Near Death & Revelations

Captain Kirk is being illogically persistent on this day, for reasons unknown to me.

I can only theorize.

I speculate that the lack of time spent between us –in comparison to what it had at one time been– has finally succeeded in irritating him to a point he can no longer suppress.

Are Terran friendships so integral to their day-to-day that not seeing one friend, of the various they possess, upsets them to this extent?

From PADD messages whilst on duty to appearing wherever I occupy after duty is complete, his persistence continues. Mess Hall, Science Deck, Turbo Lift, Corridors…I find myself unable to dissuade him in his pursuit.

Terrans are a most bemusing species.

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~ by Sochya on April 27, 2011.

9 Responses to “Near Death & Revelations”

  1. Nearly every hour I do not share with My T’hy’la, is utilized to its full potential in rapt study of this starship Enterprise.

    I believe I know her every corridor, each cleverly appointed quarter, every passageway. Like every smooth and warm inch of my Fonn Ashayam’s palm.

    An indiscernible tremor pervades my being at my, admittedly, intimate mental imagery.

    Once, in my previous existence, I attempted to educate the boy Pavel as to the significance touch—even the thought thereof—has on a virile Vulcan male.

    The boy proved incapable of comprehension, likening the Concept to “Wulcan Pornography”.

    I can now, for the first time, see the similarities of his simple error.

    • Captain,” I have stated his rank twenty-seven times today, the last three in this fashion, the ever slightest tinge of a simmering irritation filtering through a generally stoic tone.

      The difference this time, is that I turn, finally bringing an end to my brisk pace, in the hopes that taking note of the hints of shadows to my expression will discourage his pursuit.

      It does not. I note peripherally that the corridor is empty. It generally is, as most have taken to avoiding the Enterprise’s current ‘guest’.

      Jim,” his frustration is much more evident in his voice as he ‘corrects’ me, “Christ, Spock, we’re alone…” Why he finds it necessary to voice this so imploringly whilst entering my personal space, I do not know. “…call me Jim. You can at least do that, can’t you, if you won’t even spend off-time with me anymore?”

      More uncomfortable than I would prefer, I take a calculated step backwards.

      He follows.

      “That would be highly improper, Captain, as you are well aware. We are Captain and First Officer, and as such—-Jim,” the name comes out almost as a hiss of warning when his following finally finds my back to the ship’s titanium walls, and a certain blond leaning far too into me to be welcomed.

      The grin that blooms on his face is unlike any I have witnessed previously, clearly thrilled by the usage, and it brings me brief pause, his emotions echoing this along with…something else…

      Something I recognize. Realization flickers across my gaze as the lines of my body stiffen.

      “Kindly step away from me.”

      If anything, he presses closer, determined.

      A faint frown line develops between elegantly shaped eyebrows as he leans in to speak near a sensitive pointed ear, his body in far too much contact with mine, “…And what if I wish we were more than that, Spock?”

      • On the occasions when touch has been unavoidable in narrow corridors, I’ve learned that my existence intimidates and perplexes them. Therefore inclining my head, while locking visuals with various inferior inter-species staff has become a fond past-time of mine.

        Very quickly, I came to the realization that my appearance is unsettling to the crew. They are accustomed to a more passive Vulcan people. Vulcans more similar to my Sa-Kai Sochya.

        A light enters my eyes after passing a particularly fearful Vorgon Ensign, thinking of the gentle ease of my Fonn Ashayam. We have not been forthcoming about the specifics of our relationship. Indiscretion is, quite frankly, unbecoming of a Vulcan, in any world.

        Sochya Spock and I discovered we both favor breakfast foods, particularly plomeek soup, as a light evening meal. Balancing the traditional bowls on a tray, I navigate the halls toward my quarters. S’chn T’gai should be arriving soon.

        As I execute the final turn, I halt mid-step. Captain James Kirk has almost his entire body pressed against my Fonn Ashayam. Mine.

        I can see all of his profile, and it is flushed deep emerald from his neckline to the tip of his pointed ears.
        I can practically hear his pulse from where I stand.
        I know I can smell Kirk’s desire.
        The plomeek soup falls to the ground.

  2. My emerald shade only serves to deepen at his query, my body rigid with discomfort between his and the wall.

    He does not permit my gaze to stray, crystal blues locked on my browns.

    The air is thick between us, the tension tangible…but our view of it is no doubt different.

    I feel his swift heartbeat, though much slower when compared to a Vulcan’s, beating against my chest.
    His emotions continue to infiltrate my touch-telepathic system like a toxin in my veins, quickening my pulse as an affect, but not out of any personal desire.

    I do not desire this, the core of my being echoing my disapproval. My thoughts turn to my T’hy’la, my T’Naehm Sa-Kai. My heart clenches painfully.

    “Cease this.”

    Two sets of breathing mix. If he was too close before, he is beyond tolerable now.

    “No.”

    Then I will force him.

    I feel my digits twitch, fully intending to Nerve Pinch my captain as he has far overstepped his boundaries, but the opportunity is lost.

    A tray clatters, resounding off the ship’s walls, my head snapping in the direction it comes from –dread surfacing, knowing, even before I see him…recognizing– as Jim gives a start and all but jumps away from me in his haste to put distance between us.

    “T’Naehm,” a cautious attempt to verbally ease what I can almost ‘feel’ is rising in him, not just see, straightening myself…but Jim cuts me off, his irritation at our ‘interruption’ evident.

