Nero took a hard breath--the air coalesced inside him, solid and immovable. It refused to be expelled as his lungs beat against the interior of his ribs. His jaw locked, teeth grinding down as though they were clenched around the hevam's juggular. Fingers twisted and bit into the flesh of his palms, dull physical pain that compounded as his lungs and throat burned with fury.
This kllhe, this little insignificant creature, questioned his honor? Thought he hadn't tried? It sounded so simple--so easy. As if celestial physics were the same as breaking his bones. As if Nero could will red-matter into the event horizon of Hobus. Even in their home, so much brighter, newer, keener than now--even the Thaessu minds could not manage it.
His vision bled black, swirling away the color light and sending him back into his skull. He drew a hitch of air through his nose, tight and sharp, and his chest rattled soundlessly with his fury. He teeth slid, rending Kirk's flesh, and his lips slid back across them.
No.
"I don't think you understand, hevam," Nero hissed, his voice laced and hard as it had been once. Some thread of D'Spal sank through him, military and hard, poisonous and hateful. It wound through his voice as clearly as his ship. It gave him a sickening propriety and his stomach rolled. "Your death will be revenge." Nero's head jerked slightly toward the table. "His death, Spock's death.
"When I melt your homeworld, send her scattering apart to the solar winds," Nero's voice fell into the low seduction of a promise, "that will be what saves Romulus."
A breath pressed thick through his teeth, gritted together to keep them from chattering as his mind processed the pain. No Bones here to help him, no promise of even help coming. The longer this took, the faster the sedative burned away, the more clearly he could think.
They would have no way of knowing who it was that had taken him and George. No way of knowing another terrible figure had risen from death like Lazarus hell bent on revenge. The mirror people could have done it. They could have vanished into another universe like people appearing here.
Help might never come. He had to hang on, to wait for a slip up, and kill Nero again to be able to live through this. He was sure of that.
"Nothing... left in your head but... madness." Kirk growled out, staring at Nero. "Just... an animal."
The word appeared before him, low, threatening, and disturbingly honest. It evanesced into the light, fading into curling fuchsia and the light sound of the breeze off Ra'tleihfi. The echo faded and left him alone, with pain cloying at his limbs and the pulling numbness of the past beating down against his neck.
"Does that comfort you?" Nero's voice is low, even, rolling like thick liquid over metal. He doesn't need to turn to Ayel, or to Kirk, and his fists clench tighter at his sides. He can feel the welts, damp and symmetrical. "Koemae. Stev."
He hadn't always hunted the screams lurking under hevam flesh. But this one had a real talent for making it enjoyable. Ayel covered Kirk with his back as he leaned in. Had to keep Kirk alive despite himself.
If not, they would never get the codes. Spock would be lost to them, to Nero. Narada--their beautiful, hungry ship--would never get to taste the Enterprise. And Ayel would never get home.
He'd wanted to tell Nero, in his own time and way, in a moment when the captain was here with him. Maybe when they were close. He could have brought it up gently, a little at a time, until home and past-home seemed almost alike.
Couldn't do that now. Kirk had done it for him, and this was the result.
Pain sparked at him as he threaded his hand in Kirk's, and when he bent it flat again, to get at the pointer finger, it was so sharp that he gasped.
...Oh.
Oh, Fire and Water, it couldn't be. Not Air's curse, not here, not now. The Thaessu called it a gift, but they were fools. It was no gift to undo his mind by making him share another's.
Or perhaps it was.
In terms of mnei'sahe, sharing Kirk's pain would lessen any cruelty he did the man. That must be the reason--Air, clarity, the exchange of ideas. The retribution of ideas.
"Stop," he growled, "stop trying him..." Gods! His own touch was like hot shards of glass. He pried Kirk's finger vertical, teeth clenched. "James." Low, soft as he could make it. "James. I don't need much. What is the starting number?"
His eyes watered as he pressed down hard.
(mnei'sahe - honor; hevam - human; thaessu - Vulcans; plus a general mangling of Rihanh religion.)
The sound couldn't be held back. The cry bubbled out of Kirk's throat and gargled on his tongue, messy and pained. His whole body shuddered with it, three fingers bent at unnatural angles as the other hand clenched into a tight fist. They were going to destroy his hands. Fuck it hurt it hurt, his eyes squeezing shut as he just tried to catch his breath from the pain knocking it out of him.
His breathing was fast, a panting, like he had run a mile. His eyes very slowly opened and lifted to stare at Ayel. "C...Could you..." His teeth were chattering, but he ignored it, gaze glazed and hot. "Ever b-betray him?" A jerk of his eyes only towards Nero.
His arm was shaking, all the way to the shoulder, and it wouldn't stop. The pain was incredible.
He'd wanted that sound so badly, that low strangled gargle of suffering, but it tasted bitter. And he dared not let go. Not now. Not with Kirk asking him that.
Dhat, patned pra krsh, arhem hwiua kinaen...Heis'he--wrong place, wrong time for that thought. He pushed it away; it could be dangerous for all of them. The Standard was easier to get through his teeth: "I can't. I won't."
