"You-you tried to kill my mother?"
Saavik pressed the cold compress harder against her forehead, willing the agony of her skull to make herself fall into the sweet comfort of unconsciousness.
Surely even she could not possibly have earned this much retaliatory karma in one mere lifetime.
Thuray's voice climbed another skull splintering octave as he sent another chair crashing into her office wall with enough force to explode fragments of once finely carved wood all over the room. "You tried to kill my mother!"
Obviously, she could.
Saavik groaned and tried to cover her ears from the auditory assault that sent unbelievable spikes in the stabs of white-hot pain already spearing through her head. "I withdraw . . . my previous disbelief . . . in divine sentience." She leaned her head ever so gingerly back against the cool metal of her office bulkhead and mildly considered using the bloodied dagger she still gripped in one fist as she struggled just not to vomit as her mind swung and whirled insanely with even that small movement. And reluctantly tabled the thought when she found she couldn't decide who to kill first. Herself or him.
"Although . . . the thought of a divine sentience possessing so . . . Romulan a sense of humor deeply disturbs me . . . on more than one logistical level."
His voice went up impossibly another octave, making even her teeth agonized shock bursts of raw suffering now. She had not thought if physiologically possible for a non-neutered male to reach that height of sound. A delicately spun vase crushed to almost powder beneath a white-knuckled blue fist and she gasped as the noise sent unbelievable pain roaring into new areas of her skull. "What could possibly, in all sanity, move you to try and kill my mother?!"
Saavik swore she could see the agony now. It came in horrifically brilliant wild bolts of electric color that reminded her obscurely of a test engines in matrix overload. She felt around blindly for the hypospray. She should have one more dose. And it should be enough to at last put her into blessed darkness. She fumbled with it a moment and pressed it against the clammy skin of her throat. Nothing happened. Of course not. A deep moan escaped her and she slid slowly down the wall and curled tightly on the ornately dyed fibers of her office rug. "I believe . . . the correct question is more . . . what could I, a mere mortal . . . have possibly done to acquire such a . . . personal interest?"
"Have you completely lost your mind?!"
This time his shout sent such a wild roar of rolling dizzying agony through her skull that she did vomit. Repeatedly. At last, shivering convulsively with violent chills and running with sweat, with bright supernovas of color exploding behind her eyeballs, she lay on the deck of her office and knew who she would choose now. And, in alignment with everything else in her life, she found she no longer had the strength to even hold the dagger anymore and she felt its muffled drop out of her slacking hand onto the rug.
"Thuray?" she whispered hoarsely, her throat burning acridly.
"What?!"
"I am transferring you . . . to Admiral Rasen's office . . . effective immediately." She tried swallowing. "Would you please . . . bring me . . . a glass of water?"
"WHAT?!"
Consciousness actually fluctuated out for a few pleasant moments but the sweet relief vanished away as strong hands dove beneath her body and lifted her frantically. Agony returned in an unbelievable rolling firestorm of nauseating whirling colors and she heard him hiss a startled oath as she twisted in his arms, forcing him to make a desperate grab to avoid dropping her entirely, and dry heaved violently until she hung spent and shaking, gasping, barely able to keep the compress over her eyes.
"I . . . hate . . . your . . . mother."
Thuray sighed soulfully and took her gently across her office. He shifted her as smoothly as he could, which made her blanch and groan, teeth clenching to fight the agony, until he could punch in his override code to her side room and carry her into relieving darkness.
He laid her down on her bed as softly as he could and then immediately strode first to her safe and keyed it for a new hypo and then to her 'fresher and came back with a coolly damp cloth. He pressed the hypo against her throat and her whole body eased. He peeled the compress off cautiously and checked under each eyelid.
"What did you do?" he growled quietly, "She was quite . . . accepting of you."
He began wiping her clammy skin with the damp cloth in soothing strokes.
"For you being a Vulcan, of course." He added.
Saavik's brow creased in confusion and she fought just to keep his face in focus as the medication flooded her neural system with relief. "Why . . . am . . . I . . . not . . . asleep?" Her voice slurred slightly and she frowned, forcing herself to focus and swallowing against the dry burn of her throat.
He rose and went into her 'fresher again and returned with a glass of water and gave her small sips.
"Or . . . in sickbay?"
His blue lips thinned to white. "Because I would prefer we have this conversation in private."
She frowned even more, trying to get her slowing mind to tighten its wandering. "Why?"
"Because," he snapped "killing the Exterior of the United Federation of Planets for a House insult would be significantly easier in private!"
She blinked slowly. "Ah . . . ."
He took her cool cloth and pressed it firmly against his own forehead. "Vulcans." He gave her a glare. "What in the Fourteen Darkened Hells possessed you?"
A grim humor filtered its way through the thought dulling drugs. "Obviously . . . . there seems to be . . . a personality . . . conflict."
"You tried to kill her!"
Indignant, Saavik struggled to sit up—and gave that bit of insanity another thought and laid back down trying to keep what was left of her insides inside. "I . . . did not!"
A disbelieving white eyebrow lifted in perfect Vulcan imitation.
Saavik flushed. "I did . . . not!"
"Then what exactly were you doing?"
Saavik scowled and took the cloth back to press it gingerly against her forehead. "I . . . was trying not . . . to get killed!"