[He cranes a metaphorical neck forward, examining each emotion, attempting to classify it, but they're all colours quickly filling up a canvas and he's left staring at a painting he doesn't quite understand. I am half human,, he comments, Perhaps it's only logical that I do acknowledge some emotion.]
[As if on cue, the images dissolve, everything blends together like water pouring down a drain. He's seated at the science station, it's the ship and he turns around, expecting Jim in the chair, to console and steady him with a nod. You are the Captain, this is not beyond you. Instead he sees... Pike? In the chair? No. He's lying on the floor and everything's burning around them. Spock places three fingers on his face and a flood of loneliness and pain pour in. He wishes to categorise the unfamiliar things, keep all that is Christopher Pike safe, but Jim's there and I can't go; he's the closest I have to a son—]
[Jim's hand is on his shoulder, he sees tears and more than one thing in his mind wants to wipe them away...]
[I will not leave, he answers, firm, unyielding as he always is. There's no logical reason to do so, so he simply will not, and utterly doesn't consider that it's based on sentiment. The ship - and at Jim's side - is where he belongs. It's foolishness to consider other possibilities, even sitting in the chair himself. He's not frightened of it, but neither does he care very much. He sat in it once, but that was for his friend (he knows that now, the word is slowly taking root, he'll tend to it as attentively as Sulu does his own plants).]
[I will not leave, he repeats, as they are walking away from the funeral, and Spock is following Jim, watching his every small movement, wishing to preserve what joy and fire is there in the man.]
no subject
[As if on cue, the images dissolve, everything blends together like water pouring down a drain. He's seated at the science station, it's the ship and he turns around, expecting Jim in the chair, to console and steady him with a nod. You are the Captain, this is not beyond you. Instead he sees... Pike? In the chair? No. He's lying on the floor and everything's burning around them. Spock places three fingers on his face and a flood of loneliness and pain pour in. He wishes to categorise the unfamiliar things, keep all that is Christopher Pike safe, but Jim's there and I can't go; he's the closest I have to a son—]
[Jim's hand is on his shoulder, he sees tears and more than one thing in his mind wants to wipe them away...]
[I will not leave, he answers, firm, unyielding as he always is. There's no logical reason to do so, so he simply will not, and utterly doesn't consider that it's based on sentiment. The ship - and at Jim's side - is where he belongs. It's foolishness to consider other possibilities, even sitting in the chair himself. He's not frightened of it, but neither does he care very much. He sat in it once, but that was for his friend (he knows that now, the word is slowly taking root, he'll tend to it as attentively as Sulu does his own plants).]
[I will not leave, he repeats, as they are walking away from the funeral, and Spock is following Jim, watching his every small movement, wishing to preserve what joy and fire is there in the man.]