Fic Lies in Silence Chapter Twenty-One (of 30)
LIES IN SILENCE CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
by SlwMtionDaylite
Disclaimer: Unfortunately, I own nothing. Paramount, et al. own all. I really wish they would let me borrow Spock for a while though.
Rating: MA/NC-17
Genre: Angst, Drama, Erotica, Hurt/Comfort
Characters/Pairing: Spock/Uhura
Word Count (Chapter Twenty-One): 2767
Beta: jlneveloff
Warnings: Language, explicit and non-explicit sexual situations, slight dub!con, rape, violence, minor Fem!slash, torture.
Summary: Alternate Mirror Universe. He wants to protect me; I want that protection, need it, in fact. But I am willing to betray him if and when the time comes. We are not working together. I know my goals. But what are his?
PREVIOUS CHAPTERS
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
The Illusion Within a Severed Reality
The pressure, his presence leaves-the ironclad shackles vanish; I’m alone-and I’m reeling.
A gasp. A scream. A sob.
My eyes are closed, squeezed against the pain. My sobs, my desperate intakes of air fill the room-I’m hyperventilating, I vaguely acknowledge; my chest heaves with the effort-echoes bounce off the metallic walls. I jump away and his fingertips fall from my face. I have to get away from him.
Away. I collapse against a wall. Hands to my face. Try to keep the tears in. Don’t want to cry. Crying hasn’t helped me. It won’t help me.
Enough crying.
So hard.
So bright.
I want to forget. So much pain.
“I apologize, Nyota. Emotional transference is an effect of a mind meld.” So calm. He’s so calm. How?
I want to die.
My hands scratch at the carpet beneath me. My head collides with the wall behind me, the loud thump reverberating through my body.
Is this sorrow, this pain what he feels constantly? Is this what he deals with all the time? I don’t want it.
He’s kneeling in front of me; the robes he’s wearing are opened, further revealing his naked chest. I jump. I didn’t see him move. I didn’t see him approach me.
“I fear it may have been exacerbated by your own traumatic event.” His hands hovers in the air. Is he going to touch me? Why didn’t he? Never stopped before.
I stare at his alabaster skin, so smooth to my touch, like silk. I remember how it felt to have his skin under my hands. I remember how his skin felt beneath my lips. Moving against mine. How could someone so rough, so hard feel so...gentle? I take a breath. A deep breath. I look at him. His face is blurred, my tears won’t stop. Why won’t they stop? I meet his gaze. I struggle through the pain, his pain, my pain.
“You’ve experienced something traumatic recently, have you not? During my absence.”
No. I can’t. I won’t.
I shake my head. Tears fall.
The Commander reaches out and touches my hands, which I hold close to my chest.
I gasp. I jerk away, my hands clenching. My eyes dart around the room. I need to get away from him. Too much. Too much. I push him away-he doesn’t fight me-and I run to the bathroom. I am a coward. I ran. I always run. I always give in.
It's easier.
The lights come on when I enter. And I'm confronted by my reflection in the full-length mirror. I can't escape. I can't hide. I walk to the mirror; I stand in front of it. Broken. That's what I see. A broken girl with broken dreams and a broken life. A girl who thought she could do something so amazing, so wonderful. A girl who thought she could overcome her life's adversities and save everyone from the oppressive Empire.
But that's the problem, isn't it?
No one with any power, with any authority sees the Empire as broken. No one sees it as an issue. It is as it always has been. For years and years. Centuries. Men controlling, men living. Men. It's their world. And the women, the aliens, we are less.
Why fight it?
Who decides what's less? Why are we strapped down to a life like this?
Tears are falling from my eyes and I don’t even bother stopping them. What's the point? He knows I’m crying. I hear him just outside the door. Breathing. Pacing. What does he want with me? Why does he care?
Why did he decide to show me all of that? He’s remained silent during all this time, during all the times he’s taken me into his bed. During all the times I’ve cried in his arms.
