Good Girls Go To Heaven - Part 5
Fandom: stark trek xi
Characters: McCoy, Joanna, Kirk
Pairing: that would be telling, but be prepared for anything
Rating: NC-17
Warning: child abuse, rape, incestuous themes
Disclaimer: Not my sandbox
Summary: Joanna McCoy has never ever been a good girl. Now her daddy is going to find out.
Author's note: answer to this prompt at st_xi_kink: community.livejournal.com/st_xi_kink/3656.html
Previuos parts here: deepsorskies.livejournal.com/tag/good+girls+go+to+heaven
And by a sleep to say we end the heartache, and the thousand natural shocks that flesh is heir to.
Jo used to wish she could live in that misty, in-between state of not-longer-asleep and not-yet-awake, where all lines go blurry, and that neither nightmares nor reality ooze into. It was the state of mind where she dreamed.
To sleep - perchance to dream. Ay, there’s the rub!
Was she dreaming now? Jo shifted on the soft mattress, eyes closed. Her eyelids were much too heavy, like glued shut they felt, and her brain was fuzzy cotton, like pink cotton candy. God, she hated pink cotton candy. She hoped she wouldn’t drown in it. Death by pink cotton candy, what an end!
To die, to sleep - No more -
Someone was singing, a woman’s voice, that sounded like home and all the things Jo had never had, nor wanted. She couldn’t understand the words, but it was a soft song, like you would sing to babies or tiny kittens. Jo wanted to hate it, but the pink cotton candy in her brain swallowed up all the hate and anger, and made her soft, too. That was most likely why she was leaking, out of her eyes of all places, salty stuff that made you weak and other people cruel.
To die, to sleep - to sleep -
The mattress dipped lightly and Jo’s flight-response wanted to kick in. However, not only her eyelids were made out of lead all of a sudden, but all her other limbs as well. The pink-cotton-candy-brain didn’t help either. Her stupid body merely twitched.
“Shhhhhhh”, said a voice, the same voice that had been singing, and the fucking leaking increased. “You’re safe, Joanna, you’re safe.”
Jo wanted to tell the damn woman that safe was a concept invented as a lie for little children, like Santa Claus, but then, slender, soft-strong, or strong-soft, fingers began to comb through her hair. Good God, had she actually whimpered? Stupid pink cotton candy.
The undiscover’d country, from whose bourn no traveller returns, puzzles the will.
If only she hadn’t been so tired! Why was she so fucking tired? Someone was speaking, someone other than the stupid, soft-strong, singing woman, a man’s voice, deep and calm like an ocean at the bottom of the sea, while a storm was churning up the surface, only the other way round. Jo furrowed her brow. That didn’t make any sense, dammit!
“She is not fully awake”, the ocean said. No shit, genius, Jo thought.
“She’s not sleeping either”, the singing woman answered, and had Joanna not been weighed down by lead and pink cotton candy, she would have rolled her eyes in a truly spectacular fashion. Who the hell were those people? Mr. and Mrs. Obvious? Where the fuck was she anyway?
For in that sleep of death what dreams may come?
“Dad”, someone whimpered, and, holy fuck, it had been her.
“It’s okay, Joanna”, the singing woman soothed, “he will be back soon. Everything’s going to be alright.”
“That is highly unlikely, Nyota”, the ocean interjected, and Jo felt comforted by the fact that he seemed to be a hell of a lot more reasonable than it had first appeared.
“Spock, please. Not now.”
Who were those people?
Soft you now!
Jo remembered strong arms holding her, but nothing much after that. Or did she? Dad, she thought, but at least, this time, she hadn’t said it out loud, let alone whimpered. The odd couple kept droning on in the background, strong singing voice and calm, deep oceanness interweaving effortlessly, but Jo no longer paid attention. Something inside her, that she surely would have known not to trust, had she been more coherent, told her she was in good hands. Slowly, she drifted off again, pink cotton candy transforming into silver mist, folding itself around her, moist and silent.
No, not I! I never gave you aught.
Maybe she dreamed again. Her dad was there, all gentle and strong. She had finally found him. Yes, it had to be a dream. Jo had learned long ago that her dad would never come back to her, after all. Who would ever want to come back to her?
He had his arms slung around her. It was like being embraced by sunshine - not that harsh, bright light of noontime that hurt you when it wanted, but soft evening sun, almost red, but not quite, and infinitely gentle. Jo snuggled into it, wanted to crawl into it, really, and never come out again.
Nymph, in thy orisons be all my sins remembered.
Someone kissed her. Jo had always hated kissing. It was wet and slobbery and only served to pretend things were romantic and pretty when what they really were was pure animalistic drive, and nothing else.
But that kiss was different. It was like being loved.
Believe none of us.
She was leaking again, goddammit. Out of her eyes. Jo struggled into wakefulness, out of the silvery mist, through all the pink cotton candy, right into a dimly lit room, where the silhouette of a slender, graceful woman was bending slightly away from her, sitting beside her, still combing her fingers through her hair.
“Who the fuck are you?” she croaked. The woman turned around to her, and Jo winced. She looked at her like her mother should have all those years ago. Even Jo knew that. It hurt like crazy.
What should such fellows as I do, crawling between earth and heaven?
“I am Nyota Uhura”, the woman stated calmly. She looked like a queen. A motherly queen. Who would rip the balls off of anybody who tried to mess with her. Jo hated her. “I serve with your father on the Enterprise, Joanna. The captain and him asked me to look after you for a while. It’s okay.”
Dad! Fuck! Jo tried to struggle into an upright position. What had she done?
We are arrant knaves all.
“It would be advisable for you to remain in a horizontal position”, the male voice she had somewhat convolutedly compared to the sea declared.
“What?”, Joanna croaked. She felt fucking dizzy. And who the hell talked like that? “Are you Vulkan, or what?”
“Indeed”, uttered the voice, and Joanna rolled her eyes. It hurt her head. Reluctantly, she lay down again.
“Where is my dad?”, she asked blankly. God, why did she have to remember the look in his eyes, after he had pushed her away? Her dad hated her. It was true. It had always been true.
For wise men know well enough what monsters you make of them.
She was crying, and she didn’t want to, not in front of the Queen and her Vulcan, not in front of anybody. Jo McCoy did not cry. Everybody knew that. Fuck it, where had her strength gone?
The Queen hummed quietly and started with the finger-combing again, and Jo broke down completely. She sobbed pathetically, like she hadn’t done since she was six and had been told her dad wouldn’t come to her birthday, and she despised herself for it. But not as much as for clinging desperately to the Queen when the woman wrapped her strong arms around her and started rocking her back and forth, like a baby or someone weak. It was disgusting. But Jo didn’t have any dignity left, did she? She had nothing left.
Whether ‘tis nobler in the mind to suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune or to take arms against a sea of troubles, and by opposing end them.
Her dad hated her.
To die, to sleep - No more - and by a sleep to say we end the heartache.