Fic: Observations, Ch 234
He is asleep beside me.
He is asleep beside me, exhausted by memory and the weight of his past.
I am beside him.
I remember nights in New York returning to our apartment from work, cold, tired, uncertain of our future. I remember the grinding stress, the expression on Jim’s face as he grappled with the cost of our existence. I remember the change that came over him-that came over us-and in some ways I regret the loss of that boyishness, the soft lines of inexperience. I did not know then, as I know now, how much it cost for him to keep his youthful arrogance.
He is asleep beside me, my arms around him, his head nestled on my shoulder, breathing evenly. Steadily. Sleeping without dreams of empty despair.
stay promise me promise me stay I’m yours promise me stay I don’t want immortality I’m not that special stay promise me stay promise me I trust you stay promise me I trust you I’m yours I’m just a guy on a ship promise me stay I trust you stay I trust you stay I always have and always will promise me I don’t know what to do stay promise me promise me I need to hear it out loud promise me stay stay promise me I’m yours stay I’m fucking yours stay promise me promise me stay I’m fucking yours stay promise me I trust you stay promise me I never want to be that alone again stay promise me I’m just a guy on a ship stay promise me stay I trust you promise me stay I trust you
I trust you. I always have, and I always will.
stay
promise me
I already gave that promise a long time ago, captain.
He is asleep beside me and I remember the series of missions immediately after New York that we were assigned, when that carefree, cocky expression disappeared and was replaced with the knowledge of his own limits. The image of his mortality. And the realization of exactly how much he had to pay in order to become who he is now, how in giving up that arrogance he gave up the one thing that had kept him alive until the Enterprise came along-how much of himself he risked when he chose to build a team, when he chose to rely on me. How much more of himself he gave than any of us could have possibly realized, and how much of himself he gave freely, without resentment or expectation of reciprocity.
He does not think of it. Does not count the cost. Does not think he is anything extraordinary, only an ordinary person who lived, survived, kept going. He does not think of how precious living and surviving is, in and of itself. He simply does it. Walks forward. Keeps going.
A memory.
“The test itself is a cheat, isn't it? I mean, you programmed it to be unwinnable.”
“Your argument precludes the possibility of a no-win scenario.”
“I don't believe in no-win scenarios.”
“Then not only did you violate the rules, you also fail to understand the principal lesson.”
“Please, enlighten me.”
“You of all people should know, Cadet Kirk, a captain cannot cheat death.”
“I of all people.”
“Your father, Lieutenant George Kirk, assumed command of his vessel before being killed in action, did he not?”
“I don't think you like the fact that I beat your test-”
“Furthermore, you have failed to divine the purpose of the test.”
“Enlighten me again.”
“The purpose is to experience fear-fear in the face of certain death, to accept that fear, and maintain control of oneself and one's crew. This is the quality expected in every Starfleet captain.”
This memory.
These words.
I did not understand the meaning of his words until now.
He is asleep beside me.
And despite it all, he still asked me to stay as his First Officer. He doesn’t know why he did that, only that he knew he had to. It was not a consequence of the meld with my counterpart. My other self was careless in assuming that Jim would be the same as the Jim from his timeline. The emotional transference was devastating. To put so much grief and feelings of guilt into another person when they were already compromised-I wonder if the Ambassador realized that too late.
He pushed it aside. Didn’t think about it. Came back to the Enterprise and compromised me, knowing full well that I could kill him. I almost did kill him.
He still asked me to stay, guided by an instinct, trusting a feeling.
Because you don’t come out of an experience like Tarsus, an experience like facing the masks of people, without learning how to see behind those masks and knowing without consciously knowing who you can trust, who can help you and change you to be better than who you are. You don’t come out of an experience like that without learning to judge people by a fundamentally different criterion.
In seeing my mask ripped away, he saw something he could trust and rely on. A mirror image of himself walking onto the bridge, telling him that Chekov’s calculations were correct, offering to go with him on a suicidal mission. The recognition of another just as determined to survive and win what appeared to be an unwinnable situation, despite being split wide open and completely compromised. Despite losing my entire world.
He looked straight into my eyes on Selek’s ship, told me that the plan would work and willed me to understand the real meaning behind those words.
Founded on principle, and cemented by time.
This is the principle on which we were founded. This is the starting point of everything between us-our professional relationship, our friendship, our love. This is the reason for something that seemed impossible, but feels inevitable.
You’ve seen me, and you know I’m human.
We survived.
And despite everything between us, despite the emotional compromise, the misunderstandings, the difference in our ways of thinking and looking at the world, something must have survived if today, I cannot imagine life without him and he has come to trust me totally.
Something must have survived.
He asked me to stay.
Something must have survived for him to take that gamble of trust in the first place. Something must have survived for me to take him up on his offer.
I trust you. I always have, and I always will.
Galactic history will remember us.
But what can it remember of us? No account will survive the passage of time, the details forgotten and lost in memory. No account ever has, or ever will. Each life has its own love story and account of survival. Even I do not know the story of my mother and father’s relationship and the struggles they must have gone through. I do not know the principle on which they founded their love and how time cemented it.
Galactic history will remember us.
And I find I do not care.
For Jim is sleeping beside me, my arms around him, his head nestled on my shoulder, breathing evenly, steadily. Heart beating through memory and exhaustion. Heart beating to live and stay.
Galactic history will remember us as great men. In their dusty pages they will erect a marble monument to our life and service.
And I find I do not care.