[ I like both sides of you. There's a helpless sentiment behind it, a How could I not? that Jim doesn't bother to answer. There's no need to, not when everything retreats (or tries to) at the sight-sound of Chris dying, his thoughts. The grief yawns and reopens a chasm in Jim that spans all the way back to his childhood and running a Chevy off that cliff so he'd have one less ghost of George Kirk to contend with. Chris is gone, the closest I had to a father.
His grip on Spock is unsteady, needy. He can't sob because the tears feel like a noose on their way up from the pit of his gut that ensnare his vocal chords. Faint, tentative surprise slips through the meld when he realizes the depth of Spock's care; uncertain what to do, Jim's affection flares a hungry red and has a moment's yearning, badly hidden afterwards in the somber blacks and greys of a funeral that should never have taken place. He's never been one to cling to death when he has the option of life and Spock is his (best friend, but then there's Bones for that, Spock is just plainly his in ways he can't describe, no word does what they have justice) and Jim —
Jim nudges the forehead against his own, the profiles of two noses brushing, and everything is still pulsing red like the promise of a heartbeat behind a veil. ]
no subject
His grip on Spock is unsteady, needy. He can't sob because the tears feel like a noose on their way up from the pit of his gut that ensnare his vocal chords. Faint, tentative surprise slips through the meld when he realizes the depth of Spock's care; uncertain what to do, Jim's affection flares a hungry red and has a moment's yearning, badly hidden afterwards in the somber blacks and greys of a funeral that should never have taken place. He's never been one to cling to death when he has the option of life and Spock is his (best friend, but then there's Bones for that, Spock is just plainly his in ways he can't describe, no word does what they have justice) and Jim —
Jim nudges the forehead against his own, the profiles of two noses brushing, and everything is still pulsing red like the promise of a heartbeat behind a veil. ]