Designated Doodler

The sight of himself as a child was jarring. There was no time to think, no room to breathe. Jim’s blue eyes were blown wide with panic, his vision sending him black dot warnings of hyperventilation. He took measured breaths to slow his heart and balled his fingers into fists so hard that little pink crescent marks were forming in the flesh. Before him was the expansive window of the deck, that had become a video monitor, and behind him was the majority of his first shift crew, staring at the screen. “Shut it off,” he ground out through locked teeth. “I can’t sir…” Sulu replied weakly, frantically pawing at the technology before him - to no avail. --- That morning, despite his First Officer’s protests, Jim beamed down to a newfound Class M planet that they had been hovering over for nearly a week. The blue sphere was called Kasor, and was completely undiscovered until they shot down a Starfleet vessel in trans orbital exploration. Apparently they possessed incr...

The night couldn't go by fast enough. As soon as Jim reached his quarters, he began stripping off clothes. Garments the colors of sun and space lay strewn in a wobbly line to his and Spock's shared bathroom. This was one moment he really wished that they didn't have adjoining rooms. He punched in the settings for shower (a rare treat)…and stood with his face beneath burning water that licked hot trails down his body. He made little effort to actually clean himself, he just leant against the cool surface of the shower wall and closed his eyes. It had only been a few days since his rescue. And he'd spent a few nights in sick bay at Bones' insistence. But physically, he was fine. God, could you imagine if they'd gotten a hold of Spock instead of him? They'd never have made it past the mental shields that the Vulcan had spent his entire life building. But Jim…Jim was weak. A heavy sigh filled the small space. It was getting so humid that it was hard ...

There was never a moment of silence on the ship. It was constantly abuzz with mutterings from the crew members, the steady hum of the air circulation, the hollow clack of regulation boots as their owners strode down the sterile white corridors. Which is what made this moment so special. Alone in an observation gallery, closed for repair, Jim sat on the floor, his legs dangling over the edge of the platform where construction was halted. His bright golden shirt turned a deep mustard color in the darkness, lit only by distant unnamed stars. His arms began to grow weak from having propped up his body so long. His hands ached, his wrists burned, his whole body hurt - but not as much as his mind. When he first heard footsteps he felt tempted to turn around, but he didn't need to look to know who it was. Two shiny black boots came to a neat stop next to his right hand. "Spock," he said, still staring out the reinforced observation window. The Vulcan looked down at his...