Experience & Aftermath

One day leads to another, and another until a few days become a good deal more, and soon find themselves leading into weeks. Nearing upon a month. It has been going on four weeks since T’Naehm’s arrival in this universe, since my opting to not return him to what would have otherwise been his death.

A correct choice?

An incorrect decision?

I do not know.

All I am aware of is the fact that his presence here is not one that I regret permitting.

In him I have found…what I have never been able to encounter in another; a connection between us growing so effortlessly as the days pass, as we spend any and all ‘available’ moments in one another’s company.

Courtship without classification, for we have never taken a moment to ‘label’ it as such.

But we are aware that we are engaged in it. Each quiet glance, each brushing of hands and digits, each small display, each exchange of emotion… Affection, fondness, love…

Slow, languid, subtle intimacy.

A variety we share on a daily –and indeed, nightly, these past two weeks– basis, as reveals itself now, both hybrid Vulcans asleep, conversation having led to exhaustion like it so often seems to as of late.

Never tiring of one another, never losing interest…perhaps never wishing to cease, for we revel in the others company so thoroughly.

We flow together in a way I cannot hope to adequately convey in written words. In a way that I feel, with time, will only continue to grow and develop in depth.

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~ by Sochya on April 27, 2011.

22 Responses to “Experience & Aftermath”

  1. I awake to his fingers on my face.

    He has shifted in his sleep and his arm has fallen off the edge of the sleep platform, onto me. Which meant, of course, that I must have succumbed to sleep on the floor.

    This is not the first time, I have probably done so twice in as many weeks with my Fonn Ashayam. Whether we play chess, hold forth on various topics, simply read either together or separately…all time seemed to blend together and simultaneously hurtle forward at high speed.

    I sit up carefully and watch him sleep, his blunt cut hair having fallen backward, exposing his sweet, innocent-in-slumber forehead.

    Why are you here, Sochya?” I muse softly, not wanting to wake him, “Why are you with me?”

    And yet I don’t want to broach the subject, ever. If the topic of our…courtship…was ever raised, he just might come to his senses.

    • Not for the first time,somewhere between conscious and unconscious -only ever occurring in T’Naehm Sa-Kai’s presence-, I find myself…dreaming.

      The surreal realm of this level of thought is comprised of a scenario I am by now familiar with. A savage beast and the music that soothes him.

      There is a symbolism present that simultaneously fascinates and uneases me, yet I never fail to subconsciously embrace this state of being.
      Dreaming.
      Here.
      Of him, perhaps.
      Because of him, my Sa-Kai, my Ashal-veh, and what he inspires.

      Peace should avoid War, but how can one have Peace…without War having been present..lingering, waiting?
      Coexistence.
      A balance I have yet –but intend– to fully grasp.

      My chest rises softly, imperceptibly…lowers, my breathing even, despite the occasional crease to my brow, shifting marginally in sleep.

      • He shifts and I cease to aspirate.

        The very tips of my fingers ache to brush the hair from his temple, where it has fallen.

        It occurs to me that in our exhausted state, following the discourse of last night, we failed to program the room to wake us.

        He will be late. He requires time to prepare, whereas I possess a military speed and efficiency. The Logical choice is clear.

        An executive decision is made on my Petakov’s behalf. Quietly, I enter the private bathing quarters, with his uniform & my determination. I take hold of the razor beam, regarding it as a poisonous viper I will now allow to lick my face.

        My world would look upon this with great disdain. I remind myself I am in this world and proceed.

  2. The absence of my Ashal-veh’s familiar presence nearby leads to the gradual fading of my dream, consciousness stirring in increments.

    I am aware in the depths of my mind that there is something calling my attention, some task I need to tend to, a shift to work on the Bridge…

    Distantly, the faint sound of a razor beam reaches acutely pointed ears.

    My body, however, does not permit me to enter a waking state just yet. The exhaustion of the evening priors lengthy discourse persists, tempting me back under.

