortable there, no matter how long he stayed. "Home's not planetside anyway."