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CHARACTERS: "Todd"/Guide, James T. Kirk, and all volunteers
LOCATION: Medical Bay
WARNINGS: Extensive description of the Wraith feeding process, and internalized self-loathing. Possible profanity.
SUMMARY: You can never win, you can only break even. With a Wraith, you can't break even - even if you are one.

He's growing used to the fire in his bones, and the thought disgusts him more than he would dare to admit. This repetition of siphoning off a bit of life and then slowly starving again is not the way of a Queen's man. It is short-sighted - but the kine are a short-lived species, as it should only be that they cannot imagine so far into the future. Yet he has agreed to this deal, and their short-sightedness is his own. It will not be long before he starves again, and then more humans will have to sacrifice themselves to him. So this vicious cycle will begin anew.

He kneads the dark vein that winds itself abound his wrist so that it does not swell with enzyme, but he closes his fist as he does so. He can grow used to the fire in his bones, but never shall he look upon a hungry hand without shame.

Guide waits in the medical bay, squinting at the too-bright lights. When he has the strength to do so, he stands; when he hasn't, he rests, sitting as regally as one can in torn leathers.

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"You can say that again," He agrees dryly, but it isn't a topic he's going to pursue. They have too many theories about what's going on in this place, and there was enough tension in this medical bay without delving into what was or was not happing on the Tranquility.

"Make sure you rest after this is over," He says, and the bright of his eyes come up to Legolas' face. He appreciated what he was doing, and while Jim hadn't spent much time with the elf or Frodo since they'd arrived, he felt like he owed it to Aragorn to at least keep an eye out for them.

"Of course." He gives a flash of a smile, casting his glance over to where Frodo is-- or might be. "It would not do to collapse in the hallway and have the little one carry me back here."

They have enough trouble without one (or both) of them being incapacitated by one thing or another. He should probably find Frodo, lest he think he's been deserted to be the meal for the wraith.

"But I should recover quickly enough, I think. Duties are rather difficult to carry out when.. bedridden." The last word falters slightly, comes out more softly and with lowered eyes. But only for a moment. Then he looks up again, brightens, and leans forward a slight bow. He knows it isn't customary in these times. He doesn't care. It's a little bit of something from home, and he won't be letting it go.

"Good luck, then, Master Kirk. May this all proceed without trouble."

He doesn't miss it, though Jim can't quite decipher what the suddenly demure reaction is for. He's not an expert on the other man's race, or on his literature, but he can glean that it might be the nature of the topic.

Still, Jim's smile breaks across his face like a sunrise, despite himself. He's used to the formalities from the people on board, especially those from a time more archaeic than his own. But it's not every day you have an elf bow to you. He returns the gesture with a bow of his head.

"Take it easy, Legolas."