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"Combat"
Rating: PG Ummm… not only is this REALLY over the top (Not my fault! You should READ this author’s stuff!), but it’s also AU… in a good way. : ) Early in the wee hours of beta shift, I lifted my head, and looking round and seeing the pinpoints of stars passing on their wandering way by my window, I asked, “What am I gonna do?” But the answer my mind gave –“Leave Enterprise at once” -- was so prompt, so dread, that I stopped my ears. I said I couldn’t bear such words now. “That she’s gone and married someone else is the least of my worries,” I told myself: “that I’m now awake after the dream of a future with her, and find my dreams destroyed, is something I could bear; but that I must leave her now and immediately, never to return, is intolerable. I just can’t do it.” But then, a voice within me declared that I could do it and predicted that I would do it. I wrestled with it: I wanted to be weak that I might avoid the suffering which leaving the ship-- leaving her-- would surely cause; but Duty, the tyrant, held Passion by the throat and told him that he had only begun to suffer, and swore that with his sinewy arm he would thrust Passion’s delicate sensibilities down to unsounded depths of agony. “I’ll go to her,” I cried then. “She’ll help me!” “No; you’ll do this yourself, Trip Tucker. She won’t help you. She’s got her concerns and can’t bear yours as well. You’ll pluck your own right eye, yourself cut off your own right hand, and offer your own heart upon the sacrificial altar.” I rose up from my bed, resolved to face the solitude that awaited me, and after a splash of cool water to clear my head, approached the door of my cabin, intent upon some exertion to distract me from my distress. The door opened, and there she was, gazing upon me wearily. I allowed her entry, for she was inadequately dressed. “You must sleep or ship’s function will suffer,” she said quietly. Why she should be there in the dead of night, and what arcane means she had used to determine my condition were not discussed. Simply looking upon her face caused my chest to tighten once again and my heart to pound nearly from my body. I averted my eyes from her silk-clad form. “You’re a married woman, T’Pol. Should you be here dressed like that at this time of night?” I asked her curtly. She gazed at me, wide-eyed, seeming somehow injured by my words. “You are angry with me,” she said. She sighed, and the musical utterance sent a shiver through my soul, yet I said nothing. “I can help you sleep, if you’ll allow it,” she offered wistfully. I closed my eyes, and with all my heart wished that this could be so, that her gentle ministrations could once again be mine, and that I would again feel the touch of her fingers upon my skin. Only one word thwarted that wish and made it a futile one: Husband. “I think you should go before I do something I’ll regret,” I told her through clenched teeth. Her eyes held mine, with a question deep within them. She stepped closer. “Would you?” she whispered. The cabin was cold, and her clothing provided little warmth. She wrapped her arms about her shoulders, drawing my eyes to the shimmer of silk and the glow of copper skin. “Would I what?” I breathed distractedly. “Regret,” she murmured, reaching a hand, so warm, smooth, and strong, toward mine. Our fingers touched. I couldn’t prevent myself from grasping hers. Duty spoke again, loudly railing against Passion, and engaged him in combat, once again throttling him and attempting to force him to submit. Passion rallied and fought back. In the struggle, tears were shed. They left trails down my cheeks, a single wavering line beneath each eye. She reached up and pulled my head down, soothing my heated cheeks with the sweet touch of her lips, and Passion was victorious. End |
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