I didn't want to know. I didn’t want to see.
I didn’t want any of this. The Commander. Robau. Gaila. Pike. All of it. I just wanted to save the Empire.
I laugh. So uncontrollable. So inappropriate. I laugh. I giggle. I cry.
Save the Empire. Save the Empire from what? What does it need saving from? Itself? Depends on who you talk to, I guess. I’m sure the Commander would say that the Empire needs to be kept safe from the Rebellion. We can’t have the Empire collapsing, shattering. Where would we be left? What would happen if we somehow managed to destroy the foundation of the Empire? Would things change? Or would they simply rebuild it, leaving it the same?
He's outside, directly outside. I feel so attuned to his presence right now. I guess the mind meld is the reason.
He knocks.
I don’t answer.
Laughing, crying, I lean against the mirror, pressing my forehead, my body against the cool surface. I stare at myself. At this stranger in front of me. With dead eyes. With so much sorrow. I just want it to end. I don’t want to live here anymore.
I hate this place. I hate the Commander. I hate his hands on my body. I hate my body's betrayal, its unrelenting yearning for his touch. I hate Robau. He promised me. He promised me so much. And he took it all. He took everything from me.
Took everything from me in a way that the Commander never has.
Who is my enemy? The Commander, who represents the Empire, who supports the Empire? The Vulcan Commander who ordered me to his bed under threat of arrest, of torture? The Vulcan who hurt me and attacked me? The Vulcan who held me when I cried, when I broke? I've been told he's my enemy. But he’s also saved me. Why? But I'm so confused. I'm so lost.
Is it Robau? How can it be him? He saved me. He took me from the streets. He helped me. He gave me a home, a purpose in my life. He brought me to this place, telling me I could be a hero. He broke me. He stole my trust, my dignity. And for what? Why? Why did he do that? Why did he betray me like that? I can't understand it.
I don’t want to be here.
I look at myself in the mirror. This young woman, whose eyes bear into mine...I don’t know her. I can't stop laughing. I can’t stop crying.
I bring my hands up, press them against the smooth surface. My nails-dirty, broken-scrape across the surface. But they're ineffective. They don’t do anything. No marks. No dents. My fists clench.
Does the Commander know how much I've suffered? Does he understand what he does to me every time he touches me, presses his body against mine, slips inside of me? Does he know? Does he know what he did to me when he left? He left me and I was here, alone. Alone with the man I thought I could trust, the man who gave me every reason to trust him, a man who took that trust and shattered it.
I raise my fists and bring them down on the mirror. It rattles. I slam my fists into the mirror again. I want it to break. I want it to shatter. My sobs grow louder.
Then I scream, pressing my forehead against the mirror, staring at myself, my wet dead eyes. I want to feel the mirror shatter under my hands, under my face. I want it shatter into a million pieces and fly everywhere. Make me bleed. Give me something to ignore this pain lingering in my chest, pressing against my heart, suffocating me. Shatter. Fly towards me. Cut me. Slice my face, my eyes.
I’m already scarred. What's a few more?
The door opens-the lock disengages and it slides open with a quiet swoosh-and the Commander enters.
“Nyota.” He says nothing more-a man of few words, that Vulcan-and I hear him approach me.
I should push him away. I should shove him and run. I should run away from all of this. I should. But I won't.
I still don’t know where to go.
How dare he show me all of his memories. How dare he. I didn’t want to know. I didn’t want to see.
He touches my shoulder and I jump, jerking away from his touch, pressing my body into the mirror. Step through it, enter another universe. Maybe a kinder one, a nicer one.
Crazy thought.
“Nyota.” He always says my name. He touches me again, his hand resting on the back of my neck. His fingers cool.
“Please, don't touch me.” I don’t want his touch because it's so hard to say no to his touch. I always want his touch. Whether it's gentle or it's rough.
His hand drops. “I did not intend to cause you such distress.”
I shake my head, pulling my face away from the mirror, pressing my shoulders against it. “Why? Why did you do that to me?”
