Here's yet another '5+1' format! This one's called 'The Five Times Jim tried to hide an emotional response (and failed), and The One Time He didn't.' Ahahah! I'm keeping my reputation for long names! I own nothing! *sobs* Not even a discarded Jim-shirt! P.S. mentions of Tarsus and child-abuse----I seem to be saying that an awful lot lately, don't I? Enjoy!
1)
It was quiet after they got back on board. Really quiet. It wasn't even a peaceful quiet—it was tense, and echo-y, and completely empty, despite the 426 crew members on board. There should have been 427…
Jim sat in his room, and tried to ignore the rage bubbling through his veins, liquid hot and roaring. He was breathing heavy, his mind still replaying the look the kid—Jason (Jason Harare; 27, Chicago-born) had on his face when the tentacle monster attacked.
It was a classic tentacle monster. Slimy, green and covered with a zillion tentacles; nothing they hadn't handled before. Then why was it, he asked himself furiously, why was it that he hadn't seen it coming? Why hadn't he seen the bloody thing coming behind them after they'd killed its mate?
He knew they lived in pairs, and he knew they were more vicious than ever when defending their mates. He knew it—he'd seen these creatures on many other planets, and had many times killed them in self defense. Why the fuck hadn't he thought, hadn't he even fucking considered?
The mate had snuck up behind them, and had taken Jason, wrapping it's slime around his torso; there was no way it was letting go.
It had taken him, and it had smashed the boy against a rock, repeatedly, mutilating the body like it was a rag-doll, blood soaked and limp in a way that made him sick.
He'd seen dead people before, trust him, there was nothing new in it. But he would never get used to it. He would never get used to the way that those bodies; bodies intended to be full of life, and emotion and experience, those bodies lay there, broken, every bone shattered… every inch violated…
Suddenly the rage boiled over and he got up and in one smooth movement picked up a glass and threw it at a wall with as much violence as he could muster, trying to not feel the grief, aching hollow in his bones. The shards flying everywhere and the sharp sound resonated with his jagged nerves, and he closed his eyes. It felt like he had taken a small chunk of his anger and sorrow and thrown it at a wall, every inch of him crying, begging to go yell at McCoy, at Spock, at Scotty or Uhura.
But this was his burden, and he would bear it on his own. He picked up another glass, fully intending for it to meet the same end as the one before, but he felt the will leave his limbs, leaving him limp and empty. He collapsed, suddenly unable to feel his legs, boneless and weak in the worst way possible. He sat there, backed against the chair, hugging his knees as his mind relentlessly played back the terrifying minutes, closing his eyes as if to escape, but only succeeding in pulling himself deeper into the nightmare.
No one would see this. No one would see their Captain broken like this. Not one.
But it wasn't that hard to hack Jim's computer and get a view through his webcam. And it didn't require much motivation. Spock and McCoy stood at the Science console, watching, making sure Jim didn't hurt himself. This guilt was undeserved—no one was to blame. But Jim would take that blame upon himself, and he would bear it so that no one else would have to, knowing but not quite acknowledging that it didn't work that way.
But they didn't see the tears as they focused on the blood that dripped from his cut palm, and for that at least, Jim was thankful.
Well? How was it? I decided that I want to post up the chapters separately. Let me know what you think, okay?
Love,
Lady Merlin