[Insatiable Verse - Trapped]

[nyota_uhura24]

[ooc note to tbg folk: Please ignore, this is a separate verse! In case you're wondering, this is the verse in which Uhura and Kirk have lots of sex and pretend that's all it is. Until things get awkward

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[owns_the_chair]

She doesn't ask about the scar, and his esteem of her rises further. Yet, she seems to understand the message he was trying to communicate to her. He wants to tell her so many things, wants to say I'll be here, I'll be your strength, I'll keep you safe and chase your demons away, but he doesn't know how to put all that into words. Doesn't know how to let himself say those things.

It makes him feel slightly guilty that she can place so much trust in him and that he's so incapable of returning it in more that scattered glimpses and covert hints. Still, it's more than he shows most people and that has to count for something. He's never been one to do anything halfheartedly, though, he doesn't know how to. It's always been all or nothing with him.

He gently eases her off him, lays her down next to him and kisses the tips of her fingers, holding her first one up to his lips in a silent request for her not to speak. Not yet. He slips out of his underwear and lies down beside her, letting her look for a moment before he takes her hand again.

"Am I weak, Nyota? Do the nightmares lessen your esteem of me, do the pain and the fear make you respect me less?" he asks quietly and traces a small white line on his chest, then another on his lip from where he's split it too many times for the dermal to really fix it. It's like a morbid mapping of his body, of the hurts he's suffered through the years, and he doesn't tell her how he got them, just lets her know they're there.

He swallows thickly and quickly suppresses the slight tremble of his hand when he slides her fingers over first his neck, and then moves it lower. His grip on her hand tightens when her fingers hover over his lower back, and there's a second where he's too caught up in forcing back memories of a scream (his own), a vile stench (not his own) and the horrible pain of hunger being replaced by another and much worse pain. A strong shudder runs through him, and it's only when he realizes his grip on her hand must be painfully tight that he abruptly drops it, flinching a little when it lands on his ass. He shouldn't have done this, he thinks frantically, shouldn't even have hinted at this, because not even Bones knows about this one, no one does, it's only a memory in his head, an old memory and no one but himself knows. And there... There's the panic, creeping thickly up his spine and wrapping around his larynx.

He jerks away, sliding off the bed with a muttered "Sorry" and takes a few steps towards the bathroom.

[nyota_uhura24]

There was a time when she was afraid to trust him, but as she gradually shows him the parts of herself that aren't strong and brave, as she shows him the parts of herself that are weak and afraid and strange and hopeful and childish, he proves time and time again that he's more than worthy of her trust. She isn't sure if she wants to say anything else right now, but the fact that she's considering it, the fact that some part of her wants to share memories she's never shared with anyone outside her family, is a marvel to her.

She wants him to trust her the same way, but she doesn't want to ask for anything he can't give. He eases her onto the bed and takes her hand, kissing her fingers and asking for her silence. Her eyes do stray downwards for a moment once he's totally unclothed, but then her eyes return to his and stay there.

His words shock her, and it's probably evident on her face. How could his pain ever make her think less of him? And then it strikes her that she was afraid of the same thing, and her heart constricts with empathy. She stays silent, as he asked her to, and lets him guide her hand to his chest, to his lips. The pain of his past is written into his skin, and she's struck with the irrational desire to kiss the scars better, to write more words of affection and praise with her fingertips. She caresses the scars with her fingers but keeps her eyes on his.

His fingers tremble slightly as he guides them over his neck and back, but more than his skin or the trembling of his hand, his eyes tell her how much pain is behind the scars. Something horrible happened to him, too horrible to put into words, and it feels like something is squeezing her heart as he shudders and grips her fingers so tightly it hurts. He abruptly drops her hand, flinches when it drops against him, and then jerks away from her.

She's shell-shocked for just a moment, and then she's instantly out of the bed and in front of him, throwing her arms around him and holding him tight. “You don't have to tell me. It's all right. Don't tell me what you're not ready to tell me.” She doesn't want him to feel that letting her in a little means he has to reveal everything to her.

She pulls back enough that she can look into his eyes; he asked her a question, and she intends to answer it. “I could never think you were weak, Jim. I could never condemn you for your fear... Especially after what you saw today. We all have fragile places in our hearts. No one who's been through all you've been through and come out on top could ever be considered weak.” One hand moves to lie against his chest so that she can feel the heartbeat that kept her grounded. “And we're talking about the man who I've seen face down enemies who would have cowed other men, the man whose strength held me steady through my terror. I just wish there hadn't been so many times in your life when you had to prove just how strong you really are.” She has no idea if these are the words he needs to hear, but she isn't going to press him, and she isn't going to think less of him. She hugs him tightly again, hoping she can give him a little strength as he always does for her.

[owns_the_chair]

When she bolts off the bed, there's a split second where he almost, almost, acts on the instinct to raise his hand and fight her off. But then she trows her arms around hum, hugs him so tightly he can almost convince himself that her grip on him is the reason every breath sticks in his throat and tries to claw its way up and out. He's frozen in her arms, has to keep himself rigidly still so he won't either fight her off her crumble to the floor. She doesn't have to tell him it's okay not to explain, he wouldn't even if she asked him to. Still, he can somewhat appreciate the sentiment.