“I felt that you needed to know. You needed to understand my behavior, my decisions. I understand that I have been unrelenting towards you.”
No. That's not it. That's not it at all. He left me. He left me and I was alone with Robau and he grew mad and he-
I can't.
I shake my head again. “No. Why didn't you take me?”
He's silent. He doesn't answer me. I feel him step away from me.
I turn my head to the side, looking at his profile. His stern, stoic profile.
“What happened to you?” He doesn't look at me.
I open my mouth to...to what? To tell him? Why would I do that? He doesn't care.
“I know that something grave has befallen you. While we were in the meld, I did not seek knowledge of your own thoughts and emotions; I assure you. However, your pain is great. I could not escape it.”
I turn away from the mirror, stepping away from it to face him. My hands hang at my sides, my tears subside. “What happened to me was no different than what has happened to me before, what happens to women all the time. To whores.” I spit the word out; the Commander called me that. The last time I saw him, before he took off and left me behind. He called me that and if he had any remorse, any reaction for that, he doesn’t show me. I take a breath. “I am not in control. I am powerless. He wanted to remind me.”
“Who?” He looks at me.
“It doesn't matter.” Because it doesn’t. If it wasn’t him, it’d be someone else. It could be this Vulcan standing beside me. It almost was. Several times.
“It does.” Simple words. He looks at me.
I crumble.
He catches me.
He takes me to the bedroom, setting me on the bed. I told him. I told him what Robau did to me. I told him. He said nothing throughout my sobbing story.
It’s done. He knows.
He leaves me alone in the bed and retreats from the room. I hear him searching for something. Medicine, maybe? I don’t know. I don’t care. Not anymore.
He returns with his arms laden with some sort of medical supplies. He places them on the bedside table. Kneeling in front of me, he brushes a tear from my face-funny, I wasn’t even aware they were still falling.
“I must heal your injuries.” He hesitates-how odd-and then continues. “I must remove your clothing.”
My eyes drop down. I’m still wearing my uniform, dirty, unclean; it droops on my frame. I nod.
He brings his hands to the buttons on the top. His nimble fingers work on them, releasing them, opening the rough material. Revealing my naked body underneath. The Commander slides the jacket down my arms and it lands on the bed behind me.
My eyes close.
“You are fortunate no man observed you too closely on your journey.”
“What?” I open my eyes.
He motions to my chest and I follow with my gaze, looking at my bruised naked chest. My breasts rise and fall with my deeps breaths. Oh. I didn’t bother with that damn constricting cloth. I don’t remember what happened to it, to be honest. I guess-I guess Robau has it. I look away.
The Commander grasps my elbows and helps me stand. His hands settle on the buttons fastening my pants.
I gasp and my hands cover his. “N-no.”
“Nyota.” His voice is a whisper, caressing the still air around us. “I must remove all of your clothing to tend to your injuries. I assure you, I have no intentions in coitus.”
I squeeze my eyes closed, tears fall. My hands inch toward his shoulders. My fingers grasp, digging into his flesh, my knuckles whiten.
His hands return to my pants. And he unfastens them, pushing them down my legs, and they fall in a heap around my feet. He grasps my waist in a soft grip and helps me step out of them, kicking them away.
He helps me on the bed, laying me on the mattress. Turning away, he retrieves something. A medical tool probably. I stare at him. I don’t speak. I don’t cry. I’m just tired. So tired.
“I will need you to spread your legs for me.”
Of course, he does. It shouldn’t be too difficult. That’s what I’m good at, right? I do it, staring at the ceiling. He should take me to sickbay, let a medical doctor take care of it, but he can’t. Because I’m not supposed to be here.
I’m breaking the law.
And so is he. I guess. By not telling anyone that I’m here.
I hear him. I feel him. I feel the cold metal of the medical instruments against my flesh. I wince. Tears fall.