He shuddered and turned his head, his throat raw from an outcry that wasn't his. "He'll tell us nothing, rekkhai. Yet."
(Dhat, patned pra krsh, arhem hwiua kinaen...Heis'he - No, never, I took [an] oath [to] my love; rekkhai - sir.)
"...As much as... you can't betray him... can't.. betray my crew." Kirk stared at Ayel, their eyes locked together. Why did Ayel sound like he was in pain, like this was hurting him just as much? The thoughts just would not come together enough to give him a logical conclusion to come.
George stirred at the noise around him, still mumbling his name rank and serial number as he came concious. He felt a little less like a horde of bees was swarming under his skin, but the cuts almost hurt worse now.
Nero's eyes narrowed in the darkness, the light was too hot and this room refused to smell like the breeze. He took a long breath and craned his neck. He could not see Kirk through Ayel's shoulder, through the flinch in his voice. His vision drifted across the lines in the light and landed on the half-present George.
The hate in his stomach coiled, twisted into his hands, and something in his mind recognized the danger of it. Something sweet and copper pulled him back by his neck. His expression slackened and the set of his shoulders became solid.
"Ihllu." He turned halfway to Ayel. His motion came to a slow halt and he reached out to the crate they'd adopted as a table. His knife glinted at him, tempted him, but he passed it over and removed a vial of the sedative and the Klivam medical spray. The empty vial clattered to the ground with a distant crack as he cast it aside. The new container breached with a hiss and he stared at the black slurry, shifting in the light like liquid space.
It reminded him too much of D'Spal, of the new color of the Narada. How could Kirk understand the past if he only had the now? It didn't matter. Kirk didn't need to understand.
He just needed to break.
His footsteps were heavy, singular as he moved the short distance from the wall to Kirk's side. He did not kneel beside Ayel. He merely craned his head and stared. His hand snapped out, striking like a snake, and gripped Kirk's arm. His bite fastened hard. The spray hissed violently, a choked Klivam sound as it poured through Kirk's skin. Nero was not mindful of doses, half the container emptied itself into the human before he pulled back.
His vision drifted to his shoulder and he listened to George behind him, the stirring of his breath and the light judder of a conscious man. He considered injecting him as well, but no.
He had rested too long.
"T'lhoi partrai seijea," he said flatly and cast the medical spray aside. It skittered through the light and stopped against a crate beside the door. "They will be more amenable when we return."
Bones, I will never complain about your hypoing ever again.
It fucking hurt when Nero jammed that thing into the soft flesh of his arm which had regained more feeling then he wished in that arm. Whatever he had pumped into him felt like ice flowing into his veins. Burning with the cold, and within seconds, stealing away his thoughts.
Fuck, sedative... shit... shit... He needed that ability, to think, to think how to get out of this...
He glared death at Nero, but gave a different look entirely to Ayel. The sedative was making the pain seem very, very far away.
Yes. That was good. He wasn't sure he could finish the hand and keep his calm.
When he let go, his fingers were his own again. He breathed out and looked at the floor, testing them. They were his, and whole, and no one else's. He didn't feel the needle and pretended not to remember the sound of the syringe.
James' gaze slipped across him, broad and blue, wide with some feeling he didn't want to understand, and he turned away.
"Ssuaj-ha." He fell in step just behind and beside Nero.
This kllhe, this little insignificant creature, questioned his honor? Thought he hadn't tried? It sounded so simple--so easy. As if celestial physics were the same as breaking his bones. As if Nero could will red-matter into the event horizon of Hobus. Even in their home, so much brighter, newer, keener than now--even the Thaessu minds could not manage it.
His vision bled black, swirling away the color light and sending him back into his skull. He drew a hitch of air through his nose, tight and sharp, and his chest rattled soundlessly with his fury. He teeth slid, rending Kirk's flesh, and his lips slid back across them.
No.
"I don't think you understand, hevam," Nero hissed, his voice laced and hard as it had been once. Some thread of D'Spal sank through him, military and hard, poisonous and hateful. It wound through his voice as clearly as his ship. It gave him a sickening propriety and his stomach rolled. "Your death will be revenge." Nero's head jerked slightly toward the table. "His death, Spock's death.
"When I melt your homeworld, send her scattering apart to the solar winds," Nero's voice fell into the low seduction of a promise, "that will be what saves Romulus."
(Oops, forgot! Kllhe - Worm. Thaessu - Vulcans.)
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They would have no way of knowing who it was that had taken him and George. No way of knowing another terrible figure had risen from death like Lazarus hell bent on revenge. The mirror people could have done it. They could have vanished into another universe like people appearing here.
Help might never come. He had to hang on, to wait for a slip up, and kill Nero again to be able to live through this. He was sure of that.
"Nothing... left in your head but... madness." Kirk growled out, staring at Nero. "Just... an animal."
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The word appeared before him, low, threatening, and disturbingly honest. It evanesced into the light, fading into curling fuchsia and the light sound of the breeze off Ra'tleihfi. The echo faded and left him alone, with pain cloying at his limbs and the pulling numbness of the past beating down against his neck.