    When consciousness does take eventual hold, my hair somewhat disheveled, clothing rumpled from sleep, my Sa-Kai is not present.

    I am alone.

    • The illusion is far from perfect, but I do not deem the crew to require perfection, to be deceived. It is not as though we are on a Vulcan ship replete with Vulcan crew. How difficult can it be?

      I fold my clothing with care, and straighten the uniform I have pilfered from my Sochya Sa-Kai. I place my hand as near to his cheek as I dare without touching him.

      I leave my quarters, traverse the corridors and enter the turbo lift. Of two things I am certain: that today will prove to be experimental, and that I am more than capable of anything required of me…him…a Science Officer.

      The lift deposits me onto the bridge of this foreign, yet familiar vessel. Precursory glances from Sa-Kai’s peers are received prior to returning their attention to their stations. Just so.

      My eyes narrow imperceptibly in Hikaru’s direction. Flashbacks assail me. Overwhelming, but I refuse to be overwhelmed. Particularly when, 14.5 minutes after Alpha shift has commenced, the doors part and James Kirk makes his entrance.

      • There is a level of uncertain awkwardness to be felt when one finds themselves occupying a room that is not theirs…when the actual occupant is elsewhere.

        I experience this after a brief search of my T’Naehm Sa-Kai’s quarters, taking note of the fact that not only is he absent, but the spare uniform I had brought with me to don for Alpha shift is nowhere to be found.
        Coupling this discovery with the usage of the razor beam located in the bathing quarters, and I have deduced his intentions long before the computer verifies.

        I remain seated there at the computer console, staring at the holoscreen and the indicator that ‘First Officer Spock’ is on the Bridge, when I am clearly seated 4 Decks from that location…it not able to interpret us as different.

        My Ashal-veh is impersonating me. A gesture I imagine to be for my benefit given that I overslept, but I cannot deny the sinking sensation at the fact that I can now no longer leave until he returns.

        War is impersonating Peace.

        …I can only speculate on the repercussions…

  3. I am certain there are days when the crew of the Enterprise has great satisfaction in their labor. Days when, upon retiring to their quarters, they can review their actions and deem their performance to be admirable.

    Today, according to my calculations, is not one of those days. I find myself craving the excitement, the cunning strategies of my world.

    Upon mid-day cessation for mealtime, I leave abruptly, apparently failing to interpret inane chatter as an invitation, in so doing. This lead to Sulu becoming wounded somehow that I “was mad at him”. As Uhura deemed necessary to raptly convey with a wide-eyed breathlessness that was most peculiar.

    • Pulling myself away from the computer console takes slight effort, shutting it down in favor of standing and casting a cursory glance about the empty quarters.
      Dwelling on what may or may not occur because of my Mirror’s decision will serve no purpose, it would be illogical to pass time focused on that which I cannot change.

      Exhaling quietly, stepping forward, I opt to first tend to remedying the sleeping platform’s state, repeating this with a number of scattered books, ensuring that my Ashal-veh’s quarters are as neat as I prefer my own to be.

      Something to do.

      Distraction, if nothing else.

      T’Naehm knows not of how I interact with others aboard this vessel. As similar as we are in appearance, we are not alike in other areas.

      Again, I remind myself that permitting thoughts to linger on ramifications will serve no purpose but to inspire unease.

      I pass my time, instead, tending to daily necessities, I take a water-based shower versus sonic, as it is the more time consuming, electing something comfortable of his to wear, as my clean uniform was taken.

      Refreshed, ebony hair yet damp, I seat myself upon the bed with a quiet grace, glancing once more about the quarters.

      I could very well read –idly noting the time and that the Captain is soon to be approaching T’Naehm, as he does me, every few days to inquire on whether I intend to dine with him as I had in the past– , go over PADD reports, indulge in a game of Three Dimensional Chess with an opponent of artificial intelligence,but instead…my thoughts shift to my dream.