I gasp and bring my hands to my eyes, pressing my palms against my eyes. Keeping my eyes closed, I run my hands through my hair, my fingers catching in knots, tangles. I guess I’ve been neglecting combing. It hurts. A sob escapes.
I still feel him. Working between my legs, moving those instruments this way and that, hovering, healing. I want to die.
How can I lie here and let him do this? Why is he helping me? Is it because he doesn’t want anything to prevent him from taking his pleasure, giving me mine? Why?
He speaks my name. His head is down, his brow furrowed. He’s concentrating. Working. “Nyota, I had yearned for the day when I found him, my biological father.”
Why? God, why is he talking about this? I don’t want to know. I don’t. I don’t want to hear his voice as he’s between my legs, fixing the mess that another man left behind. I can’t do this. But he doesn’t know my thoughts. He doesn’t understand me. He doesn’t understand what it’s like-of course he doesn’t; how could he? He’s a male, he’s lived a privileged life-so he keeps talking while I stare at the ceiling.
“And though it is illogical, I have oft imagined what my life could have been if I had been allowed to remain with my biological parents, if my mother had been allowed to live. If I had been allowed to remain with them, I would not have been malleable for the humans. I would not have adopted their societal expectations.” He pauses; the medical equipment whirls. “Perhaps, if I had been allowed to remain with my parents, I would not have treated you in such a manner. Though it is logical to assume that we never would have met, because it is unlikely I would have found myself in Starfleet. I would have spent my life on Vulcan. And you, here.”
What if? What if? If this had happened, then this wouldn’t have. Why is he talking about this stuff? Why is he, a Vulcan, talking about what-if’s? Does he not understand that it doesn’t matter? Nothing matters.
Why is he doing this? Some sort of penance? I don’t want it. Not now. I don’t know if I ever will.
“Please.” My voice cracks, tears burn the back of my throat. “Please, don’t talk. Don’t talk to me. Please.” I can’t handle it, not with him down there, not with those things whirling and lighting up and tingling my skin.
“As you wish.”
He remains silent the rest of the time.
I’m so tired.
So I let my eyes close.
by SlwMtionDaylite
Disclaimer: Unfortunately, I own nothing. Paramount, et al. own all. I really wish they would let me borrow Spock for a while though.
Rating: MA/NC-17
Genre: Angst, Drama, Erotica, Hurt/Comfort
Characters/Pairing: Spock/Uhura
Word Count (Chapter Twenty-One): 2767
Beta: jlneveloff
Warnings: Language, explicit and non-explicit sexual situations, slight dub!con, rape, violence, minor Fem!slash, torture.
Summary: Alternate Mirror Universe. He wants to protect me; I want that protection, need it, in fact. But I am willing to betray him if and when the time comes. We are not working together. I know my goals. But what are his?
PREVIOUS CHAPTERS
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
The Illusion Within a Severed Reality
The pressure, his presence leaves-the ironclad shackles vanish; I’m alone-and I’m reeling.
A gasp. A scream. A sob.
My eyes are closed, squeezed against the pain. My sobs, my desperate intakes of air fill the room-I’m hyperventilating, I vaguely acknowledge; my chest heaves with the effort-echoes bounce off the metallic walls. I jump away and his fingertips fall from my face. I have to get away from him.
Away. I collapse against a wall. Hands to my face. Try to keep the tears in. Don’t want to cry. Crying hasn’t helped me. It won’t help me.
Enough crying.
So hard.
So bright.
I want to forget. So much pain.
“I apologize, Nyota. Emotional transference is an effect of a mind meld.” So calm. He’s so calm. How?
I want to die.
My hands scratch at the carpet beneath me. My head collides with the wall behind me, the loud thump reverberating through my body.
Is this sorrow, this pain what he feels constantly? Is this what he deals with all the time? I don’t want it.
He’s kneeling in front of me; the robes he’s wearing are opened, further revealing his naked chest. I jump. I didn’t see him move. I didn’t see him approach me.
