"It's been too long, or perhaps just long enough," Nero added conversationally.
Time was a slippery thing, particularly when one hovers through the dark where time and space commingle. He could feel the gaping passage of it, snaking through the chronometers and his skin. It was like a dream. As he eyed Kirk now, he could see the human's face pressed down against the bay floor of the Narada, could feel his hands wrapped around that throat and the taste of crimson victory. Why hadn't he-oh yes. He heard it as clearly as Kirk's voice.
Spock.
Nero leaned close, twisting his head and letting the blaring lights overhead pierce the wall of shadow he created. His smile was sharp, but the wide Hevam eyes couldn't see him...unless they could. His smile fell to an even slant of lip and grit of teeth.
“I was speaking with George,” Nero began slowly. “And he was...less than helpful..” He motioned blithely over his shoulder at Ayel and heard as he set the container of coolant-thinner on the floor. Nero made a nondescript hand motion and Ayel interpreted it-Ayel could think when he could not, knew his thoughts before he did, and it was of use when the air was so thick and his fingers tensed in anticipation.
“Before I ask him again,” Nero continued, “perhaps you will tell me.” He leaned in, his head much farther from this human than the other. Kirk was swimming, floating on air, and Nero could see it. But even men drowning in reality could strike. Nero's voice dropped down, cold and hard, pulled straight from the base of his stomach, “The console code to the Enterprise.”
The voice was surprisingly smooth, almost without accent, clean and almost good to listen to. Another situation, almost place, might have led to such different circumstances then what had happened that had not only changed Nero's entire life but had forged this universe.
But that was then, this was now. Now was everything that wasn't wanted, everything that had gone horribly wrong.
It took a moment of working his throat to be able to growl out more then the single word, "Never good..." Had to talk, had to keep Nero from going back to his father. Fuck, what had they pumped him full of? "Never good to see one's work undone." He lifted his head, glaring to where he thought Nero's black eyes were in the shadows covering the other's face.
“No...it isn't.” The human is staring somewhere over his shoulder. His eyes weaving slow, inconsequential patterns, following the ebb and flow of the Klivam heat soaking in the walls. Nero's eyes narrowed as his focus tightened-Kirk didn't know he was watching the air, he couldn't see.
“Which is why I need the console code.” He was not a man who relished repeating himself, and his voice was edged in glass. “Unlike you Starfleet Hevam, I finish what I start.
Bastard... It was so difficult to focus, to bring two thoughts together. "...Finished you. Not... my fault the universe decided... you would need to die a second time." Kirk got out slowly but his voice stayed strong, muscles bulging slightly against the cords that held him up. His hands and arms had long lost feeling.
He wasn't even going to mention any sort of code. He wasn't going to tell them anything. Not only because he wouldn't as a Captain of the Federation... but because he had someone he had to live up to. Another man that had survived Nero's torture.
...what happened? How did I even get here? Can remember... can remember... an emergency... sickbay... Only drifts, flickers of imagery passed in his mind, as if they were having trouble getting past some barrier that should never be there.
Nero didn't fight the smile that threatened to unhinge his jaw, encouraged him to devour the human whole. Some of the Narada pulsed in him, quiet and thrumming. Perhaps it was the walls, sliding in, bearing down against the light and silence. The space between him and Kirk was sharper, cleaner. There was a perverse intimacy here, as Kirk was forced to think alongside him, to share words wrapped in fuchsia and seething hate.
“Rhuissa,” the word is almost tender, a tepid mixture of warmth and icy cold, creeping up from his throat. His hands reach and settle, sharply, against Kirk's head, pulling it up and forcing his eyes into direct light. He had been hoping, and his luck had held-Kirk was not willing to submit so easily. His fingers ground against the sides of the man's head, the pulsing surge of his meandering thought was like a juddering heartbeat beneath his skull.
“You killed my crew,” Nero explains softly. “It was Eihva's birthing day today, she had shift off. She survived the prisons, she was strong.” His grip shifts to the human's chin, forcing his head up and locking around his jaw. His spare hand, heavy as lead, dropped on Kirk's shoulder and slid along his right arm.
The tight wire and cool flesh beneath his hand brought a smile to his lips. Ayel was there, behind him, and supplied him his knife as he held out his open palm. The weight of the blade was bright, and he slashed the line, freeing Kirk's limp hand from the crate at his back. He passed the knife back and gripped the limp limb, bringing it between them to study it.
