Jim's hands are pressed flat firmly against the counter, arms bent with the weight he's putting on them. It's an odd way to lean and certainly can't be comfortable. But it keeps Jim's hands steady so they don't shake. He's staring after where Harley left from with his jaw still clenched.

He didn't break. She's wrong. Jim's not in danger of breaking down or falling over. He can survive much worse than this. If it gets much worse than this, he'll have to. But it hasn't yet. For one long moment the light seems to leave Jim's eyes as a cold truth slithers from the back of his mind where it's been coiled all this time. Something he's known since this started and tried so desperately to tell himself otherwise.

Jim Kirk is a survivor. Whatever that takes.

How does it feel, Captain? To be just. Like. Me?

Cold. Empty. Vast. The breath he takes next is deeper and more controlled.

Though it startles into a gasp and a cough when Felix settles his hand on Jim's arm. He quirks his lips upwards ever so slightly toward Felix and that eerie cold stillness leaves his posture. For now. Felix's hand is warm against his arm. Close and present. Pulling Jim back from the precipice he had been teetering on.

"Hey yourself. What's up?"