tushanshu_logs | ( closed )

'It's needed.'

And it's that simple, to him.

That grimace becomes more pronounced, but Jim says nothing. Just lapses into Kyle's language for a time. The whole universe, huh? No wonder Kyle's got a chip on his shoulder the way he does.

"So it's your serenity." It's a statement more than a question. He doesn't look at Kyle as he says it.

'Yes.'

His voice is hushed, and he doesn't meet Jim's eyes either. I miss it.

This time, he does reach out. Pats Kyle's shoulder, and withdraws. It's the only thing he has to offer at the moment, and even that's hard to force himself into. But he does it.

Kyle leans back and lets the construct wrap itself around him. It's comfort and he takes it (because that might be it, he'll get nothing more), and then he pops more toast in his mouth.

'It's not for everyone, I suppose.'

"Well, not if it drives people crazy. I guess it's a lot to deal with." And he gets that, he does. He hates having the dying voices of Vulcan in his head, but even if he could he wouldn't get rid of it. It's part of who he is, it's affected the judgements and calls he's made--

Having that on a broader scope, or scale? Yeah. He could see why it would drive people insane.

He shrugs. 'It's just difficult to talk about. I get angry, sometimes.'

Jim gives him a vaguely curious look, one eyebrow arched.

Kyle glances at him. 'I never had that much of a choice. Learn or die, remember?'

He made the choice to put on the ring, of course, and he could give it up, but after talking with Miria, he wondered if it was entirely as informed as he liked to think it was.

Like an anchor tied around your ankles during swimming lessons in a stormy sea. He snorts, and nods. There's a part of him that knows he doesn't get it, not the way Kyle needs, but he can commiserate anyway.

"You ever get the feeling that the universe loves to piss us off?"

'All the time. I'm beginning to wonder if there's invisible targets painted on us.'

Jim focuses on the light and tries to take the suffering, he realises. Unlike Damian, who shares the darkness, and reaches for the other things. It was strange. But he was feeling better, slowly.

And he's feeling better too, he realizes. Useful. He wonders if that was intentional on Kyle's behalf, but it's so close to pity he doesn't want to entertain the thought. Instead, he shakes his head and gestures to the easel nearby.

"So what's on the agenda for today, Angel?"

'Was thinking of some scenery, actually.' He smiles, thoughtfully, and then glances at Jim. 'For some reason I haven't been 100% while painting, recently.'

He doesn't realise it's because Jim sits and watches him, and Kyle's always conscious of being observed when he's in his element like that. Fighting, probably, he can manage, but art - he only let people see the finished pieces. The process was too much like baring his soul, more than the finished work was.

"It's because I'm here, huh." He hadn't thought about it, but there's a degree of certainty in how he says it.

Kyle looks at him, confused, and then the pieces fit together. The construct of Ion vanishes an he gets up, making sure the easel and canvas face away from Jim. He doesn't like that certainty, there's too much Do you hate me in it, when that isn't the case.

'Hypothesis,' he says, taking a seat, and picking up his palette. 'Let's test it?.'

"No." Just like he was certain about what he said, he's firm in this, too. "Not today. There's too much--" he waves a hand. "Other shit going on right now." And he's still so close to just flat-out losing it, it's not a good idea to test his limits right now.

He reaches up to tuck his hand under his jaw, against his neck, fingers slotting in against the lines of muscle against the side of it so he can rub out knots and tensions there. The sternocleidomastoid muscle. (Funny how he remembers things like that at the damndest times, Bones always hated him getting his nose into his medical PADD)

If there's anything that's a red flag wrapped in a blaring siren with twelve foot-tall neon letters spelling DANGER, it's Jim Kirk turning down a challenge. Kyle freezes, for a moment, and then he gets up and wanders around to Jim, standing just outside his personal space. He lifts a hand, it hovers in mid-air, and drops it. Uncertainty is written into every line of him, he doesn't know what to do, he only knows a few things and none of that's ever been enough to do the job.

Eventually he just sits down and gives Jim an awkward half-hug from the side.

Jim accepts the gesture, even slots his arm in under Kyle's and lifts his hand to grip at the other man's bicep briefly. He's not tactile the way Kyle is, but at least it's not unwelcome now. He doesn't know how to say, I'm sorry I'm losing my mind my ship's not here my crew my people my family and everything's falling apart and I can't fix this and this is the only place since Iowa I've felt like a nobody-- so he doesn't, but it's there in his body language anyway, although his posture remains rigid and he doesn't so much as blink.

He shouldn't be relying on Kyle to pull him back. But Kyle's relying on him, too, and that... makes it better. Or at least okay. He drops his palm against Kyle's arm and then shakes his head. "I need to get out of here, man. Probably for a few days." Kyle will get it. He did the same thing after Guy. Jim doesn't like silences, they remind him too much of old, buried things, but he's always taken comfort in solitude.

He'd expected the gesture to be rejected, it's gratifying that it's.. okay to do it. Jim doesn't have to speak, Kyle's in tune with him right now and he can see the rest of it clear as day, and he replies I know with a simple, brief brush of his thumb against Jim's shoulder.

'Should I check in with you? Or not at all until you come back?' He knows it's a request for solitude, but Jim had sent him messages, it was only fair he reciprocate. He doesn't offer to pick the location, or to pack. Jim can do those things by himself. He's learning the boundaries in fits and stops, but at least he's learning.

Jim's eyebrows hitch up briefly and he looks at Kyle, askance. Opens his mouth as if to answer, and then shuts it again very carefully, and looks away. "I'll have my communicator." It's not a yes or no answer, and he knows Kyle hates those, but it's the best he's got right now. The best he can manage.

Jim doesn't need to be pushed to that limit right now, so Kyle doesn't fight for it. He takes it at face-value.

'Okay. I'll be here when you get back.'

When, not if.

"If you eat all my groceries, you and I are having words." Jim does shrug out from under the hug now, and he pushes a finger pointedly against Kyle's sternum. But his expression is a calm neutral, and he's back to smiling just a little. He doesn't even know what Kyle did, specifically, but it's pushed the darkness back just enough.

Has the storm passed? Kyle's not sure, but he grins back.

'No promises, James.' A pause, and then, compeletely straight-faced, he adds, 'Mu ha ha ha ha ha.'

Jim gives him the actual flattest look, and then he just shoves him off the couch. "That was the worst maniacal villain laugh I've ever heard! Good luck getting laid sometime this century, Angel, because you just lost all the sexy points your ankles won for you."

He tumbles off, but it's all play, and he's all smiles, genuine and earnest. He flattens his arms on the floor and looks up at Jim.

'Not even going to bother telling me how to earn it back?'

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