[ Jim knew that they weren't giving them all the information. It wasn't simply a gut feeling steering that train of thought, but also the benefit---strange word to use---of past experience. Experience that seemed superimposed on him in the here and now every time he attempted to shrug himself out of his own thoughts. He felt like a collapsing star, weight and pressure bearing down to crush and snuff out the light trying desperately to escape. It takes eight minutes for the light of the sun to reach Earth.
It takes no time at all for a distress call to be swallowed up by the void of space and distance and time. It takes minutes for worlds to be turned upside down. It takes weeks for help to arrive. Monsters don't lurk in the depths of space or the secret areas of an unknown world. They lurk in people. Like Marcus. Like---he pulls in a breath when Spock starts to respond, and uses it as a lifeline, letting it buoy him out of the waves dragging him down in his mind. ]
Detailed report. [ There's no small amount of doubt that colors his tone. ] I have my doubts about the validity of what reports we'll be given by our hosts.
That aside, I want to offer as much assistance as we can. Equipment, supplies, personnel. There are still a lot of their people out there that need to be brought back here to the capitol.
[ He shifts from where he's leaning against the wall, drops his arms, and looks back towards Spock, meets his eyes for barely a second, and then drops them. He can't---Spock is too keen in his observational skills. Right now he feels if he looks too long or too hard, then he'll see all of the ugly truths hiding behind his eyes. All the things he isn't allowed to talk about.
All of the things he can't say or the horrors will never, ever stop.
There's a small shelter, not far from where they are staying, and he moves to rest against the balcony then. The wind picks up, ruffling his hair, and he's not sure if the scent of misery and decay is real or imagined. There's a man at the head of the line with the guard who has a list of survivors being kept there. He's begging. Jim knows what he's asking without hearing the words. It's written all over the man in his gestures, bone-deep in his frame.
His breath hitches painfully when he breaks into a wail, and his hands curl tightly on the stone. ]
no subject
It takes no time at all for a distress call to be swallowed up by the void of space and distance and time. It takes minutes for worlds to be turned upside down. It takes weeks for help to arrive. Monsters don't lurk in the depths of space or the secret areas of an unknown world. They lurk in people. Like Marcus. Like---he pulls in a breath when Spock starts to respond, and uses it as a lifeline, letting it buoy him out of the waves dragging him down in his mind. ]
Detailed report. [ There's no small amount of doubt that colors his tone. ] I have my doubts about the validity of what reports we'll be given by our hosts.
That aside, I want to offer as much assistance as we can. Equipment, supplies, personnel. There are still a lot of their people out there that need to be brought back here to the capitol.
[ He shifts from where he's leaning against the wall, drops his arms, and looks back towards Spock, meets his eyes for barely a second, and then drops them. He can't---Spock is too keen in his observational skills. Right now he feels if he looks too long or too hard, then he'll see all of the ugly truths hiding behind his eyes. All the things he isn't allowed to talk about.
All of the things he can't say or the horrors will never, ever stop.
There's a small shelter, not far from where they are staying, and he moves to rest against the balcony then. The wind picks up, ruffling his hair, and he's not sure if the scent of misery and decay is real or imagined. There's a man at the head of the line with the guard who has a list of survivors being kept there. He's begging. Jim knows what he's asking without hearing the words. It's written all over the man in his gestures, bone-deep in his frame.
His breath hitches painfully when he breaks into a wail, and his hands curl tightly on the stone. ]