The arm fell limp and cold between them, making Kirk's body sag very slightly forward and to the side but held up by the rest of the wire biting into his stomach, legs, feet, and what would be incredibly painful on his left arm if he could feel it. He had little choice but to stare up at Nero's face, marking the tattoos that framed Nero's expression, those penetrating eyes. He wondered if his own were as fuzzy as his mind felt. Full of fur, yea, something like that...
...crew... did Nero actually give a shit about his crew? Prisons... what did that fucking mean? Good, they were dead. How many were alive now?
"...the code..." His voice drops, barely a whisper even for a Romulan's sensitive hearing. Kirk mutters something too quite to hear, his eyes dropping lower, to Nero's mouth.
Nero watched him, kept a keen eye as the breath slid between Kirk's teeth, inflating him halfway like an oxygen balloon. The exhalation is less words than air, but Nero can taste them. Clear and clean, formed around a thick tongue that doesn't speak the words of the world. His eyes widened slightly, his grip on the limp arm tighter as he moves it away, lowers it into the space between them.
"Again." The command was sharp as he leaned in, very nearly leaning his right ear against Kirk's forehead. The hand on his chin directs him up, tight grip encouraging him to speak.
The drugs were not nearly strong enough to stop him from knowing this wasn't going to be a good idea. They were plenty strong enough for him not to give a shit. "...the code... is..."
His eyes lifted. Right in front of him. A new idea bloomed immediately, almost enough to make him laugh.
"...is... fuck. you."
And Kirk shifted just enough to bite down as hard as he could on the thick flesh of one already damaged Romulan ear. He held on like a dog, even growled.
The pain drove all thought from his mind, a spike of absolute white-hot clarity puncturing his temple. Kirk's words drove past him, the light was gone, and he gaped blankly. His throat was raw and open, his teeth gritted tight and painful, as he came back to himself.
He seethed, wordlessly, and dropped the limb to strike at the side of Kirk's head. The jolt flared pain across his senses and, to his credit, Kirk remained unmoved. Nero fisted his hand in the human's hair, digging his fingers into the meat of his jaw like talons, and forced his teeth to part.
Nero pulled himself free with a deep hissing growl and surged forward, snapping all his tension into one rippling motion. Kirk's head struck the crate behind him with an audible crack and, as Nero's eyes focused on the human, he scowled. He released the creature abruptly and stood, pacing back toward the wall, his ear leaking warmth in a steady stream.
"Emael wanarae thlhem ch'gemaen," his voice was cold, pragmatic, and his hands clutched reflexively at his side as the darkness beyond the lights swallowed him. He couldn't see Ayel, couldn't see anything but Kirk's neck in his hands.
That wouldn't do.
(Emael wanarae thlhem ch'gemaen. - Do not damage his brain.)
The taste of copper filled his mouth and his mind, choking and thick on his tongue. It was stronger then human blood, which due to his own bullheaded stubborn nature he had tasted his own plenty of times in the past. It tasted so very green in all of the wrong ways, unnatural and wrong and alien. The feeling of flesh between his teeth was far from unknown as well, even in remotely similar circumstances. Flesh, it seemed, was pretty universal. Thick and stagnant, like biting into raw meat, little give under his dull human teeth.
Then the moment shattered completely. A dull hissing filled his ears like the static of TVs that no longer existed in this century and pain flared bright-hot in his jaw as Nero forced his jaws apart to save his ear. Kirk hung on determinedly to the last second, even managing the smallest jerk of his head like a dog worrying a toy. He would keep them from focusing on his father, step number one. It was about the most he could think ahead.
All thoughts vanished completely as his head slammed backwards, white heat complete with spots of blue searing them away. Combat training had once taught him that seeing blue spots when your head was hit meant that your brain had hit the back of your skull, meaning a possible concussion. Such knowledge was denied since thoughts could not get past the combination of pain and drugs to inform him of anything at all.
Certainly he could not translate the language he could hear only a smattering of beyond the hissing, so it was ignored for now. All that filled him was a certain sense of triumph. A rude, strange emotion in the midst of what was happening, his current stance and place, but it sang true as the single conscious thought he was having.
So he grinned, bright and stupid, a mask Bones and thousands and thousands had seen in the past. Play the horny, handsome, stupid one and people let you under their skin over and over. There was no conscious thought in that grin because there didn't need to be.