When she pulls back to look in his eyes, he can barely bring himself to look into hers, knowing he'll see shock, horror and disgust in them. So he fixes his gaze on the bridge of her nose, pretending to look back. Her words sound like strength, like trust and affection, like acceptance, and maybe a little bit like understanding. But there's no way she could ever understand. No way anyone can ever understand. She speaks of the enemies he's conquered without fear, and he doesn't correct her. Doesn't say that a good part of his fearlessness is because he's relatively sure no one can do worse to him than what's already been done, and if people do it again, well... He's already proven to himself he can survive it and move on.

Her words end on a slightly pitying note and she hugs him again. And for a split second he lets himself lean into the embrace. Lets himself absorb just enough strength to straighten his spine again. He pulls back a little and scratches his chin, just to do something, to move a little. To stop the fear from paralyzing his muscles. It's how it goes, it's over quicker if he keeps moving.

"I uhh-- I think I'm gonna go take a shower. I'll be back in a bit, so..." He doesn't verbalize the underlying request. Please stay. He can't. Can't depend on others like that. He gives her hand a comforting little squeeze and walks calmly to the bathroom, already tasting the bile in his mouth. It's how it goes, how it always goes. He'll lock the door behind him, spend ten minutes puking up his stomach lining, then more minutes taking the hottest shower he can stand, he's not going to scrub himself raw, he stopped doing that years ago, and then he's going to go back to bed and forget all over again.

[nyota_uhura24]

He's frozen in her arms, and she can feel her heart breaking because he's in so much pain and she wants so badly to help. It's frighteningly familiar to see him retreat into himself and hide his pain away. She's seen him do this before, just as she's seen others do this, and as always it hurts to feel so useless. He doesn't quite meet her eyes, and she can't blame him. She's stumbled on a landmine, but she can't stop the words tumbling out of her mouth. She needs him to know that she doesn't think any less of him. She doesn't want to lose him now that they're finally learning to trust each other.

Part of her thinks she should let go, but she can't help hugging him once more, and for just a moment he seems to lean into her, and then he's pulling away again. She doesn't want to let him go, but she can't press. Not with this. His unspoken request is easy enough to hear, and she squeezes his hand back. “I'll be right here,” she promises.

She releases her hold on him and steps away, letting him slip past her into the bathroom. For a moment she's frozen in place, a little overwhelmed by the emotional roller-coaster they've been through, but she manages to catch hold of herself enough to walk back to the bed and sit down on the edge of it. It's hard to believe that this morning they were barely speaking to each other, that this afternoon he held her as she shook uncontrollably, that this evening he showed her his scars and let her get so close to something in his past. She can't blame him for running away, not after what she saw in his eyes.

Her thoughts are interrupted by the sounds coming from the bathroom, and her heart leaps into her throat. Jim... She blinks back the tears in her eyes and vows that he won't see the part of her heart that breaks for him. She's just going to be here. He needs someone to be here. As she tries not to listen to him throwing up and then turning on the shower, she vows to herself that she's going to be there when he needs her. Always. She doesn't know exactly what's going on between them, but it doesn't matter. He's promised to always be there for her, and she silently promises to do the same.

[owns_the_chair]

He steps out of the shower and slowly dries off, not pausing to think much about this. His movements are slow and methodical, and he brushes his teeth thoroughly before he puts his towel back on its hook. There's only a brief pause, a seconds hesitation in which he takes a deep breath, before he opens the door.

He stands proud and tall when he exits the bathroom, defiantly resisting the urge to put the towel back on or cover himself up. He's comfortable with his body, he's not going to let anyone, past, present or future dictate how he does things, how he carries himself.

He meets her eyes where she sits on the bed, and he doesn't quite smile at her, just walks over and gets in the bed, taking her hand to pull her down into his arms, and bury his nose in her hair. The scent that's so very her suffuses his senses and he lets it, lets his mind drift back, not to the turbolift, but to the other times. Lets himself imagine the slow sex he's going to have with her later and focuses on that. Lets the images replace the terrible memories.

He doesn't speak, doesn't want her to hear how rough his voice must be, how used and torn open his throat feels. She's a linguist, she'll hear everything in his voice if he speaks and he doesn't want her to. Doesn't want to speak the only words that are on his tongue, words that should be screamed, words he'll remember screaming if he speaks, words he'll remember leaving him altogether, replaced by pained sounds and then nothing at all because he forgets how to breathe.

So he presses a kiss to her temple instead, trying to tell her thanks for staying.

[nyota_uhura24]

When he walks out of the bathroom, his composure is back in place. She's a little sad at the slightly increased distance, but she can't begrudge him his shields now. He meets her eyes but doesn't quite smile. She smiles anyway, the curve of her lips slight but genuine, and lets him pull her into his arms, sighing softly as he buries his face in her hair. He's silent, and she recalls what he told her in the turbolift about fighting back the bad memories with happy ones Nothing can erase his scars, but she can at least give him more ammunition to combat them.

She adjusts her body to mold against his and nuzzles his shoulder a little, settling comfortably in his arms. Of course she won't mention what just happened, and she isn't going to try to offer comfort for something he probably wants to just forget. Instead she's just going to be here and express her affection with gentle caresses and a few softly mumbled words in Andorian. “I missed you.”

He kisses her temple, and she lightly kisses whatever skin she can reach, hand gently stroking his arm. What he's been through can't change the fact that she feels safe in his arms. The memories that scare her are safely tucked away in the back of her mind where she doesn't have to feel them. Right now the only thing she wants to feel is him wrapped around her.