fic: With Your Empty Smile and Your Hungry Heart (ST: TNG)
Title: With Your Empty Smile and Your Hungry Heart
Fandom: Star Trek TNG
Rating: teen
Characters: Tasha Yar
Contains: assault, attempted rape
Notes: 1,060 words. For hc_bingo (prompt: assault). References the episodes "Where No One Has Gone Before" (S1) and "Legacy" (S4).
Summary: Turkana IV was going to kill her, she knew, if she didn't get out. Soon.
The orange cat leaped from Tasha’s arms and went scampering down the alleyway only seconds before she was tackled to the ground. She grunted as pain shot up her arm, and kicked blindly as rough hands grabbed her hips, wrenching her over onto her back, and holding her down.
“Like it rough, do you?” said a thick voice out of the darkness above her. “Don’t worry, I’ll give it to you rough.”
He worked a knee between her legs, nudging them forcibly apart. She felt his stubble scrape across her cheek and his hot breath puffed against her ear as he said mockingly, “Fight harder, little girl.”
She did.
With all the strength her gangly fifteen-year-old body could muster, she thrashed against him, clawing, kicking, biting. He laughed. He caught her wrists and, grasping them easily in one large hand, pushed them against her chest while his other hand fumbled between their bodies, working her pants open.
She head-butted him. The thunk of bone-and-flesh against bone-and-flesh rang in her ears, and black stars exploded before her eyes. She brought her knee up, drove it as hard as she could into his groin. While he recoiled in pain and surprise, she wrenched her wrists free, gave him another vicious kick, then rolled out from under him and to her feet.
She was running again a second later, the taste of rust strong in her mouth, breath and heartbeat loud in her ears. The broken streets seemed to buckle beneath her feet, but she stumbled onward, not even looking to see where she was going, to check if she was being followed. Chances were, she wasn’t. There were easier targets for the rape gangs that prowled Turkana IV’s streets. In the back of her mind, she knew that.
But she kept running.
She kept running until she couldn’t anymore. She threw herself into the shadows of another alleyway, and curled up in a tight ball, knees to chest, head lowered. A single long shudder passed through her, starting in her belly and working its way up until her scalp prickled. When it was over, she raised her head.
She didn’t recognize her surroundings, but that didn’t matter. All the streets and tunnels on Turkana met up at the same place eventually. All she had to do was pick a direction and start running. She’d find her way home - to Ishara, who would be waiting up for her.
Remembering her little sister, Tasha groaned. She had better get moving, she knew. Before Ishara started to worry and took it into her head to go looking for her. Speaking of easier targets, she thought.
She started to rise, and got herself up to a half-crouch before the pain slammed into her skull. With a hiss, she dropped back to her haunches and pressed her palm to her forehead. She felt something slippery and lowered her hand so she could stare dumbly at her own blood.
Shit.
She was going to have to find some water - didn’t really matter if it was clean or not - or a rag, so she could wash herself off. She didn’t want to frighten Ishara with her appearance.
Then she thought grimly, I should frighten her. I limp in, bleeding and bruised. I should let her think they got me. Frighten some sense into her.
She studied her hand, the streaks of blood dark against pale but dirty skin. This place, she knew, was going to kill her and her sister - just like it had killed their parents - if they didn’t get out. And soon.
She needed a plan, and she didn’t have one. Fifteen years old. She’d been looking after herself for so many years, she should have come up with something by now. But the truth was, most of her planning didn’t extend beyond a single day. And there were light-years between Turkana IV and the nearest Federation world or starbase. Light-years of nothingness, and she couldn’t see beyond it.
She wiped her hand on her pants leg and pushed herself to her feet. Her head still hurt, but she gritted her teeth and started to walk. Staying in one place for too long was dangerous. She could deal with the pain.
As she walked, a shadow flitted across her path and she froze for a second, prepared to run and hide again. But it was the orange cat from before. It paused in front of her and regarded her with shining eyes, pale as limestone in the streetlamp light.
“Run away,” she said, waving a peremptory hand in its direction. “Go on! Hsst!”
Its ears flicked back when she hissed, but instead of running off, it padded up to her, and pushed its head against her shin.
“You’re not my cat,” she said. “I don’t know whose you are, but you’re not mine.” She shook her leg. The cat swatted her - not aggressively, though she felt the sharpness of its claws through her pants. She hissed at it again.
It hissed back. But it didn’t leave her side.
Years later, she described the incident - parts of it, anyway - to Captain Picard. “It was the strangest thing,” she told him as they walked along the Enterprise D’s graceful and well-lit corridors. “It wasn’t my cat. I never had a pet in my life. But it stayed close to me for the entire walk home. I don’t understand.”
“Lieutenant,” her commanding officer said in that rich, clear voice she always found so reassuring, “the mission of this ship and her crew is exploration and discovery. This universe holds many mysteries, some of which we may unravel. But the working of a cat’s mind … is probably not among them.”
His gray eyes were warm with humor, so she smiled and said, “Yes, Sir,” and they continued on their way.
She didn’t tell him that she cleaned her face, straightened her clothes, and combed her hair before seeing Ishara. She’d never told him about Ishara, whom she’d had to leave behind when she finally fled Turkana IV. She’d tried a couple of times - he could be such a good listener sometimes - but it hurt too much. After almost twelve years, it still hurt too much to talk about. Ishara made her choice, but Tasha should have tried harder.