      A beast (I suppress a faint shiver in recollection) and soothing music. Much like..

      This time there is a curiosity to my scanning gaze.
      Purpose.

      Where had my Sa-Kai hidden away his Lyre?

      • There is a slight ripple of excitement when a flushed Chekhov reports an unavoidable threshold of space debris to overcome. Kirk is not overly concerned and neither am I. These things do happen. They are relatively simple the navigate and/or dispel.

        When Sulu, in his already compromised state reports that he was not one hundred percent successful at eliminating the barriers in our course, he does so in an evasive manner that far exceeded his maneuvers at his station.
        I turn in my station to watch him, in effect, flail. Kirk looks to me rolling his eyes, to which I incline my head and demand in a tone of voice that causes each crew member to swivel in their seats. “Arrive at the conclusion of your Failure, Hikaru Sulu.”

        The man goes from ivory hued skin, to an ashen shade of grey. However, he complies, and Kirk smirks at me. Repairs are ordered and finally the shift comes to a close. As Jim takes his leave of the bridge he beckons me with that insufferable, omnipresent–and indeed, ‘goofy’–grin.

        Once in the turbo lift he claps my shoulder too familiarly for my comfort, I aspirate, which results more ease in the captain. He enters my personal space and my posture stiffens even further. he speaks of broken traditions and other illogical topics of sentiment between him and I—assuming much—but I refrain in replying more than monosyllabically lest my visage convey the emerald blood boiling beneath the surface. I am successful in my- evasion of his overtures, his invitations as well as implications. My skill at evasive maneuvers rival and surpass Sulu’s I bid the captain a curt farewell.

  4. Curiosity is what ultimately leads to my investigation. He has kept the instrument native to our planet away from me ever since the day I stumbled upon him with it.

    I search through every location in which a Lyre could proportionally fit and remain out of open sight.
    Storage cabinets, behind shelves, behind his desk, anywhere that would be –at first ‘mental’ glance or assessment– logical to store such an instrument.

    10.348 minutes later I have come to a stop in the center of Sa-Kai’s quarters, hands folding loosely behind me…no Lyre.

    Would he have disposed of it?
    A faint frown line develops between elegantly angled eyebrows.
    No…he would not have.

    Perhaps my approach to this search has viewed logic in only one direction. ‘Suitable’. Perhaps that is not the form of logic T’naehm had employed when concealing the Lyre.

    Ancient belief, both on Vulcan and elsewhere, is known to view music as a living essence. One that can absorb the energies near and around it.

    …Where do we both pass the most cumulative time?

    Brown eyes drift, then, to our—–his bed, the tips of my ears shading the lightest of pale jades.

    Whether it be for reading, separate books or the same one, conversation upon intellectual conversation that had started seated but had ended lying down until we were both too exhausted to continue…to actual sleeping.

    So often I had found myself falling asleep here, with him near. So natural…so comfortable we were beginning to grow with one another even without our conscious notice.

    The simple pleasure of passing time in the company of one with whom you feel effortlessly connected to.
    That is he and I.
    That is War and Peace.

    Connected, whether they take note of it or not.

    All too aware of the brief palpitation of the heart in my side, I step forward, nearing the bed before carefully lowering myself onto my knees, hesitating slightly here, gaze flickering to the door.

    What if he returns now, in the midst of my doing this? What would his thoughts consist of? I do not know. Almost do not wish to know, and so resolved to only look at the Lyre for 45.3 seconds at maximum –enough to sate my curiosity–, I dip down to glance beneath the bed.

    Innocent and tempting, there it is, and I feel the sudden lack of moisture in my mouth.
    I reach for it, gently removing it from its place, and draw myself up to sit upon the edge of the bed.

    A quiet reverence visits the digits that stroke once along the framework, committing the sight and feel to memory. Sensitive fingers strum softly once over the chords, the melodic simplicity of the sounds soothing to me, who had not heard this instrument since the destruction of my planet.

