"I'll give you everything I've got, Spock." Jim's throat is tight, the lump lodged in the center of it painful. He doesn't want to be taken, and yet he is, swept up in the memory of that hatred, feeling it as if it were his own, though the source of his experience is, of course, a different Spock, and one with more than a hundred year's time to balance his own emotions. If that elder Spock had experienced the death of Vulcan so deeply, Jim can't imagine how it must feel for the young Spock sitting across from the table now.
Jim finds he doesn't want to meet his eyes, afraid of the agony he'll see reflected there, however well concealed. But he looks anyway. Having once manipulated these very hurts to prove Spock emotionally compromised, Jim deserves every guilty stab against his own conscience. "I hate him, too," he says, quiet. Nero had taken all chance of Jim ever knowing his father, had sent his mother running to the furthest corners of the galaxy to get away from the child that so resembled him; Jim had thought that'd be enough, but Nero had proven such thoughts hopelessly naive. "If I could tell you how to stop, I would, but I don't know myself."
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
timeasmymeasure
no subject
Date: 2012-06-04 12:00 am (UTC)Jim finds he doesn't want to meet his eyes, afraid of the agony he'll see reflected there, however well concealed. But he looks anyway. Having once manipulated these very hurts to prove Spock emotionally compromised, Jim deserves every guilty stab against his own conscience. "I hate him, too," he says, quiet. Nero had taken all chance of Jim ever knowing his father, had sent his mother running to the furthest corners of the galaxy to get away from the child that so resembled him; Jim had thought that'd be enough, but Nero had proven such thoughts hopelessly naive. "If I could tell you how to stop, I would, but I don't know myself."