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.

Comments

[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?"