“I fear it may have been exacerbated by your own traumatic event.” His hands hovers in the air. Is he going to touch me? Why didn’t he? Never stopped before.
I stare at his alabaster skin, so smooth to my touch, like silk. I remember how it felt to have his skin under my hands. I remember how his skin felt beneath my lips. Moving against mine. How could someone so rough, so hard feel so...gentle? I take a breath. A deep breath. I look at him. His face is blurred, my tears won’t stop. Why won’t they stop? I meet his gaze. I struggle through the pain, his pain, my pain.
“You’ve experienced something traumatic recently, have you not? During my absence.”
No. I can’t. I won’t.
I shake my head. Tears fall.
The Commander reaches out and touches my hands, which I hold close to my chest.
I gasp. I jerk away, my hands clenching. My eyes dart around the room. I need to get away from him. Too much. Too much. I push him away-he doesn’t fight me-and I run to the bathroom. I am a coward. I ran. I always run. I always give in.
It's easier.
The lights come on when I enter. And I'm confronted by my reflection in the full-length mirror. I can't escape. I can't hide. I walk to the mirror; I stand in front of it. Broken. That's what I see. A broken girl with broken dreams and a broken life. A girl who thought she could do something so amazing, so wonderful. A girl who thought she could overcome her life's adversities and save everyone from the oppressive Empire.
But that's the problem, isn't it?
No one with any power, with any authority sees the Empire as broken. No one sees it as an issue. It is as it always has been. For years and years. Centuries. Men controlling, men living. Men. It's their world. And the women, the aliens, we are less.
Why fight it?
Who decides what's less? Why are we strapped down to a life like this?
Tears are falling from my eyes and I don’t even bother stopping them. What's the point? He knows I’m crying. I hear him just outside the door. Breathing. Pacing. What does he want with me? Why does he care?
Why did he decide to show me all of that? He’s remained silent during all this time, during all the times he’s taken me into his bed. During all the times I’ve cried in his arms.
I didn't want to know. I didn’t want to see.
I didn’t want any of this. The Commander. Robau. Gaila. Pike. All of it. I just wanted to save the Empire.
I laugh. So uncontrollable. So inappropriate. I laugh. I giggle. I cry.
Save the Empire. Save the Empire from what? What does it need saving from? Itself? Depends on who you talk to, I guess. I’m sure the Commander would say that the Empire needs to be kept safe from the Rebellion. We can’t have the Empire collapsing, shattering. Where would we be left? What would happen if we somehow managed to destroy the foundation of the Empire? Would things change? Or would they simply rebuild it, leaving it the same?
He's outside, directly outside. I feel so attuned to his presence right now. I guess the mind meld is the reason.
He knocks.
I don’t answer.
Laughing, crying, I lean against the mirror, pressing my forehead, my body against the cool surface. I stare at myself. At this stranger in front of me. With dead eyes. With so much sorrow. I just want it to end. I don’t want to live here anymore.
I hate this place. I hate the Commander. I hate his hands on my body. I hate my body's betrayal, its unrelenting yearning for his touch. I hate Robau. He promised me. He promised me so much. And he took it all. He took everything from me.
Took everything from me in a way that the Commander never has.
Who is my enemy? The Commander, who represents the Empire, who supports the Empire? The Vulcan Commander who ordered me to his bed under threat of arrest, of torture? The Vulcan who hurt me and attacked me? The Vulcan who held me when I cried, when I broke? I've been told he's my enemy. But he’s also saved me. Why? But I'm so confused. I'm so lost.
Is it Robau? How can it be him? He saved me. He took me from the streets. He helped me. He gave me a home, a purpose in my life. He brought me to this place, telling me I could be a hero. He broke me. He stole my trust, my dignity. And for what? Why? Why did he do that? Why did he betray me like that? I can't understand it.
I don’t want to be here.
I look at myself in the mirror. This young woman, whose eyes bear into mine...I don’t know her. I can't stop laughing. I can’t stop crying.
