There was something about the tilt of Pike's head, about the unblinking stare, that would always put Kirk in mind of a bar in Iowa. Even when he least wanted to remember that night and everything it had brought. Kirk didn't move. Let him think he was too weak to. Let him think what he wanted. Let him get close enough. He couldn't hear the the beeps anymore. Even if they hadn't wormed their way into his subconscious, the rush of sluggish blood in his ears would have drowned them out.
Let Pike think he'd been beaten. That there wasn't anything left of James T. Kirk in this shell he barely recognized as his own.
"Pike," he drawled, his voice dry as the buzz of the field he'd tried to force his hand through, back when he'd had enough strength to fight being put in the brig. It hurt, deep in his throat, just like everything else did.
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Date: 2010-01-20 06:29 pm (UTC)Let Pike think he'd been beaten. That there wasn't anything left of James T. Kirk in this shell he barely recognized as his own.
"Pike," he drawled, his voice dry as the buzz of the field he'd tried to force his hand through, back when he'd had enough strength to fight being put in the brig. It hurt, deep in his throat, just like everything else did.