His eyes closed and he hung. Waiting, unable for the moment to consider the future of consequences.
The one named George was out cold behind them, and Nero beside him was flashing through emotions one after the other, hate despair joy calculation in breathless succession, hands tight on Kirk's throat. And James Kirk, what was the middle name--a strong sound, but he forgot its taste--James Kirk, eyes shut against the pain, was smiling up at them bright as summer.
I'm the only lucid one here. Shrill laughter prickled at the base of his tongue, panic that wanted a voice. He swallowed it.
Kirk's even white teeth were threaded green.
The last of his calm gave in a hot rush. Not the head, can't hit him in the head, orders--a hard flat blow to the ribs worked just as well. Nothing strong, but enough to have the wind out of him. Wipe that grin off his face.
He'd fallen for it before. Once. His mistake. Not this time.
"Don't..." The Standard for it snarled out between his teeth. "Don't fucking smile."
Another white-blossom of pain, this time at his ribs. It did exactly what Ayel wanted and his grin fell from his lips, air expelled in a rush of sound. Even more spots danced behind his eyelids, making concentration even harder then the moments before. Despite it, Kirk slowly picked up his head and dragged his tongue across the ragged-smooth edges of teeth, tasting green all over again.
His head lifted, defiant despite the pain, and stared at Ayel. It took several moments longer than he ever wanted it to to actually figure out that he knew that face staring at him. A face that might have been handsome if it wasn't plastered to the skull of a Romulan he wanted to kill all over again and it wasn't twisted in pure hatred. So, maybe it wasn't such a surprise when a breathless laugh made his lips part and stop the heaves of the chest in gulping air that made him dizzy. Someone else I killed, back from the dead. How fucking magical.
Kirk was looking right at him, the smile gone, only pain and furious defiance in those big, blue eyes.
Good. Much better.
When pale, white-pink lips opened in a gasp, when hitching laughter stuttered out between them, Ayel felt almost like laughing along with him. Anger and warmth pulled over his skin, drawing his tattoos close. He felt them ripple, sliding, uncoiling along his arm as he stepped forward and gripped Kirk's shoulder.
The lack of reaction--just a sharp puff of breath through gritted teeth--told Ayel the limb was still mostly numb, that Kirk wasn't quite feeling it even as he clawed inward. The muscles there twitched and tried to slide away from his touch, grinding on the bone beneath.
It was not nearly enough.
Ayel caught Kirk's hand and pulled it close, turned it palm-up for examination and threaded his own fingers through the human's as he forced the wrist backward, pushing Kirk's fingers out straight. While humans lacked the same appreciation for touch, they still felt intense sensation through their hands.
Fractures here should be excruciating.
"Codes," Ayel murmured, watching him. He knew he wasn't going to get them.
So it seemed Romulans were as warm as Vulcans. Kirk could only vaguely remember that, remember hands locked around his throat, burning hot and stealing his breath away. He turned his head, just enough to stare at their interlaced hands, staring at his bent-back wrist.
It should have hurt more then it did.
He had a feeling that wasn't going to be a problem in a moment.
Words spilled from his mouth without any connection to his brain, "So, does Ugly over there... even use lube before he fucks ya? Or does he do it dry?"
His mouth fell open. He heard his jaw click, heard it snap shut on a snarl. He clenched tighter and realized he was seeing green.
"You," he growled, and it was all he could say for a moment. Something was wrong with Kirk's hand, or with his grip. His mouth was dry, suddenly.
The outermost finger, the smallest one. It was reed-thin and delicate and it twitched, just slightly, when he stroked it, hooking over it with his own.
Ayel twisted down hard and it gave with a crackle.
"You'll find out," he promised through grit teeth.
Words died and choked in Kirk's throat at the pain. His fingers twitched violently in the heavy grasp and he bit back a cry of pain literally. His teeth dug hard into the soft flesh of his lower lip, eyes squeezing shut. He wouldn't give this fucker the satisfaction of hearing him scream.
After several moments, shaking very slightly, his head lifted. The defiance was still there, dark and burning. Not going to give in. One very solid thought in a very not solid world.