    “Can we help you?”

    There is a fine line between bravery and stupidity, Captain. You have crossed into the latter.

    • I feel my lips pull back over my teeth in a snarl, as I answer the Captain in our tongue.

      “Du istau mavau-tor, pi’tak??? Kobat Krin-tu??? “***

      Beyond that I have little to no recollection. Time seemed to proceed in a manner that was at once exceedingly slow and altogether quite rushed.

      Sochya Spock would relay my ripping the gold shirt into shreds by the sheer force of tossing the little Terran from wall to wall. My skin, flushed deep forest green as I literally dug my fingers into his vertebrae and cranium.

      His only defense, served to spur me on as I held fast to his skin, while being psi-ssaulted by his still present desires for my Fonn Ashayam.
      Explicit cravings for my Vulcan Ashalik. Specific acts he has wished to perform, for many months.

      I wanted to break him into pieces.

      ***You wish to play, Thief? Weak Wolf?

      • A level of sinking horror and perhaps even…fascination is what keeps me rooted to my location for longer than I should be, watching the fluid majesty in each concisely executed movement, the level of unique grace contained within whirls of what can be described as nothing short of possessive fury.

        My T’hy’la.

        …Harming my Captain, whom I am duty bound to protect.

        Peace must bring a halt to War, lest the repercussion of his actions bring an end to us both.

        In a rush of adrenaline and mounting concern (fear?) I move forward with purpose, grabbing forcefully at my T’Naehm Sa-Kai —feeling the anger that has overtaken his system– before he can bend to pick up the blond that has crumbled to the floor.

        Kroi*, Spock,” sharp, resonating, an attempt to pierce through the blinding clouds of his emotions, drawing his wild eyed gaze, imploring, “Kroikah* *, vah mau vah tor-yehat ri stau.*** He is human.”

        That redirecting attention might be –is– a mistake where self-preservation is concerned is of little consequence to me. The needs of those beyond myself will always take precedence.

        What occurs next is perhaps the price of pacifism and bravery.

        * Stop

        * * Stop immediately

        *** As far as possible, do not kill. <– One of the teachings of Surak.

  3. In a looking glass I am putting on my academy uniform, and breathing deeply. Then I am atop my school tormentors, pummeling their leader through tears. Next, Sa-Mehk is instructing me as I feel blood still gathered on my lip. Then the words of Surak repeat into my mind “vah mau vah tor-yehat ri stau“. Every instance of violence makes my stomach twist, in a feeling like disgust.

    I am on one knee, my Fonn Ashayam bent over the other like a broken bird, graceful neck in my hands.

    The emotions and the memories are not my own, but are filtered through my fingers, pressed tightly into his neck. His only defense against me is his mind, but all I can receive from him is his painful associations with violence.

    I do not hear anything else cannot see anything else, but his pain.
    I do not know how to stop it.

    • Asphyxiation. The cut of oxygen flow to the brain, the organ held with in highest regard amongst Vulcans. Yet in comparison to what occurred before it –pain, worlds of pain being all I recall, far too light headed now, feeling a warm, likely jade substance trail down the side of my face–, my body is almost grateful.

      Equal strengths found their difference in blind rage, and this is the result, all that majesty and grace contained in illogical violence…turned to me. My stomach twists even now.

      Just as Peace ends Wars, Wars destroy Peace. It is a balance, and this is ours.

      His negative emotions wreck their havoc on my broken system, one that feels only pain mixed with a tremulous, debilitating fear that he will not regain himself. That this is truly all there will be…all we will see of one another, hearing my heart beating, my Sa-Kai’s breathing, my pulse –previously erratic– begin to actually slow in my veins…

      Much like time has, around us both.

      In a sense of twisted poetry, we are all that exists in the world in this moment, no one outside us holding any importance or relevance.

      Sensitive fingers begin to slacken around his wrist, my mind growing further distant, vision blurring around the edges as I stare up into the eyes of my Sa-Kai, my Ashal-veh, my other half, the owner of my heart…and now my killer…

      Tragedy.

      My mouth opens, closes, opens…no oxygen forthcoming, and so my weak voice is straggled, breathless, a great sadness, a loss entwined in love as the last word that will perhaps ever leave my lips is choked out in supplication, “T..T’hy‘..la..”

      • His voice reaches out to me through the fog of my fury. It’s a breathless whisper that cuts through my rage like a white-hot saber through Ferengi butter.

        “T’hy’la”, my Fonn Ashayam pled, as his oxygen supply was depleted.

        No, not depleted. Stolen.

        The Terran fable of a female aristocrat awakened with the Terran kiss of her rescuer, comes to my memory. The only caveat being that I am brought to life again, as he perishes. At my hands. A kiss of Death.

        My slender fingers, rougher than his and previously only accustomed to a more cut-throat lifestyle, are aghast. My knuckles were white with effort. The effort of wringing the life from my beloved.

        A strangled sob “S-Sochya?”

        My vision is blurred, and I paw at my eyes with one hand, the other moves to cradle my Ashalik’s head.

        “Sanu, Fonn Ashayam…fun-tor, Sanu!!!” A gutteral shout as I shake his limp form, crushing him to my chest.

        “T…T’hy’la!”

        It’s a lost boy’s cry. No one else exists for me.

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