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There was a reason why his bed was always pushed up against a wall, whether it be on the Enterprise, during the Academy, or even back in that shithole in Iowa, it didn't matter. There was a reason why he slept facing the door, even though it left an ache in his shoulder every morning. There was a reason why he kept a veritable arsenal of weapons within arm’s reach:
a dagger under his pillow,
a phaser strapped to the side of his mattress,
an agonizer stowed in a hidden compartment of his bedside table—
and that was only what most could find.
There was a reason why Achlys rested at the door rather than his side.
There was a reason for everything.
Sleep wasn’t exactly an activity he sought out. It left him vulnerable to attack or, worse, memory. Although, realistically, the only person who could come waltzing into the Captain’s Quarters and wring his neck in the dead of space was his CMO.
(Ha. That’s a thought)
He knew that McCoy would never, could never end his life. The good doctor and his damn bird had never represented a threat to the captain—only a weakness.
Jim twitched in his sleep.
The merciless crackling amber of a village in flames. The acrid scent of burning flesh. And the endless thudding of soldiers patrolling through the chaos, looking for those unfortunate enough to have outlived the fire.
The skin-ripping pain of starvation. The mind-numbing fatigue of underfed muscles, his whole system running on adrenaline. The heart-stopping fear of that deadly game of cat and mouse. The soul-splitting ache of Achlys flying a bit too far as she served as his second set of eyes.
The stubborn will to survive
survive
SURVIVE.
His eyes shot open. Heart pounding fast enough to worry even the good doctor… probably.
Achlys lifted her long muzzle up from between her paws, a slight tilt to her head. She padded over to her piteous other half on stilt-like legs, a ghoul drifting through the night.
“Nightmare again, Jim? Really?” Her low voice grated through the recycled air.
Jim stared up at his daemon a moment, then extended his arm to curl his fingers into her mane. Backlit by the dim glow of the cabin lights, she looked exactly as she had the night she’d settled.
Comfort.
They were being chased, hunted down like prey. He tripped—or, perhaps his malnourished body finally gave out. Who was to say?
The man towered over him, a knife poised in his hand, a sneer of victory tugging at his lips. One of Kodos' grunts, he whistled a jaunty tune as his muddy boots pinned the twig of a boy to the ground. He went to bring the knife down, and a scream tore through the night.
The man’s eyes bulged, hands flying up to his neck in a futile attempt to pry off fangs that weren’t there. The metallic taste of blood settled onto Jim’s tongue.
As the soldier crumpled to the dirt, Jim could see Achlys’ gangly figure hunched low to the ground, the man’s daemon dangling from her jaw. There was his soul.
No time for thought.
Jim scrambled over to the writhing body, the man spouting feeble gurgles as he slowly drowned in his own blood. Jim soaked in the agonized terror in the man’s eyes as he yanked the weapon from his weakening grip. Sharp, unblinking blues bored into dulling greys as Jim plunged the knife into the man’s chest
once more
How dare he
once more
look at Jim with such a smug expression
once more
think he could end his life
survive
think he held any power over him.
survive
HOW DARE HE.
survive
HOW DARE THEY.
ALL OF THEM.
THINK THEY HAVE THEIR HANDS AROUND HIS NECK
SURVIVE
NEVER AGAIN.
There’s a smile on his face, blood on his hands, an unrecognizable piece of meat at his knees, and blissful peace in his mind.
Content, unrecognizable laughter ringing in his ears.
Ah.
Interesting… maybe he was happy?
The tranquil and satisfying feel of the blade easing through skin and viscera, the warmth of blood, the dust of a daemon scattering in the wind like Iowan fireflies.
Achlys stalked over to him, and he marveled at her new form.
“So you didn’t settle as a rat with wings, after all.” He would have said it out loud, if it weren’t for the joyous laughter pouring from his mouth. She stood before him with her matted red coat, her maw hung open as the last bits of dust trailed from her fangs. As Achlys’ eyes shone with his reflection, Jim’s bloodied hands went to wrap around her neck.
settled.
The painful grip of his hand in her fur thrusts him back into reality, the rake of fingernails on her neck leaving angry red marks on his own.
“Just nostalgic.”