Time was a slippery thing, particularly when one hovers through the dark where time and space commingle. He could feel the gaping passage of it, snaking through the chronometers and his skin. It was like a dream. As he eyed Kirk now, he could see the human's face pressed down against the bay floor of the Narada, could feel his hands wrapped around that throat and the taste of crimson victory. Why hadn't he-oh yes. He heard it as clearly as Kirk's voice.
Spock.
Nero leaned close, twisting his head and letting the blaring lights overhead pierce the wall of shadow he created. His smile was sharp, but the wide Hevam eyes couldn't see him...unless they could. His smile fell to an even slant of lip and grit of teeth.
“I was speaking with George,” Nero began slowly. “And he was...less than helpful..” He motioned blithely over his shoulder at Ayel and heard as he set the container of coolant-thinner on the floor. Nero made a nondescript hand motion and Ayel interpreted it-Ayel could think when he could not, knew his thoughts before he did, and it was of use when the air was so thick and his fingers tensed in anticipation.
“Before I ask him again,” Nero continued, “perhaps you will tell me.” He leaned in, his head much farther from this human than the other. Kirk was swimming, floating on air, and Nero could see it. But even men drowning in reality could strike. Nero's voice dropped down, cold and hard, pulled straight from the base of his stomach, “The console code to the Enterprise.”
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But that was then, this was now. Now was everything that wasn't wanted, everything that had gone horribly wrong.
It took a moment of working his throat to be able to growl out more then the single word, "Never good..." Had to talk, had to keep Nero from going back to his father. Fuck, what had they pumped him full of? "Never good to see one's work undone." He lifted his head, glaring to where he thought Nero's black eyes were in the shadows covering the other's face.
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“Which is why I need the console code.” He was not a man who relished repeating himself, and his voice was edged in glass. “Unlike you Starfleet Hevam, I finish what I start.
"Give it to me."
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He wasn't even going to mention any sort of code. He wasn't going to tell them anything. Not only because he wouldn't as a Captain of the Federation... but because he had someone he had to live up to. Another man that had survived Nero's torture.
...what happened? How did I even get here? Can remember... can remember... an emergency... sickbay... Only drifts, flickers of imagery passed in his mind, as if they were having trouble getting past some barrier that should never be there.
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“Rhuissa,” the word is almost tender, a tepid mixture of warmth and icy cold, creeping up from his throat. His hands reach and settle, sharply, against Kirk's head, pulling it up and forcing his eyes into direct light. He had been hoping, and his luck had held-Kirk was not willing to submit so easily. His fingers ground against the sides of the man's head, the pulsing surge of his meandering thought was like a juddering heartbeat beneath his skull.
“You killed my crew,” Nero explains softly. “It was Eihva's birthing day today, she had shift off. She survived the prisons, she was strong.” His grip shifts to the human's chin, forcing his head up and locking around his jaw. His spare hand, heavy as lead, dropped on Kirk's shoulder and slid along his right arm.
The tight wire and cool flesh beneath his hand brought a smile to his lips. Ayel was there, behind him, and supplied him his knife as he held out his open palm. The weight of the blade was bright, and he slashed the line, freeing Kirk's limp hand from the crate at his back. He passed the knife back and gripped the limp limb, bringing it between them to study it.
“The code?”
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...crew... did Nero actually give a shit about his crew? Prisons... what did that fucking mean? Good, they were dead. How many were alive now?
"...the code..." His voice drops, barely a whisper even for a Romulan's sensitive hearing. Kirk mutters something too quite to hear, his eyes dropping lower, to Nero's mouth.
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"Again." The command was sharp as he leaned in, very nearly leaning his right ear against Kirk's forehead. The hand on his chin directs him up, tight grip encouraging him to speak.
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His eyes lifted. Right in front of him. A new idea bloomed immediately, almost enough to make him laugh.
"...is... fuck. you."
And Kirk shifted just enough to bite down as hard as he could on the thick flesh of one already damaged Romulan ear. He held on like a dog, even growled.
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He seethed, wordlessly, and dropped the limb to strike at the side of Kirk's head. The jolt flared pain across his senses and, to his credit, Kirk remained unmoved. Nero fisted his hand in the human's hair, digging his fingers into the meat of his jaw like talons, and forced his teeth to part.
Nero pulled himself free with a deep hissing growl and surged forward, snapping all his tension into one rippling motion. Kirk's head struck the crate behind him with an audible crack and, as Nero's eyes focused on the human, he scowled. He released the creature abruptly and stood, pacing back toward the wall, his ear leaking warmth in a steady stream.