    I close my eyes, lashes resting atop cheeks.28.6 seconds left. Then I will place it back where he had concealed it.

    …Where he hid it away.

    • On the surface, one rarely sees the exertion a Terran swan must utilize to propel itself beneath the water. I, however, am not as graceful.

      Yet my fury is contained. My expression is a smooth mask with nary so much as a frown line. My voice is even in tone as I stride with purpose down corridors, avoiding as many crew members as possible. The unavoidable ones scurried to escape my approach. Some were unsuccessful. I, however, refused to be delayed. My Fonn Ashayam has some explaining to do.

      I pause outside the doors and breathe deep. I need to set aside my personal illogical…what is this, S’chn T’gai Spock? Is it- is it jealousy? I smile, within my soul. That is it. Therefore my approach is without logic; and is then, absurd.

      I resolve to approach him with a gentle manner to coax truth out with…well, with love.

      • My estimated time complete, I am just beginning to lower from the bed when the door to Sa-Kai’s quarters hiss quietly open.

        A soft sound but one that all but sends a quake through my being, bringing me to the swiftest stand I have ever made, a tension borne indeed from ‘guilt’ and being ‘caught’ in the midst of it stiffening the lines of my body…the Lyre yet in my hands.

        The fact that he has spent the majority of the day impersonating me is far from my thoughts at present, brown eyes meeting a twin pair. “…Sa-Kai T’naehm.”

        Pointed ears shade a deep jade…it should not be this difficult to form an articulate sentence with which to explain myself… It is certainly not as though he forbade me from finding the instrument.

        “I did not foresee you returning so soon.” Perhaps directing his attention to where he has been and what he has done in my place is the best deflection.

  5. I stride swiftly through the softly hissing door and all oxygen leaves me.

    Human eyes delighted not 3.1 seconds prior to seeing my Sochya Sa-Kai, turn rapidly shocked, then wounded, culminating in a slow simmer of anger.

    Only my Dewk’a Sasu would note the change in me, only he would correctly interpret the subtlety in the change in my dermis from pale jade, to veridian to deep emerald.

    Just as he is the only one capable of provoking such a response in me, so should he be the only one capable- and deserving of their consequences.

    Unfortunately, at this moment, my feet are not fully functional.

    • I am more than aware…I see it, I note it, and the pit of my stomach feels as though it sinks somewhat further because of it.

      Words are not necessary for me to observe and interpret. I know him…as easily, perhaps, as I know myself.

      …Shame is swift to spread through me, near overwhelming in its sudden onslaught, my gaze wavering before it lowers, head bowing. “Forgive my curiosity.”

      • At the sound of Sochya Spock’s voice, my lower extremities resume their full function.

        I only hope they do not propel me out of the quarters.

        I move forward staggering, with none of the grace I usually endeavor to employ, as befits our race.

        I note, as bile rises past my esophagus, that he has made an attempt to distract me from the fact that he stands there, holding the one item I have had the fortune to procure, to soothe me during this ordeal…during his absence.

        To call it an invasion of privacy is similar to stating that he and I vaguely resemble one another.

        I reach toward the object, approximately 7.3 inches from his face.

        “Give the lyre to me.”

  6. For the first the time since my childhood,I note that I actively strive to not flinch when his hand reaches out.

    No such thing would affect me from any other individual, stoically impassive as I have become with age, but he… There is no denying that his presence affects me substantially different than I could have ever calculated in a sentient being.

    And somehow..for reasons unknown to me, I have inexplicably hurt him. Worse, inspired anger..deep anger..

    Committed an act I should never have. Meeting his eyes only confirms this, something beyond displeasure there, and my breath stills.

    Remorseful, uneased, and guilty, I offer the lyre to him, placing it in his outstretched hand.
    Words fail me.
    Perhaps that is just as well, all things considered. I do not know how he would respond if I spoke once more.