I bring my hands up, press them against the smooth surface. My nails-dirty, broken-scrape across the surface. But they're ineffective. They don’t do anything. No marks. No dents. My fists clench.
Does the Commander know how much I've suffered? Does he understand what he does to me every time he touches me, presses his body against mine, slips inside of me? Does he know? Does he know what he did to me when he left? He left me and I was here, alone. Alone with the man I thought I could trust, the man who gave me every reason to trust him, a man who took that trust and shattered it.
I raise my fists and bring them down on the mirror. It rattles. I slam my fists into the mirror again. I want it to break. I want it to shatter. My sobs grow louder.
Then I scream, pressing my forehead against the mirror, staring at myself, my wet dead eyes. I want to feel the mirror shatter under my hands, under my face. I want it shatter into a million pieces and fly everywhere. Make me bleed. Give me something to ignore this pain lingering in my chest, pressing against my heart, suffocating me. Shatter. Fly towards me. Cut me. Slice my face, my eyes.
I’m already scarred. What's a few more?
The door opens-the lock disengages and it slides open with a quiet swoosh-and the Commander enters.
“Nyota.” He says nothing more-a man of few words, that Vulcan-and I hear him approach me.
I should push him away. I should shove him and run. I should run away from all of this. I should. But I won't.
I still don’t know where to go.
How dare he show me all of his memories. How dare he. I didn’t want to know. I didn’t want to see.
He touches my shoulder and I jump, jerking away from his touch, pressing my body into the mirror. Step through it, enter another universe. Maybe a kinder one, a nicer one.
Crazy thought.
“Nyota.” He always says my name. He touches me again, his hand resting on the back of my neck. His fingers cool.
“Please, don't touch me.” I don’t want his touch because it's so hard to say no to his touch. I always want his touch. Whether it's gentle or it's rough.
His hand drops. “I did not intend to cause you such distress.”
I shake my head, pulling my face away from the mirror, pressing my shoulders against it. “Why? Why did you do that to me?”
“I felt that you needed to know. You needed to understand my behavior, my decisions. I understand that I have been unrelenting towards you.”
No. That's not it. That's not it at all. He left me. He left me and I was alone with Robau and he grew mad and he-
I can't.
I shake my head again. “No. Why didn't you take me?”
He's silent. He doesn't answer me. I feel him step away from me.
I turn my head to the side, looking at his profile. His stern, stoic profile.
“What happened to you?” He doesn't look at me.
I open my mouth to...to what? To tell him? Why would I do that? He doesn't care.
“I know that something grave has befallen you. While we were in the meld, I did not seek knowledge of your own thoughts and emotions; I assure you. However, your pain is great. I could not escape it.”
I turn away from the mirror, stepping away from it to face him. My hands hang at my sides, my tears subside. “What happened to me was no different than what has happened to me before, what happens to women all the time. To whores.” I spit the word out; the Commander called me that. The last time I saw him, before he took off and left me behind. He called me that and if he had any remorse, any reaction for that, he doesn’t show me. I take a breath. “I am not in control. I am powerless. He wanted to remind me.”
“Who?” He looks at me.
“It doesn't matter.” Because it doesn’t. If it wasn’t him, it’d be someone else. It could be this Vulcan standing beside me. It almost was. Several times.
“It does.” Simple words. He looks at me.
I crumble.
He catches me.
He takes me to the bedroom, setting me on the bed. I told him. I told him what Robau did to me. I told him. He said nothing throughout my sobbing story.
It’s done. He knows.
He leaves me alone in the bed and retreats from the room. I hear him searching for something. Medicine, maybe? I don’t know. I don’t care. Not anymore.
He returns with his arms laden with some sort of medical supplies. He places them on the bedside table. Kneeling in front of me, he brushes a tear from my face-funny, I wasn’t even aware they were still falling.
“I must heal your injuries.” He hesitates-how odd-and then continues. “I must remove your clothing.”
My eyes drop down. I’m still wearing my uniform, dirty, unclean; it droops on my frame. I nod.
