I've been here almost half a terran year Jim thinks, and it twists something in his gut. For someone so determined to be skeptical about the allegedly inescapable end brought on by the Storm, he's sure been fucking stuck here for a while.

Stuck here alone.

Jim shifts, his gaze drifting to his other hand, still perched awkwardly against his knee. Slowly, he flexes his fingers, unable to quite hide the grimace on his face. "Just broken bones," he says, for all the world looking like someone who's simply in pain, and not suddenly desperate to scream and hit something. He swallows it. "I can still move and feel everything."

(He tells himself it doesn't matter. He was isolated in his command position anyway. No one here understands or gives a shit about Federation values. It's fine. Everything is completely fine.)

"I just need a couple things looked at and a few days solid of sleep. I'll be okay."