Lived long enough to become the villain
"Do you?" Jim echoed in a facsimile of curiosity, letting his fingers drift down his counterpart’s face until it was just the tip of his fingers, curled under his chin. Lifted to get a good look at his face, stepping closer. His expression slid into a lukewarm blankness, eyes shadowed again to hide his thoughts. He’d seen the sudden twist of a laugh withheld, but didn’t understand its source.
"In a world where slicing open a child’s face isn’t even something worthy of note, do you understand?"
The truth was, of course, that if things had been different, he could’ve been that man instead. And as much as the thought brought a surface disgust, being the man he was, being in the world he lived, was- draining. Straining. Dreadful, really.
In a world where science and medicine could have them live two-hundred years (medicine moved much faster without the constraints of moral correctness,) the majority of people still died before they reached their fifties, even with enough to go around.
In the depth of him he was a little jealous.
"Do you understand how hard that makes you?"
(( a reply from the time mirrorkirk and jim met ))