He brings his hands to the buttons on the top. His nimble fingers work on them, releasing them, opening the rough material. Revealing my naked body underneath. The Commander slides the jacket down my arms and it lands on the bed behind me.
My eyes close.
“You are fortunate no man observed you too closely on your journey.”
“What?” I open my eyes.
He motions to my chest and I follow with my gaze, looking at my bruised naked chest. My breasts rise and fall with my deeps breaths. Oh. I didn’t bother with that damn constricting cloth. I don’t remember what happened to it, to be honest. I guess-I guess Robau has it. I look away.
The Commander grasps my elbows and helps me stand. His hands settle on the buttons fastening my pants.
I gasp and my hands cover his. “N-no.”
“Nyota.” His voice is a whisper, caressing the still air around us. “I must remove all of your clothing to tend to your injuries. I assure you, I have no intentions in coitus.”
I squeeze my eyes closed, tears fall. My hands inch toward his shoulders. My fingers grasp, digging into his flesh, my knuckles whiten.
His hands return to my pants. And he unfastens them, pushing them down my legs, and they fall in a heap around my feet. He grasps my waist in a soft grip and helps me step out of them, kicking them away.
He helps me on the bed, laying me on the mattress. Turning away, he retrieves something. A medical tool probably. I stare at him. I don’t speak. I don’t cry. I’m just tired. So tired.
“I will need you to spread your legs for me.”
Of course, he does. It shouldn’t be too difficult. That’s what I’m good at, right? I do it, staring at the ceiling. He should take me to sickbay, let a medical doctor take care of it, but he can’t. Because I’m not supposed to be here.
I’m breaking the law.
And so is he. I guess. By not telling anyone that I’m here.
I hear him. I feel him. I feel the cold metal of the medical instruments against my flesh. I wince. Tears fall.
I gasp and bring my hands to my eyes, pressing my palms against my eyes. Keeping my eyes closed, I run my hands through my hair, my fingers catching in knots, tangles. I guess I’ve been neglecting combing. It hurts. A sob escapes.
I still feel him. Working between my legs, moving those instruments this way and that, hovering, healing. I want to die.
How can I lie here and let him do this? Why is he helping me? Is it because he doesn’t want anything to prevent him from taking his pleasure, giving me mine? Why?
He speaks my name. His head is down, his brow furrowed. He’s concentrating. Working. “Nyota, I had yearned for the day when I found him, my biological father.”
Why? God, why is he talking about this? I don’t want to know. I don’t. I don’t want to hear his voice as he’s between my legs, fixing the mess that another man left behind. I can’t do this. But he doesn’t know my thoughts. He doesn’t understand me. He doesn’t understand what it’s like-of course he doesn’t; how could he? He’s a male, he’s lived a privileged life-so he keeps talking while I stare at the ceiling.
“And though it is illogical, I have oft imagined what my life could have been if I had been allowed to remain with my biological parents, if my mother had been allowed to live. If I had been allowed to remain with them, I would not have been malleable for the humans. I would not have adopted their societal expectations.” He pauses; the medical equipment whirls. “Perhaps, if I had been allowed to remain with my parents, I would not have treated you in such a manner. Though it is logical to assume that we never would have met, because it is unlikely I would have found myself in Starfleet. I would have spent my life on Vulcan. And you, here.”
What if? What if? If this had happened, then this wouldn’t have. Why is he talking about this stuff? Why is he, a Vulcan, talking about what-if’s? Does he not understand that it doesn’t matter? Nothing matters.
Why is he doing this? Some sort of penance? I don’t want it. Not now. I don’t know if I ever will.
“Please.” My voice cracks, tears burn the back of my throat. “Please, don’t talk. Don’t talk to me. Please.” I can’t handle it, not with him down there, not with those things whirling and lighting up and tingling my skin.
“As you wish.”
He remains silent the rest of the time.
I’m so tired.
So I let my eyes close.