You're Not, Are You?
Fandom: Star Trek XI
Pairing: Gen
Series: None
Summary: In which she isn't Gaila, and Jim can't bring himself to care.
He knows she's not Gaila. Mostly. She does look like her, from a distance, with her head bent low over her datapad. He almost does think it's her, for a split second.
It's just the drugs, he thinks, the ones that still haven't quite gotten out of his system yet. And Bones is a bastard, because the medication is fucking with his head, and this isn't real. That isn't Gaila. Gaila's dead.
The guilt and hurt that stab through his stomach, those are real. Acute, razor sharp, and real.
He doesn't know why he stops, why he talks to her. If she asks, he'll blame it on the drugs. Or maybe he'll just walk away. What does he care if this chick thinks he's an asshole? It's Gaila's opinion of him that matters, not hers.
So he apologizes, because he never got the chance to before. He looks at her hair-bright, curly, and flaming red-he didn't think Orions could have red hair, before Gaila.
"Look, about what happened at Starfleet…"
She looks up, and okay, even through the medicated haze he knows it's not Gaila. But he's already started, and the words are spilling out, and he can't stop. And he's not exactly sure what he says after that, but it's probably too much, probably nonsensical. He can't stop. Not now. Someone had to hear this, and Gaila's dead.
"You're… Not Gaila."
He's pretty sure she thinks it's a question, but it isn't. It's… Realization. It's the loss of medically-imposed innocence, and Jim is going to kill Bones next time he sees the bastard. His head hurts like a bitch, and she isn't Gaila.
Goddammit.
She gives him a look like he's the lowest being in the universe, and maybe he is.
"I'm sorry," he whispers at her indignant, rapidly-retreating back.