"Does that comfort you?" Nero's voice is low, even, rolling like thick liquid over metal. He doesn't need to turn to Ayel, or to Kirk, and his fists clench tighter at his sides. He can feel the welts, damp and symmetrical. "Koemae. Stev."
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If not, they would never get the codes. Spock would be lost to them, to Nero. Narada--their beautiful, hungry ship--would never get to taste the Enterprise. And Ayel would never get home.
He'd wanted to tell Nero, in his own time and way, in a moment when the captain was here with him. Maybe when they were close. He could have brought it up gently, a little at a time, until home and past-home seemed almost alike.
Couldn't do that now. Kirk had done it for him, and this was the result.
Pain sparked at him as he threaded his hand in Kirk's, and when he bent it flat again, to get at the pointer finger, it was so sharp that he gasped.
...Oh.
Oh, Fire and Water, it couldn't be. Not Air's curse, not here, not now. The Thaessu called it a gift, but they were fools. It was no gift to undo his mind by making him share another's.
Or perhaps it was.
In terms of mnei'sahe, sharing Kirk's pain would lessen any cruelty he did the man. That must be the reason--Air, clarity, the exchange of ideas. The retribution of ideas.
"Stop," he growled, "stop trying him..." Gods! His own touch was like hot shards of glass. He pried Kirk's finger vertical, teeth clenched. "James." Low, soft as he could make it. "James. I don't need much. What is the starting number?"
His eyes watered as he pressed down hard.
(mnei'sahe - honor; hevam - human; thaessu - Vulcans; plus a general mangling of Rihanh religion.)
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His breathing was fast, a panting, like he had run a mile. His eyes very slowly opened and lifted to stare at Ayel. "C...Could you..." His teeth were chattering, but he ignored it, gaze glazed and hot. "Ever b-betray him?" A jerk of his eyes only towards Nero.
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He'd wanted that sound so badly, that low strangled gargle of suffering, but it tasted bitter. And he dared not let go. Not now. Not with Kirk asking him that.
Dhat, patned pra krsh, arhem hwiua kinaen...Heis'he--wrong place, wrong time for that thought. He pushed it away; it could be dangerous for all of them. The Standard was easier to get through his teeth: "I can't. I won't."
He shuddered and turned his head, his throat raw from an outcry that wasn't his. "He'll tell us nothing, rekkhai. Yet."
(Dhat, patned pra krsh, arhem hwiua kinaen...Heis'he - No, never, I took [an] oath [to] my love; rekkhai - sir.)
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The hate in his stomach coiled, twisted into his hands, and something in his mind recognized the danger of it. Something sweet and copper pulled him back by his neck. His expression slackened and the set of his shoulders became solid.
"Ihllu." He turned halfway to Ayel. His motion came to a slow halt and he reached out to the crate they'd adopted as a table. His knife glinted at him, tempted him, but he passed it over and removed a vial of the sedative and the Klivam medical spray. The empty vial clattered to the ground with a distant crack as he cast it aside. The new container breached with a hiss and he stared at the black slurry, shifting in the light like liquid space.
It reminded him too much of D'Spal, of the new color of the Narada. How could Kirk understand the past if he only had the now? It didn't matter. Kirk didn't need to understand.
He just needed to break.
His footsteps were heavy, singular as he moved the short distance from the wall to Kirk's side. He did not kneel beside Ayel. He merely craned his head and stared. His hand snapped out, striking like a snake, and gripped Kirk's arm. His bite fastened hard. The spray hissed violently, a choked Klivam sound as it poured through Kirk's skin. Nero was not mindful of doses, half the container emptied itself into the human before he pulled back.
His vision drifted to his shoulder and he listened to George behind him, the stirring of his breath and the light judder of a conscious man. He considered injecting him as well, but no.
He had rested too long.
"T'lhoi partrai seijea," he said flatly and cast the medical spray aside. It skittered through the light and stopped against a crate beside the door. "They will be more amenable when we return."
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It fucking hurt when Nero jammed that thing into the soft flesh of his arm which had regained more feeling then he wished in that arm. Whatever he had pumped into him felt like ice flowing into his veins. Burning with the cold, and within seconds, stealing away his thoughts.
Fuck, sedative... shit... shit... He needed that ability, to think, to think how to get out of this...
He glared death at Nero, but gave a different look entirely to Ayel. The sedative was making the pain seem very, very far away.
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Yes. That was good. He wasn't sure he could finish the hand and keep his calm.
When he let go, his fingers were his own again. He breathed out and looked at the floor, testing them. They were his, and whole, and no one else's. He didn't feel the needle and pretended not to remember the sound of the syringe.
James' gaze slipped across him, broad and blue, wide with some feeling he didn't want to understand, and he turned away.
"Ssuaj-ha." He fell in step just behind and beside Nero.
He was mostly able to breathe again.
(Ihllu - that's enough; that's sufficient; Ssuaj-ha - understood [subordinate-to-superior mode])
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