    • My intentions for my FonnAshayam would be obvious to the most asinine individual. Even an individual not from Vulcan could sense my wrath, even if he did not see any outward sign thereof. Plans whirled in my mind’s eye rapidly, like shuffling images on a PADD.

      Detailed imagery of my Dewk’a Sasu as the recipient of these plans causes my respiration to become labored.

      The sudden movement of my body to retrieve my instrument causes Spock to shirk from me. I can see him fight this natural instinct.

      He fails to do so effectively. This changes everything.

      My hand shakily accepts the Vulcan Lyre and I toss it without care on the sleeping platform. It is now the least of my concerns.

      “My t’hy’la?” I softly inquire, afraid of the answer to a question I’m unable to articulate: Are you afraid, my ashalik? It is my hope that he can infer this from my touch as I stroke his skin softly.

      • Why his all but discarding the lyre causes my pulse to stutter and increase in my veins, I wish I could say bemused me.
        But it does not.

        I am familiar with the emotion…not far from the very one that inspires the inherent ‘fight or flight’ response. …Or perhaps one and the same, and I merely find acceptance of it difficult.

        I shrink ever so slightly when his approach continues, my gaze unable to leave his, but I catch myself before it persists, and soon…
        Contact is made, and the emotion felt coupled with his tone staggers me internally.

        I aspirate and realize I had not done so since the tossing of the lyre.

        Not once.

        Something flickers briefly across my gaze, limbs yet tense, before I respond, “..Ashal-veh?”

        I do not intend for it to come out so…small, wavered…but that is noticeable only to one with a hearing as acute as ours. No other would notice the ever slight distinction.

        That is perhaps answer enough to his unasked query all on its own.

  7. When I was young, my father gave me my first weapon. Much pomp and circumstance followed because mother was still alive then, therefore Sarek had no reason to hate me, yet. Upon bloodying a Lara on the right rala, and rendering it near death the expression of terror in it’s scarlet eyes searched mine and took my breath away.

    This is the same look in my Sa-Kai’s eyes- my Sochya Sa-Kai.

    Clearly he could not possibly comprehend the gravity of his actions. I take hold of his body, lest he stumble. I sit on the platform and seat him near me, holding him close.

    • The brush of his emotions more completely against mine as he moves us to sit upon the sleeping platform, holding me to him, is mildly dizzying.

      A mixture that overwhelms and comforts me dually.

      Exhaling somewhat shakily, I feel myself begin to ease against him…my body needing it.
      …Mind needing it.

      I do not know what to voice, or if I am even able to voice anything at all, and so I remain silent in the midst of his holding me, eyes closing.

      Fascinating –frightening– what one’s curiosity can lead them to.

      • Once my Ashalik-Lara stops trembling in his imperceptible manner, I weave our hands together, the fingertips brushing softly.

        His hands respond to the sensitive Vulcan kisses, highly intimate tactile reverberation all along our nervous systems.

        I find I need to control the situation, somewhat. At the very least harness his fear. That powerful emotion that holds the potential destroy us.

        I close my eyes. I cannot allow that. Ever.

  8. Silence reigns between us, but it is not so much a heavy one.

    As the minutes stretch, sensitive fingers humming inaudibly as fingertips brush together now and again, inspiring the occasional faint shiver, my breathing pattern begins to regulate alongside my pulse.
    Standard levels once more,no longer affected by the thrum of echoing fear.

    In the quiet of our gentle intimacy there is a peace to be found, akin to the easing scent of the air after a storm.

    A peace and comfort I would not recognize and embrace had I not…had I not first experienced fear.

    What level of peace would I have cherished in the aftermath, then, in that same vein of realization, had the fear been greater?
    A curious,perhaps illogical notion.
    But truly, who can cherish Peace in all its forms for what it is…if they have never experienced War in all its forms, before hand?

    Without War, Peace is easily taken for granted.
    Not truly felt.
    Not like I feel it now, in the wake of a fear that I experienced.

    One breeds the other and vice versa.

    Fascinating.

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