Malcolm & Kirk - First Meeting

[universal_charm]

Falling. He was falling, had always been falling, would never stop falling, up, down, sideways, every direction at once. Time meant nothing, a construct for another time, another place. He stopped counting it long ago, stopped counting the seconds, the minutes, guessing the hours. Years passed in the blink of an eye, seconds stretched for eons. If he reached back just a little more, perhaps he could grasp the edges and drag himself out, force himself into the fabric of the world. Was he reaching? He couldn't tell, couldn't stop himself. Breathing and his own heartbeat were the only things he controlled, the only things to keep him company and fill the terrible silence that threatened to crush him.

Roaring. Somewhere, far away, roaring. Getting close. Barreling towards him, or was he careening towards it? Nothing in him left to fight it, he simply let the rumble draw him, prayed that the pressure on his chest would simply crush him.

Crash.

Pain arching across his back, his legs - breath stolen as he impacted something hard. A floor. He was on the floor. Sky above him - starry sky, if a few scattered pinpoints of light could be called starry. Shattered glass, pieces falling down like razor edged snow, tinkling against his helmet's face mask. He thought he groaned, the sound grating at his throat, the hot sting of tears forming in the corners of his eyes, spilling over as they closed, relief to heavy a weight to bear awake any longer.

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[universal_charm]

Survival instinct was an amazing thing, even in someone who so rarely listened to it. For once it had its say, forcing Kirk out of darkness, bringing everything into painful clarity. He wondered if this was what being born felt like, this rush of sensation, the knowledge that everything safe and warm and good had been torn from you. The world was a cruel place, his body crueler.

Weakly he smacked at the hands fumbling at his neck, tried to roll away but everything hurt to much. Fire arched through is side, breathing an impossibility for several heart beats. Suddenly, his mask felt constricting, not protective, suffocating. Air, not enough air. He slapped at his own neck, found the catch release, shoving the helmet away so hard it rolled halfway across the room. Slumping, blue eyes stared up at a near starless sky, chest heaving even though each breath was agony.

"What-?" he coughed, a fresh torture. "Where am I?"

[saidyouweredead]

While Malcolm let his hands be slapped at, they didn't move far from the stranger's body. When he tried to roll, Malcolm's grip was there to try and make him lay flat on his back. The fact that Jim's spine wasn't broken was something of a curiosity to him. Most people would have been dead if they crashed through his skylight, cut to ribbons by the glass if the fall didn't doom them.

"Easy," Malcolm said soothingly, his hands covering Jim's own to try and stop him from moving further. "You're safe. I've got you."

Malcolm was almost sure that neither of those statements were true. No one was really safe in his presence depending on how one defined 'safe'. If this man were an associate of Queen's, the best case scenario would be Malcolm rolling him off his very high balcony instead of tossing him over it.

Still, his eyes followed the helmet, taking in its design and those of Jim's clothing.

"Do you know who you are? Do you know the year?"

Silly questions, but it would give him time to decide what he was going to do with this invader.

[universal_charm]

A voice. Someone else was with him, but not someone he knew. Bones' voice would have been harsher, growling almost. Spock's would have been neutral, logical in the extreme, nearly infuriating. No, this was a new voice, new hands grasping his own, pulling him back to center. Fresh tears sprang up, doing nothing to aide his attempts to breathe, but he had been so long alone in the dark, so long with just the pounding of his own heart to break the silence because his throat became to raw to continue screaming.

Questions. The man was asking him questions. Name.. name and date. What were they again? His tongue felt to thick in his mouth, dry and gritty as sand.

"Kirk." Yes, that was right. Jim Kirk, once upon a time. "James Tiberius Kirk... Captain... U-S-S... Enterprise..." His ship, his crew, his home. Where? "Year...Star date... 2260.49." Yes, that was right too. He remembered, the day the universe had cracked open, that he had fallen in to sew it closed from the other side, remembered the look on Spock's face, remembered saying something, but not sure what, if the Vulcan would have been understood.

He pushed his hands against the hardwood floor, leveraging himself up, only to fall back as everything inside of him protested, suddenly fighting the urge to vomit.

[saidyouweredead]

"Stop trying to move. You're injured."

Maybe dying, but Malcolm was still sorting through the information he had been told. Star date? What was that? Did he mean the year 2260? Ninth day of the fourth month? The USS Enterprise? As in the aircraft carrier? It had been decommissioned the last Malcolm had heard of it, and this man was not dressed as a sailor.

"Tiberius."

If that was a made up name, whatever agency that had sent this man needed to do a better job. Stripping off a suit coat that probably cost more than the average man made in months, Malcolm crumpled it up to side under Jim's head.

"James? Captain Kirk? Look at me. Stop trying to move, and look at me. I need to see your eyes. Then we can get you a drink."

Calling an ambulance was out of the question. A private doctor? Maybe. His hands rested on either side of Jim's face, trying to hold him and get a look at Jim's eyes. This kid kept trying to get up, and Malcolm was going to end up straddling him to keep him down.

Wouldn't that look wonderful on the front page news if this was a trick of some sort?

[universal_charm]

Yeah, not moving sounded like a perfect idea. Every ache came alive at once. He was sure he had cracked ribs, every muscle in him sore to the point of making twitching his fingers painful. But at least he could feel his fingers, wiggle his toes inside of his boots. No paralysis then. No more agonizing pain beyond the desire to lay very flat and very still for a month.

Eyes the color of the bluest stars looked up at Malcolm, wet still from tears, but clear. His tongue darted out across his lips, staring at the other man like he was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. And god but he was. Another face - eyes, nose, mouth. A voice. Damn it was beautiful. He was beautiful.

Malcolm's touch burned. Hot against skin grown cold within the void between times. But he welcomed it, almost pushed into with a desperate shudder of a whine.

"Contact Star Fleet," he said, his voice steadier now. "I need to contact them, tell them I made it." A pause, considering the idea that stars were above him. "What planet is this?"