Requiem for a Dream

I have been awake for exactly 33.6 minutes, and have procured sustainance for my Fonn Ashayam to consume when he wakes. I did so in a manner that did not cause him to stir. Replicators are relatively silent and there was little clatter as items were transferred to a tray for aesthetic purposes.

I return to bed, stretching horizontally alongside him. The rise and fall of his thorax as he aspirates is gentle, steady and hypnotic. Watching him slumber coaxes a yawn from my decidedly not tired, nor oxygen deprived body. Fascinating.

It has been reported that the twins from various planets whether that of monozygotic, or “Identical” or dizygotic “Fraternal” origin…often exhibit similar patterns and habits. I brush the air around his temple, and try to convince myself we aren’t alike in every way I can think of.

I reach under the bed, for the instrument I kept under there, letting sensitive fingers trace the familiar and logical shape. My Sa-Kai had removed it from it’s place, yesterday. A faint line appears as I place the lyre against my body, sitting up.

He must awake, for we have much to discuss.

I look at his visage, lax in his innocent slumber …peaceful even in sleep. I shall wake him gently. I place my fingers along the instrument and bring forth a soft, ancient melody.

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~ by T'Naehm on April 27, 2011.

18 Responses to “Requiem for a Dream”

  1. The gentle stirring of my consciousness goes almost unnoticed, the shift from dream-like state to waking state, if only because soothing music was present in both.

    The difference is that no ‘presently’ visible beast exists here, only the warm proximity of my Ashal-veh’s seated form as he…plays for me?

    Inhaling softly and exhaling in kind, touched, I listen to the melody I have not heard since childhood, eyes remaining closed for a number of calm heartbeats before they begin to open, turning just enough to better observe him, a warmth to my gaze.
    Appreciation.

    “Ha’tha ti’lu, Ashal-veh.”*** Soft spoken words, a faint timidity present.

    *** Good morning, darling.

    • As I play, my head is bowed, dark hair nearly covering my eyes. Perhaps my Ashalik would rather I cut it, like his people seem seem to favor. My thoughts and emotions swirl about me as the music begins to take hold.

      what is this? Am I considering an actual change to my physical appearance, for…my t’hy’la?

      A blush overcomes my features the moment Sochya wakes. As my hands are occupied, I complete the piece and place the Vulcan lyre carefully beside our bed. I note the adjective in my mind with a small sigh.

      Turning to my Fonn Ashayam, I trace a finger along his face, brushing the hair beside his temple, before leaning to press a gentle Terran kiss there.

      “Ha’tha ti’lu…t’hy’la”.

      • T’hy’la.

        The word echoes through my thoughts alongside my Sa-Kai’s emotions as warm lips press against my temple in a tenderly intimate gesture…one that was truly a mix of both our dual blood heritages.

        Pale jade coats pointed ears, warmth of deep affection filling me. I meet his gaze –like looking into a mirror– when he pulls marginally back.

        “T’hy’la..” Lifting my hand, I graze my digits against his temple with quiet fondness. His psipoints.
        Pulse.
        Life.
        A Vulcan kiss here in reply to his Terran one

        “…You played for me.” Played the very instrument he had hid away…the very one that had caused him such wrath yesterday…

  2. Did I ever know intimacy before this? Academia does not prepare one for such reality. One is incapable of learning how it feels to truly connect with another, in the way that only we can…by simply accumulating knowledge via text.

    I pause, incredulous at another realization, which I preface via our touch-telepathy, before coming to it’s audible conclusion: “and yet we have the added advantage, do we not? Of our identical composition? Unprecedented… unique, you and I. For truly, has this particular strain of intimacy ever occurred before now?”

    A strange sound comes forth and we stare at one another, was that—? Laughter?-I do not deem anything impossible, anymore, but it is unsettling in it’s unfamiliarity. Mother once told me that I laughed as a child, when she applied gentle fingertips to the sides of my body. She called it “tickling”, but this is not like that, in that the response comes from someplace within?

