[IC] Voicemail

[boldygoing]

Captain James Tiberius Kirk, USS Enterprise, is currently unavailable.

Record message? Y/N

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[boldygoing]

By now, Jim has gotten used to packages and envelopes mysteriously appearing on his desk in his quarters, heralding one of what's swiftly becoming his favorite way to end the day: catching up on news from Hunter. Even so, this seems unusual from the moment he sees it, and having gotten bad news once already, a twist of anxiety takes root as he begins the playback.

And things start off somewhat benign. Cabin fever, a yearning for the great outdoors, all things Jim can sympathize with. And he smiles a little when Hunter shows off his fresh ink, the markings familiar on an arm that's been looking kinda naked without it.

But then comes the confession, and the smile slides straight off Jim's face. Dammit. He'd hoped that Hunter's casual acceptance of the loss of his magic was honest enough, and it certainly had seemed that way. But maybe it had just needed time to sink in, a looming emptiness slowly encroaching as reality set in. Jim has no idea what that must feel like, but it's a hell of an adjustment to make after so many years.

"Fucking dammit." Stabbed? Jim is already halfway to his PINpoint before hearing that Hunter is already healed, and honestly, it doesn't make him stop considering using it anyway. All of a sudden, his boyfriend going off on his own into back country doesn't sound quite as relaxing as he'd thought. But... what can Jim really do? Lightyears away, in a different universe, he has over four hundred lives to watch after, people relying on him to keep them safe and guide them home. He can't protect Hunter from here, and he can't abandon his responsibilities on the Enterprise either. Especially when he's already too late to help.

That anxiety writhes its way deeper, an odd sort of dread that Hunter's not doing as well as he'd pretended, that something like this might happen again and Jim will be helpless to stop it, or even know about it until it's too late. Hunter is supposed to be safe on Earth, or in the Nexus, living a normal civilian life, away from the same sort of dangers that Jim faces exploring the black. He's not supposed to be the one getting hurt. But he did.

Jim stands frozen in front of his desk, PINpoint held in one hand as he watches the video play out, the almost cheery beat of Hunter's guitar a strange contrast to the nagging guilt and fear tugging at him. And maybe for the first time, Jim begins to realize just how deep he's gotten himself into all this. He never meant to care this much.

But he does.

Even when the video ends and the screen shuts off, Jim remains still and quiet, with no real idea of what to do. What he can do. And it's a long, long few minutes before he finally sends a text message to leap the bounds between their universes, an unfathomably large distance between them.

Got your message. I'm expecting you to give me a tour of the best spots when I get back.

He doesn't sign off like Hunter did, the words suddenly seeming more than just rote response, the thing you're supposed to say when you're dating somebody. It's more real, somehow. Heavier. And he's gonna need a hell of a lot more soul-searching before he's ready to admit it to himself. But there's one thing he can say, and absolutely mean it.

I miss you. Stay safe out there.