The Party's Over [for losthunter]

[boldygoing]

He's still in shock.

There's a part of Jim that consciously knows this. His body has been locked into fight-or-flight mode for hours upon hours, his hands still trembling from the adrenaline, exhaustion held at bay by survival instincts that haven't realized that the danger has passed. The Halloween costume that Hunter had worked so hard on is damn near unrecognizable, only the paint-streaked pants clinging stubbornly to his hips, his feet and chest bare save for the bloodstained cloth wrapped loosely around his shoulder. Rusty brown specks of dried blood still cling to his face along with thicker, tackier stains on his hands, unmoved by the... fur... that is no longer adorning his skin.

His senses feel... off. As he numbly follows Hunter into the Nexus apartment on autopilot, the vibrant colors of the artwork in the studio damn near leap off the canvas at him, but sounds seem muffled, scents almost impossible to pick up, his body still struggling to cope with the sudden change back to human norms. His bones ache beneath his skin, a dull throbbing in his limbs and chest, his blood practically burning in his veins as his boosted immune system destroys the last traces of the worgen's curse, a low-grade fever the only outward sign of the fierce battle being waged beneath the surface of the skin.

Part of him wants to reassure Hunter that he's okay, to deny he's in pain, to pretend like nothing ever happened. That it was all some horrible nightmare. But he can't. He's filthy and bloody and shell-shocked, and phantom echoes of ravenous hunger still pick at him like vultures picking at a carcass. He's not starving anymore. He knows that. His body knows that. But he can't forget how it felt, not when the wounds are so raw, freshly ripped back open after years of coping.

He comes to a faltering stop inside the apartment, fidgeting, uncertain, struggling to determine what comes next. How to even begin to move forward from here.


[Trigger Warning for disordered eating and PTSD]

Comments

[losthunter]

"November 1st." Hunter answers. The day after Halloween. "And it is nine in the morning."

Hunter watches Jim carefully. He just wants to make sure that Jim feels up to returning. "You can stay as long as you need."

[boldygoing]

Nine o'clock. That's... workable. Jim leans his elbow against the table and slowly scrubs his hands across his face, wincing when his fingers drag against tender bruises. He's still late to the first class he's supposed to be teaching, late by half an hour. Starfleet is sure to know by now that he's missing.

"I've gotta... call in sick." There's no other solution. He can't do his job like this, and his physical state is more than enough proof that he's had a rough night. He can't even begin to imagine how pissed Bones is gonna be. And it's even worse, because there's no way Jim can tell him what happened, hardly able to face the truth of it himself.

[losthunter]

"Who would be the best person to call? Do you want to use my PINpoint?" Hunter asks softly.

He feels a little selfishly happy, that Jim is staying for a little longer.

[boldygoing]

This has never happened to him before. Who does he need to call? The dean of cadets, maybe. Definitely McCoy.

Hunter might be happy that Jim is ducking out of his duties, but Jim sure isn't. The slight tremble of his hands is back, and he tugs the blanket a little closer around his shoulders, fervently hoping that Starfleet doesn't order him to be medically assessed. He's not sure he can even come up with a convincing cover story, let alone manage to stick to it. "What... happened to mine?" He barely remembers coming to Hunter's apartment last night, never mind what he was wearing or what he still had on him.

[losthunter]

"It could still be in your clothing, that we left in the bathroom." Hunter rubs his hands over Jim's back, trying to keep the other man warm.

[boldygoing]

It's not the cold that makes Jim's hands shake, but the reassuring touch is welcome nonetheless, as is the damn-near ceaseless purring of the cat still sprawled halfway across his lap. "Sorry." There's a part of him that feels guilty for needing so much attention, especially when Hunter is having a shit time of it himself, but he can't stop. No matter how much he wishes he could. Things are still too tender, like the bruises in his skin.

"I was afraid that I lost it," he confesses quietly. Losing his PINpoint would mean losing his only mobile way to access the Nexus, leaving him with only one way out, a way he can't access at will at the moment. He lifts his head and adds, "I lost my knife." He doesn't have a clue where it ended up. The last place he remembers it being was embedded in a werewolf's chest.