    “Is this, narcissism, do you think?” A certain sheepish light enters my gaze at the realization that I have ignored his question. “Yes…I did.”

    • His query, and indeed the sound of brief…laughter?…bring me pause.

      “I would not…consider it to be so, no.”

      Principally because narcissism is illogical, and secondly…

      “It is not our similarities that fascinate us,” intrigue us, yes, but not the reason for our deepening connection. I lower my hand, settling it softly atop the back of his. “…but the level of difference between us, within the boundaries of outward similarities.”

      T’Naehm and Sochya.
      …Both Spock, outwardly, yet not the same, within.
      Our particular situation precludes narcissism.

      Mindfully, I draw myself into a seated position similar to his, falling quiet at his following words, my hand drifting back in order fold lightly upon my lap with the other, gaze lowering if only fractionally.

      “May I inquire as to why?” I do not voice a recounting of what occurred yesterday..of his reaction, and my reaction to that reaction.

      • A sound similar to a sigh, but that of contentment, leaves my body. Ahhh, my Sa-Kai’s logic is sound.

        It is beyond comforting, the realization that if ever I stumble, or question myself, I can rely on him.

        I hope that he is aware of my willingness to reciprocate, whenever he needs me to.

        At his last query, I feel myself stiffen. So much unsaid, but understood, as is the reasoning behind his careful phrasing.

        “Quite simply, I wanted to.” I look at him in my periphery, face positioned straight ahead.

  3. So many queries find their basis in his answer.
    Why would he ‘want’ to, if I had overstepped my boundaries in regards to his privacy to begin with?
    If anything, I merited to never be permitted to see it again.

    Almost without my notice, in unconscious echo of his body’s rigidity, I find the lines of my own have also stiffened somewhat, brown gaze studying his countenance.
    I am admittedly uncertain.
    Grateful…but uncertain, and not truly confident enough –on this subject, given yesterday– to inquire deeper on the ‘whys’.

    I do not wish to pry, and so instead I accept.

    “I…see.” But I do not truly comprehend his reasoning.

    • He does not see, of that I am certain.
      I have to expound upon my actions of the night prior, and quite simply I do not wish to.

      For his sake, I begin hesitantly, haltingly “My first was given to me by the mother of the female I was to wed…T’Pring—”

      I look to him, warily hoping he will not misconstrue my words before I have a chance to say

      “She is no longer living.”

      I do not know how he will react to this next point of fact.

      “I…killed her.”

      • A silence falls like no other that has fallen between us, shock echoing briefly within my gaze, leaving me for a moment quite speechless.

        He voiced it so easily…without qualm or remorse, as if it were truly no more than mere fact.

        Not for the first time I remind myself of the difference between our universes.
        Perhaps I do so, also, as a means of dissuading the pricklings of an emotion felt just yesterday.

        I inhale quietly, only the faintest of wavers present in the breath.

        When I speak, despite my averted gaze, my tone is collected. Even. “Is such a…common practice?” Killing those…one loves? Had he felt for her at all?

  4. It is not necessary to look at Sochya to understand what his sharp inhale indicates.

    Appropriate categorical adjectives are likely to inundate anyone, so much more so in the case of my Sochya Sa-Kai. Although, I am not certain he will wish to be mine once he fully understands the conditions of a contract with one such as myself.

    I proceed at a deliberately slow pace “She, was Disloyal.” I find my fists clenching the fabric of my trousers. “Unfaithful. And everyone was privy to this knowledge…

    Myself excluded.”

    • Again, I listen, placing the metaphorical puzzle pieces he offers into place so as to form a better picture.
      T’Pring was not monogamous, and in his universe…death is what befalls individuals of that nature.

      Disloyalty, unfaithfulness…I carry none of these traits, and that brings me marginal ease, if nothing else, sighing near inaudibly.
      Even so, I am conscious of the heart in my side.

      “Then it would appear our universes hold T’Pring’s inherent nature in common.”
      What would he make of this? ..Perhaps view me as inadequate.
      “Perferring one of pure Vulcan blood, she requested a disolving of our bond long after creating one with Stonn.”

