(Not) Okay
By Mika-chan
He felt heavy. A steady pressure weighing down on his chest that made breathing extremely difficult. He wasn't alarmed, however, feeling only a surreal sense of calm even as he realized he couldn't move any of his limbs.
He took small, measured breaths, opening his eyes when he realized he could and stared at the white walls that greeted him. In his direct line of vision hung an IV bag, dripping regularly into the tubing that he was certain ran to the back of one of his hands.
They cut Lieutenant Michaels' fingers off one at a time. Then both hands entirely. He screamed once, maybe twice.
It was less than Jim could say for himself.
He closed his eyes, uncertain for how long and when he opened them again Bones was staring at him. He looked tense, grim, and maybe even a little relieved. Jim focused his attention on Bone's mouth as it moved, forming words and what he was sure were sentences. He was not adept at reading lips
Ensign Rodriguez's head was at an unnatural angle, mouth gaping in a silent scream
but followed the movements regardless. Because talking meant breathing and breathing meant you were not
Lieutenant Charles died while he told her what life was like growing up in Iowa. She grew up in New York City. As far from Iowa as you could get in terms of, well, everything. She laughed, blood bubbling out the corner of her mouth, when he told her it was boring as hell and that getting into trouble was about all he could do in terms of entertainment. He held her hand in an unrelenting grip as he detailed his "adventures," speaking in as light a tone as he could manage. He held on to her long after her hand grew stiff and the only sound he could hear in the room was the sound of his own breathing.
His hand felt warm. His left, not his right and he felt a force there similar to the one on his chest in the sense that it was constant and anchored him to the whiteness of
Their cell was never truly dark. There were two small windows on the west wall of the concrete room, each roughly a half foot wide as it was tall. Despite their diminutive size, it always let in some form of light no matter what the time of day.
The upper left side of his body vibrated for a moment. Bones had moved closer, eyes merely a few inches from his, and he didn't look happy. He didn't look mad either.
He could feel Bone's breath on his face, intermittent
Drafts of air filtered through the windows, but they were few and far between and didn't help. It had been days, and he eventually found himself choking with every inhalation to the point that he couldn't breathe. He couldn't—
"Breathe, Jim! You're fine. It's okay."
No. It wasn't. Jim's entire body shuddered as he inhaled one ragged breath after another, forehead pressed to
Spock's shoulder. At some point, Jim wasn't entirely sure when, the Vulcan had appeared and knelt beside him. "Captain, are you injured?"
He wasn't able to contain the slightly hysterical laughter that bubbled its way passed his lips. "No." Not at all. They never touched him. Not once. God, not once.
"Captain." Jim felt Spock's body shift. "It is time to go."
Quite suddenly Jim's hand felt empty, his fingers closing around air and he was overwhelmed by the sheer wrongness of it, couldn't comprehend anything beyond that.
"Capt—Jim." Spock grasped his hand, squeezed once, and Jim released a shaky breath.
"Okay."
Yet, it was anything but okay.