Jim Kirk stands with rigid military bearing, his fingers curling tight into fists that lay resting on the counter. He doesn't dare lift his hand toward the food. Not when everything is still jagged pieces of glass inside and even looking at it makes his stomach clench onto itself. It's taking all of his self control to be calm, cool, and in charge. Across the counter Harley Quinn lounges with all the confidence of someone who isn't even bothered by the circumstances.

And listening to her speak, maybe she isn't. Jim knows about fucked up bodies. He knows about coping and he knows about keeping secrets. He might have agreed with her if she hadn't pressed on his pride. She'll see the flush of shame that colors his cheeks before the color drains form his face as anger sets in.

There is no pride in real survival.

There can't be. When the only choices are to do whatever it takes to make it to another hard fought and inadequate meal you do what you have to do. Whatever it takes. So long as Jim holds onto his pride, they're not in trouble yet. If he can hold onto his pride the stakes aren't critical yet. So long as he has pride, he doesn't need to rely on hope. What she's asking of him is...more. More than Jim Kirk can stomach.

"You don't understand. They won't let you go without eating." Even if Jim did, if someone else caught her there would be a fight. The food sits between them. In its innocuousness lies a silent accusation that pierces them both.

There can be no pride...

"Take that away from me." He can't shout, can't cause a scene. Can't let anyone see him lose his barely held in check facade of control. Jim wants so bad he bleeds to grab Harley and shake her. But he still has his pride.

For now.