      Consumated betrayal…one everyone knew save for myself.

      “She, too, is deceased. Life lost to the destruction of our planet.”

      • I study my hands, palms up, in my lap.

        “Fascinating.”

        It is a reply that is not precisely genuine in sentiment.
        I cannot formulate a hypothesis as to how he must now view me.

        “And still Father was displeased. The betrayal occurred while I was attending Militia, therefore I hired an assassin.” I spread my hands “It seemed Logical.”

        Turning to him “Therefore, one can conclude my thoughts with regard to the familiarity you share with your Captain.”

  5. Capable of both murdering with his own hands, as well as paying for another to tend to the task.
    Raised a pacifist, I suppress a shudder.
    Fascinating –frightening– to note that the hands that have touched me with such intimate tenderness have also committed…

    Thought and aspiration stutter to stop at his unexpected turning towards me, the evening prior all the more prominent in my mind’s eyes after this discussion.
    …Jim…
    The shift in topic –yet its obvious relevance— leaves me somewhat winded.

    Endeavoring to exert control over unease, shoulder stiff, seated posture erect, I speak carefully…

    “Friendship is the extent of our familiarity.”
    Or if nothing else, as far as I have permitted it to extend…as far as I would ever permit it to extend. Did T’Naehm not share camaraderie with his captain?
    “Terrans carry a proclivity for contact without thought. Tactile in nature.”

    • Recalling what I consider to be my superior training with regard to strategy and tactical procedure, I regard him, paying close attention to what is unsaid.

      Although my abdomen seems to disapprove of the query I endeavor to pose, as is evident by it’s subsequent seemingly acrobatic maneuvers…still I ask.

      “Have you,” my throat threatens to clamp shut, “touched… him.”

      My focus becomes blurred, as my eyes blink in the direction of my palms. Never has a sense of anxiety struck me so deeply as the answer I dread hearing. Not even with T’Pring who, in her betrayal, broke the bond that had existed between us.

      • Gathering myself as I observe him, assess, study, take in the hints of a hurt he dreads, of…his fear of what is uncertain?…

        I wordlessly take his sensitive hand between both of mine, encasing it with tender care, as if to assure it that it is protected.
        Symbolic.
        I meet his gaze when this action draws his to mine, willing him to feel honesty through contact just as much as he hears it when lips part to speak.

        “I have never initiated contact with James Tiberius Kirk, nor have I ever desired to, my T’hy’la.”

  6. Emotion, in the abundance that I have experienced it, since inhabiting this vessel, is looked upon with something akin to disgust.

    I feel as I once did as a child, without the understanding and support of his mother. Oh, mother. Had I only behaved in accordance with my father’s mandates, you might still…I look to my petakov.

    “Do you mean it?” The hope of a wounded animal is present in my voice. “Truly? Because I do not think that I could love and lose again. I do not think I have the strength…”

    I rush to amend my words “You can tell me if you’ve done so previously. Prior to having met me. If your heart I have stolen, do declare it now, as to who possessed it prior?” I hear the desperation coating my words as I attempt to convey less monstrosity.

    • A quiet softness enters my gaze, and I bring his hand up then, removing one of mine so as to better brush my lips against the back of his hand.

      “Affirmative.”
      Yes, ‘I mean it’, yes, ‘truly’.

      “You have stolen my heart from no one…for I have offered it –willingly– to no other”, for betrothal cannot be factored, as it was not my choice, “beyond you.”

      The beast that holds my heart.

      • He is causing irreparable damage to my heart, and simultaneously mending it into his own likeness.

        Breaking, then rebuilding.

        My skin feels more alive than I have ever known it to be, when he touches me.

        Such a simple thing to others, touch. So readily given and more often, taken. Particularly among those of Terran blood, of which we are 50% composed, a held hand is easy. Nonchalantly accomplished.

        Not so with Fonn Ashayam and I. Yet everything in my mind screams: ‘Run, Sochya. Run before I tear you apart’ as I hold hands that hold me.

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