[losthunter]

"I will go get your PINpoint for you." Hunter doesn't want Jim to think he is leaving. So he adds, "I will be right back."

"And you should ask Hermione if she could find your knife. She and Crookshanks have a knack for finding lost items."

Hunter slides away from Jim for a moment, and heads into the bathroom. He looks through the blood clothes, until he can find Jim's PINpoint. He cleans off his hand, and wipes the PINpoint as gently as possible, before returning to the kitchen.

"Here it is."

[boldygoing]

Unlike yesterday, Jim just nods when Hunter steps away. The shock has worn off, for the most part, and while he's very much not okay, his thoughts are more rational, more in order than the panicked, almost feral thing he was the night before. Besides... he's not alone, not with Crookshanks curling up on his lap to keep him company, his hands drawn to the kneazle's soft fur.

He accepts the communicator from Hunter, flipping it open with a practiced flick of the wrist, automatic and reflexive. He pauses before opening the first connection, looking uncertainly at Hunter. "You can stay if you want to." He's not going to be saying anything classified, and after the night they've had... well. He's pretty damn sure that Hunter isn't exactly eager to let Jim get out of his sight either.

[losthunter]

Crookshanks just purrs even louder at the sensation of Jim's fingers in his fur. He is such a brilliant Kneazle. He is helping.

Hunter had tilted his head, when Jim gave him that uncertain look. He smiles softly. And cuddles in beside Jim, now that he knows he doesn't have to give the other man privacy.

[boldygoing]

Jim's first call is straight to the Academy, uncertain who exactly he should be contacting, finally settling on the Commandant of Command Cadets and reaching the desk of her secretary, who is more than happy to cancel his remaining classes for the day - after reminding him to report in a little earlier next time, of course. It's a mercifully brief conversation, for which he's fairly grateful.

As for McCoy... Jim debates for several long moments over whether to actually call the doctor. There are several missed messages from the man, each one sounding more worried than the last. But if Jim calls him now... it's going to be a long conversation, and one where Bones will no doubt be frustrated all to hell that Jim won't tell him the details. It's going to happen eventually, especially once he shows up looking like... this.

He settles on a simple text message: Party went south. Sorry to worry you. See you later today. Okay, so maybe it isn't the most soothing, reassuring thing he could've sent, but he can't lie and say he's fine when even he can admit that he isn't.

He doesn't wait to see if there's a reply, just snaps the communicator closed and sets it on the table with a sigh. All he's doing is delaying the inevitable. Hell, so much time has already passed that even if he got to a dermal regenerator this instant, he's probably going to have scars regardless. Sooner or later, he has to go back.

[losthunter]

Hunter knows that sooner or later, Jim will have to go back to his world too. But right now, Jim is with him. And he can try to help the other man to regain some sense of normalization.

"Let's go into the living room. If you feel up to it, we can watch a movie." And just cuddle on the couch.

[boldygoing]

For a moment, Jim considers the idea. But somehow, the thought of sitting on the couch numbly watching actors move around the screen just doesn't seem... right. He doesn't want to see anybody eating, or running, or screaming. Doesn't want to see a world where all is well, unrelatable and artificial, nor immerse himself in the fictional struggles of someone else when he already has so much to process.

He's never been very good at sitting still.

"I need to... do something," he confesses, reaching for something, anything else to do, something to occupy idle hands before he reaches them inside himself and tears at what's left, unable to stop. Old habits won't work. But...

There's one thing they did together before, something that isn't part of his usual hobbies. An act that he found calming, even though he's not very good at it. And he needs to remind himself that he can do more than just destroy. "Can we paint?"

[losthunter]

"Sure we can." Hunter smiles a little. He has a few art projects that he should be working on anyway. And it would just be better to have Jim close by, watching the other man work on his own creations.

"But no kitties allowed in the art studio..." He gives a half smile to Crookshanks. Who just blinks at Hunter. As if saying, why are you telling me this? I know the rules.