"Emael wanarae thlhem ch'gemaen," his voice was cold, pragmatic, and his hands clutched reflexively at his side as the darkness beyond the lights swallowed him. He couldn't see Ayel, couldn't see anything but Kirk's neck in his hands.
That wouldn't do.
(Emael wanarae thlhem ch'gemaen. - Do not damage his brain.)
Reply
Then the moment shattered completely. A dull hissing filled his ears like the static of TVs that no longer existed in this century and pain flared bright-hot in his jaw as Nero forced his jaws apart to save his ear. Kirk hung on determinedly to the last second, even managing the smallest jerk of his head like a dog worrying a toy. He would keep them from focusing on his father, step number one. It was about the most he could think ahead.
All thoughts vanished completely as his head slammed backwards, white heat complete with spots of blue searing them away. Combat training had once taught him that seeing blue spots when your head was hit meant that your brain had hit the back of your skull, meaning a possible concussion. Such knowledge was denied since thoughts could not get past the combination of pain and drugs to inform him of anything at all.
Certainly he could not translate the language he could hear only a smattering of beyond the hissing, so it was ignored for now. All that filled him was a certain sense of triumph. A rude, strange emotion in the midst of what was happening, his current stance and place, but it sang true as the single conscious thought he was having.
So he grinned, bright and stupid, a mask Bones and thousands and thousands had seen in the past. Play the horny, handsome, stupid one and people let you under their skin over and over. There was no conscious thought in that grin because there didn't need to be.
His eyes closed and he hung. Waiting, unable for the moment to consider the future of consequences.
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I'm the only lucid one here. Shrill laughter prickled at the base of his tongue, panic that wanted a voice. He swallowed it.
Kirk's even white teeth were threaded green.
The last of his calm gave in a hot rush. Not the head, can't hit him in the head, orders--a hard flat blow to the ribs worked just as well. Nothing strong, but enough to have the wind out of him. Wipe that grin off his face.
He'd fallen for it before. Once. His mistake. Not this time.
"Don't..." The Standard for it snarled out between his teeth. "Don't fucking smile."
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His head lifted, defiant despite the pain, and stared at Ayel. It took several moments longer than he ever wanted it to to actually figure out that he knew that face staring at him. A face that might have been handsome if it wasn't plastered to the skull of a Romulan he wanted to kill all over again and it wasn't twisted in pure hatred. So, maybe it wasn't such a surprise when a breathless laugh made his lips part and stop the heaves of the chest in gulping air that made him dizzy. Someone else I killed, back from the dead. How fucking magical.
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Good. Much better.
When pale, white-pink lips opened in a gasp, when hitching laughter stuttered out between them, Ayel felt almost like laughing along with him. Anger and warmth pulled over his skin, drawing his tattoos close. He felt them ripple, sliding, uncoiling along his arm as he stepped forward and gripped Kirk's shoulder.
The lack of reaction--just a sharp puff of breath through gritted teeth--told Ayel the limb was still mostly numb, that Kirk wasn't quite feeling it even as he clawed inward. The muscles there twitched and tried to slide away from his touch, grinding on the bone beneath.
It was not nearly enough.
Ayel caught Kirk's hand and pulled it close, turned it palm-up for examination and threaded his own fingers through the human's as he forced the wrist backward, pushing Kirk's fingers out straight. While humans lacked the same appreciation for touch, they still felt intense sensation through their hands.
Fractures here should be excruciating.
"Codes," Ayel murmured, watching him. He knew he wasn't going to get them.
That made the asking so much better.
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It should have hurt more then it did.
He had a feeling that wasn't going to be a problem in a moment.
Words spilled from his mouth without any connection to his brain, "So, does Ugly over there... even use lube before he fucks ya? Or does he do it dry?"
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"You," he growled, and it was all he could say for a moment. Something was wrong with Kirk's hand, or with his grip. His mouth was dry, suddenly.
The outermost finger, the smallest one. It was reed-thin and delicate and it twitched, just slightly, when he stroked it, hooking over it with his own.
Ayel twisted down hard and it gave with a crackle.
"You'll find out," he promised through grit teeth.
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After several moments, shaking very slightly, his head lifted. The defiance was still there, dark and burning. Not going to give in. One very solid thought in a very not solid world.
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