Someday, she thought.
7/7/10
Fandom: Star Trek TNG
Rating: teen
Characters: Tasha Yar
Contains: assault, attempted rape
Notes: 1,060 words. For hc_bingo (prompt: assault). References the episodes "Where No One Has Gone Before" (S1) and "Legacy" (S4).
Summary: Turkana IV was going to kill her, she knew, if she didn't get out. Soon.
The orange cat leaped from Tasha’s arms and went scampering down the alleyway only seconds before she was tackled to the ground. She grunted as pain shot up her arm, and kicked blindly as rough hands grabbed her hips, wrenching her over onto her back, and holding her down.
“Like it rough, do you?” said a thick voice out of the darkness above her. “Don’t worry, I’ll give it to you rough.”
He worked a knee between her legs, nudging them forcibly apart. She felt his stubble scrape across her cheek and his hot breath puffed against her ear as he said mockingly, “Fight harder, little girl.”
She did.
With all the strength her gangly fifteen-year-old body could muster, she thrashed against him, clawing, kicking, biting. He laughed. He caught her wrists and, grasping them easily in one large hand, pushed them against her chest while his other hand fumbled between their bodies, working her pants open.
She head-butted him. The thunk of bone-and-flesh against bone-and-flesh rang in her ears, and black stars exploded before her eyes. She brought her knee up, drove it as hard as she could into his groin. While he recoiled in pain and surprise, she wrenched her wrists free, gave him another vicious kick, then rolled out from under him and to her feet.
She was running again a second later, the taste of rust strong in her mouth, breath and heartbeat loud in her ears. The broken streets seemed to buckle beneath her feet, but she stumbled onward, not even looking to see where she was going, to check if she was being followed. Chances were, she wasn’t. There were easier targets for the rape gangs that prowled Turkana IV’s streets. In the back of her mind, she knew that.
But she kept running.
She kept running until she couldn’t anymore. She threw herself into the shadows of another alleyway, and curled up in a tight ball, knees to chest, head lowered. A single long shudder passed through her, starting in her belly and working its way up until her scalp prickled. When it was over, she raised her head.
She didn’t recognize her surroundings, but that didn’t matter. All the streets and tunnels on Turkana met up at the same place eventually. All she had to do was pick a direction and start running. She’d find her way home - to Ishara, who would be waiting up for her.
Remembering her little sister, Tasha groaned. She had better get moving, she knew. Before Ishara started to worry and took it into her head to go looking for her. Speaking of easier targets, she thought.
She started to rise, and got herself up to a half-crouch before the pain slammed into her skull. With a hiss, she dropped back to her haunches and pressed her palm to her forehead. She felt something slippery and lowered her hand so she could stare dumbly at her own blood.
Shit.
She was going to have to find some water - didn’t really matter if it was clean or not - or a rag, so she could wash herself off. She didn’t want to frighten Ishara with her appearance.
Then she thought grimly, I should frighten her. I limp in, bleeding and bruised. I should let her think they got me. Frighten some sense into her.
She studied her hand, the streaks of blood dark against pale but dirty skin. This place, she knew, was going to kill her and her sister - just like it had killed their parents - if they didn’t get out. And soon.
She needed a plan, and she didn’t have one. Fifteen years old. She’d been looking after herself for so many years, she should have come up with something by now. But the truth was, most of her planning didn’t extend beyond a single day. And there were light-years between Turkana IV and the nearest Federation world or starbase. Light-years of nothingness, and she couldn’t see beyond it.
She wiped her hand on her pants leg and pushed herself to her feet. Her head still hurt, but she gritted her teeth and started to walk. Staying in one place for too long was dangerous. She could deal with the pain.
As she walked, a shadow flitted across her path and she froze for a second, prepared to run and hide again. But it was the orange cat from before. It paused in front of her and regarded her with shining eyes, pale as limestone in the streetlamp light.
“Run away,” she said, waving a peremptory hand in its direction. “Go on! Hsst!”
Its ears flicked back when she hissed, but instead of running off, it padded up to her, and pushed its head against her shin.
“You’re not my cat,” she said. “I don’t know whose you are, but you’re not mine.” She shook her leg. The cat swatted her - not aggressively, though she felt the sharpness of its claws through her pants. She hissed at it again.
It hissed back. But it didn’t leave her side.
Years later, she described the incident - parts of it, anyway - to Captain Picard. “It was the strangest thing,” she told him as they walked along the Enterprise D’s graceful and well-lit corridors. “It wasn’t my cat. I never had a pet in my life. But it stayed close to me for the entire walk home. I don’t understand.”
“Lieutenant,” her commanding officer said in that rich, clear voice she always found so reassuring, “the mission of this ship and her crew is exploration and discovery. This universe holds many mysteries, some of which we may unravel. But the working of a cat’s mind … is probably not among them.”
His gray eyes were warm with humor, so she smiled and said, “Yes, Sir,” and they continued on their way.
She didn’t tell him that she cleaned her face, straightened her clothes, and combed her hair before seeing Ishara. She’d never told him about Ishara, whom she’d had to leave behind when she finally fled Turkana IV. She’d tried a couple of times - he could be such a good listener sometimes - but it hurt too much. After almost twelve years, it still hurt too much to talk about. Ishara made her choice, but Tasha should have tried harder.
Someday, she thought.
7/7/10