[boldygoing]

Jim hadn’t realized how quickly he’d started to rely on the basic animal comfort of having a cat curled up on his lap until now, the warm furry presence that kept him company through the darkest night he’s endured in a while. There’s a tendril of unease in his chest for a moment, but only a moment. Crookshanks won’t be far. And it’s not like the cat is coming home with him anyway. He has to start building up his walls again, to stand on his own two feet without breaking. No matter whether he’s ready or not. The universe has never given a single solitary shit whether he was ready for anything yet.

And that means laying out his boundaries, while he still has the courage to speak up for himself. “You have meat in your fridge,” he blurts out before he can change his mind, managing to keep his voice mostly steady. It doesn’t matter that he’s heard enough to know that he probably didn’t eat anybody last night. Neither his subconscious nor his stomach have gotten the message, and the thought that he might end up wasting food if Hunter doesn’t know is damn near as bad. Never mind if it’s today, or a month from now. “It... I can’t look at it.”

[losthunter]

"I will move it to a safe location, where you don't have to look at it." Hunter offers. He really doesn't mind that he might have to switch his shopping habits for a while... because what is more important is Jim's comfort levels.

"You set up a canvas and get some paints out. I will take care of that right now." And get something else set out for supper later tonight.

He does know a few different vegetarian recipes, which he took time to learn after that time that he cooked for Jim's crew.

[boldygoing]

...that's all?

Part of Jim still expected questions. Concerned looks. Pity. The same sort of things that drove him away from home the first time, unable to stand being treated as something so fragile that he would break at the slightest touch. But Hunter has given him none of that, even without fully understanding, without pushing him to say anything other than what he's ready to say about it. Just... accepting it. And giving him something productive to do while he takes care of the problem as best he can.

It's weird. Not what he's used to. But... that's not a bad thing.

Jim is quiet as he digs out the art supplies they'll need, familiar with where Hunter keeps the tools of his trade after so many visits, his own thoughts keeping him from paying too much attention to the movement in the kitchen and the purpose behind it. He doesn't have the slightest clue what he's going to paint. It's not like he's had a lot of experience. But he has to do something with himself, something where he doesn't have to be perfect, or pretend like he knows what the hell he's doing. He's tired of pretending. Tired of being afraid. Just plain tired.

[losthunter]

Hunter will always have a part of his heart that will be concerned for Jim. It goes along with the love he has for the other man. The love that he had not planned for -- but continues to make its presence known every now and then.

It doesn't take him long to make sure that any meat in the fridge or freezer is removed (and sent with Hermione on her way out for the day, who will make sure that the food is not wasted). Honestly, it does not even occur to Hunter that Jim is expecting pity from him. Because there is no reason for that pity to be felt, in Hunter's opinion.

He believes that Jim is a pretty strong individual, who had to face a lot of tough trauma during a time period that seemed that lasted weeks... not hours. And the fact that Jim is broken right now only makes sense to Hunter. It would be more suspicious if someone had experienced the same trauma and was not affected.

They paint side-by-side in quiet. Hunter getting lost in his work, and hoping that the paint therapy is helping Jim a little.

Hunter would never expect Jim to be perfect. That doesn't exist. He knows that Jim will find himself again. He just wants to be supportive of whatever Jim needs to get to that point of accepting himself, and his flaws. It makes him human.

[boldygoing]

Jim's brushstrokes are hesitant at first, second-guessing himself and his intentions for his work, but as the image starts to form - sloppy, inexperienced, but ultimately his - the slight tremor in his hands begins to fade, losing himself in the meditative practice of laying paint on canvas, no matter his lack of skill. It doesn't matter what it ends up looking like. It doesn't matter that he's making it up as he goes along. No one's lives rely on him getting it right. He's free to shape his pain however he needs to in order to deal with it, to pour out the fear and trauma onto the canvas, a small token of what he still carries inside. Will carry with him until the day he dies.

And even if the end product is an ugly mess, it's his ugly mess.

It isn't perfect. But it doesn't have to be. And even if he won't ever let anyone but Hunter see it, hiding it away from the prying eyes of the world, it's still a part of him, something he can't just set aside and pretend it never happened.

He's still not okay. And he won't be for some time to come.

But if James T. Kirk knows how to do one thing, it's to keep moving forward.

There's no where else to go.