James Tiberius Kirk (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
universal_charm) wrote2014-09-16 10:10 pm
universal_charm) wrote2014-09-16 10:10 pm
Entry tags:
The Empty Space Inside My Head [ Action / Voice ]
[ He woke up to an empty bed, which in and of itself wasn't unusual. Spock got up earlier than him most days, but there was something different about it today. The bed wasn't warm, wasn't the sort of muffled from being made up so as not to wake him. He sat up and stared at the empty space, because if he stared long enough that wrongness would go away, wouldn't it? Instinctively he reached out as Spock had taught him... and felt nothing. It was his own head, his own space, his own feelings and nothing of that quiet pressure in the back of his head. It was gone and he was alone in his head, and despite himself he felt his eyes burning as he tried to keep staring and make it not true.
Eventually he noticed the PADD on the bedside, and he reached for it, turning it on and curling in on himself as he read it through misty eyes. He hadn't felt like this since Pike died, since he had lost someone so important in his life that it left a super nova inside his head, in the little universe he had constructed to show Spock when they meditated. This was why he didn't do relationships, why he didn't get close to anyone, why he knew it had to be a bad idea, and damn Spock for this and the Malnosso and all of it-!
Eventually he got himself out of bed, the immediate sadness giving way to anger - at everything, anyone. An anger he could use to keep himself moving like he had before. He dressed himself and went to the Battle Dome, claiming a room and locking it before he started up the sims. He knew, in the back of his mind, he knew that this wasn't going to make him feel better in the long run or make this not real or make him wake up from what had to be a long, terrible, cruel dream. It didn't matter though. He understood this - the lashing of fists, punching, kicking, kneeing, rolling and dodging. Understood the burn of his muscles and his lungs, the drip of sweat down his face and the sting of pain. He understood that, could function with that like he always had and let himself drift in the haze of reaction and anger. He drifted until it pulled him under and he collapsed, soaked in sweat and trembling, gasping for air.
When he had enough of himself back he grabbed the stupid little journal and opened it, keying it to voice only. He didn't want people to actually see him like this. ]
[ Audio ]
[ There's several moments of panting - and not the pervy kind, the kind that said someone was bone tired, utterly exhausted, and possibly emotionally distressed - or scared. ]
Spock's gone home.
[ Another pause, while he debated what else to say, but what was there? The transmission ended. ]
[ /End Audio ]
[ He tossed the journal aside and pushed himself back to his feet, wobbling for a minute and then shook his head and keyed up the sim again. What he wouldn't give to have a serial murderer super soldier to go after this time. ]
Eventually he noticed the PADD on the bedside, and he reached for it, turning it on and curling in on himself as he read it through misty eyes. He hadn't felt like this since Pike died, since he had lost someone so important in his life that it left a super nova inside his head, in the little universe he had constructed to show Spock when they meditated. This was why he didn't do relationships, why he didn't get close to anyone, why he knew it had to be a bad idea, and damn Spock for this and the Malnosso and all of it-!
Eventually he got himself out of bed, the immediate sadness giving way to anger - at everything, anyone. An anger he could use to keep himself moving like he had before. He dressed himself and went to the Battle Dome, claiming a room and locking it before he started up the sims. He knew, in the back of his mind, he knew that this wasn't going to make him feel better in the long run or make this not real or make him wake up from what had to be a long, terrible, cruel dream. It didn't matter though. He understood this - the lashing of fists, punching, kicking, kneeing, rolling and dodging. Understood the burn of his muscles and his lungs, the drip of sweat down his face and the sting of pain. He understood that, could function with that like he always had and let himself drift in the haze of reaction and anger. He drifted until it pulled him under and he collapsed, soaked in sweat and trembling, gasping for air.
When he had enough of himself back he grabbed the stupid little journal and opened it, keying it to voice only. He didn't want people to actually see him like this. ]
[ Audio ]
[ There's several moments of panting - and not the pervy kind, the kind that said someone was bone tired, utterly exhausted, and possibly emotionally distressed - or scared. ]
Spock's gone home.
[ Another pause, while he debated what else to say, but what was there? The transmission ended. ]
[ /End Audio ]
[ He tossed the journal aside and pushed himself back to his feet, wobbling for a minute and then shook his head and keyed up the sim again. What he wouldn't give to have a serial murderer super soldier to go after this time. ]
Action
It does make life more difficult, being here with none from home. Know that you have my brother and myself as your friends should you ever have need of us.
Re: Action
Damn, what is with you two and the long sentences? Just say you're there for me or something.
[ But he was just acting out, looking at something to be angry at because the people he really wanted to be angry at he couldn't do anything about. So he wrapped his arms around the other and hid his face against his chest and let his shoulders shake as he let the anger give way to tears. He didn't think he could have done this before, but their romantic ties still fresh in his memories loosened something, and he released. ]
Action
[ Thor brings his other arm around Jim and tugs him that much closer, combing his fingers through his hair as they weather the storm of Jim's grief. Tis no easy thing, the loss of a loved one. There is little else he might do other than hold him. ]